#please i had so much fun writing this

[therisingdarkness]

5 Times Ghoul Left the Bar Alone, and One Time He Didn’t

written again for @cloned-eyes and for Ghoul, and for my girl Odessa <3 (this is like 18 pages, I’m sorry)

PART 2

Forty-six rotations since the last time they made planetfall, and sixteen more before they were finally debriefed and allowed to go on leave. It wasn't enough time to truly relax and unwind, but five days was all they could afford. Ghoul didn't question it, but neither did he keep his opinion to himself when asked.

Forty-six days of nearly killing themselves dodging the Separatist fleet, only to be rewarded with a pat on the back and five days of shore leave? The entire Republic could go kark itself, if that was supposed to be considered a fair trade. He wasn't grateful and he wasn't gonna pretend to be. The only thing he was looking forward to was finally replenishing his supply of cygarettes. He had run out so long ago it was a small miracle he hadn't managed to kill anyone in the interim, but most of the clones he served with knew to stay out of his way regardless.

Ghoul tapped his foot impatiently waiting for the transport's docking procedures to terminate, mentally running through the exact path he needed to take to get to the shop that sold his preferred brand of smokes. His craving was bad this time around; everything annoyed him, every little noise and movement drew his attention in a way it normally wouldn't and he knew he shouldn't have smoked them all in the first twenty rotations, but it was difficult when everyone around him was just so…so damn…indoctrinated.

That was the other reason he was looking forward to leave. He didn't have to be around the other clones as much, wouldn't be subjected to their boot-licking fantasies of being the heroes the Republic needed. Ugh.

Better still, he was meeting Fox at 79s. It had taken ages to patch a message through the tight security protocols, but when his brother finally messaged back he sounded cheerful and willing to make plans. Of course it had to be at 79s, because all anyone did was drink; Ghoul wanted to forget too, but nothing tasted the same and he wasn't about to spend credits getting wasted when he could just go to the rec center and beat the slack out of a training dummy for free. Despite its immeasurable and endless wealth, the same Republic that had no issue forking over the credits necessary for the Kaminoans to grow its army balked at the idea of paying said army a decent wage. 

But Ghoul wasn't about to suggest they go anywhere else. Fox was so difficult to make plans with that he would take whatever he could get, so long as it meant seeing his older batchmate again. Wolffe was good company and all, but Fox would know exactly what to say without sounding like he was reading off a script. He had always known how to make Ghoul feel better after a shitty day.

Slightly less shitty, once he had four fresh packs of cygarettes neatly packed into his empty rations pouch on his hip. With a promise to himself to make them last this time, Ghoul hurried to 79s, hoping to beat his brother there and grab a booth in the back where they could talk without being disturbed.

The outside of the bar had received a fresh coat of paint since the last time he had been there; unfortunately, the sign on the door prohibiting helmets remained. Maybe it was just his imagination, but the lettering looked bigger. He almost considered ignoring it…but instinct told him to just obey, for once. Wolffe would probably find out about it anyway and give him an earful. With a beleaguered sigh, Ghoul pulled off his bucket and tucked it under his arm before pushing the doors open. 

A blast of recycled air hit him in the face, immediately cooling the sweat buildup on his forehead. The inside of his nose stung with the first inhale, but it was good to be out of the heat. The sun hadn’t even set yet and the bar was mostly empty. The only other patrons were a few alien species—Rodian, Dug, and Pantoran—and an odd couple of clones stripped of their armor down to the hips. At the bar itself sat a few humans, all three of them red-faced and snickering amongst themselves.

Behind the bar stood the same Twi’lek that had served him and Wolffe during their last visit. Ghoul stiffened, but she wasn’t paying him any attention or even looking his way. 

Good, he thought. Maybe this time she’d mind her business and stay far away from him, except to do her job. Hopefully he’d be able to have more than one drink this time around. Even if he couldn’t taste it, he was looking forward to the social aspect of drinking with his brother.

Ping.

Ghoul ripped his commlink off his belt so fast he almost broke the clip, pressing the receiver and holding it close to his mouth.

“Fox?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound too eager.

“Hey, glad I caught you!”

“Kriff, it’s good to hear your voice,” Ghoul said. “I just got to 79s; gonna grab a booth. You want me to order for you?”

“...well now I just feel bad.”

Ghoul froze. Dread prickled the skin at the back of his neck and he tightened his hold on the commlink.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

He could almost hear the way Fox winced over the channel.

“I’m not gonna be able to make it today,” his brother said. “Emergency Senate proceedings, and the Chancellor refused my request for leave.”

“You asked for that time off ages ago!” Ghoul hissed. “Tell him to eat shit!”

“You know I can’t do that. I’m really, really sorry. I swear I’ll make it up to you.”

It was a lie. If not a lie, then a promise that was broken on delivery. Ghoul wanted to throw his commlink across the bar and bash his helmet into the ground; the knowledge that he’d receive demerits for damaging military issued equipment kept him from doing just that. He closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath, pushing down the sudden rage that threatened to consume him. It wasn’t Fox’s fault…he couldn’t have known, he only just found out himself. Yeah…if it was up to him, he would have been there.

“You owe me,” Ghoul growled. “Big time.”

“I’ll take you somewhere nice and treat you like royalty. On my honor.”

“You don’t got any.”

Fox laughed, a smooth chuckle that had always made him seem cooler than anyone else Ghoul had ever known.

“Stay and have a drink for me? I hate to think you walked all that way for nothing.”

He didn’t want to. Five steps through the door and the rest of his day was ruined. There was no reason for him to stay, no reason he should sit up at the bar and drink alone. It was so pathetic. But…Fox was asking and lying to him didn’t feel right, even if there was no way he’d know, one way or the other.

“Fine. What’re you drinking?”

“Darkoma.”

“You sure have expensive taste for a guy who’s not paying,” Ghoul grumbled.

“You’ll love it. I’m really sorry about this, but I have to go. Don’t be mad!”

“Too late,” Ghoul snapped, but the line went dead as Fox disconnected. He was alone again, standing in a bar he hated, with only a few credits left to his name. 

Kark, he thought.

He could leave. He could leave and no one would have to know. He had four packs of cygs and he knew how fast he could burn through half a pack in his current mood. If he jogged he could make it back to the rec center before they closed for their mandatory custodial hours. Hells, he could go straight to the barracks and take advantage of everyone being gone and get some alone time in, it’d been kriffing forever since he last touched himself anyways.

Shit.

The bartender had finally taken notice of him. He glared, but she just gave him a little smile and a wave, then pointed toward the seat at the very end of the bar, closest to the wall—the same seat he had taken the last time.

Just a couple drinks, he told himself. No more than two, and you can leave. You’ll have kept your word and you can rub it in Fox’s face the next time you see him.

Ghoul slunk over to the bar, trying not to feel like he had been ordered to the corner seat…even if it was the very one he would have taken of his own free will. He set his helmet down on the countertop a little more harshly than he should have and side-eyed the humans further down the bar. They hadn’t taken notice of him yet, invested as they were in their drinks. A dozen empty shot glasses littered the space in front of them, tiny monuments to their inebriation.

There were several times in his short life where he had felt lower than dirt…this wasn’t one of them, but it came close.

"Ghoul?" 

He looked up.

She was standing in front of him, tilting her head to the side and fingering a menu. She was bright green and he hadn't even noticed her move. Kark. He needed a drink more than he thought.

"Yeah," he groused, forced to speak. 

"I remember," she said, her voice gentle. It made his skin itch. If she thought she was doing him a favor by pretending to be so nice, she had another thing coming. He didn't need special treatment, or to be handled with white gloves. He wasn't fragile.

"You were with the Commander last time," the bartender said, refusing to shut up or take his glowering for the hint it was. "He is not with you today?"

"Obviously," he said, seething a bit. "Get me a Darkoma. And a Catsblood."

Unphased, she nodded, her lekku swaying with the movement. Against his will, he noticed the striped patterning painted down the length of them, a darker green that complimented her skin tone.

"Oryxxian, yes? You like the spicy kind. And warm for both?"

She…she remembered. Ghoul didn't know why it mattered. He tried to tell himself that it didn't, that she was just doing her job, the same as any half-decent bartender would manage. It wasn't anything special. 

But it had been forty-six rotations since last planetfall and sixteen more for debriefing; in all that time she must have seen hundreds, if not thousands of clones pass through 79s. It wasn't possible to remember the details of every single one of them. Maybe names, if Twi'leks brains were as big as rumor had it, but even then there was only so much a person could be expected to hold onto before they started forgetting.

And clones were, as a lot of people liked to say, fairly forgettable.

"Yes," Ghoul heard himself say. 

"Good choice for both," she said. "When the liquors are warm the taste sits more firmly in your mouth, and the aroma is stronger. Have you never had Darkoma before?"

He shook his head, biting back the urge to tell her that he couldn't taste. 

"Darkoma is very rich," she said, smiling properly for the first time since he took notice of her. "A bold flavor, not quite as spiced as the Catsblood, but warm and pleasant. The aroma is almost earthy. You will enjoy it."

"Heeeeey," came a call from down the bar. "Sweetheart, why don't you come back over here an' give us a twirl?"

Ghoul watched the Twi'lek stiffen. She wasn't at all low-key; her lekku twitched nervously and gave her away, even through the tight smile she forced to her face. He knew enough about her species to know that the subtle movements of lekku was a language all its own; he wondered what hers were saying now, as the ends curled upwards and flicked down.

"Forgive me," she said, glancing back at the drunk humans. "I will see to them first, and then get you your drinks."

Ghoul glanced down the counter as she turned on her heel, the bounce missing from her step as she approached the lightweights. They all had the same soft look about them—almost immediately, Ghoul could tell they came from money. His eyes could see what others might miss, from the superfine weave making up the fabric of their clothing to the fractal light caught by their very real and very expensive jeweled rings. 

Matching rings, he realized.

Academy brats.

If it was possible to hate individuals more than he hated the Republic as a whole, graduates from the Academy cornered the market. Blue-blood sons from wealthy families, coasting through life on the wings of nepotism, whispered favors and credits passed into the hands of politicians, accruing badges of honor without having ever set foot on a battlefield. Worthless little scudbuckets who thought themselves so much better than anyone else, who would shit their perfectly pressed breeches if they ever had the misfortune of being caught in a real firefight.

Ghoul watched with muted interest as the bartender began clearing the shot glasses, dropping each one into soapy water with a little plop.

“I am thinking it is time for you three to throw in your towels,” she said, her tone pleasant, but firm. “You have had much to drink this day.”

“There’s always room for more!” the middle one crowed as he swayed in place atop his seat. 

“Yeah, we’re fine! C’mon, give us another round!”

“No,” she said, exuding patience for which Ghoul had to give her credit for. “I am cutting you off for now. Tomorrow is a new day, yes? Come again, and I will feed you drinks until you fall over. But not today.”

“Stop being stingy,” the first idiot spoke up again. He seemed to be the ringleader of the group, his voice obnoxious and nasally but filled with the kind of pomp his family’s money afforded him, like he was expecting to be obeyed. Ghoul felt a sneer curl his upper lip; he didn’t feel obligated to step in or anything, it wasn’t any of his business and it definitely wasn’t his kriffing job…but they were annoying and disturbing what little peace he had.

“It is not stingy,” the bartender said, her voice more firm. “I must ask you all to leave now, please. You have had enough. I will not be serving you more today.”

“Oh yeah? What would your master think?”

She froze, except for her lekku; the ends curled violently, almost thrashing before she reached up and grabbed one to forcibly hold it still. Ghoul stared, the expression on her face by far the most interesting one he had seen her make. She was focused on the three idiots in front of her, all of whom sported the same smug smirk on their faces, like something of extreme wit had just been said.

The Twi’lek didn’t look so impressed. In fact, he’d swear it was anger that she was holding in check.

“I asked you to leave,” she said; there was a tremor in her voice. “You are not welcome here anymore.”

“And what if we said no?” the ringleader said. “You gonna make us? Tailhead?”

That was definitely a slur. Every seasoned clone knew it, or had heard of it from those who had deployed to Ryloth for even one rotation. He remembered watching an officer break up a fistfight between a clone and a male Twi’lek over the use of the word; the clone had come away from it with the bone of his forearm jutting out through his skin and bite marks across his face. Male Twi’leks had sharp teeth and weren’t shy about using them, it seemed. He had simply made note not to use that word, ever.

Ghoul doubted these men had ever set foot on Ryloth, though. Maybe they could have been given the benefit of the doubt, that they heard the word in passing and just didn’t know how derogatory it actually was…but the looks on their faces gave away that they knew exactly what it meant.

“I am giving you one more chance,” the bartender said. “Leave on your own, or be thrown out. I will call the security droid.”

For a moment he wondered if they’d keep at it. The bar was empty and they were drunk enough that no one else was going to stop them. Ghoul didn’t recall there ever being a security bot at 79s, either, so she was likely bluffing. He knew he was too invested; he shouldn’t have cared, should have just minded his own business and waited for his drinks. Hell, he should have just left the second Fox said he wasn’t gonna make it. He still could; she hadn’t poured anything so there’d be nothing to waste.

But if he left and something happened….

It wasn’t his job. He didn’t care. 

She remembered I like it warm. 

So small a thing, it shouldn’t have meant so much to him—It doesn’t, he told himself harshly—but for some reason he couldn't move from his seat. Wolffe wouldn’t even have entertained the idea; in fact, he might’ve already rectified the situation himself had he been there. Ghoul wasn’t Wolffe though—he wasn’t so chivalrous as to stick his neck out for someone he didn’t know. Besides…this kind of behavior came with the territory. She wouldn’t be the first bartender to deal with rowdy customers. She needed to have the spine for this sort of thing.

But he sat, and he watched, and he felt his entire body tensing up in that familiar way it did right before a battle, right before he was forced to spring to action. 

She remembered my name.

~~~

“Leave,” Odessa repeated herself, pointing toward the door. 

The human stared at her, his pale blue eyes glossy with too much drink and his mouth crooked with what he thought was a smile. Her skin crawled and her heartbeat quickened. She hated confrontation, it was really the worst part of her job. She had been so fortunate that, up until now, patrons of 79s knew better than to argue about being cut off. Clones especially were quick to give up trying to wheedle one last little drink out of her, obedient down to the marrow in their bones. Sometimes they had to be dragged away by their brothers, but none had ever dared to speak to her with the disrespect that this human had.

She was close to shaking and hated it. This was the one thing she was no good at, and there were three of them staring her down like she was scum stuck to the bottom of their boots. Odessa held her head high though, tilting her chin up even though it did nothing to make her appear taller.

“Well?” she prompted.

Please leave, please leave, please leave.

“Fine,” the tallest human said, snatching his cap off the counter and shoving it down over his white-blonde hair. “Come on boys. There’s better bars than this dump.”

One by one the men clambered to their feet, stumbling as they gathered their wits about them and headed toward the door. Odessa watched them go until the last one made it out through the door, but not without shooting one last parting glare her way. Though drunk, there was enough real malice in his eyes that it sent a shiver up her spine. She tried not to judge any of the patrons who came by 79s…but in her opinion, there were some people who should stay away from alcohol. At the very least, they shouldn’t let themselves get so drunk.

He left, the door chiming as it shut behind him and allowing Odessa to finally breathe a sigh of relief. 

Finally. 

She looked back down toward the end of the bar with an apologetic smile. 

“I am so sorry you had to see that,” she said, spinning to grab both drinks from the top shelf. “Normally they leave when I cut them off, but I have not seen those men before. Perhaps they are used to softer hearts.”

“...no,” Ghoul said, his voice low, almost a murmur. “They were just idiots.”

“Regardless, I would have preferred it did not happen that way.”

“...you had it handled.”

Odessa smiled as she poured the drinks, careful not to spill a single drop. She overpoured just a little, just because she could. It wouldn’t be missed.

“You know,” she said as she carefully walked the drinks over to Ghoul, “I was not worried. Most men are not so foolish as to act out in public like that. I think it would have been fine.”

He looked up at her and she was so close she could see the details of his eyes, the cybernetic components almost seamlessly fused together, except for thin, silver lines. Curiosity would have had her ask him about what happened, but she choked the desire dead in her chest. She would never be so rude.

“Those weren’t ‘most men’,” Ghoul said, fingering the glass of Darkoma. “They were Republic Academy students. Or graduates. Doesn’t matter, they’re all the same breed of asshole.”

“You sound as if you have experience,” Odessa said, wanting to hear more already. But first…she leaned against the counter and tapped her finger against the surface.

“Smell first,” she encouraged. “It will help prepare your senses. Darkoma is top shelf for a reason.”

She could see defiance in his expression, the way his brows furrowed right in the middle; he was a man not used to taking orders…or at the least, a man who did not like taking orders. But hers was only a suggestion, and a gentle one at that. He did as she said, inhaling deeply of the drink until his eyebrows arched in surprise.

“It’s…different,” he said.

“Different is good!” Odessa laughed. “I love to try new things, especially food and drink. You can learn much from other cultures that way.”

Ghoul lifted a shoulder in a shrug and began to drink steadily from the cup—too steadily. Before she could blink the short glass was empty and he turned it over, placing it upside down with a decisive clink.

“Not bad,” he said. “Not my speed, but not bad.”

“How could you tell? You drank so fast there was no time to enjoy the flavor!”

Almost immediately she knew she had done it again, uttered something insensitive or thoughtless that caused him to retreat in on himself and slam those walls back up around him. It was like a storm cloud passed over him, thunder on his brow and the air between them suddenly electrified with a tension so thick she could have cut it with a vibroblade. 

“So what?” he growled. “I’m paying for it, I’ll drink it how I want.”

“Forgive me,” Odessa said, confused. “I did not mean to offend—”

“Listen,” Ghoul said, snatching the other drink up so fast a little bit sloshed over the rim, “I don’t know what makes you think I want to talk to you. I just came here to get a drink, then I’m leaving. You don’t have to hover, or talk to me, or pay any attention to me at all. Just…go do your job. Pretend I’m not here.”

Ouch.

“I was just…trying to be friendly…,” she said, heart pounding. This was, somehow, worse than the drunk men. At least then she knew she was in the right by making them leave. She had never met someone so…so unwilling to lay down their burden. Almost everyone who entered the bar was happy to talk to her, even if it was just for a little bit. Asking patrons about their day and their lives was part of what made the job fun, and even those who weren’t in the mood for idle chit chat were polite enough to exchange pleasantries.

Ghoul, it seemed, wanted none of it. He glared at her now, and got up from his seat to set both hands on the edge of the bar. He leaned over slowly, until less than half a meter remained between them.

“I’m not your friend,” he hissed.

Odessa swallowed, eyes wide and heart still beating wildly in her chest. She didn’t realize she was pressed against the sink until she felt the dampness collected on the rim soak into her pants. 

“You…do not have to be,” she found herself saying, despite every alarm bell in her head sounding off, hinting that it was a better idea to shut up. “I was only curious.”

“Join the club,” Ghoul snarled. “You wanna know so bad? Ask, so I can tell you where to shove your kriffing ‘curiosity’.”

“Not that,” she said, gesturing to his face. “I am not so rude to ask the invasive questions.”

Was that a flicker of doubt she saw, in his eyes? Were implants even capable of expressing that level of emotion? She did want to ask, but the ghost of her mother would crawl out of the grave and strangle her with her own lekku if she dared to pry into whatever terrible event scarred Ghoul so deeply. His defensiveness made sense now, if all he was expecting from her were the kinds of questions that shouldn’t be asked aloud. She felt bad for him…felt bad for the way he must have been treated, if he thought so lowly of her, a complete stranger.

“What else is there?” Ghoul asked, his voice raspier than before. But he sounded genuinely confused, as though he couldn’t think of any reason why she might want to get to know him as his own person. 

And honestly…Odessa didn’t know how to answer him. She didn’t know how to explain to him things that he should have already known, things that almost every other clone had embraced wholeheartedly, in rejection of the cold ideals that had been placed into their heads from birth. She didn’t know how to tell him that he was his own person, an amalgamation of experiences and desires and thoughts and memories that made him unique among his brothers. She didn’t know how to explain what she felt, whenever meeting someone for the first time, and watching them open up to her. It was like watching little morning flowers blossom with the rising sun.

Her father called her a romantic daydreamer; her brother just called her a silly little girl…but she couldn’t help who she was. She couldn’t help that she cared. It was the war that had made people forget that they were all a part of the same universe; they shared the stars and the pathways between them and it should have been easy to understand the importance of being kind, especially now…Odessa would never apologize for her beliefs.

But Ghoul asked her what else there could possibly be like he didn’t think there was any part of him worth knowing, and the confusion in his voice was almost enough to break her heart. She did want to know him, more now than anything, if only to prove him wrong, to show him that there was plenty about him that anyone would be proud to know. He wasn’t a walking prosthetic, he wasn’t just his war wounds. He wasn’t just some meat sack filling out scuffed armor.

But…she didn’t know how to get him to see it. Not without upsetting him further. Not without…without knowing how to reach him.

“You do not think much of yourself…do you.”

Before he could answer, the door swung open. Odessa only had to glance over before her heart dropped down to her knees upon recognition of the three men who had left not that long ago. They laughed and shoved one another inside, practically tripping over their own feet; somehow, in the span of less than a standard hour, they had managed to become even more drunk. Their faces were swollen with it, their cheeks and foreheads so red that at first glance it looked as though they were bleeding. 

They had no right to come back, especially now when there was still much to be said. Odessa felt a small fury building inside of her at being interrupted the way that they were, and she shot Ghoul a soft look.

“Stay here,” she said. “I will deal with them…again.”

She stormed out out from behind the bar through the employee gate and right up to the men, incensed when she noticed the way they snickered and straightened up at her approach. They did not look at all sorry to be there, nor did they show any humility; she half-doubted that they even knew where they were.

“The bar is closed,” she said loudly, clapping her hands together a few times to capture their wandering attention. “I have already told you to leave and now you have come back. You want me to call for the authorities?”

“My father is an Admiral,” the tallest man among them sneered. He jabbed his finger into the middle of her forehead and pushed her back, hard. “I can do whatever the hell I want.”

“You cannot,” she snapped back, swiping at his hand. Even drunk, he was faster than her, taller than her, and he laughed in her face until she could taste the alcohol on his hot breath. Odessa wrinkled her nose and blocked them from moving with her body. 

“You are disturbing my other customers,” she insisted, determined to diffuse the situation like her boss had taught her; though she didn’t necessarily agree with the policies, calling the authorities was supposed to be the last resort. It would have been her first, had she had been sure she wouldn't have gotten in trouble for it.

“Customers?” the man repeated, looking over the top of her head and squinting. “I don’t see anyone worth more than the three of us. What, a few drunk blueskins and some washed-up clones?”

“Do not insult them!” Odessa snapped, raising her voice. She whipped her head over her shoulder and sure enough, the two clones in the corner had taken notice. They  had been nothing but quiet and unassuming, gave her their batch numbers in a dutiful way that told her they had yet to see battle, had yet to earn themselves a nickname or lose their shiny status. They were quiet and polite, just a couple of lightweights who wanted to wind down after a long shift. They didn’t deserve to be spoken about like that.

She dared not look at Ghoul—she did not want to draw their attention to him. She saw now the type of men they really were, when alcohol had plied loose the beliefs they held deep within. They were cruel and judgmental, the kind who thought they were better than everyone else because of their status, their careers, the credits at their disposal. Odessa had no time for men like that, sober or otherwise. What was the saying she heard her boss use? ‘Drunken words are sober thoughts’.

She did not want them to notice Ghoul and turn that cruelty to him—and they would, and they would be merciless. She knew their type now, and was ashamed that she hadn’t seen it sooner. 

“You’re awfully protective,” one of the other men said, his speech slurred. “You like them? You a clone-fucker?”

Odessa swore in her native Ryl, the kinds of words she learned from her father and brother when they thought she wasn’t listening. 

“Get. Out,” she hissed.

“She is a clone-fucker. Bet she’s had them all since we left.”

“Well what can you expect from a Twi’lek?”

“Schutta!”

Odessa’s jaw dropped at the slur casually thrown in her face, spoken in the worst imitation of a Twi’leki accent she had ever heard. It was almost enough to make her see red and forget all about the training she had to go through to even be allowed to stand behind the bar, but if she lost her composure now the surveillance feed would only show her throwing the first punch; no audio meant no proof to back up any claims of verbal harassment. 

They’re just words, she said after forcing herself to take a deep breath. Her lekku were stiff with anger, quivering against her shoulder blades but she refused to let them see that they almost got to her. Just words, just children. Little idiots who do not know what they are saying. They are drunk.

“Ugh, look at that one.”

“I thought they decommissioned the ones that were damaged that bad.”

“What a waste of credits. Should have just thrown it in the incinerator.”

SLAP!

Odessa saw her hand make contact with the tall man’s face before she had even noticed her body moving on its own. Her palm stung with the strength of the blow, having caught the entire breadth of her victim’s cheek. At first thought, she knew she hadn’t meant to do it…but on second thought she realized that she didn’t care.

The man reeled back with a high-pitched yelp, practically falling back onto his friends; she watched, frozen in place as he clutched at his jaw and then tested his lower lip with a few fingers—they came away stained with a bit of blood, and the sight of it seemed to sober them all instantly.

“How dare you!” the man shrieked, shoving one of his friends out of the way. He reached out with a long arm and though she tried to dodge out of reach, his hand curled around the end of her left lek and squeezed. Odessa screamed and almost collapsed from the pain shooting through the supersensitive organ—they weren’t meant to be handled so roughly! Everyone knew better—even if they had never met a Twi’lek face-to-face, people knew and they knew better than to touch, even in anger….

“I’ll have you deported off-planet for that,” the man hissed in her face as he forced her to the bar and pinned her against it. The edge bit painfully into her lower back as she struggled against his other hand gripping her by the arm. He was stronger than he looked and used his height to his advantage. Odessa wished she had paid more attention to the self-defense lessons her brother tried to teach her before she left Ryloth; foolishly she hadn’t believed she’d need them on Coruscant.

“Let me go!” she gasped.

The man sneered, and then, from her peripheral, Odessa watched as a hand reached out and snatched him by the collar of his fancy jacket. One moment he was there, in front of her, and the next his hands had released her and he was bent over, wheezing as Ghoul drove a knee up into the man’s gut. He wretched, immediately spilling the liquid contents of his stomach all over his shiny boots and the floor; half a second later, he slipped in his own mess and fell face first into it.

Odessa barked out a surprised laugh and then covered her mouth, dodging out of the way as one of the other men charged Ghoul, slamming into him from the side. The momentum took them both to the countertop and almost sent Ghoul over it, but he was sober, quick, and a trained veteran. The three punches he threw were so quick Odessa almost thought she miscounted; each one carried a sorry, wet sound, like a mallet smashing against a sack of soggy meat. Ghoul grunted, blocked a pathetic return volley, and then grabbed the man by the back of his neck and, with an impressive display of strength, slammed his head directly against the bartop. Blood spurted from the immediate gash that opened up on the man’s face, some of it getting on Ghoul’s chestplate, but he didn’t seem to notice. 

The third man all but tripped over the first, careening right into Ghoul’s waiting arms; again, with a speed that belied his armored frame, he threw the offender to the side, sending him with a sharp kick to the ass. His head went through the glass display case lining the bottom of the counter, knocking over several very expensive bottles of imported liquor. He did not bother trying to get up again.

By the time Ghoul turned back around, the first man had clambered back to his feet, his face and hair filthy with his own vomit, the front of his once clean shirt stained with sludge-colored bile. His face was ruddy and blood dripped from his lower lip—Odessa felt a surge of pride in her veins, knowing that was her handiwork. 

Ghoul cracked his neck menacingly and beckoned at the man with a hand. 

“Go on,” he snarled, “let’s see who’s ready for the incinerator.”

Odessa ran around the bar, hopping over the gate and watching from a safe distance. She considered hitting the panic button beneath the counter, but something told her to stay her hand, don’t be too hasty. She knew she shouldn’t have, but…but she wanted to see what Ghoul was going to do. 

She didn’t have to wait long.

Even after watching his friends get dispatched in a matter of seconds, the tall man didn’t seem to understand how miserably outclassed he was. He threw a heavy haymaker at Ghoul, but the clone dodged easily, ducking right beneath his wide swing and returning three more quick punches to the man’s ribs. Odessa winced, having seen enough sparring sessions between her brother and his friends to know that he had just broken a few ribs.

But Ghoul didn’t stop there; he dropped to one knee and clasped his hands together, using the dual force of both his arms to drive his elbow into the side of his opponent’s knee. The bone cracked with a sound like cannonfire and he went down with a garbled yell, clutching at the joint while rolling back and forth.

The dramatic display didn’t last long though as Ghoul quickly climbed on top of him, grappling his wrists for a moment before landing another punch.

Then another.

And another.

And another.

Odessa watched in awe. She couldn’t look away, mesmerized by the sight of Ghoul beating the man who had insulted her—insulted them—half to death. Her finger hovered over the silent alarm, but she couldn’t bring herself to press it.

Not yet, she chanted to herself. Not yet, let him take what he wants. Give him what he deserves.

It was more than Ghoul could have given her with words. It was written in the lines and scars of his face, the cold rage he affected as he continued to punch his victim in the face, his right arm little more than a piston as he pulled his elbow back and let loose. Odessa could hear the crunch of cartilage, saw blood begin to fleck against Ghoul’s dark armor. She thought…she thought she had to stop him, before he killed the man…but she also didn’t want to interrupt him.

He was…he was amazing. 

He was amazing…and he was going to kill him.

“Ghoul…GHOUL!” Odessa forced herself to shout.

To her relief, he did stop, but only barely, only after faltering on his last punch and leaning over the man panting, both hands on the floor on either side of his bloodied head. Odessa grabbed a towel and hurried back over just as Ghoul stumbled to his feet. Blood speckled his face and the front of his chestplate; ribbons of it crawled up his vambrace and the armor worn on his knuckles was cracked and soaked through. He breathed heavily through his nose, his chest heaving on every labored inhale.

Odessa approached cautiously, until she was close enough to hold out the clean towel. When he looked at her she shrugged, unsure what to say. ‘Thanks’ seemed so self-serving, and she didn’t think for one second that he had come to her rescue for her sake.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Ghoul snatched the towel from her hands and quickly rubbed it against his face and over the top of his shaved head. Sweat fell down the back of his neck, eaten up by the black sleeve he wore beneath his armor.

“Yeah,” he choked out. “Yeah, I’m…I’m fine.”

The same could not be said for the man who lay before them. His face was little more than a bloody pulp, like raw meat sold at the open air markets back home on Ryloth. His flesh was already beginning to swell, making it difficult to tell where his eyes were. A gurgling noise emanated from the gash of his mouth, shards of white glistening in the blood, which Odessa realized were the remains of his teeth.

“You need to leave,” she said. “You need to leave now. I will…call the authorities. They will want to make a report. If you leave, I can lie and say it was someone else.”

Ghoul paused in running the towel over his hands.

“You’d lie?” he asked, an incredulous look on his face. “Why?”

“Because they deserved it,” Odessa said. “Men like this…need a good beating. But I will not see you in trouble for it. You did me a favor.”

He looked like he didn’t want to believe her, like he’d be betraying some part of himself if he did. She watched as he glanced back and forth, surveying the damage he had caused. It wasn’t bad but the cleaning bill was going to be high, and she knew her boss would lament every credit spent. 

“What about them?” Ghoul said, gesturing rudely at the idiots strewn across the floor. “You think they’ll let this go?”

“They would not dare,” Odessa said. “What would they say anyway? Admit to being beaten so badly by a single clone? Their pride will not allow it.”

She was confident. She was so confident that she took a chance and stepped over the tall man’s prone form, and gave Ghoul a little push at his back toward the door.

“Go now,” she urged. “I have to call the authorities and medical aid. They do not deserve it, but it will look worse for them when they wake up. Please.”

“But—”

“Hush. You have done more than enough already. Ryma’allesh.”

Another gentle push and Ghoul took a few steps of his own. 

“I don’t—”

“Ghoul,” Odessa said firmly. “You will be under a court martial if you are found out. I do not want you to be decommissioned. Please go.”

That seemed to snap him back into the correct headspace. The next moment he was serious again, wiping down his vambraces to get them as free of blood as possible while Odessa hurried over to the end of the bar to grab his helmet. She had never held one before; it weighed heavily in her hands, warm from the electrical and navigational components, as well as the emergency oxygen supply. He accepted it from her with a grunt of what she assumed to be thanks, and jammed it over his head.

When he looked at her, when she could no longer read his expression and was no longer in fear of it, she offered him a smile.

“Thank you,” she said. “I know you did not do it for me…but I thank you all the same.”

He tilted his head to the side, then gave a short nod. 

Without another word, he left.

Odessa exhaled shakily and slowly turned around to survey the damage. Thankfully the other patrons, including the shinies, had fled out the rear emergency exit. She didn’t blame the clones at all for leaving—they were soldiers, but brawling was most likely an activity frowned upon by the Republic command. It was better for them that they ran, and she would not hold it against them. Their absence served a second purpose as well; less witnesses for the authorities to talk to.

“Okay…,” Odessa said to herself, “Let me…try and clean this up.”

By ‘clean up’ she meant ‘doctor the scene’ so she could spin a lie the authorities would believe. She knew which computer in the back the feed from the video surveillance saved to and she knew enough about computers that it would be no trouble to corrupt the data and make it look as though a power surge wiped out the motherboard. She had her mother to thank for that.

But first she had to erase every sign that Ghoul had ever been there. It took some doing, but she managed to half-drag, half-kick the tall man’s body across Ghoul’s bloody handprints on the floor. She scuffed her boot against anything that looked like a footprint to wipe away the treadmarks that could be traced back to the standardized military gear provided by the GAR, and then finally ran down to the end of the bar to clear his empty drinks.

But there was only one, the first one he had downed—Darkoma, Odessa remembered, top shelf, Corellian—and the tumbler turned on its rim so that the last few drops slid from the bottom and made the table sticky. The Catsblood remained full, untouched…and between them, a small pile of credits. Odessa counted them quickly—it was just barely enough to cover the Darkoma by itself. No tip this time. 

But…she smiled. 

This was the second time he had paid for a drink she meant to give him on the house.

He will have to come back so I can make it up to him. Eventually.

[deedala]

art for shameless big bang fic:

Last Night at the Verona Grand Hotel by @the-rat-wins

special thanks to @whaticameherefor for taking over the organizing!

[demonslayedher]

I finished posting the unabashedly educational Sword Fic.

It includes a detailed (but hopefully beginner-friendly) explanation of all the steps of making a Nichirin blade from a sunny mountain like Mt. Youkou, a touch of swordsmith and metalworker folk lore (including demons), meta about what must make Kimetsu no Yaiba's swordsmithing methods different from real life methods, some character exploration for Haganezuka and his polishing method, vocabulary and additional resources in the chapter notes, and hopefully, an endearing, silly POV character to learn this all through.

[waitineedaname]

when I asked for prompts, @birbliophile suggested the Reddit drama and conspiracy theories following cumplane's disappearance, and I am here to provide! I grappled with so much html for this. fucking hell.

an excerpt, by way of summary:

[ID, courtesy of @princess-of-purple-prose: An excerpt from the fic, formatted to look like a post in r/ProudImmortalDemonWay posted by u/Liukingforlove. It's titled "Enemies-to-lovers Peerless Cucumber/Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky RPF 18+ don’t like don’t read!" and says:

Well, I’ve finally cracked. I had three exams this week and ended up in the hospital a few days ago (im fine, don’t worry about it) but the whims of fanfiction wait for no one! I was inspired by that post a couple months ago theorizing that the reason they’d both disappeared was because Cucumber lost it and tracked Airplane down. Kicking his ass over PIDW is all well and good but… what if they kissed about it. And then did more. I initially said it as a joke, but that's always the first mistake because after that the idea just wouldn't leave my head... Here is the result of me being absolutely haunted by the idea. Now everyone else has to suffer with me ❤ This is RPF so if you don’t like it, kindly go elsewhere!! Go reread your favorite vanilla sex in PIDW or something. You will find no vanilla here >:) [Link]

whets_your_stone: I see we’ve reached this part of a fandom hiatus, huh… jwlxww: You’re insane. End ID]

[thirdeyeblue]

“Nine would have treated Martha better than Ten did”

I need to talk about this argument that never seems to stop circulating.

Note: Not a venomous/anti post. There’s more than enough of that across fandom spaces as is, and this is supposed to be a place for ✨sweet, blissful escapism✨

When making this argument, people seem to envision a scenario in which Nine never met Rose.

While I can appreciate a good hypothetical, recognizing Rose's significance to the Doctor (Nine and Ten) is essential to understanding why things with Martha played out the way they did in the first place.

In the third series, the Doctor is grieving. This grief is deliberately threaded into nearly every script, whether spoken aloud or not (and these are just a few examples):

He's burning in Rose’s wake the entire time Martha travels with him, which is why it’s so frequently called upon: It’s 100% deliberate in framing his grief. He grieved as Nine too, of course— having been fresh on the heels of the Time War — but then he met Rose, which changed everything.

Back then, he was still a rude, traumatized pain in the ass, but we watch Rose soften more of those jagged edges with every episode as they grow closer; as he lets his guard down and forms a deep connection with her.

He falls in love (against his better judgment) and it's game over.

And yes: provided S1E1 had been titled 'Martha', one can realistically assume things might have unfolded similarly to how they did with Rose. However, it wouldn’t have been that way just because the Doctor was Nine and “Nine was different” — it would be because he wasn’t already in love with someone else. The same can't be said for the start of S3.

Think of it like this: if Rose AND Martha had been in that cellar — if Nine had taken both of them along with him in S1 — we’d eventually be looking at the most melodramatic love triangle ever, what with him living in close quarters with two brilliant, gorgeous, compassionate young women... But Doctor Who is plenty “soap opera” as is with just one woman in the TARDIS.

(I certainly wouldn’t object to reading that fic, though)

Now, regarding the unrequited elephant in the room…

His inability to be romantic with Martha isn’t because he thinks her lesser, nor is it for lack of compatibility. It isn't because Rose is any better than her. It certainly isn’t just because he’s Ten.

It’s really only for one reason, which can't be denied — and now I’m a broken record:

He is still in love with Rose.

(cut from a tenrosedaily gif)

Nine is Ten, and Ten is only such a mess in S3 because he’s just lost the love of his life. Martha merely got caught in the crosshairs of a volatile Time Lord in mourning, and yes — it sucks. Absolutely.

But it also feels dismissive to chalk Ten and Martha’s relationship up to little more than some sort of mindless dance of pining, jealousy, and toxicity.

Ten trusted Martha with his life over and over again — and hers, with him. He constantly praised her brilliance, happily carting her around time and space with no intention of letting her go. In the BBC’s extended universe of novels/comics/cartoons/etc, there’s so much depth to their relationship: love and trust and trauma and sacrifice. They had their own special bond as mates, their own complexities — so it’s a bummer that it's forever overshadowed by the other things.

I’m not denying that there was a lot of stuff that sucked/was for sure toxic about Ten's S3 behavior, but so many of the things I've seen him catching flak for can be directly attributed to being A Clueless Fucking Alien Idiot (not a trait that’s unique to Ten) — as well as his flat-out obliviousness to Martha’s feelings.

So yes, I agree: if Rose never existed, he would have treated Martha differently as Nine. He also would have treated her differently as Ten. Certainly.

But Rose did exist, and when discussing canon, it matters.

“He tells me that he absolutely, 100% loves Rose... He tells me how my daughter; my wonderful, beautiful, clever little girl saved him from himself before… And he says that’s all because of me! I made her into the Rose Tyler that saved him.”

-Jackie Tyler, Flight Into Hull!

Martha got the short end of the stick in S3. She came round at the wrong place and time, but that doesn't mean it was all bad. It doesn't mean the Doctor didn’t adore her. It certainly doesn't mean the time they spent together was wasted or worthless. They were brilliant!

Sure, he could be a twat, but let it be known that he was a twat with Rose as well, both as Nine and Ten. I’m sure Tentoo can be plenty infuriating, too. So while I'll defend Ten (and Tentoo) into the ground forever and ever and ever, I'll concede that he's fucked up.

The Doctor is a certified Pain In The Ass. It’s one of the things I love so much about this character — dynamics.

But never forget that Martha was goddamn tough as nails and overcame every bit of it. She moved on with her life, and the Doctor moved on with his. One can only pray that, when they inevitably drag her back onto the show (which feels inevitable if I'm honest), we see at once that she's been living her best life for all these years.

[thedeadthree]

-ˋˏ .·:·. ⊱ 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐋𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐛𝐲 @pavus — day one: 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

— 𝐈𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐑 . 𝐕𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈 𝐃𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀 . 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐒. 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐒.

— 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (mutuals can opt in/out via 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 <3):

@loriane-elmuerto, @carrionsflower, @auricfog, @girliefailure, @sunsofdawn

@risingsh0t, @griffin-wood, @lilywatt, @full---ofstarlight, @grapecaseschoices

@tommyarashikage, @shadowsofrose, @shadowglens, @weisshaupts, @queennymeria

@deadrlngers, @d-esmond, @courtana, @gothimp, @wlwaerith

@unholymilf, @aezyrraeshh, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @shellibisshe, @florbelles

@celticwoman, @neonshrike, @cloudofbutterflies92, @adelaidedrubman, @carlosoliveiraa

@pinkfey, @spookyrares, @yharnams, @aceghosts, @confidentandgood

@theelderhazelnut, @leviiackrman, @ellierenae, @anoras, @lavampira

@dialdrunk, @full---ofstarlight, @imogenkol

[luthordamnvers]

'The next time Lena sees Kara, the blonde is 25, and she's in Thorul as a diplomat, to again try to convince Lex to stop the war, to see if they could come up with a solution.

The moment she sees Kara again, it's like everyone and everything else has come to a standstill, and maybe Lena has always been more than a little in love with Kara. She looks incredibly handsome, with a dark coat with gold thread sewn into it with beautiful designs and her family crest.'

As you wish

[cyclogenesis]

Every Single Other Universe. Logan/Wade, post-Deadpool & Wolverine, Explicit. 12,470 words.

In which Wade and Logan and their variants are being hunted down by a hater from the Void and are thus tasked with hunting the hater back. Weirdly, all of their other variants are dating each other in their respective timelines. Does that seem meaningful to anybody else?

Read it on AO3!

[supertrxshwrites]

Bruises

Pairing:Deadpool x Reader

TW//blood mention, knife,gun, violence,

Part II

You have finally made it home after that awful date, I mean seriously the guy could’ve told you he had a girlfriend and saved you the trouble and drama. You unlocked the door and something felt off immediately, you closed the door dropped your purse, and readied your knife. Someone’s in your house.

You were sure you locked everything before leaving you even triple-checked. So how the hell could someone be here right now? Your heart was pounding from the adrenaline you were feeling, palms getting clammy but you made sure to keep a proper grip on your weapon and your breathing.

You knew once you turned on the lights you were in for it.

“Whoever you are, I promise I will fuck you up so come out now.” You yelled into the darkness of your house.

From the silence, you heard a blade unsheathe and that’s when you turned on the lights. You both made eye contact once you saw the crimson-clad man you felt your teeth clench.

You moved in unison almost like a dance you’ve done before, with your least favorite dance partner.

You ran past the couch away from him but before you could make it to your room to get your gun from the safe he was grabbing you. You swiped at him with your knife gutting a large gash into his bicep.

He winced and you took that as a chance to run away but he was too fast grabbing you again and pulling you to the ground. You wrestled and protested as he straddled you.

“Let me go…Let go-“ you screamed angrily.

You tried to sit up but he pushed you down as he gripped your neck, you tried again and this time there was some force, some anger behind it as he slammed you down again.

“You’re a feisty one Y/N I mean really givin’ a guy a workout,” he said as he put his entire weight on you, squeezing your throat.

“Get the fuck off of me, Wade” you spat back at him

“Hmm I don’t think so..ya see, pumpkin” he leaned down so his face was close to yours.

“I couldn’t help but keep tabs on you after you ghosted me. Lo and behold you’re going out on your own using everything I’ve taught you.” His voice becomes dark and you can tell he’s angry now.

“I’m not a big fan of that, especially in my color” he slides his knife up to your throat

“You’re not gonna kill me, Wade”

“Of course not sugarplum, I mean even if I wanted to I can’t, but I can still try even with that healing factor of yours I can make it hurt.” You knew what was coming next as you rolled your eyes

“I’m not doing this, Wade” your tone exasperated at what he was implying

“Awe come on doll, you’re my favorite mouse to chase” You can hear the smirk in his tone as he stabs the knife right next to your ear on the floor.

You try to squirm but he’s cemented himself on top of you.

“Wade. I’m going to kick your ass”

“Oh ho ho ho bring it on, cupcake,” he says as he leaps off of you.

You lunge at him stabbing your knife into his thigh and twisting it. He flips you onto your back and pulls the knife out of his leg flips it in his hand and goes to stab you but it goes through your hand instead.

“Baby knife!”

“Fuck!” You groan as you kick him off of you before doing a kip-up, pulling the knife from your hand.

“Look Wade I get it. I was the best you’ve ever had and now you’re obsessed but it’s time for you to move-“

You run towards him and wrap your legs around him knocking him to the ground and straddling him so you’re sitting on his chest as you punch him.

“-On!” You finish.

“I admit the sex was mind-blowing, peanut but you sound a little full of yourself maybe you need to be full of me instead”

He quips before pulling out his gun while he’s underneath you and cocking it before going to shoot you in the ribs.

“Look babycakes, maybe I’ve been doing a bit of light stalking and maybe I’ve noticed you’ve been going on dates with douche nozzles that only want you for your body” he sounds sincere but at the same time, you wonder why he’s been watching you. Is it jealousy?

Standing up you brush some hair from your face impressed that you’re doing all this in a dress. You pull another knife from your garter on your thigh

“Ho ho ho it’s like you were made for me. Damn”

He motions for you to come here with his hand.

You run towards him pushing him into your recliner by the couch. He pulls the lever making the both of you dip down.

“Come on, babygi- OW son of a shit-biscuit” he yells as you press your knife into his stomach.

“WHY are you here Wade?” You ask again as you twist the knife.

“I’m not telling,” he says in a sing-songy tone. You push the knife deeper to the point the handle is halfway through his stomach and there’s blood spilling onto your hand.

“Now. Tell me NOW.” You’re fed up with this game of cat and mouse. You punch him where the knife has been lost in a sea of red spilling from his stomach.

“Now kitten it’s almost like you’re trying to hurt me,” he says teasing you through clenched teeth. He wraps his leg around your torso pushing off of him and onto the ground again. Slamming a knee into your chest, you cough and you can taste copper on your tongue. Blood filling your mouth.

He quickly pulls out a katana and holds it against your throat the blade is so sharp it draws blood with the slight contact it makes with your skin. You quickly grab one of his guns from his hip pointing it at him.

There’s silence as you both stare at each other, huffing out of breath from the combat. Weapons drawn at each other.

“You’re fucking crazy, Y/N,” he says not moving an inch.

You smile at him blood on your teeth as you try to catch your breath.

“You love it, Wade,” you say with a wheeze.

“Sounds like I broke one of your ribs huh” he says out of breath

“I’ll live,” you say turning your head to the side and spitting the blood on the floor

“Get off me Wade,” you say out of breath, exhausted. Blood drying on your lips, and you can feel bruises forming and healing slowly.

“No.” He says with a smirk as he drops his katana on the floor.

“Stop fighting me Y/N” he sounds tired but he lifts his mask and leans down and kisses your bloody mouth. He sighs before rolling off of you and onto his knees to stand up. He grabs his katana and sheaths it on his back.

you lay on the floor for a while dreading the ache you’ll feel once you get up. you’re also dreading the clean-up you’ll have to do tomorrow.

( I’ve been thinking about writing this since I opened up requests. I NEEDED to write this)

[calo-wav]

because i’m still in love with you / i wanna see you dance again

something something post-canon exes who can't love anyone else because they're still in love with each other but one is rooted to the earth in terror and the other one only finds peace in the stars

fic im writing transparent ver (looks really cool against a dark bg!) + sketch ⮕ final process below

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 30th:  Costumes | Children of the Grave - Black Sabbath | Loyal [1.9k, rated T] read on ao3 + masterpost | tumblr masterlist

“No, no, no, no—” Gareth protests, ducking the Donkey costume mask that Eddie tosses his way backstage. “Not again! Dude, that thing smells like having a condom over your face and it’s impossible to drum in. I’m not doing it this year. No way. Someone else is taking one for the team this time.” 

Eddie cackles, trying not to cry with laughter and smudge his green face paint. “Decide amongst yourselves then, but someone is wearing it. We’ve gotta commit.” 

Jeff snorts and shakes his head. “No chance, why can’t someone be like, Fiona or something?” 

“We need Donkey! He’s crucial to the story!” Eddie rolls his eyes and walks over to grab the mask. “Okay, circle up. We’re gonna Rock, Paper, Scissors this. On my count.” 

The rest of the band huddles around and Eddie counts to three. Gareth throws rock and celebrates as Frank and Jeff both throw scissors. 

“Redemption!” He celebrates as Eddie counts Frank and Jeff in for three. 

In the end, Frank gets stuck with the Donkey costume, Jeff reprises his Pinocchio costume, and Gareth steals Farquaad out from under Frank in the Rock, Paper, Scissors coup. No one is particularly happy, but Eddie doesn’t care. 

He doesn’t care because Shrek Night is his favorite show of the year. Since its inception a few years earlier, entirely by accident when Eddie was forced to perform as Shrek as a dare, it’s become something of a cult classic among Corroded Coffin fans. The last show they play before Halloween is a costume night, and the fans have taken to the theme like, well, like an ogre to mud. 

There’s something incredibly special about screaming the lyrics to their latest hit while a sea of Shreks and Gingys and Fionas scream along with him. 

And tonight is no different. 

—

“Shreddie! Shreddie! Shreddie!” 

The crowd roars to life as the group takes the stage, waddling in costumes and maybe a little itchy from body paint and latex masks. 

“Give it up for Donkey on the bass!” Eddie shouts, pointing to Frank. He gives his best, saddest wave. 

“Give it up for Pinocchio on the guitar!” He yells again as Jeff hammers a riff in response and grins in his fedora and suspenders. 

“And last but certainly not least, give it up for Lord Farquaad on the drums!” Gareth drums a little rimshot as the hat pokes out over the top of his high hat. How he plans on drumming the whole night crouched on his knees is beyond Eddie, but ultimately not up to him. 

The crowd goes insane, as usual, and Eddie takes a second to soak it all in, to glance over the various costumes before everyone melds into one collective unit of chaos. Fairy Godmothers, and Donkeys, and Fionas as far as the eye can see. He even spots a Puss in Boots in the front of the pit, standing next to a very attractive Gingy. 

He doesn’t have time to assess the life choices that lead him to have that particular thought though, because Gareth starts counting them in. 

—

Their originals are hits, of course, as are the covers. After all, it wouldn’t be a true Shrek Night without at least a couple of songs from the famed movies. 

“And then I saw her face!” He shrieks, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the crowd. “Now I’m a believer!” 

He runs around the stage, careful not to lose the microphone (again) as Jeff, Gareth, and Frank pound away at the melody. As the song comes to a close, Eddie slides on his knees, hardly protected by the cheap beige pants from Walmart, to the edge of the stage. 

“Not a trace! Of doubt in my mind! I’m a believer!” He sings, drawing out the final note. 

Chants and applause follow him up and he falls to his back, guitar over his chest, pounding his feet and fists on the stage as he catches his breath. Green paint melts from his forehead and when he brushes his hair back, he pulls his fingers away to see shades of ogre paint that’s surely made its way into his hairline. 

Before he can stand, Gareth shouts into his microphone, presumably to give Eddie another second or two. It’s no secret that I’m A Believer is high octane. 

“Do you know…” Gareth pauses for effect before shouting. “The muffin man?” 

Before the crowd yells out together, jumbled and out of sync, a faux high-pitched voice rings out surprisingly close to Eddie’s feet. 

“The muffin man!” 

He sits up and spots him: the hot Gingy he’d noticed earlier, laughing with a scrunched up nose, leaning on his friend’s shoulder. 

Oh, fuck me, Eddie thinks. He’s adorable. 

It’s usually the other way around: Eddie being ogled by a fan in the front row, staring up at him like he’s something to eat, like he’s prey. Ignoring them is easy enough, typically appeased with just a smile or a wink to carry with them forever, but this guy? The one with the fuzzy brown onesie with purple button and white, pretend icing lining the legs and waist? Well, Eddie’s never actually wanted a fan in the front row to look at him until now. 

So he scoots to the end of the stage, legs dangling over the edge, and steals Gareth’s line. Grinning down at the guy pressed to the railing, he screeches. “The muffin man!”

Gingy’s friend, known only to him at this point as Puss in Boots, elbows him hard in the ribs and he looks up to see Eddie staring right at him, crooked grin, and in hindsight, probably a bit more unhinged than planned. 

His friend looks back and forth between them, disbelief in the shape of her mouth and furrowed forehead, but it seems to work because Gingy returns the smile and has the audacity to wink at him. 

Eddie raises his green brows towards his hairline and nods appreciatively. The barricade isn’t far from the edge of the stage, close enough for Eddie to leave the microphone to the side and ask Gingy and his friend to hang back after the show. 

—

After one crowdsurfing escapade from Jeff, one quip into the microphone from Gareth about how he now understands why Farquaad is always so cranky, and few more of the originals peppered with All Star and Bad Reputation covers, Corroded Coffin takes an awkward but well-deserved bow. The crowd cheers for more, even after their encore, but eventually filter out through the venue’s exit doors, flooding the parking lots and nearby streets with Shrek characters. 

Eddie’s sure the local bars are having a blast. 

The only fans left are Gingy and Puss in Boots, who Eddie desperately needs the real names of before his thoughts turn into a troubling Shrek fanfiction. With a quick word to their manager, Chrissy, he makes sure they won’t leave before he comes back with a plan— a very weird, very niche plan that he hopes works on the presumably dorky, albeit confident, man in the fuzzy onesie. 

Her wings bump him in the shoulder and remind him that she truly is his Fairy Godmother. 

“Eddie,” Jeff deadpans as he plops his prop fedora on the backstage table and unfastens the buttons of his suspenders. “Are you really about to go hit on a fan? Dressed as Shrek? With an onion?”

“Do you have a better idea?” He whirls on him, a lone onion from a backstage fridge somewhere in one hand and a sponge trying to at least clean up his face paint in the other. He’s sure he looks insane. And he may as well be at this point. 

“Uh, don’t? That’s the better idea?” Frank offers in the corner, his face red and sweaty from the suffocating Donkey mask. 

“Not an option, so Operation Onion is on. I’ll be back. Or not. Hopefully not, actually.” Eddie shakes his head and sets down the makeup sponge, places the onion in his prop burlap bag. “Wish me luck!” 

Gareth sighs with ice packs on his knees. “Nope.” 

—

Eddie approaches the open backstage area, the spare lounge where Chrissy’s talking with Gingy and Puss in Boots. Maybe talking a little more intently to Puss in Boots, but he can’t begrudge her. After all, Eddie’s doing the same thing, isn’t he? 

He catches a bit of the conversation before opening the door, overhearing Chrissy refer to them as Steve and Robin. 

Thank God, he thinks to himself. Better than the placeholders. 

By no means does Eddie consider himself a rockstar— not yet, anyways. He enjoys the mid-level shows he gets to do with his friends, especially on nights like this, but he’s yet to harness that rockstar swagger. At his core, he’s still the marginally insecure, frantic kid from Bumfuck Nowhere, Indiana who paints D&D miniatures and speaks Elvish. And dresses up as Shrek, apparently. 

All of that to say, his heart pounds in his chest and his tongue feels twisted around itself when he knocks on the door. 

“Oh, hey, Eddie! Come on in! Great show tonight!” Chrissy smiles, wide and bright, as she introduces Steve and Robin. “This is Steve, and this is Robin. Steve, Robin, you all know Eddie. Or, should I say, Shreddie?” 

All three groan and shake their heads in good nature. 

“To be fair, man, you are still in the get-up. I thought you were going backstage to change or something.” Steve teases, eyes full of mirth and challenge. 

Exactly Eddie’s type. 

“And leave the three of you dressed up and feel out of place? Not a fucking chance.” Eddie takes a breath and goes for it, channeling his years of drama and general theatrics. 

He goes to take his seat on the sofa and pretends to trip, his burlap bag tipping over in time for his onion to fall to the floor at Steve’s feet. 

“Shit, sorry, that’s my onion,” Eddie shrugs. “Happens sometimes. Ogre and all, y’know? By the way, you’re gorgeous.” 

“Oh my God,” Chrissy mutters under her breath and ducks her head, leaning an elbow on Robin’s shoulder and covering her eyes. 

Steve’s mouth falls open into a little O and sits quietly for a few beats, nothing but the girls chuckling off to the side and an onion between them. Eddie’s about to swallow his tongue and see himself out when Steve leans forward and picks it up, tossing it up in the air above his head and catching it like a baseball. 

“Looks like you dropped this. And uh, thanks. I could say the same to you.” 

Robin wheezes and doubles over. “Jesus Christ, Steve. I know I’m a lesbian and all but this? This is what works on you?” 

Eddie likes her already, and a quick glance to Chrissy tells him Chrissy does, too. 

“Is this Ogre discrimination? Do I have to explain that we have—”

“Layers!” Steve finishes for him, nudging her in the ribs. “Ogres have layers, Rob. Don’t be so close-minded, God. Besides, he’s half melted and just ransacked backstage for an onion. Don’t judge our mating rituals.” 

Mating rituals? Eddie grins with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. “Yeah, what he said.” 

Robin just shakes her head and gestures with one hand at the air between the two men, speechless. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go see if this sweaty, half-melted, babbling Onion Man wants to make out or something.” Steve slaps his hands on his thighs, still covered in fuzzy material, and stands. “What do you say?” 

When he shows up backstage to introduce Steve to the rest of Corroded Coffin, both of their faces are now smeared with green paint and Steve sports painted handprints in some telling places. 

Eddie gives them a bright smile and jazz hands, his friends’ expressions are as impressed as they are confused.

Shrek Night really is his favorite show of the year. 

tagging people who expressed interest <3: @cuips-not-cute @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @useless-nb-bisexual @kkpwnall@cuoredimuschio @doublecherrypiediscosuperfly@ohmagicalunicornlord @hellion-child @bxnsheeslxdia @pomegranatebb @vampeddie @horsegirleddiemunson @stobinesque @sidekick-hero @medusapelagia @slipperygiraff @epiclazershark @bayouteche thank you to @nostalgicbones for beta-reading and inspiring this!

[soultek]

Late To The Party - Roronoa Zoro x Female!Reader (One Piece Live Action)

💚As it's a certain someone's birthday today!💚

A/N: I feel literally late to the party myself with this - but there we are!

Also not the Zoro I ever expected to be writing for but I was just too inspired NOT to go for it!

100% inspired by 'Dance With Me?' by @alotofrandomfangirling. I read that fic, listened to this song and was like "Oh it's all fits nicely!" and then kinda ran with it! [BTW - you should OBVIOUSLY go and read her fic!]

Ahh... and also, for getting me through all this OPLA fangirling @alotofrandomfangirling this one is also 100% for you! 😁❤

Disclaimer: As usual, nothing except the reader character is mine (loosely based on my OG anime counterpart character Zoro!SO) I tried to keep him as close to his OPLA self as possible but I can't promise I didn't let a bit of his anime personality slip in but I have read this back so many times now I'm like 99.9% he's LA accurate!

Warnings etc: Drinking, mention of injury/scars, super mild cursing, established (secret?) relationship.

Premise: With a party happening in the port you happen to be calling in, you and the crew take the opportunity to be social. Zoro takes it as an opportunity to drink, but maybe that isn't the only reason he's going...

Words: 6325

Song Inspo: Late To The Party - Kasey Musgraves

---

By the time we get there Everybody will be drunk The chairs will be on tables And the band will be unplugged We're gonna look real good But we're gonna look real rude I'm sorry I'm not sorry that I'm Late to the party with you Let's promise when we get in That we'll try to get right out Fake a couple conversations Make the necessary rounds These kinda things just turn into Who's leaving here with who? But I just want 'em all to see me come in...

Late to the party with you Oh, who needs confetti? We're already falling into the groove And who needs a crowd When you're happy at a party for two? The world can wait 'Cause I'm never late to the party If I'm late to the party with you

---

Nothing was right. Every outfit you tried just ended up with a sighed 'No.', before being thrown in the corner. Everything else was done – hair and makeup went perfect; you were maybe even quick with those. But this... This was taking the time. Sure, you probably could throw on any old thing and get away with it - this wasn't some fancy dinner, or anything you had to look good for. Just a port with a party. But that was the point - it was a party. It was a chance to be sociable, dress up for a change. It was your thing. And you were late.

Snapping you from your thoughts with a jump, was a loud pounding on the door behind you. It was almost accompanied by a shriek, but luckily you saved yourself the embarrassment of that. Whipping around, you could feel your heart beating a million miles an hour - you didn't realise any of the crew were still here.

"Y/N! What the hell is taking you so long!?" Your eyes widened to the voice; now you were doubly glad you hadn't screamed. Opening the door ajar, you poked your head out and were faced with the unimpressed look of the crew’s resident green-haired swordsman. On second thought that was just his natural expression. You opened the door a little wider, halfway between asking a question and looking around to answer it yourself - was everyone else still here? Evidently, he wasn't done ridiculing you; "What the hell!? You're not even changed!? Even I got changed!" Your eyes focused back on him... Well, he wasn't wrong. He had changed his shirt. You indicated to the pile of clothes strewn on the floor, "Well I didn't know what to wear!" Now you were talking to Zoro, you might as well ask; "Wait, is everyone still here!?" His hands went to his pockets as he shuffled a little on his feet, eyes moving from yours, "No, but I said I wasn't leaving without you, now hurry up!" "…Hurry up!?" You folded your arms, eyes narrowed. You'd known him long enough to be able to read him pretty well, "Zoro, I bet you don’t even want to go!" He copied your crossed arm stance, "Maybe it's not my scene but if it’s a party, there’s alcohol." You couldn't help but roll your eyes, 'good lord.' Resisting shaking your head you turned your full attention back to him, glancing head to toe; "You’re going with your swords? Really?" Zoro was as defensive as you expected, "You never know what’ll happen." That seemed typically him. "Well…" You turned back to your clothes with a smile, finally deciding on something that would complement what he was wearing, "you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take mine." "Annnnnd that’s why I’m the better swordsman." You glanced back over your shoulder to shoot him a look. Despite how nonchalantly he'd declared it, the tiny smirk on his face said everything. “I am but a humble student, you’re supposed to be better than me.” He laughed, short, more like a bark; “Humble is the word you’d use, huh!? Interesting…” You turned your body fully back to him, hands on your hips. "Why would you even think I would debate-" You cut yourself short, realising that somehow Zoro was managing to stall time even more. So much for hurrying you up. "HEY! Will you get out of here and let me change!"

Sensing he was clearly enthusiastic; you gave him 15 more minutes before you headed back out on deck. He was standing with his hands in his pockets again, ankles crossed over each other as he leaned back on the railing. Glancing you up and down he gave a single simple nod. This was Zoro, so that was a complement and you would take it. There was silence between you for a moment, but the sound of a party was in the air. It was loud, it sounded busy. Exactly the kind of thing you liked. Exactly the reason it had taken you so long to get ready in the first place. And he knew that. The man in front of you however…

Zoro walked forward a couple of steps, slowly, looking around as if on high alert. He stopped not even a foot from you, brown eyes focusing back on yours. His voice was flat, but it was a distinct tease. "You know, a lookout not on deck is no good." You could have seen it coming from a mile off, but there was something about him that made you rise to it anyway. "Looking out for what?! We’re docked! You seem to believe you’re doing a better job, and you were still here.” He indicated to himself, "First mate. Lookout is not in my official job title." He was going to drive you insane. Your breath was deep but you held back the ‘my god, how did I end up with you!?' - for both ways he could take it and neither ending up in your favour. Instead, you cleared your throat and threw your hand in the direction of the port, “Can we just go please - if you’re so eager?! You did just rush me.” Zoro shuffled on his feet a bit more before he decided to respond with, “Fine.” That did not mean that he moved very fast at all, and you shook your head slowly, following him. Apparently, the draw of alcohol wasn't even doing it tonight. You did wonder sometimes, you really did…

Once you got down the gangplank, Zoro turned immediately left. You glanced to your right; exactly where all the light and sound was coming from. God help you now... You raised your eyes to the sky; 'idiot.' Instead of saying anything, you simply reached out and took his hand. Seemed like a natural enough thing to do... He was fine with it within the confines of a room training. Touch was okay there. But in public, you couldn't be sure. Not even on a currently deserted dock. But Zoro didn't jerk away, and even when he walked far enough for his arm to pull back when you weren’t moving, he didn't drop it. Turning back to you, standing rooted in place, staring at him. Your arm stretched as far as it would go with his doing the same, hands still together. You tipped your head in the opposite direction. Once again, not a word passed your lips. His eyes moved around you to the port, but he barely acknowledged it before walking back to you, and then in step. You let him dictate the pace - still super slow.

Zoro cleared his throat, deciding that he would comment on the situation. "I knew that, I was just taking the scenic route." You declined to comment that the scenic route was about to lead Zoro off the end of the pier. There was humour in your voice, “Every route with you is the scenic route…” You wouldn't say you struck a nerve, but there was something sharp in his voice. “What are you trying to insinuate?!” You opted to just shake your head again, amusement obvious on your features; even if it was clear, you were saying something. Zoro narrowed his eyes at you, keeping them on your face to wait for you to break. Unfortunately for you, it didn't take long to start giggling. Composing yourself a little, you came up with a decent excuse. “Hey, look, I just don’t want to lose you. It’s pretty busy.”

To your earlier point, the dock around you was dead, but the direction you were heading in seemed overly crowded. Zoro, still focused on the surrounding area, was halfway through raising an eyebrow to correct you - when he realised the joke. “HA. Lose.” Again, you said nothing, maintaining innocence. If that was the conclusion he wanted to jump to - correct or otherwise. For a minute or so you thought you'd get away with it, until you found your left hip bumped by not just one, but all three of his swords - which caught across your ankle for good measure, so his timing must have been impeccable. You paused your walk for a moment, looking across to him, clearly unimpressed. Rubbing your side with your free hand. Zoro merely shrugged, voice once again level. "Sorry." His first thought had really been to muss your hair or something, but that would have meant dropping your hand, and he really didn't want to let that go. It was also the perfect excuse when his swords were between you. In honesty you thought you probably did deserve some retaliation. "Maybe you should walk on the other side of me." "Not exactly my first thought, swordsman." Maybe you would have held his hand otherwise, but this had started practically... Now it was turning more romantic. Even if the words weren't. "If you had yours that wouldn't happen." "If I had mine things would be worse - probably for me." Considering you wore yours on your left hip you probably would have had to walk on his other side... "Yeah, that’s you up against me.” (It didn’t cross your mind he would be talking about anything except sword fighting until later.) “What!? I can’t believe you’d-” What did that have to do with anything!? “Name one time you’ve ever beaten me….” You remained silent. “Exactly.” Something within you felt determined to get him back for that comment - such had your friendship always been before it had become a relationship. “You know when I said that I bet what happened with Mihawk was awful for you and I was sorry you had to go through it?” Zoro almost smirked following your train of thought, “What? Not exactly feeling that right now?” The smile you gave him in response was crooked, “Yeaaah…”

So, his only option was to one up you, “Okay, well, next time how about I just put my sword through you instead of just barely grazing you. The AUDACITY!? This time he raised a gasp from you. You turned to retaliate, but funnily enough at the exact same time you gripped his hand a little tighter - this was play fighting. “Just barely—!? You call this just barely grazing!? I damn well needed stitches! It’s going to leave a mark!” Zoro listened, body half turned into yours, but he wasn't looking at you, continuing to stare in the direction you were walking. He simply indicated to his chest; 'really!?'. You knew you had no option but to drop it then - because fair enough. But there was still a deep cut across your left shoulder blade that he had left there. Instead, you sighed gently, turning back to the lights glittering off the water, everything was getting steadily louder as you got ever closer. You smiled again, “It’s okay. I know I’m the 5th wheel here…” Zoro frowned momentarily at your math; mentally counting the crew, before he realised you were talking about his swords. He shook his head in response, lacing his fingers with yours.

You weren’t quite sure how this had happened in the first place. It also wasn't meant to be like you were sneaking around behind the crew’s backs, you just weren't ready to be out in the open yet. You'd both been bounty hunters; Zoro mostly worked alone but very occasionally you had worked together. Had a couple of other good bounty hunting buddies too – and the four of you were a decent team. It hadn't taken long for you to develop a crush on him - and as a swordswoman yourself you were in awe of his skills. It was something you only ever strived to get better at. You'd pushed that crush back a long time ago in favour of friendship - after all, unless you were going to team up permanently (not his thing.) there was not much point in getting serious about it. Added to that, Zoro never at all seemed interested in romance. You had been content to just keep seeing him around. That was until rumours started flying around the community that the great Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro was now a pirate himself. Had joined a crew and everything. At first you had simply laughed it off as ridiculous. That must have been some other guy calling himself 'Roronoa Zoro' because there was no way in hell the man you knew was going to do that. How wrong you were, sufficiently curious to follow the rumours along until you both ended up on the same island. And sure enough there he was - with a crew calling themselves the Straw Hats. A crew you now found yourself a part of, having practically begged him to teach you after he'd kicked your ass yet again. (Like you weren't about to miss a bounty hunting opportunity - even if it was him.) Now you were, as you had pointed out to him earlier, a humble student.

The relationship element was new. You knew you weren't sure who or what started it, but it happened and it just felt like a good natural progression. Neither of you were really pushing that relationship aspect currently. You were close for sure, and you always kept close. ALL the time. (And if anyone on the crew was suspicious, they didn't call it out.) You held hands after training... When you were alone. It never progressed much further than that. Passed a confession and the agreement that you were, indeed, a couple.

Yet here you were, Zoro was not protesting holding your hand on the way to the party. And hadn't he just been the one to link your fingers in this way? That hadn't been you.

Stepping up from the dock onto the port side you were both bathed in light. It went from just the two of you to apparently everyone else in the world who had descended on the little town. You weren’t sure where to look – there was so much to take in. The bustle of the people – of all ages – was secondary to the bright colours all around. Shops, restaurants, bars, and their patrons spilled out onto the streets – covered in bright neon decorations and constantly glittering lights. In the central square ahead of you, music played from an elevated platform; even from here neither of you could tell if it was a live band playing or simply amplified through a sound system, only that the gathering of people around it were dancing. All down either street was a collection of booths selling various foods, drinks, wears and even offering games to play, each one looking as busy as the next and all dressed in the same bright colours as the permanent stores. Happy voices called out to each other: both friends and merchant alike. It was more like a festival than a party and you wondered quietly if that was actually what you had stumbled upon. There was so much to see and do, standing up on the street you almost weren’t sure what to give your attention to first: but you knew it was going to be a fun evening. Zoro could feel the energy from the party hit you instantly; if he didn’t know any better, he would say you were vibrating – you had an entirely different buzz about you than you had 2 seconds ago walking with him down here. He could feel it all through your connected hands, see it in the way your eyes were almost sparkling (though, that could have been the reflection of the lights). This was your domain; you were as in your element here as he was with three swords.

Zoro instinctively pulled you closer - if you didn't want to lose him in the crowd this was the only way. "You know where they are?" "In case you didn't notice - which you did - I wasn't the one looking out for them!" "Right... Stay close. Don't let go." He pulled you forward, and tonight you decided you would just trust him with directions. The 'don't let go' hit different though; if he was going to drop your hand at any point it would be now - not only in a very public place, but the chance of any of the crew happening upon you at any second. You almost wondered aloud if it might have been due to him spending his time waiting for you drinking; loosening up a bit. It would have made sense, but it didn't seem like it. Zoro was going to the party for alcohol. If he had it on him back at the ship, why would he bother? Unless...

You were snapped from that thought by suddenly being pulled in another direction. Finding yourself steered towards a building labelled 'Bar.' Figures he'd be able to find that with no issue. You continued scanning the crowds; the crew must have been around, but also at this point were long gone to you. And Zoro was clearly interested in drinking, pushing the door open with the most enthusiasm you'd seen out of him all night. But he wasn't just holding your hand for the sake of holding it. He knew men. You had dressed up for this because you had a social side. If he didn't clearly indicate who you were with, you were as likely to end up in trouble as anything. Another reason to keep those swords on hand; if anyone dared try anything he was sending clear signals. In the bar the crowds were even more dense, and you moved closer to him, free hand coming across your body to touch his arm; if you were going to hold his hand any tighter it might actually hurt. Still, Zoro couldn't help his little smile. You scanned the gathering more, swallowing hard at the realisation of how many eyes were suddenly on you. Drawn not just to yourselves, but also more closely to the points of connection between you and your entwined fingers. Your gaze flicked back to him, still solely focused on leading you to the bar - if Zoro had noticed this attention, he paid it no mind. You almost envied that. You were very aware of how gorgeous he was - you weren’t blind! You were unlikely to be the first or only girl to ever have fallen for this man. You were just the lucky one that had him…. Somehow! If you were any other girl in this room, you'd be jealous, too.

After what felt like an age, you finally made it to the edge of the bar. He brought your twined fingers up to it, unlinking your hands but keeping them close, leaning forward to try to find the barkeep. At this point the aged wood was littered with empty glasses and bottles. You hoped for the sake of your partner the whole bar wasn't already dry. Without even asking you were both presented with a beer, "Ahh! What can I get the lovely young couple then, eh? First one is on the house!" Zoro was clearly irked by the descriptor - but got straight to the point, "What have you got? Bottle of your best...?" He waited for the suggestion. "Well, uh, I'll have to see, sir! I would expect most things are out by now, but I'm sure I can find something." "Okay. Then," Zoro's sigh was deep, like he was trying not to think about it being the only reason he came down here. "I'll have a bottle of whatever you have left!" He turned to you, look pointed, "Clearly, we are late to the party."

You were about to commend him on just the one - realising suddenly you were going to quickly become the 6th wheel in this relationship to alcohol - when you were interrupted by the overly loud calls of your captain. "HEEEYYY!! ZORO! Y/N!!!" You barely had time to turn before Luffy was throwing his arms around you and pulling you together in a three-way hug, "Where did you go!? We were worried about you guys!" "Ah, blame her. She takes too long!" You punched Zoro's arm playfully, but you returned your hand to resting next to his on the bar. Luffy said nothing - likely oblivious as ever; but you could bet if one person in the crew didn't care, it would be him. Luffy grinned, "Well it doesn't matter! You're both here now! Ahh you gotta try the food, it's so good!" You turned back to the busy room, watching everyone else laughing and joking together. Luffy and Zoro followed your eyeline. Zoro's hand brushed against yours for your attention before he nudged you, "Go on." "W-what about you!?" You whipped back, a little too quick to protest. Luffy looked between you. "I'll be fine here. Besides, I can keep an eye on you from the bar. That's what you want to be here for, go have fun." Fun definitely didn't seem like the word Zoro would use, but this wasn't about him. It was about you. You looked to the bottle of beer you'd been given and pushed it towards him, "Here, just in case they can't find you anything else. I think you need it more than me!" Turning to Luffy you smiled sweetly, rubbing his shoulder, "Look after him for me!" "I will do!" Luffy grinned, Zoro just shook his head. But you knew he had everything he needed right there. You let your eyes linger on his and focused on that touch for just a moment longer, before you slipped from under the arm of your captain and went to make yourself sociable with the other crew and townsfolk. Surely Usopp, Nami and Sanji were in here somewhere... Glancing back over your shoulder you watched Luffy take your place, chatting excitedly to his first mate. He had Zoro's full attention; it made your laugh to yourself. You were going to end up so many wheels back you might as well have not been in this relationship...!

You were social, it was one of your greatest strengths. It was easy to make friends. It made it easy to get information. That was how you used to do your bounty hunting. You could talk to anyone and everyone easily. You liked listening to people's life stories - hearing about all the places they were visiting. The islands you’d landed on; about what there was to do in the area, even if you never went yourself. You liked talking about the tiny East Blue island you'd grown up on. You had enough stories from sailing across the East Blue yourself. And you could twist the crews’ stories into something a little less... Pirate-y. You always enjoyed it, you always had fun. If someone asked you to dance, you would. If someone wanted to drink with you, you were down. Tonight... Tonight you realised that even in your element, you were not having fun. Not as much fun as you wanted. Not alone.

You hadn't thought about it before. Hadn't considered when you were getting ready that it would ever be the case. You expected to have a good time with the crew - your relationship and anything that might happen with it tonight was an added bonus to something you loved doing. But in the middle of the conversation, you couldn't help realising how much you didn't want to be there. At least... Not in the company of these people.

You looked back over your shoulder to the bar, and were almost surprised to see not only was Zoro alone once more (you would have put money on either Luffy dragging him along, or Luffy dragging everyone else over to him), but he was staring at you. Clearly, he wasn't going to take his eyes off you tonight. When Zoro said he was keeping an eye on you he meant it. And maybe he’d never say it out loud, but with you looking like this, that wasn’t the only reason. The two bottles besides him were finished. But whatever the bar man had managed to find him was unopened. He turned slowly to it, before wrapping his fingers around the neck and dragging it off the bar. Gesturing with it towards you, before tipping his head back towards the ship. You smiled, and suddenly it was the happiest you had felt all evening. In that moment you knew exactly where you wanted to be. And tonight, where you would rather find yourself.

He met you by the door as you politely excused yourself from the conversation, this time taking his other hand and making sure to walk on his left. The knowing smile on Zoro's face indicated he knew you were learning. A tiny piece of your felt bad, as he opened the door back into the night air - the crowd was a little thinner, but the party was still in full swing. It felt like you were bailing, you'd been late and you were leaving almost immediately. But it wasn't as if people could say you hadn't turned up. Luffy at the very least had seen both of you there. But there was something inside you that stirred in excitement at the thought of sneaking back to the Merry with a bottle...

If you had gone at a snail’s pace to get here, you practically ran back. Or you would have thought you had, considering how giggly and breathless you were, despite not having drunk at all tonight. Yet. With the bottle in his hand that was clearly going to change. Zoro removed his sword belt, propping them up against the wooden railing of the ship, before blowing out a breath and settling beside them; back up against a pillar, he stretched his legs out in front of him, placing the bottle between them. You shook your head, sitting yourself down in front of him with a grin. At least out here it was quiet, the air was cooler. Zoro closed his eyes for a moment, tipping his head back; allowing you to trace the lines of his face. His jaw and down his neck, up over his broad shoulders and down his toned arms, to his fingers. You thought for a moment about the skilful way he could un- and re-sheath his swords. How any just-so movement with his fingers would move those blades to make perfect strikes. You hadn't been present for the fight with Mihawk that had made the scar across his chest. That was a little too much to think about, but the shirt you were coordinating with tonight exposed enough of his chest for a part of it to be visible... But you still couldn't imagine Zoro losing. Even when you could imagine just how incredible the 'World’s Greatest Swordsman' was.

You bit your lip, thinking about your earlier jab, and suddenly felt terrible. "Hey, Zoro..." "Mhm..." He initially kept his eyes closed and head tipped back, but when you didn't continue, he changed his position to look at you. With your eyes and expression a little guilt ridden; he couldn't help tipping his head in confusion. You took a breath, and although it seemed like you wanted to look away from him, you didn't: "What I said earlier about the Mihawk fight... You know I didn’t mean it, right?” Zoro almost chuckled - that was debatable. But he had known you was joking with him. "Y/N, you worry too much." "But I still-" "Of course, I do." It's what you wanted to hear - so he would satisfy that. You sat back on your hands with a smile, this time voice a little sweeter; "And what I said about being with you being scenic… you know I did mean it, right?” You had realised the hilarity of saying every route with him was the scenic one, and that depending on how you'd said it, how it could have been either a sarcastic tease on his sense of direction or a very smooth romantic flirt. Internally you'd kicked yourself for not realising sooner and now - despite it being obvious at the time which you were going for - you wondered which way he’d actually taken it… Zoro cracked a grin, clearly he'd noticed it too. “Oh. You mean I am the view.” Even though, by the look on his face, you knew Zoro understood you hadn’t meant it that way. Yet, you couldn't help but blush a little, “Glad we could agree.” “That would be a first…” You were compelled; you leaned forward and smacked his leg. It was likely always going to be a knee-jerk reaction to his teasing. That just made him chuckle, and he picked up the bottle again, cracking it open. "Should I get some glasses?" "Glasses?" Zoro scoffed, "Hell no. Now c'mere." He beckoned you forwards.

You couldn't help being intrigued, but as you moved to the side of him, Zoro grabbed your waist, pulling you to sit between his legs. For a minute you struggled, both shrieking and laughing, pushing against him enough that he had to physically hold you in place. You relented, giggles still rising in your chest as his arms wound around your waist. Head propped back against his chest you looked up at him. "Okay fine, you win!" "I'll just chalk yet another one up." "Ah, keep them, I'm never beating you." "Wow." He smirked again, "Did we just agree on two things? Careful, Y/N, we might be on a roll!" You nudged his face with your palm, "Hush!" Causing Zoro to grab your hand and interlink your fingers again. The movement caused his piercings to run together, making them chime softly. You focused on them dancing for a moment, unable to help yourself from reaching out and making the gold ring together again. Zoro simply shook his head at you, picking up the bottle he'd just opened (and somehow in all that hadn't spilled everywhere.) and taking a sip. "Whatever helps you amuse yourself." "One per sword?" "I'm not even answering that." "Hey, it's a valid question!" After all, you had a multitude of piercings in both your ears and didn't carry nearly that many weapons. He ignored you, holding the bottle out. You accepted it gratefully and read the label; "Any good?" "It's alcohol, even the bad stuff is good." "Yeah, no," you sighed, "that sounds like you." You took a drink and concluded that this one was indeed, pretty good. Taking another sip, he smacked the top of your thigh, "Hey! No drinking the whole bottle, I waited too long to get that one!" You almost choked, "And you won't get any if you make me spill the damn thing!" "You do that, I'll be throwing you overboard and telling the crew you elected to stay in town." "Thing is I wouldn't put it past you..." You handed the bottle back to Zoro, making yourself comfortable against his body, "I'm just saying a good boyfriend wouldn't do that." You heard Zoro huff a laugh as he lifted the bottle to his lips again, "Ah, I never promised to be one of those." "What? A good boyfriend?" "That's the one." "Well. A girl can dream." "That's all you'll be doing." You let out a laugh then, a full-blown belly laugh. "I know you're determined to ruin this, but you can't. It's not happening. This is exactly what I wanted." "Me?" But he left it there, fingers of the hand not holding the bottle finding yours again.

You sat in silence for a moment, the only sound your breathing and the back and forth of the liquid in the bottle every time he took a drink. Further back, the dull hum of the party, and the waves lapping at the side of the Merry. Inspecting the bottle once more Zoro realised it was nearly empty. Looking down at you in his arms he realised your eyes were closed. "Hey..." He tried softly, so not to wake you if you were asleep. "Mmm?" Your response let him know that even if you weren’t, you weren’t far off. "You want any more of this?" "Oh, no." You shuffled a little more, head moving to his shoulder, opening more of your body to the warmth of his, Zoro found himself pulling his legs in closer to aid you with this. "It's yours. You said it yourself; it was hard to come by. And I know it was the only reason you were going anywhere near the party." He stared at you for a moment, and then between you and the bottle. Your eyes were closed, so you didn't see his next soft smile. "Well, maybe it wasn't the only reason." You didn't respond, but he saw the smile on your face grow.

By the time he'd finished the drink you were asleep, and even when he moved himself to get a little more comfortable - careful with you still in his arms - you didn't wake. He'd have to be vigilant, glancing to his swords... Just in case anyone did think they were about to come on here and try to mess with you, or the ship. Come to think of it, where were yours...? ‘Ah forget it, I could handle it myself.’ He looked back down to you, peaceful. Pressed up against him, Zoro suddenly noticed how warm you were. How the air had a distinct chill to it the later into the night it became. (Heck, maybe it was early morning now. But there was no way of knowing - especially with none of your crewmates around.) Delicately he brushed some of your hair out of your face, before pressing his lips fleetingly to your forehead. Closing his eyes, he propped his head on top of yours, position of his body protective to your smaller form. He almost laughed to himself - when the hell did something like this happen? "Goodnight, Y/N..." * * *

It was not the scene the crew expected to return to, that was for sure. Looking between each other and trying to determine who might have had any indication that you were in any way a “thing.” Clearly, you and Zoro had been just that good at keeping it under wraps. Not that it mattered much now; nothing could have been more obvious! “What. The. Hell!?” Sanji was the first one to gain anything near composure enough to talk - although not composure in general. Nami and Usopp had to move quickly to hold him back; “I’m going to KILL that moss-head!” “Sanji! No! Wait!!”

Nami internally cursed herself for not being the first one on the ship. If she had been, she could have kept the rest of them away and would have had pretty good ammo for blackmailing you both for Berri. Ah well, no good thinking too much on that now. “I, for one, think it’s sweet.” Sanji scoffed. “Maybe she’ll lighten him up a little! God knows he needs that. Always so damn serious! And unsociable! I would welcome that change.” “Not with her though!” Sanji made another noise of discontent, making Nami sigh. As if Sanji would be fine with Zoro being with any other woman – on this crew or otherwise? She looked back to the scene; cuddled up together and sleeping soundly. It was late - maybe even early - and the air was much cooler than it had been before, rolling in from the sea. “Can one of you get a blanket? Last thing we need is either of them catching a cold!” Luffy - who had just been staring at you up until now, trying to add it all up in his head; it would explain how close you were at the bar but also… - suddenly sprang into life: “I’LL DO IT!” Nami grabbed him, clamping her hand over his mouth, “Stop yelling you idiot! You’ll wake them up!” Sanji actually thought that was a great idea - but he wasn’t exactly the person who was going to go against Nami’s wishes.

Luffy’s version of quiet was more of a shouted whisper, and he sounded out his words in their syllables for emphasis. “Sorry. I’ll get it!” Nami placed her hand against her forehead watching him walk off in big slow steps - she truly was surrounded by idiots. It was a good thing she loved them.

By the time he came back, she’d managed to successfully move Usopp and Sanji on. And once he handed her what she’d asked for, she began ushering Luffy away (which, considering him, ended up only being a few feet further back.) Rolling her eyes, Nami sighed again, unfurling the blanket, and throwing it carefully over you both. She tucked it as much as she thought she’d get away with before it woke you up and stood back admiring her handy work.

Luffy looked between you and her, “Soooo… will they be alright now?!” “I think so…” Nami turned to him, and pushed, “Now will you get out of here and give them some quiet!” “Well, what about you!?” “I’m leaving too! Honestly—!” “Okaaaaay….!!” He protested as if he wasn’t protesting and walked away.

But when Nami turned back, she almost jumped. Zoro’s eyes were open, and he was staring at her. From the expression on his face, she couldn’t tell if he was impressed or not. She decided she’d probably rather not enquire. After a little while of unnerving her on purpose, Zoro closed his eyes again. But he spoke, voice quiet. “Thanks, Nami.” She smirked, because this was her chance. He’d just left that door wide open and she wasn’t missing the opportunity. “You’re welcome. But you guys owe me!” He sighed - knew it! - this much more of discontent, “Of course.”

---

One swordsman down, two to go! 😁 💚🖤💛

[cheeriochat]

Hmmmm DMC headcannons 3!!!!

This one's a bit wordy

☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆

• Dante and Vergil are the type of twins that when they are close by, are touching in any way possible. Sitting together? Dante is leaning on Vergil. Standing together? Vergil has his arm resting on Dantes shoulder. Walking together? They keep bashing into eachothers side. They can spend time apart (obviously) but when they are close there is always some form of contact.

• Nero felt phantom pains where his hand used to be, but when his arm grew back they kind of just became ordinary pains. He wasn't sure if it was a side affect of growing a whole ass arm back or something but he was happy when they went away.

• I kind of think Kyrie would have depression. I mean she went through a lot and lost her parents and brother but she lived, so I feel like she would have survivors guilt but due to constantly being busy she wouldn't really have the time to process it. It's a sad headcannon but I feel like it just seems right :(((

• On a bit of a lighter note, I feel like Kyrie would have a good support system though. I mean she has Nero obviously, but also I think she would have Lady, Trish and Dante there for her and eventually Vergil too.

• Talking about Trish, Lady and Dante. I feel like Lady and Trish would go shopping Bayonetta 2 style, and have Dante carry all their stuff around. (He gets compensated for his work when they stop at a Cafe and he gets a parfait, although he doesnt mind helping his friends)

• Nero has a huge sweet tooth, but because of the kids, he can't keep anything to satisfy his need for sugar around long enough. Vergil likes to buy him sweet stuff though as a form of peace offering. He's found Nero likes Lemon Sherbets, Sour patch kids, and controversially, Liquorice.

• Vergil likes Hotpot and Shabu Shabu. I don't know, I just feel this in my soul.

• Dante is jealous that Vergil gets a tail and he doesn't. Vergil is jealous Dante's horns are fancier than his. They are both content with the wings that they have. (Also vergil has long skinny fangs with sharp teeth and Dante has wider, stubbier (but still as equally sharp) fangs with more "human" teeth)

[cryptidclownz]

updated ref of my oc naryn!

no bg + scarred alternate

i tried my hand at writing a little scene of the whole naryn/lamb backstory!! im not super proud of it but i dont usually share my writing so i figured i might as well!

—

Another crusade through Darkwood gave the lamb time to think. To unwind. Slaughtering beasts and heretics was a favorite pastime of theirs, but their followers grew ever needy. Demanding. They dreaded a request for materials that would be better spent on medicine and worship, but the scolding their god would give them if they refused was just as infuriating. A leader must provide, he would tell them. Your followers will dissent without proper care. Coddling, more like. Lambert was not a gentle leader, and they had no intention to be one. As much as they wished they could toss their flock to the wolves and go on about their life, The Lamb knew Narinder was right. Their flock would be rewarded for hard work and good behavior, any recruits would find their new life comfortable as long as they behaved. If they didn’t, The One Who Waits had no issue if a follower appeared in his realm in the middle of the night now and then.

Although they were out to gather camellias for a follower desperate to win one of their disciple’s affection, Lambert felt right at home in the dungeons. They handled heretics and monsters with relative ease, well acquainted with the tricks enemy cultists thought would fool them.

The Lamb walked, bored, through another few clearings, only sometimes remembering their original task and picking a few flowers to toss into the crown’s infinite storage. A soft rustling in the trees, the telling shuffling of feet on the ground. The Lamb’s sword was drawn before the ambush had even landed around them.

Boring. Predictable.

They went after the boldest attacker first; a smaller hooded figure than the others who carried an unproportionately large axe. It swung at them, but the weight of the axe slowed it down. The blade of The Lamb’s sword hit the axe’s hilt, slamming it down just inches away from their hooves with unexpected power. The heretic wasn’t given the time to pry its weapon out of the dirt before the Lamb swung at its neck, slicing past muscle and bone with a sickening slap.

The Lamb didn’t behead it, leaving the near-dead heretic to scream in agony for a few moments before it finally died. They were unphased by the rest of the troop storming toward them, having learned by now that heretics don’t take the time to mourn their fallen.

The sword almost seemed to move on its own; slicing through the throats of some and gutting others. Lambert cast a curse in the direction of the two remaining, though the tentacles that rose from the ground only caught one. The Lamb didn’t mind. They preferred to do the work themselves, anyway.

They gripped the handle of the crown’s sword tightly, taking chase after the last remaining heretic. The Lamb moved with powerful, calculated steps, letting the runner think it had a chance to get away. It wasn’t every day that an attacker would try to run, after all.

–

The heretic bolted.

He ran with all of his might, adrenaline willing his trembling body forward despite the gash in his side and the blood of his troop that stained his person. The uniformed hood he wore fell back with every desperate leap forward, and the cold air that rushed past his fur made the tips of his ears burn. He didn’t dare look back, too afraid to see the figure of that monster behind him. The heretic hardly noticed the tears that whipped past his cheeks, wet and sticky like the rest of the blood that coated him. Not his blood. He was alive, even if his friends weren’t. Gods, they were gone, weren’t they? They were-

His foot caught on a slippery root. The cat was flat on the ground before he could feel the sharp sting of pain from his ankle.

“No,” He choked out, voice hoarse. “No, no, no, no-”

Slow, heavy footsteps cut off his thoughts. The heretic kicked and clawed desperately at the dirt beneath him, but his movements were frantic and uncoordinated. The Lamb would have found it funny if they weren’t irritated by the sticky residue coating their arms and fleece. They approached the hooded figure so slowly it was cruel, listening to the panicked breaths and gasps that came from it.

“Rise, heretic,” Their voice was horrifyingly level, and the hooded figure could spot the glint of their sword out of the corner of his eye as they lifted it towards him. He was going to die.

“P-Please,” The voice that sounded from the heretic was quiet and shaky, but his limbs trembled more violently as he propped himself up on his forearms and cautiously turned. With his ankle still caught on the root, the cat was forced to twist his body to look up. His hood slowly fell from his ears, no longer casting any shadows on his face. He was going to die. “Please, spare me.”

The Lamb froze.

They stared down at the heretic before them, eyes widening in a state of shock that was entirely foreign to them.

A black cat stared back, the dark amber of his tear-filled eyes glinting red in the sparse lighting of the Darkwood forest. His long, pointed ears pinned back against his skull, the tips nearly pressing together. His fur was blood-splattered and matting in the direction of the drying redness, but the Lamb could still see that perfect black beneath it. Their eyes shifted to the heretic’s forehead, where a discolored splatter of blood stained the fur. At least, that’s what they thought it was.

Their eyes narrowed.

The Lamb moved closer, stepping over the root that the cowardly heretic was trapped underneath. They stood in front of him, sword lowered but still pointed near the cat’s head. Unsatisfied by what they saw, the Lamb lowered to a squat, causing him to gasp and flinch back. His eyes screwed shut, awaiting the same agonizing pain that he’d just witnessed his troop suffer.

And yet, it never came. Instead, he felt a hand on the top of his head, firmly planted but not suggesting any malice. The Lamb took a moment to feel his fur. Soft, they realized. Such a familiar texture.

Their hand moved further down, landing on the red blood on the heretic’s forehead. They pressed down and slid their hand to the side, expecting it to smear or crumble off entirely. When that didn’t happen, their breath quickened. The cat didn’t know why. He pried his eyes slowly open, pupils dilated about as far as they would go. He searched the Lamb’s expression warily, but he was about as lost as they were. It was hard to distinguish exactly what this was. Excitement? Fear? Confusion? Maybe it was a mix of everything. The source of their confliction, however, was no question.

This heretic was the spitting image of The One Who Waits, down to the most subtle stripes in his fur and the red in his eyes. The red mark on his forehead was distinctly eye-shaped, like some sort of mimic of their god’s divine features. It was almost revolting, the fact that a lowly heretic would be blessed with such features–- such mockery. The Lamb’s expression hardened, and the heretic noticed. He wanted to pull away, to scream, to plead for his life, but the heretic’s throat ran dry. He could only watch as the Lamb continued to inspect him as if they were searching for just one inconsistency; one reason to kill the vile mimic that tried to fool them. There were none.

“You...” The Lamb began, dropping their hand to the underside of his jaw and jerking his head up. There was no telling what went on in their head, even as their sword warped back into the shape of a crown and sat atop their head. Their glare seemed to soften a moment later. “Where have you been?”

[pearlescent-poppies]

Soooo… I came up with an idea for a parody yesterday and now that I’ve finished writing it, I wanted to share! This has been written about Iskall concerning whatever the hell is going on with him and Joel. Now, could I have chosen Lizzie for this? Absolutely! But I find this way funnier! (This was cross posted to Reddit btw) you can find more parodies at: @mcyt-parodies

So get ready for…

Etho’s Boy (A Jessie’s Girl Parody)

Etho is a friend

Yeah, I know, He’s Been A Good Friend Of Mine

But lately something’s changed that ain’t hard to define

Etho’s got himself a boy, and I wanna make him mine

And he’s watching him with those eyes

And he’s got his lips on his neck

I just know it

And Etho’s holding Joel in his arms late, late at night

You know I wish that I had Etho’s Boy

I wish that I had Etho’s boy

Where can I find an ogre like that?

I’ll play along with all the pranks

A restraining order won’t stop me now

You know I feel so dirty when they start talking cute

I wanna tell Joel that I love him but he’ll put me on mute

And he’s watching him with those eyes

And he’s got his lips on his neck

I just know it

And Etho’s holding Joel in his arms late, late at night

You know I wish that I had Etho’s Boy

I wish that I had Etho’s boy

Where can I find an ogre like that?

Like Etho’s boy

I wish that I had Etho’s boy

Where can I find an ogre-

Where can I find an ogre like that

And I’m lookin’ in the mirror all the time

Wonderin’ what he don’t see in me

I’ve been funny; I’ve been cool with poetry

Ain’t that the way love’s supposed to be?

Tell me where can I find an ogre like that?

You know I wish that I had Etho’s Boy

I wish that I had Etho’s boy

I want Etho’s Boy

Where can I find an ogre like that?

Like Etho’s boy

I wish that I had Etho’s boy

I want, I want Etho’s boy

[celientjeee]

Mine For The Taking

(alex/logan, 2.6k, complete)

Alex who came to his driver's room after and apologized over and over again until Logan yelled at him to shut the fuck up. 

Alex who then showed up at Logan’s hotel room with a bottle of vodka. 

Alex who had kissed him. Pressed him against the hotel door and left him breathless. 

Alex. 

Logan was conflicted, because he should be mad at Alex. Right?

OR: Logan is conflicted during the Australian Grand Prix

--

READ HERE!

Big shout out to @fueledbyremembering for beta reading and to all the gals at TSGC for being my cheerleaders for this silly little fic 🧡