#some of y’all are bein so over dramatic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sethsclearwater · 1 year ago

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synopsis: reader is a brat, embry and paul teach her a lesson

warnings: smut, dom!paul, dom!embry, sub!reader

notes: so sorry this took FOREVER to publish!! i hope y’all love it!

word count: 3.86k

…

you were almost always the most rule-following sub out there. though, one thing that typically caused you to act like a brat was when your imprinters were busy and, unfortunately for you, lately that seemed to always be the case because of some rogue vampire in the area that neither the wolves nor the cullens could seem to catch.

so here you found yourself, lying down on your shared bed in your empty apartment watching some stupid reality tv show while you waited for paul and embry to come back home. you’d spent the morning with emily and kim and had just recently gone back to your apartment because sam and jared had apparently finished patrol before embry and paul did.

you had quickly drifted off from the boredom, staying asleep much longer than you originally wanted to because, when you woke up, embry was running one hand up and down your side soothingly and paul looked like he had just gotten out of the shower, both boys sporting wet hair and a pair of low hanging sweatpants.

you groggily rolled over, blearily knuckling at your eyes while you tried to reorient yourself, “hey pretty thing,” embry murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your shoulder, “you okay?” he asked softly, offering your arm a gentle squeeze when you didn’t respond for a moment.

you huffed, shaking your head as you were quickly reminded of why you were annoyed in the first place. you didn’t see it because you were still rubbing the fatigue out of your eyes but both boys exchanged mutual looks of confusion, not totally sure what was up with you.

letting out a huff, you rolled over so you were facing away from embry and paul, just pulling the blanket up as you closed your eyes again and tried to go back to sleep. unfortunately for you though, both boys were less than happy with that idea, “princess,” paul murmured, coming to sit down on the other side of the bed so he could be in front of you, gently resting his hand on your hip, “‘s wrong?” he asked softly, both boys anxiously waiting for your response.

“you guys are gone all the time,” you mumbled, opening your eyes to glare at paul who just let out a sigh and rolled his eyes.

“princess,” he started, “you know we don’t really have that much control over that, right?” he asked, both boys letting out sighs as you shook your head, rolling over so you could bury your face in one of the pillows in a dramatic attempt to show them just how annoyed you were.

embry let out a breathy laugh at your actions, “pretty thing,” he murmured, a small smile on his face as he stroked his fingers up your side, “you know paul hates it when you’re being bratty, yea?” he asked teasingly, both boys suddenly feeling much more confident about how to deal with you.

you huffed, rolling onto your other side so you could face embry, “‘m not bein’ a brat,” you mumbled, glaring up at him which had embry letting out a chuckle.

“you kinda are pretty thing,” he mused, “so are you gonna let us take care of you? or are you gonna keep complaining about us not giving you enough attention?” he asked, gently massaging your upper arm as both boys waited for your response.

you thought about it for a moment and, before the logical side of your brain could kick in, you’d already given both boys your answer, or lack thereof for that matter, “you know this really isn’t fair that you-” you started, yelping when paul’s grip on your hip tightened as he pulled you so you were flat on your back.

“okay that’s enough of that,” paul rolled his eyes as he got up, gesturing to your hips which embry quickly understood what he meant, sliding both of his hands down to your hips to hold you in place. paul was always the more ‘no-nonsense’ type of dom while embry tended to be a little softer than him, though both were always quick to put you in your place if you started acting up.

“gonna take your punishment like a good girl, right?” embry asked, offering you a soft smile when you huffed, crossing your arms across your chest, “that’s what i thought,” he mused when you didn’t respond, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips before he was sitting back up.

“lift your arms up for me,” he instructed, peeking over his shoulder for a moment to try and figure out what paul was doing before turning his attention back to you. he offered you a small smile, pleased to see that you at least complied with that demand.

he was quick to pull your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the side before doing the same thing with your bra, “so pretty,” he murmured, “wouldn’t have any idea you’re so disobedient sometimes,” he added, lips curling into a small smile when you huffed, shaking your head.

“‘m not a brat,” you murmured, frowning when he just shook his head, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips before he was sliding his hands down to your hips.

“you got her?” paul’s voice drew the two of you out of your little moment and you both looked over to him to see him holding none other than the hot pink vibrating dildo and silk ties the two boys had teasingly gotten you for your birthday a year prior.

you frowned when you realized they weren’t kidding about your punishment, “almost there,” embry mused, smiling when he realized what paul’s plan for your punishment was. before you knew it he was quickly tugging down your sleep shorts and panties, tossing them to the side so they could be with the rest of your discarded clothes.

“paul-” you whimpered, suddenly regretting being such a brat to him just a few minutes prior. he let out a dark chuckle, shaking his head as he handed embry the silk ties.

“gotta take your punishment like a good girl, yea?” paul mused, coming to sit down on the edge of the bed while embry took your wrists into his hands, easily tying them together before he was tying your wrists to the headboard so you couldn’t use your hands. lucky for you, embry tended to be a bit nicer than paul when it came to tying you up so he made sure your wrists were at least rested in a somewhat comfortable position before he released his hold on you.

“spread your legs,” paul ordered, not giving you much time to process his command before he was wedging himself in between your legs himself, “you know for as much as you complain about not wanting to be punished your pussy always tells an entirely different story,” he mused as he swiped one of his fingers between your folds, eliciting a yelp from you as he gathered some of the wetness that had accumulated there and sucked it off his fingers with a soft hum.

embry let out a soft chuckle when he looked down at your cunt, also realizing just how soaked you were from the thought of being punished by the two boys, “you’re something else,” he murmured, also swiping one of his fingers through your folds to have a taste for himself, “always taste amazing though,” he mused teasingly.

you blushed, watching both boys wearily as they took in your naked body for a moment, both seeming to be entranced in it for a moment before they continued, “i think she’s wet enough to take this right now, don’t you think embry?” paul asked as he picked the dildo back up, playfully running the silicone tip around your tight entrance, eliciting a soft whimper from you at the sensation.

embry hummed, seeming to think about it for a moment before nodding, “i think she’ll be fine,” he decided, looking over to paul, both boys sporting cocky smirks on their faces that had you mentally cursing yourself for ever deciding to be bratty with either of them.

paul didn’t even give you a second to really process anything before he was pressing the dildo inside of you, both boys letting out soft groans when they say just how well your pussy took the toy. you let out a loud whine at the stretch, whimpering when paul pushed it all the way inside you, making sure it was fully nestled inside you before he decided to give you a moment to stretch around it.

“so you’re gonna keep this in your pussy for 30 minutes, yea?” he asked and you frowned, looking over to embry who just let out a soft chuckle.

“you can cum,” he reassured, already knowing what your next question was, “but you’ve gotta keep it in that tight little pussy of yours for the full 30 minutes, yea?” he asked, both boys letting out dark chuckles when you whimpered, already knowing this was going to be a ridiculous punishment.

before you could argue with either of them, paul had lined the vibrator part of the dildo up with your clit and turned it on, the vibrations on your clit immediately sending your brain into a tizzy over the pleasure as you let out a loud moan, “so fuckin’ hot,” paul mused as he got up, grabbing both of the chairs he must’ve dragged in from the kitchen while you weren’t paying attention, setting them up at the edge of the bed before taking a seat on one of them and gesturing for embry to take a seat in the other one.

you let out a loud whimper, anxiously looking at both boys when embry sat down next to paul, both of them now having front-row seats to the show you were putting on for the two of them, “go ahead princess,” paul encouraged, both boys wanting to see you allow yourself to melt into it.

you whined, shaking your head, though the moan you let out as the vibrator pressed down particularly hard on your clit as you squirmed your hips betrayed you, “wanna see you,” you whimpered, letting out a heavy sigh of pleasure as the vibrator once again brushed against a particularly sensitive spot that had you curling your toes and drawing your legs in.

both boys let out breathy laughs at your whines, seeming to agree with your want as they both tugged down their sweatpants just enough to each free their hardened cocks, “better?” embry asked teasingly, languidly stroking at his cock as you nodded, dropping your head back so you could finally allow yourself to melt into the pleasure.

you let out a loud whine, grinding your hips against the sheets to better stimulate your g-spot, gasping when you finally got the dildo to brush against that sensitive spot inside you, “so fuckin’ hot,” paul murmured as him and embry watched you pleasure yourself with the dildo, both loving just how frustrated you got when you realized you couldn’t use your hands to better stimulate yourself.

despite your lack of hand use, you quickly felt your first orgasm of the night building in your belly, “paul i’m-” you whimpered, dropping your head back to let out a loud moan as you rolled your hips against the dildo again, stimulating your clit and g-spot at the same time.

both boys let out dark chuckles, “go ahead princess,” paul encouraged, both him and embry more interested in seeing how long it took you to realize the sooner you came the sooner you’d overstimulate yourself. you were none the wiser though and quickly met your first orgasm with your doms’ approval, the pleasure releasing the majority of the sexual tension you’d felt building in you for the past few days and immediately relaxing your mind.

though, you were pulled out of your post-orgasmic haze much sooner than you would’ve liked as the pain suddenly turned to a mild discomfort as the vibrator continued rubbing against your clit despite having just cum. both embry and paul let out soft laughs when you realized the situation you’d just gotten yourself into by cumming sooner than you probably should have, “embry-” you whimpered, anxiously looking over at him as you rolled your hips, trying to move the vibrator enough to give your pussy and clit some much-needed relief.

“sorry pretty thing,” embry mused, not stopping the slow pumping of his cock in his hand while he spot to you, “still got…” he trailed off as he grabbed his phone with his free hand, checking the timer he must’ve set while paul turned the vibrator on, “about 20 minutes, yea?” he teased, both him and paul chuckling when you shook your head, whining as you tried to figure out how you were going to get through the remaining ⅔ of your punishment.

though, you didn’t have long to whine to either of them because the pain was quickly turning into some combination of overstimulation and pleasure that had the all too familiar knot in your belly beginning to form again, “oh my god-” you whined, closing your eyes as you curled your toes, doing your best to focus on the pleasure instead of the soreness of your clit.

“look how well she’s taking that dildo,” paul mused, his comment to embry eliciting a loud whimper from you as your walls throbbed around the silicone toy. you couldn’t have been more frustrated with your punishment, thoroughly annoyed that paul and embry weren’t letting you anywhere near either of their cocks and instead had you cumming on some stupid toy.

embry hummed in approval, “you gonna cum in her? or wait until she’s done with this and then take her?” embry asked, neither boy taking their eyes off you as you continued whining as your second orgasm of the night began rapidly approaching.

“let her cum a few more times and if she behaves herself then we can put it in her,” paul responded, both boys talking about your pussy as if they were talking about something as casual as the morning weather.

you let out a particularly loud moan as the vibrator brushed up against your g-spot again, nearly sending you over the edge right there, “go ahead and cum again pretty thing,” embry encouraged, “we’re watching,” he added, knowing you’d be throwing a fit shortly if you found out they were more distracted by something else other than you.

you tried to fight off your second orgasm of the night, quickly failing though as you accidentally rolled your hips in such a manner that the dildo was vibrating against your g-spot and clit at the same time, unintentionally sending you over the edge to your second orgasm of the night.

you came harder than the first time by a landslide, your pussy throbbing around the dildo for a few minutes as you tried to catch your breath, eagerly riding out your high as you waited for the all-too-familiar discomfort of the overstimulation that was bound to come from the dildo remaining inside you and glued to your clit.

sure enough, you felt the familiar tingling discomfort as you came down from your high, tears welling up in your eyes as you realized you were definitely going to have to cum at least one more time before the timer ran out.

“oh princess,” paul mused teasingly, “your pussy overstimulated?” he asked, chuckling when you nodded, tears now freely streaming down your cheeks as you let out a loud whimper, rolling your hips against the bed in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort.

“you cum one more time and paul and i’ll cum with you, yea?” embry offered, knowing you’d be jumping at that opportunity despite your brain begging you to just figure out a way to get the stupid dildo out of you, “that’s my girl,” embry mused, leaning back into the chair as both boys prepared to watch you meet your third orgasm of the night in a 30 minute period.

you whined, sucking in a few deep breaths as your brain tried to process all the pleasure and overstimulation coursing through your body, tears still rapidly streaming down your cheeks, “i can’t-” you whimpered after a few moments, letting out a breathless sob that had both paul and embry leaning forward to console you on.

they were pretty good about figuring out what your limits were and both knew that you would use your safe word if you needed to but they wanted to comfort you nonetheless, “yes you can pretty thing,” embry cooed, “one more time for me and paul, yea? gonna make us so proud,” he encouraged and you nodded, letting out a breathy whimper as you dropped your head back against the pillows, closing your eyes as you focused on the tightening in your belly as you teetered on the edge of your third orgasm of the night.

“there you go kitten,” paul encouraged, “show us you’re a good girl,” he cooed, both boys’ praises sending you right over the edge to your third, and strongest orgasm of the night. as promised, embry and paul were both meeting their release shortly after you, seeing how you completely lost it sending both of them over the edge as well.

you were struggling to catch your breath, whining as you came down from your orgasm, brain all sorts of foggy as you worked at reorienting yourself, “there you go pretty thing,” embry murmured as the timer on his phone went off and he got up from his chair, gently pulling the dildo out of you much to your relief, “did such a good job,” he cooed, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead as paul got up and grabbed two rags from the bathroom to wipe all of you off with.

paul was quick to wipe his release off his abdomen and pull on a fresh pair of boxers and sweatpants before he was tossing embry the other rag as he got back in bed with you, “there you go princess,” paul murmured as he got you situated in between his legs, allowing you to lean back against his chest while embry wiped himself off and prepared to wipe you up as well.

“paul-” you whimpered, peeking over your shoulder to look at him, your tear-streaked face from all the pleasure resulting in him letting out a breathy laugh.

“you’re okay princess,” he cooed, “promise you’re okay,” he reassured, pressing a kiss to your temple as he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close to him as embry got in between your legs, having cleaned himself off and pulled on a fresh pair of plaid pajama pants, “embry’s just gonna clean you up now, okay?” he asked softly, making sure to be extra gentle with you after seeing how close you were to your limit just a few minutes prior.

you nodded, sniffling as you reached up to brush away your tears with the back of your hand. paul offered you a small smile, pressing a quick kiss to your hair before embry gently wiped up the mess of fluids between your thighs, “such a good girl,” embry praised, pressing a soft kiss to your knee and offering you a small smile when he realized how well you were doing considering how wildly overstimulated you were at the moment.

“did so good for us,” paul praised, “now you gonna let us get you into your pajamas so we can put a movie on or somethin’?” he asked softly, running one hand up to gently cup your jaw in his hand so he could rub soothing circles against your cheek.

you nodded, leaning into his touch as you finally started to calm down a little bit, happy to know both embry and paul weren’t actually ever mad at you for being a brat. embry was quick to get up and grab you a fresh pair of panties and one of paul’s t-shirts for your to wear, knowing how much you loved sleeping in one of their shirts, “there you go pretty thing,” embry murmured as he got back between your legs to help you into your panties before helping you into paul’s t-shirt, “such a good girl,” he added, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your lips.

you smiled, cheeks a deep pink as you blushed at all the praise from the two of them. embry let out a breathy laugh when he realized how flustered the two of them had made you, “c’mere,” he chuckled, taking your hands so him and paul could help you get under the covers.

when the three of you got under the covers, paul was quick to pull you over to him so he could spoon you while you took embry’s hands and curled into his chest, “you wanna order something to eat? we can get something from that place down the street you like,” paul asked after a few moments, running one of his hands up your side to gently scratch at your scalp while he waited for your response.

you hummed in approval, nodding, “can we rewatch the hunger games? i wanna see that again,” you asked, peeking up at embry who let out a breathy laugh and nodded, knowing how much you loved that movie.

“‘course we can,” he reassured, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before he was reaching for the remote to put it on while paul ordered food for the three of you on his phone, “also, just so you know we talked to sam about all the patrol stuff,” he added as he got the hunger games on, “you should have one of us with you most of the time until we figure out who that vampire is and we’ll both be with you all day tomorrow,” he explained and you nodded, smiling at him when you realized both boys had taken your frustrations seriously.

“thank you,” you whispered, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips which he gladly returned.

“of course,” embry chuckled, “i love you,” he added after a moment, offering your hand a gentle squeeze.

you giggled, “i love you too,” you murmured, squealing when paul teasingly squeezed at your hip, “i love you too lahote,” you giggled, peeking over your shoulder to give your other imprinter a kiss, knowing he’d be complaining about it all night if you didn’t.

both boys smiled, happy to know that you were happy. embry hit play on the movie, allowing you to curl further into his chest while paul tossed his phone to the side before wrapping his arm around your waist again so the three of you could cuddle while you watched and waited for your food to come.

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aconflagrationofmyown · 2 years ago

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but then… Gigi

Chapter 2 - An Elvis Presley fanfiction

Thanks: to the little rascals who schemed and kept me pumped the entire time I was whacking my way to fruition on this project: Bri and Elise. And to Birdy and Ally and Christi and all the rest of you darlings who are so dear to me and whose shared love for this man has brought such joy to my life. I hope you enjoy, your feedback means the world to me and there’s nothing I enjoy more than getting to incorporate some of y’all’s schemings and theories into the story itself. So don’t hold back! Xoxo

Caveats are the sign of a insecure author yet here I go…: in this chapter there are highly unflattering references and portrayals of Pricilla Presley and Ginger Alden respectively -they are not necessarily my opinions of them, they are my dramatization of Elvis’ headspace during the summer of ‘77 when many report he was breaking up with his “fiancée” and there was already a substitute picked out to come with him on the impending tour. Y’all can debate those rumors all ya want and I honestly don’t know what to think of them myself, what I do know is that man told his father he was terribly lonely days before he died. And I want to remedy that, so the narrative is unreliable here and it’s in his head. Love at first sight, love that obsesses, love that has a childlike quality to it as presented in this fic is often selfish and even cruel towards the feelings of others. If you’re not fond of Elvis as a flawed, moody bastard of a man on occasion, this fic may not be for you. Cheers.

Warnings: 18+ no actual sex happens but my goodness -it’s sure wanted and thought on so much that sometimes it felt like a fifteen year old boy was hijacking my keyboard -Big daddy was that you?! Apologies for the, uh, crass body descriptions?! Salami will never be the same again…also, use of the word “fat” in the narrative as being thought of oneself, good ole fashioned chauvinism and mild infidelity on Elvis’ part

Chapter 2

“Do ya think it’s too, I dunno, too, too on the nose?”

“E.P., ya have people over here all the time, man.” Charlie murmurs gently from where he sits on the floor, not bothering to look up from the spread out sheet music he’s rustling through. “Why would it be on the nose to do it now, all the sudden?”

“Well I-I-I was thinkin’ maybe havin’ a pool day, maybe that was too forward.” Elvis has been rethinking this since he told George Klein to wrassle up that young bunch again, and specified the pretty young Artemis whose freckles had been covered last he saw her.

“How’s that forward?” Charlie seems genuinely confused and Elvis figures this has got to be one of those times he’s so far in his own head and foggy from pacin’ the pills that he’s not thinkin’ like regular folks.

It’s just that he couldn't take this eager young one turning him down, or shying away from him. It makes him timid in a way he hasn’t been in decades.

“I thought maybe, maybe invitin’ ‘em durin’ the bright light of day would be less, less, ya know, less susp–would raise less eyebrows.” Elvis tries to explain and Charlie really gives it the old college try to understand why his usually very entitled friend is suddenly reverting to teenage levels of strategizing to hang out with some chicks. “But now it seems like it could, could be t-taken wrong.” He’s thinking of Gigi in a swimsuit, he’s thinking of her bouncing through his trophy room headed to the pool like she bounced on the sidewalk, he’s thinking of how knowing Tammy had looked when he’d badgered her for information on her folks. Tammy has him spooked, he supposes, has him second guessing his own motives a little.

“Which nose are we worried about bein’ too ‘on’?” Charlie asks gently, and Elvis hates him for it.

“Ginger’s! And fuck you Charlie you know already, it’s Ginger’s.”

“If it’s Ginger who you’re concerned about being put out by your guests,” Charlie doesn’t bat an eye, “then I suggest you worry about her chin, not her nose. The thing’s huge, bound to be too ‘on’ it no matter what ya do.”

Elvis chuckles weakly out of sheer appreciation for Charlie’s loyalty, “Is that where I been goin’ wrong with that broad all this time? Lordy, I ain’t even tried to sit on that face, what’s she so put out for? Just anticipatin’ me bein’ too on the nose? Didn’t seem to think all that fuckin’ jewelry was too on the nose, coulda bought her one a’those Indian nose ring thingys and I reckon she’d have snatched it oughta my palm fast as anythin’.”

“Some folks are born put out.” Charlie philosophizes and continues rummaging some more in the guitar case, pulling out picks and wadded sheet music.

“I invited them today, they turned me down; they’re busy with somethin’.” Elvis admits softly, because he had tried to put this off for about five hours without her knowledge, then the Bible verse this mornin’ happened to be a little too ‘ the nose’ regarding deceitful intentions and he’d rung her up, been straight up about wantin’ her over.

Ginger said no. Declined. That’s how she put it. She was always havin’ to decline him. Except for his money and his trips. That she had an open sieve of a purse for.

The fact Charlie is as unsurprised by her avoidance as he is, suggests Elvis really is a sucker. He gnaws his cuticles bloody. “I should call it off.” He realizes.

“Yeah, what’s holdin’ ya back?” Charlie doesn’t even sound remotely sympathetic and Elvis thinks maybe he hasn’t been sly about lining up a replacement if even his friends know not to pretend to be sad.

“Her family spooks me.” He admits softly, “I got’a feelin’ about them, like they’re gonna raise a ruckus if I don’t go through with it.”

Charlie looks uncomfortable for the first time in this little gossip session. “Sounds familiar,” he ventures so carefully Elvis immediately knows he’s referring to Cilla and her folks. Referencing the day that won’t be mentioned and the threatened law suits and the getting wrung dry and the whole fuckin’ mess he’d made of what ought’ve been a blessed endeavor. Instead, he married a woman outta compulsion and reaped the seeds of it six years later.

“Reckon you’ve tried this before–pacifyin’ folks.” Charlie sounds scared but whether it’s of his decision or for offering an unasked opinion, Elvis doesn't know. “Reckon you should think about what you want, E. What you want for your life. Hell man, you may be halfway done already, you really doin’ what ya want? Maybe ya are, I'm just sayin’–you’re Elvis Presley! Ain’t anything worse they gonna say about ya than they already have, and nothin’ more tragic than havin’ all you’ve got and not doing what’s good for ya.”

Elvis thinks about the deluge of infamy that’s coming his way in a few months, not a single publisher bending to his coaxing or demands for a retraction of Red and Sonny’s little tattle-tale novella. Bastards. Those disloyal bastards.

Gently ditching a frigid woman back outta his home into her daddy’s paid for and well-furnished house is hardly gonna be the most breaking news. And by that time, ain’t no one gonna wanna come over here for pool parties or game nights or stop him on the street for an autograph. No one’s gonna want him by then, might as well enjoy the company while he can.

“Looks like it’s gonna rain today anyway,” he adds in glum summary.

“So?” Charlie tries to cheer him, “I’m sure the gals have noticed the weather and they’ll bring stuff for it, change of clothes and all that. EP, we’ve never run outta stuff to do here, have we? It’s your home, you don’t gotta perform. Can always make it a movie night or somethin’.”

Watching a movie sat next to Gigi in a skimpy bathing suit cover might be worse than watching her frolic in his pool. Elvis gnaws on his thumbnail and smashes the piano keys. Charlie doesn't even jump from the sudden noise. “What time is it?” he asks Charlie even though he has a wrist watch.

“It’s still before noon,” Charlie looks up at him from his place on the floor pointedly, “they won’t be here for another three hours. George’ll be here maybe a half hour before, since ya asked him.”

Elvis's stomach will be in complete knots by then, he knows it, and his mood will be foul for the pinching pain of it and then sitting out in the baking, humid summer heat under a gray sky that won’t rain will sound like shit. He growls and starts playing that classical piece he was trying to learn last tour.

_____________________________

Gigi’s head already aches from the plastered-high ponytail Tammy hair-sprayed her wavy locks into and she knows her face is coated in far too many layers of makeup for a pool party. It’s not what she would have chosen but she considers it a win to be walking out the door of their apartment in something more decent than the nylon scraps suggested to her as a swimsuit by her friends. It’s one thing to be aided in a little primping by one’s gals who seem hell bent on depositing a buddy into Elvis’s bed, it’s quite another to feel more than a little pimped out.

Gigi has a feeling that half of this hilarity may be selfless giggles over one of their own catching his eye, but the other half is definitely some old style sorority cunning. Whoever the mythic, absent and supposedly current girlfriend of the King is, she’s been earning Tammy’s hatred since grade school. And Gigi has a feeling that she herself is but a gilded instrument of destruction for said girlfriend. It gives her pause. About five seconds worth before she’s clambering into the back of the ride sent for them, trying to keep her swim skirt down so she doesn’t flash Lamar.

Gigi may be a bit jaded from personal loneliness, but she figures it’s free-game to pick up something someone left on the sidewalk. Things that are precious to somebody are tucked in pockets or kept in safes or worn around the neck like a talisman. They never get a chance to end up on the sidewalk.

Precious things aren’t sent off to college with no roadmap and only the weekly phone call or left to rot away in their own sprawling houses utterly bereft of company.

She pulls at her ponytail and determines to have fun. And be a little bold. It’s why she wore a skirt and razor back swim top that is more sporty than seductive–she figures that if she can keep his attention by her behavior, that’ll be the only way she can manage to tolerate it. Too much male assessment turns her into an idiot, the other night proved that, and she’d like to feel free to act in a way that might make him laugh like he had at other folks' charades.

She wants to laugh at these flimsy precautions against Elvis’ legendary hypnotizing capabilities. She just tugs at her skirt bottom and admires the way Tammy’s red swim top has her spilling out like a Bond Girl. She kicks at the duffel bag holding their change of clothes hoping it rains, she loves swimming in the rain. Bike riding in it, too, anything but these ironclad skies that trap the thick air down here but don’t send a refreshing shower. She’s got her face pressed to the Cadillac’s window when the wall whizzes by her view and then the car is turning and there’s Graceland, up on its hill, looking a little somber in the pale afternoon light.

They aren’t dropped off at the front this time, “That’s for guests and the boss himself.” Lamar explains as he pulls around to the side and slots into the humongous garage.

“What’s that make us?” Dinah asks, unabashedly enjoying the way she makes the amiable fella wait for her to adjust her bikini bottoms before stepping out the door he opens for them.

“Friends, silly.” Lamar has seen a thing or two and while coral neon high risers on gleaming chocolate skin might be pretty eye-catching, Dinah’s got more work cut out for than that, if she wants to fluster him.

Which Gigi isn’t sure why anyone would, he’s nice and keeps to himself and is good humored. She gives some frantic thought as to whether she can recall meeting a wife of his or not before she’s being herded with the rest through the sea of vehicles parked in Elvis Presley’s garage and in through the back door.

They’re immediately in the cozy dark upon stepping inside. The cool, crisp air-conditioned breeze cuts through the thick of outside and Gigi feels like she’s finally able to breathe. Next comes the unmistakable smell of burgers and through low lighting and dark painted paneling she realizes they’ve stepped into the kitchen.

There’s an immaculately polished black woman at the sink and leaning next to her, beside a row of sweating sweet teas, is Elvis, making conversation and caught by his guests mid-snicker.

There’s something so strangely mundane about the scene to Gigi that her heart lurches. The domesticity of fresh-cut onions and the comfy slouch of yet another tracksuit–it has a powerful effect on her and she finds herself beaming in gratitude at being invited back. The fact the kitchen is carpeted registers about a minute later as she scuffs her sandaled foot nervously across it, her toes dragging against the plush as she waits for the crowd in front of her, one-by-one hugging their host hello, to thin out enough for her to get at him.

She’s gonna hug him this time, she’s sworn to herself she will.

“What? No Keds? Where’d the Keds go, darlin’?” is what happens instead, Elvis frozen with his arms wide open to hug her and his eyes pinned to her french-tip pedicure like she’s Liberace and done forgot her piano.

“I thought this was a pool day.” She scrambles, and that’s enough for him to drag his eyes up the leggy length of her to meet her own blue ones, still looking like he’s in great consternation over her omission. “Is your pool bottom really that rough?” She teases and is pleased when that wipes the silly pantomime of alarm off his handsome face.

His thick sideburns draw up with his smile, pulling towards his ears like the creases around his eyes and he grins, “No doll, neither my pool or its bottom’s rough. You c’mon through right here, make yourself comfortable. You like burgers, honey?”

“I do!” she replies and obeys the outspread arm that sabotages her intended hug, directing her to the barstools at the counter instead.

“Sit yourself down and I’ll get’chu one.” He assures her earnestly before leaving her side and shuffling around the industrious lady he’d been caught gossiping with.

“I’m Gigi,” she offers to the lady from across the counter, watching as she slides the plates around and sets out the usual condiments in a tidy row.

“Mary darlin’, this is Gigi,” Elvis spins halfway through his trek to the fridge , the quick movement belying his bulk and he throws an arm around Mary’s shoulders while making the introduction as if Gigi hadn’t begun it.

“Lovely to meet you, Mary.” Gigi carries on normally as does Mary herself, warmly shaking her hand over the bun basket.

“Miss Cherry Coke?” Mary’s eyes glimmer mischievously up at her boss who tucks his head shyly in response, “Miss, we’ve got the whole top fridge stocked with the stuff, you give the word and I’ll have a case poolside for ya.”

“Oh, that’s awfully kind,” Gigi splutters, “and not at all necessary I-I can make my own burger too, let me help–”

“Sit down, you’re in my house, I’m makin’ your burger.” Elvis commands and Gigi’s bottom has barely left the barstool before she flops back down with a plop that makes the deflated cushion wheeze. “What’cha like on it, baby?” He asks then, suddenly soft as butter.

Between the pet names and the unlikeliness of Elvis Presley actually making her a burger while wearing an unzipped track suit and a king's ransom worth of rings in his own kitchen, Gigi is liable to forget whether she likes ketchup or frog legs on a burger.

“How do you like it?” She counters as if they’re in some argument and he looks surprised by that before leaning towards her, belly pressed into the counter, explaining in loving detail his preference for the onion/pickle ratio and the importance of cooked meats. The sheer amount of thought and stubborn preference for his food prep that comes out in this explanation takes her by complete surprise, not expecting him to care so much about something so trivial. His music or his career or films maybe, she might not have been so surprised, but he seems very much in love with cheeseburgers and helplessly she murmurs, “I'll have it however you like yours done.”

The moment is interrupted by the loud slurp of Tammy’s straw running out of carbonated beverage at the bottom of her bottle. Gigi had quite forgotten there was anyone else here for a minute. She spends the rest of the wait trying not to be obvious about the way she drools at his elegant hands as they meticulously pile on diced onion and bacon bits, sparkling ruby rings and glinting emeralds the only reds or greens let near the food.

He slides the plate her way, determined not to be shy but hopes she doesn't notice the way he watches her from beneath his lashes as she bites into his creation. Her cheeks bulge from the size of her bite and her puffy lips strain to keep her manners and after a few workings of her jaw he sees her eyes light up with childlike enjoyment, then roll back in her head with an appreciative moan. He chuckles and pushes his glasses back up his sweaty nose.

Damn affection, he’s in love. Oh merciful Jesus, not again.

Out by the pool, a few folks sit beside it with their toes dipping in, sloshing at the crystal clear water while a few brave and stupid souls take to the loungers as if the sky overhead wasn’t implacably slate colored. Tammy had told Gigi not to dunk her head in, to keep her shoulders at least above water or else the makeup would run. Gigi thought maybe the makeup should have been left off altogether but it’s too late now and it looks like no one’s going in all the way anyway, her little perch on the diving board isn’t conspicuous with everyone else staying out. A pool is a pool in Gigi’s mind, sunny weather or not, but she feels like it would be childish to jump in and no one else follow. She feels young enough here, so, demurely, she hangs her legs off the diving board and makes conversation with Mr. Hodge about Elvis’ army days.

Elvis himself is still in the house, something about cigars and Sam coming over. When he comes out the pool house door he has his tracksuit undone and an added navy t-shirt beneath it, swim shorts replacing the tracksuit bottoms and Gigi’s mouth starts to water from…nostalgia…she thinks. Beside him is a terribly tall young guy with a mustache and two kids trailing after them. And then there’s two young women, followed by a mature couple; their parents it would seem by the familial resemblance in the jaw.

“Y’all, this is my friend Sam, and his lil critters.” Elvis announces for the girl’s benefit, “He’s a cop, so don’t y’all go tellin’ him nothin’ ‘bout the charades the other night.” He taps his nose as if they’d gotten up to obscene rituals and Sam just rolls his eyes before shaking hands. “And these here are the Aldens, Mister, Missus, Ginger and Rosemary; this is Tammy and Dinah and Marie and Gigi–” he points out one bathing-suited beauty after another with studied nonchalance.

“Nice to meet y’all.” Gigi gives a wave, wondering if she should get up off the diving board to greet them or take a cue from Elvis's casualness and stay put.

Judging by the Superman-level beams of hatred forming between Tammy and Ginger, she figures it’s best to hunker down next to Charlie Hodge and keep her head down.

It makes her jump when Charlie outs their little haven by piping up with a, “I thought E said y’all were gonna be busy in Nashville today, Ginger.”

It makes Ginger look over at them and while Gigi has done nothing but have her head patted and swallowed down every greasy pound of the burger made for her, she feels like a skank under Ginger’s burning assessment.

“We didn’t wanna miss it.” She replies off-handedly after her inspection and turns back to Elvis who is shuffling her along the patio towards a lounger like she’s some decrepit grandma.

“Here, Ginger dear,” he’s got the same voice on that he uses with interviewers and it makes Ginger scowl and Tammy smirk, “how bout we set ya all up nice and comfy here, there we go. We’ll getcha all set up and you can watch from here, know ya can’t go in, it bein’ your time of the month and all.”

It’s funny how his tone is discreet while his volume is anything but, reaching even Gigi and Hodge at the far end, making the slight man snicker at some inside joke Gigi resigns herself to not get. He sees her confusion.

“Ginger here happens to have her period about ten times a month.” He whispers conspiratorially and Gigi gasps.

“Poor woman!” She winces at the mere concept, “Has nobody found a remedy?”

“Not yet.” Hodge shrugs, “Elvis has paid for her to be seen but no luck yet. Still, doesn’t seem to slow her down much, a hearty sorta girl. Except for pool days and sleep overs.” He adds before sipping his Coke noisily.

Gigi turns crimson at this backstage confession from so polite and circumspect a man as Charlie Hodge. She feels like Tammy may not be the only one trying to maneuver her into his friend’s arms. She sighs; she’d like to end up there, she’d also just like to swim in Graceland’s pool without a load of drama surrounding it.

“Why are we all out here anyway?” Ginger asks loud enough for it to carry to Gigi and Hodge on the diving board, “It’s been cloudy all day and the forecast is rain, if you wanted a pageant I coulda taken you to New York, baby.”

She pats Elvis' shoulder in that curious way that Gigi has noticed non-tactile oriented folks use to try to make connection with touchy folks.

Pat pat pat.

Body entirely angled away, no lingering weight after the pressure, no squeeze at the end, no dip down that broad back–it’s the sorta touch that’s worse, grating even, than nothing at all, in Gigi’s experience. Isolating, lonesome, a mockery of what it ought to be. Her heart slams in her throat like she’s watching some old trauma, and maybe she is, but she feels a compulsion to put the pressure back on, laying hands on the wound, steady and firm and untiring.

It’s stupid. But so is the silence that follows Ginger’s criticism of the weather.

“Don’t have to have the sun out to swim.” Gigi observes cheerily, looking around hopefully for someone to agree, Tammy won’t stop smirking and glancing back and forth like watching a ping pong tournament.

“No, but nobody likes to without it.” Ginger frowns at her in confusion.

“I don’t get why?” Gigi presses, genuinely confused herself. “It’s not like we can tan when we’re up to our necks in water. I’d know, I had a blistered face and pasty legs in June, last year, from a monkey in the middle game that lasted too long." She laughs and Hodge and Elvis glance down at her mentioned legs before they laugh too, maybe just to break the tension that seems to be forming in the humid air.

“You’re just sayin’ that to humor this guy.” Ginger cracks a joke of her own, thumbing at Elvis who sits at the foot of Rosemary’s lounge, looking as absolutely glum as the rest of them feel.

“No, no, I’m not actually.” Gigi’s soft voice insists and in a frustrated little huff over the way everyone’s behaving like kids but not in a fun way, decides to stand up on the diving board, her posture purposeful.

“Whoa, whoa oh, ok wait, Gigi no!” Hodge takes in her determination a touch too late as those track hardened legs start a bounce on the board that threatens to send him flying like a kid letting go of a see-saw.

The last bounce sends them both, Gigi in a gorgeous tan legged arch into the water with her swim skirt fanning like one of Renoir’s tutus, and Charlie Hodge splatting beside her a split second later, polo shirt soaked and flat on his back.

The spray of their splash dilutes Ginger’s martini and through the haze of her bitchin’ Elvis licks the chlorine drops off his upper lip and lumbers himself up and over to the pool side in time to see her surface.

She’s laughing. Sopping wet and mascara running, entirely in her element now, Gigi’s laughing.

“How’s the bottom baby?” he asks her with a grin, crouching down to her level and desperate for this to be more somehow, for her to be humoring him like Ginger said. He thinks he’ll be done if that’s all, though. He hopes that Gigi just so happens to enjoy burgers the way he makes them and swimming beneath clouds. Like he does.

“Smooth.” she grins back after dragging her eyes away from the spread width of his crotch, something calculated in her eyes soothing the tiny part of him quibbling over her youth. She ain’t a baby, she’s a big tittied young woman. “S’real smooth Mr. Presley.” She's treading water and it makes her voice breathy.

“Well, go touch it f’me baby.” He tells her.

“Why?” she perks up.

“Why?” He repeats, rhetorically, standing up from his crouch and throwing off his tracksuit jacket with all the show he puts into fanning out his capes on stage. It’s too late the little kohl-eyed bambi begins to backpedal in the water, “Cause–CANNONBALL.”

More chlorinated water splashes up Gigi’s nose and into her eyes, making her gasp and wheeze, blinking through a burning film of melting mascara as Elvis Presley surfaces like a leviathan of the deep not even a full two feet away from her. He shakes his hair out of his face and grins at her like a little boy immensely pleased with himself. Jet black hair pushed back and glasses lost in the dive, he looks unbearably soft. Gigi thinks she may have cooed as she tried to clap when he made his appearance.

“C’mere lil one, your eyes’r smartin’, ain’t they?” He swirls his arm out in the water and effortlessly, like scooping up a partner in a tango, hooks his arm around her and draws her closer. Electrified by the beefiness of his arm around her waist, she almost misses when he raises his thumb to his mouth and sucks on it before bringing the spit-slicked digit to her face. Swiping at her under eyes, gently following along the water line, returning the black finger tip back to his pink tongue, then back again to her eyelashes. Again and again until he’s satisfied with the tidying and enough of the goopy cosmetic has been removed for her to make out each individual pore on his godlike face. “There, thas’ more like it,” he examines his work and she sways towards him in the water like she’s been hypnotized, her face still buzzing from the electricity of his touch, “more like a pretty Southern peach, ‘stead of a raccoon.”

“I told Tammy it was silly.” Gigi whispers, the bulk of him so near her blocks out the rest of the world and her voice dips accordingly, feeling intimate.

“Tammy, doll,” he spins round and the motion releases Gigi, she floats beside him bereft and suddenly cold in the pool without his nearness, “sugar, don’t go makin’ this pretty gal look like a rodent when God’s given her plenty on her own.”

“I do not look like a rodent.” Gigi protests through giggles as Tammy slithers into the pool with a shrug, careful to keep her own face out of the water.

“Sweetie, I’m the one lookin’ at ya.” He points out in that fatally parental way and reaches for her neck once more, taking a good grip before he dunks her backwards in the pool, with barely time for her to hold her breath. Bizarre and a bit threatening as the action is, all Gigi can feel is his warm hand again, and the press of rings biting into her throat, the promise of his body that she’s not yet been jostled close enough to feel, but looming ever near her.

“Elvis baby, you’ve lost your glasses.” Ginger is saying when Gigi is finally let back up after her extended baptism and, with a little flail, she regains autonomy from his grip as he lets her go like he’s been burned.

He hadn’t seemed that worried about the glasses before Ginger pointed it out, but his hasty movement away from her makes Gigi think that it concerns him.

“I’ll get ‘em.” She reassures Ginger before wheezing back in a breath and arching into the water, the splash of her little footsies upending the last anyone saw of her for a brief moment until she appeared in the shallow, holding them up triumphantly.

The solitary, slow clap that could be heard belonged to Mrs. Alden.

“Oh shove it where the sun don’t shine, ya big–” Tammy was snapping at the older woman suddenly and Gigi, freshly discombobulated from resurfacing, decided against figuring that one out, the feud going beyond her even at her most mentally capable periods.

“Get in here fools, Ricky, Charlie, Dinah, c’mon.” Elvis was motioning to his fellas, conspicuously ignoring the venom spitting between the ladies, “Sam, you’re gonna be our monkey.” He directed the overly tall cop to the accompanying protests of the pool’s occupants. “Lotta sissies you are, can’t take a challenge head on.” Elvis chided them and the game was on.

For the next half hour Gigi treaded water in the deep end and tried to help Dinah and Ricky get the ball past the unreasonably tall cop in the middle. Trying to smack it into the shallow side where Elvis was waded around waist deep, in the water, T-shirt clinging to the dip of his pecs and adhered to the swell of his belly like a second skin, effortlessly hefting Sam’s young kids up to take a smack at the ball themselves from time to time. Gigi didn’t think there’d ever been a fella as entranced by the sight of bikini clad babes bouncing around in aquatic sports as she was with such effortless masculinity displayed in the good humor of his backyard. Her heart hurt at the sudden gaping hole in the house, in the pool, in his life–his little girl! She should be here, his child should be here.

Before Gigi had known how domestic and serene life could be at Graceland, it had made sense the rockstar probably wouldn’t have full custody of a kid. She’d imagined wild parties and coke tidily lined up on the back of the toilet in the bathroom for convenient snorting, stripper poles in the living room festooned with real live women of the night. But instead, there was just a beautiful, vigorous, sweet man throwing pool parties to any who would come to keep him from being lonesome.

That old feeling of wanting to hold onto him and not let go, make him let go first, came back. Maybe she’d been staring too long, or more likely, maybe Gigi hadn’t noticed half the spray sprinkling them was now raindrops and not pool splash–either way, Ginger and her familial entourage made a rather large to-do about the little shower. Encouraged to go inside they refused, and while slightly miffed by the needless interruption, the pool’s occupants varied their sport to a rather unorthodox version of Marco Polo.

Ricky led the way by closing his eyes and calling out “Marco” to which every girl, with the innate sense of those being hunted, tried to flee in the water from his grabby hands while answering “Polo” in barely audible titters.

Dinah escaped a close call by diving underwater and slithering away while Sam went on the defensive and splashed water at the kid’s nose until he could barely call out “Marco.” Gigi wasn’t as lucky, trapped between the steps and Hodge she was cornered on the third round, helpless to do anything but press against the poolside and answer “Polo” to each one of Ricky’s ever leering calls, closer and closer to her.

“Time out, time out!” Elvis snapped and Ginger peered over her glasses with knowing suspense but Ricky, quite caught up in the game kept swashing forward in the shallow towards Gigi, blindly reaching out for her shoulder only for at the first tiny touch to it, he got slapped upside the head by a very proactive Lamar who wanted to save the kid from a more fatal fate.

“Boss called a time out, idiot.” he grumbled loudly, pulling him away from Gigi’s glistening tan shoulders.

“Yeah, time out!” Tammy faked a sigh of exhaustion even though she’d done little moving through the game, “Can we get some drinks out here? Got any papaya juice left, E?”

“Oh I swear to God!” Ginger’s sunglasses landed on the cushion with a clatter, finally losing all patience with some inside barb thrown her way.

“What?” Tammy asks with far too much innocence.

“You know what!” Ginger snaps.

“Drinks? What?” Tammy scoffs, “I wasn’t asking you to get them, don’t get all huffy at me.”

“The papaya shit–”

“Hey language, ladies.” Charlie tries to intervene.

Elvis knows Tammy is weedling a fight outta Gingersnap and a month ago he might’ve had it in him to play the gentleman and defend his supposed gal, and an hour or two ago he might’ve found it fun to sit back and watch the cat fight, but there’s rain droplets splattering the pool surface and he knows she’s gonna suggest going in and he wants to make everyone else regret this about as much as he is until he sees her face.

Gigi’s.

Looking for all the world like she’s sad and scared this shitty little party is gonna end. Looking to him to keep her playtime going. Up against the pool wall as the rain splatters her freckles, mostly put out that her turn has been cut short because Elvis's jealous streak can’t take Ricky or anyone else touching her besides him but he can’t bring himself to touch her for fear she won’t purr under his hand.

Gigi’s eyes leave Tammy and Ginger’s verbal sparring and seek his own out pleadingly. His command for everyone to shut the fuck up and go inside or else leave his property dies on his lips. Instead he tries to smile back at her, finding it’s been a little while since he played at accommodating anyone, but he’s willing to try for her, to give her back her playtime. She reminds him of his younger self, such a live wire, attuned and vibrating to every emotion. She needs a calming hand, a weighted presence to tether her. Instead he just reminds the squabbling pool’s occupants,

“Gigi’s it.”

And just like that, the decision is made. Ginger can bitch and Tammy can poke and everyone else can go to hell, he’s gonna play in his pool. With Gigi. It’s her turn to play Marco. Those blue eyes dance back to life and she’s smiling so wide he feels like maybe he’s unleashed the sun, fully cheerful and fully lethal all at once.

Her eyes close but her mouth stays wide and smiling and she utters “Marco” with giddy excitement and Charlie gives him a look he knows, a look of a sure-fire backstage hookup but Elvis isn’t sure, not sure this time until she’s weaved through multiple “Polo’s” and is hunting him down with giggling ferocity. And Elvis is fucked, he’s fucked and his heart is beating in wild excitement and panic as she begins to splash towards him and her palms land squarely on the now squishy mounds of his chest.

He used to have such a nice physique. Strapping, some said, maybe never a real ripped fella but fine and toned and lean. But now all he’s got are man tiddies and his cheeks flame hot under the cool splash of water as her hands splay against his soft chest, the contact winding him, grounding him, making him yearn and shrink all at once.

She’s merciless, hands trailing over the dips of his chest and over his shoulders and down to the beginning of his belly, dragging his wet t-shirt across his sensitive skin, patting him down firmly in the way of someone who savors flesh. He thinks he’s found one of his own.

“Hmm, Lamar?” Gigi guesses but the coy lift of her lips tells him it’s a joke. Still he wants to wince.

Gigi hopes he knows she is teasing, she doesn't even think to make it a barb. Lamar is lovely and so is Elvis and she would do and say anything to prolong the contact she has on the wet material of his shirt, wiry chest hairs faintly ticklish beneath the soaked cotton, the heat and the heft and the way his chest is heaving beneath her hands–Gigi is struck with the reminder of how she fantasized about him, about the bulk of him and the sturdiness she’s now mapping out. If only he was shirtless and–there’s a nipple–his breath is ghosting over her face, she’s so close and she’s being shameless, she knows, but he’s lovely. He’s so lovely under her hands, and she can feel the thump thump thump of his heart soaking up her attention and she knows he’s been lonely for this. She hopes he can feel it through her playful hands–

You’re lovely, this has been lovely, thank you for this, can you feel how fond I am?

–she thinks she hears someone sneeze and she thinks she hears talking but it’s his breaths, labored and fast, that she listens to, senses attentive, squeezing at the soft flesh of his bicep. There’s corded muscle beneath the fluff, she barely gets a squeeze in before she’s palpably reminded that it’s Elvis she’s pawing at when he drawls, thick and forced,

“You got a strong enough grip on that honey? Did I not feed ya enough in the house that ya gonna start pulling meat off the bone?”

She pops her eyes open at that, mortified at first except he looks so pleased by her squeezing, more pleased and happy than he’s been all day and it makes her brave.

“Why, it’s Elvis!” She teases in surprise and is comforted by the hot flare of temper she sees in his face as he entertains the brief concept of her groping anyone else like this, “I could eat you up.” She admits lowly, and it feels like a natural thing to say, the sorta oddball shit you say to cute little babies–or to Elvis Presley when he’s soft and firm and giving and impossibly broad beneath your hands.

“Ya watch y’self lil baby or I’ll eat you first.” He responds careless and calm before snapping his teeth at her in a way that both scares her from its sudden shift and sends molten heat down between her legs at its possibilities.

She chooses to squeal and instead of fleeing in the water, takes refuge from his snapping mouth by scurrying behind him in the water and hunkering down from the threat, plastering herslef to his wet back. The grunt he makes when she pulls herself up by his shoulders is that of a middle aged man playing at being put out over being used as a jungle gym, but like most things he does, teeth snapping and grunting and meticulous burger layering, she finds it obscenely attractive and moans a little herself, finally getting a good press on some part of him, even if it’s just his back.

Elvis has quite forgotten anyone or anything else besides the playful little critter plastering her tits to his back and giggling breathy in his ear. He thinks he notices the way the boys resume the game and Dinah tries to revive the sport while he and this minx just float like mama and baby otter on the sidelines. He doesn’t notice much else beside the fact that she’s taken to tidying him like he tidied her, fingernails rubbing his wet sideburns back down and thumbing at his eyebrow when a commotion on the pool deck gains his attention, tearing him away from the lovely yet mortifying ordeal of Gigi humming over the discovery of too much grease in his rain sodden hair.

It appears Mrs. Alden and Ginger are having it out between each other again on the pool patio, without Rosemary as a referee for once, and Elvis would like to ignore it in favor of thinking of something to talk to this sweet girl about except that there’s a slight tussle on the sidelines and before he–or Ginger it seems–can process anything, Ginger herself is being encouragingly shoved into the deep end by her mother.

Upon surfacing, Ginger makes for him like a downed airman would an atole in the vast pacific, whining all the way like she got dumped in acid instead of saline. He’s always been this way with folks, with women and with men, puzzled as to why he tolerates shit for so long when the breath of fresh air is clinging to his back. It’s a free country, Ginger can whine about pool water all she wants, doesn’t mean he’s gotta feel bad that there’s something about the way that twenty year old gal hasn’t got a lick of child left in her that makes his affection for her curdle like spoiled milk. The giggling limpet on his back laughs before registering that Ginger is unlike her, and the pool is causing her distress. Gigi starts to let go of Elvis’ back in an unconscious reaction to aid her, he finds himself trying to clutch her hands to keep her pressed to his back.

They fumble, they clutch, Gigi slips from his back and it’s as if the water has gone freezing to him. The replacement of Ginger hanging off him does nothing to replace that soothing warmth, though he pats Ginger soothingly, wondering if now would be a bad time to tell her it’s over. It was over ever since a while back, but not being able to make it today, then able to make it only to stake her claim, and now this fawning over him -he’s done. It’s over, he starts freezing and suddenly the raindrops aren’t so playful. He hopes to god his gamble won’t leave him burned and alone again.

“Shh. S’alright honey, gimme your hand.” he mumbles as he leads Ginger to the shallow end, to the pool steps and railing while the rest of the pool’s occupants clear out as fast as rats from a sinking ship when the murky pool water shows she’s not bluffing on her period this time.

Ginger gives him a withering look and he thinks he’s gonna get blamed for her mother’s poor choice in house manners when he finds her staring down at his shorts, and maybe the water wasn’t cold enough cause he’s chubbed up and bent to the side beneath the wet fabric, acting up despite the embarrassment of being felt in his whole entirety by Gigi. He clears his throat and finds himself tugging at his pant leg as they toddle off together, not even trying to act like it’s for her–they’d both know better than that. It’s over, it’s past that. It’s over.

Gigi lags behind in the pool and Elvis doesn’t know why until she’s jogged back up to them, almost to the trophy room doors before she’s kneeling in front of Ginger, her lost sandal in her hand. “Here, I got it, ya don’t have to limp all the way back.” Gigi smiles up at her from her crouch, feckless crinkling and eyes guileless and even Ginger doesn't have it in her to be sour in the face of such unstudied kindness.

“Thanks.” Ginger gets out and digs her nails further into Elvis’ forearm as she leans her weight on him to slip the sandal on, acting as if a dunk in the pool left her mortally wounded.

Fast as lightning, he notices Gigi use the towel slung round her shoulder to dab at a trail of blood running down Ginger’s shin, a womanly little comradery to keep her from being embarrassed but Ginger says nothing and moves on, hastily, Elvis attached to her by her talons, and he hardly blames her. Kneeling -Gigi kneeling- isn’t what Little Elvis needs to be thinking about right now.

In the squelching wet walk back into the big house Elvis feels the compulsion to distract from the menstrual cause of the pool’s evacuation -and his offending boner- by making conversation between the two,

“S’alright,” he repeats, “Hodge and I were thinkin’ movie night or Monopoly if it ended up rainin’. And it was bound to, bound to start rainin’.”

As if that was the reason for getting out of the pool -it’s so gentlemanly of him, despite his palpable exasperation with the whole situation, that Gigi falls a little more in love just watching him be nice to another woman.

“Oh I love Monopoly!” Gigi offers with a genuine little skip in her step, fanning out her sporty swimskirt, half distracted as she passes by the glass showcases housing the awards given to him over his career. They glitter harshly under the low ceiling of fluorescent bulbs. It’s oddly tacky for such a wealthy man. It makes them seem more personal, like a fella got a lotta medallions and plaques for being lovely and stashed them in his pool house. “What’s the longest game you’ve ever played?” She asks since the silent trudge is getting oppressive.

“Lordy, back in ‘66 I think we had one last over three weeks.” He reminisces fondly.

“No way.” She swears.

“Yeah, yeah kept the board all set up in the music room.” He assures her. “Reckon our banker was crooked.” He divulges and Gigi giggles.

“We do a lot of reading.” Ginger offers randomly and Gigi perks up at that bit of information politely.

“Oh? What on?”

“Any and all sorts of subjects.” Ginger smiles sweetly, the sorta sweet smile he used to try to earn, now it makes him wanna shake her off his arm.

“I used to enjoy it but I think college is burning me out on books.” Gigi admits.

“That’s right, you’re in college.” Ginger reminds with a significant look in Elvis’ direction.

“First year.” Gigi nods, looking a little shell shocked.

“Whatcha majoring in?” he asks her earnestly and Gigi realizes they’re near the same height, her long limbs finally giving her an advantage as they lock eyes over Ginger’s head.

Embarrassment floods her as she has to admit to this older and unbelievably successful man, “I still haven’t decided.” She is lost and tired and lonely and that is probably why she gets off to the thought of him telling her he’s gonna baby her. Shame scorches her cheeks and he tsks before reaching over Ginger’s shoulder to pat it calm, rings chilling her fevered flesh, “My parents wanted me to go,” she finds herself purging the sentiment under his kindly eyes despite Ginger’s judicious stare, “but now I’m in, the subject -it’s up to me and I- well I don’t know yet.”

Elvis pauses in his swaying gait to relieve Charlie of the duty of holding open the side door into the main house, ushering Ginger in with a flick of his wrist and Gigi follows, limp necked and chastened. “You’re just a baby.” He is suddenly rumbling right in her ear as she passes him, as if picking up the conversation naturally but it makes her shiver in a hard, wanton shake at the sound of his voice so near. It has his eyebrow raising in some suspicion. “That’s a whole lotta weight to put on youth, ain’t no way you know what you’re fit for this soon honey, dontchu fret over it in the least.”

“Really?” She begs and feels his hand leave the door, no longer needing to be held open, and land on her back, smoothing her wet hair down her spine, rings catching and snarling in the waves.

“I mean it, you’re just a lil peanut, ain’t fair to ask ya to figure all that out right this minute.”

The sentiment mimics the mantra of Gigi’s homework meltdowns and four am panic attacks and she beams at him with utter relief, as if him having spoken what her gut tells her makes it gospel truth. She shudders and melts into that hand, covering an entire half of her face it feels, and the rest of her erupts in gooseflesh from the Arctic levels of AC he keeps in his house. She needs to be closer, she needs him to hold a lot more of her—

“We’re going to change before we get pneumonia.” Ginger announces loudly and they both jump, Elvis once again forgetting that there’s others hereabout, and Gigi from the cold shock of Ginger’s icy hand slithering into her own, tugging her to the hall bath. She trips over her own two feet to keep eye contact with him as long as possible, her cheek still glowing from his touch and reveling in the sight of him in the narrow hall with his belly outlined in stark relief by the clinging, wet t-shirt and his tiny shorts that have a little protrusion of their own…she hadn’t noticed it till now, and she wants to whimper, not from Ginger’s implacable grip on her hand but at the sight of that chubby little package pointing at her while tucked behind his inseam. She’s grinning wide and accusatory at him by the time Ginger hauls her around the corner and out of his sight, grinning as if glad that he was as big a pervert as she was, growing impossibly excited just by little touches and sweet banter.

Gigi’s not proud but she’ll admit she lost some valuable time staring into space, her mouth watering and her lips pursing at the thought of that little bulge. Staring into space as she waited for first Dinah and then Marie and maybe another to finish with the hall bath under the stairs, staring straight ahead at the paneling thinking about nothing but cock, plain and simple cock beneath a pendulous belly, as if she wasn’t currently occupying a most envied space in one of the most interesting houses in America. The portraits and gilding and artifacts were lost on her, catatonic she just thought of cupping it. She was almost entirely certain that she had been able to make out the fat little head of it beneath his shorts, the cone-like little–

It wasn’t any better in the privacy of the bathroom stripping out of her wet things and trying to rub off the cloying wet to slip into her sundress. Malleable and chilly in that post swim haze that often comes over children and dreamy young twenty years old girls, she meandered out of the bathroom and right into a spitting match.

Ginger Alden had deposited her by the hall bath after dragging her away, only to then leave herself and go upstairs to avail herself of the amenities up there. Only to be gently informed by Sam that those weren’t for her use any longer. Upstairs was for family and intimate circle: boss man said she wasn’t that no more. Boss man himself was in the downstairs room to the side that had once been Gladys’ room, slipping on a comfy tracksuit without the hassle of climbing the stairs, thinking about how Gigi relabeled a baby duckling tucking herself into the hollow of his palm and how he’d like to nuzzle at that fuzzy little head and-

So there was a spitting match going on. It was chiefly between Tammy and Ginger, although Rosemary and Missus added their own hits when the occasion afforded.

“Do your friends not mind you whoring them out for your own personal vendetta, Tammy?” Ginger enunciated very clearly in the front hall, just a few feet from the understairs bathroom.

“I dunno Darlin’, does your mama?” Tammy drawled.

“Where’s her boyfriend hmm? Doesn’t he care she’s throwing herself at another man?”

Gigi cracked open the door and hoped to God maybe the discussion was about Tammy’s house cat and not her.

“She doesn’t have one.”

“Oh great, oh perfect!” Ginger’s bangles rattled as she threw her hands up to the heavens, “Let me guess, she’s a pure as the driven snow virgin too, hmm?”

“If anyone can still be a virgin after getting eye fucked that much in a pool–” Tammy cackles and Gigi winces before slipping out of the bathroom fully and trying to make herself small against the wall.

“Language, young lady!” Mrs. Alden reprimands.

“That’s my fiancé!” Ginger wails, not to her supposed fiancé himself but her rival beauty queen contestant. “She’s all over my fiancé!”

“He sure ain’t all over you for bein’ a fiancé.” Tammy points out without a shred of anxiety over the point, eyeing the damage the pool did to her nails. “Where’s the ring, by the way?”

“Here!” Ginger held up her hand and the massive rock adorning it.

“Nah, I meant like, one he gave ya after that one.” Tammy’s chewing gum smacks with her sentences, “Not the ‘I’m desperately lonely marry me after three weeks and I’ll never mention it again’ ring. I meant like, another one, he’s given you a real promise ring hasn’t he? Oh c’mon he’s gotta, he’s so in looooove! You said so yourself, he’s sooo in loooove he’s gotta be pressin’ you for that date every second and loadin’ your hand up with promise rings. C’mon Ginger, show us, c’mon”

“I'm not above punching you, Tammy Anderson.” Gigi felt in her bones that Ginger meant it and stepped up, trying to gently pry the girls apart in their toe-to-toe verbal sparring just as Elvis issued out of the bedroom clad in a deliciously slouchy baby blue version of the black tracksuit he’d been wearing when they arrived. He looked so soft with his hair drying in tufts and his sideburns too, and the vast expanse of his chest the only cuddly looking thing in this frigid house. The soft tracksuit pants also conformed to every ripple of his steps and jiggle of his obviously unconfined package that was still faintly chubby and Gigi ogles him like he’s the display lollipops in an Ice Cream truck window.

“We have a connection!” Ginger is still protesting to the unfeeling jury that is Tammy’s gum smacking smirk. “A real, soulful connection–”

“–yeah, yeah sure cause reading books on crystals downstairs is a real connection.”

“–you aren’t here for it! you don’t know! We have a soul connection!”

“You sound like you’re talkin’ about someone’s grandpa.” Tammy wheezes, “Like, that’s exactly what some gal who don’t wanna give out talks about, like he’s some ancient little granddaddy and you read him shit while he’s in his rocker–”

“You bi–”

“–because getting treated like a nursing home inmate when he’s in the prime of life has sure gotta help that connection. Lord I’m shocked he hasn’t eloped with you yet, a real keeper.”

Gigi sees Elvis scan the surroundings judiciously before anyone notices he’s entered the main rooms again, clocking everyone’s position and attitude and when they lock eyes over the feuding gal’s heads she can’t help the compulsion she feels to lighten his mood, erase the furrow between his brows. She rolls her eyes over their drama and watches those pillowy cherub lips quirk up in reply.

“I dare you to try to handle what I’ve had to handle with his mood swings and his temper and getting goddamn shot at! I dare ya–”

“Maybe you should take an interest in shootin’ his guns, maybe he won’t point ‘em at you then.” Tammy suggests, “Gigi here’s a pretty good shot, actually. Grew up on her daddy’s big farm.”

Elvis is still smirking at her and she wonders if he is like her, only tiny portions of the conversation actually making it all the way into her ears, too preoccupied with things unsaid to be of any use for public conversation. Watching him walk across the room is only worse, the atmosphere changing as he passes, despite his casual demeanor and bulk he moves with a shocking amount of grace and poise –more than Gigi’s ever noticed another man carry.

“Would y’all like some refreshments?” Mary’s butting into the little squabble with a tray from the kitchen laden with poured up sodas and sweet teas as if anyone needs refreshing in this ice box of a house.

“Cherry Coke? Are you kidding me right now?” Ginger’s voice finally pitches up to near hysteric levels and Mrs. Alden grabs the half empty bottle off the tray to inspect the ingredients as if it’ll give her a recipe for dealing with freckled homewreckers.

“I-I-I didn’t choose it.” Gigi whimpers under Mrs. Alden’s glare, feeling compelled to defend herself under the withering derision.

“Mister Elvis stocked the fridge with ‘em jus’ for her visit.” Mary confirms helpfully with a beaming smile and if Mrs. Alden could turn any more ashen under her pancake makeup than she already is, she’d be positively ghastly.

“Oh shit, oh shit, he’s out!” Ginger suddenly hisses to her mom, catching sight of what Gigi’s been making bambi eyes at for over three minutes already. It’s amazing how efficiently the ladies put on a mask of decorum for Elvis’ benefit, all simpering smiles and polite acceptance of the drinks. Except in the criss-crossing of arms and the passive aggressive pinching of fingers around bottles on the tray, somehow the Cherry Coke tips over and spills its contents down the light, pretty patterned front of Gigi’s gauzy sundress.

Cherry-pink nipples, pebbled from the cold shock of a refrigerated christening, suddenly replaces anyone's objections regarding Cherry Coke. It’s obscene those breasts of hers, large and pendulous but curving upwards with obstinate perkiness as if preening hopefully for a compliment, salam-sized areolas emblazoning a landing strip for a tongue to lave… or maybe that’s just Elvis’ perception. Maybe they’re just Coke-soaked titties and he’s a gentleman so he disengages from his chat with Hodge about film selections and comes up, solicitously cooing which makes those nipples–somehow��perk even more.

“Elvis, don–”

“You did that on purpose!”

“No, she didn’t!”

“No, I didn’t! Why would I wanna do that?”

Gigi really has to focus. This was worse than her attention span on homework. “Come on, let’s be nice.” She begs the girls, succeeding in pushing Tammy and Ginger apart just a little, which also gives Elvis a clear path to her. She’s so humiliated at this point that when she sees his determined gait towards her and compassionate face as he eyes her chest that she goes to him like a child with an owie that needs fixing, utterly sure he has the anecdote.

“Oh darlin, s’alright, we’ll get ya sorted with somethin’ else to wear.” He behaves so familiarly as he comes up to her and tucks her into his side that she melts into the gesture, following his lead as he steers her away from prying eyes as she willingly follows, not processing that they’re nearing the foot of the stairs, “You brought somethin’ else to wear?”

“This was it.” She whispers in defeat because it was supposed to be a swim date and she only brought along something beyond a scrap of fabric to wear–despite Tammy’s protests–because she suspected rain and being housebound.

“S’alright little dolly, I’ll get ya covered again,” he says very gravely and it makes her shiver, “modesty is a virtue, darlin, glad to see ya have it naturally.”

She stalls at the foot of the stairs, suddenly realizing his intention is to take her up there. Her cheeks flame red at the implication of both being invited to his private space for God knows what purpose and being invited while his supposed girlfriend is barred from such spaces. Everything in her being longs for it but suddenly there is a nagging, a real fear she’s doing wrong somehow and that if she gave into this, it would taint what oughta be a blissful first time in the arms of a man she’s fantasized about for years. It isn’t fair and she wants to stamp her feet, instead she feels her eyes pooling with tears and her lip wobbling and that ole cry baby nickname sure proves its mettle as she drags her feet and makes him pause right before the first step.

“Elvis this isn’t–I’m not comfortable with this–I wanna but–” she stares miserably up at the portrait of a young, golden haired version of himself on the landing and vaguely wonders if his sons would look like that, if anyone were to give him one.

“Oh, naw, naw don’t cry lil one, tell me what’s wrong?” his hands flutter over the outline of her shoulders as if he’s unsure if his touch is welcome. She wants to glue them onto her body but instead she glances back at the crowd behind them that aren’t even bothering to act preoccupied. Elvis gets the message loud and clear. “Aww I see,” he mutters, “let’s step right in here then, fix ya up with somethin’ at least. Won’t be nice and girlish like intended,” he sounds like he’s moping a bit but he leads her towards the room he went into to change into his tracksuit, sidestepping their onlookers, “but it’ll keep ya cozy. And ya won’t have to go to no bachelors room alone, keep ya reputation all clean.” He loads Gigi’s clouded concerns with heavy amounts of motivation and moralisms she’s never even considered but she doesn’t care as she savors the feel of his hand on her waist, guiding her to a lavender-shaded room.

On the purple quilt of the solitary bed lies a rumpled tracksuit jacket, the one he’d been wearing when they first arrived and Gigi seizes it lovingly, like a child might a long lost stuffy, holding it to her nose and smelling it. To her relief it’s every bit as musky as she hoped. Maybe that way she can be surrounded by him without making an absolute fool of herself. Elvis watches her bury her tear stained face in his old jacket and has to heave in a breath to steady himself. There’s something akin to the adoring fan about Gigi that unsettles him but coupled with that unique irreverence she showed him in the pool, he could craft something here, from this young girl, something that would fill the slot he needs filled so badly.

She might as well be a child, his own Yisa, her eyes are so vulnerable when she raises her head and meets his, jacket still clutched to her chin.

“Ya can wear it.” He affirms, helpless in the face of it, addicted to the beaming smile that catches and spreads across her face like wildfire at his permission, despite the watery red rimmed evidence of her turmoil. “Use it, put it on, that’s right, be all right. That’s a good girl.” He cups her freckled cheek, making sure to keep his fat gut far away from her and she burrows into his palm again, hungry for touch and he remembers now that her so-called parents are cold fucks who don’t care about the fact their daughter is alone in a room with him. Maybe if they did she would be more carefree. “You scared of me, lil one?” he asks gently, thumbing at a dappled cheekbone and swiping down to those plush lips he wants to acquaint with his own. All in due time. For now, “You scared of me?”

“No sir!” She gasps, terribly pressed to make him understand her conflicting emotions, “I just worry–Ginger! We shouldn’t be–not if she–I don’t know.” She trails off and is back to crying again and it affects him strongly, far more than female tears usually do.

“Listen to me, baby girl,” he tilts her chin up to his face solemnly, his tone and commanding the utmost respect and she listens reverently. “This is my house; I can do as I please in it, and so can my guests. Now, some folks don’t wanna be my guests ‘till they sniff a competitor. What you and I got lil one, it’s pure and it’s good, ya feel it baby?” And Gigi did indeed feel him run those ring clad fingers over her face like a hypnotist, mapping out each feature and dragging her eyelids shut momentarily. She didn’t know what she felt except for starving hunger and utter surrender. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with our connections, and we ain’t gonna let the world tell us otherwise, are we, darlin’?”

Gigi felt his fingers trailing over her lips, pulling the blush bottom one away from her teeth before trailing further down, back to her chin, releasing it with a wet pop. She sucked in a noisy breath and whimpered in her exhale.

“Tell me ya feel it, come on sugar, if ya feel it, let ya daddy know.”

Gigi would have blamed some substance laced into her drink for the way her body reels like a mind controlled little mouse, except that she was wearing said drink and she could recognize what he was doing but was powerless to argue against it. He could have asked for her help to bury a body at this moment and she would have complied. She had long been prepared to be accepted and wanted for being smart, she had no equipping for how to navigate or negotiate with an established man who found her desirable. It sent her reeling. It set her alight.

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmm, whas’ tha’?” he coos, his hand sliding to her throat and squeezing a little.

“I -I feel it, sir. Elvis, I, I feel you.” Gigi gasps, tilting towards him only to find him withdrawing now he has her. Playing at cat and mouse when all she wishes for is to be a willing sacrifice, laid out for a hungry god to devour. “Please I feel you!” she pleads, trying to regain him but something has switched in him, he is confident and commanding–and a little cold as he steps back.

“That’s a good girl.” He commends and she shudders again. “You get dressed, then come on out and I wanna see ya wide eyed and bushy tailed for some fun. Ain’t gonna let the bastards ruin our day, are we?”

“No sir!–I mean, yes sir, to–to the first part–” Gosh, she’s adorable and her breasts are huge and ought to be held.

First things first, he’s gotta kick some asses. He tries to put on his most kindly face before backing out of the room and shutting the door fully again to give her privacy. When he turns around, it’s like the Spanish Inquisition in his own living room.

“E’eryone currently in this house,” Elvis speaks low and measured when he is in the midst of them, his index finger pointing to the hollowed foundations of his home, “is here at my pleasure and ‘cause I invited ‘em to create a lil fun. Anyone who ain’t willin’ or able to aid in that endeavor needs to go right now. I mean it. I don’t want no bullshit today, gonna deal with schedules and tour dates and all that bullshit another time. I want some fun. That’s all I’m askin’ for, e’ryone’s actin’like it’s hard as hell to have a good time. It ain’t. Just don’t be bitches. That goes for men and women.”

And with this admonition, having said his piece and politely ignored the inflammatory presence of the young lady currently stripping out of her soda soaked dress and donning the silky material of his tracksuit jacket.

“Charlie, Ricky,” he addresses them, “one o’vya go an’ grab some tapes, bring ‘em up here and we’ll have a vote on what movie we’re gonna watch.”

Ricky bounds out of sight and down to the basement with an alacrity that Elvis feels proves he has something to make amends for. With this brief interlude of quiet, Elvis sits himself down in his chair and enjoys a bout of smirking eye contact with Mrs. Alden that leaves the estimable lady shaking in an impotent rage across from him, so much so her vibrations rattle the opulent necklace around her neck. One he happens to have bought for her.

Next girl he tries his luck with will be motherless. Or nearly. He’s had it with courtin’ the family and not getting shit thanks in return for it. Well, that ain’t fully true, Linda’s people are good people. He’s reminded of that as Sam sits down next to him and asks if Elvis wants him to run to get some more refreshments. Ice cream, he suggests, and Elvis would have voiced his approbation of the idea if Ricky had not landed back in the room with a hamper full of film reels at the same moment the opposite door opens and out comes Gigi.

Elvis underestimated the length of those legs of hers. His tracksuit jacket just barely covers what he prays to God are swim panties under that thing. As is, there’s miles of track-sculpted and sun-caressed stems on display and they go on and on, all the way down to the pretty little footsies with the French-tip pedicures and–God help him, before this he never noticed the anklet. Suddenly it’s all he can see, that dainty gold chain encircling her delicate bones and graceful sinews the way his hand oughta be if there was any justice left in the world. When he tears his eyes away from the sight all he’s left with is the sight of her, freshly pool scrubbed and clean wearing just his jacket. Or to all appearances, just his jacket.

“That poor girl was cussing me out and praying I die the other night.” Tammy’s voice shakes him, she’s gotten so near without him noticing, lost as he watches Gigi pour over the selections of movies Ricky brought up. With the way she’s bending over he can only be grateful that she’s got her ass facing a wall and her front zipper fully zipped to the chin. Otherwise Ricky would be dead for having such prime seating.

“Not that lil innocent baby.” He disagrees, sure of it even though Tammy seems to be warming up to a business pitch.

“Oh yes she was!” Tammy Anderson insists, “Praying mighty hard for my downfall and in turn askin’ that a ‘daddy’ somebody would ‘give it to her’ good.” She sips noisily on her straw while leaving Elvis to aspirate on his spit.

“Bless me.” he mutters while patting down his pants for a cigar, unable to take his eyes off both Gigi and Sam–the latter to make sure he’s at a good enough distance not to hear this.

“The problem was,” Tammy goes on serenely, “at least as far as I can make it out, the problem was she thought I was getting to stay the night with her childhood hero while she got sent home like a little girl.”

“She is a little girl.”

“Is she though?” Tammy scrunches her nose and Elvis is reminded why he’s not going after this one. Too worldly wise for her own good. “Or just enough?” she adds in a way that makes his cheeks burn.

“I don’t need you helpin’ me feel like a dirty ole man when I ain’t done nothin’ to deserve it, Tammy Anderson. You mind your own garden.”

“Damnation, you’re such a gentleman, Elvis!” she laughs loudly which attracts a glare from Ginger for it, “Using all those lofty metaphors while shamin’ me at the same time. Hell of a talent ya got there, ole man.”

“Tammy, I like you,” Elvis begins gravely and Tammy straightens her spine and her mouth trembles with suppressed mirth which attracts even Gigi’s attention from the far corner, “but I like you from a distance. Don’t tempt me to make that distance a hell of a lot greater, you hard up bleached thicket lil hussy.”

Tammy’s eyes go wide and for a minute it seems she struggles to breathe till peal after peal of raucous laughter greets his cutting remark the way it was intended. She’s pretty when she smiles, Elvis can admit, damn dazzlin’ in the bright white of day but it’s like a shark. His eyes drift back to the bambi his heart is set on and watches with a growing frown as she and Ricky tug at one of the films, neither seeming ready to relinquish it.

“What’s goin on?” Elvis demands in a booming voice that can carry to the far reaches of a stadium and is downright deafening in the closed spaces of his home.

Everyone freezes at it and Gigi looks like she’s just seen God on Mount Sinai from his tone alone, so Elvis endeavors to clear his frown and gestures for Charlie to sort it out. By it he means Ricky. The hell is the kid thinkin’?–Playin’ tug o' war with his damn films? And with a guest! His guest!

No sooner does Charlie walk over to the two young folks before suddenly they are allies, when Gigi relinquishes it to Ricky in her moment of fear, Ricky dodges Hodge and when Hodge pursues, Gigi makes a waving motion behind ole Charlie’s back:

“Ricky, Ricky give it here!” Gigi hollers, hands up and body elongated to catch the boxed-up reel like a football at the end zone. The move flashes a peek of white swimsuit bottoms underneath the inadequate jacket. Elvis groans around his as yet unlit cigar. He’s still ineffectually patting his pockets for a light when Gigi makes the catch and for that split second she’s holding it, Elvis gets a glimpse of the slipcover. And of all the movies she coulda gotten her hands on-

Elvis is up and rushing at her before he can even think about what he’s prepared to do, how far he’ll push this, the only thing he can think of besides the acres of honey toned skin caressed by his jacket, is that sweet little baby Gigi is holding his copy of Deepthroat.

“Lil girl!” he growls at her and the way her eyes fly wide as saucers makes him think she’s actually terrified of him right before she breaks into a grin and spins on her heel, headed out the room on those track hardened legs.

He chases, ‘cause of course–what else was there to do?

“Lil girl, you give that here!” he feels the disadvantages of his bulk in this hot pursuit but it’s been awhile since the last tour and his knees have recovered in the time off and it ain’t so bad, he’s still flexible and he’s still got stamina for all that his joints feel like they got hot coals in them most times. Every painful jog is worth it for the happy shrieks she lets out as he lumbers behind her, intent on a takedown.

She’s barely gotten to the foyer and stalls for a brief moment to contemplate taking sanctuary in the kitchen or music room when suddenly she feels the jolting contact of his hands on her waist. It’s fast and grabbing and not a light touch, she’s being gripped and tugged and squeezed by those large, hot, unyielding hands before being spun and tackled to the ground.

Soft carpet and his hand cradles her head, keeping the landing from being too harsh. But even if she’d snapped her neck, Gigi would still be acutely conscious of the feel of him, all of him, so much of him, thrumming with such potent aliveness atop her that she feels herself catch fire at it, her own pulse syncing with his, heightened instantly. It’s brief, horribly brief, that instant of complete contact with his entire weight smothering her, but it’s intoxicating for life. He’s sweaty, even in this freezing house and after so little exertion, he’s sweaty and warm and he smells both so wonderfully clean and manly at the same time she wants to moan. Maybe she does, she isn’t sure, all she knows is that she does fuss, like a clingy baby, she fusses at the way he immediately props his top half up and away from her.

It makes him pause.

Unable to express anything right now except that she will be heartbroken if he pulls away, that it would be worse than those stupid little love pats Ginger gives him if he acts cold now that she’s felt his warmth, felt what he can offer her. Shelter, stability, satisfaction.

She takes advantage of his pause to wrap her legs up and around his hips, caging him in, defiantly attached.

“Don’t leave me now.” She begs softly, unable to keep up with the game of it all. If she wanted that uncertainty she could just go home.

“Oh, Gigi.” He whispers, sounding almost heartbroken, seeing in her vulnerable eyes and clingy neediness a glimpse of his old self.

Flashes of memories and rejections flood his mind, dashing home from school to find she moved, dashing back from tour to find her dancing with another man, invited back to her place just to get shoved into a glass coffee table and breaking the thing with his poor back, finding her fuckin’ the man he paid to teach her how to defend herself… he’s tired, but he remembers how it used to feel, how it used to nearly strangle him, all that youthful hope.

The film reel slips from her nerveless hand, no longer the subject of interest anymore, and she brings it to his face instead, stroking his cheek with all the lingering fondness of someone who wouldn’t rather do anything else at this moment. Elvis wishes he had such restraint, his breath puffs heavily as he tries to keep it contained and not gasp and huff atop her like some lumbering oaf, trying to keep his fat gut up away from the beauteous length of her, but she winds her arms about his neck and tugs him down despite his playful protests and stiff necked obstinance.

If she wants a kiss, she can fight for it, same as the girls at his concerts.

She can feel him slowly bending to her will, hunched over her in an attempt to keep from smothering her and she isn’t having it. She’s not a small or frail little thing, she’s an athlete and she uses it to her advantage, interlocking her legs around his waist and registering with searing satisfaction that his interest for her is dangling heavy and drippy in the silky hammock of his tracksuit pants.

Her sharp smile could rival Tammy’s at this confirmation and with a pounding heart Gigi cranes her head off the carpet and leans, closer and closer to him till her eyes go cross eyed focusing on the cupid's bow of his pouty lips and she can feel the hot puff of his breaths on her lips and–

–the rascal ducks his head to the side at the last minute and burrows that marshmallow mouth in her neck before blowing raspberries into the ticklish skin there.

As if his sending her home, his coddling of her in the pool and his distance in the bedroom had not made her feel like an absolute child, this last bit truly did. To the point where the endearing aspect of his blowing on her neck was lost in the heartbreaking need for assurance. Bucking and writhing beneath his tickles she gasped and begged and thrashed while never once letting go of her hold on his hips with her legs, keeping him near, his belly heavy and solid on top of her butterfly-filled one.

“Darlin’, stop buckin’ like that, ain’t decent.” He took a break from this torture to remonstrate as if he wasn’t to blame.

“Then kiss me.” She breathes out a challenge.

Now it happened that around this time, Jerry Schilling found himself free of commitments to Brian and his Beach Boys and, finding himself in Memphis, decided to call on an old friend and benefactor. Despite what his boss often insisted, Jerry was not an idiot, and so as he opened the front door to Graceland on this gloomy and sticky summer day he came equipped for any and all moods–his muscular arms bulging out of his thin t-shirt under the strain of carrying numerous, loaded bags of steaming Barbecue from Elvis’ favorite local pit.

Jerry Schilling had walked in on many a scene in the course of his run with Elvis Presley, temper tantrums and ecstatic jubilees and the unforgettable instance where a certain chimp was beating off against a poor gals shin much to the drunk audience’s amusement, the air thick with hooting and hollering and cigar smoke–and female shame.

But nothing, nothing had been quite as bizarre as what he saw this day when stepping into the foyer ready for anything–or so he thought. What he didn’t prepare for was the sight of his usually rather decorous boss laying atop a leggy young thing, grappling and necking her like a teenager, and getting it back in spades, which was a little more shocking considering his recent state. Whoever was under him was a moaner and more surprising still was the fact Elvis wasn’t shutting her up, or even getting up off the floor since–and here’s where it got bizarre–they weren’t remotely alone in the place. Or even the room.

Although, unlike that ill fated and depraved chimp, the two horndogs swapping spit on the floor don’t have much of a captivated audience, though Jerry bets they were captivated or at least attentive to the floor shenanigans at one point. That was before the fighting and clawing and kicking and scratching and screaming and–holy shit, Ginger and a bleach blonde are clawing at each other like they’re in for blood, Mrs. Alden beating the gal with her purse in defense of her daughter while Dodger smokes her pipe on the couch keeping Mr. Alden captive by her side with a death glare through the smokey haze of tobacco. Sam Thompson remains wringing his mouth, standing unsure beside Charlie and Ricky who can’t seem to believe what’s going on down on the foyer floor at Jerry’s feet.

It would seem Ginger’s out, and Miss Leggy is in. And Jerry suddenly feels the weight of the barbecue and the whole world pulling on his shoulders as he goes to aid Rosemary in pulling the girls apart, figuring that’s probably the one thing he can do here and not get his head bitten off by Elvis for it.

It’s easier said than done what with Mrs Alden’s purse pummeling the blonde, Ginger’s last vestiges of despairing pain and the blonde’s shockingly strong core when he grabs her from the back and tries to haul her up and away. Blondie kicks at Ginger’s face one last time and succeeds at landing a blow to the nose by the time Jerry staggers back with her somewhat restrained, feeling like he’s cradling a mountain lion to his chest. She’s shredding his forearms with her acrylics and, unsatisfied with the bloody damage she’s done, this little hottie grabs at the bags still hanging from his arms and begins to throw sticky, juicy, red globs of smoked meat at her grade school nesmises.

“Let me at her, ya goddamn sunnuvabitch!” Tammy screams, head butting him to try to make him let her go–and Jerry finds himself feeling a little funny, like the feeling his folks told him to look for when ‘the one’ wandered into his life looking like sunshine and smelling like a spring day washline and holding daisies. Except that ‘the one’ is a dangerous bottle blonde with a foul mouth and his skin cells under her fingernails.

God moves in mysterious ways.

Speaking of, no sooner has he gripped this chick right enough to preserve some flesh on his arm when he hears Elvis voice booming:

“Enough with the goddamn food! For fucks sake, Tammy! Enough! Ginger put that down or so help me–”

Everyone may want to kill each other in this room but no one, absolutely no one, wants to see Elvis grab a gun. And so, just like that, utter quiet and peace is restored.

He looks quite impressive for a man in a tented tracksuit and ruffled hair, a man who just got off the floor with a grunt and creak of his knees, no doubt. But that don’t matter now, none of those human things apply when The King is pissed. And holy shit, Jerry thinks he’s rarely seen him so angry–it’s that chilly blue suppressed sorta fury that freaks the boys out more than the hotel room trashing fits of red rage.

“Jerrah, the hell’s goin’ on throwin’ food in ma house?”

Jerry looks down at the blonde in his arms and his shredded forearms hoping Elvis will maybe take pity. Unlikely. And so he man’s up with, “Sorry boss, so sorry, we’ll get it cleaned up ‘fore ya know it-“

“Goddamn right y’all will.” Elvis seethes and Jerry sees the pretty young thing he had under him shrink behind him in the foyer at this glimpse of his wrath. As if sensing her movement with those eyes in the back of his head that only Elvis Presley seems blessed with, the boss man pulls himself together with all the haughty showmanship that only he can possess and holds his finger up as if to freeze everyone in their current position before turning around to his little sweetie.

“Baby girl, I want you to go outside an’ get in the passenger seat of the Stutz, a’right?” Elvis directs and underlying it is the explanation that the ugly work of throwing out her predecessor ain’t for her pretty eyes to witness or sweet lil ears to hear. “Lamar’s probably still eatin’ in the kitchen, ya can get the keys from him.”

A whimper sounds from behind him, and it’s Ginger’s. The genuine pain of the sound makes Gigi waiver, a pained look of sympathy and torn intentions flashing across her face. Then his ringed hand cups her fresh young cheek and it seals her fate, submissive as a lamb she melts into that touch, and her eyes drift back to his. They’re so sure, those burning sapphire eyes of his, so sure of where her future is and so intense in their intention for it. Someone who looks so beautiful can’t be as cruel as he feels capable of, surely? Surely.

Jerry watches Gigi’s bare feet patter to the kitchen, looking like a kid shuffling to time out in their dad’s jacket. He can’t think on it for too long because as soon as Elvis hears the suction of the back door opening and closing he turns around to the mosh pit that his living room had become.

“When I get back,” he's addressing those of his boys present–they know he is– and Jerry considers himself one of them still, “I expect this mess,” he gesticulates to the spattered food and his once intended in-laws with a single, bejeweled, disdainful finger, “tidied up.”

It’s not until he too has disappeared out back amidst deathly quiet in the living room that Jerry realizes he’s still holding Tammy Anderson. Not that he can think on it for long. Not when he has a PR nightmare sized mess to clean up.

Hopefully Elvis’s drive is worth it.

Taglist: (let me know if you’d like to be added)

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

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@18lkpeters

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@lil-mamas-obsessions

@father-of-2cats

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mazojo · 3 years ago

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Archie is....... invulnerable?

#nAURRR JAJAJAJAJ WHAAAT Riverdale make it make sense pleaseee #I love knowing about riverdale by random YouTube comentary I just watched a Clío were Archie #stabs himself or smth saying some dramatic shiz about bein invulnerable and ???? who asked for this #like who thought that of all characters Archie was the one deserving immunity #I haven’t watched the show since season 2 or 3 and I can tell you as a matter of fact Archie was is and continues to be #the most annoying character out of the main squad #he was just uh not a very good character sir ! and now he is inmortal like damn I am no riverdale Stan but when will y’all’s suffering be #over??? I am so sorry ugly ass CW would do this to y’all #anyways this is all lh lol I don’t watch the show anymore but it’s still funny to me #anti riverdale #jic #anti Archie #riverdale #riverdale spoilers

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years ago

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A Favor For A Favor (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

A/N: I love Arthur and reader being supportive of young lovers Kieran and Mary-Beth okay. This would make more sense if you read A Soft Heart, A Sweet Soul first. My masterlist is here!

Warnings: none, Micah is a douche but it’s in his character tree so that’s not surprising

Word Count: 3.7k

***

You hummed as you straightened up a few things around Arthur’s tent and wagon. You were going through both of your clothes, folding them and sorting them before putting them away.

“Y/N?”

You turned your head to see Mary-Beth standing just beyond the tent. She clasped her hands together nervously in front of herself.

“Hi, Mary-Beth.” You smiled. “What can I do for you, sweetheart?”

“I don’t mean to bother you. You look busy.”

“Oh, no worries. Just doin’ some chores.” You put the skirt of yours in your hand down. “What is it?”

“I just…. Would you wanna go for a walk with me? Nowhere far. Just maybe down to the river. I don’t want everyone hearin’ us and there are some…. nosey people here.” She whispered.

“Of course.” You nodded, chuckling just a little. “Come on.”

You walked side by side towards one of the trails that led out of camp. Your eyes caught sight of Arthur, who stood at Dutch’s tent with Hosea, John, Micah, Charles, Bill, and Dutch himself.

Arthur’s eyes met yours, his attention drawing away from whatever it was the boys were discussing. He tilted his head up, brows drawing together slightly as if to question what you were doing.

You shook your head softly, silently telling him not to worry. But he needed to know where you were going. It wasn’t safe to leave camp, especially to leave and not tell anyone where you were going.

Arthur excused himself from the group and made his way towards you and Mary-Beth.

“Hello, ladies.”

“Good afternoon, Arthur.” Mary-Beth greeted him.

“Arthur.” You smiled. “We’re just walking down to the river.”

“It really isn’t safe for you ladies to be out that far from camp.” Arthur shook his head. Once the words left his mouth, he immediately started to back track. “I-I didn’t mean it in the way that you can’t handle yourself. I know ya can. It just-,”

“Arthur, darling.” You stopped him, reaching out to place your hand on his chest. “We’ll be okay. I’m taking Calvin. He won’t let anything happen to us.”

“He’s a goddamn horse, Y/N.” Arthur grumbled, putting his hand overtop of yours. “He ain’t an attack dog.”

“Give us thirty minutes. If we aren’t back in thirty, you can send the cavalry after us.”

“Fifteen.” He bargained.

“Twenty.”

“Deal.” He brought your hand up to his lips for a quick kiss. “Be safe. Both of ya.”

“I’m always safe.” You grinned, taking a few steps away from him. “Come on, Mary-Beth.”

Arthur watched you untether Calvin and guide him down one of the trails. Only once you were out of sight did he return to the group at Dutch’s tent.

“Mary-Beth, come walk on my right. Calvin’s blind in his left eye and I don’t want to chance him gettin’ spooked and hurtin’ you.” You told her. She moved around to walk on your right side. You patted Calvin’s shoulder.

“Y’all are just so cute.” Mary-Beth brushed her fingers through the curls that fell over her shoulder. “Arthur’s really sweet on you, Y/N. I never seen him like that on someone.”

“He’s just got a big heart hidden under all that grumpiness.” You smiled. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Oh, I just…. I don’t know.” She sighed gently. “I know you’re sweet on Arthur, but do you…. What do you think about Kieran?”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too big.

“I think he’s a really nice kid. He’s done real good with the horses since he joined us.”

“He is nice, ain’t he?” Mary-Beth smiled, looking down at the ground where she stepped. The smile didn’t last long though. It faded and soon her nose scrunched up. “But he’s an O’Driscoll.”

You let out a soft sigh, reaching your hand up to rub Calvin’s nose.

“Have you ever looked at someone and just felt this feelin’ in your stomach that somethin’ ain’t right about them? That you can’t trust them? Maybe even that bein’ alone with them makes you feel uncomfortable?”

“Micah.” She nodded.

“Micah. Micah is a good example of that. Does Kieran make you feel that way?”

“Well…. No. Not really. I’m comfortable around him. Except I’m really nervous. My heart beats all fast and my stomach twists up like I might be sick.”

“Being nervous is normal.” You smiled and nodded. “I’m sure he’s nervous around you too.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well I don’t….” You trailed off. You didn’t want to tell her about what he had told you a few days ago. It wasn’t in your place to share what he disclosed with you in private. “Kieran is nervous around everyone at camp. He’s unsure where he fits in and everyone is sort of unsure about him. Which I understand. But he’s a good kid. I like him a lot more than I like a lot of other people up there.”

“I like him more than Micah.” Mary-Beth giggled.

You agreed.

You found a decent spot at the river and tethered Calvin to a tree. Mary-Beth settled on a rock while you had no problem sitting in the grass.

She pulled a flower from the grass and studied it for a few moments, brows drawn together softly.

“Y/N, I want what you have.” She admitted quietly. “I-I want someone to look at me the way Arthur looks at you. I swear, he looks at you like you’re the prettiest sunset he’s ever seen and it’s just…. It’s like something straight out of a fairytale.”

You turned your head to look out over the river.

“It wasn’t easy, me findin’ Arthur. We’ve had our fair share of hardships.”

“I know.” She nodded. “Y/N, I don’t want you to think that means that I’m jealous and I-I don’t like you or nothin’, ‘cause I do-,”

“It’s okay, Mary-Beth.” You met her gaze, offering her a warming smile. “I understand. It’s lonely to have no one. Even with everyone back at camp, it means nothin’ if you’ve got no one special.”

She nodded again.

“But just…. Just be patient, sweetheart. You’re young.”

“It just feels like time is slippin’ by.”

“I know.” You paused for a few moments. “Do you think…. Do you think you might be interested in Kieran, Mary-Beth?”

She didn’t answer immediately, pulling a flower from the ground.

“He is so sweet to me, Y/N. He always asks me how I’m doin’ and he doesn’t expect nothin’ from me. You know how men are.” She murmured quietly.

“Unfortunately, I do.” You nodded. “Do you want my opinion, Mary-Beth? I won’t give it to you if you don’t want it. I know sometimes I just want to talk and don’t want to hear what others have to say, and there’s nothing wrong with that if that’s what you want right now.”

Mary-Beth pulled the yellow petals from the flower, letting out a little sigh. Then she nodded her head.

“I think that if you feel like you’re interested in him enough, then you should go for it.”

Her eyes lit up and the confusion and doubts melted away.

“You think so?”

“I do. I’m not saying he is the one and that you would be perfect with him.... But you’ll never know if you don’t try.”

“That’s true, I suppose.” She nodded.

The two of you chatted for a while longer until you spotted Arthur coming down the hill from camp. He stayed on the hillside, a gun strapped to his back should he need it. He would keep his distance so long as you wanted to continue talking to Mary-Beth. You weren’t in trouble so there was no reason to break your conversation up.

You smiled at him, knowing he would stay there no matter how long you and Mary-Beth talked.

The conversation ended up going on a little longer than twenty minutes. It was nearly forty minutes by the time the both of you realized how much time had passed.

“I wonder why Arthur didn’t come down here.” Mary-Beth thought out loud as she brushed off her skirt.

“Well…. He’s been back there for a while.” You looked in Arthur’s direction.

Mary-Beth followed your gaze to find Arthur sitting at the base of a tree on the hillside just below camp.

The two of you made your way towards him. You guided Calvin by his reins, pulling a peppermint out of your pocket and unwrapping it. The second he smelled the sweet treat, he was nudging your hand with his big nose.

“Arthur, why didn’t you come tell us we were takin’ too long?” Mary-Beth asked him.

“It was nothin’.” He shook his head, standing to his feet. “Don’t mind waitin’. It was nice just sittin’ there doing nothin’.”

The three of you walked together back to camp.

As you tethered Calvin to a hitching post, you watched Mary-Beth go towards the caravan she shared with Tilly and Karen.

Calvin whinnied rather loudly right in your ear, tearing your attention away from Mary-Beth.

“I know, I know.” Arthur muttered as he moved away from Calvin’s blind side to his right side. Arthur knew he made the mistake of coming up on the horse’s left side but it was too late to fix it. Calvin had sensed him and it spooked him. Luckily, it wasn’t enough to make him rear up. “Sorry, boy.” He patted the horse’s shoulder, settling with standing right behind you.

“You’re okay, Cal.” You cooed, rubbing his side.

Calvin turned his head to look back at you, trying to get a good look at Arthur.

“That’s why he doesn’t like you, Arthur.”

“Nah. He’s just a grumpy old man.” Arthur shook his head.

You gave Calvin another loving pat and then moved away from him. Arthur followed, making sure to stick as close to you as possible so as to not spook Calvin again.

“She asked what I thought of Kieran.” You grinned a little, turning to face Arthur as you came to a stop.

His hands found your hips and yours went to his broad shoulders.

“I think she likes him.”

“Did ya tell her that he’s…. he’s soft on her?”

“No, it’s not my place.”

Arthur let out a rather dramatic sigh.

“Wouldn’t it make things easier if you just put the pieces together for them?”

“That’s not how it works, Arthur.” You patted his chest and slipped out of his hold.

“Sure it is!” Arthur followed you as you moved across camp to get to his caravan.

“It ain’t my job to play matchmaker, Arthur. If they want to get involved with each other, they can do it on their terms.”

“Fair enough.” Arthur leaned against the side of his wagon while you went back to folding the laundry. He took his hat off, tossing it down onto the foot of the bed so he could brush his fingers through his blond hair. “But look at it this way. If we weren’t together and someone knew that we were interested in each other, wouldn’t you want someone to come along and…. Give you a nudge in the right direction towards me?”

“If I remember correctly, that did happen.” You turned your head to look at Arthur. You caught sight of Charles moving towards your shared caravan. “Mr. Smith here had a little something to do with that. Didn’t you, Charles?”

“Someone had to make you two see eye to eye. I knew Arthur wouldn’t do anything. No offense, brother.”

“None taken.” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck.

“If you aren’t too busy right now, I could use some extra hands on a ride over to Emerald Ranch.” Charles spoke to Arthur. “Hosea has something he wants picked up from a man who works there.”

“Yeah, I’ll ride with ya.” Arthur nodded, picking his hat up from the bed.

Charles moved to mount Taima while Arthur lingered by the tent.

“Anything you need while I’m out, pumpkin?”

“No.” You shook your head. “You just get back to me in one piece and without tearin’ your clothes up too much.”

“We’re just goin’ to Emerald Ranch.” He rolled his eyes at you. You moved to stand chest to chest with him, your hands finding either side of his jaw.

“There’s a lotta things you could get snagged on. Branches and tumbleweeds.” You did your best to hide the grin on your lips.

“You’re rotten, you know that?” He dipped his head down to kiss you softly. “Teasin’ me like that, it really hurts.”

“Oh, you’ll get over it. You heal up quick.” You patted his chest as he took a few steps away from you.

“You’re a cold woman.”

“So I’ve been told. Be safe, Arthur.”

“Safe is my middle name.”

“I thought your middle name was Burton.” Hosea teased from one of the tables at camp.

Arthur grimaced and swatted a hand in Hosea’s direction.

You watched Arthur and Charles disappear from camp, a sigh leaving your lips.

***

When the sun went down and everyone was having dinner, you found yourself sitting at a table with Mary-Beth. The two of you were idly chatting to pass the time when you spotted Kieran moving towards the pot of stew.

“Hey, Mary-Beth?” You cut her off, keeping your eyes on Kieran.

“Yeah, Y/N?”

“Would you…. Would you mind if I invited Kieran to sit with us?”

Her eyes widened and she quickly looked around, searching for Kieran.

“Mary-Beth, you don’t have to say yes.” You reached over to comfort her, placing your hand on hers. “I just thought it would be a nice idea. Maybe to make him feel included.”

Mary-Beth looked over her shoulder for a few moments before nodding her head.

“Just…. Just don’t let me make a fool of myself, Y/N. Please.”

“I won’t, sweetheart.” You assured her with a smile and stood up from the table.

As Kieran was making his way away from the stew pot, you hurried to catch up to him.

“Kieran!”

He turned to you, a smile coming to his face.

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Do you want to come sit with me and Mary-Beth?” You asked, gesturing to the table.

Mary-Beth waved when he looked over to the table.

“Oh, uh, I-I…. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

He sat to your left and Mary-Beth sat directly across from you.

“Hi-Hi, Mary-Beth.”

“Hello, Kieran.” She smiled at him.

It was quiet for a few moments as all three of you ate.

“I haven’t seen Arthur all day.” Kieran looked at you. “Is he busy?”

“Hosea sent him and Charles over to Emerald Ranch.” You nodded. “They should be back soon.”

“Always so hopeful, Miss Y/L/N.” Micah commented as he leaned against the back of your chair.

“Micah.” You sighed.

“What makes you think Morgan’s gonna come back to you?”

“Oh, don’t be so mean, Micah.” Mary-Beth scrunched her nose up at him.

“I’m not bein’ mean, darlin’, I’m just trying to help Miss Y/L/N be more realistic so that when our dear Arthur doesn’t return she won’t be so heart broken.”

“I know he’s coming back to me, Micah.” You tapped your fingers against the side of your bowl. “Don’t you worry about it.”

He left the table, realizing he wouldn’t stir up the reaction from you he wanted.

“Speak of the devil.” Mary-Beth said, her eyes focused on someone behind you.

You looked over your shoulder to see Arthur and Charles hitching their horses up just outside of camp.

“I’m going to go get Arthur.” You excused yourself from the table.

A smile grew on Arthur’s lips as you approached him.

“Hi, pumpkin.”

“Hey, handsome.” You leaned against the hitching post his horse was tethered to with your hands. “I’ve got a favor to ask you.”

“A favor, hm?” He shifted his weight to one foot. “Do I get a favor in return?”

“Not in those dirty clothes.” You scrunched up your nose at him but did a bad job at hiding the grin on your lips. He wasn’t terribly dirty, but it was clear he had been working hard all day. “After you get somethin’ to eat, you can go down to the river and get a proper bath.”

“A proper bath?”

“Mhm. So you can go to bed nice and clean, and not dirty and nasty.” You searched his blue eyes for a moment, your heart fluttering as he smiled down at you.

“You callin’ me nasty, Miss Y/L/N?” He raised a brow, stepping towards you.

You giggled, placing your hand on his chest to keep him from coming any closer to you. You didn’t want him to get you dirty.

“That favor, Mr. Morgan.” You reminded him, knowing very well you were about to lose track of what you were supposed to be doing.

Arthur took your hand from his chest and kissed the space on your palm beneath your thumb.

“What can I do for you, pumpkin?”

“Come sit down with me, Kieran and Mary-Beth.”

The smile fell from his lips as he looked over to the table the two younguns were seated at. Mary-Beth was smiling at something Kieran had said. They seemed to be doing okay while you were gone.

“It’s not so bad right now, Arthur. Just a little…. awkward.”

“Why don’t we just leave them and go get that bath early?”

“‘Cause I can’t do that to Mary-Beth. Or to Kieran.” You shook your head, pulling your hand from Arthur’s grip. “Go wash up, then you can come sit with us. You don’t gotta sit there all evening. Just a few minutes.”

He sighed heavily, watching you walk away.

***

Mary-Beth and Kieran greeted Arthur as he sat down at the table next to you.

“How was your day, Arthur?” Mary-Beth asked him.

“Didn’t get shot, so that’s good. I reckon. Every time I go to Emerald Ranch, I remember how lucky I am I don’t got a farm.”

“What happened?” You looked over at him.

“One of the fences broke. Ended up spending most of the day chasing cattle halfway across the Heartlands.”

“Don’t sound too bad.” Mary-Beth shook her head. “To have a broken fence be your biggest worry.”

“I’d rather get shot at.”

“I agree with-with Mary-Beth.” Kieran said. “Much rather have the farm and normal life.”

“Looky what we got here.” Micah approached the table with his hands on his belt. “Cowpoke sittin’ with the O’Driscoll, Miss Y/N and Miss Mary-Beth.”

“Good evening, Micah.” You greeted him, your tone less than friendly.

“When are we gonna go for that ride, Y/N?” Micah asked, moving around the table.

“What ride?”

“Micah, I’d watch what I say next if I were you.” Arthur warned.

“Easy there, cowpoke. Just tryin’ to have a friendly conversation.”

“Don’t get too friendly.” You said.

“You two are still at it, aren’t ya?”

“Micah, that’s enough.”

“Settle down, Arthur.” Micah waved a hand dismissively at him. “Just tryin’ to establish what ladies are fair game here.”

His eyes landed on Mary-Beth, who kept her back to Micah.

“What about you, Miss Gaskill?”

“I am not interested, Mr. Bell.”

Micah reached out to touch Mary-Beth.

“Didn’t you hear her say she ain’t interested?”

Your eyes flickered up to look at Kieran. You didn’t expect him to say anything, especially not to Micah.

“What did you say, O’Driscoll?”

There was a brief pause as Kieran held Micah’s gaze, debating on whether or not to repeat himself.

“I said didn’t you hear her say she ain’t interested? Don’t put your hands on her. She-She ain’t interested.”

Mary-Beth’s eyes found Kieran.

“You think you’re all tough, don’t ya kid?” Micah took a step towards Kieran. He stood to his feet.

“Arthur.” You whispered his name but he was two steps ahead of you.

He made his way around the table to keep the two from fighting.

“This ain’t your camp, O’Driscoll.” Micah stepped forward as if to prepare to strike Kieran but Arthur stepped between the two.

Kieran stepped back.

“You throw a fist at the kid, Micah, and I’ll put on your ass.” Arthur promised..

Micah, still angry, kept his eyes on Kieran.

“This is as much of his camp as it is yours, Micah.” You told him.

Knowing he had no chance of beating Kieran up with Arthur in his way, Micah stomped away.

“Th-Thank you, Arthur.”

“Don’t mention it, kid.” Arthur moved back around the table to return to his seat by you. “He’s just a hotheaded fool. No sense is startin’ anything with him.”

“I wasn’t gonna let him make Mary-Beth uncomfortable. Wouldn’t want him to do that to any of the ladies.”

“I get it. But next time let someone a little more…. At level with Micah handle Micah. Don’t want you with a broken arm or somethin’ stupid like that.”

You smiled at Arthur, placing your hand on his forearm.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” He began to eat his stew. He was tired and wanted to get to bed. He didn’t want to stop anymore fights. If anything, he’d be starting them pretty soon.

“For bein’ such a sweetheart.”

“Don’t get soft on me. M’too tired for that.”

Across the table, you could hear Mary-Beth quietly thank Kieran.

“Thank you, Kieran.”

“Oh, you-you’re welcome, Mary-Beth. I’m sorry if-if he made you uncomfortable.”

“I’m a little used to it by now, but it was awfully brave of you to stand up to him. Micah scares me a lotta times.”

“He can be a bit scary but I’ve dealt with guys like him before.”

***

You and Arthur parted ways with Mary-Beth and Kieran after dinner was over.

As you were heading towards your shared tent, Hosea called Arthur over. You continued on towards the tent to get out clean clothes for the both of you. You hummed softly as you folded the clothes into a neat little pile on the bed. Those were the clothes you’d be taking down to the river.

Arms wrapped around you from behind. Arthur tucked his nose into your neck. His stubbly beard tickled your skin.

“Arthur, stop it.” You giggled, leaning back into him.

“I think it’s time for my favor, pumpkin.”

Taglist: @doggone-cowgirl @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @gabstaroc @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm @sargeantsea @sokkasdarling @thecollection @mayday1284 @kashasenpai @misskrql

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader fic #arthur morgan x reader fluff #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fic #oneshot #queenxxxsupreme

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deniigi · 4 years ago

Text

hi I have something for y’all called a disaster.

I wrote an Inimitable!Spiderman/Modern Star Wars AU because no one can stop me, not even myself. it is like 47 pages long. I am handing it tenderly to y’all.

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Title: impossible scenario

Summary: Peter runs into some drunk assholes arguing, calling each other Han and Luke. He lets it roll off him until he can’t anymore and eventually finds himself for the first time on the other side of someone more chaotic than himself.

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There was an argument happening under a fire escape. Peter knew about it because a concerned dude wearing a fuckin’ Yankees cap had flagged him down with waving arms and told him that someone needed saving, Spiderman. Some tall asshole was kidnapping a young blond dude, the guy and his too-cool-for-him girlfriend explained. They’d heard the two scuffling.

Peter maybe stared for a beat too long at them because the gal pointed two blocks behind him and said, “That way. I think the blond guy might be drugged. He’s slurrin’ something strong.”

Peter liked her shoes. They looked like Miles’s, but blue.

“Spidey?”

Miles told Peter all the time that he wasn’t cool enough to wear Jordans. MJ and Johnny had agreed. Such sad times.

“Spidey.”

“I got it,” Peter sighed.

The gal tsked.

“Man, you’re too young to be this jaded,” she said.

Peter sighed.

“You’re the third person to say that this week,” he said. “You think I should go back to therapy?”

There was a pause.

“You know that answer, dude,” cool-gal said. “Go save the twink.”

Twink. Got it. Thank you, citizen.

“There are websites for that shit, Spidey.”

Bye now.

“Apps, even.”

Bye, bye.

“BetterHelp or Headspace or somethin’—”

“Two blocks, you said?” Peter asked.

Two blocks away, there was indeed a man with dark hair trying to lift a violently intoxicated twink up onto the first steps of a fire escape. Peter examined his options. There were many ways to ruin a potential kidnapper’s day. His favorite involved coke and mentos, although he’d received feedback that that was a waste of perfectly good food. Down the list was also the option to walk over and scream bloody murder so that the kidnapper shat themselves and dropped their target.

That was good, but Peter was tired and the thought of mustering up the energy to scream at a noticeable volume made his thighs turn to Jell-o.

That left snark and violence.

Today, he would not choose violence. Only for today.

He strode out of his dark temporary residence between two dumpsters directly towards the tall dude and his mark. The mark was a messy one. Bless his heart, he was unwittingly making himself the most noncompliant victim to have ever victim-ed. Every time the tall guy got him almost vertical, he gave up his corporeal form to become drunk slime and ooze back to the ground with various moaning sound effects.

It would have been funny if not for the kidnapping context.

The fact that Peter had been standing there under the beams of two separate side-building security lights and neither of those two had noticed yet was also objectively funny—or would have been, if Peter had the capacity for processing humor at the moment.

Alas. This was what he got for telling Tony that he’d evolved beyond the need for sleep. He got caffeine-pilled. And there would be no true rest until that shit wore off, exhausted as Peter’s body yearned to be.

“Kid, work with me here,” the tall guy said.

“I can’t, I’ll die,” the shorter one moaned.

“Luke.”

“I’ve done my time—thirty years in AZKA—”

“Keep your voice down, oh my god.”

Peter was just standing here, fellas.

“Luke.”

“Why’s it always me? Why’s it always gotta be me? The hell did I do to piss off the whole galax-galaxy? HA. My bad, my bad. The whole universe?”

God, what a mood.

The tall guy dropped his grip on the smaller one and loomed over his puddle of ooze with poison in his gaze.

“People are going to die, Luke,” he said.

“So what? They’re always dyin’. Everywhere I go, people’re dyin’ and when it’s not them dyin’, you know who is?”

“Kid.”

“ME.”

“So you’re just gonna wallow there, feelin’ sorry for yourself?” the tall dude snapped.

“Sure am,” the puddle of ooze hummed.

This was not a kidnapping. This was a come-to-Jesus in the back alley of a bar. Peter was not needed here. He turned around on his heel and stopped when he heard a sharp intake of breath.

“Is that?” someone whispered.

“Don’t mind me, pal, just your friendly neighborhood—” he started.

“Look what you did,” Tall and Handsome hissed at Ooze-Man. “Someone went and called Spiderman on us.”

Peter lifted a brow as Ooze-man ripped its chest up from the asphalt and composed itself back into a human shape with fluffy blonde hair and huge wide eyes.

“Omigod, it’s Spiderman,” the guy said. “Wait, no. Gimme a hand. No, not that one, fuck off, nevermind, I don’t need you.”

He drew himself up to standing, only leaning slightly on his buddy there and gave Peter as lopsided smile.

“Hi, there,” he said with a twang that Peter couldn’t place. “Were you lookin’ for someone, handsome?”

Ah, they had reached the time of night when all the drunks needed to tell Peter things he already knew about his ass. He loved this time.

Not to mention that this dude looked eerily like Johnny. Scarily like Johnny. So much like Johnny that Peter almost wanted to take a picture of him to send to Sue so that she could print up some lost and found posters.

“Just lookin’ at you, babe,” he said. “This guy botherin’ you?”

The tall guy blanched and then grabbed at his face in horror. Peter swallowed his laugh.

“He sure is, hon. You got time to rescue me?” Blondie crooned.

“Luke, please. Please.”

“Because I’m in real distress,” ‘Luke’ said with a pout mighty enough to fell Thor.

“You sure seem like it,” Peter said. “C’mere. I’ll walk you home. Leave that tool, he ain’t worth your breath.”

He held out an elbow like proper gentleman and was pleased at the hand that Luke laid over his heart in response.

Peter could imagine Johnny’s face in six different expression of jealous horror at a selfie taken with this look-alike. Each was beautiful in its own special way. As payment for being referred to counseling by the public, he at least deserved to receive at least two of those faces.

“You mean that?” Luke asked him.

“He doesn’t,” his tall companion said.

“I sure do, where do you live? I’ll walk you,” Peter said.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cry, he’s gonna escort me,” Luke said, all choked up and fanning his eyes lightly.

This tall friend grabbed him before he could escape, though, and pulled him back behind his own body.

“Listen, Spidey, this is a misunderstanding,” he drawled. “I know this idiot—he is technically my idiot— and I’m the one escorting his ass home. Thanks, though. You’re a real menace. Beat it.”

MMMMMMM.

And here Peter had been planning on being jaded and miserable this fine night. How could he now when this dude was ticking every box that made him feel alive?

“What’s your name, dollface?” Peter asked across the short distance.

“None of your business,” Tall Guy answered abruptly.

“Luke,” Luke said around him. “Are you gonna save me?”

“In just a minute,” Peter said, striding forward with a hard roll in his shoulder and deep drop in his knees.

It was amazing how Tall Guy wanted to take some steps back all of the sudden. Peter couldn’t help but let a smirk widen his face as he advanced.

“Okay, hang on now,” Tall Guy said with both palms out in front of him. “You don’t know what this is about, Spidey. You don’t want to get involved with this, trust me. He’s just bein’ dramatic. No need to get testy.”

“You sure do a lot of talkin’ for your friend there,” Peter noted through his grin.

“Yeah, Han,” Luke said.

Ha.

Han. Han and Luke. Ned was gonna be enraptured when Peter told him about this later.

“Luke. Back me up.”

“Why should I?”

“Because,” ‘Han’ finally snapped. “I’m not doin’ this because I want you to suffer, alright? I don’t want nothin’ to do with it either, okay? No one does. But it’s this or—”

“Or everyone else,” Luke finished for him in a strangely toneless voice.

Han sighed.

“It’s always everyone else,” Luke said.

“Not here.”

“Why’s it always everyone el—No, no, here. Why not? We’ve got fucking Spiderman in our midst, how much more surreal can this moment get? No. You listen to me, Han—”

“I’ve been listening to you all damn evening and you know what I’m hearing?”

“—I lost my life for this. I lost my home, my aunt, my uncle, my hand—”

“I’m hearing you making this about you.”

“—everything I ever knew, and I tried to make it right, didn’t I? I made the school. I gathered the kids—”

“And it’s not just about you this time, kid. It’s not about you, it’s not about me, or Leia, or Chewie or—”

“—I lost my kid and the love of my life, and I finally get a second chance at finding them and giving them the goddamn happy ending they deserve, and the next thing I know—”

“Luke, you’re the only one,” Han said.

“I WAS NEVER. THE ONLY. ONE, HAN,” Luke roared out of absolutely nowhere, sober as a saint. “I was never the only one. EVER. Ahsoka. Go find her. She’s everything that I’m not and more. She’s the real—”

“Luke.”

“Stop saying that name. I HATE that name. I would do anything for twenty goddamn seconds where I didn’t have to be him.”

“You don’t mean that,” Han said quietly. His shoulders had rounded out and become black and heavy under the weight of their shadow. Luke’s eyes, however, looked like topaz.

“I mean it,” Luke said.

Oho.

So shit had gotten real tense, real fast, so Peter about to make a decision that was gonna make Shelley so proud of him she would weep when he finally slunk back in through her office door.

He was leaving. He was turning around and taking a wee jog. Maybe turning a corner, having a little jump over a fence, up a wall, to a place as far away from this one as superhumanly possible.

Bye, bye.

“This galaxy needs you, Luke.”

Peter stopped five paces away.

“They need you,” Han repeated. “And I need you.”

Peter slowly looked back to see that Luke’s face had twisted sharply out of the light, towards the alley wall.

“I’m sorry that we met again like this,” Han said quietly. “I’m sorry it’s always you. You don’t deserve this. No one deserves this.”

“Shut up,” Luke said.

“But if you don’t do something, then it won’t be just me and you and all these random others sliding back into that cesspit we all barely crawled out of.”

“Stop.”

“You’ll never find him if things go back the way they were.”

“You—you don’t know that. There—maybe—”

“Luke. Listen to me. Please.”

“Maybe there’s a chance—”

“Luke,” Han said reaching out and putting a hand on Luke’s shoulder and clenching it hard enough that Peter should see the bunched fabric, “Do you want Din to live through this shitshow a second time? Hasn’t he suffered enough?”

Peter shivered. The pressure at the base of his neck was building. The Spidey Sense wanted to hiss in his ears like white noise. It pinned him where he was, staring over his shoulder at those two solid shapes, one digging a hand into the flesh of the other.

His stomach turned.

Luke said something that Peter couldn’t hear. Han pulled him toward his own body by the grip he had on his shoulder. At first, Luke seemed to stagger, like he was walking on black ice. He stopped a single step away from Han’s body, still with his face angled severely away. Han said something to him.

There was a long pause, then Luke seemed to fall forward. Han caught him and crushed his head into his shoulder, lowering his own until it was almost touching Luke’s ear. They clung to each other.

Luke was crying.

The Spidey Sense started to crackle and pop in Peter’s ears.

“I gotchu, kid,” Han said in a rasp. “I gotchu. We’re gonna get through it.”

Peter blinked once and finally unlocked the muscles in his neck. He wasn’t meant to witness this. He held out a wrist and fired a line.

It was weird.

It was just weird.

Something wasn’t right. And Peter couldn’t make his stomach not writhe about it.

Luke.

Han.

An offhand mention of like, characters. Character names. They were character names. Leia, Chewie.

Peter had heard of people who lived their lives honestly believing that they had been other people—fake people—in past lives, but like, damn man. Why would you put yourself in a position like that were you were moved to actual tears for some elaborate street-drama?

Maybe it had been a joke? That was the only thing he could think it could be. Maybe the universe had gazed upon his hubris at work and gone ‘ah yes, I know what this young man needs: emotional confusion at midnight on a Thursday. That’ll fix him.’

If that was the case, then yeah. Good job, universe. Good job, larpers. Y’all are equally sick.

But if not—and Peter no longer lived in a world where he could rule out any possibilities—then he had just witnessed—Dude, he’d just witnessed—

He couldn’t even think it. It was beyond him. It was so far beyond him that like he might have a real stroke taking the thought seriously.

There was only one person who could hold that kind of information unscathed.

Only one.

PP: Ned. I need you to listen to me and tell me I’m not crazy.

NL: no promises but go on

PP: I think? I just saw? Luke Skywalker? And Han Solo? In an alley behind Kitty’s?????

NL: fascinating

JS: Say more

PP: who let you in here?

JS: you?

PP: SECURITY

NL: Peter say more

PP: I can’t there’s a nerd in here and it’s vibrating at the wrong decibel. SECURITY???

MJ: yeah?

PP: I’m trying to have a breakdown. Can you remove Matchstick please?

MJ: what kind of breakdown

JS: he thinks he met Luke Skywalker

PP: Security has failed me. God?

NL: Peter can you name three things you can see.

PP: I am not manic. I am in touch with reality. I’m just having anxiety because I just fucking saw two people calling each other Luke and Han fighting behind Kitty’s. Like real fighting.

JS: nicknames?

PP: I—

PP: oh my god nicknames

PP: Johnny I’m so sorry I ever doubted you. never leave my side

JS: 😊

MJ: wow that’s cringe. Imagine naming yourself after SW characters

NL: does kitty do a cosplay night now????

PP: idk it was wild. People thought that ‘Han’ was trying to kidnap ‘Luke’ but when I got over there, Luke started flirting with me and then shit got real and they started arguing over like him hating his name and not wanting to do something and losing everything or some shit

NL: that’s a lot. I’m sure it was nothing, though, peter.

PP: yeah it was. My SS has been going nuts ever since I left. You think they bugged me?

JS: yes I will come search your body imminently

MJ: my job storm, back off

JS: after MJ has finished prelim checks, I will then search your body for you out of the kindness of my heart ❤

NL: that’s weird, the SS doesn’t usually freak out about cosplayers

PP: ikr?

NL: lol imagine if they were serious

MJ: don’t say that

JS: well now we have to lean in. thanks ned

JS: they were definitely real. God they were so real. You hear that Fate? You got us. They’re definitely real.

PP: BUT WHAT IF THEY WERE?

MJ: cue breakdown

NL: that would be so fucking funny. Luke Skywalker and Han Solo trying to save the world from the hellscape of nyc. The rats alone would thwart them.

PP: ned I’m freaking out

NL: oh you mean you’re actually freaking out?

PP: deeply

NL: oh shit sorry. I’ll be over, have you slept yet?

PP: NO

MJ: on it

JS: can I join?

NL: no johnny

MJ: no johnny

PP: 😭

JS: one day our love will build a bridge, peter. In the meantime I am stroking your ear comfortingly from midtown

Need and MJ’s weight pinning him to a mattress brought sleep but not necessarily comfort. They both thought that this was a sick joke someone had played on him that was now destroying his psyche. They thought that the couple pointing him back towards the cosplayers had been in on the joke.

Peter would have agreed with them if it wasn’t for the Spidey Sense. Everything else lined up perfectly.

Ned sighed in the morning and told Peter to go talk to Wade.

Wade’s hallucinations were, by far, more auditory than visual, but he stayed quiet while Peter talked his ear off over the phone in his locked office. He waited until Peter had run out of words to describe the feeling of impending doom and then huffed a bit of a laugh into the receiver.

“Them Star Wars people are unreal, Pete, you know this,” he said. “Look at Ned.”

Ned was perfect.

“Take off those rosy shades, hon. Now, look again.”

Ned had perhaps memorized the entire scripts of the first three movie and 90% of the spaceship names and the jedi lineages.

“Uh-huh. Keep going.”

Peter didn’t want to.

“We all gotta do shit we don’t want do.”

Fine.

Ned’s goal in life was to go to his wedding in a stormtrooper suit.

“Keep going.”

Every Lego project they’d built together since 13 years-old had been a Star Wars-related one. When Ned had decided to move out of his parents’ place, he’d shed actual tears over MJ and Peter mutually suggesting that he sell some of his memorabilia.

“Will this delightful buffet before our very eyes, what is the likelihood of your two pals being drunk larpers in too deep to quit?” Wade asked.

73%.

“Uh-huh.”

“Thanks, Wade.”

“No problem. Although, now I gotta see this. You said they were behind Kitty’s? You think I can get a stormtrooper costume in 8 hours?”

“They’re not still gonna be there, Wade,” Peter huffed. “It’s 10 am.”

“You ain’t know that. What if Luke Skywalker’s a useless drunk, huh? You ever think of that?”

No.

“What’d he look like?”

Peter groaned.

“He looked like Luke Skywalker,” he said. “Blond hair, blue eyes—sort of like a chipmunk that forgot its stripes.”

“I’m onto you, Skywalker.”

Peter hung up to Wade’s cackle. He slouched low and tapped his pen against his desk. Then against his fingers.

He stared at the edge of his keyboard.

“What’s the weirdest thing you could imagine, Pete?” he asked himself.

PP: sam

SC: yeah?

PP: do you like star wars?

SC: nah

PP: you’re perfect

PP: do you believe in past lives?

SC: like spiritually or culturally? I know I was a cult-kid for a min there but before that we were Buddhists and like, past lives are part of the package

PP: that’s cool. What do you think of people being reborn as themselves again like, 500000000 years later? From a galaxy far far away?

SC: I don’t think about those people

PP: okay well, hypothetically. Let’s say that you were going to imagine someone who embodied that whole spirit. Who would it be?

SC: Buddha

PP: not buddha

SC: is this a riddle? Is it Jesus?

PP: THOR. Thank you this has been helpful ily bye

Mr. Stark asked him over a cup of viciously black coffee why Peter was seeking out the demigod of his present nightmares.

That usually meant that he and Thor had disagreed on basic physics principles again. Peter took that also to mean that the demigod was still in the building. Possibly loose.

“He’s with Banner,” Mr. Stark said scathingly.

“Thanks, you’re amazing,” Peter said as he sailed out of the room.

Thor was sitting on Dr. Banner’s lab table, despite Dr. Banner telling him to get off no fewer than two times in the five minutes that Peter was in there, schmoozing and making pleasantries. He warmed Thor up to the home-run hit by asking him all about past lives and present lives and what the soul was on Asgard. Thor was only too happy to explain a load of nonsense that made Banner roll his eyes and poke at his muscles with a thermometer.

“So, hypothetically speaking,” Peter drawled in a very casual lean, “With the infinite galaxies and universes, etcetera, there could be one where Star Wars people exist. And so hypothetically, they could get reborn into a universe like ours.”

Thor blinked at him.

“You remember the laser swords?” Dr. Banner deadpanned.

Thor lit up.

“I suppose it’s possible,” he told Peter indulgently. “But if that was the case then it would be a long tragedy, no?”

…yes…

Say more, Thor-man.

“Well,” Thor said with a big, happy smile, “The series of events that unfolded in that story seemed to me to be one of triumph and tragedy. With one would come the other—that’s how these stories work, yes?”

…yes.

“So if Master Luke Skywalker and his companions arrived into our space here, then they must experience the same in order to be themselves,” Thor said, bobbing his head in pity. “Perhaps what would look like a new start for such people would result only in terror and disappointment until the same conclusion was reached.”

Peter felt his own grin twitch.

“So it’s not impossible?” he asked.

Both Thor and Banner looked at him quizzically at the same time.

“Peter?” Dr. Banner asked. “Is this coming from somewhere?”

Peter’s grin twitched so violently, it turned into a grimace that even superstrength would not let him maintain.

“Can I borrow one of you?” he asked.

Wade was not happy to be met outside of Kitty’s in the middle of the day, especially because his stormtrooper outfit, in his words, ‘did no justice for the size of his balls.’

Peter was ignoring that. He dragged Thor past Wade’s righteous anger until he was standing on the place where the other two had stood the night before. Thor stood there gamely.

“There,” Peter said. “Any like, energy signatures?”

Thor glanced around and shrugged.

Wade scowled at him and hounded him off the spot so that he could stand there instead.

“I feel nothing,” he said, devoid of emotion.

“Same,” Thor said.

Damnit.

“Perhaps you are—”

The Spidey Sense smashed through all of Peter’s sense and screamed at him to get to the street.

Get to the street. Get to the street. Get to the—

There.

Across the way. Chipmunk, no stripes.

That was the guy from the day before. He was on the opposite sidewalk smashed in with the crowd, dragging a hand through his hair and laden with a backpack and two separate totes. He was wearing a strange set of clothes—a mash of casual and formal—and seemed to be in a hurry, the type of hurry that involved pushing past folks at a half-jog and not stopping at streetlights.

“Got ‘im,” Peter hissed.

“No shit?” Wade asked over his shoulder.

Thor made a sound of interest.

“I see him, too,” he said. “What incredible energy, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Wh—

Peter whirled on him.

“Don’t you fucking say that,” he warned. “I’m gonna go distract. You two, on my six.”

Peter broke four traffic laws on his way around the block. He swung himself around a corner and fucked up the collar on his labcoat and counted to four before stepping out right into ‘Luke’s path.

They collided. Luke stumbled back and dropped one of his totes.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Peter blustered. “Are you okay?”

Luke swore and dropped down without answering, collecting the odd ends of metal that had clattered out from his bag and now rolled loose over the pavement. Peter stooped to join, gathering rings and pipes of all sorts of sizes in his hands. Oncoming folks gave them a wide berth.

It took a moment for Luke to realize what Peter was doing, but when he did, his shoulders went stiff as a board.

“DON’T TOUCH THOSE,” he snapped, just as Peter made to pick up a little plastic bag with a wad of tissue inside it.

Peter froze.

“Oh. Sorry,” he said.

This time, Luke finally met his eye.

“Oh, Jesus. No. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Luke blustered, “Thank you. I’ll—I’ve got them. Thank you, though. It’s okay.”

He took the metal out of Peter’s hands and stuffed them back into his bag. He snatched the plastic bag before Peter could touch it and put that on top.

“Excuse me,” he said as he stood. “Thanks again.”

And just like that, he hurried off past Peter down the pavement.

Peter watched him go.

“Catch?” Wade asked softly from the corner.

“Negative,” Peter said, reaching into his sleeve and holding up the thin aluminum tube he’d hidden up there by the edge of his shirt-sleeve.

It was shiny and longer than he’d expect for any plumbing project. The inside appeared to be coated with some sort of heavy, non-reactive material, and half of the outside had grooved bands carved into it.

“Someone’s building something,” he said.

“Mid-century sink?” Wade asked, taking the tube.

“Nope,” Peter said.

NL: That is a lightsaber hilt

NL: where did you get that? It’s like mega accurate. Was it etsy?

PP: I stole it

NL: give it back

PP: I can’t I stole it from Luke Skywalker.

NL: Peter.

NL: we talked about this.

PP: He’s Luke Skywalker. I swear on the grave of my mother

MJ: this is a problem. This is now an intervention.

PP: I will prove it. If he’s Luke Skywalker, then he will do ANYTHING to get this thing back.

NL: and if not?

PP: then I will wait two days before politely tracking down his home address and then I will return it via wall crawling

JS: UM

JS: SORRY

JS: PETER CAN YOU CALL ME?

PP: no

NL: no

MJ: no

JS: are

JS: are you sure??? Because there’s a guy in Reed’s lab right now talking to him and Sue, asking SUPER politely for access to—I shit you not—the crystals we picked up from that space trip the other day???

NL: …

PP: …

MJ: …

PP: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

MJ: fake

NL: no way

PP: WHAT’S HIS NAME, JOHNNY BOY????

JS: I can’t

PP: nope you gotta

JS: I can’t I’m gonna cry I didn’t ask for this

MJ: out with it

NL: please say it’s obi-wan

JS: HHHHHHHHHHH

JS: nope

JS: just a guy named Ben 🙃

PP: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

PP: I told you motherfuckers

JS: right. So like. Awkward. But you uh, know that hilt thing you have?

PP: …is Obi-Wan Kenobi about to beat my ass, Johnny?

There was something about putting the hilt into the palm of someone more famous than Captain America that made Peter’s knees weak.

It did not help that Luke Skywalker had flirted with him the other night.

It did not help that Luke Skywalker didn’t recognize him as Spiderman.

Nothing helped, really, especially when those big topaz eyes lifted and Peter could see that their rims were red and raw.

“Thanks,” Luke Skywalker—the embodiment of hope itself—said in a soft, defeated rasp.

Every alarm in Peter’s head said to save him. Save him from what? How? Who knew.

Ned and MJ seemed to feel the same way, if the pressure on each of his arms was anything to go by.

“Well, that’s all cleared up, then. Thank you so much for your help; it is deeply appreciated,” a stupidly pleasant gentleman with a perfectly combed beard and lovingly coifed light hair said to the room at large.

Obi-Wan Kenobi—pardon, Ben Kennedi—was far more handsome than any movie could ever dream to make him. What they’d done to him in the 1970s, Peter saw now, was a fucking crime. He watched as this beautiful human being set a warm hand on Luke Skywalker’s—pardon, Luke Naberry’s—shoulder and used it to steer him towards the Baxter Building’s front entrance.

He watched as the two of them, like true Master and Padawan, stepped out onto the landing and opted for the stairs. For one fleeting, unbelievable second, Luke looked back over his shoulder at all of them before taking the next step after his Master.

He was right the other night.

He wasn’t the only jedi. Not anymore.

“So that just happened,” Sue acknowledged for everyone after the door had clicked closed and the sound of footsteps had faded off to nothing.

“I’m going to cry,” Reed announced.

“This is single-handedly the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Ned said.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi walked into our kitchen,” Reed told Sue like she hadn’t been there right next to him.

“The empire is trying to establish itself under our very feet,” Sue said back a little viciously.

“The real empire,” Reed whimpered.

Wait.

No, go back.

“For real?” Peter asked.

Sue and Reed looked back at the rest of them and then exchanged a look.

Peter was sad now. Depressed and laid out on his side staring back at Valeria’s huge eyes on the floor while Ned and MJ and Johnny asked Reed and Sue two hundred clarifying questions.

Peter didn’t need the specifics. He was thinking back on the conversation that he’d witnessed between Luke and Han Solo—Han Solo who was tall with dark hair and dark eyes and an accent straight out of New Jersey. Solo who had probably been charged with forcing Luke to face the facts in front of all of them because he was the one who Luke trusted most.

But it had shattered them—both of them.

The New Hope had given up everything. He was tired. His heart was torn. He was jaded just like Peter had been that same night. He’d been avoiding the tightrope that Peter had already started crossing, though, probably looking for every possible way to not have to set the first foot on that wobbly line.

He’d walked it before.

Valeria reached out with a chubby, round hand and touched the side of Peter’s face.

“Spiderman,” she said with terrifying understanding, “Someone needs help.”

He wriggled in close enough to bonk heads with her.

“Baby Storm,” he whispered, “I think you’re right.”

MJ thought that Peter needed to leave things alone. She pointed out that he had plenty of problems without getting involved in universe-saving. She gestured to Johnny and volunteered him for the job.

Johnny refused on account of needing to be the prettiest blond in any room. He claimed that if he wasn’t, he had to fight for dominance.

Ned was on the other end of the spectrum. He had 43 reasons why Peter should get involved with things, and 40 of them ended up in the same place which was ‘it would be cool.’

One of Ned’s better reasons, however, involved pointing out that Peter had already stolen half of a lightsaber. He was good and involved now, whether he wanted to be or not. And that was enough for Peter to decide to go on a hunt to give a formal apology.

He recruited Ned to help him locate Luke Skywalker.

That didn’t work.

They tried Luke Naberry.

That didn’t work either.

They ended up going through every possible iteration of every Star Wars name they knew and then filtered out the people who’d been named by exuberant parents and then filtered out anyone who didn’t live in New York and they ended up with fat lot of still nothing.

It was like Luke Skywalker didn’t truly exist in this world.

Until MJ found his Instagram by typing in ‘guys who look weirdly like Luke Skywalker.’

She held the phone aloft in triumph and they all gathered round to gape in awe at her intelligence and research skills.

Luke’s Instagram was nothing but pictures of coffee.

He had one selfie and this selfie was enough to have gotten him onto a BuzzFeed article. In it he was holding—you guessed it—coffee. Iced coffee. One in each hand.

He was shaking them, and one had been labeled with his name—hence the public connection made.

“Someone needs to tell him that coffee is not a food group,” Johnny observed.

“Maybe he works nights,” MJ said.

Ned lifted an eyebrow.

“Maybe this is his job,” he said.

There was a pause.

Some snooping revealed that Luke was an honest to god food website editor. He was a cameraman.

Repeat. Luke Skywalker, cameraman. He filmed all the food hosts for his company’s Youtube channel. He edited videos. He more or less blended into the background of everything, while having his finger prints on damn near everything.

This was a man after Peter’s own soul. They were kindred spirits in hidden identities, content creation, and suffering under a boulder of responsibility too great to cope with.

He had to find him now.

And after they had his Instagram it wasn’t too hard. He seemed to hang out in various parts of the Bronx and Peter just so happened to know some folks out that way.

Louis told Peter that he would never speak to him again if he found, befriended, and then didn’t share Luke Skywalker (the man, the real man, I’m not fucking with you, Louis). But he also recognized a place on Luke’s instagram that he seemed to be working his way through the menu of. He sent along an address and told Peter not to forget his promises.

Angel asked why he was looking for Johnny Storm in the Bronx.

Peter left Louis to rattle sense into her.

He took a walk on Saturday morning. A long walk. A long train ride, then a walk, then a half hour of squinting, and then, lo and behold, he found a blond guy banging his head into the center of an out door metal table across from a woman with heavy braids trailing down the sides of her neck. She was much older than him and drummed white-painted fingernails across her cheek as she thought.

Peter hid and called Ned and MJ for an ID. He peeked the phone’s camera out enough for them to see the other two and then snatched it back.

Ned was about to flip a table.

“That’s clearly Ahsoka Tano,” he said. “She—the braids, dude. Dead give-away. And she put ribbons in them, like what even is discretion?”

Peter didn’t know that person. He continued not to know this person, even as Ned dragged him through a trainwreck of Star Wars lore.

“So she’s a friend,” he said.

“She’s like a jedi, but not like a jedi, she was a jedi, but then she said ‘fuck the order’ and—”

Great. Peter was approaching.

Ned held his face in his hands. MJ told Peter to report back on his findings. Peter ended the call and inched closer, weaving through the crowd and slipping into the coffee joint to see what nonsense they were selling.

It was nonsense with lots of syrup. He could never say no to syrup.

He watched the two outside while waiting for his order. Luke gesticulated to his friend and she spoke, giving reasonable gestures back. He stopped her and dug out his phone and that little plastic baggy full of fluffy material. He answered his phone. His friend took the little bag and held it up to the light.

She frowned at it.

Luke pushed away from the table and walked away to take his call. Peter’s order was called. He grabbed it and swerved out towards the patio.

“Hello,” he said at the edge of Luke and his friend’s table. “Is this seat taken?”

Luke’s friend stared at him.

“It is,” she said. “Move along, hon, you’re ten years too young.”

Wow.

“For your friend?” Peter tried. “Could I leave my number?”

He had this lady’s attention now. She was looking him up and down, appraising. Peter tried not to flex. He stayed cool. Matt-levels of cool. He smiled winningly.

“Alright, why not?” she said, digging through her bag for a receipt and a pen. Peter beamed as he leaned down to scrawl his number down on the back. He got halfway through before he heard a step stop nearby.

“Look alive, kid,” Luke’s friend said. “Hey, Luke, this guy was just—”

“You again?” Luke said.

Peter lifted his head and brows.

“Hi,” he said. “I just wanted to apologize.”

There was a long silence.

Luke’s friend looked between them and then gave Luke a long, judgmental stare.

“You don’t have to,” Luke said. “Thanks, though. How did you find me here?”

Mmm. Beginner’s luck.

“Here,” Peter said, offering his number on the receipt. “If you ever need someone to talk to who gets it.”

Luke’s friend bit her lip and looked away in secondhand embarrassment. Peter ignored her for now.

“Thanks,” Luke said. “You don’t and you won’t. But you’re very pretty.”

Nice.

“You’d be surprised,” Peter told him. “Gimme a text. I’ll leave y’all alone now. Enjoy your coffee.”

He left. But not before hearing, “but that ass, Luke.”

Ned told him that there was no way that Luke was ever going to text him and he was disappointed in Peter’s hostage-taking skills.

But he was proved wrong two hours later and, for his crimes, had to admit Peter’s brilliance publicly.

LS: hi sorry. This is Luke. This morning when you stopped by our table, did you happen to see a little plastic bag on it?

Why yes. The one in Peter’s pocket right now? That bag?

PP: hi!! I did, actually. You guys aren’t very subtle 😏

LS: it’s not coke

PP: I’m not judging

LS: no, it’s not coke, I swear. It’s something INFINITELY more important. Did you happen to see if it had fallen on the ground?

PP: ah, no, sorry. I didn’t see it

PP: OH NO

PP: oh my god I’m so sorry, I think I took it with me when I accidentally took your friend’s pen.

LS: I

LS: what’s your name?

PP: Peter ❤

LS: Peter, you have a fucking problem

LS: I’m starting to think that you want something from me. And listen, you’re a handsome guy, but I’m not available and my type isn’t kleptomaniac. What do you want for it?

PP: well you got me

PP: to talk

LS: about what?

PP: mostly about why you look like you’re a wet phonebook in a bad gutter

LS: a phonebook???? What era are you even from????

PP: I could say the same to you, sir.

LS: I

LS: wh

LS: alright touche. The point is that I’m not going to talk to you. I just need that bag back. It’s a life and death situation.

PP: what are they? They aren’t coke crystals.

LS: how would you know?

PP: what are you, a cop?

LS: NO. This is going nowhere. What. Do. You. Want?

PP: To. Talk.

LS: I’m not going to talk to you.

PP: then why did you ask me to rescue you?

He held his breath.

LS: I didn’t

PP: you did

LS: I didn’t ask you for shit. This is it. What’s your last name.

PP: Man 😊

LS: Man what

PP: That’s my last name.

LS: Peter Man.

PP: oop, nope, sorry. That’s someone else.

LS: …so I’m calling the police, now. That’s what we’re saying?

PP: depends. Do you still need to be rescued?

Come on, Skywalker. Come on, remember.

LS: I never asked you to rescue me.

PP: You did. Think back.

LS: I didn’t

LS: I just made a joke to

LS: WHAT AFAJSDFA DTTH E FUCK

Peter cackled and let himself fall onto his back.

PP: Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii ❤

LS: YOU’RE

PP: Just your friendly neighborhood guy ❤

LS: YOU

LS: you

PP: me

LS: THAT’s how the storms knew you

PP: yep 💋

LS: I don’t even know what to say

PP: it’s okay, you don’t have to say shit. The main thing I wanted you to know was that I hear you. And if you need it, I’ve got you.

LS: You’re literally trying to rescue me??

PP: it’s my job

LS: IT ISN’T. How have you never been arrested? how did you find me? Did you track my phone? Is it some kind of spider thing???

PP: yes

LS: I am legally obligated to kill you with the force now

PP: harder daddy

LS: ADaaSDASFSDFSdd

LS: oh my god Han is going to lose his gourd

LS: I’m sorry I just I can’t believe you of all people stole my damn hilt

PP: I’ve got……………………..sticky fingers

LS: go die

LS: no I didn’t mean that sorry that’s a thing with me and my sister. I mean, okay. You got me. Hero of NYC.

Peter’s cheeks were starting to hurt.

PP: I’ll bring them back to you.

LS: Please do, Ben’s about to have a stroke.

PP: you mean obi-wan?

LS: he’s convinced his cat ate them. There’s a staring contest happening. No one has blinked in two minutes and I don’t want to be here for the internal investigation.

PP: where do you live?

Luke sent an address. Peter held his phone high and walked it into the living room where Ned was bitchily composing an Instagram post. He and MJ looked up at the same time.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Peter said. “Luke Skywalker and Co. live in a cemetery.”

It wasn’t a cemetery. It was a funeral home, but close enough.

Luke was waiting outside on the stoop in a cardigan about four sizes too big for him. It was there probably to protect him from the equally large ragdoll cat in his arms.

Peter smiled. Luke stared at him and then shook his head and went through the screen door. Ned gave Peter a biting look.

“Made friends, I see,” he said.

“We’re doin’ great,” Peter told him, hopping up the stairs. “Look at us, totally—”

“Insidious.”

Peter stopped and turned nervously to see through the screen door where Obi-Wan Kenobi had seized both of the cat’s cheeks. Luke continued to hold it with maximum doneness levels.

“Where have you been?” Obi-Wan asked the cat seriously.

“We have guests,” Luke said. “Take your beast.”

Obi-Wan snatched the cat out of Luke’s arms with contempt all over his face.

“You are a villain of the highest order,” he told it.

“Ben. Guests. Please evacuate. I am hosting negotiations,” Luke said.

“We should have named you ‘Sith.’”

“Ben.”

Peter was not going to laugh at Obi-Wan Kenobi. That was too surreal.

“Come in,” Luke said, returning to hold open the screen. “I hope you’re not allergic. There are two of them.”

T-two?

“The other one is Junior.”

Peter stepped over the threshold and found himself in a room that looked like a human birdhouse. It was full of surfaces that were almost completely empty, as though an enrichment object had once lived there but had been removed as punishment. Luke waved Ned and MJ in and accepted their apologies on Peter’s behalf.

Peter ignored them to lock eyes with a creature more stunning than any he had ever encountered. It sat on the kitchen counter by a single clear jar labelled ‘Not Spice.’ It blinked grumpy green eyes.

“Oh, it’s these people again?”

They all looked behind them to see Obi-Wan peering around a doorframe with the first cat draped over his shoulders.

“Kleptomaniac,” Luke said, pointing at Peter. Peter waved.

“Huh,” Obi-Wan said simply. “I will distract Ahsoka.”

He vanished. Luke grimaced after him.

“Let’s go talk in the back,” he said. “There are no bodies, I promise.”

The funeral home had a little deck and a yard small even for this far out in Queens. It was crammed full of plants that appeared to be in a competition to bloom. Luke invited them to sit and then left to make coffee.

Coffee, yes, how had Peter forgotten.

He peeked over the side of the deck down where there was a large stone set in the center of the garden.

“A seeing stone,” Ned whispered to him.

“Oh, how did you know?”

They all jumped.

Peter swore that Obi-Wan hadn’t opened that sliding door. How had—what—

Ned was at a loss for words in the face of one of his greatest heroes.

“I—uh. M-movie? I mean, sorry. It was in The Mandalorian, second season, with the—”

“Yet more television,” Obi-Wan said derisively.

They all stared.

“Can you teleport?” MJ asked him.

“I thought you were bothering Ahsoka?” Luke asked, from inside. He squeezed past the man and his cat with three glass mugs in hand. He set them down on the little square table off to the side of the desk railing.

“I was, but then I got curious,” Obi-Wan said. “And I lost Junior.”

Luke stared at him.

“I’m going to lock you in the basement,” he said.

“Try, try, and try again,” Obi-Wan told him, petting his beloved cat’s head.

“Do you even know who Spiderman is, old man?”

“More television.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Peter had to keep a conscious watch on his jaw, lest it fall open in the face of the most handsome, clueless man on the planet. He watched as Obi-Wan, disgusted with all this ‘television’ nonsense skulked back off into the guts of the home. Luke shut the door behind him.

“So,” he said, holding out his hand. “We’re talking. Fork ‘em.”

Ah.

Fair was fair.

Peter produced the plastic bag from his pocket and handed it over. There was a shout somewhere inside followed by someone going ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

“Ben keeps our home ghost free. He terrifies all the wannabee haunters,” Luke said simply. “Thank you for these. I imagine it’s somewhat of a shock to learn that it’s all real.”

It was, but it wasn’t the weirdest thing Peter had encountered by far.

“How long have you lived in New York?” he asked conversationally.

Luke gave him a weird brow.

He seemed smaller than before in that enormous cardigan. Certainly smaller than the movies made him seem. His face was a little thinner too, and his lips seemed to slope into an almost permanent pout.

“About twenty years,” he said. “We were born in California, but Anakin moved us here when we were eight.”

Anakin? Like, Darth Vader, Anakin?

“’Luke, I am your father’—yeah, that guy,” Luke said with a scoff. “Except, you know, he ain’t dead. And he’s the only one who can make Ben remember that tea isn’t a meal, so we keep him around for that and to scream back at Leia.”

Peter was already completely lost to the dynamics of this household. It wasn’t like the books and movies—Ned’s twitching for his phone to take notes was proof enough of that.

“That’s awkward,” MJ said. “So did y’all do like, collective counselling for the past life shit?”

Luke deflated and moaned into his hands.

“It’s not past life shit if your damn name is the same,” he said. “It’s complicated.”

It sounded like it.

Imagine growing up with your apparently-Star War-obsessed father and uncle who’d built a home and a business (presumably) around that shit, only to find out later that they’d done it because it was literally their religion.

What a trip.

“When did you find out?” Peter asked gently.

“Oh, you know. Last week,” Luke said with a bitter grin. “Quit my fulltime job. Dumped my ex. Broke my lease and now here I am. Once again. Back at this place.”

“Do you want a hug?” Ned asked into the awkward silence.

“You’re very sweet,” Luke said. “If I touch another human, I will start crying and never stop.”

Yikes.

Barely holdin’ on by a thread there, buddy? How’s the hyperawareness going?

“Why does it matter, is my question. For you, I mean,” Luke said with a suspicious squint. “You fought a goblin guy, didn’t you? With a hover board?”

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh, yeah.

Yeah, Peter sure had done that.

“And like, the bird dude? Didn’t you down a plane?”

Perhaps.

But Luke had blown up the Deathstar, no?

“These things are not equivalent,” Luke said flatly. “I joined a rebel alliance. There were loads of us.”

Mmm. Perhaps so.

“God, how old are you even? You look 22.”

Peter gawked.

“I’m 27,” he said.

Luke did a double-take.

“That’s a lie,” he accused. “Tell the truth or be compelled.”

“By the Force?” Ned asked hopefully.

Luke blinked at him. He pointed at the glass sliding door which revealed Obi-Wan holding Junior the cat above his head by the kitchen sink.

“The Force,” he said.

Ned’s face fell.

“Do we not have the Force, here?” he asked.

Luke flinched.

“Listen,” he said abruptly, “We’re workin’ on it. This isn’t our original galaxy. The rules are all different. The only one who’s managed to make even a spark happen is Obi-Wan so far, but as soon as we find Master Yoda, it’s over. We’ll already have won.”

“You lost Yoda,” MJ mused.

Luke stammered and caught himself.

“We lost a lot of people,” he snapped. “It happens when you shift galaxies. Anyways, that’s what the stone is for.”

MJ glanced back at the stone and then leaned her forearms onto the small table.

“So, let me get this straight,” she said. “You jedi folks all popped up over here by some cosmic accident. You don’t have the Force. Most of you don’t even remember who you are. You lost your most experienced Master, and you’re going to fight the Sith?”

Peter stirred his coffee nervously.

Luke’s eye twitched.

“We don’t need the others,” he said. “We only need the Force. To fight the Sith. Yes.”

MJ frowned deep and held her chin with both hands.

“So you need the thing you for sure don’t have the most,” she said.

Luke opened his mouth, but not before the window by the door snapped open and Obi-Wan leaned out to say, “We always have the Force.”

Luke covered his face in despair.

“I was listening from the kitchen window,” Obi-Wan told him lovingly.

“GO FIND CODY ALREADY,” Luke roared at him.

“I did, he’s right here,” Obi-Wan said soothingly, stroking his angry cat.

“The other Cody.”

“Oh, I am trying, don’t you worry.”

“Ben, so help me God—”

“Force.”

“SO HELP ME FORCE—”

Star Wars had really left out the part about Luke’s explosive temper. Peter winced, but Ned laughed and the sound seemed to have a calming effect on Jedi-on-Jedi crime about to take place in the kitchen. Obi-Wan appeared pleased with this development and emboldened. He wove past Luke out onto the desk and came over, cat and all, to point down to the seeing stone in the middle of the garden.

“Others who feel the Force’s energy will be drawn to it,” he told Ned fondly. “It’s how we got Luke back home.”

“It’s not,” Luke said. “You called me.”

“And so others will also come,” Obi-Wan said with confidence. “The most important thing is that we believe in the Force. And from that, we will find guidance and power and—”

“He means Yoda,” Luke translated. “He’s been putting frogs on it as an offering, even though me, Ahsoka, and Anakin told him that this is a human’s world. A human’s world, Ben. Even if he did eat them, he’s not eating them raw.”

“Don’t be discouraged by Luke’s attitude, he is very stressed,” Obi-Wan told Ned and Ned only affectionately. “I told him not to be, you see there are four of us here already, and the Chosen One is among us.”

“Anakin told you to stop calling him that,” Luke moaned, massaging his temples.

“He was the first to be aware of our present situation,” Obi-Wan said.

“He took a hallucinogen and had a paranoid breakdown,” Luke pleaded. “Ben, please. Go inside. Think of your blood pressure.”

“Perhaps, but it was a useful breakdown, was it not?”

“I am so sorry for him, he’s getting senile,” Luke said to the rest of them.

“Your energy is different,” Obi-Wan informed Peter out of absolutely nowhere. “Are you also Force-sensitive? Were you drawn to the stone?”

Er.

No.

Sorry?

“He’s Spiderman,” Luke said, gesturing pointedly. “Remember Spiderman?”

Obi-Wan did not. Peter suspected, actually, that Obi-Wan still used phonebooks, if he used phones at all, that was.

Luke took a deep breath and let it out.

“Okay, let me just lay it out,” he said. “We’re doing the best we can with what we have. You don’t have to get involved with this. We appreciate your help, but what would help us even more is if you stay out of it, alright?”

Yeah, okay. Sure. Peter could respect that.

“Amazing. And don’t tell other people.”

Understood.

“Unless they’re Force-sensitive,” Obi-Wan said. “In which case, ask them how they feel about rocks.”

Luke just stared at him coldly this time.

“You didn’t used to be like this,” he said dangerously.

“No, I used to be stressed,” Obi-Wan told him. “But you and Ani are doing that for me, so I have resolved to be a free spirit. Nice to meet all of you. Have more coffee. I don’t like this one; I will have it out of the house by sundown.”

He left, and possibly for good this time. No one knew what to say in his absence.

“So,” Peter tried, desperate for something to break up the tension. “You said a few days ago that you were looking for someone?”

Luke finally stopped making growling faces towards the sliding door. He lit up like a bulb.

“I am, actually,” he said.

Luke was looking for a very particular person named ‘Din.’ He described him as ‘six feet tall and covered in armor.’ He asked if they knew of such a person.

Peter had to shove a hand against his mouth in case he made an unwanted connection between this description and Obi-Wan behavior.

“Haven’t,” MJ said. “Who is he?”

“My husband,” Luke said.

Ned choked.

Peter choked.

MJ tilted her head.

“You have a husband?” she asked. “I would have remembered a husband in that series.”

Luke leaned his chin on his palm and gazed sideways over the city. He seemed to sigh.

“I don’t know why he isn’t connected to me in the media created here,” he said. “It’s probably because he’s always been very shy.”

Oh, aw. Peter loved that. The contrast between them was heart-warming.

“We had a son together,” Luke said. “His child. He brought him to me. One of my students, at first.”

Hang on a minute here.

Peter exchanged a glance with Ned. Ned tried very hard to pick a way to approach this sensitively. He landed on asking, “What was his name again?”

“Din,” Luke said. “Din Djarin.”

Ned cringed.

“He was a Mandalorian,” Luke explained. “Very, very, very shy. Like, he would rather chew off his own leg than make small talk with a stranger. I think, before I knew all this, I was still subconsciously looking for him. All my exes are the same type.”

That—

Okay, so like.

Did these people own a TV?

“Do we look like we own a TV?” Luke deadpanned. “No. If Ben senses anything bigger than a datapad happening in this place, he’s driven to madness and breaks it.”

UH?

“He doesn’t actually break it,” Luke sighed. “He just finds a way to make it unusable—putting clothes on it, disconnecting the monitor, that kind of thing. He thinks they waste electricity.”

What a guy. Peter wanted to put him and May in a room and see what conspiracies they could spin together.

“Why do you ask?” Luke asked.

Ned cleared his throat.

“Do you have a, uh, datapad, then?” he asked.

“DIN. That’s DIN. He’s got his own show. Oh my god, that’s—stay right there. Don’t move.”

Bless this man. Peter wanted to hug him so bad. They’d lost him to the staircase leading up from the second floor to the attic. Peter wondered who he was showing the tablet to.

Maybe Obi-Wan?

“I told you this already,” a voice up there said.

“LOOK AT HIM.”

“You’re killin’ me, smalls. We had this exact conversation last week. Did you forget?”

“You knew where he was.”

“Alright, alright. Downward march.”

Anakin fucking Skywalker came down the stairs with a handful of Luke’s shirt in one hand and the tablet shoved under his other arm. He paused and frowned at the three of them in the kitchen frozen in shock, and then apparently decided that that didn’t matter. He carried on dragging Luke with him towards the kitchen counter. He dropped the tablet onto it and Peter realized that the lower half of his sleeve on that side was empty.

He watched as the guy let go of Luke and chased the not-angry cat off the counter, cursing.

“Alright, this?” he said, tapping on the tablet. “Is the link I put here.” He rapped the same finger on what Peter now saw was a whiteboard covered in rows upon rows of symbols that he’d never seen before.

“Din here? Din here. You see?” Vader told Luke with untold patience.

“I can’t read that,” Luke moaned. “You lied to me.”

“It’s up in the kitchen, Luke.”

“You’re a liar and a cad. Do it in Basic.”

“This is Basic.”

Oh, dear. All that fanfic about Luke meeting Darth Vader and having a breakdown was looking real embarrassed now, wasn’t it?

“If it’s Basic, why can’t I read it?” Luke demanded.

“Because, like I told you last night, the night before, and the night before that,” Vader said painstakingly, “It doesn’t all come back at once. It’s going to take time.”

“We don’t have time,” Luke snapped.

Vader leaned his head back with half-lidded eyes. Luke didn’t look even remotely like his kid, even with him looking all pre-quels-like now.

“We talked about this, too, remember?” Vader asked.

Obviously not. Luke was distressed. He had eyes only for the tablet now.

“No, of course not, silly me,” Vader said. “Why are humans here?”

“Ahsoka went home,” Luke said.

“Thank you, that was not my question.”

“What was your question?”

“Why are non-order humans here?”

“I told you, Ahsoka went—”

“Son, I will kill you if you continue to act like Obi-Wan,” Vader said without missing a beat.

“You can try,” Luke said offhandedly. “But only one of us has two handed grip.”

There was a long stare.

“It’s Obi-Wan,” Vader told him. “Why do we have living guests?”

He gestured back to Peter, Ned, and MJ like they were flies on a set of blinds.

“Oh, because that’s Spiderman and he stole your kyber crystals,” Luke said.

Vader rounded on Peter, and Peter actually felt fear.

Vader blinked once.

“This may as well happen,” he decided somehow placidly. “I’m going back upstairs. Where did your grand-master go?”

“Into the mist,” Luke said. “Can you feel Din?”

“Negative, ghostrider.”

“When the Force chooses you first out of favoritism, can you feel for Din?”

“Ah yes, can I feel for your Force-repellant life partner with all of the Force energy that I do not have? Yes, I sure can.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime, primary monstrosity of my loins.”

UM?

This felt a little hostile for Peter’s tastes. Not that it wasn’t earned. Clearly it was earned. It was just horrifying.

“Guests, you are dismissed,” Vader said in their direction. “Unless you’re drawn to the rock outside, in which case, you may stay. Otherwise, do not darken this doorstep again, or else we will leave you with the other dead in the morgue.”

“Thanks for bringing the crystals,” Luke said from behind him. “And for talking. I do feel better, actually.”

They left the funeral home. Obi-Wan was outside by the mailbox as though waiting for them. Peter wasn’t sure he had any emotional energy left to approach him with.

“Thank you for speaking to Luke,” he said as the three of them attempted to pass unnoticed. “It’s good for him to talk to others his own age.”

Uh-huh. Good night, sir?

“Good night, Peter, Ned, and Michelle.”

They hadn’t given their names.

They definitely hadn’t given their names.

Ned wasn’t sleeping for two years. He made this clear with a lot of clapping gestures and then rolled around on the floor, talking about all kinds of shit that Peter couldn’t decipher. MJ watched him and flicked her eyes up to Peter with concern on her forehead.

“That family is cinematically dysfunctional,” she said.

Correct.

“They’re barely their own characters.”

Correct.

“What now?”

Peter wasn’t sure. The best he could think of was to just keep an eye on the situation. Maybe check in every couple of weeks?

“If you say so,” MJ said. “I think you made Ned’s life, by the way. Good job.”

Peter tried checking in every two weeks. It started because he happened to hear of a tunnel collapsing in Queens nearby the funeral home. He texted Luke to ask if he needed a save and all he got back was a ‘well, not anymore.’

After that, Peter kept a close eye on happenstances occurring around the city. There were more than he bargained for. And when he glanced at Luke’s Instagram after the first week after the tunnel collapse, he noted that two of the nails on the hand Luke held his coffee to the camera with had gone completely black.

That was worrying.

Peter was used to be the danger-prone asshole in his friendgroup. He did not like this role-reversal. MJ asked him sarcastically what the problem was.

He texted Luke again.

PP: how many nails do you have left bro?

LS: we put a hole in one to release the pressure

PP: that don’t sound great bro.

LS: it’s fine. Oh, but good news

PP: oh?

LS: the most predictable thing ever has happened. The Vader has regained force power

PP: that’s worrying

LS: ? why?

PP: won’t he go dark?

LS: ah, no. He fucked up and raised me and Leia with Ben this time after our mom died. He had his chance to go dark and traded it for 8 consecutive hours of sleep instead.

PP: I truly don’t know what to say

LS: It’s fine we did 12 years of family therapy after the accident so we are no longer on the DSS watchlist

PP: I know less what to say

LS: he won’t find din :/

PP: is that your priority right now?

LS: aren’t you supposed to be spiderman or something? Don’t you have chaotic things to say?

PP: you know normally I do, this is literally out of character for me. but I think you also might be absorbing my chaos.

LS: that’s fair. I have that effect on people. Hey, is your buddy Ned available to chat? He knows more than I can remember about my old life. Can I borrow him?

That sounded like a horrendous decision.

PP: yeah let me get you his number.

LS: thanksssss

Ned reported a few days later that his services were needed at the funeral home. He was leaving them all now to befriend Luke Skywalker as was his true destiny.

He came back a few hours later and reported that his services had been helpful and he was pleased to say that Darth Vader was now the official herder of ‘wans’ in the house. This included all Obi-Wans and padawans.

He seemed to be the only guy there who could like, retain information given to him for some reason. He accepted this as his lot in life and went around repeating the same things to the others ad nauseum until they finally stuck for them.

Peter wondered if that was his personal hell.

Ned didn’t think so. He thought the guy was pretty chill about it and had probably been doing it for a while now. He did it more for Ahsoka Tano and Luke than he did for Obi-Wan. Although that was probably because Obi-Wan appeared to be on a hunt that made all non-relevant information given to him slip off his back like water.

Another two weeks. Another text.

PP: hey luke, I saw you drowning on the news. You okay?

LS: GOD my ex-workplace keeps calling welfare checks on our house. We’ve had more cops here then flies these last few days.

PP: ex-workplace is one way to refer to your old job. Sounds like they cared about you. What did you do?

LS: preschool teacher.

Peter was going to lose his shit right here on this bed.

PP: was that your calling?

LS: that was Luke Naberry’s calling. Luke Skywalker’s calling is to make the lightsaber go vrrrrrrm

PP: you honestly terrify me

LS: thanks han says the same thing. OH. HE FOUND CHEWIE.

PP: no shit??

LS: yeah I told Ned, not you. But yeah. He found him lugging boxes for a bodega. And now they both work at the same bodega. Which like, objectively, is a bad thing because Han was a UN translator.

PP: I’m

PP: sorry

PP: what?

LS: I know he was all respectable and shit. It was awful. I can look at him again without feeling like I’ve failed in every part of my life.

PP: dare I ask what your sister does?

LS: lawyer

PP: not senator?

LS: we’re not old enough to be senators.

PP: every moment becomes more concerning than the next. You fascinate me. This is why they put you in like, all the films.

LS: because I’m sexy yeah

PP: that too

LS: not to you. I’m off-limits bub. I’m married.

PP: how’s that going for you?

LS: Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

PP: I see. So no Din yet?

LS: I will find him if it kills me

PP: that’s so romantic. Hey you should watch that series. They gave him a little green yoda in it. Really cute.

LS: that’s my son you piece of shit

There was no winning here.

MJ asked him a few weeks later if he was still keeping up with the Jedi drama since the whole city had recently decided that Peter was a snack.

Obviously he hadn’t.

She told him not to worry, Ned had. She told him to talk to Ned, so he went and talked to Ned with a heatpad in one hand and a coldpack in the other.

Ned patted at him sympathetically and informed him that Luke had reunited with the Force. It was going poorly for him, mostly because the Force wasn’t used to people being in touch with it in these parts of the universe. It kept telling each of the jedi that there was a disturbance and then luring them to each other to fight to the death.

Luke described it as the Force-equivalent of an auto-immune disease.

They’d taken to gathering in the living room of the funeral home to meditate in a circle, as though to calm the Force’s anxiety while scenting each other for protection.

It had a 40% success rate. Everyone was sleeping in locked rooms for the time being, just in case someone got compelled to do something rash.

Peter asked Ned if he’d finally lost his crown as King Chaos of NYC.

Ned patted him on the knee more firmly than before and said that he could regain his crown by introducing a calming element into the jedi household.

Peter had his pride to defend, so he asked what that element ought to be.

Din Djarin, the Mandalorian, the leader of all Mandalorians, was bound to have a name that looked nothing like the one they had for him. Luke nearly exploded when Peter approached him to asked him (and his taped fingers) more about who Din Djarin was outside the name.

They proceeded with caution, however. So far, Peter and Ned had discovered only dissonance between Luke’s account of his life partner (his ‘heart, stars, sun, and sand’) and the guy on the screen for the tv show. That was to be expected, given that they had met Luke now and learned of his somewhat explosive personality.

But even still, Luke’s description of Din Djarin as ‘kind, compassionate, tender, shy, emotionally stable, dependable, sweet, caring, and hunky’ seemed slightly biased.

Peter just wanted to know how tall this guy was. Hair color. Eye color. Skin color. Blood type. That kind of shit.

Luke said that Din had brown hair, brown eyes, Type Who Knows What blood, and was about six feet tall. He had no idea how much he weighed. He’d never had need for that information. He knew that Din was human, which was probably helpful in a galaxy far, far away. He knew that he spoke Mando’a as his first language, then Basic, then a whopping fifteen others. And he knew that Din was probably looking after their son.

Vader asked Peter over a mug of coffee (also labeled in the funeral home’s cabinet as ‘not spice.’) if Spidersenses could overcome a dearth of information. It took Peter a few moments to realize that he was sympathizing with him.

“You’re not going to find Din,” Vader told Luke. “You need to look for the kid. You’ll find the kid first, you always have.”

Luke took his coffee and poured it down the drain.

Peter decided that he didn’t want to get in between that burgeoning battle. He told Luke to text him if he remembered anything else.

Wade was pissed that Peter had been meeting and ‘cavorting’ with Luke Skywalker without him. He claimed ownership of the Din Djarin mystery in order to cram himself into Luke’s good graces. But quickly, he ran into the same stumbling blocks as Peter.

Din Djarin was six feet tall with brown eyes and brown hair.

That was what they currently had to go on.

Wade would have torn out his hair if he had any, but he stopped himself and accepted the challenge. Peter watched over his shoulder as he chicken-pecked his way into a list of social security numbers held by the NYC State ID issuing department and started methodically filtering names that did not sound like ‘Din.’

He started broad with all ‘D’s and then narrowed it down further and further and further until he was left with a shitload of Daniels.

He stared at the screen before him and vibrated.

Peter massaged his shoulders before he cracked.

It helped. Wade started filtering by height, then by eye color. Then by hair, and only ended up with several hundred people.

He vibrated again, but this time, Peter couldn’t help him.

He sighed. Wade said that there had to be a better way to do this. He got up.

Wade made about four thousand missing posters with the name Din Djarin on them which he recruited the whole team to plaster up around NYC. This was not a request.

Miles asked him why they were doing this for a tv character and had to be let in on the gig.

He lost his shit.

Louis tried to retain his shit.

Angel still didn’t know how the whole jedi thing worked.

Dave hummed and haw’ed and took his time in calling bullshit. Wade asked him to look deep into his eyes and ask if he was entertaining bullshit that fine evening.

Dave changed his opinion and took a stack.

There was no way that shit was supposed to work. There was just no way. A) because Wade had the worst ideas of all mankind and B) because Peter had the worst luck of all mankind. So the two of them together should have destroyed all the prospects of success for that job.

But instead, while they were hatching a new plot involving setting up a sham sociological study for people who responded to Star Wars names, Wade’s phone went off.

He grabbed it and opened the message and lo and behold right there was a note that read,

“I hope you are not a reporting body because this is going to sound certifiably insane, but I think I might be the guy you’re looking for?”

Wade screamed.

Peter scolded him not to get too excited too soon. They had to see the man first.

Wade texted furiously, asking for a picture and got a message back that said, “please do not dox me.”

They got no answer until Wade promised not to dox the guy.

And then they got an image of a man with brown hair and brown eyes with olive skin. His face was remarkably square. The picture wasn’t just him, though, he had in his arms a little boy with a head covered in tight ringlets. His eyes were so dark they were nearly black and he was maybe two years old.

The caption said, “apologies, my son needed to be in the picture.”

Wade cooed and entered Dad Mode to ask how old the baby was and what he liked to do and Peter lost the fathers to that small talk for a while before Wade oh-so-casually asked, “So you feel like you’re from outer space?”

“It sounds strange,” the guy on the other said wrote back, “But I do. Like every day I wake up and look in the mirror and something is wrong. I feel like I’m always forgetting something when I leave the house. I watched the tv show of the guy who’s name was on your fliers and the kid in it reminds me so much of my son. It’s eerie. They make the same sounds. He made the same sounds before we even watched that show.”

Wade whistled.

“I think this is him, Pete,” he said. “He called Baby Yoda a ‘kid’ not a yoda.”

Peter stared. He hadn’t even caught that. That was smart as hell.

“So what now?” he asked.

Wade sniffed.

“Get Skywalker to send you a selfie,” he said.

PP: Luke are you pretty right now?

LS: My face is intact

PP: take a selfie and send it to me

LS: cannot do that. Face is intact is a baseline situation. Let me find an old one. Oh, they all have my ex in them. This is awkward.

PP: it doesn’t matter I can crop it.

LS: no I have to be cute or I’ll perish hold on

PP: are you sure you’re not Johnny Storm?

LS: yes, he’s got loads of muscles. Sent.

Selfie acquired.

Luke looked very smiley in it. His eyes were blown out from the lighting, but it showed his sloping smile and his low, back-set dimples. Peter sent it to Wade. Wade sent it to his new friend.

They waited.

They waited five minutes.

Then ten.

Then half an hour.

Then nearly two.

And finally, Wade’s phone rang. He picked it up and set it on speaker so that Peter could hear.

“Hello?” Wade said.

There was a long pause.

“Where did you get that picture?” a low, almost smoky voice demanded on the other side.

“A friend,” Wade said sleazily. “You know him? He’s a cute little thing, ain’t he?”

It took the dude on the other side of the line worryingly long to respond.

“What do you want?” he finally asked.

Wade brought his head down in interest.

“What’re you willing do to?” he asked.

They waited. Peter didn’t know what was taking this guy so long to—

“Anything.”

Ah.

Okay. That.

That sounded about right.

Wade cackled.

“You know his name?” he asked.

“I do,” the man said.

“What’s his name then, pal?” Wade asked.

“It’s none of your fucking business.”

Holy shit. Holy shit. Peter clutched the back of the couch. Wade was grinning so hard, Peter could see it through his mask.

“You want him, you need to show me that you know who he is,” Wade said. “I ain’t got ‘im here, but I know where he is. Come on, big boy. Who is he?”

Peter could hear the man take in a deep, shaky breath.

“His name is Luke,” Din fucking Djarin, the Mandalorian himself, said.

Din fucking Djarin’s name at the moment was Danny Jabaran. He stood six feet tall with a medium build and that baby of his in his arms.

He was not afraid of Wade.

He was not afraid of Peter.

The suits didn’t scare him; this man was a space warrior. The leader of the space warriors. Peter was humbled to stand in his presence, old jeans and tattoos and all.

“Vigilantes,” he acknowledged.

“Deadpool,” Wade said, offering a hand. “And this is?”

“Grogu,” Djarin said.

Baby Yoda lifted his big liquid eyes up to Wade and blinked twice. Then he wriggled around and hid in Djarin’s neck. Djarin put a hand on his back and didn’t drop eye contact.

“Tell me everything,” Djarin said.

Ned screamed. Michelle screamed. Peter reminded them that he had neighbors and invited Mr. Mand’alor to sit on the couch for a bit while he called Luke.

Michelle claimed the spot next to Djarin and asked Baby Yoda Grogu for his little hand. He studied her and hid again, making a prolonged sound of distress that Djarin cut off by saying, “Hey. Manners.”

This somehow made baby Grogu turn back to Michelle to stare at her offered hand.

He took it. She shook with him and then took hers away.

Grogu perked up and reached for it again.

“You’re the Mandalorian,” Ned said.

Djarin looked right at him.

“A Mandalorian,” he corrected.

Ned blinked back tears.

“You’re so cool,” he creaked.

Djarin frowned.

“You...are too?” he tried.

Ned wept into a fist.

Peter left them to call Luke in his bedroom. Luke picked up on the third ring with the start of an ingrained greeting that sounded a whole lot like a customer service recording. He caught himself, though.

“I have someone I’d like you to talk to,” Peter said. “I think you might want to sit down.”

Luke’s unusual quiet on the other side made Peter grin.

“Are you sitting?” he asked.

“I’m sitting.”

“Alright, one moment,” Peter said, walking out into the living room. Djarin had edged far, far away from Ned, as far as he possibly could without being rude. He looked up when Peter came over and sat down on the arm next to him.

“Say hi,” Peter said.

Djarin frowned at him and then the phone.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

Peter waited. Djarin lifted his head over to see the phone’s screen.

“Hello?” he tried.

“Din?”

The Spidey Sense crashed through Peter like a tidal wave.

Djarin had gone completely still.

“Din? Is that you? Can you hear me?”

“Shit,” Djarin said, lifting a hand to cover his eyes. “Goddamnit. Jesus.”

“DIN.”

“Dank Fucking Farrik.”

“Oh my god.”

Baby Grogu’s face snapped toward the phone with huge eyes. He grabbed at Djarin’s collar, then his jaw and started bouncing a little in his arms.

“Bu?” he asked.

Djarin couldn’t make himself move.

“Grogu?” Luke asked. “Hey, baby, is that you, bubba?”

Grogu grabbed Djarin’s face urgently, so that he couldn’t hide his raw eyes anymore.

He pointed at the phone.

“Yeah, I hear ‘im, kid,” Djarin said.

“MMMMM. Gib.”

“Ah. That’s not ours. We don’t grab. We ask,” Djarin reminded as Grogu pleaded for the phone. Peter snickered and gave it to him. He just held it, staring.

“Do you wanna see him?” Peter asked. “Luke, can we maybe video chat?”

“Y-yeah,” Luke said. “Hold on. Oh god, my face. Uh, hey Din are you still near-sighted, hon?”

Djarin huffed a laugh that turned into a whole-body tremor.

“I got contacts,” he said a little hysterically.

“You got WHAT?” Luke yipped, “Okay, no. No, I gotta. Be still, this heart. Okay let me just take off the butterflies. On moment, Grogu, Daddy’s just gotta dunk his face in the damn sink.”

MJ bounced her eyebrows at Peter as he gently took the phone back from Grogu and tapped on the camera. He offered it back the kid and received a deep gaze of wonder in return. Djarin turned the screen right-side up in his hands.

Luke finally turned his camera on and revealed himself to be very swollen in the jaw with damp hair and a cut very close to the rim of his left eye.

Grogu screeched.

Luke laughed.

“Look at you,” he said, “I’m gonna cry. Oh my god. Where’re your ears, pal?”

Grogu analyzed this reaction for 2 full seconds and then shoved the camera right into his dad’s forehead. Djarin took it from him and liberated himself so that he could see Luke who was clutching at his face, absolutely already sobbing, bless him.

He looked up to see Grogu and instead got Djarin and finally just broke right in half.

Peter swallowed back the growing lump in his throat. His eyes were starting to warm a little.

Djarin found a watery smile in himself.

“I know you’re not cryin’ because of me,” he said gently.

“Where’s your helmet?” Luke sobbed, wiping viciously at his eyes. “People are watching, you harlot.”

“I know,” Djarin said. “I lost it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Luke.”

“This is all my fault. I should’ve—I should’ve—”

“Luke,” Djarin said again, full of warmth, “You died for us.”

Luke shook harder than ever.

“There is no greater sacrifice a warrior can make,” Djarin told him. “I was honored for you to have made it for me and our son. This has always been the Way.”

“This is the Way,” Luke stammered.

“I missed you,” Djarin said. “Where in God’s name have you been?”

“I was a preschool teacher in the Bronx, man, I dunno what happened,” Luke said tipping his face up to force the tears back in.

“In the Bronx? Where?”

“Uh, off Allerton and Lurting?”

Djarin started shaking with laugher.

“I work off Laconia and Mace,” he said.

“You what?”

“We’ve been blocks apart this whole time.”

Awwwwww.

“I’m going to stab myself,” Luke moaned. “I’m going to stab myself in the arm. I was right there and I sold out for my part-time gig barely weeks ago. Oh my god. I’m going to—move, old man, I’m suffering—Wait. Din, did you find your parents?”

Djarin stood up and held the phone out straight.

“Where are you right now?” he asked.

Look at all these people hugging each other.

Look at them crying all over. There was a baby in there, wailing because he was so happy to be back in the arms of his other dad.

Aww. AWWWW. Peter was getting emotional again, he was going to see himself out.

“Wait. Peter.”

He looked up to find Luke holding a hand to him.

“Thank you,” he said. “You really are a superhero, you know that?”

Yeah.

Sometimes, he did.

The city had plenty of problems as it was, yeah, more now with a bunch of jedi running around, linking up with each other and spreading memory like mushroom spores. But it didn’t feel that much different.

What it felt like now was Ned showing Grogu how to hold his hand at the seeing stone in the funeral home’s back yard to make the Force happen while Obi-Wan reported cheerfully that the cat perched on it was still not levitating.

It also felt like watching Luke freak out over text to Ned and Michelle about his ex losing their mind at him dumping them after two years to marry this random mechanic within a week of getting together.

Peter got to see this from new angles, too, one of which was the bottom of the funeral home’s attic stairs, which Anakin Skywalker liked to sit on while his grandkids—both Grogu and Han Solo and Leia Organa (pardon, Leia Naberry)’s son—came over to show him things that he was very well aware of. These were stolen from him by Auntie Ahsoka and her friends who Ned knew and Peter did not.

And there was something warming about how even these folks—people from a galaxy far, far away, occasionally needed a Spiderman.

#spiderman #starwars #dinluke #inimitable verse #ficlet #this is the niche of the niche but I know like 5 of you read both my mando and spiderman fics #so this is for you doll #and also the fact that I have a fucking PROBLEM

144 notes · View notes

yeenybeanies · 4 years ago

Text

How to Bathe Your Cowboy

even something as revolting as a stinky cowboy can turn into a moment of intimacy i can’t help it y’all they’re just too damn cute together

red dead redemption | arthur morgan & devin clarke ( oc )

2,971 words

mild language and nudity warnings

reblogs > likes!! thanks for reading!!

“ Arthur, you stink. ”

“ Hm? ” The gunslinger lifts his head, pulled from his thoughts. The little voice squeaks from under his scarf, just loud enough for him to hear. Mostly.

“ I said you stink. ”

Brows furrowed, he lifts an arm to give himself a sniff. The sour stench brings a faint wrinkle to his nose, but it’s not the worst he’s ever smelled. “ It ain’t that bad, ” he says, arm dropping back down.

A jab at his neck makes Arthur jump. He resists the urge to rub at the spot. “ Devin . . .. ”

“ Arthur. ” The little being shifts, poking their nose and mouth out to gasp for air. “ It’s that bad. I can hardly breathe. ”

“ Aw, come on. Don’t you think––– ” he pauses mid-sentence as he passes a small group of people mulling about in the streets. “ Don’t you think you’re bein’ a little dramatic, huffin’ and puffin’ like some fish out of––ack! ” A much sharper jab puts a quick end to that thought. “ Was that––did you just stab me? ” Carefully he slips his fingers into the scarf, then pulls them back out to inspect for any blood.

Thankfully, Devin was kind enough not to break the skin.

“ I’m not. I’m choking under here. When was the last time you bathed? Or washed your clothes? ” Their voice is heavy with annoyance––both at the offending smell and at the accusation of being dramatic.

Arthur opens his mouth to further dismiss their concerns, but a gagging sound to his left cuts him off. Arthur glances over to see a lady in a pink, frilly dress and a hat to match, eyeing him with disgust. One gloved hand covers her mouth and nose.

“ She must have caught a whiff of you, ” Devin says. Now they sound smug. Arthur sighs heavily. “ We’re done here, right? So we can hurry back to camp and you can clean yourself up. ”

The man slows his walk, eyes scanning the familiar Valentine roads. If he really is reeking enough that he’s making people gag, Miss Grimshaw is bound to sniff him out––literally––and tear him a new one. Arthur presses his lips together and rubs at the side of his head where the madam had none-too-gently swatted him the last time she’d caught him covered in filth.

“ . . . nah. ” He stops abruptly and turns around, ignoring the coughs and gags of passers by.

“ ‘ Nah ’ ? ” Devin echoes. They carefully peek out, but they’re quick to retreat at the first sight of another human in the street. “ What do you mean ‘ nah ’ ? ”

“ There’s a bath here in Valentine. ”

Devin is quiet for a long moment.

“ Devin? ”

“ That’s . . . inside? ” They speak much quieter. Arthur can only just make out the soft words.

“ Hunh? Yeah, it’s inside. Just gotta find the hotel . . .––there it is. ” He quickens his pace and steps up onto the wooden porch. He lowers his own voice, so as not to draw attention to the fact that he appears to be talking to himself. “ Quiet now. People around. ”

“ Arthur, wait––! ”

Too late. The man pushes through the hotel door and approaches the innkeeper. The man greets him with a smile, though it’s quick to dissolve once the stench hits him. Before he can say anything, he’s overcome with the need to cough and turn away.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “ Yeah, yeah, s’ why I’m here. Start me a bath so I can get this taken care of. ” He fishes a few coins from his pocket and drops them on the counter.

“ R-right away, sir, ” the innkeeper manages to say. He collects the coins and quickly darts off down the hall.

The gunslinger sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. With so many disgusted reactions, he’s starting to feel just a little self-conscious. “ Surely it can’t be that bad. ”

Silence. He really is talking to himself. After a few minutes, Arthur glances down at the approximate spot where Devin is hiding.

“ The keeper’s gone. You can talk for a li’l bit. ” It’s then that he realizes something about his hidden passenger: they’re shaking. He’s struck with sudden alarm. “ Miss Devin? ” His first instinct is to lift his scarf to look at them, but he opts instead to gently run his fingers over their little form. They flinch. He makes to speak again when the innkeeper reappears, now with a handkerchief covering the lower half of his face.

“ Your bath is ready, sir. ” He takes a step back and gestures a little too eagerly for Arthur to go, which the gunslinger does. Reluctantly. He keeps his hand over Devin as he walks down the hall to the open room. The steam and the smell of soap hits his senses, surprisingly refreshing.

Okay, maybe he did stink. A lot.

After turning down the bathhouse lady’s offer to help, Arthur steps into the room and locks the door behind him. He lifts his scarf––or tries to, when he feels a tug on it.

“ Easy now, Devin. It’s just you n’ me in here, ” he says, voice soft and coaxing. A gentle hand slips around their little form and pulls them away. The borrower clings to his fingers, still shaking. They look around the room, head whipping every which way. “ Hey, hey, hey . . . what’s got you so worked up? ”

“ We’re inside, ” they say, sounding and looking quite distressed.

“ Yeah . . .? ”

“ I––um . . . I haven’t . . . been inside a human building in . . . a long time. The walls . . .. ” They trail off and grip his fingers tighter.

Arthur doesn’t quite understand their distress, but he still feels compelled to try and ease it. His other hand joins, knuckles rubbing lightly against Devin’s arm.

“ Hey now, Miss Devin, ” he says, hoping his voice sounds reassuring, “ nothin’s gonna hurt you. Not in here. Certainly not while I’m around. You trust me, don’t you? ”

For a moment––for just a tiny moment––Arthur regrets asking that question, fearing that the borrower might say that they don’t.

Thankfully, they’re quick to nod their head, dashing that regret and fear, and leaving Arthur with softer, warmer feelings. He smiles and gives their arm another rub.

“ I’ve got you. ”

“ . . . you still stink, ” they say. They still glance about the room nervously, but their shaking eases to a stop. Arthur snorts at the comment.

“ So everyone seems to think. ” He lowers his hands to the side table and sets Devin down. They’re struck with a new sense of alarm at realizing that Arthur can’t hold them while he undresses, and yet another at the fact that he . . . has to . . . undress . . ..

Oh boy.

Devin’s little features gain a pink tint. They turn around just as the gunslinger unbuttons his shirt. Once he starts unbuckling his belt, Arthur realizes that he does, in fact, have an audience. He looks over his shoulder at the borrower, his own cheeks turning a shade of red.

“ Er . . . pardon me, Miss Devin. I don’t mean to make you any more uncomfortable . . .. ”

“ You’re fine–– ” they say with a wave of their hand, body and gaze still turned away from him, “ ––just keep doing what you need to do. I’m okay. ”

Quickly and while trying not to make too much ruckus, Arthur sheds the rest of his clothes. He eases himself into the steaming, sudsy water, sinking down to his chest.

Once Devin is sure that he is in the tub and not so exposed, they cast a hesitant glance his way. He lounges with his head leaned back and eyes closed. They swear he’s flushed in the face, but they’re sure it’s from the heat.

Right. The heat. They must be feeling it too. It’s quite warm and humid in here.

That would explain why they’re pretty flushed themself. Devin looks down at their dress, more in an effort not to look at Arthur than anything else. In doing so, they notice flecks of dirt and grime on their person––both their clothes and their skin. First, they feel exasperated. They just cleaned this dress . . .. Then the fluster comes rushing back to them.

They . . . could at least bathe. This is a bath.

“ Um . . . Arthur . . .? ” Their voice comes out as little more than a faint squeak, but the man catches it nevertheless. He turns his head towards them, brows raised. Devin swallows, trying to alleviate the sudden dryness in their mouth. “ Would you mind if I, um . . .. ” Rather than just say it, the borrower gestures to the tub.

Arthur, bless him, just blinks at them for a moment before he understands. “ Oh. ” Oh. He clears his throat and sits up a little straighter. “ Er––n-no. No, I don’t––you’re more than welcome. There’s plenty of room. ” Oh fuck, his face feels like it’s burning. He shuts his mouth and pointedly looks away when the borrower starts to remove their effects. He doesn’t look back until he hears a soft clearing of the throat, pulling his attention to a bare-skinned Devin. Their clothes sit on the table by their feet, neatly folded. Devin meets his eyes for a split second, then they avert their gaze. Nervously, they fidget with their hands.

Arthur . . . can’t help but stare. He’d assumed that they looked human underneath their clothes, save for their height. And it’s true. They look just like a human. But it still fills him with a sense of awe. They somehow look even smaller naked. . ..

“ It’s, um . . . could you help me? It’s cold like this . . .. ”

Arthur snaps out of his daze, feeling embarrassed for having so blatantly stared at them. He mentally gives himself a good kick. “ Sure. Of course. Here–– ” he shakes one hand free of excess water and lays it down, palm up, on the table next to Devin. Once they settle, Arthur carries them over to the tub and . . . hesitates. He isn’t sure what to do with them.

“ You can just set me down, er . . . on your chest, ” they say. “ If that’s okay. ” Wordlessly the man obliges. Devin steps down onto his bare skin. Beneath their feet, they can feel his heart racing. The heat rising from him feels different on their exposed feet. They dare to look up at his face to see him staring right back at them, the both of them more than a bit red.

This is . . . a little awkward. The last time they’d been naked in front of a human . . .––

No. Arthur is not that man. Arthur is endlessly kind to them. He’d never subject them to cruelty. He’s sweet, and his arms are well muscled, his chest his broad, his thighs, only just visible through the bubbles–––woah there. They stop that thought before it can get them even more flustered, and take a breath to steady themself. They turn towards the boundary where Arthur’s skin meets the water. He’s almost like a living shoreline, they think. The movement of his breathing even simulates waves. They sit down in the water, about waist deep on Arthur’s exhale, and start to pour it over themself in little handfuls. The warmth coaxes a soft sigh from their lungs.

Arthur finds himself staring once more at the tiny form now sitting on his stomach. Their back and legs and arms share the same, heavy freckling as their face. Perhaps he’s a little enamored, his eyes tracing imaginary constellations in the pigmentation, following the curves of their body.

He always thought that Devin was cute, but, seeing them now, exposed to him, the word beautiful doesn’t do them the proper justice.

As he studies their back, his eyes drift to an irregularity––a break in the freckling that doesn’t quite fit the pattern. It’s a small, blank streak along their right shoulder blade. A scar. He gives in to his compulsion, lifting one hand from the steamy water to lightly trace the pale flesh with the pad of his index finger. Devin stiffens at the contact, sparing him a backwards glance, but doesn’t pull away.

“ That’s old, ” they say, sensing his rising questions. “ Scratched it on a rock, I think. Bad storm had flooding that swept me away. ”

“ And you wonder why I worry when we get heavy rain, ” Arthur chides, though there is no real heat behind his words. “ This one? ” His finger moves to another scar along their left hip.

“ Hmm. A fight, probably. Don’t remember which one. ”

“ You have enough fights under your belt that you don’t remember ‘em all? ”

Devin looks back to Arthur, one brow raised in good humor. It’s expected that he’d underestimate them. “ I get into fights all the time, Arthur. ”

“ With what? ” He cups his hand to support them as he adjusts his position, sitting a bit straighter in the tub. They move with him, settling down in the small pool in the bend of his fingers, where they continue to wash.

“ Rats. Bugs. Lizards. Snakes. Sometimes bigger things like cats and raccoons and foxes. Anything that would like to make a meal out of me. ” They shrug their shoulders. “ Other borrowers. ”

Arthur was about to question the snakes, but that train of thought derails with their final statement. “ Borrowers? You mean, others like you? ” They nod. “ Why’re you fightin’ your own kind? ”

Devin shrugs again. They turn their body to face him, eyes focused on the water and the washing. “ Usually only when they come near camp. It isn’t very often, mind. But I don’t like when other borrowers get too close. ”

“ You . . . don’t wanna be with other li’l folks like you? ”

They shake their head, lips pursed. “ Some borrowers live together in groups or colonies. I never did. It was always just me and my parents, and then it was just me. Groups are too noisy, too . . . too much of a liability. Besides, I don’t like sharing my resources or my space. ”

The man chuckles, the low sound vibrating through Devin’s bones. It brings another flush to their face. “ We could probably support a few more a’ you, y’know. Not like you take up too much. ”

Devin levels him with a glare, despite their lingering blush. “ Even with your help, I still work hard to make my living. I’m not sharing that. ”

“ Alright, alright, ” Arthur says. He raises his free hand in surrender.

The two fall back into silence. Devin continues to wash themself, scrubbing the grime from their skin and their hair. It’s strange to see the normally fluffy tuft slicked down against their skull. It pulls another chuckle from Arthur, and that, in turn, gets another blush from Devin.

Once they’re finished, they stand and climb up Arthur’s chest. Their little feet and hands tickle along his skin. He goes still until they reach his shoulder, where he gives them a quizzical side-eye.

“ Well? You’re not gonna get clean by just soaking. Come on, Arthur. Get to scrubbing. ”

“ Wh––? Now you’re startin’ to sound like Miss Grimshaw, ” he protests.

“ And you’re starting to smell like a wet dog that died a week ago, ” they retort. “ Get to it, big man. ”

The man groans at the accusation, but he obediently does as told. He starts with the arm opposite of Devin, drawing water up and washing himself down. Then he moves to his chest, and then, carefully, the arm Devin occupies. For the most part, they stay quiet, leaning against his neck. Once he’s scrubbed everything from the collar down, they scamper down to stand on the rim of the tub.

“ Don’t forget your face. And your hair. Phew. ”

Arthur shoots them a look, something between exasperation and offense, but he doesn’t give any more lip. It wouldn’t do him any good if he did. He sits up and brings a few handfuls of water over his head, soaking the dirty blond mess. Devin notes how the water is noticeably cloudier, and sighs with their own exasperation.

Why did they have to grow so attached to a dirty human?

Arthur scrubs his hair, his face, and his neck until Devin is satisfied with his cleanliness, then he settles back into a comfortable lounge. The borrower walks along his arm to reclaim their spot on his shoulder, smiling. He smells much better now.

Their relaxation is interrupted momentarily when someone knocks on the door. Devin quickly darts to hide on his other shoulder, behind his neck. He covers them with a hand just in case. Fortunately, it’s just the bathhouse lady offering to have Arthur’s clothes washed.

“ Yes, ” Devin whispers before Arthur can answer her. “ You can’t put those nasty things back on. ”

Arthur frowns at them, though he can’t see them, and sighs. “ Don’t move, ” he whispers to them, then calls to the lady, “ You can come get ‘em. ”

The door unlocks with a click. The bathhouse lady is quick and polite, offering nothing more than a smile as she slips in to collect Arthur’s soiled clothes. He doesn’t miss how it falters when she gathers them in her arms and catches a whiff of their stink, but she doesn’t say anything, nor does she seem to notice Arthur’s awkward position, hand to his neck. She hurries back out, closing and locking the door behind her. Once he can no longer hear her footsteps, Arthur pulls his hand away from Devin and leans his head back.

“ It’s gonna be late by the time those are dry. We might be stayin’ the night here. ”

Devin tenses. Spending a whole night in a human building does not sound ideal to them, but they can’t forget who they’re with.

They’re with Arthur. Nothing is going to hurt them while he’s around. They trust him.

They lo–– . . ..

They trust him.

Devin huddles closer to Arthur’s neck and lets their eyes drift closed. “ Okay. But can we leave first thing in the morning? These walls make me feel like I’m trapped. ”

Arthur gives a soft, deep laugh. It makes Devin’s heart flutter in their chest. “ Sure thing, li’l miss. First thing tomorrow. ”

But for now, while the water is still warm, the two of them can rest.

#g/t #g/t writing #g/t fiction #arthur morgan #rdr #g/t rdr #devin clarke #hyena ocs #hyena writes #full offense but i Love them & also Adore them #with my Whole Heart

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the-headbop-wraith · 4 years ago

Text

3_45 _ The Past is Gone

Nothing of Kingsman Mechanic’s appeared out of place. A few lights poured clarity across the work floor, but the other rooms and the storage chamber remained inactive. On the main floor, the white and black hound scurried this and that way, struggling to untangle the erratic path.

Arthur raised his legs as Mystery padded by. The dog took a sharp left and continued, first checking the flatbed the intruder skipped over, and then roving toward vehicles parked in stations. Mystery came upon a large and swollen duffle bag, laying beside a supply cart. He pawed at the clunky thing, nipping at the zipper on the side.

Lewis prodded at the sack, shifting it one way then the other cautiously. It was hard and chunky, likely some sort of equipment. The question though, did he bring this in or was he taking it?

A bark form Mystery assured that there was nothing hazardous. Lewis tugged the zipper and tilted his skull.

“You should’ve barbequed the guy,” Vivi grumbled. She moved in beside Lewis and peered over his shoulder. “Skinned and then barbequed.”

“A bit excessive.” Lewis angled his skull up and peered across the room, to Arthur. “Turned him inside out, and then barbequed.”

“Now you’re talking.” She leaned down and touched his hand. “It’ll be okay. Uncle cares a lot about you, but he needs some time to adjust.”

Lewis rasped. “He needs time to adjust.” He didn’t bother to zip up the bag, and stood. “First thing he does is put a hole right through me. Who does that?”

“A protective parent?” Vivi posed. She leaned around Lewis’ side, staring up at him. “Arthur’ll be fine, he’s sore but it’s all aches. He told me nothing in his shoulder was torn or cracked, which is a marvel.” She pushed him by the lower back, coaxing the tall spirit on his way.

Two hours following the intruder’s retreat, Uncle Lance was on his second pot of coffee. In that time, Vivi did her best to reconstruct the events of what transpired all that time in the past, wherein an ‘accident’ occurred. There remained crevices that she could not put description into, due to Lance’s inexperience to the actuals of the Mystery Skulls paranormal investigation. And also, that Lewis’ did not merely loose his footing on some slippery rocks. It wasn’t a good time to bring in the influencing force, or place the ideal that it’s compulsion was strong, if not impossible to fight away. Despite the skewed memory, Vivi was the only candidate to elaborate the details. Lewis was adamant about that.

For the most part, Lance seemed to take it all in as well as anticipated. He did need some time alone to think, and really grapple with what he was seeing. Beyond the revelation that Lewis wasn’t gone – not entirely there, either – the shock that supernatural creatures existed out there, entities that occurred not far from his home base.

As for the intruder in the mask, the trail led outside and down the road. Mystery lost it on the sidewalk, prompting Vivi’s speculation that he got into a vehicle and departed. She returned to Kingsman and checked on Arthur, while Lewis accompanied Mystery in the next search. The motivation and intent of the assault. The bag offered some insight.

“Good news, we figured out what the guy was here for,” Vivi proclaimed, in a strong dramatic whisper.

“And there. I didn’t drop you off someplace. High.” Lewis set the bag down at Arthur’s feet. A look of ‘what the fu—' crossed Vivi’s face when she directed her eyes to Lewis. “You… don’t seem as appreciative as you should be.”

“Lew!”

Arthur fixed the soggy bag of water against his neck. “Sorry. Not surprised, is all. This is the furthest anyone’s got with getting away. At least, that I know of.”

Vivi was aghast. “This has happened before?”

“Not like this.” He flecked his hand upward. “If someone breaks in, they jack shit that’s easy to access. Grab’n go. We store special components upstairs, things that get legs real easy. Whatever’s pricey and small, easy to miss, gets locked up. Only one other guys has the keys, aside from Uncle and me.” He sighed. “Not that this would do anyone any good.” With his hand, he rifled through the duffle. Some folders were crammed in, among the shell and arm shapes.

Lewis shifted and looked away, his thumb stroked the underside of his cheek bone. “Then, could it have been someone working here? One of the grease monkeys?”

Mystery yapped and gave his head a shake, ears flopping.

“Not… likely,” Arthur drawled out. “These models are shells, nothing useful has been incorporated into them. It’s possible the guy grabbed and jammed, if he was in a hurry. But you didn’t run into him upstairs, not in that tiny corridor. So, he was already on his way out.”

The four hung quiet a moment, debating on the assessment. Lewis broke the silence, “So, what does that mean?”

Arthur shrugged. “I’ll go upstairs and check, make sure nothing else is missing. You lost the trail?”

Mystery borked and spun in circles. Got in a car and zoomed.

“And what sort of car?”

Mystery tapped his front paws, raising one and flattening his ears down. “Mhh….”

Lewis and Vivi exchanged a look. Vivi said, “Hangs around a car garage?”

“Can’t distinguish between the different models?” Lewis finished.

Mystery snorted and left them, ears twisted back and muzzled crinkled. All this oil smells the same.

Lewis gestured to Vivi. “There’s not a lot to work with.”

“No.” She turned to Arthur. “Let’s get you upstairs so you can lie down.” Vivi leaned down and took Arthur’s upper arm. Lewis took the bag up and moved aside, while Vivi hefted Arthur off the box. “We can ask Uncle Lance about the cameras later.”

“I’m fine,” Arthur insisted, though he let Vivi aid him in getting upright. Lewis stood by, hand open as if he wanted to assist but wouldn’t move towards Arthur. “Think I was mostly stunned. Good thing these boxes were empty. Anyway, the cameras wouldn’t be much help. Aside from proving the guy was a jerk.”

“Always the optimist,” Lewis crackled. “I doubt they’ll come back around.”

“You sound real proud of yourself,” Vivi quipped, through a grin.

“I really wish you’d seen them. It was like they saw a ghost.” Lewis’ skull swiveled on his collar, and he wound his shoulders around to face the stout figure approaching them.

Lance gave his face a firm rub, before searching the group over. “Don’t mean tu break up teh powwow. Your gunna be okay, Art?”

Arthur grimaced and pulled on the edge of his vest. “I’ve been worse.”

A steely expression crossed Lance’s face, but he didn’t respond on that. “Yuh. Sure. Um, I want to head on over to my place, sleep this off. Might take the rest of the day off.” He pointed to Arthur. “And you’re not comin’ in either.”

“I already had the day off….”

“The whole week, then.”

“Uncle,” he groaned, stretching awkwardly around Vivi to facepalm.

“No. M’words final. You. Ghost Pepper.”

Lewis eye sockets surged with those fuchsia flames. “It’s Lewis, Uncle Lance. Lew-Is.”

Lance swept his arm. “C’mere. I want a word with you.”

A low rattle burned through Lewis. “Juro si este va a ser un tema recurrente….”

Lance led the way through the work floor, and into the dim corridor entrance. The shorter man stood with his arms crossed, glaring at Lewis and trying to look as imposing as he could muster without standing on his toes. Lewis met the stance, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

“Vivi talked with you.”

“She talked with me,” Lance acknowledged, with a nod. “N’it was a good conversation. A lot tu take in. There’s a lot tu… tangle mah thoughts ‘round.” He glanced a little beyond Lewis’ shoulder. “I try not tu pry into your kids… Arthur and Viv-vi’s going on’s. I trusted… ‘em, despite whut happened to m’boy. Tu yu.”

Lewis creaked back and looked away.

Lance went on, “I thought stayin’ busy an’ doin’ their thing was right. But now, I dunno if that was what bein’ best for ‘em. She told me what ya’ll been preoccupied with, but there bein’ more she ain’t willing tu give over. All this time, I thought yu were out on the road, unmasking kooky loonies playin’ pretend. Fakes doin’ shenanigans for publicity, tryin’ to shirk a profit.”

For a minute the two stood, quiet and contemplative on the crossroads. It was not total silence, a steady thrum persisted from Lewis. Like a heartbeat, Lance was not eager to address.

“And what’s this about Arthur comin’ home, with his arm all beat tu heck?” Lance snarled. “First, he loses it. Now it’s cursed, and he can’t – he can’t furbish a replacement to make use. Keep it functional for more than… a couple months! Yu’re adults, and ya’ll got yur business tu work through, but do yu lot got yur priorities squared?”

Lewis frowned. “You’d have to take that up with the boss lady.”

Lance pressed his hands to his face and took a deep breath. “Yu and I are talkin’ it now.” He pried his hands from his face and held his palms together, against his nose.

For the first time, Lewis realized Lance’s hands were quaking. It was subtle, maybe he didn’t realize it. The stillness hung between them, while Lance struggled to get his bearings.

“Somethin’ happened between you an’ Art, I’ve seen enough tu conclude that.” Lance sighed. “Yu won’t e-Lab-or-ate on it, an’ that’s all right. It’s your business. But yu should know I am downright upset I wasn’t told about this.”

Lewis tilted his skull. “About… what?”

“About what?” he exploded. “About… everything! All of this! I deserved tu know something, any small scrap that wasn’t a lie! A bit of the truth, that’s all I ask. I can’t be there for Arthur,if he’s hidin’ away!” Lance threw his arms up gesturing nothing in particular, his breath came labored and his brow beaded with droplets. “About yu! I should’ve in the least, been told yu’d… resurfaced, or sumthin’! Whatever y’all call it. Do your parents kn—?”

“NO!” For the first time Lewis’ features snapped from gnawing fury, to wide eyed horror. “No-no! They can’t! And you can’t tell them!”

Perplexed and alarmed, Lance eased back. “Okay. I got it.” The light of the corridor fluttered, the embers in Lewis’ skull flashed.

“They can’t know about me, about what I— About what happened. Please, Uncle Lance,” Lewis rasped, the remnants of his speech drew on a rustling surge. The spirit clasped his hands together. “There’s only one thing I will ever-ever ask of you, and it’s that you never speak about what you saw here with anyone, save for Vii and Artie. Please! Don’t do that! I’m begging!”

There was something else that Lewis wasn’t saying, he could scarcely make it out in those gleaming eyes. But the utter desperation and remorse reverberating in that ‘voice’, he couldn’t bear to ask and witness the rush of agony. Lance didn’t understand, but the topic pained Lewis in some undefined way. Or, it could’ve been a trick of the light.

Lance took another step back, hitting the wall behind him. “I hear ya, they won’t… Yu have mah word.” The skull retained its defensive countenance, and he struggled to overlay what a living Lewis might’ve looked like right now.

“They uh… they’re likely waiting on yu. Art and Vii,,” Lance took a work rag from his belt and swept it across his face.. “Lewis, listen. I want to— You’ve always been a good kid.” How did he say this? “I worry abou’ ‘em, and I’m worrin’ more now thinking about… all this. You can’t, I mean – I know I can’t— I don’t want what happen….” There wasn’t a good way to deliver the request, so he gave up in a long-winded sigh.

“I’m headed off now.” Lance moved down the corridor, but only got three steps before he about-faced and marched back. “I did’t park out front.” He inched by Lewis and made it another five steps, then swung back. “It was good seein’ yu again. Yu gunna be around an’—” Before he finished, a flash of flames engulfed the figure and in the curling ash remained nothing but a faint outline. In short time, as Lance’s eyes readjusted, the murky impression faded.

“I’ll take that as a no….”

In the time that Lance took Lewis aside for a short exchange, Arthur had relocated upstairs to his work room where he currently perused through his personal gear and spare parts. When Vivi made certain Arthur would take it easy and not stress, she left to pick up some food for the evening. Given everything that went down, neither was inspired to head back to her apartment and try getting back on track. Work, even casual work stuff, could wait.

“None of the work gear got mucked with,” Arthur mentioned offhand, when Lewis materialized in a plume of heat in the doorway. He lay reclined on the sofa, his head resting on Mystery’s back while his legs sat propped by the arm rest. “Dunno how long the guy was working, since closing. Arms are easy to build, for the most part. But that paranormal stuff is kinda pricey.”

He leaned his head up to see Lewis better, when the spirit glided over behind the couch. The skull and death suit, any number of reasons why. Could’ve forgotten in all the chaos, or didn’t care. “How you holdin’ up?”

“Fantastic,” Lewis wheezed. “I have one fear now.”

That didn’t sound good. Arthur pondered if he should tease the subject further, but given the vibrant tension smoldering around Lewis he decided any other day might work better. He adjusted the new ice bag on his forehead and shut his eyes.

“Why didn’t you just, y’know, disappear? You’re good at that.” He opened his eyes and winced. Lewis was leaning on the couch, glaring down at him.

“Wasn’t really keen on leaving you in the care of your Uncle, regardless of good intentions.” Lewis lifted one arm from the couch and touched the locket thudding on his chest. “Did not expect him to go full Ash Williams with handling threats. Where’s Vivi?”

Mystery woofed.

“You should get some rest while you can,” Lewis offered. “It’d be safe now.”

Something in Lewis’ tone made Arthur leery. “You gunna keep an eye on me?”

“I won’t go anywhere without telling you.”

Mystery twisted his body around enough to nuzzle Arthur’s hair.

“I have a sneaky suspicion I should keep an eye on you.” The glare subsided, but Lewis still seemed peeved. Arthur edged a little away from the spirit, pulling his body more over onto the coffee table. “You’re not planning on going anywhere. Are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Damn it Lewis, I can’t tell if you think you’re being subtle or an ass. Knock it off.” Lewis expression shifted no miniscule way, aside from the faint waver of his burning eyes. Was it possible they looked much hotter than usual? “I’ll update security, put some better locks on the doors – not that it ever stopped thugs from breaking in before.” That’s why Lance had the shotgun. “We can’t go any further. We shouldn’t. And I’m ‘bout done with this.”

“How ‘bout I find this guy anyway?” Lewis stood away from the couch. “A little more inspiration, to assure they won’t even dream of setting foot here, ever again.”

Arthur got off the couch and went over to the boxes of gear, digging through the packing. “What is this fixation you have with revenge? What you’ll wind up doing is, draw too much attention to us. In our hometown no less. Get a grip!”

“My frien—” Lewis let his tone sputter out not too gracefully, and backtracked on the sentence. “You get creamed, I got shot up – I think I’m entitled to invoke a lil retribution.”

Arthur pulled out some equipment and set it carefully aside. Damn, it was tedious doing anything one handed. “You scared him off. That was enough!”

Mystery was glancing back and forth between the two. Where the hell was Vivi?

“It’s not enough,” Lewis hissed. “We’re in a fine fix on account of that-that… delincuente. And I will make certain he never comes back! What are you looking for?”

Arthur dumped one of the energy readers. “Where the heck is Vivi?”

Lewis crossed his arms. “She’d tots be on board with this scheme, and you know it.” Arthur deflated over the box.

“Shit, you’re right.” Lewis leaned over him.

“Tell me what you’re looking for, Arthur.”

Arthur cowered under the shadow. “I’ll tell you one thing, it has nothing to do with you.” Lewis’ eyes burned brighter.

“You’re lying to me, aren’t you?”

Arthur snapped his fingers. “Shoot! Damn. Can’t get one by you, can I?”

Mystery rolled his eyes and face palmed. He bled, for this?

It was not long later that Vivi was standing in the doorway with groceries, beholding as Lewis and Arthur went at each other. She had NO IDEA what was going on, it was the midpoint of some consecutive theme, bouncing around the argument that Arthur was being too passive. For Arthur’s credit, he looked like he was trying to haul Lewis up by the lapels of his death suit. It was quite the sight to walk in on. The scarce traces of embers bristled around the room, and Mystery was trying to keep them from alighting on anything flammable. Anything flammable seemed to be everything.

“—you let that thing into my home. Practically invited it!” Lewis screeched.

“What home?” Arthur snarled. “The mansion?”

“I don’t recall owning costal real estate!”

Vivi took a breath and raised her voice. “Hey, you guys gunna be okay?”

Lewis and Arthur simultaneous spat, “NO!”

She turned to Galahad, bundled in her scarf. “At least they agree on something.”

“You don’t own anything!” Arthur rebuked. “You just haunt some place and—” Lewis pointed down at Arthur.

“Don’t you dare go there, Kingsman.”

In a mad dash, Vivi left Galahad to Mystery and shoved herself between the two, breaking Arthur’s grip on Lewis. “Enough! The both of you can just take two big boy steps away.” Lewis reversed a step due to her full body shoving, but he held his glower on Arthur. “All right, listen! We all had an arguably fucked up evening, but we are not doing this tonight! Both of you! That’ll be enough!” She gave Lewis a harder shove, to dislodge him fully.

“You never had a temper like this!” Arthur snapped back, while Mystery tugged him away by the back of his vest. “The littlest things piss you off. How am I supposed to work around you when you got all these… these barriers, everywhere!” He stamped his foot.

“I’ve been somewhat overheated since my ultimately demise,” Lewis grated, “but I have been trying very-very hard to be very-very-VERRRY patient. All the same, you make that so difficult.”

At least he wasn’t resisting her asserted relocation. “And we are so proud of you,” Vivi snapped. “You’ve been working so hard, hasn’t he Arthur?” She glanced back

Arthur blinked. “Are YOU kidding me!”

“Oh my lor— Hasn’t! He! ARR! THUR!”

Arthur slapped his face. “FINE! The bare minimal, what’s the bare minimal? You didn’t roast Uncle, like you almost roasted me and Vii! I’m so ecstatic! Ya get a Gold Star!”

Lewis shifted against her palms, but seemed to calm down and eased out of leaning. The embers still lingering around the room snuffed out, leaving only the kindling scent. “Yeaah,” Lewis hummed.

There was no way to oppose that. He wouldn’t admit Arthur was right, but he did have a point. It was a lot to deal with, and not a lot of time allocated to process. Though, it wasn’t just getting shot a dozen times and dealing with Uncle Lance all in the same hour; then, the expectation of carrying on, like nothing happened – all of it scorched him. He was a little more than irritated, and he was… afraid. Afraid, when he didn’t reach Arthur in time, and frustrated he didn’t have the foresight to restrain the intruder; more than that, fretful and unsatisfied by what was left. None of this he could convey practically, yet he… he couldn’t hide it either. There was a lot he couldn’t really conceal, ignore, or repress. He could do better, but it was... hard. They didn’t know how hard this was.

The other three went quiet, as well. Arthur hadn’t dropped his hyper-lazer scowl, as if expecting some form of reckless objection – though Lewis was fresh out of those. One of Vivi’s arms remained braced across his chest, though her full-bodied leaning had regressed by multitudes. In the beats preluding his lockets dull thrum, the tension began to ebb.

At last, Lewis broke the silence, “That… would’ve been excessive, yes? He meant well, after all.” The fluorescent light flickered, like the flutter of a heartbeat. “Though not gonna lie,” he hissed, “I was on the fence about socking him.”

Vivi smacked her head against his chest and gave a muffled scream. You could have not said anything!

“It was getting a strong debate. I mean, he shot me like four times.”

“It was fifteen— Wait, I missed that.” Mystery released Arthur’s shirt, and he nearly toppled forward. “Okay. I’m…. I wanna understand, Lew. You and me, and Vivi, we have to talk about this. I don’t want you to do this.”

Vivi brought her gaze up to Lewis. “What? Wait… what is he talking about?” It dawned on her the next second, who could possibly be deserving of a nasty visit. “Artie,” she groaned, “C’mon….”

“Not helping,” he growled.

“Fine,” Lewis grated, ember eyes flashing. “Have it your way.”

Arthur glared, unconvinced. “Lew.”

“Give me the benefit of the doubt,” Lewis beseeched. Without jeopardizing his gaze, he brought a hand up and touched the locket. “I didn’t really believe further involvement on my part was necessary. I’m just… I need some time to think. To… get a grip.”

“Like literally,” Arthur huffed. He cleared his throat and tottered back, when Vivi delivered a scathing glare of her own. “Fine! Done. I’ll sleep better knowing I didn’t have a hand in someone else’s ultimately demise.” He gave Lewis a sharp look, before spinning away.

Lewis stood to the side, gazing off as if he didn’t know what to do now or where to relocate. Vivi pointed a finger, directly into his bleached skull face – warning. His glower did deepen, as she left him to collect the bags left at the threshold.

“Vivi,” his voice was distorted, echoey. “I’m heading back down to look around. When you get the chance, would you come meet me?”

A note of shock crossed Arthur’s features, but upon the direct request the alarm faded. Vivi handed over the bags.

“Sure,” she replied. She plucked Galahad up and set him on the couch, beside Arthur. To Arthur, she whispered, “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“You both are making me so nervous.”

“I won’t be gone long.” She kissed Arthur on the forehead, and set another bag of drinks beside him. “Try and relax, please?”

Arthur took a breath and sighed. “I’ll give you three, before I start losin’ my mind.” He snared Galahad, before he could begin chewing at the supplies.

Before leaving, she charged Mystery with looking after Arthur. She wasn’t confident Arthur was fully out of the woods yet, despite Lewis’ assurance.

The workspace of the garage seemed infinitely more barren and silent, once all the excitement had aired out completely. Uncle Lance would’ve under normal circumstance shut down the lights through the entire building, save for the upper floor. As she crossed the floor, she was almost afraid the place was utterly abandoned. Not that this would matter to her, but Arthur’s distress was cause for concern. The argument between he and Lewis was nearly lost on her, but given the day it didn’t take much to deduce her living friends hesitation.

When she rounded the sportscar, Vivi uttered a squeak of relief. “I thought maybe you’d already taken off.”

Lewis actually maintained his solidity and rotated his skull, then his shoulders, but only a margin. “No. I was thinking.” He was examining the space beside the toolcart, where they located the bag of Arthur’s crafts. A number of orbs bobbed around Lewis, while he contemplated.

“Personally, I would prefer you go after this guy,” she admitted. She stepped up alongside Lewis, and gave the area a brief but mortal search. “But what would that solve?” Vivi wasn’t certain if he was aware the living guise was not restored yet, or if his focus was out of whack.

“Not a lot, I suppose,” he uttered, voice rustling. “I might head over to your apartment, and rest there for a bit.”

She meant to say, ‘You don’t have to, unless you want’. But what came out was, “I don’t think you should.”

“I’ll be well enough. So will Art,” Lewis replied. His skull adjusted, lifting a little higher than anticipated above his crisp white collar. “He and I… well, you saw.” There was something else indistinct to that tone, but it was choppy and a trial to translate. “I’ve never seen him so mad before. Not even on a botched assignment.”

Arthur had many fears, both grand or miniscule threats to his personal being. There were methods to supersede the private terrors which confronted him.

“You gunna be all right?” she posed, while reaching out to his hand. But stopped herself.

“The concern is appreciated, though I don’t think… well, I wouldn’t be in any peril.” Lewis turned fully to Vivi and set his hands on either of her shoulders, he leaned down and set the upper edge of his jaw against her bangs. An endearing skeleton kiss.

Vivi couldn’t help but giggle. “We’ll come by and check on you in the morning.” As Lewis backed away, his shape and color drained out beneath the blazing illumination of the lamps above.

“By then, we should have cooled down.” With a surge of embers, Lewis vanished entirely. His words continued to ring out, however, “No dejes Arthur to worry. He can do with taking better care of himself, for a change.”

Uncertain if Lewis was still present or not, Vivi went ahead and left the area. She called, “I’ll remind him, like usual. It’s a task easier said than done.” The atmosphere was completely palpable, when Lewis abandoned the area completely. Likely due to the anticipation, the sensation of being observed from afar evaporated. She had her suspicions, but she wanted to take Lewis’ word on the matter.

The lights too emptied out of the open airspace of the work floor, when she snapped the switches off. Her course from the entry corridor and to the ascending steps was very lonely, her perception becoming constrained with each set of lamps clicked off. A penetrating silence moved through her, while an overbearing draft kneaded her muscles. Her hand traced the wall with her ascent, each step calculated, cautious should Galahad have made his way down the steps on the behest of his most favorite person.

When she reached the private workroom, she found Arthur already fast asleep. That was good, she reckoned. Both for his bruised body, and the emotional expulsion. Arthur was entirely out cold, his good arm curled beneath his cheek and the muscles in his face relaxed – she could scarcely make out his breathing, until she closed in further. Nestled against his neck, a small ball of puff and metal.

Across Arthur’s folded legs lay Mystery, his bright eyes observed Vivi as she approached. On the ground beside the couch, rested a few crumpled wrappers of junk food and an open can of coffee drink; the caffeine no match to physical or mental exhaustion.

“Tomorrow might not be better than today,” Vivi hummed. She took a rumpled blanket from the couches back and lay it around her friends. “But it’ll deliver us further away. The only constant is that days are relentless, whether we want them or not. Take us on a journey, and though we never can return to once ways.”

She climbed onto the couch, close beside Mystery so she could lean over and scratch his neck. “There’s a place awaiting us, ready to receive the person we became. Indifferent to the changes, next year only wants to see us arrive. Scars aside, hurt and disappointment, blessings all the same. When we arrive, there will be no resentment. Celebrate who we are, and mourn the loss of who we once were. There is no turning back, and no regret, if our steps are steadfast. Survival is an artform, and I’m a masterful composer. The colors I use on my canvas will never dull. No matter how far we travel down the road, at my core I am complete.

Mystery arched his head up and licked at her hand.

“If I wasn’t, my world would crumble. Without you, the bridges fail. And the peril will never end, without you. Without you, there’s no place like home. No where to go. Without you I’d lose my way, caught up in the shadows of long-lost days.”

In the stillness of the small workroom, Vivi drifted off into a deep slumber. Perhaps assisted, perhaps not. One aspect was for certain, as it became a certainty that Vivi was well and asleep, the light of the room doused completely. The door creaked on its hinges, as an imposing silhouette eased back trailing a rose tinged vapor of light.

#mystery skulls #ghost #mystery skulls animated #msa #fanfic #fanfiction #mystery skulls fanfic #mystery skulls fanfiction #msa lewis #msa vivi #msa arthur #msa mystery #msa lance #ghost pepper

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luvargas · 3 years ago

Photo

i think i just saw LUCILA “ LU ” VARGAS ride by on a golf cart . at least i think it was her . after all , CREDIT IN THE STRAIGHT WORLD BY HOLE was blasting on the transistor radio . maybe she was on her way to work , i hear she’s a PERSONAL TRAINER . but she totally could have been on her way to SNEAK IN A SMOKE AT THE GARDEN . guess we’ll never know . you’ll definitely know its her when you see LOOSE AND TANGLED HAND WRAPS , BUTTON BADGES ON VEGAN LEATHER , AND HEAR THE SHRILL SOUND OF BICKERING around the country club . let’s just hope she stays off the green after hours or else the sprinklers will get her !

( new muse, messy thoughts, u get the gist. pls know the views of this chara do not reflect my own. the name’s katya, 21, she/her pronouns & im ready 2 party. feel free to hmu wnvr or drop a like to plot n ill com 2 u ! x — oh n pls be a pal n read this quick disclaimer. tysm ! )

BASICS

24 years old

15 april 1997

5′1″ or 1.55m tall

bisexual cis woman, she/her

aries sun, aqua moon, and aqua rising

love languages : quality time & acts of service

BIO POINTS

kid o’ divorce, lived w her ma in chicago til she was 6 then w her dad in highlands til 14 then back to her ma !

def a daddys gorl. so used to her white pop’s leniency that livin w her strict latina ma durin her teen yrs was So Not Her Vibe ergo * cue her rebel grrrl phase *

did not finish hs ! left senior yr 2 to go w her “ radically progressive ” college bf to [ insert dev country. ] they broke up after a few mos but she kept at that life for a couple more yrs

seen some places. lived in new countries. done some shit. some good, some sus, but all generally well-intentioned. tis a whole thing but u get the gist, nywy !

lu’s back in da usa by 21. rel w the ma is strained but the pa is chill w stuff, they kept in touch. he said shell get her college fund if she gets her ged so she does !

her dad is v active n stuff so shes just always been v sporty w him. lu turnin 23 w zilch plans worried him so he implored her to get certified as a personal trainer ! n when she did, he called in a few favors w a pal he knows et voilà ! ur hired.

LU AT WORK

shes been workin at the country club fr a little over a yr now. most her clients are influencer-type gals n they luv her bc shes can take rlly cute pics n stuff for content. lu sorta likes some of em n she fakes the rest for the bread. u can bet she clowns all em richies behind their back

unless she got clients, catch her runnin’ about the club n minglin’ w the other workers. does it annoy mngmt ? yes. n she luvs that. but bc her soon-2-b-karen clients luv her n wont stand for her bein booted, she can milk that impunity

actually knows her shit n lowkey rlly enjoys the work. she picked back up the boxing n tae kwon do she did when she was younger plus she was always in the track team at school. v healthy lifestyle save for her smokin vice n the party moments

PERSONALITY

passionate ! has lotsa opinions. helluva a drama queen, bit of a loud mouth, argumentative n stubborn but her heart’s in the right place, albeit a lil misguided. comes w the whole activist bit, bitin her tongue just aint it. highkey makes everythin political n smtms gotta realize .,.,. it just aint that deep chief. some say shes needlessly defiant, but maybe thats a in the beholder typa thing ? fingers crossed 4 lu’s sake

fun, fun, fun ! can be real naggy but shes no buzzkill. wannabe anarchist-slash-mutineer who wants 2 stick it 2 the man ! get rowdy go crazy

fight, fight, fight ! goin back to the first bit, she talks big. esp w like ,, men n the whites lol. she can actually walk her threats tho she isnt actually violent. w arguments, she likes to start em but finishin is ... ruff. also any dare, she wont back down in either doin it or arguin why doin it wld be smth-ist. shes not the sharpest tool ok rip lu

loyal legend ! fr her friends n buds, shell turn a blind eye. pals r the only exception ! truly ride or die n will do errthng 4 em. v much a believer in the power of community n ppl needin ppl or wtvr, yk, all that stuff. shes mouthy but like, she helps ppl

here’s a brief blurb n a more coherent look into lu as a character

TIDBITS

lu can understand spanish but hers is a bit broken, tis her secret shame shhh

she doesn’t believe in the institution. any institution. u name it, shes got beef

pls dont fact check her she cant hear u

probs lowkey thinks shes better than u bc shes vegan

prefers 2 be called “ lu ” n ny1 who insists on lucila is dead 2 her

comments abt her not lookin like a pt w her height n frame will result in an earful n a dramatic outburst. it aint worth it chief

watches lotsa sports w her pops. mostly indiv ones. mma, boxing, tennis, track, etc

dont ask me abt her principles n politics, i cant explain em either. v inconsistent n just messy at this point tbh but here’s a lil attempt ig

she drives a 2018 prius n lives in a p nice 1br apt outside the club

her mom’s middle class n her dad is almost upper-middle class. he isnt a member of the club but, like ,,, he cld be if he wanted to lol. he spoils her sm while she hasnt rlly Spoken to her mom besides civility, rip they both stubborn, tis a vargas thing

she is v much in a comfy position money-wise n dsnt hav much Need to hustle but sis does hav a couple of organizations she regularly sends some dough to so thats nice ig

she went fr grassroots activist to a veteran twitter/tumblr/reddit/wtvr ranter n a change.org gofundme petition regular. is it burnout ? is she ok ? honestly who knows

WANTED CONNECTIONS / TAKEN CONNECTIONS

found family ! pals n squad wanted. y’all gotta hav patience or ear plugs to power thru her self-indulgent mini-rants but shell luv ya back tenfold !

carpool buds ? cld be a pal ! or maybe yall had a lil argument or small beef but lu still drives ym bc her pride ? said mother earth first even tho the tension n silly drama is funny

homies to smoochies ! just sum nsa makin out. cld be pals, cld be flirty, idk, but if u wanna kiss her shes probs ok w that

smoke bud ! just sum1 thats her go-to 2 smoke w on her breaks. knows not to call her out on how its not healthy fr a trainer yada yada she knows ok. let her live

an ex ? idk yet shes not rlly datey but thats out there

crushes ! this bitch hot but does she know how to flirt ? not rlly. watch her fumble

debate club ! aka sum1 she bickers w relentlessly. its valid, sum1 fite her. r u a worker or a club member ? either works. its a whole club bc she can have tons, lu can be hella annoying n testy

clients ! self-explanatory. do they get along tho ? lets find out !

( im officially braindead now but if y’all got more ideas or think theres smth lu wld fit just lmk !!! down 4 wtvr, wld luv 2 hash it out w yall <3 )

#highlandsintro

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teruthecreator · 4 years ago

Text

Red Lines, Blue Hearts

hi friends! remember how i keep saying i’m going to write something, and then i do anything but? today’s “anything but” is brought to you by this epic and emotionally laboring art by matt (@accesscodex), as well as his chaos!fitzroy au which injures my soul. i don’t feel like putting this on ao3 but!! my ao3 is always available if you would like to see my other graduation crimes.

reblogs > likes and i hope y’all enjoy!!!

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The first thing Fitzroy sees when his body is released from Chaos’ grasp is red.

Pinkish-red scars litter nearly every inch of his body, permanent reminders of the power he let consume him. Some follow the pathway of his veins, like the ones on his legs. Others are large patches that once revealed the pearlescent skin Chaos manifested underneath, like on his face and back. There are a few that look to be a result from fighting, puncture marks or slashes in odd spots across every plane of skin. Along with the dull pain that persists for weeks after, they leave Fitzroy feeling mangled and ugly. Like a porcelain doll shattered by a rowdy child, glued back together but never looking quite the way it once did.

His friends have done a good job keeping his mind off the changes. Rainer comes over every week to repaint his nails and catch him up on what’s happening outside the safety of his room. She always extends the offer for him to meet at her place, but he always refuses. The wounds of what he did under the control of Chaos are still too fresh, and he’d rather spend months in solitude than force the people around him to relive through any of the destruction he caused.

Buckminster and Leon (now restored to his human form) also visit with new cloaks and waistcoats for Fitzroy to try on; the excuse being they accidentally bought a size too small or large, even when the garments look ill-fitting for the pair at a glance. The brothers will then sit on Fitzroy’s bed and demand a fashion show, Leon politely clapping as Buckminster narrates each outfit with overabundant dramatics. They never ask for anything in return, nor will they accept the gold Fitzroy shoves into their hand each time.

“It’s what friends are for!” Buckminster will say, patting Fitzroy on the back heartily (yet gently, so as to prevent any flare-ups of pain).

Althea Song stopped by once, meekly peeking into Fitzroy’s room with a large bag in hand. He later found out the bag contained a number of hair and skin products for people with sensitivities. They spent the next hour smelling lotion scents and talking self-care. Admittedly, Fitzroy had pretty much stopped both his hair and skin routine after his faculties returned to him; the thought of even staring at himself in the mirror for that long gave him the shivers. So it was nice to have an excuse to start trying to mend the damages done to his body, even if he had to cover his mirror for the time being. At the end of her visit, Althea nervously extended her arms for a hug, which Fitzroy hesitantly allowed. The moment was a little tense, but overall nice. Althea murmured some encouragement that was lost to Fitzroy, who was too in his head to hear.

Althea smelled of maple and charcoal. Just like his mother.

It is a few days after this visit that Fitzroy sees something else, something he lost in all the constant red lines and marks.

Blue roses, delicately painted along the skin of his left wrist. Marred by two lines of red, crossing out the pristine image permanently.

The sight broke Fitzroy’s heart in twain.

The tattoo was, admittedly, a bit of an impulsive decision. After spending nearly every day with the other two Thundermen, the roses on Argo’s right arm became a bit of a focal point for Fitzroy’s dazed stares. There were...quite a few reasons why his gaze always seemed to drift to the genasi, as loathe as Fitzroy was to admit to that, at first. But the roses were different; they were beautiful, matching Argo’s complexion perfectly and complimenting the rest of the art painted up that arm. After a while, the flower became synonymous with Argo. Fitzroy would pass by a rosebush and suddenly images of Argo’s sharp-toothed smile would flash through his head. He would smell rosewater and hear Argo’s boisterous laugh echo through his skull. The two became intertwined--land and sea, beauty and beauty.

So, when Rhodes invited him to New Hope to touch up one of her forearm tattoos, he felt compelled to get the roses. It was only after the deed was done--artist paid, skin wrapped in a tight plastic, and instructions handed to him on how to care for the new ink--that Fitzroy realized how weird this was. Him and Argo weren’t even an item, yet!

Not that they would be, or that Fitzroy even wanted them to, but--

You know what? Never mind.

He couldn’t hide the tattoo forever, at the very least. The topic would have to be breached. Would Argo be offended that Fitzroy copied his tattoo without asking? Would he feel weird that they technically have matching tattoos? Would he...like it? Would he find it sweet or endearing that Fitzroy thought of him so much he wanted a tattoo to match?

After two weeks of hiding it and a week of teasing from Rainer (after she saw it during one of their study sessions), Fitzroy randomly showed it to Argo. He attempted to not be weird about it--simply rolling up his sleeves while he did homework with Argo in their common area--but Argo only noticed after a handful of dramatic coughs and awkward arm movements on Fitzroy’s end. Once he saw it, though, his eyes lit up with delight. He immediately reached out to grab Fitzroy’s wrist, leaning across the table to admire the artistry on his skin. The contact lit a fire in the pit of Fitzroy’s gut; a fire that continued to burn for months after.

A fire that doused in the wake of seeing his roses ruined.

Instinct overrides rational thought as Fitzroy stands up from his bed, maimed wrist planted firmly at his side to hide the truth from his eyes. His legs carry him to Argo’s room, who was in bed studying. Argo’s head shoots up just as Fitzroy’s body leans and collapses into the embrace of the genasi. The tears unconsciously streaming down his face continue to fall as Argo’s arms come to envelop him.

“F-Fitz? What’s goin’ on?” Argo asks, his voice gentle but concerned. Fitzroy hiccups a few sobs, feeling weak and helpless and utterly broken, as he leans back to show Argo his wrist. It takes a second for Argo to pinpoint the problem, but once he does he lets out a soft, “Oh.”

“I-It’s broken,” Fitzroy whimpers, leaning his head onto Argo’s right shoulder. “I-I ruin--ruined i-it!”

“Aw, no, hey,” Argo says, gently carding through Fitzroy’s platinum locks. “This isn’t your fault.” Fitzroy stubbornly shakes his head, face still pressed into Argo’s shoulder.

“Y-Yes it is because I a-allowed them to do this to m-me.” Fitzroy’s voice warbles with his cries. “I-I wanted p-power, and they knew that, and th-they used me to g-get what they wanted because I didn’t stop them. A-And then they hurt you, and Master Firbolg, a-and Rainer, and the school, and the town, a-and nearly the world if--if you hadn't stopped them.” Every point of contact with the rogue is both a soothing salve and a knife to his skin. He burns with the broken, defeated rage of man with nothing. “A-And they’ve broken me, Argo! I--I can never return to normal, I can never be who I o-once was, I-I’m ruined!”

“Hey!” Argo’s voice is stern, yet his touch is gentle as he pulls Fitzroy’s head off his shoulder to look him in the eye. It’s then Fitzroy can see the glimmer of tears in Argo’s eyes, along with the scattered lines of light-blue permanently streaked across his face. He moves the hand holding Fitzroy’s head to gently rub along his wrist, the other still firmly wrapped around his waist. Fitzroy’s mind unhelpfully provides only one thought: He’s beautiful.

“‘M not gonna sit here and let ya kick yourself while yer already down, alright?” he continues. “I know this is all really...really hard for you t’handle. You spent--gods, felt like years, but was really only a couple’a months under Chaos’s control. And, yeah, things did get massively fucked because of that. But...But that wasn’t you!”

“I-It was, though--”

“--Will you let me finish?” Argo stares at Fitzroy until he sheepishly nods. “Thank you. What I was sayin’ was that the destruction wasn’t you! It was Chaos--they had most of the control of yer body during that time! And, sure, maybe you did allow them a little access in the beginning because y’wanted power. I-I get that, though! You...You didn’t have the nicest childhood. You’ve been constantly pushed down and made to feel lesser--so have I, if I’ll be honest. It’s a natural reaction to wanna get some power in return, to finally get what’s yours, as the saying goes. B-But you didn’t ask to be hurt like this. You didn’t ask to hurt me! Or anyone else! It just...it just happened. And we gotta just start...tryin’ to move beyond it, I guess. Not really a ‘live and let live’ situation, but more of a… ‘you got hurt and so did I, so let’s just try and move on together’ sorta thing...Y’get what I’m saying to ya, Fitzroy?” He carefully pulls Fitzroy’s wrist up and closer to his face so Fitzroy can see.

“Yer not broken, Fitz. This,” he gently shakes Fitzroy’s arm to emphasize, “isn’t ruined. It’s just...new! A different take on life! A different take on art! But yer still you, Fitzroy, even with all the new. I still...I-I still think you’re gorgeous, if I’m, uh, bein’ honest. You, uh, always have been...to me…” The genasi’s cheeks flush as he breaks eye contact, bashfully looking towards the floor as the words flood Fitzroy’s head. It seems so silly--the smallest, most asinine fact out of Argo’s whole speech--but hearing Argo call him gorgeous makes the burning rage within turn to a melty, gooey, warm mass of fondness.

“I...Thank you, Argo.” Fitzroy mutters, feeling his own blush start to climb up his face. “You, uh, you’ve always been...there for me. H-Helping me. And I, uh...truthfully, I do not know where I’d be if it was not for you and your kindness, and humor, and cunning...ness. And...you’re, uh...I-I think you’re handsome, as well.” The last part he’s barely able to get out of his mouth, but Argo still hears it because he looks back to Fitzroy. The half-elf smiles nervously and shrugs. “I...thought I made that obvious on several occasions, but, uh. I’ve always thought you were handsome.”

Fitzroy and Argo’s relationship has been difficult to understand, to say the least. The two have been dancing intricate circles around the truth of their feelings for so long it feels almost like instinct. Yet, despite their hesitations, the pair have been drawing ever closer in their rotations. Now, in this moment--their bodies pressed close together, their hearts beating in unison--it’s natural what happens next.

Argo smiles, full and big, and leans down to press a kiss to Fitzroy’s wrist. And Fitzroy, lost in the sensation, makes no move to pull away.

They spend the rest of the day in this embrace, sharing few words and even fewer kisses. When the Firbolg finds them later that night, he smiles softly at the two wrapped in each other’s arms and quietly heads to his leaf bed.

And when Fitzroy wakes that next morning, the first thing he sees is blue. Beautiful, beautiful blue.

#taz graduation #maplekeene #taz grad #taz fitzroy #taz argo #sir fitzroy maplecourt #argonaut keene #taz sir fitzroy maplecourt #taz argo keene #ignorance cloud on #chaos!fitzroy au #accesscodex

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chilvanakin · 4 years ago

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If I had to remember how it started, I would have to replay the flashback of being told that when I became obese at 15, that I couldn’t “come crying”. I was 8 when my dad told me this. Afterwards, I had this increasing feeling of being in the wrong body, like I had been misplaced at birth and was suddenly realizing it. I looked around at everyone else, having fun and enjoying their childhood while I compared me to them. I compared me to my best friend who I often I asked, “why can’t I look like you?”

I felt misplaced in a body that was my own, always had been, because someone else told me I was. How do you teach an 8 year old to go on a diet? I loved food, I was a picky eater but aren’t we all at that age? So how do you tell them that they need to change and that they don’t look pretty enough without traumatizing them? My dad now reafirms that he only said that to me because he wanted me to have high self esteem. He wanted me to “take care of myself”.

I developed anorexia at 14. I became obsessed with diet culture, “clean” eating, and exercising until I colapsed. I used my notebooks for tracking my daily intake and writing hateful messages to myself. I would motivate myself through my own hatred. Slowly, I decreased my meals until they weren’t even meals anymore. I thought I was being “healthy” by going on 3 to 4 day fasts, thinking that the kiwi I had before I began was enough. Newsflash, it wasn’t. But I continued.

My family situation got complex during this time. My parents were separated and I felt alone. I distanced myself from my friends and I had also stopped going to school. Everytime I talked to my dad through Skype, he would comment on how I was too thin. Amazingly so, I thought he was complimenting me. I got more and more obsessed, the loss of my period and hair became my motivation. The internet was my best friend because I read all about the “tips & tricks” of starving. I was tired, lonely, cold and angry. I had no patience and I was insufferable. This is what being malnourished will do to you.

After months and months of these rituals that and rules that seemed like an endless of “how to die in 10 days”, I tried to recover. How? By getting into fitness. I did Insanity while I was recovering, which was bullshit because that is NOT recovery. I didn’t challenge myself, I didn’t give my body time to rest- I exercised every day, I underfed and I normalized exhaustion. I was terrified of chocolate, processed foods and fats. The thought of putting on weight became a source of nightmares, LITERALLY. I would have NIGHTMARES about looking down at my body and seeing fat start to accumulate over my bones. Somehow, I thought that since I was exercising and eating more than my standard oatmeal and toast, that I was recovered.

I went to live with my father at 15. I feel like this decision shaped me as a person because I was forced to grow up way too fast. I made choices that no one should make a 15 year old make. At this point in time, I had put on weight and I was no longer exercising. My dad had a baby with this girlfriend of the time and all I wanted to do was be with my new baby brother. I didn’t think about food or dieting because I felt like somehow, watching him eat made me be at peace with food. My baby brother was growing and being nourished by the food we gave him and I wanted to make sure he was never hungry. It made me feel so happy to watch him laugh and wobble his way over to his mom for lunch time. I loved seeing him nibbling with a toothless mouth on a soft cookie, and offering the slobbered leftovers to me. That all stopped very suddenly, because my dad would start to make comments. Not only him, but his girlfriend too. Comments about how I was “eating too much” and how I “would look better if I was smaller”. I was experiencing extreme hunger when I moved in with my dad, because I had stopped exercising and my body no longer was focusing the energy on repairing my muscles, it was focusing on repairing me as a whole. I HAD to eat a lot because I needed to be healthy again. This was thrown completely out of the window and I caved into my disordered brain again. I felt almost grateful to them for motivating me to start losing weight again because I thought that it meant that they cared. So the food rules started again. It’s just that this time I didn’t need to learn the tips and tricks, I already knew them. Losing weight was easier now, and faster. So 2013 was the year I dedicated to my disorder. I restricted long enough that my hunger cues began to fade away. I thought that my body had gotten used to what I was eating. A green apple in the morning, some lettuce leaves and half a red bell pepper for lunch, and a single serving of prepackaged soup at night. My brain stopped screaming at me and I stopped thinking. I was reduced to being a zombie of my disorder. I stopped singing, I stopped writing, I stopped making art. I never cried, I laughed only when I was around other people. My body felt numb. I felt numb.

I remember taking showers and watching as day by day the fur growing all over my bones got longer and longer. I later found out that this is called “lanuga” which happens when you have lost an extreme amount of fat and your body reacts as an attempt at survival by growing these hairs, desperately trying to protect you. I felt tired, I couldn’t carry my baby brother anymore. He would ask me to hold him and I would try, but be very afraid of dropping him so I would have to refuse. I remember how upset he looked, we were so close. He loved being with me but I was so scared of him watching me do these things to myself. What if he learned from me? What if my actions stayed in his subconscious? I tried putting distance between us because of my fears. I hate myself for that because I miss him so much now, I miss the days we would spend and the naps we would take. I can’t take back that time.

We went to the doctor because I now, was at the brink of death. Truly I wish that I could say I’m being dramatic about that, but I’m not. My heart was weak and I could barely move. I was no longer sleeping and even sitting down hurt. My bones felt like knives crushing into my skin. I learned that I was at risk of heart failure and if I didn’t start recovering now, the next step would be having a tube thrusted down my throat. Force feeding. I couldn’t ever let that happen so I decided to once again, embarc on a lonely recovery path. As soon as I left the doctors, I told my dad to buy me chocolate. In response, he was annoyed. He thought that I was going to use my “verge of death illness” as an excuse to get obese. I cannot make this up y’all. He didn’t buy me shit and barked at me about how “you can eat at home”. Please, if anyone you know is going through restrictive eating disorder and they say they want chocolate- BUY THEM THE FUCKING CHOCOLATE!

I began refeeding and it was the most difficult thing I had ever done in my life. I couldn’t stomach food. I would eat and instantly have diarrhea. I had to have baby sized portions of food to be able to hold it down. This caused my weight to drop more, so I was now at the point where I actually did need to be hospitalized. I was afraid that I was going to die at any given point of the day. My dad once told me that “just because you have to start eating again doesn’t mean you can get as fat as you used to be”. I cried. This was the first time I had cried in so long. My numbed down feelings reflourished. The hate, the anger, the sadness I bottled up began overflowing. I didn’t stop eating, I gave myself the time I had to so I could stabilize myself. I was sent to go spend a few months with my dad’s girlfriend’s family. I barely knew these people, but they couldn’t handle me being this sick anymore. They didn’t want me. I was a bad influence to my brother. I was hurting them. My dad would have hated me if I told him I needed to be in the hospital, because that’s too much money so this was the easy way out. I guess if I needed to be hospitalized while I was there, it wouldn’t have to come out of his pocket.

I hated being away from my baby brother. I hated acting happy all the time when I was so depressed and furious. I tried making friends during my time away and all of them idolized my sick body. They asked me how I got to that point. I remember telling them I was sick, that I had to eat. They made me feel like that wasn’t neccesary, that I looked like a model. I ate anyway. I couldn’t go back home and still be sick, that would mean that I would be hated by them and maybe even have to leave home.

After a few months I gained some weight. I went back home. I asked my dad’s girlfriend if I was “fine now”, as in “am I not scary anymore”. She said I still looked very thin, but that it was fine. She told me not to go overboard. This meant “DO. NOT. GET. FAT.”

My dad and his girlfriend separated after a year and a half of my recovery. This whole period was very stressful since I was left alone with my dad. I was weight restored and I found some kind of peace with having no peace. I lived with the comments as a daily thing. “Don’t eat that, why don’t you do some arm exercises, you don’t really want that, why don’t those pants fit you anymore.” I got used to feeling foreign in my body. So being extremely malnourished was bad, bein inbetween wasn’t good enough and being restored to my set weight was just awful. I had no idea who I was or what I was supposed to be. I hated myself and I got used to that.

I am now 23 years old and I relapsed a few months ago. I understand now that I was never recovered. I was begging for help for years, but I got irritation and annoyance as a response. I never stopped having food rules, I never stopped being afraid of food. I cannot recover until my brain is completely rewired. I have to eat. I have to lose my fear around food. I have to HATE my disorder and push it out of every one of my pores until I am completely cleansed of it. I remember reading about how “this disorder never leaves you and you will always struggle with it”. I believed that for so long. I believed that I was never going to stop being afraid. I’m tired of feeling comfortable with my anorexia when it has ruined me to the point of feeling completely astranged from my body. I want to know who I am and not hate myself for it. I can’t recover fully until I rewire myself. Keep this with you. You cannot believe you are recovered just because some doctor tells you that you are weight restored. Your food rules need to disappear competely, you need to challenge yourself even if it terrifies you. I am so afraid, but I don’t ever want to go down this disordered path again. I want to spend time with the people that love me and not let anything get in my way. I am young and I am smart. So are you. Eat your fears.

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randomfandomfamily · 5 years ago

Note

I raise you one higher: polyspace

—

Oh my god, I finally found this prompt! I lost this ages ago, and I’m so glad I found it, because I have been writing this for forever. I am so sorry this took so long.

On a different note, have I ever mentioned how much I live for insecure Gary? Because I think I’ve mentioned it before, but I don’t remember. Anyhoo, I live for insecure Gary.

Gary hated how he looked. And he hated that he hated it. He didn’t used to, but that was before he had people to impress.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been looking at it as trying to impress Quinn and Avocato. But what the hell was he supposed to think? They were both pretty much perfect in every way. And here he was with a tangled mess of blond hair, his skin pale from lack of real exposure to sunlight, covered in scars, complete with a metal freaking arm.

So maybe he wasn’t the shining example of body positivity. It was easier to fake confidence back when he knew Avocato wasn’t looking. But now there was a very strong possibility that Avocato and Quinn might see him shirtless. Because… that was how intimacy worked?

A knock on his door made him jump. “Hey, Gary? You gotta minute?”

Shit. Avocato. “No! I mean, yes! I… hold on!” Gary started to pull his shirt over his head.

“Everything okay?”

Gary realized his shirt was backwards and slipped it back off. “Yeah, I’m good! I’m just uh… having trouble with this… thing.” The long sleeves of his shirt had gotten twisted around his arms and he was struggling to pull them out again.

“Do you need help?”

“No!” Gary managed to pull one of his arms free, the force of it throwing his hand into the wall. “Ow! Freaking crap!” He pulled off his other sleeve and turned the shirt around.

“Gary? Are you okay?” The door started to slide open, and Gary immediately panicked. He covered the front of his torso with his shirt, since he wouldn’t have time to put it on, and hoped Avocato didn’t ask.

His boyfriend looked him up and down. “Okay, I’ll bite. What happened? Wrestling match with your shirt?”

Gary laughed in a way he hoped didn’t come off as nervous. “That’s ridiculous Avocato. And even if it were true, we both know the shirt started it.

Avocato tilted his head. “Why you covering yourself like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like,” He gestured to Gary’s awkward stance. “That.”

“Um…”

Avocato took a step towards him. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No! No, I’d tell you if I was.” Gary twisted his shirt in his hands, hating that he didn’t put it on correctly the first time. “I’m just… you know…”

“Don’t tell me you’re self-conscious,” Avocato said in disbelief. “You literally ran around naked on the Galaxy One.”

Gary felt his face heat up. “Well, you weren’t looking then!”

Avocato felt like he’d been dropped into some alternate dimension. He was so used to seeing Gary dance around the ship like an idiot that he hadn’t considered that the guy might not be one hundred percent totally confident with the way he looked.

He tempted another step forward, earning him a step back from Gary. “Baby, come on.”

“No.”

“Gary-”

“No.” Gary took another step back, looking almost panicked.

Avocato lifted his paws placatingly. “Okay.” Gary seemed to relax a bit. “You’re really nervous about this?”

Gary glanced away. “Well, yeah, I mean… you and Quinn are, like, insanely attractive. And then I look at me and it’s just-”

“Dude, shut the hell up right now.” Avocato felt bad for interrupting when Gary was clearly pouring his heart out, but there was no way he was going to let his boyfriend continue telling himself these lies. “Do you have any idea what you look like to me and Quinn?”

He blinked, clutching his shirt tighter. “A scrawny blond that talks too much.”

The answer was so immediate, it took Avocato by surprise. Reinforcements were going to have to be called for this one. He looked up to the ceiling. “AVA, can you find Quinn, please?”

Gary’s eyes widened. “What?! Avocato-”

“I’m gonna turn around, okay? Go ahead and put on your shirt.” He turned to face the door, a quiet rustling told him that Gary was in a rush to have himself covered. “You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Avocato turned back around and walked across the room, sitting down on Gary’s bed. “Sit down with me, okay?” Gary joined him reluctantly, still looking embarrassed. “What in the hell made you think all that?”

“Uh… because it’s true?”

“Says who?” Avocato put his hands over Gary’s. “Seriously, who? Because I will fight them Gary.”

Gary cracked a smile. “Avo.”

“They will feel my wrath, Gary. I fear no one.” Gary’s laugh made him lose the protective boyfriend bit. “I can promise you that Quinn and I don’t see you as just some ‘scrawny guy who talks too much’. You think we’d be dating you if we did?”

He shrugged in response. “I dunno.”

“Gary, I couldn’t care less about how you look under that shirt,” Avocato said, “I’m sure it’s just as amazing as the rest of you.”

“Not so great, then.”

Avocato narrowed his eyes. “Gary, I’m going to fight you if you don’t stop that.” A knock on the door made Avocato turn. “Come on in, Quinne.”

Quinn strode in, worry already etched into her features. “What’s wrong? Is he hurt?”

Gary groaned. “Why do you two always assume that?” He paused and twisted the hem of his shirt. “Never mind,” he said bitterly, “I know why.”

Sitting down on the other side of Gary, Quinn put a hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on, Gary?”

“He’s just bein’ a little self-conscious,” Avocato told her. “I’m just trying to give him a little confidence. Figured you could help.”

“Self-conscious.” Quinn looked to Gary in confusion. “You? For what?”

Gary sighed. “Do you two ever look in a mirror?”

Quinn glanced at Avocato. “What is our boyfriend trying to say to me?”

“He’s a bit insecure,” Avocato translated. “Basically he’s afraid that we’ll suddenly find him unattractive and no longer want to be his partners.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Quinn said, “Why would you think that? Did someone say something to you? Do I have someone to fight? ‘Cause I will beat someone’s ass over this.”

Gary threw his hands in the air. “Y’all better quit it! No one’s fighting anybody!”

Quinn took advantage of his moment of frustration to wrap her arms around him. “Alright, alright. No fighting anyone. We promise.”

“Good.” Gary lowered his arms, one of them resting gently on Quinn’s back.

Avocato leaned against Gary’s other side and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Unless we have to.”

Gary rolled his eyes. “That’s about as good as it’s gonna get with you two, isn’t it?”

Quinn glanced up at Gary with a raised eyebrow. “You say that like you wouldn’t fight someone for us. We both know you would.”

“Fair,” Gary conceded. He fell back on the bed, tightening his grip on his two partners so that they were dragged down with him. Quinn yelped, trying to readjust herself before they fell, and Avocato just let himself fall, laughing good-naturedly at Gary’s antics. “Dunno what I did to deserve you two.”

“Gee, I wonder,” Quinn said sarcastically, “It’s not like you spent months gathering Dimensional Keys, freed a Titan, and then ripped a hole in space just so you could get me back.”

“Or helped me save my son, and then took care of him after I died,” Avocato added. “Not to mention you literally broke time to save me.”

Gary felt his face heating up. “Okay you two, knock it off.”

“We would,” Quinn said, “But you’re just too cute when you’re blushing.”

“Stooooop.”

Avocato leaned up to peek at him. “He actually is blushing Quinn, look at this.”

Quinn lifted her head a bit to look. “Awwww, do we have an adorably embarrassed blond in our midst?”

“I think we do.”

“Never mind, I take it back,” Gary muttered. “There will be fighting. I am going to fight you two. I won’t win, but I’ll try.”

They both laughed a bit and settled back down. “Aw, you know we wouldn’t fight you,” Quinn said.

“I mean, you’ve both punched me in the face before. Just saying.”

Avocato shrugged. “In my defense, you were about to walk into lava.”

“And in my defense, you were a criminal,” Quinn added.

Gary paused for a moment. “You know… yeah, I have no arguments.”

Quinn smiled. “Good. Now hush. It’s time for nap.”

“We can’t nap, what about the kids?”

“I put Sheryl in charge.”

“… Quinn, my mother does not children.”

Avocato hugged both of them tighter. “I also vote nap. Tribore and HUE can take care of things for a while.”

“Wha- no!” Gary attempted to sit up, but Quinn rolled over so that she was half laying on him. And the bear hug from Avocato wasn’t helping. “Guys!”

“Surrender,” Avocato said, “You shall not defeat us.”

Gary groaned. “Why do you do this to me?”

Quinn pecked him on the cheek. “Because you were feeling insecure and needed a little love and reassurance.”

“Both of which we are happy to provide,” Avocato added. “Now shut up and nap.”

“Oh, must you be so brash, Avocato?” Gary asked dramatically.

Avocato chuckled. “Just shush your face and nap.”

“Fine, fine, fine.” Gary relented, his eyes closing contently. “But if I hear screaming, we’re getting up.”

“Deal,” Quinn and Avocato agreed simultaneously, both of them just as content to lay with their extremely lovable boyfriend. No matter how oblivious he was to his own adorableness.

#i hate that this took so long #i am so sorry #ack #final space #polyspace #quinn airgon #avocato #gary goodspeed #random disaster writes

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eviesmyspiritanimal · 4 years ago

Text

Paint It Pink

Summary: When Mal, Evie, Uma, Audrey, Jane, and the rest are all hanging out at Evie’s house, they get into a rather interesting conversation about whether boys or girls should be the bosses. Soon enough, they’re launched into an all-out paintball war as they struggle for dominance. Huma, Bal, Jarlos, and Jaudrey but ultimately friendship and family feels. Warning: an attempt at fake suicide.

“Yo, Whitey Tighty, get me a coke!” Uma called to the white-haired boy over nearby the fridge in Evie’s kitchen. Carlos looked at her strangely and furrowed his brow.

Currently, all of the group was gathered in Evie’s house for a relaxing evening to just enjoy one another’s company. Evie, Mal, and Ben were relaxed on one couch while Uma, Harry, and Gil were on another. Jane, Audrey, Jay, and Carlos had been sitting on the opposite one to the Sea Three’s. That is, until Carlos got up to go get himself a drink.

And now Uma was demanding that he get her one as well.

“How about a please?!” Carlos questioned loudly, unappreciative of Uma’s bossiness.

“Oh, go please yourself!” Uma replied to him with a dismissive wave of her hand, despite the fact he couldn’t see her. Mal raised an eyebrow at the other girl from her position with her head on Evie’s lap and her feet on Ben’s, and Uma smirked at her.

“I’m not somebody’s servant,” Carlos smartly replied, but he nevertheless withdrew a drink for the pirate and himself.

“Ah, yes. Good boy. Now I know who to go to for getting my bunions scraped,” Uma declared, and Mal snorted a bit in response to the pirate. Evie rolled her eyes slightly.

“I’m not scraping your bunions,” Carlos replied to her, and Uma just raised an eyebrow.

“Why not? You should be an expert since you did it so much for your mother,” Uma informed him, and Carlos just ignored her as he sat down next to Jane who wasted no time in taking his hand in her own.

“Dadgum. You know, it’s a good thing my boys listen, ain’t it?”

“Does that mean we’re your servants?” Gil questioned worriedly, and Uma just gestured flippantly at the boy.

“Gil, please. You practically signed your soul over to me when you became part of my crew,” Uma sassily replied.

“I don’t recall tha’ bein’ part of the deal,” Harry piped up, and Uma looked at him almost offendedly. She then turned her gaze to Mal.

“Look at this, Mal. This is ridiculous. These menfolk getting out of hand. You know what I mean, don’t you, girl?” Uma questioned desperately and almost dramatically as she looked over at the faerie.

“No, not really. Ben always does as I tell him,” Mal informed Uma, and Ben immediately turned his gaze to her in surprise.

“Yeah, it’s practically me and M running the kingdom,” Evie expressed with a grin, and Ben furrowed his brow, unappreciative of the two girls and their determinations.

“Wow. Harry Barry, you need to take some lessons,” Uma told him, smacking his stomach lightly, and Harry sighed a bit in response, unimpressed with his captain.

“I wish Jay would mind that well,” Audrey expressed, offering Jay a slight glare of irritation.

“Well, dear, I think you’re forgetting that I usually do because you spend the majority of your time nagging me to death,” Jay replied to her, and Audrey’s mouth fell open in shock as she glowered at the boy.

“I-I think we should all just work together and help each other equally,” Jane expressed, but her opinion was quickly lost in the midst of the uproar that had started with some of the rest of their group.

“I think that y’all are getting out of hand. I am the captain, remember?” Uma told Harry and Gil.

“But that doesn’t make us your servants, does it?” Gil questioned confusedly, and Harry immediately shook his head in response to the other boy. Uma just growled under her breath as she cut her eyes in the Gil’s direction.

“And, Jay, how dare you accuse me of nagging?!” Audrey demanded, and he rolled his eyes as he scooted forward a bit.

“Alright, look, I’m not talking about this and letting it blow up into another one of our giant explosions or whatever. I still remember the last time we were all hanging out and we got into a bit of an argument. My stomach’s still suffering from that prank cake,” Jay spoke up, interrupting things before they could get too heated.

“Carlos, how’s your new paintball game on your PlayStation?” Jay asked, pointing to Carlos as he directed his attention to his little brother.

“Of course. The new topic of conversation is video games,” Uma muttered under her breath. Carlos shot a dirty look in Uma’s direction before replying.

“It’s really great. It’s a first-person shooter, and the graphics are stellar,” Carlos described, and Jay nodded as he grew more engrossed in the conversation. Ben looked at Carlos oddly, and he leaned forward a bit.

“Is there character customization?” Ben questioned curiously, and Carlos nodded emphatically.

“Totally, dude, it’s so awesome!” Uma rolled her eyes, sharing a glare with Audrey.

“Multiplayer?” Harry questioned, and Carlos grinned widely as he offered affirmation to Harry’s question.

“I think we need to meet up and play that one,” Jay expressed his opinion on the subject and Carlos laughed, looking over at the older boy.

“Yeah, definitely. Shoot up the other team, am I right? Get your aggressions out!” Carlos aimed a fake gun and he made a few shooting noises. Uma’s eyes widened and a smirk came onto her face as she got an idea.

“How about I’ve got a better idea?” Uma spoke up, and everyone looked at her.

“What if we had a real paintball match?” Uma suggested, and Carlos suddenly looked quite thoughtful.

“A paintball match?!” Jane squeaked, and Evie had a big grin on her face as she looked at Uma.

“Ooh, that sounds fun… What do you think, M?” Evie asked, and Mal could see Evie’s eyes glowing with that competitive spirit. Mal sat up and moved her feet off of Ben’s lap so that she was sitting more closely to Evie.

“Sounds good to me, E.”

“You wanna be on my team?” Evie offered before leaning close to Mal and whispering playfully. “I have a high likelihood of winning, but with you, it’d be guaranteed.”

Mal grinned at her best friend, and she slid an arm around Evie’s shoulders.

“Sure. We’ll win,” Mal told her sister confidently, and Evie beamed.

“I propose girls versus boys. What do y’all think?” Uma questioned, and Carlos nodded excitedly. Jay, Harry, and Gil seemed to be rather intrigued as well. The only boy who wasn’t so enthralled with the idea was Ben, and he looked somewhat apprehensive.

“I don’t know about that,” Ben started to protest, but Audrey’s next statement almost completely made any effect of his words disappear.

“And let’s make it a bet,” Audrey added, and Uma grinned wickedly at her. After all, Uma wasn’t through with their entire conversation about servants and who bossed who around, and she had a feeling Audrey wasn’t either if her sly expression was anything to go by.

“A girl after my own heart, eh, Princess?” Uma questioned, and Audrey just shrugged a bit as she smiled smugly.

“What exactly is the wager?” Jay questioned with an eyebrow raise.

“The team that wins will have the other team as their servants for a whole day. You have to do whatever the winning team tells you to do,” Audrey firmly spoke, and Uma nodded approvingly.

“That sounds fun,” Evie excitedly expressed, and Mal nodded. In fact, everyone except Ben and Jane seemed excited at the prospect of the battle. Once he had looked at all of the boys and seen that all except Ben were in favor of the idea, Jay nodded with a grin.

“We’re in.”

“Cool. And you guys will set up the gear?” Uma questioned, and everyone but Ben nodded eagerly.

“Definitely,” Carlos answered with a sparkle in his eye. Uma leaned back in her seat with a slight smirk as she glanced at the other girls before returning her gaze to Carlos.

“Perfect.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“I think I look like Katniss Everdeen,” Evie declared proudly as she fingered her braid before lifting her gun with a raise of an eyebrow. Mal looked over at her sister, taking in Evie’s pose. Evie looked at Mal and she bounced one eyebrow playfully. Mal immediately laughed at her, and she side-hugged the girl tightly, pressing her forehead to the side of Evie’s head.

However, to her surprise, their helmets clanged together hard, and they both jumped a bit in surprise before giggling again.

It was two days later, and all of the girls were gathered around the edge of their chosen field in the dead zone as they made the last few preparations to their uniforms before they went out to meet the boys who were already finding their positions.

Evie and Mal had went out together to go and buy the group some armor pieces. Particularly, they had helmets, chest armor, and shin guards.

“Well, I’m glad you do. I look more like the Michelin tire man,” Audrey proclaimed in a bit of a whine, and Evie shook her head as she started to say something.

“It’s an improvement, honestly,” Uma replied immediately, interrupting Evie. Audrey narrowed her eyes and growled under her breath as she set her jaw in irritation. Uma strapped on the last bit of armor as she turned around to face the rest of the girls.

“Okay! We ready to whoop some boy behind?” Uma questioned as she looked at the lot of them, her hair pulled back just a little as she gazed at them with her helmet lifted.

Audrey rolled her eyes as Uma tried to look imposing and intimidating with her gear.

“No!” Jane whimpered, her mask already down as she fearfully hid behind it. Uma just offered Jane a slight smirk.

“Then let’s do this,” Uma spoke, flipping the visor part of her helmet down before leading the way over to where the boys were already standing. Evie and Mal followed suit, closing their helmets, and Audrey just scoffed, but copied their movements as she went after them and dragged Jane behind her.

“Took ye long enough!” Harry called out in a taunt, and Uma rolled her eyes at him, unimpressed with his jeering as she led the group behind their big rock that would serve as cover.

“Alright!” Jay called when the girls were in their positions on the battlefield.

“We know the rules! One shot and you’re down, and don’t shoot anybody after they’re hit that one time,” Jay announced, and the girls expressed varying forms of agreement. “And after they’re hit, they head over there to the dead zone where they’ll wait until the match is over.”

“We’re good?” Jay questioned loudly, but Audrey quickly raised her hand, and Jay looked at her.

“And don’t shoot anyone in the head?” Audrey questioned, and Jay furrowed his brow.

“What? No!” Jay replied, shaking his head as if that were the oddest thing he’d ever heard.

“The beauty of this game, gorgeous, is that you can shoot anywhere!” Harry added with a wild look in his eyes, and Audrey suddenly lost all of her calmness about the idea of the paintball fight as her jaw slackened.

“Are we ready?!” Jay shouted, and Mal and Uma gave out thumbs-ups in response to the boy as they ducked behind their rock. Ben shook his head quickly, and Harry just shoved him down behind their rock.

“Let’s do this!” Uma called in response, and they all five jumped as Harry shot a paintball nearby Uma’s shoulder that hit the rock with a splatter. Uma wasted no time dipping down behind the rock to hide behind it more fully.

“Huh. He’s a better shot than I thought,” Uma pointed out with a slight chuckle as she started to aim for the boys with her paintball gun.

“AAAH!!! The paintballs splatter?!!!!” Audrey cried, and Uma looked at her strangely.

“Well, yeah.”

“And let me get this straight! They can shoot at our heads?!” Audrey demanded, and Uma looked at her with a slight chuckle and an odd glance.

“Yeah, Princess, duh.” Uma then looked to Mal. “Is she not a fast learner? She obviously knows nothing about violent sport.”

“Don’t worry, Audrey, you won’t be getting hit in the head today. I’m going to win this match easy!” Evie declared before starting to fire at any signs of movement around the boys’ rock.

“What the— did they give us pink paintballs?!” Uma demanded, and Evie looked at her paintball gun strangely as she took in the fact that her gun did indeed eject pink paintballs.

“Because you’re a bunch of girls!” Carlos declared, obviously having heard Uma’s question.

Evie narrowed her eyes, and Mal watched as Evie’s entire stance shifted as her mind moved into competition mode. Evie aimed for Carlos’s head and she pulled the trigger like a madwoman, paintballs shooting toward the boys’ rock and covering it with pinkness.

“Take that, you scumbags!!!” Evie cried as she unloaded on them. Mal and Uma paused, and Uma stared at her in shock.

“Does she always do that?” Uma questioned as she jabbed a thumb at Evie as she bared her teeth and blasted the paintballs.

“Pretty much,” Mal replied simply.

“Remind me not to get roped into family game night,” Uma muttered with a slight laugh, and Evie shot back down to the ground as the boys fired some balls. Evie narrowed her eyes, and she looked as if she might hop over the top of the rock.

However, Uma and Mal both grabbed her before she could begin to do that.

“Evie, stop, you can’t go out there!” Mal told her best friend, and Evie looked at her confusedly as she gripped her gun firmly.

“Why not? I might have a better chance at hitting the boys.”

“Because you might get hit,” Uma told her, and Evie just laughed a bit.

“Well, one person getting hit is no big deal. You and Mal and Audrey can go on without me as long as I hit two or three of the guys,” Evie informed the pirate, and Uma shook her head.

“E, you don’t get it. First of all, we need you to stay in the game as long as possible because I kind of want to keep our whole team out of the dead zone. Second of all… Well, Evie, those paintballs hurt when they hit you,” Mal expressed, and Mal watched as the crazed look in Evie’s eyes slowly started to fade away as she seemed to realize the possibility for pain that was in this game.

“Oh. Oh… That’s not… Well, that sounds not too fun,” Evie replied to Mal as she sunk down behind the rock next to Jane who was currently hiding behind the rock in a curled up ball. Mal nodded in agreeance and Uma rolled her eyes as she tried to position her gun a bit better over the top of the rock in case she could possibly manage to hit the boys.

“The paintballs hurt?! As if it wasn’t bad enough with the mess!” Audrey proclaimed, almost completely hysterical. “And people make this out to be a fun game?! It should be called painball instead of paintball!!!”

“Look, Princess, suck it up. By the time we’re through with this match, you’re going to have an ugly raised up bruised place on your body and you’re going to be messy,” Uma informed Audrey in a matter-of-fact tone as a paintball suddenly splashed nearby the girls and the paint shot out onto Uma’s hair.

“Did ye hit ‘er?!” Harry gleefully shouted, and Uma narrowed her eyes.

“Try again, Hook! You missed by a mile!” Uma cried in return, but she hid a bit better behind the rock as she looked at Audrey to resume their conversation.

“Uma! Your hair has blue paint in it!” Audrey cried in unadulterated horror. Uma looked down at her hair, and she sighed slightly before shrugging.

“It’s going to happen, and it’ll probably happen to you,” Uma informed the princess.

“I can’t do this. My hair can’t do this! I can’t have my hair messed up! I CAN’T DO THIS!!!” Audrey screeched.

“AAAH!!!!!” Audrey shrieked as she suddenly left from behind the rock, trying to get away for fear that her hair would be ruined by the paintballs. Mal and Uma shared a blank glance before looking back at the runaway princess. After a long moment, Uma just slowly shook her head as she stared at the girl.

“Wow. That is purely impressive,” Uma commented in shock as they watched Audrey take off across the battlefield. Audrey ran, dodging paintballs as she took off screaming at the top of her lungs.

However, after a moment, Gil jumped out from behind the rock, aiming for Audrey as he ran toward her. Of course, Audrey couldn’t do much about him because she had somehow or another ended up leaving her paintball gun behind. Uma smirked as she saw her opportunity.

Before Gil could even begin to shoot the princess, Uma hit him in the center of his chest with a pink paintball. Audrey hadn’t stopped the entire time as she ran for her life and tried to escape.

“Darn it, Gil!” Harry cried out, and Gil sighed deeply as he held his gun above his head and ran off of the field.

“WHOO!!! First hit!” Uma called, and she could practically feel Harry’s glare at her.

During this, Audrey was still running for her life, and Uma quickly noticed that Jay was peeking out from behind the rock in an attempt to shoot her. Mal apparently saw this as well, and she shot up so that she could see just above the rock, and she shot at Jay multiple times.

But her paintballs very unfortunately didn’t hit Jay, and he ended up successfully blasting Audrey in the behind with a blue paintball.

“OUCH! JAY!!!” Audrey screeched and held her paintball gun above her head as she glared at Jay. He just smirked wildly at his girlfriend, waggling his eyebrows, and Audrey growled as she fled.

“Don’t hit me, please don’t hit me! I’m already fatally injured!” Audrey cried, and Uma rolled her eyes at the other girl’s dramatics.

“Man, that diversion worked like a charm,” Uma informed the other girls, and Evie nodded with a slight smile as she looked at Uma and Mal.

“I’ll say. And we didn’t even mean for it to be a diversion. Audrey just went nuts and ran,” Mal informed Uma with a slight laugh as she tried to get an idea of the boys’ position. Mal narrowed her eyes as she watched Carlos dart out from behind the boys’ large rock in favor of hurrying over to a tree that was closer to the girls’ place.

Mal raised an eyebrow.

“In fact, I think we need another diversion,” Mal spoke up, and Uma grinned widely, not knowing what Mal had in mind, but perfectly willing to hear it. Mal looked to Jane, and Jane’s eyes went wide as she stared at the purple-haired girl.

“Why are you looking at me?” Jane questioned, and Mal smirked slightly.

“We need you to run over to that tree,” Mal pointed to the one that Carlos was hiding behind, “and distract Carlos by telling him that you’re scared and don’t know what to do.”

“Oh, I get it! Lure him out from behind the tree and then we blast him, right?” Uma questioned, and Mal grinned. Evie just looked between the both of them and shook her head as she reached around and tried to ensure that her braid was still firmly intact so that she could avoid as much disaster to her hair.

“Isn’t that a little cruel?” Jane questioned worriedly, and Mal shook her head.

“All’s fair in love and war, dear Jane,” Mal muttered as she repositioned her mask a bit.

“Get out there now, okay? We’ve got to win this,” Mal informed the other girl, and Evie sympathetically squeezed Jane’s shoulder.

Jane sighed deeply, and after a moment, she rushed out, trying to hide behind different trees as she approached the de Vil boy.

Before long, she was nearby him, and he jumped out from behind his tree, about to shoot. However, he froze as soon as he realized it was Jane.

“Jane?! What are you doing?!” Carlos questioned, obviously not thinking that Jane would try to actively participate in their game.

“This is scary! I’m scared!” Jane proclaimed, and Carlos’s eyes softened. Jane truly hated to do this to him, and she wished that literally anyone else could’ve taken the job instead of her.

He stepped a bit closer to her, and to her shock, he was suddenly covered in pink paint all over his stomach. His eyes went wide and he gaped at his front.

“WHOO!!! Nailed it!” Uma whooped victoriously, and Jane offered Carlos an apologetic glance. He just narrowed his eyes at Uma and groaned before running off to go and join Audrey and Gil in the dead zone.

“Y’know, I’m starting to not mind that our team color is pink. It’s extra embarrassing for those ‘manly men,’” Uma sarcastically referred to the boys before laughing heartily.

Jane just watched Carlos running for the dead zone, and she looked down at her shoes, feeling terribly guilty, but she suddenly jumped as a paintball whizzed by her.

“Crap, I missed!” Harry cried, and Jane quickly dove for the other side of the tree as she tried to avoid getting hit. Her blue eyes were wide in fright.

“Jane, come on! Get back over here!” Mal cried, and Uma launched a few warning shots that hit the boys’ rock in an attempt to give Jane an opening so she could escape. Evie looked up at Mal, grabbing her hand as she got her attention.

“M, she’s too scared,” Evie informed her, and Mal looked at Evie softly before nodding.

“Jane, it’s okay, just run back fast! Uma’s stopping them!” Mal called, and Jane looked at Mal trustingly. She started forward, but before she could get too far, the boys nearly hit her again. Jane immediately flung herself back against the tree, breathing hard as she calmed down from the fact that she was almost hit with a paintball.

Uma groaned deeply, and she fixed her mask more solidly upon her face as she readied herself to run out from behind the girls’ rock. Mal looked at her strangely, and Uma returned her gaze.

“I’m going to go and get her. Cover me!” Uma called as she readied her gun. Evie scooted out of the way, holding onto her almost empty gun.

Uma waited for only a moment before darting out toward Jane. Harry, and Jay immediately began actively firing at her with Ben hiding behind the rock fearfully. Mal started shooting intensely in response to the boys, and their fire was a little scattered since they were now spending more time dodging.

Uma hurried over to Jane and she took the girl by the arm, trying to guide her out from behind the tree and back to the rock. She had almost made it halfway back when the boys managed to hit Jane in the back.

“Oh!” Jane cried as it hit her, and Uma stopped for just a moment as she pushed Jane in the direction of the dead zone.

“Get out of here, Jane!” Uma instructed, and she made a mad dash for the rock. Evie reached out for Uma’s hand in an attempt to pull her over to their side quickly.

But to the girls’ surprise, Uma was suddenly splattered with a paintball, blue paint hitting Uma’s helmet and splattering onto the front of Evie’s helmet.

Mal narrowed her eyes as she saw Harry standing there and laughing his behind off behind the rock, and Mal pulled her trigger quickly as she blasted Harry in the front of his helmet with a paintball.

Uma stopped in frustration, growling under her breath, and Evie and Mal looked at her regretfully. Uma offered them a slight smile right before she looked over at the boys with a snarl. However, her grin quickly returned tenfold as she realized that Harry was heading off to the dead zone as well. Uma then returned her gaze to the two girls left behind.

“Spank them like babies, okay, y’all?” Uma questioned, and the two left behind nodded resolutely. Uma offered a two-fingered salute before hurrying toward the dead zone where Gil, Audrey, Carlos, and Jane were currently seated and where Harry was currently running for.

Suddenly several balls splattered nearby Mal and Evie, and they quickly dipped a bit lower behind their cover.

“E, if we’re going to win this, we’ve got to get out from behind this rock and get closer to Jay and Ben,” Mal spoke, and Evie nodded in agreeance, somewhat distastefully wiping a bit of the splattered paint from her shoulder.

“But where can we go?” Mal trailed off, looking around, and Evie squeezed Mal’s shoulder as she looked around as well. After only a moment, she caught sight of a place that would be perfect for them to hide at. Evie wasted no time in pointing.

“M, look over there. There’s a rock that looks like it might be just big enough for me and you,” Evie told the faerie, and Mal followed Evie’s finger. She grinned at Evie widely and looked at her adoringly.

“Awesome job, E. Let’s make a run for it,” Mal praised her best friend as she kneeled and peered just barely around the rock as she held her gun in her arm carefully.

“One… Two… Three… Go,” Mal quietly told Evie, grabbing Evie’s hand tightly as she darted out from behind the rock. Evie wasted no time in running with Mal.

“Aha! Give it up, sisters!” Jay called as he shot at them. Mal and Evie both tried desperately to dodge the paintballs, and just barely made it behind two trees as they paused for a moment.

“Okay, E, let’s go again…. Now!” Mal called, and they both shot out from behind their covers. Jay immediately started shooting at them again, and Evie felt a paintball whiz by her head as Jay got dangerously close to hitting her. Evie was getting quite tired, and she was starting to realize that their rock was farther away than they had originally thought.

“In just a second, let’s make a run for it again,” Mal told the other girl, and Evie nodded despite the fact that she was running a bit short on air. Before long, Mal jutted her head in the direction of the rock, and they both shot out from behind their trees as they made a run for it.

However, to the bluenette’s shock, she tripped a bit in the midst of her running. Naturally, hearing Evie’s grunt, Mal paused as she considered running back to Evie, but Evie had managed to catch herself, and pushed Mal ahead as the paintballs whizzed by them.

Soon enough, they reached the rock, and Evie nearly collapsed behind it.

After only a moment, a paintball almost hit Evie’s head.

“Evie, get down!” Mal cried, grabbing Evie’s shoulder and pulling her down to Mal’s level as yet another paintball flew above her head. They were both breathing hard, and Evie was beginning to think that she couldn’t take much more of this game if it consisted of more of this constant running, despite her competitive nature. If this would have been something like charades, Evie would’ve likely already cheated at it, but as it was, she couldn’t cheat in this game, so her hopes of winning were rather dashed.

“E, we gotta keep going until we make it around so we can get a clear shot at the boys. This rock’s good, but we’re still not quite where we can reach them,” Mal informed her, almost as if she had read Evie’s mind. Evie furrowed her brow, raising up her mask slightly so that she could look at her best friend. Mal was peering from around the rock they were both hidden behind, checking to ensure that the boys hadn’t changed positions.

“Why did we agree to do this in the first place?” Evie whined a bit, allowing a bit of her emotions to slip into her voice. This challenge was getting a little harder than she was quite prepared for.

“Evie, just think of how wonderful and sweet that victory will be when it comes in the form of being able to make the boys wait upon us hand and foot,” Mal informed her, and Evie sighed a bit as she smiled just barely.

“Besides… This is Mevie, remember? Mevie can do anything,” Mal told her sister with a loving grin as she took Evie’s hand in her own, lacing her fingers through Evie’s. Evie nodded slowly, feeling a bit of her resolve return to her.

“Come out, come out! Ready to get smashed?!!!” Jay called as he shot a paintball nearby their hiding place.

“C’mon, E. For some reason, we were the last ones standing on our team. I think it’s because me and you were meant to win this,” Mal informed her sister. Evie’s eyes hardened and she looked significantly more determined at the mention of winning. Mal smiled fondly, knowing that Evie’s signature competitiveness was lying just beneath the surface.

“Let’s go kick their butts,” Mal told her, and Evie swiftly snatched Mal’s arm and pulled her back near the bluenette.

“M, I’ve got an idea,” Evie informed Mal, and Mal furrowed her brow as she looked at her sister.

“I’m going to run out and distract them,” Evie expressed, and Mal’s eyes widened as she shook her head.

“What? No! Evie, are you crazy?” Mal demanded, giving Evie a onceover.

“I’m going to run out and trip and fall on purpose. I’ll act like I’m hurt, and then we can shoot Jay because he’ll come running,” Evie explained her plan to her sister. Mal furrowed her brow as she moved just a bit to peer in the direction of the boys.

“How do you know it’ll work?” Mal asked.

“I don’t. We just have to take a chance,” Evie solemnly replied.

“E, that’s suicide… And I can’t afford to lose you,” Mal expressed, and Mal almost thought it sounded like something out of a war movie. She was definitely getting a little too carried away in this game.

“In war, Mal, some sacrifices must be made,” Evie told her, a dead seriousness to her voice. After a moment, she grinned, alleviating the tension. “Besides, you’re going to run out to check on me so it’ll really sell it, and then you’re going to shoot him when he comes out.”

Mal couldn’t help but grin at Evie as she laughed.

“Y’know, I love you,” Mal affectionately addressed Evie.

“I love you, too.”

“And you’re an evil genius,” Mal complimented her before squeezing the bluenette’s arm. “Now get out there and trick them.”

Evie just offered one of those thousand-watt grins before taking off through the battlefield. Naturally, several paintballs were launched at her.

Evie managed to successfully dodge them all, and after a moment, she decided it would probably be a good time to fall on the battlefield.

Evie wasted no time in dramatically tripping and collapsing on the ground. Before Jay could shoot her, she cried out in pain, immediately reaching for her foot as she brought it up closer to her body.

“AH!!!” Evie yelped, making sure that she sounded as hurt as she possibly could. Mal, ever loyally playing her part, rushed out to Evie, diving for her sister and hitting the ground hard as she crawled over desperately to the other girl. Evie had to give it to Mal. She could definitely offer a convincing performance.

“Evie?! EVIE!!!” Mal cried, grabbing Evie’s mask where her cheeks would be as she looked her over. She wasted no time in taking Evie’s hand tightly, and Evie resisted the urge to smile. If she smiled, she’d no doubt soon laugh.

“Evie? Is she okay?!” Jay called, and Mal didn’t respond, just shaking her head. Evie could see the slightest hints of a grin on Mal’s face as she removed her hand from Evie’s as she placed her hand on Evie’s thigh while she got a better look at Evie’s fake injury.

“It hurts, M!” Evie yelped in what she hoped was a pitiful manner, but the end of her cry was interrupted a bit by a laugh. Fortunately, it sounded more like a sob than a laugh, so it worked to Evie’s advantage.

“Evie?! Is she alright?!” Jay called louder, and Evie realized he was getting closer. Ben was even peeking out behind the rock somewhat curiously. Evie glanced at Mal, and the faerie simply brought both of her hands to her gun slowly.

After only a moment, Mal turned and she blasted Jay. He wasn’t nearby, but he had just left from behind the rock, and before he knew it, he was shot in the chest with pink paint. His eyes widened and he stared at the girls blankly.

Mal just laughed and Evie giggled along with her. Jay growled unhappily as he glared at the other two, the entire trick dawning upon him.

“That was unfair! You used my emotions against me!”

“Now, now,” Mal playfully reprimanded.

“Who shot Audrey in the butt as she was running away to safety?” Evie called with a slight laugh, and Jay furrowed his brow as he paused. However, after a moment, he groaned, realizing that the girls were in the right.

“All’s fair in love and war, Jay!” Mal told him.

“Besides, we’ll never do it again,” Evie added with a sincere smile as she sat up and started to get up with Mal’s help.

“Unless we’re playing paintball!” Mal laughed, and Evie nodded in agreeance. Jay just rolled his eyes, knowing that the girls had played fair or at least as fair as he had played.

“Well, we’re not playing paintball anymore!” Jay announced as he hurried off toward the dead zone, but Mal could hear that he was not entirely serious.

Mal and Evie shared a glance and shook their heads. However, after a moment, they both headed over to the boys’ rock, aiming on finishing it once and for all so that they could win their prize.

They very carefully snuck around the edge, both of their guns pointed at Ben as they approached. Ben’s eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly.

“No, no, no, don’t shoot, don’t shoot! I give in! I give up! You win!” Ben cried. Mal lowered her gun a bit, and then to everyone’s surprise, a blue paintball crashed straight into the visor of Mal’s helmet. Evie gasped as she stared at Ben.

He looked just as surprised as Evie, but before he knew it, Evie had unloaded pink paintballs all over his front.

As soon as she had emptied what was left in her gun, Evie pointed at him accusingly, a fire in her eyes as she glared at the boy.

“YOU! You killed her! You killed her!!!” Evie declared, sounding almost crazed. Ben swallowed hard as he started to try to wipe paint from his visor.

“It was an accident!”

“Uh-huh, likely story! How dare you?!!! I loved her!!! And now she’s gone!!!” Evie cried, and Mal just furrowed her brow as she wiped the paint from her visor.

“At least I won. But even my victory means nothing without her!” Evie spat, sounding as if she might cry.

“I can’t go on in a world without her!” Evie announced before putting the end of the paintball gun to the side of her helmet and pulling the trigger.

However, after several pulls, she realized it wasn’t working. Evie pulled the paintball gun away from her head and she examined it strangely. She groaned as she realized that she had emptied her gun.

“Darn it, I wasted all my paintballs on you!!!” Evie whined, and Mal took off her helmet as she grabbed Evie.

“E, I’m alive, and I’m fine,” Mal assured her, and Evie looked between Mal and Ben.

“He shot you in the face!” Evie protested. Mal rolled her eyes and took Evie’s helmet in her hands as she pulled it off. She then grabbed Evie’s face in her hands and stroked her cheeks with her thumbs.

“Of my helmet. Besides, this is a game. It’s a game, E. Chill out,” Mal told her, and Evie just sighed deeply. Evie’s warm brown eyes met Mal’s cool green ones, and they both shared just a tiny hint of a smile after a moment.

“I guess I got a little too into it, huh?” Evie questioned somewhat sheepishly, and Mal chuckled under her breath as she squeezed Evie’s cheeks before letting her go.

“Just a little,” Mal replied before she suddenly heard loud whoops and yells. Mal looked to the direction that the yells were coming from, and before she knew it, her and Evie were being grabbed by several sets of arms.

“WHOO!!! WE DID IT!!!” Uma cried out victoriously as she grabbed Mal tightly. Evie was squished firmly against Mal as Audrey sandwiched the two best friends in the midst of her grabbing onto Evie and Uma. Jane hugged Mal tightly, and Mal grinned as she was surrounded by her team. She wrapped her own arm around Evie, and Evie quickly reciprocated the embrace.

“So… I guess ye girls won, eh?” Harry spoke up suddenly, and the girls released one another to look at the guys. Mal and Evie were still holding onto one another, and they quickly noticed that the guys were all gathering around as well to face the girls.

Uma grinned widely as she walked straight up to the pirate boy.

“Sure enough. And you know what that means, Hook?” Uma questioned, getting as close to his face as her height would allow. His eyes darted down to her lips for just a moment, but they soon returned to her gaze.

Uma grinned slightly, giving his face a onceover before stepping back.

“You boys are ours for a whole day,” Uma told him with a confident smirk as she looked back at the other girls. The group smiled widely as they looked at each other. Uma then looked back at the guys.

“Starting now. Now carry us to one of Ben’s limos and chauffeur us to Evie’s house.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It was a little later in the day, and all of the girls were reclined on the sofa at Evie’s house. And they had all of the boys working rather intensely.

Jay was currently rubbing Audrey’s scalp, and she had her eyes closed as she was enjoying her treatment. Harry was brushing Uma’s hair carefully, and Ben was painting Evie’s and Mal’s fingernails and toenails. Gil was currently working as a footrest for Jane at Uma’s instruction.

And Carlos was massaging all of the girls’ feet and was currently having to do Uma’s.

“A little more fingertips, Jay,” Audrey instructed, and he complied. She smiled in satisfaction as she sunk down in her seat comfortably. “Ah… that’s nice.”

“Now make sure you get all the tangles out. Gently, mind you,” Uma told Harry, and he continued through her hair a bit slower and more carefully.

“Aww, these are so gross!” Carlos grumbled suddenly in a sour complaint as he coughed in response to the smell of Uma’s feet.

“What did I say about complaining?” Uma questioned, cracking one eye open just barely as she raised an eyebrow at the de Vil boy. He just closed his mouth, rolled his eyes, and wrinkled his nose.

“What I meant to say was by what miracle did I get the privilege to do this?” Carlos questioned in a falsely sweet tone as he squinted.

“Because you’re best at foot care, and you seemed to have a problem with my feet,” Uma replied simply as she sighed deeply.

They were quiet for a long moment before Uma finally spoke again, uttering the very sentence that started it all.

“Yo, Whitey Tighty, get me a coke.”

And all of the girls couldn’t help but laugh as Carlos now had to fetch Uma a drink.

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