#like the MAN who has been bouncing around in my head for over a decade now is finally being put into something!!

[vault81]

so lucky that the images/banners I use for the travel logs are on pc bc I’d just be BLASTING through them rn on mobile

[koenigami]

'cause my love, is mine all mine. tags : fluff, fem!reader, child!reader, reader accidentally turned into child, a little angst and brief mention of his past wc : 2k synopsis : a failed commission leads to wriothesley having to take care of a mini-version of the love of his life masterlist - Laughter and squeals echo through the large hall as Sigewinne leisurely skips her way up to the Duke’s office, the sight that awaits her at the top of the staircase planting a soft smile on her face. 

A slightly out-of-breath Wriothesley chasing a little girl around his desk, her h/c hair bouncing and flying back and forth as she tries to evade the man’s arms all while giggling and grinning as if there were no tomorrow. 

To anyone else, this would seem like any other normal afternoon on which the Duke spends time with his daughter, a carbon copy of you, and entertains every single wish of hers because he’s physically unable to tell her no. 

However, many things that occur in the Fortress of Meropide should not necessarily be considered normal. Because in fact, you and Wriothesley don’t have a child that looks exactly like you. Because said child is, as a matter of fact, actually you yet simply a younger version of yourself. How is that possible, anyone would ask? 

Well, let’s just say that your last commission with the adventurer’s guild didn’t exactly go the way you had hoped it to. While on expedition, your team had found a yet unexplored cave and stumbled upon a variety of ancient artifacts. 

By your colleagues’ reports, it seems like a look into a small hand mirror was all it took for your body to shrink, and your features to turn younger by two decades.

It has been almost 48 hours since Monsieur Neuvillette had visited him in his office, the young girl that had been tightly holding onto his hand immediately running up to Wriothesley as soon as her eyes fell on him. All it took was one single look at the Iudex’ apologetic expression, as well as one look at the child’s too familiar face to know that something must have gravely gone wrong during your mission. 

“Sigewinne!” You smile when you notice the Melusine quietly standing across the room. With an equally kind face, she waves at you before motioning Wriothesley to have a word with her for a brief moment. So, dejectedly, you watch as the huge man with messy black and greyish hair leaves you to your own devices. 

With a little pout, you settle down on his big fancy chair, fish out the markers that he had let someone bring for you, and continue the drawing that you started earlier while he was busy with some paperwork. 

You aren’t entirely sure what it is about him, or the other man with beautiful long hair who had brought you to Wriothesley in the first place but- Amidst the chaos in your head, and the fact that you can’t remember a single thing that happened before the past two days, something about them was comforting and provided you with a sense of safety. Especially the wolf-like man. He was nice. 

There’s a sudden warmth that settles on top of your head. With big, sparkling eyes, you peer up at Wriothesley who’s analysing the lines of your colourful drawing while his hand nearly engulfs the entirety of your head. “Is it okay if I leave you alone for a few minutes? There’s some stuff I have to check with Sigewinne. I won’t be too long, I promise.” 

He notices your eyes widen briefly before you start gnawing on the inside of your cheek and contemplate over his words. Ever since you’ve come back like this, Wriothesley has not been able to leave you alone for even a second, which you’re more than happy about because spending time with him is fun! Of course he doesn’t let on that the reason behind it is his worry about something happening to you, or you getting yourself in trouble, or someone else using your current state as an opportunity to hurt you. 

That’s why it pains him even more when he sees the brief look of reluctance in your eyes before you nod silently and go back to your drawing.

With a sad smile on his face, he sighs once he realises that even your younger self seems not to be any better at voicing her true feelings, instead opting to just swallow every negative emotion like a bitter pill. 

With a caress over your soft hair, Wriothesley leaves, and the sound of his thick boots as he descends the staircase echo through his office before the door falls shut behind him. 

-

True to his word, Wriothesley returns a quarter of an hour later, a small flacon in his hand which is supposed work as an antidote for whatever kind of higher power has cursed you. As much as he has gotten to enjoy your younger self’s presence, there is no denying that he misses the actual you. And the longer you’re staying in your current form, the more he frets about the possible consequences it could have for your body and health if you’re not turned back into an adult as soon as possible. 

Climbing his way up to his office, he can already tell by your panicked little murmurs that you must be up to something. If anyone else so much as tried to snoop around in Wriothesley’s sanctuary, the consequences would be grave. Yet the simple thought of little you stomping around, your eyes sparkling with curiosity as your small chubby hands open and close drawers, and pry open insignificant boxes and chests- He can’t help but smile with a little headshake. 

However, his smile immediately falls when he sees your slumped figure kneeling on the floor, surrounded by books and other objects that must have fallen out of the shelf and crashed down on the floor. 

You startle when he softly calls out your name, the picture in your hand shaking the slightest before you clutch it to your chest and turn your head to face him. 

Oh, you’re going to be in so much trouble. All you wanted was to have a look at the framed picture on the shelf, yet in your attempt to jump up to reach it, you accidentally knocked it over with other books and a little vase. And now everything’s broken. The vase, the frame. He’ll be mad. 

“Hey, what happened here?” 

“I-I’m sorry. I wanted to see the picture b-but-” Your lips wobble, tears fill your eyes, some of them already spilling over your cheeks, as your little body starts to quake with each sniffle and sob. 

Comforting words are already on his tongue, but when his eyes catch the broken pieces of porcelain and the glass shards, he immediately feels his blood pressure rocket before he gathers you in his arms. The cushions of the leather couch creak as he sets you down on it before his hands trail over your arms and legs, making sure that there aren’t any cuts or shards lodged into your delicate skin. “You didn’t hurt yourself right?”

Confusion etches itself clearly on your face, because why is he not yelling at you? 

At the light shake of your head, Wriothesley’s shoulder visibly sag as he sighs in relief. “That’s good. You have to be more careful, sweetheart.”

Your nose wrinkles as you sniff and wipe the snot off your face with the sleeve of the overly large shirt that you’ve got on. He seems anything but upset. He smiles gently at you, large and warm hands brushing over your cheeks to wipe the remaining tears away before he throws himself on the couch beside you. 

“You’re not mad at me?” You sound like a little mouse, and shyly look up at him through your wet and clumpy lashes. Instead of a scowl and disappointed expression, you’re met with gentle blue eyes and an expression that radiates so much reassurance and comfort that it only confuses you even further. Though, at his next words, you think you understand his reaction a little bit better. 

“Of course not. I mean it’s not like you knocked those things over on purpose, right?” 

The quick shake of your head earns you a thorough ruffle through your hair, paired with a content See? No biggy then, which finally loosens some of the tension and fear in your body. And as the thick paper in your hand crinkles the slightest bit, you realise that you have completely forgotten about the initial reason for this entire ordeal. You hold up the picture in front of your face, and decide to show it to him. 

“She… she’s really pretty.”

“Yeah?”

You shoot him an earnest expression, lips pressed tightly as you nod eagerly and hum. Wriothesley cocks a brow at you and a wide grin stretches his mouth, his hand again resting on your head. You like when he does that. 

“You know, sometimes she doesn’t believe me when I tell her how beautiful I think she is. Unbelievable, huh?” 

The way you gasp incredulously and look up at him with utter disbelief in your eyes almost makes him bite into your soft apple cheeks. “T-Then you have ta’ make sure you tell her more often. Until she believes it!”

Wriothesley seals his promise by hooking his pinky finger around yours, the difference in size making his heart melt into a puddle. And as you hum satisfiedly and return your attention back to the picture of you and him that has been taken a few months ago, he has to admit that as much as he misses the real you- He won’t miss this version of you any less. 

But the presence of the little flacon burns in his pocket, and as Sigewinne’s words echo through his mind, he comes to the realisation that bed time is slowly but surely approaching. 

-

As the sun rises, and the fortress automatically comes to life again, Wriothesley is more than relieved to notice your long legs entangled with his, your arm fully able to reach around his waist and pull yourself closer to him. Giving you the potion before falling asleep just as he has been instructed to do must have done the work. However, as his fingertips brush over your cheek, he’s alarmed at the sudden moisture coating them. 

“Love? What’s-”

You’re awake. He notices when you bury your face further into his neck and refuse to look at him while tightening your hold on him. Speechless and with a still sleepy and hazy mind, Wriothesley instinctively buries his hand in your hair on the back of your head, the light massaging motions of his fingers seeming to calm you. 

With a wet sniff, you eventually pull back and allow him to have a look at you. The same pretty eyes, the same gorgeous smile, the same cute nose that he loves to brush his own against, but this time with slightly less chubbier cheeks and a more mature expression.

“Are you alright?” His body follows yours as you sit up without uttering a word, and instead proceed to wipe your tear stained cheeks. “How are you feeling?” 

The longer the silence between you lingers, the more Wriothesley becomes agitated. Could it be that the potion has any side effects? Physically, at least, you seem to be fine yet-

“I’m sorry. I’m fine, I promise. It’s just-” With a last sniff and brush of your finger along your waterline, you turn towards him with a wobbly smile and throw yourself back into his arms. Yeah, wiping all those tears away was for naught. “Gosh, Wriothesley, I just love you so much, you have no idea.” 

Wide eyed, he accepts your embrace and snorts at your sudden outburst of love. Naturally, he would never dare to complain about it. Instead, his nose buries in your neck, inhaling your scent, his arms tighten around your waist, hands roam over your back and take in each and every part of your body. 

He's truly missed you.

You don’t remember much of the past few days, yet what you do remember perfectly well is the warmth, love and care with which you had been handled. It’s overflowing and filling you with even more adoration for this man because you’re fully aware that it has been him who has taken care of you. Wriothesley, who never truly got to experience the same kind of affection in his early life, who has seen too many atrocities at such a young age. Your heart breaks over the things that he has missed, yet it mends again at the realisation of how proud you are of him. How proud and lucky you are for him to be yours, and you to be his. 

And of course, it goes without saying that after this little incident it doesn’t take long until you and him happily announce that if all goes well, in a few months there will be a mini-version of you and him running around the fortress of Meropide. They will fill the place with joy and laughter, and yours and Wriothesley's life with even more happiness and love.

[sloppysequinz]

I have this fantasy that I’ve had for ages about being the powerless queen of a warring country in a world where decadent women are used to show off power. The more prosperous and stable your kingdom, the fatter and drunker and lazier the noble ladies can be.

My absent husband, the king, finally wins the conquest war all the kingdoms have been fighting. He hosts the unification banquet in our halls. He brings me in to show off. My servants have been feeding me a steady stream of wine since I woke up this morning, so I’m swaying and staggering as I enter. My clothes are luxurious, amazing quality fabric, but made tight and thin show off the softness of my body.

I get passed from leader to leader around the hall, sitting in their laps as they all give me food and drink, showing how they’ll contribute to the decadence of the empire. Eager to be a good queen, I suck down wine and ale and scraps from the lord’s feast plates eagerly, opening my mouth for more and more, letting them pour wine down my throat, gulping from tankards. There’s a cheer when my gut busts loose from my dress, bloated with ale and rich feast food. By the time I get to the end, I’m so drunk I can barely lift my head, my attendants lift me from lord to lord.

Then the king gets the idea that they should all fuck me. That way, when the heir is born, they’ll all have an equal claim and there won’t be any fighting. All the lords are too drunk and stupid horny for me to see any flaws in this plan. My husband starts, bending me over the table to show off his huge cock as it pounds into me. I moan like the drunk whore I am, so excited to finally be fucked by the man who has been gone so long.

Then I get passed around again, getting bounced on each lord’s cock until they cum inside me, grunting like animals when they cum. More booze and food are shoved down my throat as they fuck me. I greedily swallow as I should, even though my gut is a hard ball and I can barely breathe. More and more of my clothes are ripped away by my body and the lords, jockeying eagerly to be the next who cums inside me. Thick ropes of white seed are pouring down my legs.

I can’t make it through the final stretch. I black out as my husband fucks my cum and alcohol and food bloated body for a second time in front of all the men he’s conquered. My last fading thought is that I’m so proud to have done my duties as a queen for him today.

[kinardsevan]

snapshot.

(finally fulfilling that prompt @30somethingautisticteacher sent me about Tommy dropping facts at an art museum / aka, me abusing my art degree.)

They stroll into the museum and Evan is all but bouncing on his heels as they wait to get through admission. Ever since Tommy mentioned going for a day date, he’s been on a deep dive on the Rembrandt collection currently on display. He has so many fun facts he’s excited to share with Tommy that he couldn’t even keep them all to himself  until they made it into the exhibit. 

“Did you know he painted over 300 paintings in his life,” he’d told Tommy on the drive over. And Tommy had responded the same way he always did, always invested in his deep dives. 

“Really, babe? What else?”

He’d launched into half a dozen facts about the artist while they were still on the 10 before remembering that he wanted to save the best for when they actually got to the museum.

So he’s a little thrown when, after getting past admission, Tommy leads him down into the basement instead of up towards the third floor where he knows the collection is stored. 

“Where are we going,” he asks, being pulled along by Tommy’s fingers interlaced with his. He’s not upset, but he’s definitely curious by this change in plans. 

They make into the basement and around a corner, through an open doorway.

“Photo department is always in the basement,” Tommy murmurs as they start walking into the room. “Why they keep them hidden away from the light is beyond me, but…” 

Evan follows after him, watching with rapt attention as Tommy leads him forward, towards the first set of photographs. They’re black and white prints; portraits. A man at a desk with books stacked in front of him. Another man at a kitchen table from the 60s, metal lunch pale in front of him. A bed with a stuffed animal on it. 

“Chauncey Hare,” Tommy states softly, not wanting to interrupt other people’s study of the photographs in the room. “He started out at Standard Oil Company and ended up shooting all this work on the bullshit that goes on in the work place. Got a degree in psychology and abandoned it all to work with his second wife on working against workplace abuse.” 

Evan looks up at Tommy then, a little baffled. Tommy tugs his hand gently, pulling him further along to see more of the pictures. There’s one of a girl sitting in who Evan assumes in her father’s lap, facing the camera. Two other men also facing the camera but not in focus are also in the image. A blonde girl holding a cigarette in the next. A child without a shirt on, laying in someone’s lap. 

“Sally Mann,” Tommy tells him as he continues to stare at the picture of the little girl holding the cigarette. “She shoots a lot of stuff, but her bread and butter are her family, even now. There’s been a lot of controversy over her work because of the state of nudity, but-...” 

“It’s amazing,” Evan murmurs, almost a whisper. He can’t stop looking at the picture of the daughter with the cigarette. 

Tommy keeps pulling him along, showing him pictures, talking about the artists, moving through decades of images, until they’re standing in front of newer work. Color photos. 

Children standing in a doorway. A boy at a table, looking at the camera as an adult holds a baby in the background. Sisters—a blonde and a ginger—next to each other. Three boys on the floor in front of empty chairs. A woman laying in bed holding a small blonde child of maybe one or two, bathed in sunlight. 

“Jessica Todd Harper,” Tommy says as Evan reads the label next to the image. “She shoots her family too. Some posed, some not. Always trying to tell a story about family interactions and complex relationships.” 

Evan stares at him, utterly enamored as they walk out of the area, head back towards the stairs.

“We can still go see the paintings,” Tommy tells him. “I just… I like the photography.” 

Evan stops walking, pulls Tommy back when he keeps moving. His boyfriend looks back at him, gives a small smirk. 

“Did I steal your thunder,” he asks, a little bit sheepishly so. 

Evan shakes his head, stepping into Tommy’s space, resting his hand on his chest. 

“I like it when you let me in like this,” he murmurs. “When you share.” 

Tommy’s smile widens a bit more, even as his cheeks flush. 

“I just think…most people don’t think a lot about what’s happening in an image. Is it real? Or is it just a concept of what you think is real? Is it telling an actual story, or just the version of a story you’ve decided on?And what makes one more important than the other? Is digital better than film? Some people think nothing will ever top painting, others think digital photography is a hack and doesn’t have the same connotations as film photography because there’s less effort in the process,” he states. He pauses for a moment, somehow getting pinker in the cheeks. “That’s what I nerd out about.” 

Evan grins at him and then leans forward pecking him on the lips. 

“Well we’re just gonna have to go see more photo exhibitions then,” he says when he pulls away. “Can’t have you holding out on me now.” 

Tommy rolls his eyes, shaking his head. He tilts his head towards the stairwell again. “Come on. Tell me all you researched about Rembrandt.” 

(I posted all of these pictures on my feed if you want to see them!!!!)

[justagalwhowrites]

Homecoming - DBF!Joel x Female Reader

It's been years since you moved away from home but you never stopped wishing your dad's best friend Joel Miller saw you as something more. Request from @reds-ramblings!

Pairing: DBF!Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: No Outbreak AU, legal age gap (Joel is 40 you are 26), SMUTTTTTTT oral (f receiving), p in v sex, one shot. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only!

Length: 4.4k (sorry guys, I got carried away)

You sighed, looking up at the ceiling of your childhood bedroom. It was still that popcorn shit. Your mom had redone most of the house since you’d moved out but your room was still intact. Still had the movie posters, the caricatures of you with your best friends from trips to Six Flags in the summer, the mountain of stuffed animals that were covered in a fine layer of dust in a hammock that hung from the ceiling. 

It was a little like being in a museum, relics of who you’d been a decade ago when you’d first moved into this house in the Austin suburbs with your parents. You hadn’t known how to drive yet when you moved in here. You were a different person now. A different person who lived in Chicago and had a job you loved and still came running home to your childhood bedroom when shit got hard. 

You sighed, bouncing a tennis ball off the popcorn ceiling. 

“Fuck it,” you muttered, getting up and rifling through your suitcase. 

Your parents weren’t home. They wouldn’t be for a few more days - too busy lying on a beach in Maui - so you had the place to yourself. At least there was the pool. 

You found the sluttiest bikini you had since you’d be too embarrassed to wear it around your parents anyway but dammit you’d bought the stupid thing so you were going to wear it. You slid into it, admiring yourself in the mirror for a second. This would have looked way better on a beach in the Caribbean. This was a swim suit meant to make a man fuck you in the ocean. It was not a swim suit meant to be worn in your parents��� pool. But you needed something to feel good about. 

You put your earbuds in and pulled up your favorite playlist, dancing a little as you put on the gauzy white coverup, straw hat and flip flops before heading downstairs. 

It was almost like the shuffle mode on your playlist was reading your mind. Lizzo came on just as you made it to the kitchen and you turned it up as loud as you couldn’t without fully deafening yourself. 

“Why men great ’til they gotta be great?” You more yelled it than sang it, grabbing the tortilla chips and salsa you’d picked up on your way to the house the day before. You went into the freezer next, grabbing the frozen margarita pouch. 

“You coulda had a bad bitch, noncommittal,” you nudged the drawer closed with your leg. “Help you…HOLY SHIT.” 

You almost leapt out of your skin, dropping the plastic container of salsa and the bag of margarita to the tile floor. You clutched your heart that felt like it was threatening to burst out of your chest with one hand and tore your earbuds out with the other. 

Joel Miller was leaning against the counter, watching you and smiling, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Jesus Christ, Joel!” You panted, dropping the earbuds to the counter before leaning against it to keep from falling over. “What the fuck, man?” 

“Don’t stop on my account,” he smiled a little wider. “You were puttin’ on a great show…” 

“Ha ha,” you glared at him. 

“No, really, stadium quality performance there, Princess,” he said. “I’d buy tickets…” 

You rolled your eyes before bending over and picking up the mercifully still intact containers of salsa and frozen margarita, trying to not think about the fact that you were in the sluttiest bikini you’d ever owned in front of Joel fucking Miller. Joel Miller, your dad’s best friend. Joel Miller, guy who lived across the street. Joel Miller, man you’d basically been in love with since you were 16 years old. 

How was it that he’d gotten better looking? There should be limits on this shit, men who were as gorgeous as Joel Miller shouldn’t be allowed to get hotter as they aged. His graying hair made him look experienced, wiser somehow. The wrinkles around his eyes made his already gorgeous chocolate brown gaze look softer and sweeter. It was a dangerous combination. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked, heart rate returning to normal. Or, normal for when Joel was in your immediate vicinity, anyway. 

“Your dad told me I could borrow a ladder,” he shrugged. “Said it was in the shed out back. Told me to let myself in. DIdn’t mention you’d be here. Promise I wasn’t trying to scare you.” 

“What kind of contractor doesn’t have a ladder?” You frowned. “Sounds like you’re falling down on the job, Miller.” 

“I don’t have it at my house because I left it on a job, Princess,” he stepped closer, smile shifting to more of a cocky smirk. “But needed one at home and didn’t really feel like drivin’ clear across Austin to pick it up. 

“But that’s beside the point, what are you doing here?” He asked. “Ain’t you some big time city girl now?” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Just decided to come home for a visit,” you replied. 

“While your parents are on vacation,” he said, skeptical. You narrowed your eyes at him. “C’mon, what’s goin’ on.” 

You sighed and groaned a little. 

“I was supposed to be in The Bahamas this week,” you said. “Booked it a few months back.” 

“So why aren’t you in The Bahamas this week?” He asked after you were silent for a minute. You rapped your fingers on the counter, nails clacking on the granite. 

“I got dumped, alright?” You groaned. “It was supposed to be a trip with my now ex for our one year anniversary but we broke up a month ago and now he’s in The Bahamas with Laurel from accounting.” 

“Shit,” Joel’s face fell a little. “I’m sorry that…” 

“It’s fine,” you sighed. “I wasn’t really that into him, honestly. I was surprised we lasted as long as we did. But I wasn’t about to sit in Chicago in April when I’d already bought enough bikinis to last a week on the beach. And hey at least there’s a fucking pool and it’s above freezing here.” 

When you mentioned the bikinis, his eyes finally left your face, quickly trailing up and down your body before looking back at your face. 

“He’s a fuckin’ idiot, Princess,” he said. “Promise there are better ones out there than that and lord knows you deserve better.” 

“Thanks,” you smiled a little. “Anyway, you’re here for a ladder, not to keep me company.” 

“Depends,” he nodded at the margarita pouch. “Got another one of those?” 

You scoffed. 

“C’mon,” you went into the freezer and grabbed another pouch. “The hell do you take me for?” 

You poured the drinks into the plastic margarita glasses your mom had bought for a party when you were a teenager and handed one to Joel before you both went outside. Joel sat on a lounge chair but you set your glass down on the edge of the pool, stepped out of your flip flops and draped your coverup on a chair next to him. 

“You’re getting in?” He asked. “Thought that was more of a… layin’ around swim suit thing you girls like to wear.” 

“Didn’t fly across the country to not get the suit wet,” you glanced over your shoulder at him. His eyes immediately rose from your ass to your face as you did. “You’re welcome to join me.” 

You jumped in the water, sinking down to the bottom, water so cold that it made your nipples harden and press against the thin fabric of the suit. You swam back to the surface and to the edge of the pool, grabbing your margarita. Joel was watching you. 

“You coming in or not?” You teased. 

“Don’t think I feel like goin’ and getting changed,” he said. 

“Never said you had to,” you said, taking a sip of your drink. “Come on. You saw me dancing around my parents kitchen and heard my sob story. I think I can see you in your underwear.” 

He looked away from you for a moment, a twitch in his jaw, before he shook his head for a moment. 

“Alright, Princess,” he stood up and pulled off his shirt in one fluid movement. You were trying not to stare. It’s not like you’d never seen him without a shirt before. He’d been swimming at your house with your parents before. He took his shirt off when mowing the lawn and you’d peer through your window and watch him when you were a teenager. But this was the first time he’d taken his shirt off because you wanted him to and that fact almost made his biceps seem more sculpted, his chest more beautiful. His hands went to his jeans as he stepped out of his boots. He unbuttoned and unzipped his fly, starting to pull the denim down. “Your wish, my command.” 

“That is how I like it,” you took another drink. 

He stripped out of his jeans and down to his black boxer briefs. You resisted the urge to lick your lips at the sight of him, just a thin layer of fabric covering his thick, long cock. 

You shook yourself mentally. Yes, you’d had a crush on Joel for 10 years. Yes, you wanted him to fuck you six ways from Sunday. Yes, it looked like his cock would be far and away the largest you’d ever had. But he was your dad’s best friend and 14 years older than you. His daughter was closer to your age than he was. Nothing was going to happen. 

He jumped in the water, purposely landing close enough to you to splash you with it and you laughed, wiping the chlorinated water from your eyes. 

“Fuck that’s cold,” he said when he came up. “Feelin’ like you got me in here under false pretenses…” 

You swam for a bit, catching up on life, drinking your margaritas. Joel told you about Sarah, how she was doing at A&M and about one client he’d been stuck with who kept changing shit half way through the project. 

“Swear to God the next time this woman changes her tile, I’m driving off a fuckin’ bridge,” he said. 

You told him about your life in Chicago. The promotion you’d just gotten at work, the fact that you’d become enough of a regular at the bar down the street from your apartment that the bartenders knew you now. 

You’d been in the water long enough that your drinks were long empty and your fingertips were starting to prune, leaning against the edge of the pool with your arms propped on the ledge, close enough that your elbows touched. 

Joel’s eyes ran over you, from your hairline to your face to your throat to your chest. Your nipples were still peaked against your suit and your wet hair clung to your neck. 

“What?” You asked, smiling a little. 

“Any plans later?” He asked. “Can’t have you sittin’ at home all by your lonesome when you were supposed to be havin’ a good time this week.” 

“Offering to show me a good time?” You teased. 

“Don’t tell your dad that,” he teased back. “But I’m going out with some of Tommy’s friends later. Think you’d have fun if you wanted to come along. Just some drinking, music, dancing. Usual shit. Assuming you don’t have plans with any old friends from school or somethin’.” 

“Ah yes, my vibrant social life in high school,” you said, smirking a little. 

You’d been a wallflower before you went to college. You hadn’t fit in well with your classmates, you hadn’t really grown into your body yet - all awkward limbs and unruly hair. College had been your chance to reinvent yourself and you’d leaned into it. You still remembered the first time you came home on break from school your freshman year. 

You and your roommate, Carolyn, had become fast friends and she was easily the most fashionable person you’d ever met. She’d helped you come into your own in your first semester away and you’d basically replaced every item of clothing in your closet with finds from every thrift store within a 20 mile radius of Northwestern. You’d changed your hair, figured out that blue eyeshadow was NOT your thing and just started feeling more confident. 

That Christmas break, you had just grabbed a package off the porch for your mom and were carrying it around to the garage to stash where your dad wouldn’t find it when Joel stopped you. 

“Hey,” he said, sounding a bit defensive as he jogged over to you. “That yours?” 

You stopped, frowning, before turning to face him. His eyes went wide. 

“I mean, it’s my mom’s…” 

“Shit, I’m sorry Princess,” he said, looking you up and down. “Didn’t even recognize you! Must be liking Chicago…” 

You definitely liked your new sense of style even more after that. 

“I’d be down to go out,” you said. “Better than playing catch against my ceiling all night.”

“Pick you up in two hours?” He said. “We’ll hit the town.” 

Once Joel left with the ladder, you focused on calming yourself down while getting ready to go. 

Yes, it was Joel. Yes, he might have checked you out a bit in the pool. Yes, you’d do more than you were really comfortable admitting to get him into bed. But he was still Joel, your neighbor and your dad’s best friend. That made him pretty much off limits. 

Right? 

You’d brought a few of the dresses you’d bought for The Bahamas and you slipped into the one that hugged your curves in just the right way. Just in case. 

“Shit, Princess,” Joel said when you answered the door. “Think you might be a bit overdressed for this crowd.” 

“I can change,” you frowned. 

“No!” He said quickly. Then cleared his throat. “No, don’t… Don’t worry about it.”

Joel drove you to a bar with live music and a table full of people he seemed to know about half of. Tommy, his brother, clapped him on the back and whispered something in his ear that made Joel glare at him. 

He’d been right, though, it was fun. You stuck close to Joel at first, bodies near enough that your arm would brush his chest if you picked up your beer. But then one of Tommy’s friends asked you to dance and pulled you onto the dance floor. His name was Jim and you were pretty sure he was closer to Joel’s age than Tommy’s. His hands slid down your body, pulling your hips against his as you moved with him. Joel’s eyes were on you the whole time. 

You only danced with Jim for a song and a half before Joel appeared over his shoulder. 

“Mind if I cut in?” He asked, giving Jim a look that made it seem like he didn’t have a lot of other options. Jim stepped back just as the music started to shift to something a bit slower. Joel took one of your hands in his and slipped the other around to your back, his fingers splayed wide against you, pulling you against him. 

“DIdn’t take you for the dancing type,” you smiled a little as you started to sway. 

“M’not,” he said. “Not usually, anyway.” 

“Really?” You teased. “So I’m a special case, hm?” 

“Somethin’ like that,” he said. “Can’t let my best friend’s little girl go runnin’ around with some old man.” 

“But what if I like old men?” You asked. 

“Should pick a better one than Jim then,” he replied. 

“Never said I liked Jim,” you said. “Not my type.” 

“What is your type?” He asked, his eyes drifting over your face to your neck to your breasts. 

You swallowed, hard. 

“Contractors.”

He ground his teeth for a moment before stepping back from you and leaving the bar. 

“Shit,” you muttered, trailing behind him to the parking lot. 

“Joel!” You called out to him. “Wait!” 

He stopped and turned to face you. 

“You don’t know what you’re sayin’ in there,” he said. “So just give me some space, OK?” 

“I know perfectly well what I was saying,” you said. 

“No,” he shook his head. “You don’t. You shouldn’t go around sayin’ shit like that…” 

“Oh, so you wanted me to lie then?” You asked.

“Princess,” there was a warning in his voice. “You don’t want to go here.” 

“Yes, I do,” you said. “It’s not like I’m some little kid, Joel, I’m 26 years old…” 

“That’s too damn young,” he snapped. 

“It’s not like I don’t know what I want,” you replied. 

“You’re my best friend’s daughter,” he said. 

“So?” 

“Get in the truck,” he growled. You frowned. “Want to talk about this like adults? Get in the damn truck.” 

You hesitated for a moment before you obeyed. 

“You don’t know what you’re sayin’,” he said again after he’d been driving for a few minutes. 

“Do you really think I’m that stupid?” You asked, offended now. “That I just say shit I don’t mean with no understanding of the consequences?” 

“No, I think you’re young,” he snapped. “Too young to be even joking about getting involved with someone closer to your dad’s age than yours.” 

“Wasn’t joking,” you said defiantly. He glanced over at you before looking back to the road. 

“Princess,” he said, the warning tone back in his voice. 

“Joel.” 

He glared at you. 

“We’re not doin’ anything,” he said. His grip tightened on the steering wheel. 

You stared out the window, the ache between your thighs warring with the hurt in your chest. 

He dropped you at your door and you practically jumped out of the truck, not saying a word. He sighed and followed you, catching you as you were trying to unlock the door without crying.  It was hard not feeling stung by it. Yes, he was your dad’s best friend. Yes, he probably had better options. Yes, there were plenty of reasons why you shouldn’t fuck or anything more. But this rejection hurt somehow more than your ex dumping you for fucking Laurel in accounting. 

“Princess,” he said quietly. 

“Look it’s fine if you’re not interested,” you said, sniffing a little. “But don’t act like you’re doing it for my benefit. It’s shitty.” 

“Not…” he touched your shoulder, making you turn around. “You really think I’m not fuckin’ interested?” 

You shrugged. 

“How the fuck would I not be interested?” He asked. “Jesus Christ, spent half the goddamn afternoon thinkin’ about baseball stats so I wouldn’t get a hard on in your fuckin’ pool. All I am is interested.” 

“Interested in what?” 

“Interested in fucking you until you can’t see straight,” he said. “Interested in makin’ you cum so much the only thing you remember is my goddamn name. Interested in eating your pussy til I drown in ya. Interested in your dad punching me in the fuckin’ face over you because I’m too old for you but I don’t give a shit, bein’ with you is worth it. I’m interested.” 

He stepped closer to you, your back against the door. 

“You should come inside then,” you breathed. 

He kissed you then, pressing his body against yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You could feel him through his jeans, thicker and longer than what you saw in the pool before. You fumbled with the door until it opened, both of you spilling into your parents’ entryway. 

You didn’t make it past the living room. 

Joel slid the straps of your dress down your arms and you pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it to the floor. You backed up until you were against the arm of the couch, his hands ranging over your skin. He pushed the dress lower until it was over your hips and it fell to the floor. You were just in your panties and your shoes when he nudged you down onto the arm of the couch. 

He kissed down your body, over the swell of your breasts and down your stomach until he reached the top of your panties. He guided your hips off the arm of the couch for a moment and slid your underwear down and cast them aside before kneeling in front of you and spreading your legs. 

“Fucking hell you’ve got a pretty pussy,” he reached out and ran his thumb over your slit, pressing down a little when he reached your clit, making your back arch as you moaned. “Can’t wait to taste you, Princess.” 

He ran his tongue over you, delicately pressing the tip into your folds. One of his hands slid up your body to your chest, gently pushing you back until you were lying on the couch as his mouth worked your slit. 

“Fuckin’ perfect view,” he said before thrusting his tongue into you. You groaned, rocking your hips against his face, his nose pressing into your clit as you did. You could see his eyes devouring the rest of you the way his mouth was devouring your pussy, like there was no part of him that could get enough of you. 

His fingers dug into your thighs, spreading you open wider so his tongue could get deeper, your core tightening around him. Just as you were getting close, he slid his tongue from you, making you whimper as he kissed up your slit to your clit. He took the delicate nub into his mouth, licking and sucking as he thrust two fingers into your dripping pussy, making you gasp and your hips stutter. 

“Good girl,” he pulled his mouth away from you just enough to praise you. His fingers pressed deep, hooking into you and finding the spot inside you that made you gasp. “Want you to cum for me baby, don’t be shy now.” 

He went back to sucking, his tongue unrelenting, his eyes drinking you in. Your hand flew to the cushions of the couch and you gasped as you came, moaning his name. 

His mouth stayed on you until your body stopped pulsing, his fingers gently working you through your orgasm. He almost reluctantly pulled himself from you and licked his lips as he stood, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, stripping off the last of his clothes as you came down from your orgasm. He reached out and took your hand, pulling you back upright on the arm of the couch. 

Joel kissed you again and you could taste yourself on his tongue. He guided your legs around his waist and slid his hands below your thighs, picking you up and making you gasp. 

He didn’t take you far, only to the couch. He sat down, making you kneel on his lap as he reached between your legs and started stroking himself, close enough to you that his knuckles brushed your overwrought slit as he did. You looked down between you, the first chance you really had to see his cock. 

Your eyes went a little wide at the sight of it. He was so thick and long with a slight curve, you were almost afraid he wouldn’t fit. 

“Take it at your own pace, Baby,” he said, all but reading your mind. “M’not in a rush.” 

He adjusted his cock a bit, making it so the edge of him rubbed your clit as he worked himself. The contact made you needy, a sharp ache growing in you, a feeling deep inside that you knew you couldn’t reach but he could. 

You rose up on your knees, your hands on his shoulders, and he rubbed his thick head against your slit, your wetness spilling over him as he worked it lower down his shaft, coating himself in you. 

“So fucking wet for me,” he groaned, lining his head up with your entrance. 

“All for you,” you breathed, lowering yourself onto him. 

You moaned at the intrusion as you pressed him into you, a spark of pain with the pleasure as he stretched you. 

“Fuck Baby,” he groaned, his hands going to your hips, guiding you down over him as you sank lower onto him. “Fuck, so tight, so goddamn…” 

You couldn’t help but smile a little, watching him start to lose himself in your body, his head falling back, eyes closing, fingertips sinking into your flesh. Your body opened for him, his cock parting your inner walls and stretching you. You groaned when you finally took all of him, his head pressed flush against your back wall as his hips ground against your own. 

“Good girl,” he gasped it out, his hands traveling up from your hips to your waist. “Knew you could take it all…” 

You started working over him, rising and falling on his cock, working your hips down against your own. His hands slipped up your back as he looked up at you, kissing your neck, your chest, trailing his tongue along the swell of your breasts. 

Joel pressed you close to him before he thrust deep into you and shifted, laying you down below him on the couch and sinking somehow deeper into you, making you moan. 

He started fucking into you harder and faster then, angling your hips so your clit was pressed against him with every stroke. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you groaned, pressing yourself against him, wanting to feel him everywhere you could. “Harder… need more…” 

He groaned. 

“Fucking perfect,” he buried his face in your neck as he started working you harder, faster. “You’re goddamn perfect…” 

It wasn’t long before you were cumming around him, your pussy gripping him so tight it almost hurt to hold him that way. He fucked you through your orgasm, his breathing faster, his kiss sloppy. 

The second your walls stopped fluttering around him, he pulled out of you. He sat back and fisted his cock. 

“Where?” He said quickly. 

“My clit,” you panted. 

“Fucking hell,” he moaned, jerking his cock just twice before pressing the tip against your swollen nub and spilling his warmth over you, making your ultra sensitive pussy shudder again. He collapsed on top of you, his face buried in your neck as you both caught your breath. 

“Please say you’ll visit more,” he said, not moving from on top of you. 

“Think I’ll be visiting a lot more.” 

A/N: So this was my first request and my first one shot! I am NOT good at keeping things brief lol so I appreciate any and all feedback. Thank you for reading! Love ya!

[feral-ferrule]

Charity and Decadence

Chapter 7, Entirely Too Much Manspreading

Word count: 5994

Series masterlist

Pairing(s) Echo x force sensitive earthling f!Reader OC (reader has a nickname) ✨

Bad Batch & Reader ✨ Rex & Reader ✨ Anakin & Reader

Warnings: nothing much in this chapter, but a whole lot of the male gaze, a little angst, tiny bit of suggestive commentary, mentions of slavery and medical procedures. There’s some spicier stuff previously and this is a slow build up to more.

You turned and saw a soldier with a ruggedly handsome and tattooed face. He had long hair held in place with a red bandana or maybe a sweatband. His eyes had been roving over your body but snapped up to your face as you rounded on him. Like Tech, he was still in his armor. He stepped back to let you both step out of the room. The door slid closed behind you as the man held your gaze. He felt sharp and cunning, rustic for lack of a better word, and kind of had a Rambo look going on. You bet he’d love that movie and would probably be a Stalone fan.

“Choy, this is Hunter, our Sargent and squad leader,” Tech said beside you.

“Welcome aboard the Havoc Marauder,” Hunter spoke with smoky timber that matched his energy. Well at least he doesn’t sound like a Stalone character.

You held your hand out, “Thank you, Hunter, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.” His eyes widened and his lusty vibe shifted to something a little more respectful. He took your hand and his energy was suddenly right inside your head. Another clone you realized with a shock. You could see a jumble of his memories and feelings. Feelings and thoughts- you slammed the barriers down right as you saw yourself- and, shit, you were naked. You managed to remember to squeeze back on his hand and let go. You searched his eyes, yes he had tells of a clone. “You and Tech, you are both clones?” You managed to ask, wondering if naked-you was still bouncing around in his mind.

“We are Clone Force 99,” Tech said to your side.

99, the sweet defective clone. This is,

“The Bad Batch,” you said in a hushed voice. You breathed in deep to ground yourself as you were flooded with memories of these guys and more of your life. Dammit not now, you grumbled to yourself. You held up a hand to steady yourself against the bulkhead. Tech intercepted it as you reached out and held it in his.

“Yes we call ourselves the Bad Batch,” Tech said, glancing over at Hunter. “Are you not feeling well?” He steadied your elbow with his other hand.

“I’m ok, It’s just been a long day, although not as hard as yours.” You let your gaze fall to all the abrasions and blaster grazes on Hunter’s armor. Then back up to his face.

Hunter looked like he was going to comment on that, but with a smirk he gestured toward the cockpit. “If you are ok please join us up front, we’d like to have a talk with you.” Tech led you forward. Hunter’s eyes stayed on you, closing as he deeply inhaled when you drew away from him. It raised the hair on the back of your neck and you felt like you were being tracked. A hand on your back brought your attention to Tech who was giving a stern look back at Hunter.

Rex, Anakin and Crosshair were standing off to the side discussing an extremely large long-gun as you approached. They all quieted, their eyes on you, their mouths open in mid sentence as you paused and nodded to them. You heard a low whistle from their direction as Tech offered the navigator’s chair, “My lady.” He was being so sweet. Was he always like this? You wondered if real-Tech was less socially awkward than cartoon-Tech.

You took your seat and surveyed the men before you. Crosshair’s eyebrow cocked as he watched Tech’s interaction with you. In fact, you realized, they were all watching as his hand slid up to your shoulder while you lowered yourself down in the seat.

Anakin turned his back towards you and handed Crosshair the gun. And what sounded like an admonishment of “Woman on deck, men.” Before turning around he adjusted something near his belt and tugged at the collar of his tunic. You felt him calm his energy as he turned back around. You better calm down married-almost-father-of-twins, you thought to yourself. He must have caught on to your judgement and suddenly looked a little guilty.

“Is she glowing?” Rex tilted his head to Anakin, his eyes still roving the space around you.

Anakin winked at you and said, “Choy, this is-“ and you both said “Captain Rex.” They looked a bit surprised.

“How do you know who I am?” Rex had straightened up and regarded you with some caution. All clone, you thought, but brighter energy than most.

“It’s a long story,” you sighed and smiled at him. You looked between them all. “Which I promise to tell you,” you assured him as he scrutinized you.

“You’ve met Hunter,” Anakin said. Hunter approached the others across from you. “This is Crosshair.” Crosshair stepped out from behind the other two and gave you a tight nod. He was as tall as Tech, had his aloof tough guy act going on, but as you focused on him you could feel some deep hurt and a strong heart. And he was trying to hide his burning curiosity behind ennui. The effect of this was a cold leering appraisal as his eyes caressed your form.

“Cross, go wake Wrecker, we’re having a meeting,” Hunter barked. Crosshair tore his eyes off of you and stalked out of the cockpit. You could hear his muffled voice carry from the back of the ship.

Anakin and Rex moved forward claiming the pilot and co-pilot seats. Crosshair reappeared and stood in the space between Anakin and Hunter.

You heard heavier footsteps and a big yawn from down the ship and turned as the biggest of them all approached. “What’s this meeting so important for?” He complained in a gravelly voice rough with sleep. You watched him stretch and scratch his belly, the top of his single piece blacks pulled down and hanging around his waist. As he got closer his eyes blinked in the brighter cabin lights. His scarred face broke into a big grin when he noticed you. “Ohhhh that’s right we have the lady here, hi lady! Oh I’d better get dressed.”

You couldn’t help but feel at ease and happy, despite his sheer size that you were sure would be scary if he were angry. Just like you’d seen him back home, but now so much larger than life. You noticed he was absolutely rippling with muscle and sinewy veins as he pulled the top of his blacks back on. A little bit too defined, you noted with some concern. Not nearly as bad as Echo, just not enough softness between the ribs and muscles. You wondered if they all were like that- on the verge of being underfat. His eyes were so kind and warm, even the cybernetic one. You smiled back, feeling a little dazed and said “Hi, Wrecker, I’m Choy. It is nice to meet you all,” as you looked back over all the men. Hunter sat across from you pulling Wrecker, who had been headed to sit next to you, down next to him.

The various screens and illuminated controls around the space cast everything in a variety of colors. You made quick comparisons to your memories of the mens’ animated and movie versions. They were rougher up close like this. Like the other clones you had met, they felt gritty and solid in the force, honed cold steel soldiers through and through. But if you pushed past that you knew you’d feel the warm humanity at their core. They were letting this through a bit now in your company, their inner fires stoked, their eyes dilated. Hot blooded and thirsty. As they settled in their seats they all adopted similar body language. Relaxed, legs spread wide like they were all making a display of themselves. Tech and Crosshair remained standing, Crosshair’s eyes shifting as he noticed the way Tech put his hand on the top of your seat’s headrest.

You crossed your legs, one knee over the other, not quite resting back into the large chair and set your elbows on the armrests. In your own head your memories were hitting fast and hard now which they liked to do at inconvenient times. A jumble of events and faces was replaying that happened right up to the moments before appearing in this world. You still weren’t entirely sure who everyone was and if they were in chronological order. You felt the men around you staring and snapped back to the current moment. You took a deep breath and centered yourself, calling up the Force for strength and presence of mind. You willed your energy to reach out to all the clones and wrap around them. Warm, comfort, soft, gentle. You knew they craved this, never having really experienced nurturing before. They wouldn’t sense it like a Jedi would but they’d feel something.

To Anakin you were more direct [[There are some things I will be leaving unsaid in front of everyone]] He nodded and you cast your gaze down briefly, collecting your thoughts and decided to make the first move.

“Thank you for risking so much,” you said, looking at Rex and then to Anakin, “and for believing in each other to save Echo.” They looked at eachother with mild surprise. “What they did to him was-“ and you had to stop, close your eyes and swallow the lump in your throat because it was so much worse in reality than portrayed in a cartoon. “And thank you for freeing me,” you touched your neck and looked at Anakin who nodded.

“How is Echo? Were you able to help him?” He asked.

“Yes he’s good, sleeping now.” You glanced up at Tech.

“He will require advanced treatment once we return, but he is stable,” Tech said, “thanks to Choy here.”

Rex looked relieved and leaned forward, “So who are you? How are you familiar with Echo? And how do you know me?” Rex started pummeling you with questions and Anakin shot him a warning look which cut him off. You noticed Hunter lean forward, his elbows on his knees.

“It’s ok Anakin,” you smiled at them both, “I was a captive of the Techno Union. They used me for their biological experiments because I can do things in the force that are unusual, even for Jedi.”

“But you aren’t trained as a Jedi? How did you develop your powers, where are you from? What can you tell us about the Separatists?” Anakin now had a million questions and suspicions running through his mind. Rex shot him a side eye glance that had you suppressing a smile.

You tried to think of the clearest way to explain it all to them, “This is going to be a lot, and I won’t blame you for not believing me.” You rubbed the back of your neck and looked around at them, stopping on Wrecker who looked excited for a good story. “I appeared in this world at a ruined Jedi temple in a Force storm on Dantooine during the time Mace Windu and the 187th were fighting the Separatists there. I never had Force powers until that moment. I had amnesia and I have only recently remembered enough to put the pieces of my old life back together. I think maybe I almost died in my world and the Force brought me here, saved me.” They all looked around at each other as you looked down at your hands in your lap, one thumb rubbing the other hand, tears swarmed in your eyes and plopped onto your thigh. You’d never told anyone that part before.

A warm, gloved hand covered both of yours and gave them a gentle squeeze. Tech was kneeling beside you. “I’m so sorry, you must miss everyone meaningful to you.” Tech said gently. You smiled at his hand and nodded. You felt loss, but also felt the memories slip away as much as they came back. Like your new full connection to the Force was dissolving them again.

You took a deep shuddering breath and wiped your tears on your sleeves, looking back up at Rex, “The troopers gave me the name Choy. It’s short for ech-“

“Echoy’la” Rex said with you. The clones all nodded in understanding.

You looked at Anakin, “Master Windu taught me the Force basics before he had to go into battle and save his troops from the horrible-,” you shuddered at the memory, cleared your throat that threatened to constrict on your words, “I helped triage the clones that day- then the one,” your tone turned bitter, “Slick, he betrayed me. Then the Separatists captured me in the field.”

You looked up and saw Rex’s face go from surprised to set in a grim scowl, “Slick is in the brig now, he did more damage among the 501st after hurting you,” he smoothed his hand over his head’s short blond stubble, “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you, Rex.” But I’d have never been able to help Echo otherwise, you thought.

Anakin nodded but narrowed his eyes a little. You looked across to Crosshair chewing his toothpick, still standing, arms crossed, eyes softer with a gentle sympathy. To Hunter who was nodding a bit as he contemplated what you just said. And to Wrecker who’s chin trembled a little as he stared at the floor and then up to you.

“So they had you for a while before the Citadel. When did you meet Echo?” Rex asked.

“Not that long ago, I believe he had been in the tower for some time before I got there. I’ve only been there a couple weeks.”

“Where were you before that?” Anakin asked.

“I was in their labs, on various planets, assigned to the -maintenance of experimental subjects, like Echo.”

“And you really helped clones on Dantooine?” Hunter asked a little doubtfully.

“Yes, is that weird?” You looked around the room.

“Clones are not usually considered worthy of the time and effort of the naturally born.” Tech said beside you.

The matter of fact way he said it was like a punch to the gut. “That I’m aware of, and I’m sorry it’s that way. I feel that clones are just as human and worthy as me or any of my family.” You sighed remembering them as the men all exchanged looks with a new light in their eyes. “You’d all have full human rights where I’m from.”

“And where is that exactly?” Hunter pressed.

“Earth,” you said. They all looked around at each other. “It is not in this galaxy so-“ Anakin rolled his eyes.

“Look if you don’t want to tell us where you are from that’s one thing but don’t start in with any silly lies,” he said

“Silly lies? I don’t understand,” you looked from Anakin to the other men not expecting that reaction.

“Telling us you’re from Earth, that lie.” Anakin pressed.

“Why do you think I’m lying? Have you heard of Earth?”

“I’m sure you are both referring to the popular human origin myth of the planet Earth.” Tech spoke up next to you, “It’s featured in numerous holovids, writings and in the oral culture of more primitive human populations-“

“A fairy tale,” Crosshair drawled, shifting his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. You realized your mouth was hanging open as you tried to think of a way to explain and snapped it shut.

Tech taped away at his data pad. “Now it’s quite possible Choy is from one of the many colonies that have named themselves after the mythical Earth. There have been several. Choy, do you recognize any of these worlds?” He handed you his data pad with a map of the Galaxy on it. There were several systems pinpointed with the name “Earth” next to them.

You were too tired for this. And were beginning to grow impatient with this inquisition you were stuck in. Trying to plead your case of where you really came from would probably be futile. You pinched your forehead to stave off the headache you were feeling set in. You needed to eat.

“No, Tech. I’m certain it’s none of those.”

Out of the corner of your eye. Anakin and Hunter exchanged a look. “I really don’t blame you for not believing me,” you said to them. You really meant that, figuring they could probably tell you were holding back.

“Well I believe you, Choy,” Wrecker boomed from next to Hunter, shooting him a glare. “But you’ll need a new name now, ‘cause you found us,” he looked over at Hunter again, “ Can we keep her?” At that Crosshair gave them a sidelong look.

“So to sum up,” Tech continued, “you are most likely from a back-to-the-Earth colony, they are isolationist primitivists and several have been lost to the rest of the Galaxy, probably in Wild Space or the Unknown Regions. Then, because of some quirk in the Force you were brought to Dantooine at the site of one of the ancient Force Gates, most likely.” Tech pushed his goggles up his nose. “Highly improbable but not impossible. Anakin may be a better one to ask.”

Everyone looked at Anakin who was sitting forward, like Hunter now, elbows on knees with a contemplative look. He straightened up and put his hand on his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll have to ask the Jedi council about all this.” He looked at you, his face showing confusion, “I’m sorry, Choy, I didn’t realize you could be from an actual place called Earth. Please accept my apologies.”

You sighed, and very slightly shook your head “Of course, Anakin, this is all very confusing for me, too.” You decided to drop the subject and looked down at the data pad again, wondering how Earth fit into this reality.

“Choy, thank you for caring for Echo. I thought I’d never see him again and if it wasn’t for you it sounds like I never would have.” Rex had got up from his seat and was kneeling in front of you. He took the data pad and handed it to Tech without taking his eyes off yours. You felt spellbound in his warm gaze. He took your hands from your lap and held them in his. “Vor entye, meshla.” He brought your hands up and touched his forehead to them. You swooned a little, your heart racing. The rest of the clones started shifting in their seats, you got the idea that this was a somewhat intimate gesture to them. They didn’t look too happy about it and Hunter seemed tense. Tech bristled beside you but hid it by tapping away at his data pad, although a little too forcefully. Rex squeezed your hands and released them to your lap. He stood to your side and turned to Anakin.

Anakin picked up on the vibe and cleared his throat, “Gentlemen,” he began with a bit of warning in his tone, “when we get back to Anaxes we’ll rendezvous with General Windu and Kenobi. Rex and I will debrief and we will all have to prepare for the next steps in the battle to win the shipyards back. Choy, what are your unusual abilities? We may need all the help we can get.”

You were elated to hear that Master Windu and his troopers would be there. It gave you even more of a sense of things going right finally. “I don’t know how helpful I’d be in a battle,” you put a finger to your chin and looked around the room as you considered what abilities you’d managed to hone despite the force collar’s oppression. “I can kind of feel into and manipulate matter down to the tiniest structures, even to the molecules. My main job with the Techno Union was to tinker with the biohardware interface of prosthetic implants, remove scar tissue and heal surgical sites. I was like their never ending supply of bacta. Master Windu also said that I showed signs of other things, that I was extremely force sensitive probably because it was new for me and I didn’t learn to block it out as a young child. He said I am very force empathic, which is the force's way of balancing someone who can be super deadly with it.” You paused and considered who you were talking to. Anakin probably didn’t have strong force empathy. Which must explain how easily he can kill, how easily the dark side took him.

“You can kill someone just by thinking about it?” Crosshair’s question sounded sincere.

“Not exactly, the force empathy I just mentioned makes that very difficult for me, but the Separatists did try to use me that way. Count Dooku was supposed to take custody of me to develop my force skills in that direction. The only reason I wasn’t sent to him was the Techno Union’s claim on me. After they…used up Echo I was to be contracted out to him. He’d check on me every so often, or send his minions, creepy sith types. Keep me in the fold.” You looked hard at Anakin, “I can tell you a thing or two about the Sith, but I don’t think you’d like it too much.” Anakin raised an eyebrow. “It’s actually easier for me to manipulate matter in a healing way or when it isn’t part of a being with a will to live. I can heal easier than harm- if I really concentrate I can even compress gasses and release them to create an explosion but not like inside a person, does that make sense? There’s probably more I can do but just don’t know yet. Another thing- I can generate heat and activate a person’s energy stores to help nourish them if they can’t eat. I think this has to do with the glowing.” You gestured in a circle around yourself.

Wrecker looked love-struck. “Explosions? Now you're speaking my language! Wait- is that how you helped Echo in there? You force-fed him? Hahahaha!” Wrecker laughed at his terrible pun.

“Something like that,” you couldn’t help but chuckle and felt a flush of heat creep up your neck. They were all eyeing you curiously. You looked to Tech.

“I imagine you are tired and hungry, let me help you get settled for the remainder of our journey,” Tech rescued you. He stood and held his hand for you to take which you did. You stood and he gave you a smile. The rest of the men stood as well.

“Choy, when we meet with the other Jedi I’m sure we’d all be interested in what you know about the Sith,” Anakin said. You noticed he’d closed himself off in the force more now that he knew you might be reading his every emotion or even thought.

“Of course,”

“Get some rest for now. That goes for everyone, who’s got first watch?”

As they figured out the watch rotation Tech led you to some storage panels near the middle of the ship. Behind you Crosshair said to Hunter, “I think he’s touched her more since she came to us than he’s touched anyone else combined in his entire life.” You also heard Rex say “She never really told us how she seems familiar with us.”

You felt the massive warmth of Wrecker behind you as Tech rummaged for rations in a compartment.

“Here, Choy.” Wrecker said to you confidentially. He pressed on a panel higher up than even Tech could reach and grabbed a packet out of a box shoved in the space inside. “These are the best ones.”

���That’s where those went?” Tech exclaimed with annoyance, “You hid them for yourself you greedy Blurgg!”

“No, Choy gets to have them, too.” Wrecker sassed back and pressed the panel shut. “Here you go, meshla,” he winked at you and handed you the packet.

You looked apologetically to Tech and back to Wrecker, “thank you, big guy,” you winked at him and patted his arm. Wrecker stood taller and beamed.

“Take these as well,” Tech handed you another packet and a bottle of opaque blue liquid.

“Why does she get the cookies and blue milk, Tech, you like her or something?” He elbowed Tech who seemed to be braced for it. You were sure it would have sent you flying.

“Choy has endured much for a civilian,” Tech straightened his goggles, “and her system has been taxed beyond what we can imagine.” He glanced down at your chest. His lips pressed together and he swallowed. “She deserves a feast if you ask me,” he said, still looking below your face, desire and curiosity radiating off of him.

Oh he wants some. He wants a taste of me, you realized.

“You all deserve one, too, for being so brave and strong and good,” you blinked up at Wrecker. “And smart,” you added looking at Tech. You watched them positively inflate at your praise. Clones were delightful putty about that, a feature you found especially endearing. And handy.

Tech was pulling at his collar and Wrecker blushing and kicking his foot when you felt a presence slide behind you and a hand on your lower back. You turned to see Crosshair behind you glaring at his brothers. He hovered over you and asked, “What’s come over you two?” He glanced at your armful of rations. His eyebrows raised a little and he smirked, “Tribute for the queen,” he mused, “you going to make her stand here to eat like a fathier?” he jibed at his brothers. “Come sit on the bunk here, meshla,” his hand at your back pressed you toward a neatly made bunk bed. You left the other two clones to bicker about who let Crosshair steal you away like that.

You sat down and he appraised you with a slight smile. “Mind if I join you?”

“No, not at all,” you patted the spot next to you.

He sat a little further from you than where you patted and pulled out a ration bar of his own from a pocket somewhere. You bit into the ration Wrecker gave you. It was the best one you’d ever tasted, almost like chocolate. Crosshair quietly munched on his, staring at the bunks on the other side of the space. It was a comfortable silence, but you felt that he was on the verge of saying something.

Eventually he side eyed you, “Hunter seems to think you are hiding something.”

You sighed, chewing, and thought about how to respond as he turned slightly to look at you with both eyes. “There’s just some things I’d rather wait to bring up with… a woman.” Now that really was true, you weren’t about to tell more of them about your little milk situation.

His eyebrow shot up and his eyes snapped forward again. You smiled a little at his embarrassment. But his expression turned from surprise to something darker.

“Are you ok? The Separatists, they didn’t?” He tried to ask.

“Oh I’m ok, Crosshair, thank you, no they, they didn’t. Nothing like that,” you soothed, and the cold fire left his face. He went back to eating and casting little glances your way. You opened up to him a little, he seemed like how you’d imagine him, but you hadn’t expected a protectiveness from him towards you, or this much courtesy. He definitely felt like the coiled snake ready to strike but he also felt like he wanted to coil around you, squeeze you and strike anything that came near.

You finished the ration and fiddled with the container of blue milk. He put his hand on yours to stop your struggle and took it from you, twisting the cap in a special way that wasn’t obvious and handed it back to you. “Thank you,” you said and were pretty sure you saw a flash of warmth on his face. You took a sip expecting it to be overly sweet like a kid drink but it wasn’t. Not bad you thought, and tried to remember what animal it was from. “Crosshair, where does blue milk come from, like what kind of creature?”

He looked surprised for a second, “Banthas. You don’t get blue milk where you’re from?”

You munched on the cookies, taking care to not drop crumbs on the bed. “Nope. All the milk where I’m from is white.”

Tech, Wrecker and Hunter appeared around the bulkhead. All three of them stopped short and stared at you and Crosshair sitting together on his bunk. Tech had your duffel which you had completely forgotten about and set it down next to the bunk across the way. Crosshair glared at them and shifted toward you a tiny fraction. Hunter noticed this and said, “just checking where our passenger and sniper got off to.” You did not miss the suggestiveness in his tone. Crosshair was about to snipe some words back at him.

“How’s the ration? Good, ya?” asked Wrecker.

“Delicious, everything was, thank you so much, I didn’t realize how hungry I’d been. And Crosshair has been pleasant company, a real gentleman.” You leveled a look at Hunter who crossed his arms with a smirk.

“If you’d like to retire, I have watch duty now and you may use my bunk,” Tech said pointing to the particularly cluttered bunk he’d set your bag near. You were about to ask what it all was when Wrecker added, “You’ve got too much junk on there, Tech, it’ll poke Choy.” The other clones tried not looking at you after he said that. “She can sleep in mine,” he continued.

All three of the rest of them protested that. “No, we’d never do that to the lady, Wrecker. When was the last time you washed your sheets?” Tech asked. Wrecker scratched the back of his neck, thinking.

“You idiots, she’s fine right here,” Crosshair motioned behind you to his own bunk. Hunter raised an eyebrow as Crosshair rested his hand behind you and stared daggers at them.

Wrecker yawned and said, “Aye alright I’m hitting the sack.” He flopped down on his bunk and grabbed his Lula doll and was asleep almost instantly.

Tech excused himself to the cockpit leaving Hunter. You studied him and expected the same suspicion he exhibited in the cockpit, but his eyes had softened and warmed to you. You remembered his heightened senses and suspected he must have heard what you said to Crosshair. And he could probably smell your leaking milk since you boarded. That was a little embarrassing.

“Hey, thank you all for accommodating me into your home.” Crosshair almost smiled at you and Hunter uncrossed his arms. He came over and kneeled down in front of you. “Did you really mean what you said about clones?”

“Absolutely,” you stared into his eyes and then up at Crosshair’s. “You are worthy,” then you felt a little corny and over the top but added, “Your equalness to natborns is self evident. Even if the galaxy doesn’t think so, even if regs don’t think so and treat you badly.”

“How do you know about that?” Crosshair asked.

“I know a lot about this world that doesn’t make sense for me to know.” You sighed and wanted to avoid more questions. “May I use the sonic in your ��fresher?” You changed the subject to something that would derail their brains. It worked, you could see the gears turning behind both their eyes, imagining you in there.

“Yeah of course,” Hunter said vaguely.

You hopped off the bunk, stood and gathered your food wrappers. “Where do these go?” Hunter took them from you sliding his hand along yours like a caress. He was the only one of the batchers you didn’t have to crane your neck to look at. You felt a gentleness from him now and a hungry curiosity.

“How long till we get to Anaxes?” You asked him.

“About half a rotation more, depending on conditions in the hyper lane.”

“I’ll just go get cleaned up and check on Echo.” You looked from Hunter to Crosshair. “Thank you for noticing I needed a quiet moment.” Crosshair straightened up and a look of pride crossed his face. You stepped over to your bag and bent down to grab its strap. Behind you you could hear what sounded like a combination of stifled sighs and barely audible groans. You side-eyed them as you left to the ‘fresher. Their eyes stayed on you ‘till they realized they were staring and you caught them.

Once in the tiny fresher you dug in your bag for the soap and washcloth you found in the officer’s quarters in the tower. It was quality stuff and its smell reminded you of sandalwood and vanilla. The sonic showers were something you had eventually gotten used to. They were ok, but when you had access to soap you’d found that soaping up with some water first made for a more familiar experience. Plus it always felt luxurious to smell like something besides lab antiseptic and the weird ozone-like smell your laundry always seemed to have. You emerged from the sonic, hung your washcloth on a hook on the wall and brushed your teeth. Then you put on sleep pants and a long sleeve shirt over a looser breast band with some pads in it. You didn’t want to be bouncing and leaking on a ship full of hot blooded men. You bundled your dirty clothes with your other ones and made sure you had a clean outfit for the next day. You were really going to need to do laundry soon. Now with any luck you’d make it to Echo without being intercepted.

You peaked out the fresher door. The cabin lights had been dimmed. Someone was snoring. You stepped out of the fresher with your bag and boots in hand. you could make out the figures of Tech, Anakin and Rex up in the cockpit. Tech was at the controls while the other two dozed in the seats. The others must be in their bunks from the sound of breathing and snoring behind the bulkhead where the bunks were. You tiptoed to the door where Echo was and went in. Out of the corner of your eye you swore you saw a figure standing by the bunks but pretended you didn’t and closed the door quickly.

Letting out a breath of relief to be closed off from the rest of the crew, you set your things inside a cabinet, approached Echo, and knelt next to him. Carefully you touched his hand. You let your guard down and felt into him with your mind. He was in a lighter sleep state, his heart was beating steady, blood pressure seemed fine, all his vessels seemed healthy. He had some inflammation around his spine and at his leg implant so you mended the micro tears in his flesh and calmed down his immune response, soothing it to rest. Rest. You felt like lead and slumped down laying your head on the cot next to his hand. You were about to doze off when he stirred and startled.

“Cyare, what are you doing on the floor?” He sat up and scooched back holding up the blanket, “Come up here and let me hold you.” You looked at his expectant face and felt a familiarity and concern from him through your fatigue. You climbed in under the blanket. He put the blanket roll over his metal arm for you to rest your head on and pulled your leg over his hip. Then circled his arm around your waist and slid his hand up your back pulling you close to his chest. You snuggled your face into his neck, wrapped your arm around him and focused on warming him up.

“No kar’ika, rest,” he said, his deep voice rumbling into your hair. He soothed your back and kissed the top of your head and you fell into a deep sleep.

[obsidiancreates]

Out Of The Shadows and Into The Neon (Part 14)

“Uuuuuhhhhhggggg!” Mikey lays across the waiting room chairs. “I’m so bored!”

“Just a little longer, Mikey,” April assures. “Once Leo figures out if he likes this therapist, we can start the real Hidden City Adventure!”

“Hopefully without any arrests this time,” Draxum mutters, keeping an eye out around him. Things are better, thanks to over a decade of heroism from both his creations and himself, but not all Yokai are quick to forgive and forget. Even after saving the world. 

“Arrests?! Cool…”

“Not cool,” Donnie says, frowning with his teeth showing. “I still want to join the Yokai scientific community someday!”

“No-one is getting arrested,” Casey soothes. “We’re going to have a calm, casual trip to see some sights with no fighting involved.”

“Trust him!” Cass throws her arm around her son. “He has become a TOP-NOTCH SIGHTSEER SINCE HIS ARRIVAL IN THIS TIME!”

“SHHHHHHHHHH!”

Cass nearly breaks her neck whipping around to glare at the other families and patients in the waiting room.

An owl Yokai scoffs. “Humans.”

“Hey!” Raph scoots off his chair. “That’s my aunt, you-you bent-feathered jerkface!”

The Yokai gasps and checks her feathers. “They are not bent!”

“They look like you folded ‘em up along with your manners!”

“You little–!” The Yokai barely has a chance to stand before mystic vines snap around her and yank her back into her chair. Above Raph’s seething little form, four pure-white eyes glow from shadows made of pure menacing energy.

The woman gulps. “You little… precocious, child. I’m um, going to rethink… my stance on humans, now.”

Raph looks surprised for a moment, and then smirks. He turns proudly to his family, who go from Deadly to Doting in a second as they all applaud his Very Intimidating Defense of His Family.

“Aw, man.” Mikey flops off the chair onto the floor. “Is nothing gonna happen the whole time we’re here?!”

“Hamato family?”

Everyone perks up as the therapist, a kindly old goat Yokai with beard braided into two loops connecting to his horns and glasses perched on the very end of his nose, walks out with Leo in front of him. Leo is rubbing his arm nervously, until his three brothers all barrel into him for a hug!

“That went very well,” the therapist, Dr. Tincaan, says. “He’s a very bright, intelligent young boy. He seems to know exactly why he’s here, and what he wants from our sessions.”

“That’s great!” April looks down at Leo, who’s being squeezed by Mikey like he’s a squeaky toy. “So you wanna keep comin’ here?”

“I think so.” Leo pushes Mikey away by his face, so Mikey grabs onto Donnie instead. Donnie just sighs and pats Mikey’s head, accepting his fate.

“Awesome! Thank you, Doctor. And I think my brothers already paid, yeah?”

“You’re clear to go.” Dr. Tincaan waves them off. “Enjoy the city!”

“We will!” Mikey calls back. He hops once in place, then springs up and lands on Draxum’s shoulders. “Where first?! Oh, oh! How about the wishing fountain!”

Draxum stops, face twisting as the memory of the demon child thrashing his teddy bear body into the ground brings back physical pain. “Not… that one.”

Donnie looks at the pamphlet map in his hand. “Luxury Resort, Battle Nexus, Witch Town… all the cool places are places our Dads said we should avoid!”

“We shall find our OWN COOLEST PLACES!” Cass picks Donnie up and launches him into the air! He flies up screaming, only to land safely on her shoulders! She points out towards the horizon. “This family outing will be the GREATEST OUTING THAT HAS EVER BEEN FAMILY’D!”

Casey smiles at his mom’s enthusiasm and holds his hand out, swinging Raph up onto his shoulders. April lifts Leo onto hers more calmly, and away they go.

They wander with a refreshing aimlessness for the most part, the boys “Ooooh”ing and “Ahhhh”ing at the sights. They stop in for lunch with a very friendly blind Yokai gyoza master, and then set out again.

“Whoaaa, look at this!” April looks up at Leo. “A Yokai amusement park!”

Mikey bounces on Draxum’s shoulders. “THEY HAVE A ROLLERCOASTER!”

Draxum rubs his ear. “Why rollercoasters are considered fun is a mystery to even me.”

Casey shudders. “Like being dragged by a missile, but with  no way to redirect it.”

“Then Cass and I will ride with the kids.” April holds her arms out for Mikey to jump into while Cass plucks Raph off Casey’s shoulders. Being world-defending besties with mutant ninjas really helps with muscle building, and thank goodness for it.

“We’ll take pictures.” Casey pulls out an actual polaroid camera, and Donnie lights up.

“Is that the one I made you last year?”

“I figured today was the perfect day to use it.”

“Whoo-hoo!”

The line for the coaster is thankfully short, the time of day on their side, and soon April, Cass, and the boys are all loaded up. Casey gives them a thumbs-up while Draxum squints at the ride’s supports, searching for any flaws that might put his family in harm’s way. A moment later, the cart begins slowly making it’s ascent.

“Wooooow.” Mikey looks out at the ever-climbing view of The Hidden City with awe in his gaze, Raph looking the opposite direction but with equal emotion.

Leo looks down. 

He has less awe in his eyes. 

He swallows, and looks up when he feels a hand on his shoulder. April smiles down at him, and offers him her hand to squeeze.

Even at his tiny age, his oversized hand completely covers hers as he takes it.

At the back, Donnie looks behind his and Cass’s cart as it climbs. “I wonder how it works.”

“Ah, it’s a gloriously simple mechanism! You see-!”

“I mean, if it’s mystic or not.”

“Ah! … I… do not know that one.”

“We can ask Barry when we get off the ride,” April promises from the front. “For now, Dee, just try to enjoy the moment!”

“Enjoy the moment,” Leo repeats, even as his heart races a little as they near the top. Suddenly he feels like something is chasing him. “Enjoy the moment.”

“Enjoy the moment,” April says again. “And remember this is totally safe, and scream as loud as you need!”

“Don’t tell Mikey that while I’m sitting next to him!” Raph cover his ear-holes preemptively.

“Ha-ha! Sorry, Raph!” Mikey bites his lower lip in sheer anticipation. “Three… two… WHEEEEEEEEEEEEE, HA-HA-HA, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

His scream is the loudest of the six as the carts plummet at high speeds! Raph lets go of his ears to throw his hands up and let loose, while Donnie grips the armbar and undoubtedly wrecks his throat with his own screaming! Cass laughs and hollers wildly, and April cheers and whoops as they go through twists and loops and bumps! Leo squeezes April’s hand as hard as he dares, but closes his eyes and joins in on the noise, and… it is fun!

And then someone, somewhere below, roars.

And the rollercoaster isn’t so fun anymore.

Leo doesn’t see anything, he just… feels it. Feels like something is on the coaster with him, with them, and it’s dangerous. He grips April’s hand harder and reaches for– something. He’s not sure what.

Raph feels the same shift, the same sudden grip of panic-adrenaline and not fun-adrenaline, and finds himself pulling Mikey closer. Mikey, having experienced the same thing, lets Raph hold him closer and reaches for his belt. All his hands find are some pom-poms he picked up at the entrance to the amusement park.

Donnie doesn’t feel chased. The rollercoaster itself is still fun. But the sound of the roar sends a shock through his system that feels like taking a beating. … Even though he’s, never really taken a beating before. But somehow he knows that’s exactly what this feels like.

Cass looks down to her side as the sound of the scream changes– and sees Donnie staring out at nothing with his eyes completely white. She pulls her hands down and shakes him a bit. “Donatello?”

At the front, April looks over at Leo to reassure him– and goes ashen. His eyes are fully white, and as she looks back so are the Mikey’s and Raph’s.

“Whoa, boys! Calm down!” She’s seen this before with her boys, but only in times of intense ninjocity stealth or mystic overflow. And she has never, ever seen it with the kids.

The screams of confused terror don’t help her feel any less panicked about the situation.

“KIDS, IT’S ALRIGHT! IT’S JUST A RIDE!” April looks at Leo, the only one she can actually help directly, and pulls her hand out of his. She cups both sides of his face so make him look at her. “Leo, look! It’s me, Auntie April! We’re okay, we’re just on a rollercoaster, nothing bad is happening!” 

“Something is after us!”

“Leo, look at me! I promise you, nothing is after us!”

In the back, Cass has hold of Donnie’s shoulders. “Focus on me, nephew! We are having a FUN RELAXING DA- ayyy, the yelling is not helping. I SHA- ahem, I shall keep my voice calm. Donnie, focus on me! Focus on how calm and collected I am. We are not in danger!”

“Leo, Leo, look me in the eyes. Please, focus.”

“Donatello, you are safe.”

“We’ve got you, Leo. It’s okay.”

Leo blinks… and the white clears away. His eyes water. “I-I was–” He looks behind him. “Wh– Raph! Mikey!”

“Leo!” Raph’s eyes are still white, but Leo’s voice draws his attention. “What’s–”

“We… we’re okay!” Leo closes his eyes and refuses to look down. “We’re okay. It’s just… bad dreams!”

Raph blinks… and his eyes clear. “We… we’re okay? … Mikey! Mikey, we’re okay!”

Mikey gasps a little, his eyes clearing too. “Wha… oh, man, I just had the weirdest moment! I… I don’t think I like rollercoasters!”

“Your turn, Donatello!” Cass moves his head so he’s looking right at Leo. “Everyone is okay!”

Donnie blinks… eyes clearing. He leans against Cass, shaking slightly. “What happened?” —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Draxum, after being narrowly stopped from tearing the entire park apart for causing his grandsons terror, checks their pupils and their blood pressures and everything else that April can frantically name.

“I feel okay now,” Leo says, despite the way the four boys huddle together like they used to do when a movie was a little too scary for them. 

“Me too.” Raph glares at the coaster in the distance. “We shoulda let Papa smash it.”

“It’s almost relieving to see him angry,” April whispers to Cass. Cass nods.

“I think I blacked out,” Mikey says. “From the… velocities?”

“Velocities is right, good job Mikey.” Casey gives him a grin and a thumbs-up, but they only last for a moment. “But, I don’t think amusement park rides can reach a high enough velocity to make that happen.”

“Actually, depending on a few factors, it’s entirely possible.” Donnie gives Draxum his arm to feel for blood pressure before Draxum even has to ask. “But I don’t know if that’s what it was. I think… I think the adrenaline just made us all… freak?”

“I agree with Donnie.” Draxum nods to himself, and stands up. “Nothing is wrong with them physically. Just somewhat increased heart rates.”

“So… a fun ride was more adrenaline-pumping than a fight with a Yokai on a rooftop?” Casey itches the back of his head. “That’s not normal for non-apocalypse children, right?”

“It… could be?” April pinches the bridge of her nose. “I dunno, I can see how it might happen like that but-but the eyes!”

“It could simply be a third eyelid.” Draxum leans in and examines Mikey’s eyes close-up. “An instinct taking over while they felt they were in danger.”

“This blows.” Raph kicks a bit of trash on the ground. “When Dad said growing up makes you weird, I thought he meant we’d start wanting robes and health food and stuff. Not this.”

“Well… is everyone feeling okay now?” April looks down at her nephews. “Should we head home?”

“No way!” Mikey grabs April’s leg and looks up at her pleadingly. “We just got started, and there’s so much stuff down here to do!”

“I dunno…” April picks Mikey up. “That was… really freaky.”

“We’re all better now!” Donnie waves his arm like he can show off his totally fine blood pressure just by bringing attention to it. “Please?”

“Well…” April checks her phone. No texts from the guys yet, so… “Alright. But let’s stick to chill activities from now on! Like your dads are hopefully doing…”

[magdelanesingerin]

Lucky

Jaskier is lucky. He knows he is.

He’s alive. It could have been worse. Geralt got him out after only a couple of days, cutting a bloody swath through Nilfgaardian prison guards and leaving his interrogator in twitching pieces on the floor before he swooped Jaskier up in his arms and carried him to safety, cradled gingerly to his chest. He can remember feeling a detached sort of shame at the uncontrollable, shaking whine that forced its way out on every exhale until he finally passed out.  

He’s lucky. He’s alive. It could have been so much worse. 

The thought drifts across his fuzzy mind along with voices in the room, the sound of them floating through the murky, dim air as he slips in and out of a dazed, pained confusion. 

“Just heal him, Yen!” 

Ahh, that rough, low voice, so familiar, but muted now as Geralt hisses quietly and fervently in anger that sounds more like desperation.

“I told you. I. Can’t,” the equally hushed and furious reply. The cadence of their arguments is one Jaskier knows well, the building frustration and exasperation bouncing and building between them until it explodes, and they’re finally driven away from each other again. “I used too much power portalling us in and out of the prison, and that fucking mage took more effort than I planned for. I have either enough power to try to heal him —probably badly, since this is nowhere near my specialty– or to take you both safely to Oxenfurt so a qualified healer can stabilize him. Not both.”

“These are complex injuries, Wolf.” A serious, gruff voice that Jaskier doesn’t know. “These aren’t clean, simple breaks. That bone is shattered. I haven’t treated injuries like this in decades, not since there were trainees here.” 

Oh, this must be the mysterious and venerable Vesemir. Not exactly the way he planned on meeting Geralt’s father figure. In every one of Jaskier’s imaginings of this moment, he had definitely been conscious, and not covered in a crust of blood and shameful human filth. Wonderful. 

“He’s not like us,” Vesemir continued, “if she encourages the bones to heal without setting them correctly, he might never use his fingers again. It will take weeks for the pieces to fuse, months to heal completely. He needs a human physician.”

“Months!?” Geralt sounds incredulous, and Jaskier would laugh, or try to, if he could open his mouth without screaming. Bless his wonderful witcher, he has no idea of how human bodies work. 

Vesemir heaves a deep, weary sigh and Yen cuts in again, her voice tight with impatience and something unfamiliar that Jaskier can’t quite place. Fear? Guilt? Neither of those are things he’s used to hearing from Yennefer. “Yes. He’s human . And not a young man anymore,” she says flatly. 

His half-lidded eyes struggle to take in the details of the room around him; he can see the shapes of the people standing over him but can’t quite understand any of it. The breath hisses through his tightly clenched teeth as he clings to control, sounding impossibly loud. 

“An injury like this would take you a week, maybe two to heal with a couple doses of Swallow, and your body would rebuild ligaments and nerves rapidly. His won’t ,” she says, and the whole room can hear the words “you moron” tacked on to the end of her sentence. “He’ll need special care, and not just for a day–for weeks. someone who knows enough about the human hand to be able to piece this mess back together,” she finishes with a tone of frustrated disgust. But Jaskier barely notices, is too distracted by sudden focused awareness on his body brought on by her words… 

He twitches and clenches his eyes shut, trying not to imagine the sharp, twisted grin of the interrogator, the flare of pain when the man moved his attentions from one ruined finger to the next. The acrid smell of burning somewhere in the room. The breathless ache in his chest as whimpers crawled out of his body unbidden and unstoppable on every pained exhale. His head swims and he can feel his heart pounding at the memory that rises up to swallow him. 

Waves of trembling wash over him, tightening muscles in shivering surges that seem unstoppable. He must be in shock. Isn’t shock supposed to dull pain, though? If this is the pain dulled, he thinks hysterically as he tries to force his body to calm, how much worse will it be when he comes out of it? It would be easier if he could just fall fully unconscious.

“Shani. I can take him to Shani. She’s a physician and…Jaskier’s friend. She’s in Oxenfurt.”

“Can you trust her?” Vesemir asks sharply.

“Yes.”

The conversation keeps swirling around him and Jaskier loses track for a little while. Yennefer and Geralt seem to be arguing about going to Oxenfurt, and something about Ciri, but he can’t quite focus enough to take it in. He feels a chill of formless, shameful guilt anyway. He’s causing problems again. Putting them in danger again. 

And then there’s a broad hand over his forehead, smoothing his hair back gently, and Geralt’s voice, cracked and miserable, close enough to feel the warm air of this breath.

“It’s my fault. They took him to get to me. To Ciri. I should have been there sooner.” 

Jaskier usually loves when Geralt touches him like this, offering softness and comfort. It’s uncommon enough to be precious. 

Right now, the touch is too much, though, overwhelming in a way that shocks him, and he flinches away from Geralt’s palm before he can stop himself, eyelids fluttering open enough to see the wince and flash of hurt on his friend’s face as he draws his hand away.  

Geralt’s hand forms a shape in the air over his head and Jaskier feels a wave of warmth and relief wash through his body as his clenching muscles relax. “Sleep, and feel no pain, Jask.”

continue on Ao3

[wolfieisacat]

i promised @shotmrmiller i'd write them a fic, and Johnny meeting Mia's sister and her family is an idea i've had bouncing around almost as long as Mia has been a character, so here it is:

warnings: mentioned overdose, mentioned loss of loved ones, mentioned Makarov, mentioned drug abuse, mentioned religious trauma, small children.

It was... nerve-wracking. To say the least. For the both of them. It was nerve-wracking for Johnny because, obviously, he was going to be meeting the love of his life's older sister and her inlaws. It was nerve-wracking for Mia because it would be the first time in over a decade she would be seeing Abigail. Abigail, her oldest sibling, who had been the only other survivor of her family's slaughter. Abigail, who was almost a full fifteen years older than her.

But what Mia remembered of Abigail and her husband, Robert, was that they were kind. Incredibly so. So for most of the fifteen hour flight, Mia was reassuring Johnny that they'd love him.

Two days before Thanksgiving, they arrived at the house. It was massive, almost a mansion. Before Mia could knock, someone opened the door. It was a young man with scraggly black hair, wearing the most emo clothes Johnny had seen since he was in high school. The kid groaned, and threw his head over his shoulder, yelling out "MOM! THEY'RE HERE!", which was followed by the quick pittering of paws on the hardwood floor and footsteps. Two very excited beagles bounded over, immediately throwing themselves on the couple. Mia let out a yelp of surprise, almost falling over. Abigail stepped into the doorway, quickly welcoming the two in.

"You must be Johnny! It's great to meet ya. Ever since Mia and I got back into contact, you've been all she talks about," she said with a chuckle.

"Ah, I believe it. According to Simon, I'm all she really talks about ever," he replied with a laugh. Mia stood next to him, green eyes drilling holes into the side of his head.

"Well, uhm, make yourselves at home! Sorry for the mess, my triplets are little demons..."

"Dinnae worry about it. I don't mind a little mess, especially if it's one that proves children are taken care of." Mia smiled, glad her boyfriend and sister were getting along.

When Thanksgiving came along, the house was more full than Johnny could've thought possible. He opted to hang out with the kids instead of hanging out with the other husbands, simply because they seemed incredibly rude. As he was playing with the small children, he spotted Matthew, the boy who had opened the door for them when they'd gotten there. He had his face buried in a sketchbook, a pen scribbling furiously. Johnny walked over, sitting next to him.

"Hey, what're you drawin' there lad?" he had a soft smile on his face. Matthew glanced up at him before going back to drawing. "Not much of a talker, aye?" Johnny chuckled.

"No, 'm not."

"I see. Would you like me to leave you alone?"

"Yes."

"Alright, I'll see you later then."

At dinner, the topic of Mia and Abigail's childhoods came up. The look of terror that spread across Mia's face when Robert asked Johnny if he knew about Walter could've been sold to Hitchcock.

"No, she hasn't. Who is he?"

"Walter was her big brother, my Abby's younger sibling. One time, when they came home, Mia found him dead and rotting in the tub." He said it casually. Johnny almost felt sick. Abigail simply nodded.

"At his funeral, the priest said that he would've never died if he hadn't gotten addicted to morphine. That it was his own fault, really."

Johnny could see the way Matthew's face tightened.

"That's a horrible thing to say about someone who obviously died in pain," Johnny said simply, wrapping an arm around Mia. "How old were you when that happened?"

"I was eight. Six years before Makarov came and screwed everything up." Johnny held her tighter. Robert's eyes widened.

"Oh! Has she told you the-"

"Dad! Shut up! Nobody else wants to talk about this shit! They died, Aunt Mia was kidnapped by sex traffickers for ten years, we get it! Nobody cares!" Matthew's voice was loud and sharp, unwilling to listen to this anymore as he stood up and stormed to his room. The table was silent for a moment, before Johnny excused himself.

He knocked gently on Matthew's door.

"What?"

"You alright lad?"

"No."

"Can I come in?"

"...Fine."

Johnny opened the door and closed it behind him, sitting on the bed next to the teen.

"What's wrong?"

"M-My dad is so insensitive to other people's feelings. It's insanity. I asked him not to talk about any of that..." Johnny glanced at the wall, which had a painting of a naked man sacrificed on an altar with his face painted with blood.

"Ye don't seem to have any problem with gore or violence..." he commented, looking away from the painting.

"M-My..." the boy choked up. "M-My best friend committed suicide last week. I-I don't wanna hear about how good I have it compared to my mom because "she found her entire family dead" or whatever bullshit my dad was gonna throw at me." Johnny's face turned sympathetic.

"I'm so sorry lad... do your parents know?"

"Yeah, I told them. I-I don't get it. Wh-why?" the boy started to cry, burying his face into Johnny's arm as he held him.

"Dinnae worry, lad, I'm here... I've got you..."

[stumpyjoepete]

This idea has been bouncing around in my head since I watched No Sudden Move, and I just remembered it yesterday when listing car conspiracy noir films.

The movie does something thematically that's interesting, but it's also a bit weird.

Greed comes up over and over again. Don't get greedy, don't overreach. The hero escapes death by not overreaching. Those who overreach are all, to a (wo)man, punished for their greed. Often fatally. Like some kind of Victorian morality play. Crime doesn't pay kids.

But literally every other aspect of the movie undercuts this. 1950's Detroit is depicted (accurately one presumes) as racist, sexist, and homophobic. People in different economic classes may as well live on different planets. There's a speech about how the elites of the world make the rules and the lower castes live by them.

What happens to the greedy criminals? They all die! (Except Vanessa, who loses all her money.) What about the greedy middle-class characters? They have their lives turned upside down--their marriages are in crisis, they lose their jobs, and they're threatened by both criminals and the law--but in the end, they are unharmed, still middle class, and only mildly disgraced. What about the greedy automaker higher-ups? They get roughed up a bit but then continue their lives as rich executives. And the greedy cartel executive at the top? He gets "punished" in an epilogue title card that talks about the relevant companies getting fined two decades later.

It's like a thematic joke.

[doruumon]

Would you be happy if your favorite ships went canon?

I mean I don’t. Care.

That’s not why I enjoy things. I mean, it can be an aspect of it, but for 95% of things I’m into, ships don’t matter to me. If anything, it’s an afterthought.

Like—I’ll use Borderlands as an example bc that’s always bouncing around my head. I did not give a single shit about shipping there. Never occurred to me. I’ve got… across the three core games alone, about 4K hours total playing these things. I just like the lootin and the shootin. The stories can be fun. The gameplay is fun. Then there’s those quests waaaay later that are like, “oh, Brick and Mordecai are probably a thing,” and it’s like, “oh I like both of those characters a lot, that’s cool, I’ll add that to my harbor good for them,” and I’m back to trying to farm a decent Pimpernel.

If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t post analysis or interpretations on things I enjoy anymore. Unless you’re someone who has managed to unlock the secret, “yes this person won’t get mad at me for saying one sentence about stuff I like that maybe they’re not hyper focusing on” friend/mutual mode with me, then I don’t say shit. I’m tired, man. I have bad taste in media and I like doing it over here, in relative silence. It’s all old enough now that even if it was retconned these 20-25 years later, it wouldn’t matter to me.

If something I love is already that old, then I wasn’t looking for another reason to enjoy it. Already set up camp decades ago. I’m good.

Official content of my faves would be nice, I guess, but it doesn’t like. Change why I like stuff.

Thanks for asking it’s been a minute since my inbox had been used.

[glossdebut]

i’m digging through my notes app rn finding some writing i’ve done over the past year (not much prior to this blog) and even though it’s not fic related i wanted to post these snippets anyway lol. they’re both for different stories

if you read, warning for implied drug addiction for the first one, implied alcoholism for the second one, and mentions of death of a loved one for both

1. april 19, 2024

“i don’t know, man, i feel like—“ tommy cuts himself off, chewing at the skin of his thumb as his leg bounces furiously where he sits on the floor. it feels like the whole room is shaking with him. it’s the beginning of another ohio winter, but tommy is slick with sweat, the tightness of his skin stifling, so the window is open despite the snow falling outside.

“i feel like i don’t know who i am without that shit. when i’m not on something. like, yuki, i know you knew me before, but what did you know actually? that we were both miserable at the same time?”

tommy can’t look up, can’t look at yuki and see his reaction, doesn’t want to know how he’s making him feel right now. tommy has never seen disappointment on yuki’s face, and although he’s sure he’s made him feel it, he doesn’t want to get used to the way it looks. so he keeps bouncing his leg, staring down at his shoes.

yuki sighs, and rises from the floor in tommy’s periphery.

“i’m gonna make some tea or something, okay? we aren’t done talking about this,” yuki says, and despite the softness of his tone, tommy knows that he won’t be able to weasel out of this. he breathes deep, leans closer to the cool air filtering in to avoid the suffocating heat.

yuki shuffles to the kitchen, and tommy shifts on the floor to face the window.

as soon as he lifts his head, he nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of another goddamn crow, latched to the windowsill just inches from his face. maybe it’s because yuki is barely a room away, but tommy doesn’t yell or curse. he just sucks in a breath and stares into the beady eyes of the bird in front of him.

being this close makes tommy think about all of the times these fuckers have been at the scene of the crime for the past near-decade, ever since his mom died. a crow, always there when he needed comfort or saving, though they provided neither. maybe they were trying their best. hell, maybe it was always the same bird, watching over him. unable to do anything but remind tommy he’s there. tommy’s heart clenches at the thought.

unthinking, tommy whispers, “are you my dad?”

and really, he doesn’t know why he’s saying this to a crow. it doesn’t make any sense. tommy rarely makes much sense anymore. but the crow makes a soft little clicking sound and gets closer to tommy than a crow should probably feel comfortable or safe doing, and tommy feels—

“tommy?” yuki asks, and tommy whips his head around, his heart pounding in his chest. he hears the sound of flapping wings behind him and assumes the crow has fled the scene entirely. he looks at yuki, who is wearing black-and-white fuzzy socks and holding two steaming mugs by their handles in both fists, looking so comfortable in tommy’s home, and he crumbles.

yuki, panicked but torn over the boiling liquid he’s holding in his hands, sets the mugs down gently and rushes over, cradling tommy in his arms. tommy lets out a choked sob and absently tries to recall the last time he accepted touch so quickly, so easily. he comes up short.

2. july 2, 2024

yejun was able to drag me out onto my hotel room’s balcony only when he conceded in letting me take my bottle of white with me, which may well have been fused with my arm at that point.

hair damp, half-naked and folded into a lawn chair adjacent to his, clutching my bottle, i couldn’t help but think what a weird picture this was: me, scantily clad and decently drunk; vulnerable next to the boy i pined after for my entire childhood. both of us older without the weirdness my younger age must have made him feel back then. i couldn’t wrap my head around why he didn’t bring me to my bed instead of the balcony. so, i voiced exactly that.

“when are you going to fuck me?” i asked, my words dressed up as the joke we’d been passing back and forth for the better half of two years, but smaller, softer. less of a joke.

he sighed and reached over to take the bottle from my hands, and when i wouldn’t loosen my grip, forced me to tip it towards his mouth instead like a peace offering. i watched as he took a long sip, watched his adam’s apple bob in his throat.

he sat back, looked me over. exhaled through his nose.

“i’m not fucking you, sara,” he said, flicking his attention to the cityscape of new orleans. it smelled like shit outside. my eyes burned.

“i can sober up,” i said, setting the bottle down on the patio table with a loud clink, as if to prove a point.

“no, i mean. i’m not fucking you, ever. i can’t…” he trailed a hand over his face, exasperated. “…be that for you. it’s too weird. it doesn’t matter how hot you get, how sober or drunk you think you need to be to get me to do it. you’re always going to be his little sister. i can’t fuck you.”

“he’s been dead a long time,” i said. the anger built within me faster than i could stop it.

“jesus, sara. i’m well aware. that doesn’t fucking make you any less his sister.”

[rj-drive-in]

Lovecraftian Slime Department:

Nobody's perfect. Nobody's worthless.

AND THERE’S A WINO DOWN THE ROAD © 2023 by Rick Hutchins

The rutted asphalt hadn’t been re-paved in decades and the paint on the run-down business fronts was cracked and peeling, but the air was oddly fresh as the sun rose early on a Sunday morning. Stray trash and litter formed a greasy mess in the gutters, and weeds poked through the cracked sidewalks and foundations, but all was quiet and still.

Against a rusty, leaning chain-link fence sat an old man in ragged clothes, holding a brown paper bag in his lap from which he occasionally took a mouthful of Wild Irish Rose.

“Down the hatch,” he mumbled, every time.

Mainly he thought of someone named Evelyn, who he had once bounced on his knee and taught to drive. He had let her down badly. She was out there in the world somewhere with kids of her own now, with no use for him.

A cop car rumbled slowly down the road, bouncing in the potholes, casually glancing at the padlocked doors and cardboard windows of the businesses. The cops ignored the old man.

“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on,” he said as they passed him by.

A while later, the sun was higher, but gray clouds had moved in, bringing a chill.

Something began to happen in the middle of the street.

The old man didn’t know what he was looking at. It was a spray of sparks, like a welding arc, but it was just hanging in the air. Then the sparks stopped and there was some sort of mirage, like a slice through nothing, like the heat waves over a hot dog cart. Like a floating wound. There was something inside of it but it made no sense to him. Maybe he had something in his eye. He rubbed them roughly with his dirty, blackened fingers.

No, it was still there. And something was coming out. A green octopus was reaching through.

“The day has come,” he said. He choked and succumbed to a fit of coughing. “I’ve gone mental.”

The giant green tentacle reached further through the gash, coiling around, seeking, touching the gritty asphalt, stroking a wall, brushing a telephone pole and a fire hydrant, probing like a tongue looking for a piece of gristle between teeth. It didn’t really look like an octopus now that he had a better view of it. More like a slimy snake from a rotten swamp, with bumps all over it like cancerous growths.

And it wanted something. It had intentions that rolled off of it like a bad smell, and the old man could see those intentions like pictures in his head. Pictures of burning cities and dead forests and a billion bodies floating face down in the thick mucus of poisoned seas.

It wanted the world. It wanted Evelyn’s world.

The old man sat up and rolled over onto his elbows, and got his knees under him. He pushed himself up onto first one foot and then the other and rose up onto wobbly legs. He brought the brown paper bag up to his lips and swallowed a mouthful of Wild Irish Rose.

“Over my dead body,” he said.

He shuffled slowly over to the curb of the sidewalk. About thirty feet of that coiling tentacle had made it through the hole in the air and the thickest part was as big around as a truck tire. The tapered tip was sliding along the ground, coming near his feet. The old man took the bottle of wine out of the paper bag, holding it by the neck, and swung it, shattering it against the fire hydrant beside him. Wild Irish Rose splashed over his clothes and the ground and the writhing green tentacle.

The thing immediately lunged, wrapping itself around his middle and his legs like a boa constrictor. Gray smoke billowed where it touched him, as its unearthly substance burned through his clothes and flesh and fat like boiling oil.

The old man screamed his throat raw.

He could see it now, all of it, in the pictures in his head. Squatting green in the darkness, something the size of a moon, with a million more tentacles, and then a million more beyond that. And millions of crimson crystal eyes that moved and crawled and pulsed with avarice, and millions of mouths, and millions of tongues, and millions of teeth….

He still held onto the broken wine bottle by its neck. He raised it up over his head and brought the sharp, jagged edge of glass down upon the tentacle, cutting deeply into its reptilian hide. It bled something thick and black.

“How do you like that, fucker!” he screamed.

There was a roar of hot wind and deafening rage from the hole in the air, as if he were standing next to a jet engine. The thing on the other side had never felt pain, never known of it, never imagined that such a thing could exist, never imagined that it could feel hurt. For the first time in its existence, it flinched, cracking the old man’s ribs.

But the old man chopped away at it, again and again. “Take that and that!” he cried.

Finally, he chopped all the way through and the tentacle dropped to the ground, melting into the asphalt like an oil stain. The stump of the thing pulled back through the hole in the air and the hole closed up like a stone dropped in a pond.

And then there was silence, like there had never been any sound.

The old man gasped for breath. The broken bottle slipped from his trembling fingers.

Slowly, he turned around, every movement bringing flashes of agony to his burned flesh and broken ribs.

“Stupid fucking monster,” he grumbled.

Like a journey of a hundred miles, he haltingly dragged his feet back across the sidewalk and leaned onto the rusted chain-link fence, the only home he had known for a long while. He sank slowly to his knees. After a while he folded up and collapsed to the ground on his side.

He thought of Evelyn as he faded away.

[percontaion-points]

Covet chapters 160 & 161, Epilogue, & Bonus Chapters

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 160

As the last one falls away, the beast throws back his head and bellows like his life depends on it. The roar bounces off the rocky walls and ceilings, echoing throughout the cavern for several seconds. 

And then he shifts, and a man is standing in front of me dressed in a royal-blue tunic, gold leggings with laces, and a gold and royal blue cloak tied over one shoulder and fastened with a large sapphire broach. 

He’s tall, with smoke-gray eyes and blond hair fastened into a braid. He’s also got a short, pointed goatee and seems to be in his late thirties. I shift back but don’t try to approach him. “Are you all right?” I ask this man who has suffered so much and who, in his own way, has helped me through so many of my own troubles. 

He looks at me like he doesn’t understand what I’m saying, but eventually it must sink in because he nods. “Th-th-thank you,” he finally manages to say. 

Do you guys remember when I was reading the series about the dragon people? And they found the iron dragon who had been held captive for decades? So long that he literally forgot how to transform back into a human, and speech was difficult for him. 

Yeah. I can’t help but think that the second this guy was freed, he transforms back easily, and also remembers basic human communication. 

Now I really do rear back in shock, because who is her? And why does she need to be protected if she’s already got the Crown?

Chapter 160 summary: Grace goes in and uses the key to free the beast. (He is never given a name, so I will continue to call him Beast.) As I mentioned, he transforms back to a human easily, and can communicate in passable English, despite his ancient-looking clothing. 

Macy brings forward some snacks she always has with her, but Beast is wary of anybody. Grace opens some water and drinks some, and eats a cookie to show that it’s okay. 

She then asks about the crown. He says “no crown” over and over. Everybody silently goes “What do we do now?” Beast then says “Her crown. Must have her protect crown.”

Chapter 161

I hold my hand up for my friends to see, and as they all crowd around, I can’t help asking, “Now what?”

Chapter 161 summary: Grace promises that they’ll protect whoever this “she” is that Beast is talking about. Hudson warns about making blanket promises, because what if it’s like his shitty mom or somebody? Beast goes on and says “Give mate crown”. This fills Grace with hope that there’s another gargoyle out there. This makes Grace agree to help his mate out. 

Beast then grabs Grace’s hand, but then pulls away and walks towards the entrance to the cave. The others want to go after him, but Grace says that there’s not really a lot of places he can go that they couldn’t follow after. But she looks down at her hand and realizes that Beast had put the crown into the palm of her hand (like the flowers had been). 

Chapter 0

I think it’s time I tell her about her emerald-green string.

Chapter 0 summary: For some unholy reason, we get a final chapter, but in Hudson’s POV. This is never explained, nor do I know why any of it is necessary, but here we are. 

As Macy opens up the portal to go back to the school, Hudson looks at Grace and wonders if his love for her is enough to overcome her lingering feelings for Jaxon. The feelings he knows came bubbling to the surface when she watched Jaxon die. (Which he doesn’t blame her for, and wishes it had been him instead.) Grace turns and tells Hudson that she loves him; he returns the sentiment. 

They go through the portal, only to realize that the forest around the school grounds is literally on fire. Everybody runs inside, only to find that the interior of the school has been completely and utterly trashed, and everybody is gone. 

They find the school’s healer, Marise, in the infirmary, and she tells them that Cyrus did this. They now think that the battle on the gargoyle island was nothing but a distraction, and think that this means war. Well, more war, since Cyrus attacking them on the island was the first declaration of war. 

However, they naturally think that Cyrus’s goons killed everybody, and that the 11 of them are literally the only ones who will be able to stand up against Cyrus. (Completely ignoring the fact that there’s no mention of bodies. The narration only said that everybody was “gone”. Besides, why would Cyrus kill those who were on his side?)

Beast says “She can save us”, while pointing to Grace’s hand. He then transforms back into stone, leaving the others to wonder what the hell he was talking about. 

Bonus chapter 1

Grace looks so knackered when we get back to Katmere from visiting the Crone that I want to wrap my arms around her and carry her to my room, but I have no idea if she’ll let me or not.

LITERALLY NOBODY ASKED FOR THIS. 

And I’m still not okay. More, I’m pretty sure I never will be again.

Bonus chapter 1 summary: We have the scene right after everybody came back from visiting the crone. Hudson and Grace are joking and flirting, and everything is kind of the same as it was in the original, only with Hudson oozing love for her. 

Then Jaxon attacks, and things are again, way too similar for me to say much about it. But when Grace calms Jaxon down and he admits that his soul is fractured from the breaking of their bond, Hudson’s heart starts to break. 

He slips away and goes to his room. Grace sends him a bunch of texts in a row, but he only answers the last one to tell her goodnight. And then he mopes around. 

Bonus chapter 2

And as we take off fading back up Denali, I can’t help thinking that sometimes you get lucky. Sometimes the family you’re born with and the family you make coincide. And that makes all the difference. 

Bonus chapter 2 summary: Unlike the previous bonus chapter, this one is a scene that wasn’t included. Because Grace wasn’t there. Hudson goes to his brother in the middle of the night, and asks to go for a run. As Jaxon puts his running gear on, Hudson looks around the room. He finds a wooden toy horse that he’d made for his brother. Looking at the thing brings back all of the good times he’d had with his brother… and all the things his shitty dad had done to torture both of them. 

They run, but Jaxon doesn’t seem interested in talking. Hudson tries to talk about Grace, but Jaxon is quick to shut him down. Finally, Jaxon says that the two of them aren’t close, and never have been. Hudson brings up the horse, but Jaxon had forgotten who had given it to him before he was forced to go live with the Bloodletter. This brings back some memories previously buried, and he apologizes for having killed Hudson. They crack up over that, and ask if Hallmark has cards for that.

[heygerald]

OLD HABITS DIE HARD - Part 1

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x oc

After years away, Lt. Zoe “Buzzard” Preston is back in Miramar as a candidate for a top secret mission. She’s excited for it, ready too. Her entire career has been building up to this moment. What she’s a little less excited for is a reunion with a starry eyed, smart-mouthed pilot who had broken her heart the first time around. Maybe, just maybe, this time she’ll be able to finally put him in her rearview mirror. Or maybe she’ll be forced to face the things that she preferred to keep in the dust.

Keep reading here: ... / part 2 / part 3 / *bonus chapter* /  part 4 / part 5 / *bonus chapter* / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / *say yes*

Five years. Ten months. Give or take a handful of weeks. A number of days. 

A shit load of time.

And yet, very little changed at Miramar during it. Sure, The Hard Deck had gotten a new owner who brought out all the bells and whistles; model plans and mugs hung from thousands of hooks in the ceilings. A new wave of steadfast patrons had filed in since the first glimmer of sunset on the California coast. New beer on tap left the old souls searching for something hoppy but cold, delicious but traditional. The parking lot had gotten a new coat of tarmac. The beach had gotten some new nets for volleyball and an array of food trucks. The base had gotten in a new era of plans, a change in CO a few times over, and the barracks had a fresh splattering of paint on them. 

But, as Lieutenant Zoe Preston stared up at the open doors with sandy feet and sunkissed skin, she could still hear the familiar crow of laughter and insults and egos that somehow managed to float above the Jukebox. 

Not much had changed, she figured, not where it mattered. 

A group of sailors whistled at her as she strode by. Familiar faces from her stint at Miramar half a decade earlier mixed with some unfamiliar faces that she wouldn’t care to remember come morning. 

“Boys,” she winked. 

One of them, a mechanic named Mason who had spent more than one weekend trying to buy her a drink, tipped his beer at her with a devious smirk. 

“Back so soon, Preston?”

“You know me,” she gave a lofty glance at the blinking sign. “I could never say no to a little bit of trouble.” 

“Yeah, well, trouble is already waiting for you inside. I think you’re the last to show up,” he noted.  

He held the door open as she stepped inside, took a deep whiff of sandalwood and spilt beer, watched as the crowd swept around her like she was a buoy out at sea. Penny wiped down the bar top with a rag while chatting amicably with a dark haired man that looked a flicker too familiar from his side profile, but her gaze quickly moved on to the crowd at the pool table just beyond. 

A crowd that she knew too well, bickering with a tone that she would never quite forget. 

“I’m surprised that you made it here at all, Bradshaw.” 

“Why? Didn’t think I might be in your tail wind?”

“Thought you might run out of jet fuel before you made it to the shoreline,” Hangman shot back. There was the familiar wisp of a smirk on his face as he rattled the pool balls with a swift flick of his wrist. Zoe didn’t need to know whether he was stripes or solid to know that he was winning—it was, afterall, the one thing that he did best in life. 

Maybe the only thing he did well.

“You know, considering that you always burn your fuel instead of making a decision,” came the punchline of his cloying insult; barely loud enough to be heard above the crowd. 

Rooster shook his head. A few sun-streaked wisps of hair bounced on his forehead, and Zoe bit back a smile as she drew closer. Time away had done him good; it had bronzed his skin and made him look a little bit more like the Bradshaw that she knew rather than the one people whispered about when they realized who his dad was. 

“I don’t need you to worry about me, Bagman. I made it here all on my own.” 

“That’s not entirely true, is it?” Hangman pointed his pool stick at Rooster before turning back to the table with a snicker. He smacked the cue ball once more, sending several balls into their designated pockets, before grinning at anyone who would give him their attention. Meandering—more like prancing—to the other side of the table where the cue ball laid in waiting, he tutted, “Phoenix over here was practically begging for you to show up. She needs someone to keep her tail up, afterall.” 

“Fuck off, Bagman,” Phoenix clipped, arms loosely crossed over her chest. 

“It’s Hangman. And it’s true. Not to worry though, you got Bob now. That should be great for your skillset. I’m sure he’s worthy of your time.” 

The WSO in question—one Zoe didn’t recognize but could already tell that he might be the brunt of everyone’s humor if his stunned silence was anything to go by—twisted a little uncomfortably at the side of the group, spectacles perched on the top of his nose as he glanced between his new pilot and the man who had just taken a pool stick out of his hands. He hadn’t even put up a fight for it; just let the betrayal happen while remaining respectful to all parties involved. 

Phoenix pulled her lips tight as Hangman lined up his last shot, retort coming. 

Zoe, not for the first time, delighted in beating her to the punch. 

“Considering that fact that Phoenix had a better run score than you did, Bagman, I thought you would have grown a little bit more appreciative of her skills after all these years.” 

Phoenix spun on her heel. Hangman jerked his wrist, sending the cue ball wildly spinning into a pocket on the opposite corner of the table, missing the eight ball entirely. Yale grinned as Zoe stepped forward into the group; laughter lighting up his eyes as he looked her over. 

“Holy shit,” Phoenix crowed. “Buzz! In the flesh!” 

“What’d you expect?” Zoe quipped back, arms still crossed as she grinned at the room.

“I expected you to be in a metal grave by now,” Harvard taunted. Though, when she narrowed her eyes in his direction, his face loosened into the flicker of a smile. Odd friends, even odder enemies, she supposed. “Guess the name still fits, though, huh?”

“Yours doesn’t. You’re still the stupidest fucker I know.” 

The ones who didn’t know Zoe watched the scene carefully. The ones that did know Zoe let her insults wash over, taking them as seriously as a grain of salt knowing that she was always quick to snarl but slow to bite. Yale snorted as he patted Harvard on the shoulder, earning a glare from the former, but then laughter, true and hearty, broke through the tension. Phoenix cut through the space the quickest to pull Zoe into a bone crushing hug. They knocked boots so hard that the pair nearly went careening down to the floor, and if it weren’t for Rooster propping her up with a warm hand to the shoulder, they might have made real asses of themselves. 

“I should have known you would be here,” Phoenix muttered into her ear. 

When she let go, Rooster was quick to pull her into a looser, if not warmer hug that made Zoe’s face crack open with a happy smile. It had been too long since she saw them; too long since her and Phoenix were tearing the tarmac up during Top Gun and since her and Rooster were getting drunk at the local bar. 

“You think I’d miss this shitshow?”

“Shitshow?” Hangman echoed, offended almost. 

His face was tight as he looked her over; green eyes scouring every inch of her. She looked the same, she knew, but different in the best of ways. Like how her hair was longer, skin was healthier, and bones were stronger. If he noticed, though, he made no indication. Just let that stupid smirk of his draw his features as he leaned onto the pool table with the cue stick in hand. 

“I think we’re in trouble if that’s all this is,” he told her half-heartedly. “Though, I get it. The talent is a bit lacking.” 

“Self retrospection, Seresin? How progressive of you.” 

He snorted. Sorta. It was more a mix of a startled laugh and then an annoyed grunt when he realized she had gotten a laugh out of him at all. Zoe figured that was pretty on par for him, though. 

The way his smile seemed to tighten at the edges, however, wasn’t. 

“Always quick with the quips, Preston,” he returned to the table. Somehow, despite his mess-up upon her arrival, he was still winning. It wouldn’t take him long now to sink the eight ball into the corner if he was anything like the guy she knew. “Hopefully, you’re just as quick with the maneuvers.” 

“Scared?”

“Bored and looking for a good competition.” 

The group rolled their eyes in unison at that. Phoenix, maybe, the hardest. Her and Hangman had hated one another since day one when he insinuated that she shouldn’t be a pilot just because she lacked the balls (both physically and metaphorically) for the job. Of course, he had shut up about that as soon as Zoe shot him down during an exercise. Still, the wound had never fully healed over their years apart. It seemed that the distance had only left the wounded ego to fester even further. 

She turned her back on him to face Rooster and Zoe. 

“Were neither of you going to tell me that you were back in the states?”

They shared a look.

“You want a beer?” Rooster asked Zoe, not even attempting to seem like he was avoiding the argument at hand. She smiled back. “Yeah. I’m gonna get us some beers.” 

He disappeared into the crowd. Phoenix put her hands on her hips. 

“Coward!” she shouted after him. 

“Big words from a little lady like yourself, P.”

“You’re such a dick,” she said, but the insult was clearly lacking malice. Instead, as the two women stared at one another, they both found themselves laughing at the idiocy of it all. Phoenix shook her head before pulling two other pilots into the conversation. “Fanboy, Payback, meet my sister from our early days at Top Gun. Zoe ‘Buzzard’ Preston. Buzz for short.” 

“You two were in the same class?” Fanboy asked. 

“Oh fuck yeah,” Phoenix laughed at the memory as Zoe winked at the boys in succession. “We were the best there was. Other than Bagman, of course. Buzz was almost number one, too; would have been if it wasn’t Seresin’s tendency to leave everyone else out to dry just for the sake of being an asshole.” 

Payback laughed. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that vibe.” 

“Just wait till you get to know him a little better,” Zoe said. 

She wasn’t exactly bitter about the whole second place thing, not anymore anyways. But she still was a little hurt—no matter how much she wanted to believe that she wasn’t—that he had so carelessly tossed their relationship into the trash over such a trivial little thing as a medal. Second place was fine by her, anyways. She got a good station and a successful career to boot. One that brought her back here of all places; right alongside him.

First place couldn’t mean all that much, then, could it?

“I’d recommend never expecting him to be your wingman,” she snarked. 

Perhaps, maybe, just a little bit, bitter. But who could blame her? She deserved to have a little bit of bitterness even after all this time. Hangman seemed worthy of it seeing as how his ego had yet to be reigned in after all these years. 

“In a bar or in the sky?” Fanboy asked. 

Phoenix laughed around the neck of her beer. “Either,” she told them. 

The boys shared a look; a silent conversation passing between that could only truly exist between a pilot and his WSO. No one bothered to ask what the conversation itself was about. The girls didn’t care enough to inquire, nor did they want to have a peek into the pair’s head just hours before their first training exercise.

That could all wait till tomorrow when it really mattered.

“So, what sort of name is Buzzard, anyways?” Fanboy asked after a moment. 

“I don’t know. What sort of name is Fanboy? You a Belieber or something?”

Payback guffawed into his drink, earning a hard elbow to the gut from his WSO. He winced, but didn’t apologize. Just wiped the spilt beer off his chin with a smile and said, “during flight school, he was always ending up in the nursing bay for one thing or another. We joked that it was to make his fans happy. The nurses all had heart eyes for him at one point or another.” 

“You accident prone, Fanboy?”

“Just like to please the ladies when I can,” he shot back. Phoenix faked a gag while Zoe rolled her eyes humorously. Not one to let it go, though, he turned his gaze back to her to ask again. “But, seriously? What’s with all the bird names around here? First there’s Phoenix, then Rooster, now Buzzard? I mean, I know that you two are birds and all, but Rooster doesn’t exactly fit the bill.” 

Payback snickered. “Well, Rooster fits it better than they do seeing as he actually has a co--oof!” 

He keeled forward at the waist, moaning in dramatics from where Phoenix had sent her elbow swiftly into his stomach. A little green in the face, he held his hands up as if to offer an apology, while mumbling, “alright, geez. Sorry, Mom. It was just a joke.” 

“Her name has nothing to do with her genitals,” Phoenix tutted, almost proudly.

“A weird way to defend me, but still true,” Zoe snarked at her friend. When she got the tail-end of Phoenix’s glare, however, she stepped far enough away that she wasn’t in reach of the woman’s elbows. It sent her backing up into Bob who quickly apologized—as if it was his fault in the first place—before moving to her opposite side so that Zoe had the free space next to the pool table. “How does anyone get their nickname, Fanboy? I didn’t pick it. It was given to me. Take it up with flight school, yeah?”

“There has to be some sort of meaning.” 

She harrumphed, knowing damn well there was a meaning. “Well, it’s—”

“It’s because when everyone else is dead,” a smooth voice cut through the fold. The four turned to find Hangman standing over their shoulder, bent over the edge of the pool table about to take his turn. He blinked up at the group, green eyes burning a line down her face, before swiftly turning away. “She’s the only one left circling the bodies. Earned the name in the early days when she was somewhat good at training exercises. More so that she just knows how to run away without getting shot, though.” 

He punctuated his statement by throwing his arm forward. The cue ball clacked against the eight ball, sending it into the corner at the far left of the table, leaving Yale and Harvard to groan about losing to him so quickly. Ego stocked, she watched Hangman stand to his full height with a smirk. 

“Isn’t that right, Preston?”

There was something suave about how he spoke, a staccato that Zoe had missed in their years apart, but something burning and sharp and deadly all the same. All those years ago she had been convinced she was in love with him because of who he was beneath the moonlight when no one else was around, but years apart had made her realize that she was really just addicted to the adrenaline of him. It was no different than the job. Her hands twitched and her brow would pool sweat and her heart would thump a rhythm in her chest that made her feel more alive then she would ever know anywhere else when he fixed her with his attention.  

But then just as quickly when he moved his attention elsewhere, she would return to the tarmac, her head would clear, and she would be forced to remember that who he was in the moonlight wasn’t the real him. Not really anyways. Who he was in the moonlight was just the version of him that she was attracted to; the soft side, the caring side, the side that made her feel seen. 

And what good was all that when his prominent side was like this. A total dick. 

“Well, you would know,” she shot back. “You were dead all those times, afterall.” 

His smile twitched a little, eyes darkening, before he got his footing. 

“Still got number one, though.” 

Her smirk became a little less of a smile and a little more of a snarl. It was so easy to fall into this quibble with him, fall back into dangerous patterns, and if the bar was a little bit shittier and a little less packed, Zoe might have thought that no time had passed at all.

But it did. 

And she was glad for it. 

“Still don’t have anyone to watch your back, though. Do you?”

For the second time that night, she watched his smirk twitch a little at the side. Almost as if what she was saying actually broke through his exterior to leave a mark on the man beneath. She doubted that was the case; quickly scolded herself for thinking that he was capable of having a hurt pride at all, let alone from someone like her. 

Old habits die hard, she supposed, but they do die. 

Hangman cracked his mouth open to make a retort, no doubt rude and egotistical, but before he could the music from the jukebox cut off. The bar groaned, heads turning left and right to figure out what had happened, before someone started keying up the piano. Zoe heard the first notes of a familiar song, and turned to Phoenix with a knowing grin.

“Leave it to Rooster to sniff out a piano.” 

“Are you complaining?” Phoenix grabbed a few of the boys; Fanboy, Payback, Coyote, and even Bob, before ushering them excitedly towards the other side of the bar. “I guess you’re not getting that beer any time soon.” 

“Probably shouldn’t have expected anything less. Rooster is so cheap sometimes.” 

Phoenix threw her head back with a laugh before disappearing into the crowd. The pool tables were suddenly much less crowded as the bar patrons slowly started to be pulled to where the music was. Hangman stood amidst it all, cue stick limp in hand, gaping in confusion. 

“What the hell happened to the jukebox?” he asked. 

Zoe snickered. He blinked at her with a small frown. She just arched a brow in retort before grabbing his beer off the side of the table to take a swig. 

“Rooster might not be an egomaniac like you, but he still loves to sing,” she said as if it were a simple truth. “Besides, you have a shit taste in music.” 

“I—I don’t,” he said. Then his frown deepened into a scowl as he snagged his beer back out of her hands. Despite not having qualms when she insulted him earlier, he didn’t seem to be excited about how she was jumping to Rooster’s defense so easily. “What’s with you two, anyways? You fucking or something?”

She rolled her eyes. “As if I’d ever date a pilot again.” 

“Doesn’t mean that you’re not fucking.” 

“Alright,” she narrowed her eyes in turn, mouth pinching a little bit at the unpleasurable turn of conversation. She forgot he could sour things so effortlessly. “No. We’re not fucking. Not that it’s any of your business if we were.” 

“Then—?”

“What’s the saying, Bagman? Birds of a feather tend to stick together?” she said with a forceful loftiness, enjoying his misery a little too much for anything else.

“He’s a dickhead.” 

“And you’re an asshole.” 

“He can’t fly.” 

“He’s here, isn’t he?”

Jake pinched his mouth tighter, gripped his beer a little harder. “He’s a total tool.”

“Careful, Seresin,” she quipped, enjoying his bad attitude even less now that the conversation was beginning to reach murky waters. Still, a smirk and sarcasm were as good as duct tape in a situation like this; able to manage today what she could worry about fixing tomorrow. “You almost sound jealous of him.” 

He went stiff beside her. 

“Please,” he scoffed as if the entire idea was ridiculous. Though, when his eyes darted to the crowded piano on the far side of the bar where the crowd was now raucously joining in on singing, she caught the briefest flicker of uncertainty. “I’ve heard all about Bradshaw through the rumor mill. He isn’t half the pilot he thinks he is. He’s more likely to stall out than to make a kill.” 

“What? Like you?”

“I have the record for a reason.” 

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” she muttered. 

“Maybe if someone else here had made a kill, I would. But, I doubt that will happen anytime soon. Especially not when they select me as team leader. I make the shots; both the kill and the instructions.” 

Zoe sighed. 

Yeah, she thought with a brief flicker of misery, things really didn’t change. 

“Glad to see that you’re still the same after all these years,” she rolled her eyes. She watched his eyes brighten, mouth quirking upwards, but before he could let the insult be taken as a compliment, she added, “You’re still an asshole who cares more about being number one than anything else. Like, you know, the fact that not everything is about being a pilot.” 

The brightness froze in his eyes instantly, before he was frowning at her, eyebrows knit tightly in the middle of his forehead. It was, perhaps, the most genuine reaction he had given her yet.

“That’s not true.” 

“And you’re still a shit liar, Seresin.”

He stared at her. Gaped, almost. Green eyes somehow both dark and bright as they swept over her features, looking for something, though she wasn’t sure what. She simply stared back, looking for something, though she wasn’t so sure of what that was either. 

“Look, Zoe, I—” 

“Jesus Christ, Buzz, what the fuck is going on here?” an amused voice cut through their staring contest like a knife through water. 

Zoe turned to find Dylan ‘Stitch’ Chutsky looming over her with damp hair and glistening skin, the curl of a smile burning a line across his pale features as he glanced around the bar. It was easy for him to do given the foot of height he had on Zoe, and not for the first time, she found herself relieved in her WSO’s presence. He had a uncanny habit of showing up at the worst of times with his endless snark and pointed insults. 

Right now, however, as she let out a breath of tension that she didn’t even realize she had been holding, wasn’t one of them.

Stitch arched a sharp brow with an equally sharp grin before asking, “are we on American Idol right now or is everyone in the bar just really fucking drunk already?”

She laughed, allowing her shoulders to lose a little bit of their stress. 

“Rooster found a piano,” she said, as if that explained everything.

Stitch nodded as if it did. “The jukebox is out? I thought Penny would have replaced that old shit box with one that worked properly by now.”

“Something like that,” she simpered with a glance at the blonde beside her. She could tell that Hangman was trying to keep that damned smirk of his plastered in place, but as she poked a little more at Rooster’s musical talent, it flickered at the edges. “He always did like the attention, though.” 

Stitch hummed. “I forgot he could do that.” 

“Sing?”

“Make an entire bar of people fall in love with him because he knows how to play a few keys on a piano.” 

“I wouldn’t say that they’re in love with him. He’s just playing a song that everybody knows,” Hangman argued, a little hot for the easy conversation that had been passing between the pair. 

They both turned to look at him. Stitch, blinking as if he only just recognized his presence, didn’t seem all that bothered by his acrid tone. Zoe, on the other hand, felt a headache forming when she noted the way his gaze swept over Stitch condescendingly. 

“Who are you?”

“Stitch.” 

“Is that supposed to mean something to me? I’ve never heard of you.”

Stitch let out a bark of laughter; not entirely amused, but certainly not unamused. He always did walk that fine line, enjoying a little bit of chaos in his life as if hurtling around enemy air space inside a jet wasn’t enough. “I’m her WSO, asshat,” he shot back. His tone was just as acrid, but the easy going smile on his face made it seem a little less so. “Who the hell are you?”

“Hangman.” 

“You’re Hangman?”

“Heard a lot about me?” Jake stood a little straight, puffed out his chest. 

It deflated almost as quickly when Stitch just belted out another mean laugh, shaking his head while sharing a look with Zoe that certainly couldn’t have been construed as complementary. “Nothing you’d want me to repeat. I got to say, though, that you’re a lot smaller than I expected. With all those rumors flying about, I would have thought your shoulders would have been bigger. Y’know, to withstand the weight of your ginormous fucking head.” 

Hangman’s smile turned icy, harsh. “Why don’t you dial it back a bit, buddy. You’re not even a pilot.” 

“As if I haven’t heard that one before.” 

Hangman floundered for a moment at Stitch’s apparent inability to take insult no matter how insulting someone could be. Shaking his head, his eyes darted to meet Zoe’s. She tried to stifle her smile when he did so, but, if she were being honest, it was hilarious to watch Stitch ding Hangman’s vanity without even breaking a sweat. 

Especially when she had spent the better part of their first two years together telling Stitch about all the different ways that Jake ‘Hangman” Seresin had broken her heart to smithereens. 

“What happened to Nantucket?” Hangman asked her after a moment.

“He got reassigned,” she shrugged. They had been through a hell of a lot back at Top Gun, but almost immediately after he got himself reassigned for losing his temper one too many times. She had been sad to see her partner go after so much blood, sweat, and tears together, but Stitch had been the best replacement anyone could ask for. Now, five years after the fact, she hardly ever thought about her former WSO. “Stitch has been with me ever since.” 

Hangman harrumphed. “I liked Nantucket,” he said; the implication was clear.

“Well, I’m sure you would, Nantucket never had a problem with you abandoning us during the training exercises because of his little man crush on you. Stitch has a bit more of a backbone. Makes it a lot easier to like someone when they actually have your back up in the sky.” 

There was that flicker again in his eyes, the tightness of his smile. 

She ignored it to nudge Stitch towards the piano. 

“C’mon, let’s go sing. Rooster is gonna want to talk to you, anyways. You still owe him money from that bet, remember? Back in Miami.”

Stitch threw his head back with a groan. “Fuck! I forgot about that. You think he’d take a lap dance as payment? I have, like, ten dollars in my bank account right now. Apparently buying stock in Blockbuster isn’t as lucrative as one might have expected.” 

She shoved him forward with an incredulous laugh. The things that he said were always so out of pocket that it was almost impossible not to laugh at him, but clearly he didn’t think his financial woes were as humorous as she did, and in response he flashed her a scandalized look over his shoulder.

“I’m serious, Buzz,” he huffed. “I might need to start panhandling for money soon. Or, worse, I might have to move in with you. Imagine the impact that will have on my sex life.” 

“Just go,” Zoe gave him another shove, another laugh, and was about to follow when a hand circled around her wrist; gentle but firm, warm but ice cold. 

“Buzz.” 

Zoe turned to find Hangman staring at her with a look that she couldn’t quite place; a look that she wasn’t sure she had ever seen him wear. Was that regret? Or disgust? Longing? Or was he about to tell her to keep their former relationship to herself because he didn’t want to give the other pilots any sort of leg up on him during training? 

She used to think that she knew everything about him. Every quirk, every smile.

But that wasn’t actually true. And it certainly wasn’t true anymore. 

“I—” he paused, floundered a little bit, eyes darting around the packed room as he took a deep breath. She furrowed her brows at him with a glance at the hand circled around her wrist, not liking the way her skin still smoldered under his touch after all these years. He noticed her gaze, and a moment later Zoe watched as he settled back onto his heels while licking his lips, hand dropping from her wrist. “Be careful trusting Rooster up there. The kid tends to freak out when he’s under pressure.” 

Zoe frowned, bewildered. 

It seemed like he wanted to say something more, but he never did, and she had grown tired of waiting for something from him that would never come. 

Why did she always expect so much from him? 

Shaking her own head, she shot him a winning grin that was as acidic as it was bitter along the edges. “I think you’re the last person that gets to lecture me about trust, Bagman.

He frowned at the use of the nickname that everyone had shoved upon him for his behavior up in the sky. And it did hurt a little to say; hurt when she knew how much it actually bothered him. But then she reminded herself that she didn’t care—couldn’t waste her time caring, not again—and quickly started shoving her way through the crowd. Rooster had finished his song now, but there were yells for him to sing something else, and by the time she got to a free spot at the piano, he was already banging another tune onto the keys with his shoulders thrown back.

Phoenix smiled at her, then glanced over her shoulder, and asked, “you good?”

“Sure,” she shrugged. 

“Hangman’s an asshole,” the brunette replied, as if that could fix everything from the past. It wouldn’t, they both knew, but it wouldn’t be the last time that Phoenix tried to remind Zoe of that fact either. “Don’t worry about him, though. Bob and I got your back. Right Bob?”

The bespectacled WSO glanced between the woman in confusion. “Uh, right. Yep. Yes ma’am. That’s the job, anyways. I got your back.” 

“You don’t even know what we’re talking about, do you?” Zoe asked with a wry smile.

He hesitated. 

Laughing, Zoe forgave him as soon as she threw a hand over his shoulder. “You and Stitch are gonna get along great. Maybe a little too, well, actually,” she said while rustling his hair. “In fact, don’t ever offer to do him a favor no matter how charming he might seem. You seem a little too nice to end up in the county jail for that idiot.” 

Bob didn’t seem too convinced. “Sounds good to me, ma’am.” 

Zoe laughed again. There was something entirely too sweet about the little man tucked beneath her arm. Something endearing that would likely get spit out if he didn’t also know how to piss people off. 

Maybe Hangman could teach him a thing or two about being upfront with people.

As if knowing where her mind went, Phoenix added, “I don’t know what you ever saw in that guy, by the way. Once you get past the rakishly nice face, you see that everything else is a total shitstorm.” 

“Since when do you call Hangman rakish?”

“Since I have a pair of eyes and the sunset lighting seems to make his skin glow. Plus, I saw the way you looked at each other, as if no time had actually passed,” Phoenix told her with a knowing look. Zoe scowled a little. Particularly when Bob’s gaze darted towards the blonde in question upon learning that little nugget of information. “It’s hard not to, really. I’m just trying to play along with it so that you’ll finally listen to me this time. No dick is worth that.” 

“There’s nothing there, anymore, P.” 

“That’s exactly what you said last time too.” 

“Yeah, well, this time I mean it,” Zoe rolled her eyes. She shot Bob a scowl when he raised his brows at her from beneath his glasses, clearly not convinced despite not even knowing the majority of her story. He blushed at being caught, but didn’t apologize. Groaning at them all, she said, “I’m serious! Hangman is a has-been. I’m onto better and brighter things now.” 

Phoenix rolled her eyes. “Sure.” 

“Don’t make me kick your ass, P. It’s early in the night but I will.” 

Her brunette companion grinned. “As if you could.” 

Zoe let out a noise of incredulity, but before she could make good on her threat, Stitch was inserting himself into the equation with a beer in each hand. Sometimes, she swore that he had a sixth sense about when to interrupt conversations. She minded a little bit less when he offered her one of his beers—half empty already, she noted, but said nothing—before he was sucking down the other with a curious glance at the trio. 

“What’d I miss?” he asked. 

Zoe glared at Phoenix, daring her to bring up Hangman to her WSO. Wisely, she said nothing. That left Bob to clear his throat and say, “uh… something about shots?”

Stitch didn’t even question it. Just threw his head back with a wild grin. 

“Shots!” he shouted. 

Phoenix laughed as she followed him to the bar, Bob in tow, leaving Zoe to shake her head after them with a hearty laugh. When she did follow, she ignored the pair of mossy green eyes that followed her towards the bar, and when she threw her shot back with a cry, she definitely didn’t think about how that has-been still tended to make her feel. 

[mrshipsmcgee]

Hi, I love your work so much! Sorry this might be kind of long: I was hoping you could do an amazing Spider-Man imagine where instead of Peter getting sucked into the mcu, the reader somehow gets sucked into TASM universe. Reader is an avenger with some sort of powers so could you somehow include when reader first enters the universe she meets face to face with Spider-Man in a dark alleyway or something and obviously gets really freaked out and tries to attack him because she thinks he’s a threat. Idk just some sort of a small angsty fight and love at first sight sort of thing pls haha thank you <3

Sorry it’s taken me so long to write this, angel - I wanted it to be good!! I don’t know if this is exactly what you were imagining - I hope you enjoy <3

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Andrew Garfield!Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader (fem)

PART TWO PART THREE

Golden light shown around you as you felt your body tingle, feeling as if your entire body had gone numb for a moment before opening your eyes and seeing you were no longer in the comfort of your apartment - now surrounded by what seemed to be a dark alley way.

“What the fu-,” you whispered, looking around before your eyes fell upon a familiar red and blue masked man, one of your best friends since joining the Avengers. He was a few feet in front of you, standing in defense as you cocked your head, “Peter?”

He cocked his head along with you, “Who are you? And- and where the hell did you just come from?”

“Peter, this isn’t the time for games.. Where are we? What’s going on?” You asked, walking towards him before he shot a web at you. Scoffing, you shrug at your friend, beginning to walk towards him as you spoke, “What the hell was that, Pete?”

He backed away with every step you took, “How do you know my name?”

You stopped, recoiling at his words, “Peter, this isn’t funny - I don’t understand why I’m here. Did Strange do this? What is happening?” Starting to walk towards him again he shoots another web towards you, binding your fist together - gaining yet another scoff from you, “Are you serious, Parker?”

He shoots another web, trapping your foot to the ground.

Enraged at his antics your fingers break through his webbing, now opening both of your hands wide as you slowly bring your middle and pinky fingers together. “Now you’ve pissed me off,” you say, quickly pulling your middle fingers apart - beginning to control the air around you. With a flick of your left hand you bring Peter towards you. He screamed as he was forced closer to you.

“What has gotten into you, Pete? Did something happen with MJ?” You ask, quickly pulling his mask off - shocked to see a stranger staring back at you. His eyes were wide - deep brown like the Peter you know and love - but they were bigger and brighter, gleaming as the moon bounced off the flecks of his iris. His face was different - he wasn’t a kid, he was a grown man. A handsome man. His hair was brown like your Peter’s, but a completely different texture. “Who are you?” You whisper, dumbfounded at the sight before you.

The man remained frozen as he looked at you, studying your face.

“How do you know who I am?” He asks as you slowly let him out of the grip you had him wrapped in, pulling your hands back apart as he watches you.

“I’m an Avenger, so is Spiderman - aka, Peter Parker, aka my best friend and platonic soulmate - which is definitely not you,” you explain, twirling your pointer finger, slowly gathering the dirt around you into a tiny tornado as he continued to watch you, “Are you a cosplayer, fake Peter Parker?”

“I am Peter Parker,” he points to his chest, still on high alert, “I have been for 29 years now. And -,” he pauses, shooting a web and jumping towards a wall - clinging to it, “- I am Spiderman. I have been for over a decade now.”

You stomp your foot as green vines of purple wisteria trail from where you stood, wrapping around the so called Spiderman. “Uh-huh, and I’m Poison Ivy from Batman,” you say sarcastically as the wisteria pulls him towards you.

“I’m calling Sam,” you say, still holding the man captive in your botanical clutch as you pulled your phone out, quickly noticing your phone was dead. “Of course.”

The stranger struggled, abruptly jumping from your trap and shooting multiple webs at you, knocking you back into a dumpster - pinning you to it, “The real question is, who are you? And who is Sam? Your boyfriend?” He cocks his head as he shoots another web at you, grabbing the phone from your hand as he examines it, “What is this?”

“An iPhone?” You retort, struggling to break free of the layers of webbing strewn across your body, “- And, ew.. Sam is like an older brother to me. But you probably know him better as Captain America. I’m an Avenger.” You grunt, slowly breaking through the webbing.

“What the hell is an Avenger?” He asks as you finally break through of the webs, holding your finger tips together in a triangle, bringing them towards you quickly as you push your energy towards the man - pushing him a few yards from you before bringing your fist to the ground and cracking the cement in front of you.

“Who are you, woman?!” He screams as he shoots a web, hurling himself towards you, trying to bind your fists together as you raise your palms, picking him up as wind gushed around him, “Are you a witch?!”

“A witch?!” you scream as you throw him into a dumpster, beginning to run as a web catches you - spinning you back towards the man in the Spiderman costume, landing in his arms as you look up at him. He studied your face once more as you continue to struggle against him.

“Hey, hey,” he whispers, looking into your eyes. His eyes kind as he continued to speak, “I swear to you I am Peter Parker.. And - I am Spiderman.”

You stop struggling, seeing the sincerity in the man’s eyes. Something about him did feel familiar.

“I’m Y/N,” you whispered quickly.

“Y/N,” Peter murmurs.

The two of you continued to stare at each other in silence before you whisper, “And I’m not a witch - I can just control the elements.”

His eyes widen as you scrunch your nose twice, causing a small gush of wind to mess up his hair before pointing three fingers at him, forming a fern crown around his fluffy hair.

The so called Peter was amazed, no longer so afraid of your power as he watched you in awe, whispering, “incredible.”

He smiled before his face dropped, “I’m very confused, though.. What the hell is a Captain America?”

•

Should this have a second part???? Let me know!

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Tag List: @rose-writes-shit @xuxialling @itwasallinmyhead1 @mypalbuck @angelcritterz

Part 2 coming Wednesday January 19th 7 PM EST

PART TWO PART THREE