#you don’t see the panel on the top right I wasn’t doing anything what are you talking about

[menmyshelf]

a little comic I made that i wont finish

#lgbtq #art #furry art #digital art #mlp #my little pony #flutterpie #fluttershy #pinkie pie #comics #surprise #cute #you don’t see the panel on the top right I wasn’t doing anything what are you talking about

[writershapeholeonthedoor]

Tattooed heart

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have tattoos everywhere and your girlfriend suffers from severe anxiety. You learned to walk around with Sharpies to help her out.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. TW for anxiety attacks.

MASTERLIST

The room was crowded to the point where you couldn’t even see the exit doors in the back.

That always made you a bit nervous, of course, but mostly because it usually meant your interview would go on forever until people were satisfied by it. Those types of venues were always endless, but it was even worse when there were so many people attending the panels. Don’t get it wrong, you love attending the coms and meeting the fans to debate the characters and movies, and just the entire MCU universe as a whole, but you were only human and, after spending so long being a part of this, you got a bit tired.

Although the interview was going on forever, you weren’t surprised by the amount of people reunited to see you guys talking. It was hard to have most of the Marvel actors in one single interview, after all, so you were already expecting people to crowd the room and want to ask everyone a million questions. The new Avengers movie was coming up, the trailer had dropped just the day prior, and people were excited to know more. You couldn’t blame them.

You had been listening to Evans give out an overly complex reply to a question someone made him for a while now when you noticed Elizabeth squirming in her chair beside you. She was sitting to your right at the large table where you all were and she had answered a few questions as well, although that was the first time you noticed that she wasn’t moving out of boredom or to adjust in her chair again. She was restless, you noticed by the way she looked down at her legs and by the way her fingers pulled at her dress as if she was trying to get rid of a crinkle that didn’t exist.

Over the years, you learned to read her.

When you first met, three years ago, you were immediately drawn to Elizabeth. At the time, she had red hair thanks to her Marvel character, she was wearing black clothes and she had a fake scar above her eyebrow since you met between takes of the new movie you were both going to be a part of. That wasn’t your first Marvel movie, neither was hers, but that was the first time you were going to share the screen. You had heard about her before, obviously, but nothing had prepared you for how it would feel to meet Elizabeth Olsen in person.

You felt attracted to her since the first day, but you weren’t brave enough to make a move, so you spent the next two months of shooting crushing on her in silence - at least to her because you sang like a canary to all of your castmates to the point where they had to make an intervention because no one could take more of your daydreaming about Elizabeth without doing anything about it. That worked, though, and you found yourself sweating like crazy just a week before the movie wrapped while you waited for Elizabeth to finish her scenes for the day.

You had been nervous for no reason, as your castmates predicted, because Elizabeth said ‘yes’ after you managed to spit out your question and you both went for your first date two days later. That night, Elizabeth admitted she wanted to ask you out since the first day too, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“I’m glad you’re more brave than I am,” she whispered shyly when you were holding hands on top of the table. “I’m too anxious to have managed to actually ask you out.”

But that had been it.

You have been inseparable ever since.

Well, besides when you were both working, of course. You hadn’t made any more movies together since your characters took different turns, but you and Elizabeth were able to move heaven and Earth to make your relationship work no matter what.

As the years went by, you learned to read Elizabeth as easily as an open book. You knew when she was stressed and needed to spend some time in her garden to relax. You knew when Elizabeth was cooking because she wanted to, when she was doing it because she had to eat and when she was stress-cooking. You knew when she liked the movie you were watching by the way she bit her lip and when she couldn’t care less about what was on the TV by the way she kept sighing. There were many little things about Elizabeth that you took notice of over the years, things that you carefully stocked in your memories because they were all details that made you love her more and more every day.

However, there was one thing you made a bigger effort to keep track of.

Her anxiety.

Elizabeth has been suffering from severe anxiety for many years now. She had talked about it in interviews and other things, but no one could understand the magnitude of her anxiety attacks unless they experienced it in person. You had been there to a fair share of them since you met, from the smaller ones where she would complain about feeling like a small weight in her chest to the bigger ones where you had to rush her to the hospital because you honestly thought she was about to have a heart attack. Since that day, you had vowed to always be attuned to the signals of her crisis so you could help Elizabeth get out of them before things got too hard for her to handle.

Elizabeth used to apologize every single time about it, about how she sometimes wouldn’t want to leave the house, how sometimes she would ask you to leave the restaurant that took you both so long to get a table at, how sometimes she needed to sit in complete silence to get herself together, but you always made sure to tell her it wasn’t her fault. Elizabeth had struggled with anxiety, panic attacks and social anxiety for many years now not because she wanted to, but because the media had chased her since she was young and she had grown in fear. That was something she struggled with and something you could help her with.

Or try your best, at the very least.

Since you knew about all of this, you easily realized Elizabeth’s anxiety was making an appearance, slipping through her very strong grip. You could see by the way her green eyes started moving around without focusing on anything, how her jaw clenched, how her breath became heavier and how her fingers kept picking at her dress. Evans was still talking and there was a microphone in front of you, not to mention how there were literally hundreds of eyes and cameras staring at you at that moment, so you couldn’t take her hands and ask her to breathe with you like you usually did.

You had to think fast, however, because Elizabeth’s anxiety escalates quickly and you wouldn’t want that to happen in a room filled with strangers since that was probably the reason why it was happening anyway. Elizabeth had gotten better at dealing with attending those events, giving interviews and talking with fans, but that didn’t mean she didn’t struggle every once in a while. It was still something that wasn’t easy for her, something that made her natural instincts ask her to run away as fast as she could.

Those long interviews made you tired, but they absolutely terrified Elizabeth. She hated the crowded room because she couldn’t spot the exit and her brain would play little tricks at her saying that, if something bad happened, there weren’t enough emergency doors to take everyone out safely. The cameras pointed at her made her overly conscious of every move she made, afraid of what people might capture to spread around. The screams and yells that the fans let go every once in a while made her ears hurt and her insides churn. It was awful.

Averting your eyes so people wouldn’t notice you had been watching her, you placed a gentle hand on her thigh under the table to offer her some comfort. That made Elizabeth jump in surprise, though, since she hadn’t been expecting it, so you quickly removed your hand and offered her a small smile in apology when she glanced at you. You felt bad about it, especially when you noticed the fear in her eyes, but you still tried to calm her down by offering her a smile.

Some of her tension washed away and her shoulders relaxed enough for you to feel safe to touch her again. When your hand touched her thigh this time around, Elizabeth was expecting it and she allowed the touch with a sigh. She threw you a thankful look before turning her head to the side to pay attention to what was being said in case anyone decided to pull her into the conversation, something you also tried to do.

Luckily - so damn luck, indeed - the interview ended just a few minutes after that. You played your part waving at the fans and offering them smiles, but you still held Elizabeth’s hand to pull her away from there as fast as you could without actually running. You were both sitting in the middle of the large table so it wasn’t an easy task. However, your eyes met Zendaya’s eyes for a moment and the girl wasted no time trying to discreetly move everyone out of the way so you could walk past with Elizabeth.

You took your girlfriend backstage and avoided everyone who tried to talk with you on the way until you found a quiet corner to sit down with her. You sat her down on top of a large technical equipment box and you jumped up to sit beside her, already shoving your hand inside your pocket to remove the three Sharpies you had taken with you that day. Green, blue and lilac were the colors you took from the case before leaving the hotel room that afternoon, and you didn’t think twice before handing them to her.

“Come on, I’m your canvas,” you told her lightly while reaching out your arm to her.

Your right arm was filled with tattoos from your shoulders to your wrist. That was something that made many casting directors frown to, but you loved it. That’s the way you find to express yourself and something you cherish. The tattoos were all blackwork, which means they didn’t have any colors added to them, and they were all different drawings that entwined between them thanks to the amazing work of your tattoo artist.

The first time Elizabeth ever drew on your skin was when you took her to the hospital that fateful day. You had seen your girlfriend looking so sad and scared lying down in a hospital bed after the doctor left saying it had been an anxiety attack that you just had to do something. You knew Elizabeth liked to use her hands to help herself calm down because she would run to her garden and spend hours there tending to the plants, putting her hands in the dirt and delicately touching every leaf. That’s why you took the pen that the doctor left behind without noticing and started to look for something she could write on, but there was nothing.

So, you just handed her the pen and told her to write something on your arm.

Elizabeth had looked at you like you were insane for even suggesting it and it took you a while to convince her to give it a try, however, it played out perfectly in the end. Elizabeth spent hours using the blue pen to color your tattoos and it did wonderful things to her anxiety. When the doctor returned, he was happy to say she was good to go and you were just glad that Elizabeth was back to her usual self asking you if you could stop somewhere to eat.

It wasn’t a perfect solution. It was temporary since it usually just calmed her down enough to keep going for a few more hours, but Elizabeth still needed to fully relax in silence, go to her garden or take a warm bath to avoid any real crisis. But that didn’t stop you from buying several Sharpies from different colors to have them around anytime she might need them. You made a habit out of walking around with them inside your pockets and Elizabeth stopped resisting using them to draw on you.

Sure, Elizabeth suggested she buy a notepad to carry with her, but you told her you didn’t mind being her personal canvas. You liked how she touched your skin gently with one hand while she used the other one to color your tattoos. You found it mesmerizing how she managed to make different details every time she drew on you. And you were just glad to be able to help her. Of course, you told Elizabeth it was okay if she preferred to have some paper to draw on, but luckily she didn’t argue against painting your arm instead.

It worked.

And that would have to do because you couldn’t take her to the hotel room you were sharing yet and it was clear that Elizabeth wasn’t feeling great.

“No,” your girlfriend said without taking the Sharpies from you. “We still have more interviews today.”

“Exactly,” you argued. “That’s fine. You know I don’t mind it.”

“People will make questions,” Elizabeth insisted, but it held no real resistance behind her words anymore. She was already taking the pens from you and you smiled happily at that.

“Let them,” was your reply.

A second later, Elizabeth took the green Sharpie to start painting one of the tattoos on the back of your arm.

When your castmates found you both, your skin was a mix of green, blue and lilac already, and Elizabeth's full attention was on the task in her hands. She didn’t look about to lose her mind anymore, her breathing was normal again, her hands weren’t shaking and her frown was purely because she was trying to keep the colors inside the line and not because she was in panic. Your friends gave you space because they didn’t want her to feel crowded again, but Holland lent you his jacket while you were all walking to the next interview to avoid questions and Elizabeth kissed your lips just before going on stage.

“You’re the best girlfriend in the world,” Elizabeth whispered against your skin.

You shrugged it off and leaned to kiss her forehead. “I love you,” you reminded her gently aware that you would climb every mountain and swim every ocean to make her happy.

#elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen x reader #celebrity x reader #marvel #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #fanfic #creative writing #my writing #drabble #fluff #slight angst

[xreaderbooks]

Paradise on Earth (20)

Chapter: 20. The Coastal Venture

Pair: JJ Maybank x Routledge! Reader

Summary: John B, Pope, JJ, Kiara, and You are on the way to help Sarah and retrieve the cross.

Warnings: language, violence, mentions of death and kidnapping

Word Count: 3.7k

Wattpad | Ao3 | Playlist

Chapter 19 | Series Masterlist | Navigation | Chapter 21

The heat in the torture chamber was going to make you stab somebody. You’ve never felt this suffocated before.

“Let’s address the elephant in the room,” John B announces and focuses his attention on you, “Y/n.”

“Are you fat shaming me, JB?”

He narrows his eyes at you, “You know what I mean.”

“Is this even an appropriate time to be talking about this?” You wonder aloud. He couldn’t seriously expect to get into this right now, you hadn’t even found a way to leave this hell hole without getting caught by the crew members and now, he wanted to talk about your controversial sex life.

“Uh, yeah, ‘cause if I have to keep thinking about what Sarah might be going through right now, I’m gonna go crazy.”

You brace yourself for the worst, “Oh God.”

He doesn’t say anything, he stays in his position on top of a stretch-wrapped box. “So?”

You glance to the side and back at him, “So, what?”

“We’re waiting,” He extends his arms outward to gesture to the crowded area of your friends. Kie took off her jacket and let out a breath, Pope was leaning his head against other containers listening.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, I’ve already apologized. Not that that fixes anything or takes anything back.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Pope said. “What’s done is done, we have much bigger things to worry about but since we’re getting into it; I just wanna know what your thought process was-”

John B cut him off, “Or whatever the opposite of that is ‘cause you obviously weren’t thinking clearly.”

“Alright, you know what, no.” You got up from where you were sitting cross-legged on the bottom of the container. “I wasn’t thinking and at that moment I didn’t regret it because he cared about me, I’m not going to go into detail about how or what he made me believe about him ‘cause I obviously didn’t know him as well as I thought…”

“So he manipulated you?” Pope asked.

“No, not entirely,” You risked a quick glance at JJ whose gaze averted from your own. “He made me feel like he cared, I was hurt and felt neglected. I’ve always been a part of the Pogues but it always felt like I’m just John B’s sister to you guys like I’m only along for the ride. I don’t have much to offer the group, Rafe made me feel seen as ironic as that is.”

“That’s some bullshit, Y/n,” John B scoffed.

JJ steps forward, “John B.”

John B stares at JJ with pure annoyance, “I don’t see how you’re not losing your shit over this, you’re always going on about how she’s like a sister to you, this is some high-level offensive shit and you’re all chill?”

“She was right,” JJ shook his head. “This isn’t the time, alright? We gotta figure out how the hell we're gonna get out of this, you know these things lock from the outside? This is your  fault and now we’re trapped in this death cage!”

“JJ, you’re not helping,” Pope was breathless as he spoke. All you knew was that there was not enough oxygen coming in to be wasting our breath on arguing.

“You don’t have enough room to talk right now, Pope, you said you had a plan, but what happened to thinking ahead?”

“I find your lack of self-knowledge disturbing.”

JJ laughs sarcastically, “Last I checked, you literally shot an oil container with the gat, remember that?”

“Oh my God, Shut up!” Kie who was perched on the highest stacked container, stretched her foot slamming it between the two boys against the other box parallel to hers. “Shut up! Pull it together.”

She removes her foot with a roll of her eyes landing on yours and puffing out a breath, mouthing the word boys to you. 

~~~

“Hey Pope, how do you kill a snake?” JJ asks randomly.

You lost track of how long you’ve been in here, looking out of the metal panel of the vent/window, whatever it was. It had to be around noon.

“You go for the head,” Pope answers with exhaustion.

“Exactly, but the head in this instance, is the bridge. To take the bridge, we need maximum firepower and I happen to know that there’s an armory on this ship in case of pirate attacks.”

“Pirate attacks,” You mocked in a whisper. Kie gets up from her place on the ground and walks behind JJ, through the middle of the columns of boxes, nodding for you to follow.

“You lost me,” She said as she passes him.

“I’m talking knives,” He tells her.

You pat his arm as he continues his nonsensical planning, “Killing everybody here is not a plan.”

“You too?” He waves his hand dismissively, “Alright, we lost them. I’m serious, if we get to the armory, I’m talking AKs, pistols, knives, double barrels-”

“Are you okay?” Kie searches your face with sympathetic eyes. “John B shouldn’t have called you out like that.”

You shrugged, “Yeah, to be expected honestly. I’m more worried about how we're gonna get out of here, he can bitch at me later.”

You caught a glimpse of light shining on her face and follow the beam to where sunlight was peeking through, hidden behind a barrel of tubing. “Hold up,” You carry the heavy roll and place it on another one beside it.

“Guys,” Kie calls out to the boys who were now bickering loudly, “Guys!”

With a look, they come over to where you and Kie were determining whether or not you all could fit through another vent. It was bigger than the other one, you’d have to find a way to pop it out.

“What was that about a Swiss Army knife not coming in handy?” JJ pulls one out of his pocket and climbs on top of one of the rolls and begins to remove the screws. “Okay, we raid the armory, get weapons, roll back here, and plot the next move.”

That didn’t sound like a stable plan.

“The armory is on the third deck, aft, near the laundry room.” He instructs Pope and John B, “Let’s roll.”

“JJ, hold up.” Pope stops him before he can fully take out the vent, “I don’t think we should all go out there, it’s too risky.”

“Why?”

John B and Pope give each other an unspoken message, and your brother confesses, “I’m just gonna be honest, I think you should stay here.”

JJ had a puzzled look, “What?”

“I have Sarah that I’m gonna go after and Pope has the cross, also, if you go out there there’s a hundred percent possibility that you’re gonna do something stupid.”

“Okay, first of all, I think the correct terminology is ‘ballsy’, that is it,” He tries to debate but Pope pulls him down from his spot that was blocking the exit. “I’m a field player.”

John B shushes him, “If we go out there and we get in a bind, we need someone to look out for us. That’s what we need.”

That was the only way you figured he could convince JJ to stay behind with you and Kie, no doubt he felt a little betrayed by the boys.

“Okay, I get it, I get it.” He tunes out the rest of John B’s words, “I’ll be on ‘B team’.”

“I never said B team,” John B states.

Kie sputters motioning to you and herself, “Sorry, are you calling us ‘B team’?”

“Did ‘B team not just find our way out or am I totally tripping?” You say, looking between JJ and Kie.

Pope grasped JJ by the shoulders, “Just hang back and hold down the fort.”

“Great, looking forward to it,” JJ purses his lips. “You guys have fun, it’s your funeral, your game. I’ll be in here, on the bench.”

He backs away into the area the five of you were once suffering in, Kie grabs both Pope and John B and gives them, her last words of wisdom before sending them on their way. John B didn’t so much as give you a last glance before climbing out of the small window.

~~~

The lack of flowing oxygen in the container was concerning, you grew up with struggling winters and no electricity during hot summers but this felt like hell. Especially now with the conversation that you were witnessing.

JJ began to express his dream of traveling the world with the riches you were in the process of acquiring and surfing every coast he comes across.

“When all this is over, and we’re just rolling in the dough.” He speaks with half-lidded eyes, sweat beads down his neck with his head leaning against a netted crate. “I’m gonna get a new board, deck it out, and I’m gonna go on a surf trip. I don’t know where, but the world’s calling.”

You felt so faint and fatigued from the heat, yet the thought of JJ being excited about a future when all his life he’d been told he wouldn’t have one, made your heart warm.

“Name a place,” He tells Kie.

She rolls her head in thought, “Spain.”

“Then after Spain, South America, or South Africa.”

You raise a brow, “You’ll go to South Africa?”

“One of the South places,” He shrugs. “Then Micronesia maybe, and then… and just ride. Wherever the wave takes you, you know?”

“So that’s the plan if we were to get a ton of cash, that’s the dream. Surf trip?”

You watch Kiara as she asks and that’s when you notice, the hope in her heart that’s shining through her eyes, the soft smile as JJ describes the end goal of this adventure. JJ resembles the freedom and lifestyle she craves to escape the Kook life her parents have for her.

“Ripping jungle break all day long, bamboo hit, cooking a fish on the fire, and after that, you go back out and just hit the waves again. That’s the dream.”

Then, at the same time after listening to the blissful life of adventure, you and Kie respond at the same time. “Sounds perfect.”

Your and Kie’s eyes meet at your matching answers, the nonverbal confirmation that you both wanted it. You both wanted the dream and you wanted it with JJ.

Kie recovered faster than you did, “Got room for one more?”

JJ chuckles casually and taps your knee that bumps into your other one from the way you were sitting. The little tap gave you hope.

“You got your passport?” He sideglances you before asking her.

She grins, “You don’t have a passport.”

“Hell no, I don’t have a passport, that’s the Kookiest thing ever.” They laugh in sync, and your hope is gone.

Thankfully you hear a whistle come from outside the vent and you immediately jump up to open it, passing it to Kie who was right behind you. Pope climbs through, then John B, you were about to cover the hole when Pope stops you.

A girl wearing a workers cap pops up from the other side, “Jesus Christ! I kill you, John B!” she threatens your brother with a thick West Indies accent.

“Who is this?” Kie begins to panic.

“Just relax, okay?” He tries to ease her mind, “I told you I had a surprise. Remember I told you about the girl we met in the Bahamas that saved us?”

You took in the appearance of the girl standing above you and tried to match her face to the name your brother told you, “This is Cleo?”

“She’s gonna help us,” John B said more to Kie than to you. You wondered what it was gonna take to get John B to forgive you.

“Next time, ask me,” Cleo retorted.

John B and Pope updated you all on what happened when they left the container, the only thing they succeeded in doing was getting the crew's attention, getting Cleo on your side, and not grabbing any weapons on their way back.

“This is why I should have gone with you,” JJ emphasized. For once, you would’ve agreed with him, if only so that you didn’t have to sit through Kiara fawning over JJ.

“Let me get this straight,” Cleo cuts in. “You five, with no weapons, decided you were gonna hijack this tramp steamer on your own? Do you have any idea who these people are?”

She stares you all down like a mother scolding you for touching a hot stove, “Eberhimi, if he catches you, he’s gonna kill you. Dead. Cut off your fingers.”

“What about waiting until we get to port?” Kie suggests. “At least then, if something goes wrong we have a place to run.”

You shake your head, “We can’t wait, by now they already know we're here.”

“I’ve run this scenario over a thousand times in my head, our best chances are on this ship.” Pope adds, “There are fifteen crew members and six of us, three-to-one odds, that’s the best it’ll get. If we wait till we get there, they’ll trap us.”

“We have no chance,” Kie protests.

“There’s something else,” John B spoke, and by the look on his face- it had to be bad news. Your stomach sunk, and your mind immediately went to Sarah, Was she hurt? Dead? “Ward’s alive.”

The worst thing he could have said, your father's killer was alive, the peace you thought you had when he was dead was ripped away from you once again. There was no winning against him.

“He’s alive, and he’s on this boat. It was all a setup, blowing up the boat, the confession to Shoupe. Think about it, that was to clear Rafe’s name.” John B glances at you, “And he does what? Goes to the Druthers, and what’s on the Druthers?”

“Scuba,” You exhale your answer, your back hitting a corner of a box.

“Ward’s alive, he’s got the gold and the cross.” JJ’s boots slam down on the metal as he climbs off the crates he was hanging on to. “And Sarah.”

“Thanks for rubbing that in,” Kie looks up to the ceiling.

“He’s just gonna get away with everything again, huh?” JJ shakes his head in denial, “Not happening. We’re not watching this movie again, right, Pope? You said we need the win, and with her,” He points to Cleo. “We’re going to the bridge and we’re gonna take it right now.”

“Let’s do it,” John B nods.

“I’m with you, and I wanna be the one to take that bridge,” Pope agrees with a new fire in his eyes.

Cleo snickers, “He’s gonna take that bridge?”

“Yeah,” JJ defends Pope.

“He couldn’t even take me.”

You giggled at that, as much as you would like to believe in Pope, he would definitely need help.

“First of all, I was going easy on you.”

“I went easy on you,” With the knife in her hand, you would bet on her.

John B shushes them both, “Relax, both of you.”

JJ takes the silence as an opportunity to say his plan aloud, “If you’re with us, we can use that knife to hold it up against the captain’s neck then we go on the intercom and make him tell the rest of the crew to meet up in the forward hull. Once they’re in the same place, we lock them in there and we take back what’s ours.”

“I like it, it could work,” Pope concurs.

“Are you with us?” JJ meets Cleo’s eye to ask her seriously.

She takes a second, “No. This is stupid.” Cleo looks at you sharply. There was a man shouting orders from outside to check the containers, she hops onto the platform and opens the vent. She hops out, and you all hear her shout a name.

You were starting to think about how John B was wrong to trust her when you heard her tell the men that were trying to open the container that she searched it already. You all breathe a sigh of relief.

“She’s on our side,” JJ says. “Pope, you’re up, we’ll wait for your signal.”

Pope pulls the vent from the hole once more, climbing out. You watch as he follows Cleo with no trail before covering it up again.

You were getting anxious about how long it was taking, how long does it take to take over a bridge anyway?

“You think he’ll pull it off?” You ask Kie. Right as she opened her mouth to respond, the order from an unrecognizable voice was heard through the intercom.

“Repeat. All hands and all passengers report to the tween forward hull immediately.”

“Sounds like he did,” JJ responded. “Let’s split up, once they’re all in the hull, Kie, Y/n, and I will lock them inside.”

“Is that really a three-person job?” John B asks JJ.

You look at him suspiciously, “I’d go with you if you wanted me to, but...”

“Now is not the time guys,” Kie tells you both.

“Fine, I’ll find Sarah and get the lifeboat.”

“We’ll meet you, load the cross, and get out of here,” Kie confirms the plan.

JJ climbs out first, John B after, then Kie, and You. You glance behind you to check if there was someone coming before walking after the rest of them. John B went his separate way as soon as you all made it inside the ship. You and Kie followed JJ to the forward hull, knowing you’d get lost on your own.

There are still a couple of crew members making their way inside, huffing and complaining as they went.

“How many?” JJ whispers to where you and Kie were pressed against the metal wall. You hold up three fingers as you counted the men walking. You heard Wheezie talking to Rose, and walking behind them was Rafe.

You almost gasped as you saw him, and moved your head out of sight. You were sweating from the nerves and anxiety of potentially getting caught as well as the heat. “That’s all of the crew,” You whisper to JJ.

“Except Ward, we need Ward.”

“We can’t wait,” Kie tells you both. JJ begrudgingly nods for you all to go ahead with the plan. You, Kie, and JJ push the heavy metal door shut, the crew members from the inside were pushing it to stay open. You plant your feet as you push against them, using all your strength, and JJ officially closes the latch.

You heard their footsteps run away from the door they were fighting against you. “There’s another door!”

The three of you bolt to the other side, the crew members were too late. JJ managed to close the smaller exit before they could fight against it. With no crew members to stop you, JJ found a lower ground where the cross could be.

You climbed down the ladder where there was a wooden box, the shape of the cross, was. A blanket was lazily thrown over it, you, JJ, and Kie uncover it.

JJ smiles at you both, “Surf trip.” He reaches out his hand to do your secret handshake, he had a different one with both you and Kie.

The ceiling began to open, and Pope was standing on top, Finding this cross was a huge step in the right direction, Ward may be alive but the Pogues were going to take back what was rightfully yours, one by one. Sarah, The Cross, your lives.

You, JJ, and Kie let out shouts of excitement as Pope pumps his fist in the air, “The time where people do shit to us and we just sit back and take it is over!”

With final whoops of encouragement, Pope rushes to the crane as you, Kie, and JJ prep the cross for him with the thick rope hooked on each side of it.

“It’s ready for you Pope!” JJ shouts at him.

Pope lifts the cross quicker than he should, you shout him a warning, JJ directs him to move the cross more to the middle but he moves it far to the left. The Cross swings at a barrel of wrapping, knocking it over.

“Too far, too far!” Kie exclaims.

You hear a faint, “My bad!” coming from inside the crane.

“Your other middle!” You told him. JJ helps him by moving the extra rope from the cross and guiding it to where it isn’t hitting the ‘ceiling’ until he finally had it in the air.

You and the others go back to the upper deck from the same ladder, passing where Pope was with the crane and the cross, making sure it was clear before moving forward in your search for the lifeboats and John B. You kept going until you saw a man who looked boiling mad.

“I don’t see him,” JJ said.

“J,” You called his attention as he was looking over for John B. You and Kie shared a concerned look.

The man pulls out a machete, “Of course, there’s more of you. Get down on your knees.”

“Yeah that’s not gonna happen,” JJ speaks right before the man swung his machete down on JJ. He manages to dodge it and gets a hold of his forearm, pushing it onto the wall, you and Kie hold it down as JJ punches him. Kie lets go, and you open the metal emergency kit door, slamming it in his face, knocking him back.

Kie looks over to the lower level and calls for John B as JJ attempts to fight off the guy who’s two times his size. JJ gets shoved on the ground, his head hitting the floor, the man makes his way to Kie who had her guard down.

“Kie!” You yelled out her name as a warning and jump on the man's back, your right arm around his neck- choking him and your left arm pulling against his with his hold on the machete to keep him from swinging it at your friend.

You heard JJ shout at you, “Y/n, no!”

You couldn’t hold him back, he slams his back against the railing which meant that you would take the hit, your spine hit the edge making fall off his back and onto your feet. He then, with full force, elbows you in your stomach. You couldn’t breathe, he literally knocked the wind out of you and as he swung the machete at Kiara, she ducked and the blunt end of it hit you in the head and you went straight into the water.

JJ dove in after you, Kie kicked the man back and went in after him.

“Y/n!” Kie swam after you.

JJ held you in his arms, desperately trying to keep you afloat while also keeping himself up. “Y/n, c’mon, stay with me, baby!”

“John B!” He dully heard Kie shout. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he was struggling to keep you both up but he didn’t care how much his arms ached, he would make you sure you were alive.

“Y/n, please,” He begged. “John B’s coming alright? He’s coming, Kie!”

The lifeboat came around the corner of the ship in the distance.

Kiara continued to scream for John B to rescue the three of you. At the sight of you, unconscious in JJ’s arm, John B felt sick. Pope, John B, and Sarah cried out for you as Kie helped JJ swim with the weight of your body.

John B pulled you from JJ’s hold and into the lifeboat, JJ hovered over your body, “C’mon, Y/n.” He held your cold cheek in his palm, wishing- willing for you to wake up. The lifeboat stopped moving.

“What’s going on?” Sarah asked.

“We’re stalling!” John B pulls the string to start the engine back up again.

“You serious? We’re sitting ducks,” Pope panics.

JJ looks up to the ship and sees Rafe pointing a gun at the boat, you were all in. He moves his body in a position where he’s covering you in case Rafe starts shooting, while John B keeps trying the motor.

Miraculously it starts, and speeds away, as soon as you all were in the clear, everybody turns their attention back to where you lie, unmoving.

“I’m sorry, alright?” John B crouched on your left, holding onto your hand. “I am so fucking sorry.”

JJ was beginning to feel anxious, the start of an anxiety attack forming in his chest, “Wake up, Y/n, wake up!” He had both of his hands on your cheeks, shaking you ever so slightly. Your eyes shot open, and you were coughing out water. “There you go, cough it out, baby.”

~~~

The first thing you saw was blue, your throat felt raw from the salt water you unknowingly consumed, your lungs were screaming, and your head was throbbing like you had a migraine that was splitting your head open but the only feeling that mattered was the one you felt when you saw him looking at you the way he was right now.

His eyes held words you wished you could understand, tears appeared as if they were about to spill over, and they did as he grinned so wide, his cheeks wrinkled his eyes.

“No CPR needed, huh?” Kie commented with a smile.

You broke the intense eye contact you had with JJ and felt a hand in yours, you looked to the hand's owner and saw your brother. He immediately engulfed you in a hug. “I’m not, not talking to you again.”

“Don’t lie to yourself, JB,” You hugged him back with feeble arms, relieved that he was no longer upset with you. “I’m sorry.”

“We’re all good, lil’ P,” John B ruffled your wet hair before letting you go. JJ was mute as he beamed down on you.

“Hey,” Your voice came out small.

His lips parted, once again, in a bright smile “Sup?” He brought your head to his chest, grabbed a piece of cloth, and dabbed at the side of your head that stung.

“What the hell happened?”

“The blunt end of a machete,” Kie explained.

“Next time, duck,” Cleo joked.

You chuckled, “I’ll try to remember that next time, thanks.”

Way into the distance, on the ship you had barely escaped from, the members of the crew were hoisting the cross from the water. The plan you all thought would work, and was working, had gone wrong. You were left with nothing. Ward had the cross, the gold, and the retribution you all thought you had when Ward was dead is gone.

At least Sarah was now safe and with her people, you thought as you and the girls sat against a couple of palm trees along the shore of a remote island.

“Good job, guys” Sarah cheered for the boys as they brought in the lifeboat from the water.

“Anybody knows where we’re at?” JJ threw out the question you were all wondering.

“Deserted beach, unknown island,” Pope answered as he settled down next to Cleo.

“Plan A, huh Pope?” JJ leaned his forearm against the tree to your left, you looked up at him from where your head lay on Kie’s lap. “That went well.”

“This is the lowest we can go,” Pope said. “We literally have nothing else to lose, the cross? Gone.”

You sat up, letting the weight on your hands that dug into the sand as you listed another thing off. “The gold? Gone.”

“Seriously, if we had a nickel for every time we got beat up, I’d say we’re at a dollar fifty.” JJ reminded the group.

“That’s more than I got on me,” Kie commented.

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better,” Said Sarah.

“Yeah, you’re right. But, we’ve had some good stuff happen.” Your head snapped to John B, wondering what speech of optimism he was going to muster up.

“Name some,” Pope told him.

“The boiler room, if the boiler didn’t explode, I wouldn’t have gotten away from Rafe. I couldn’t have gotten the zodiac and gotten us out of here.” He mentioned, and pointed to the lifeboat the newly branded ‘Zodiac’.

Cleo, who was to the right of John B, looked amused. “That wasn’t luck, that thing was gonna blow the second I stopped feeding it.”

“Stealing my thunder, Cleo.”

“Sorry.”

“Okay, Pope,” He redirects. “You’re related to Denmark Tanny, that’s crazy.”

“And I lost all of his inheritance,” Pope shut down John B’s next point. You knew where he tried to go with it, and you admired him for trying to keep the group's spirits high, but you were all literally on rock bottom.

You’ve accepted your fate, after your near-death experience, all that had bothered you before had drifted away just like you and that Pogues did. All except one, human-sized thing that was stuck on this island with you.

“You know what,” John B stood and faced the ocean with his arms out wide. “Guys, this is it. This is the Pogue life. We are in the Caribbean, it’s our own little slice of paradise, with my best friends- with my family. I wouldn’t wanna do it with anyone else.”

You raised your hand and pursed your lips, “Can you say that again in like two weeks? When we’re still here, starving, and fed up with me.”

“Y/n, you almost died, the love’s gonna last a ‘lil while- don’t ruin the moment.” He put up a hand as if to stop you from speaking. “Look, while you guys were complaining about every little thing, JJ?”

The blond who was stabbing his pocket knife in the tree, paused after sinking into the bark, humming in response.

“I was looking at those burly lefts,” John B points to the waves forming on the water.

“There are some slabs out there,” JJ agrees.

“Kie, you see that?” John B attempts to persuade her.

She shakes her head, “No boards.”

“Well, we can bodysurf till we make some boards.”

“Lame.”

“They are tasty,” Pope refers to the ocean. “There’s nobody around, we could squat here for a bit. Kind of belongs to us now, huh?”

“You got a point,” You shrug. “Seven-way split.”

“Poguelandia. I claim thee Poguelandia,” JJ pipes in with a posh accent. You noted how he carved ‘P4L’ on the bark of the tree right below where his knife was embedded, emphasizing your ownership of the island. Then returns to his normal voice, “I like the ring of it, I’m gonna make a flag. It’s gonna have a chicken on it with a coconut bra, smoking a J, in crocs.”

The image of it came to mind and you laughed, it was a little blurry but you didn’t doubt that JJ would make a real visual as soon as he could find the materials.

“I could use a J,” Kie confessed.

“Can we vote on this?” Sarah asked, John B reached out to her and pulled her out of the sand.

“‘Til death do us part?”

You looked away from their little moment, slapping your hands together to get rid of the sand that got stuck, when you looked up a hand was extended out to you. The owner of it being JJ, you took his hand and allowed him to wrap his arm around you.

“What’s up?” You ask him as he guides you along the coast, away from the group. You looked back to where Kie and Pope were teaching Cleo the Pogue handshake, Sarah and John B were a couple of feet behind you and JJ.

“Just wanted to check in on you,” He let his arm slip off your shoulders once you were far enough away from the others.

Besides your severe thirst for water, the pounding in your head had gone from a blinding headache to a dull throb, and despite the fact that you were on a deserted island? You were well.

“I’m good,” You told him honestly.

“You cared the shit out of me,” He let out a sigh. “You know, earlier?”

“When I got knocked the fuck out?” You laughed. “Yeah, well, he was going at Kie and I couldn’t just not do anything.”

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost you, dude,” He fiddled with your fingers as he was holding your hand. You wanted to know what he meant- what he truly meant- by that.

“You’d survive, J,” You playfully pushed his shoulder. He didn’t budge. “It would suck, losing your only form of amusement, all of you would be losing an asset to the team.”

He didn’t laugh, he was standing in front of you, his back covering the view of you from the group and openly searching the features on your face. Your neck was tilted upwards, doing just the same. You'd be lying if you said you didn’t expect something to happen right now.

The way his face was the one you saw when you woke up, according to Kie he jumped into the water the moment you were hit, the way he was looking at you then- the way he was looking at you now. Everything that happened between you in the past, it had to mean something.

“Y/n, JJ!” John B’s shouting broke through the tension around you and JJ. “C’mon, we gotta get started on provisions!”

“We’re going!” You shout back, though you weren’t sure it was loud enough. You step to the side to move past JJ, “We should go before-”

He took a hold of your face with both of his hands and you thought that he was gonna do it, he was going to kiss you. Instead, he kissed you on your forehead and said “I just need you to know that I care about you, alright?”

You flushed, “Yeah. I care about you too, J.”

“Not that I’m letting that happen ever happening again, but I didn’t want you to die without me telling you.”

“Right.” That was not what you were expecting, you had to admit that you were disappointed, knowing JJ had a difficult time expressing his emotions but when he acts like this it builds up your hope.

~~~

Before the sun went down fully, you all had started a fire with Pope’s lighter and dry wood. Everyone was surrounding the fire, just like you all would in your backyard. The only thing lacking was the beer and the lights that JJ had strung up when he bought ‘the cat’s ass’.

With the fresh breeze and ocean spraying on you, JJ exaggerating his side of the story on the ship, Cleo showing off her knife tricks to Sarah who had John B’s arm around her, Pope correcting JJ on whatever parts he got wrong, and you and Kie leaning against each other for warmth.

It felt right, you felt at peace, like you were home. John B was right, you wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else. 

~~~~

Last Chapter of Season 2! What do you guys think?

Credit to @ steffi55 on wattpad for the idea to switch from JJ getting hurt to Y/n

Chapter 21

Taglist:

@jbassettjmaybank - @deanwherescas - @thtbwltts - @nerdypartytrashpsychic - @random-girl-army - @wisegirlies - @instabull - @sexyfoxlady - @bubs-world - @sdawn03 - @mendesclines - @obx-pogues-4-life - @mentalforfics - @p-prettybitch - @namacissi - @dczedhee - @inkandpen22 - @royalavenger - @ayeitsjustmee - @80strashbag - @onlyangel-444 - @freds-slut - @poppet05 - @itsjuststaticnoises - @ahnneyong - @lovepizza567 - @jasminfelling - @rana03 - @loki-loveer - @rana030 - @lostinatimeline - @boldlypessimistic - @clinelyn - @a-j-stuffs - @yunhobug - @syd223sworld - @strawberry--fawn - @mysticalavenuecheesecake - @itsmytimetoodream - @natashtessabeth12 - @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles - @chervbs - @or-was-it-just-a-dream - @newbooksmell777 - @afterzonee - @hana-1235 - @ilovesteveharrngton - @s1Ingwns

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#jj maybank x routledge!reader #jj maybank x reader #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank imagines #jj x reader #jj maybank x pogue #john b x sister!reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank #jj mayback imagine #outerbanks imagine #outerbanks fanfiction #jj x y/n #jj x you #jj fanfiction #obx jj #obx imagine #john b x sarah #pope heyward #john b routledge #sarah cameron #kiara carrera #outerbanks series #rafe cameron x routledge! reader #paradise on earth by xreaderbooks #paradise on earth #rudy pankow

[thewulf]

Take a Risk || Pete "Maverick" Mitchell

Summary: You thought you knew how to handle the Top Gun boys. That was until Pete showed up rocking your world. Your simple life as a plane mechanic was coming to an abrupt halt once he entered your hangar.

A/N: Who doesn't love a good Top Gun 1986 Mav??

Pairing: Young Pete "Maverick"Mitchell x Y/N

Word Count: 6,700+

It was a sticky sweet summer morning on North Beach in Miramar, San Diego. Even with your hair tightly slicked back in a knotted bun you couldn’t stop the sweat from dripping down your back as you picked up a wrench from your toolbox. Cursing the Navy for making you wear such thick flight suits as a mechanic you subtly unzipped the top to get some air. You were wearing a tank top anyway.

You turned back to the F-14 you were working on as you read the paperwork on its issues. Lieutenant Pete Mitchell dropped it off yesterday complaining about a weird noise in the left engine when he banked right. You were pretty sure you knew what the problem was. A snapped bolt that seemed to be a common service problem on these planes.

Smiling to yourself when you found the cause of the planes problems you quickly drilled the bolt out replacing it with a larger sturdier one. You fired up the engine making sure that the bold didn’t interfere with anything. When you were satisfied with your work you hopped out of the cockpit and scribbled what you did on the paperwork. Making detailed notes about the sheered bolt.

However, what you didn’t like was the bent frame. Taking a few measurements, you frowned finding the entire wing bending at the wrong angle, a potential terminal angle. After making a few calls you found a repair solution, albeit a lengthy one.

“She’s a beauty isn’t she.” A booming voice took you out of the task you were laser focused on.

Pulling your body out of one of the turbines you snapped your head around spotting the culprit. A handsome, albeit likely cocky as hell, pilot eyed you as you turned towards him. Body still sitting in the turbine you eyed him curiously. It wasn’t often you got any visitors, let alone a pilot, all the way back in the maintenance hangar tucked in the corner of the air base.

“I’ve seen prettier.” Smiling as sweetly as you could you placed your hands on your lap continuing to observe him. You knew the type. Almost all of the naval aviators that came through Top Gun were more arrogant than any civilian man you’d ever meet. Often giving you shit for being their mechanic since you were a woman you opted to simply work in peace in the corner. Out of sight, out of mind.

Feigning hurt the pilot walked closer to you, “You wound me. That’s my pride and joy right there.”

“Try and treat her more kindly then.” Countering, you smirked at the man as you tapped on the inside of the turbine with your wrench, “Her frame is a little fucked.”

“You don’t break barriers if you don’t push them.” He winked clearly waiting on you to join him on the ground.

He was just the type. Rolling your eyes you turned back towards the engine, deciding to ignore him, “Not if you end up snapping it in the air.”

He laughed irking you even further, “You don’t know what I can do in the air.”

“Well,” You dropped the wrench again, the guy clearly wasn’t getting the hint, “I’m certain you can’t defeat physics.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Frustrated you simply ignored the arrogant pilot. You found it was the easiest way to deal with these personalities, simply ignore them and give them nothing.

For a brief moment you forgot he was beneath you as you refocused in on what you were working on. Grabbing your power tools, you unbolted a few panels that needed to be replaced, he had begun to warp the damn frame on the plane. It wasn’t often that you had come across this severe of warpage at a training facility. Sure, when you were working on carriers and planes were coming back from missions you would likely see this damage, when pilots were in life and death situations. Yet this yahoo was doing it at Top Gun.

You tossed the panels down as you normally would hearing the smack of the metal panel hitting the concrete.

“That’s a little loud.” You heard his annoying voice come from below you again.

“It is.” You agreed pulling out a few broken bolts.

“Do you mind?”

The audacity. The sheer audacity of this damn pilot coming into your home and asking you to change the way you do things, “I do.” You threw the last panel maybe a little too close to him.

Jumping back, he looked up at you a little shocked, “Snippy.” He smirked knowing he was getting you worked up after seeing your scowl.

It took everything in you not to jump off the turbine to tell him off. But you knew better, they always sided with their precious Top Gun pilots not the lowly technicians.

Stifling the huff, you wanted to let out you answered him, “Just trying to do my job.”

“And I can’t do mine until your done so.”

You weren’t sure why this stranger was working you up so much, but man was he sure good at it. You thought you knew how to handle these assholes, but he was special. A special asshole.

“And you standing here interrupting me every five minutes sure as hell won’t make it get done faster Lieutenant.”

“Mitchell.”

Rolling your eyes you continued, “Did I ask?”

“No.” He smiled, “But may I know yours?”

“Y/N.” Replying as shortly to him as you could you decided it was a failed effort to try and fix his plane right now. So, you hopped right of the turbine to your ladder meeting him on the ground.

“Well, that’s a pretty name.” He looked all to gleeful he got you out of your perch, your comfort zone.

Nodding you turned away from him to grab your water. It was already far too hot, and this man wasn’t making it any cooler. Rather the opposite. Wiping the glistening sweat from your forehead you set your bottle back down on your tool chest.

“You should tell my mom that then. She’s the one who named me.” You searched for a grinder as you needed to smooth down the edges of the panel inserts.

You heard him chuckle from behind, “Are you always so defensive?”

“Are you always so annoying?” Countering you smiled as kindly as you could muster. You knew you had to put him in his place now or he’d walk all over you.

His smile grew even more only infuriating you further. He seemed to like your attitude. He really seemed to like that you weren’t afraid to speak your mind.

“Afraid so Y/N.” Grinning like a Cheshire cat he made his way over to you as you scavenged your toolbox looking for that damn grinding wheel.

You jumped nearly ten feet in the air once you found it, turned around and he was suddenly inches in front of you, “Jesus Christ, you can’t do that.”

He leaned himself on the toolbox cocking his head to the side, “My actual name is Pete, not Jesus Christ. Flattering though.”

You were simply beside yourself now. This man wasn’t going to stop. He was clever though. You did have to give him that. Clever and quick. A rather menacing combination on top of an already cocky and arrogant attitude? This dude was already too much for you to handle.

“Well Pete.” You gave him the up and down, fully taking him in, “Either make yourself useful and throw me tools or kindly get the fuck out of my hangar.” Batting your eyelashes, you shoved the grinding wheel into his stomach taking him by surprise. You heard the grunt he gave as you shoved it into him. Smiling to yourself you made your way back over to the damaged F-14.

“Tool tosser it is.” He followed you like a puppy, sitting down on the bottom rung of the ladder you were using.

Not sure what came over you that moment you were already regretting your decision to let Pete hang out with you. You weren’t a total loner, but the nature of the job meant you were crawling into tiny, dark places that usually didn’t allow for a partner. So, you learned to love working with yourself. You were very good at it too. Quickly rising through the technician ranks you found yourself at Top Gun only three years into your Naval career.

“How’d you end up here?” He asked after he tossed you the grinding wheel.

You looked over your repair area before answering him, “I’m good at my job.”

“Ha ha.” He gave you a look, one that showed he was starting to get annoyed by your snarky responses.

“My dad and I worked on cars growing up. We restored a ’53 Corvette over a few years and I just kinda fell in love with it. Completely rebuilt the engine with a new V8 instead of the V6 it originally came with.” You answered him as honestly as you felt, giving him more information than you would’ve normally disposed.

“That’s hot as hell.” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice, the confidence was oozing out of this man.

“Jigsaw.” You opted to shut him down again.

“A jigsaw?” He looked a little flabbergasted as you requested your desired tools.

“Mhmm. Know what tool that is Pete?” Deciding to belittle him you threw that stupid smirk right back in his face.

His flabbergasted look turned to one of shock then realization at your statement then a smile formed across it. He certainly was expressive, “Yes, Y/N. I know what a jigsaw is.”

“Very good.” You clapped waiting for him to retrieve the tool.

“I’m just surprised you need it is all.” He rolled his eyes, returning the favor you so graciously gave him many times throughout the past hour that he had been bothering you.

Shrugging your shoulders, “I didn’t warp the crash bar so badly it needs an entirely new one Pete.”

Raising his eyebrows he turned to you, “Have you ever seen that?”

Groaning you gave him the finger. You felt oddly comfortable conversing with the cocky pilot. It’s not like you didn’t like the Top Gun pilots you saw come in and out of the base but that was just that. They came for a few weeks and then they were off doing crazy shit again. You made sure to have fun but to never get involved.

He snickered before turning around and finding the jigsaw quickly. He tossed it up to you before you responded, “But no Pete, I haven’t seen this one in a while.”

“Bummer. Thought I’d be the first.”

Shaking your head, you returned your focus back to the task at hand. Pulling down your safety visor you began to let it rip, careful not to cut through any electrical components within the aircraft. Sparks began flying earning a grin from your face. You just loved it. It gave you such a sense of pride in yourself that you could do it and you did it better than the other mechanics. You always got the toughest planes to work on.

Once finished you smoothed it out with the grinding wheel. Peeking over the ledge you noticed Pete was still there, leaning against the ladder even though it took you about ten minutes to cut through.

“Still here?” You barked breaking him away from his thoughts. His stupid little smile formed as he took you in now. You were sure you looked like hell. The sticky humidity had your hair matted down on your forehead and neck. Grease streaked across your chin and neck unbeknownst to you. Your flight suit was almost shimmied all the way off of your body leaving you only in your tank top, a major violation. But you couldn’t really care right now, it was too hot to care. You just opted to pray your direct leader didn’t waltz on in like Pete did.

“Like I said, can’t do much without her.” He pointed to the F-14, “And you seem like you just love my company.” He grinned knowing it would egg you on.

“Oh, I just adore it.” You waited for him to look this time before you dropped the crash bar down to him.

“So,” He paused waiting for you to look at him this time, “How are you going to fix her?”

Smiling you hopped back out of the turbine onto the ladder leveling up with him once your feet hit the concrete, “I’m going to go get another crash bar, machine it down to the measurements I took then I’m going to weld it back together. With some new panels she’ll be as good as new.”

Pete’s eyes nearly bugged out of its sockets. He found that insanely attractive. Not like what you were already doing wasn’t attractive but man there was something about a woman that could handle her own.

“There you are!” A third voice interrupted the bickering pair. A lanky blonde haired

“Goose! Meet Y/N.” He pointed to you, “She’s fixing our girl.” He grinned eyeing both you and the plane between glances.

“Hello.” You smiled awkwardly feeling slightly claustrophobic with so many people in your usual solo space.

“Ma’am.” He nodded his head before turning back to Pete.

“We’ve got to get to training.” He attempted to pull Pete by the arm, but the stubborn man refused to budge.

“Relax Goose. I’m a little busy.” He shook off his friend’s arm.

Shaking your head, you clearly disagreed with him, “No, he’s not.”

Pete pouted. Crossing his arms over his chest and all, “I was helping.”

“Key word was. Past tense. Get to training Lieutenant. I really don’t want to hear Viper bitching about something else in the break room.” You gave him a wink, throwing him a bone. You hate to admit it, but you really did enjoy his company. But you had to remember he’d only be here a few weeks. You can have fun, but never can you get attached.

Grinning ear to ear he bowed out, “If the lady commands.” He eyed you.

“She does.”

You heard Goose laugh softly waiting for Pete to leave with him. Pete didn’t drop that damn smirk that never seemed to leave his face, “Will I see you again Y/N?”

“You know where I work.” You left the invitation open for him to come back. The statement left your mouth so fast you didn’t even process it. Mentally cursing yourself it clicked you invited the nuisance back for more and you were sure he was going to be back.

Nodding his head, he eyed you up and down once more before turning away, “See you tomorrow Y/N!” He walked over to Goose ruffling his hair after hitting him on the back. Lord only knows what the two of them were talking about.

Pete kept true to his word and showed up just as you were finishing up on his plane. You were sitting in the cockpit flipping a few switches when you heard the man whistle from below.

“Damn, this might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” The brown-haired pilot smiled as he leaned on your toolbox, yet again.

“Yeah, yeah.” You laughed shutting the engine down, satisfied in your work, “Too bad I can’t fly the damn thing.” Nearly whispering you weren’t sure if Pete heard you as you walked down the ladder.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly hearing you, “And what’s stopping you Y/N?”

The story was old as time now. You dreamed of being a pilot. Quite literally your whole life that’s all you wanted to be. Just like your dad. He was an Air Force pilot, and he was damn good at it. Your dreams were yanked right from you at the age of twelve when your family was in a pretty severe car accident blinding you in one eye completely. You were devastated when the doctors said they tried everything they could, your left eye would never see again.

Your pilot dreams ended that day, so you had to opt for the next best thing. Airplane mechanic. At least you’d get to work on them all day. Plus, your dad supported your dreams. He saw how sad you were after the incident, so he worked with you. The two of you rebuilt three classic cars by the time you turned eighteen. Your favorite being that first year Corvette.

“I’m blind in my left eye Pete.” You smirked waiting on his next comeback. Your smirk grew even further when you saw his eyes widen and his throat bob, seemingly stumping him.

“Well,” He ran his fingers through his hair clearly a little uncomfortable with the information you provided to him, “That’ll stop you.”

Erupting in laughter you weren’t expecting that response, “It sure did.” Grinning at the goofy man you looked back up at his plane, “And she’s as good as new.”

Pete looked between you and the plane chewing on his lip obviously contemplating something in his brain.

“Ever flown in one?”

“Nope.” You shook your head not really grasping what he was getting at.

“How about your first flight, today?”

Snapping your head back around Pete finally got you to pay attention to him, “Absolutely not.”

Frowning he stepped closer to you, “Why not?”

“Uhh, because I like my job?” Looking at him incredulously he was being dead ass serious. This pilot was seriously asking if you wanted to go up with him.

“Is it in the rule book?”

Pausing you thought long and hard trying to recall anything, “No?” Racking your brain, you really couldn’t recall a specific rule that forbade you to go up with the pilots. You’ve just never had the opportunity to. You knew your boss would flip a gasket if he knew what you did but it almost sounded enticing coming out of this near stranger’s mouth.

Sure, you’ve been in lots of cool military aircraft but never an F-14. Flying in one of those sounded like a pipe dream to you. But here was your chance. A cute aviator offering to take you up? Did you really want to pass up on one of your best opportunities to date?

He grinned, “You just need a helmet and then we can go on up.”

“Pete,” You paused trying to find the right words in your head, “I don’t think this is a great idea. Plus, I don’t have a helmet…”

Pete scoffed at you clearly not taking your excuses to heart, “You can borrow Goose’s. He keeps it clean anyway.”

“I don’t want to take something from him…”

He scoffed again, “He won’t mind. Where’s your telephone? Just need to ring him up to have him bring it over.”

“Pete…”

“What?” He took a good long look at your face finally realizing the slight discomfort he was putting on you, “It’ll be fine. Promise.” He squeezed your arm in comfort.

“I’ve just never been in trouble before and,”

“Even more of a reason to go. Take a risk. Live a little.” He placed his hands on your shoulders trying to level set you, “It’s just a little test flight.”

Licking your lips, you thought long and hard. Even if you did get caught Pete was right, it was just a test flight. Odds are your boss wouldn’t have a clue.

“Phone’s over there.” You pointed to the wall where it hung.

“Atta girl.” He ruffled the top of your hair ever so slightly before bounding off to the phone. You were still a bit taken aback by his domineering nature, still trying to get used to it. And the atta girl? That had you weak in your knees. Gripping your toolbox, you took a deep breath trying to recollect your bearings.

Pete walked back over, looking way to happy, “Goose is on the way!”

“Oh great.” You said as sarcastically as possible making your uneasiness of the situation very well known to the man. You wanted to. God, you wanted to. You’ve been waiting on this moment for as long as you could remember. But man were you nervous.

“Hey,” His smile dropped a little seeing you pace back and forth nervously, “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.” He looked at you with a softness you had yet to see in the man.

Your arms were crossed as you ran your hands nervously up and down, “It’s not that. I just… I just don’t do things like this.” Admitting that to him was harder than you would’ve though. It was almost embarrassing to admit you were a little cowardly when it came to command. You hated getting in trouble. Your eyes almost always watered when you got reprimanded by the big bosses, them yelling in your face always seemed to get to you. Doing everything in your power to not get in trouble was your life motto,up until now. This decision was not going to keep you out of trouble.

“Always a time to start.” Pete grinned stopping close to you. Close enough that you got a nice big whiff of his cologne that sent your mind reeling almost instantly.

“I suppose.” You took a baby step back, feeling all too overwhelmed by his presence suddenly.

He reacted by taking a step closer to you, always seeming to push you out of your own comfort zone, “If you tie your hair back really tight and tuck it under your flight suit, they might even think it’s just Goose back there with me.”

Narrowing your eyes in on him you eyed him suspiciously. Was he being honest? Or was he simply fucking with you, “Really?”

Nodding his head, he inched just a step closer, really breaking down your personal boundary space, “It’s hard to see who’s really in the cockpit once the canopy is down. And you’ll be wearing his helmet. You can be Goose in our test flight.”

“Okay.” You gave him a genuine smile starting to feel slightly better about what you were going to do shortly.

“Oh Maverick!” Hearing a familiar voice both of you jumped out of the trance you were both in with each other. Goose walked in smirking like he just caught the two of you doing the deed right then and there. Walking up to the both of you he wiggled his eyebrows earning a backslap from Pete, “One clean and in perfect condition helmet for the lady.”

You took it from him gingerly observing the outside of it. Sure, you’ve picked up plenty of helmets but never a Top Gun Pilot’s one. These were made specifically for each pilot, hand painted and all, “Thank you Goose.” You smiled up at him.

“Anytime.” He threw you a wink, “Mav taking you up then?”

Nodding your head, you set the helmet down as gently as possible, “That’s the plan.” You laughed nervously feeling like this was a terrible idea now that it was happening.

“Here,” Pete walked over taking the helmet from the work bench, “I’m going to put this on you, okay?”

“Sure.” You felt your cheeks beginning to heat up feeling like a daft idiot. It should’ve been obvious, but you were too nervous you’d mess it up in front of the seasoned veterans.

He took it and slowly slid it over your head, making sure your earrings didn’t catch on any of the lining. Once it was fully seated, he grabbed a few straps tightening the helmet down to your smaller head size. The two of you were standing so close you felt his breath fan over the opening in your helmet onto your face. Your eyes took in his facial features as he was laser focused on getting the helmet to fit you properly.

You noticed the few freckles that had managed to pop out from his complexion. He had a few deeper wrinkles that you were sure were from the stress of his job. His focusing face was downright adorable as well with his lips pulling in one direction and his eyes scrunching just a bit.

He was a handsome man you had concluded. An arrogant one at that, handsome nonetheless. But you always had to remember the rule. You could have fun. You just couldn’t get attached. And this? Pete? He looked fun.

Goose let out a wolf-whistle as Pete stepped back examining his handy work, “She looks phenomenal!”

“Spectacular!” Pete chimed in.

“Stunning as ever!” Goose continued.

“A showstopper!”

“Okay!” You laughed nudging Pete’s side gently, “I get it.” You let out a small giggle beginning to feel more comfortable with the two pilots in front of you. They were nothing but best friends who loved to goof off. You didn’t need to be so intimidated by them.

“Now that you officially look the hottest you ever have, follow me.” Pete threw you a wink earning a hearty chuckle from his RIO. Goose was very used to Pete’s overly aggressive flirting. You however were not used to Pete’s flirting which sent your face from a pale white to a cherry red in almost an instant.

“Have fun up there Y/N.” Goose laughed taking a seat at your work bench.

“I will!” You threw him a thumbs up before following closely behind Pete, not wanting to miss any of his instruction.

“Up you go.” He grinned seeing your small figure in the big helmet.

Obliging you climbed up the internal ladder to the plane plopping yourself in the back seat. What you didn’t see was Pete ogling you from behind as your hips swayed moving you up the ladder. Once he snapped back into reality, he followed you up. Instead of climbing into his seat though he climbed right on top of you sending your brain right back into the tizzy it was in earlier. You were so thankful it wasn’t as hot today or you might just be a puddle on the ground.

You knew there wasn’t much room in the canopy. But when a man straddled you in the second seat you realized just how tight the space was. You were feeling overtly grateful the helmet covered up the majority of your cheeks or else Pete might’ve caught onto your feelings.

“What are you doing?” You asked faintly as he leaned forward bringing his chest so close to your head.

Smirking he grabbed something behind you and pulled back, “Buckling you in.”

“Oh.” Was all that came out. Of course, that’s all he was doing. He was just making sure you were safe and yet here you were thinking some rather unsavory thoughts.

He knocked you out of your own thoughts as he leaned back looking you up and down, “I lied earlier.”

“About what?” You gave him a confused look, stitching your eyebrows together.

“This has got to officially be the hottest you’ve ever looked.”

“Pete!” You laughed punching his arm lightly. He was a character that was for sure. One you really wanted to know more about.

Laughing with you he gave you a new smile, one that oozed with sweetness instead of cockiness, “You good?” He asked you one more time. You knew it was his one last check before taking this up with you.

Giving him a thumbs up and an eager nod you smiled right back at him, “I’m good.”

“Alright.” He nodded as he leaned down to grab a black tube, “This is your oxygen mask. I’m going to put it on you now so you can get a feel for it. You need to have this on whenever we aren’t just flying straight, it’ll help keep your brain filled with oxygen.”

Nodding you let him know you were paying attention to his every word, “If you take this off when I’m diving or climbing you will probably pass out. Got it?”

“Got it boss.” You threw him a thumbs up through the thick gloves you had on.

He snapped it into your mask after bringing your visor down, letting you get a full feel for the increased oxygen that began flowing through your body, “You might feel a little lightheaded at first. It’s a lot of Oxygen all at once.” He smiled as he watched you closely, making sure you were okay.

Taking a deep breath, you realized just how right he was. Feeling immediately lightheaded you took a second to ground yourself again. Blinking rapidly, you looked up at him. He was giving you the sweetest look now too. It might’ve took your breath away if the Oxygen hadn’t already. He was waiting on you to give him a signal that you were good, so you threw up another thumbs up.

After a moment he continued, “This is how you disconnect it.” He pressed a button on the side of the mask, and it popped right off, “Now, you have to have this on or close to your mouth if you want to communicate. All comms pass through this.”

“Rodger that.” You grinned as you started getting excited. You were really about to do this. You’d wanted to do this for forever it didn’t really feel real.

Clicking your oxygen mask back into place he waited for you to signal that you were good. Once you did he hopped to the front walking you through what he was doing. He explained the pre-flight checklist that he had to do every time. Goose helped as you had absolutely no idea what was going on.

“You ready?” Pete’s voice rang through your helmet causing you to jump slightly. This was certainly different. No way you could be a pilot if you had any ounce of claustrophobia.

“Born ready.” Giggling you took in all the sights of the runway around you.

It was crazy being in a taxiing plane. You’d been on those runways thousands if not millions of times, but you had never seen them like this.

“Canopy clear?” He asked waiting for you to respond.

“Clear!” Bouncing up and down you really couldn’t believe it now. Once the canopy locked into place you heard Pete chatting back and forth with the tower. Letting him know when he was cleared for flight. The adrenaline coursing through your body was like nothing you’d ever experienced. Once you heard all clear you sat back in your seat waiting on Pete.

“Taking off in 3… 2… 1.” He punched it sending you flying back into your seat. Eyes wide you watched your surroundings as this little plane took off effortlessly.

“Woah.” Was all you managed to get out once Pete level set the plane. The two of you simply flying in one direction.

“It’s something isn’t it.” He spoke. You could hear the adoration in his voice.

“Something is a word for it.” You couldn’t seem to stop looking around you

Pete looked into his mirror watching you take in everything. He stifled his laugh not wanting to interrupt your moment in the plane for the first time. He swore he could’ve watched you take everything in for the next six hours, but he had things to do. He had to stress the plane out a little. It was a test flight after all. He could’ve warned you, but he really wanted you to go so he opted to spare the details.

“Don’t kill me but…” He had to interrupt you. He was running out of military occupied air space. He didn’t have the authority to go into civilian air space just yet.

“What?” You snapped your attention forward suddenly feeling a little anxious about it all.

“Well, it is a test flight. Got to check your work out and all.”

“Okay…” You let him continue not one hundred percent sure what all his statement entailed.

“So, I’m going to dive and climb a few times and stress her out just a bit.”

“Cool!” Grinning, you felt that giddy feeling again, “Just don’t kill me!” Laughing Pete took that as his sign that you were all good and ready for whatever he had in store for you.

Your breath caught in your throat as he let it rip. A small ‘oh my god’ wanted to escape your lips but your brain wasn’t processing as fast as Pete was maneuvering. You took in a big breath of oxygen just as Pete began to climb. You felt like you were on a roller coaster again only this time with a big ass rock pressing against your chest.

This was insane, in the best way. You couldn’t believe pilots got to do this every single day. You also failed to understand how they did that and shot at enemies at the same time. It simply didn’t compute in your brain.

“You alright back there?” Pete’s voice interrupted you from your thoughts.

“Yes! More than alright.” You coughed slightly still trying to get used to the mask.

“Let’s have some fun then.”

And boy did he. You were flying upside down at one point. Pete said he had nearly perfected it at one point. You thought you’d be a little more frightened by it all, but you weren’t. You felt so utterly safe with Pete in the front fear never really crossed your mind.

“Over already?” You frowned seeing the plane descend towards the base.

“Afraid so.” Pete chuckled. He expected you to be a little more freaked than you were. You fully embraced the entire ordeal.

“Boo.”

Pete landed flawlessly, of course. He couldn’t take it back to your hangar instead taxing it back to its home hangar. The taxi back in was quiet between the two of you as he was getting direction from command. You clicked your oxygen mask off setting it down to the side. Your mind was so blown you couldn’t even think. That was perhaps the coolest thing you’ve ever done, and it wasn’t even close. You felt a little surge of jealousy that pilots got to do this every single day.

Once you parked Pete lifted the canopy before quickly unbuckling himself. He turned to you seeing your shell-shocked face. He tried to stop himself from laughing, he really did. But after seeing your expression he let out a hearty chuckle. Which, of course, resulted in you giggling with him.

After the two of you calmed down Pete again jumped over and straddled you, unbuckling you gently from the seat, “You like it?”

“Did I like it?” You repeated his question softly as you looked up to him. Trying to find the right words you finally responded after a moment, “That was the coolest thing I’ve ever done. I more than liked it. Thank you, Pete.”

“My pleasure gorgeous.” He reached down to undo your helmet, slowly sliding it off your head.

Your expression was fully exposed for him to take in now. Your current state was something Pete wanted to lock into his memory . Your previously slicked down hair had gotten messed up by the helmet and was sticking in every which direction. The apples of your cheeks were bright red with all the excitement you had experienced in the last twenty minutes.

The smile that came over your face was a sight he needed to etch in his memory. One of the most genuinely happy expressions he’s ever seen was what you were giving him. He could feel his heart rate pick up as he looked you over. His stomach in small knots as you looked to him.

“That was wow.” You were still searching for words.

He gave you his hand to take, “Right? It never gets old.”

Grabbing his hand he pulled you up, right into his chest, “Sorry.” Your eyes went wide as you attempted to back up, but your boot got caught on the seat sending you backwards.

Luckily Pete was quicker than you, grabbing onto your suit he saved you from toppling backwards in the cockpit, “Sorry!” You gasped wanting to hit yourself right on the forehead for making such a fool of yourself in front of him.

“It’s okay.” He smiled letting your flight suit go, “Are you okay?” He looked you over with concern.

“I’m fine.” Responding to him quickly, you prayed he’d just hop back over to his seat. He either understood that you were terribly flustered and wanted to keep messing with you or he was clueless to your emotions as ever. You had an inkling feeling he was messing with you.

Raising his eyebrows he did another scan over you, “Are you sure? Your face is a little flushed.” He pointed towards your cheeks.

You gulped deciding to let it all out, not sure how much more you could take, “I’m great. You’re just very close to me right now.” Your voice tapered off as you continued to talk to him.

Picking up what you were putting down Pete nodded, while smirking, and jumped back into the front seat. Taking a deep breath, you followed him down to the ground once he turned everything off. What the hell was wrong with you? You’d been working here for a few years and had yet to get so caught up in an aviator so quickly. Let alone one of the cockiest ones you met. But his confidence drew you into him. You couldn’t believe you were finding him as attractive as you were in that moment, he was the annoying pilot that wouldn’t leave you alone yesterday and now? Now… you were doomed. That quickly. A sinking feeling of dread coursed through your body as you realized you would likely not be following your very own rule.

Handing your helmet off to Pete he again raked his eyes over your figure. Surly he wouldn’t be so brazen about it? Yet he was. Unashamed to check you out like he was it sent another blush right to your cheeks. Exposing you yet again.

Biting your lip, you decided to observe what he was doing. Silently you walked up, standing beside him observing the notes he was taking.

“You can’t do that.” He muttered eyeing you from his peripherals.

“What?” Cocking your head to the side you feared you probably looked like a Golden Retriever in that moment.

He let a breath of air out before turning to you while pointing at his lips, “Bite your lip like that.”

“And why not?” Crossing your arms over your chest you decided to play this one up. Leaning towards him you through your mouth into a pout as you batted your eyelashes as dramatically as possible.

Throwing his head back in laughter you couldn’t help but to check him out now. Eyes moving up and down his body you were caught when you looked back up, staring right at you, “Would you like to go up in the plane again?” He asked, ignoring your question.

“Well, hell yeah I would.” Your eyes lit up looking back towards the F-14. You’d go up in the plane everyday if you could.

Smiling he bobbed his head, “Don’t do that then.”

“That’s not fair Mavvvverick.” Drawing out his callsign you knew you exactly what you were doing. Driving him insane.

“Life’s not fair Y/N.” He continued grinning finishing up whatever he was writing.

Rolling your eyes, you turned away from him. He was good. You’d give them that. It was usually way too easy to get exactly what you want when you want from these men, “Okay, dad.”

“Oof.” He placed a hand on your shoulder spinning you around back to face him. Not realizing what he was doing until it was already done you looked at him incredulously.

“What was that for?”

Taking a step closer, way too close for your brain to handle, he leaned down whispering into your ear, “I’ll tell you what. Meet me here tomorrow at 7. We need another test flight.”

“What? You don’t have faith in my repairs?” Throwing him back a wink you waited for his response as the gears started turning in his head.

“I’ve got all the faith in the world.”

The perma-smile that laced your face for the last hour had yet to diminish, “7 it is. See you later Pete.”

“You sure will.” He watched longingly as you waved him off and walked back to your hangar.

#pete mitchell #pete mitchell x reader #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell x you #pete mitchell x y/n #top gun maverick #top gun 1986 #top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #maverick x y/n #maverick x you #maverick x oc #maverick

[jadedlavendergemini]

In the night

Summary: Eddie visits you at the cabin.

TW: none just fluff

——————————————————————————

The November night is cold and wet in Hawkins tonight, especially out in Pinewoods. The sound of crickets and other creatures can be heard in the wind just outside your family’s cabin.

You grown familiar with this cabin over the past year. Sure it was old and definitely not updated like your previous house was, but sure was cozy on nights like tonight.

El was in her room using the phone to speak with Mike for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. Your father was snoozing in his recliner right in front of the television.

You, however, were spending the evening alone in your room reading through a magazine lended to you by Nancy and listening to your radio that sat on its usual spot on top of your dresser.

Humming gently to the lyrics of Duran Duran, you rolled over to your back, magazine still gripped in your hands. All was normal, until you hear a small click coming from your window.

You tilt your head away from the magazine to look at your window, which is covered by your curtains. Shrugging, you return back to reading.

Probably just a bird or something

Then you hear it again. And a few seconds after that.

Slowly, you abandon the magazine and stand from your bed. You take your time walking to the window and hesitate before moving the curtains out of the way.

It’s too dark to see anything but when a hand appears on the window, you nearly let out a shout, slapping a hand to your mouth. Your heart rate was racing in shock up until you see a familiar face appear just seconds later.

Eddie Munson.

The jackass had just scared the shit out of you and had the nerve to be smiling.

You let out a breath of relief before moving back to the window and unlocking it. You struggled a bit trying to raise the old panels but managed to finally open it.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me, Eddie.” You growled, the pounding of your heart slowly returning to its normal pace.

“Hey beautiful,” he ignores your irritated tone. “What are you up to on this fine evening?”

“Well I was enjoying my night, but then I thought I was going to be killed by Jason!”

“Vorhees or Carver?”

“Fuck you.”

He lets out a small laugh before looking around. “Looks cozy in there,”

“It is.” You deadpan.

“Can I come in?” He’s bouncing slightly on his feet, trying to keep warm as the wind blows through his long, untamed locks.

You smirked. “How did you even know this was my room?”

“I didn’t, I just guessed.” He replied, hands moving into his jacket pockets.

“Your lucky this wasn’t my dad’s room.”

Eddie let’s out a laugh. “Oh great, I could’ve died. But seriously sweetheart, it’s freezing out here!”

You eventually moved out of the way for him to climb his way in. Quietly as possible, he lands firmly inside and you move to close the window.

“Try to be quiet, my dad is just in the other room.” You remind him.

Turning around, you see him looking around curiously. He had never actually been inside your home before now.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, not that you didn’t mind seeing him, but you worried about Hop seeing him. The man would murder him.

He’s now going through the pile of tapes next to your radio. “What? Can’t just sneak by and visit my girlfriend who happens to live in the middle of the woods?”

You smile. “I didn’t mean to sound like I don’t want you around,”

“I know, I know.” He turns around to face you. “You’re just in shock that I actually care enough to sneak past your old man. How is the old grumpy teddy bear these days?”

You roll your eyes at the mention of the nickname you had given your dad. “Still grumpy,”

You stand there under his gaze, you had almost forgotten that you were dressed in your pajamas, which made you self consciously wrap your arms around yourself.

“I uh, made you a new mixtape. Just wanted to drop it off myself.” He moves forward and pulls a tape from his jacket pocket.

You two had started exchanging mixtapes. Not for any specific reason other than to get to know each other’s music tastes.

“Eddie,” you blush, accepting the tape. “Another one? What’s your plan? To turn me into a full blown metal head like you?”

“Absolutely!” He laughs. “But seriously, I really liked the last one you gave me, so I kinda felt like I owed you another one.”

You can’t help but raise your brows, eyes widen in surprise. “You actually listened to it.”

“Of course I did, sweetheart. What did you think I was gonna do? Throw it out.”

“Honestly I thought you’d skip around the tape and call it a day.” You said, taking a step closer, having to now look up into his eyes. “Did the Eddie Munson actually sit through three Abba songs?”

Now it’s Eddie’s turn to blush, slightly looking away for a moment. “Yes, I did. I can proudly say that I know three Abba songs now.” He slowly moves towards your bed before falling onto it and pulling himself up to rest on one elbow. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that Gimme Gimme is your favorite.”

You shake your head and smile. “Second favorite. If it wasn’t for the night takes first.”

He falls back fully into the old mattress, hands covering his face and hair spread widely over the quilt. “Wow! Nowhere near close.”

You move to take a seat next to him and lean down slightly. “What others did you like?”

He uncovers his his to look back into yours. “I thought the Queen one was actually really good.”

“Really? After all that bad mouthing Freddie Mercury, I’m shocked. Which one? Radio Gaga?”

He slowly moves to sit up, his face closer to yours now.

“I actually really enjoyed Love of My Life,” he says, voice low.

You give a small smile as he closes the space between the two of you. His lips soft against yours, the kisses starting off as pecks but soon blossoming into more.

Before you know it, you’re laying flat on your back, arms wrapped around his neck and your hands playing with his dark curls. Eddie rests one of his hands on the bed as to not squish you and his other resting on your waist.

In the other room, Jim squints his eyes against the bright illumination of the old television set. Looking to his watch, he sits the recliner up and slowly lifts himself off the chair.

He makes his way to El’s room first to find her already dozed off in her bed. Her quilt covering only her feet, phone receiver still resting in her hand.

He gently removes the receiver from her hand and places it back onto the set and moves to pull the quilt up and cover the girl. He flicks the light off on his way out of the room.

On his way to your room, he can see the lights still shining from underneath your door. The doors to the bedrooms of the cabin had no locks so he reminds himself to respect your privacy and knocks gently.

You and Eddie are too distracted with each other that you don’t hear the first knock. You’re giggling like an idiot when he moves his kisses from your lips to your jawline.

Then you heard the second round of knocking. Your eyes grow wide, hands moving quickly to Eddie’s shoulders. He obviously didn’t hear it.

“Y/n, are you up?” Jim’s voice clear as day through the wooden door. Eddie’s head shoots straight up and you push him off.

“Y-yeah I’m awake.” You reply. You and Eddie panic as he slips off from your bed and looks around wildly around for a hiding spot.

“Can I come in?” Your father asks.

“NO! I m-mean I’m changing! Give me a second!” You don’t have a closet so no hiding him in there, you think about re-opening the window for an escape but you fear he will hear squeaking sound from that.

“Oh! The bed! Get under the bed!” You whisper harshly and begin to frantically shove your boyfriend towards your bed.

“Can’t I just go back out the window?” he asks, clearly terrified of your father.

“No! He’ll hear the window opening! Just go!” You continue to shove him towards the bed. He finally drops and shimmies his way beneath the bed. You pull the quilt slightly towards the end of the bed to keep Eddie from being seen.

“Y/n,” you hear father’s voice again. You race to open the door where you find your father staring back at you, eye brows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah,” you try to lean into your door to appear casual. “What’s up.”

“What was all that noise just now?”

“What noise?”

“Just now. It sounded like you were hopping around in there.” His arms cross and you know you’re going to have to play stupid.

“That was me,” you answer, moving to lean off your door. “I was changing, remember?”

Jim looks like he wants to question you further but decides against it, it’s too late for the shit.

“It’s ten o clock, El’s in bed and I’m going next. Lights out, kid.”

“Okay, yeah sure.” You say, waiting for him to leave. Finally, he eventually rolls his eyes and leaves.

Once he is out of sight, you gently close your door and wait a few more seconds just to be sure he doesn’t question you further. When you’re met with silence, you move back to the bed and move the quilt up.

“You can come out now,” you say quietly.

“I feel like he’s going to come back,” Eddie’s response causes you to crack a smile.

“He’s not and you can’t spend the night under my bed.”

“You sure about that, sweetheart?” He chuckles, slowly rolling out from underneath the mattress. “Kinda cozy under there.”

You moved back to window and slowly pried it back open. You’re met with a gust of cold wind and you feel bad about having Eddie leave. Hopefully he’s parked nearby.

“As much as I love the idea of you spending the night, I think you need to go before my dad actually catches you in here.”

Eddie nods, standing up from the floor and making his way over to you. You don’t have a moment to react before he wraps his arms around you and dips his lips back onto your yours.

You question constantly what you have done right in life to deserve someone as sweet as Eddie Munson. The boy who snuck into your room to hand deliver you a mixtape or give you rides home from school. The boy who treated you ever so kindly when you too, have been treated terribly in the past.

When you finally pull away from each other, he moves back towards the window. Just when he’s out the window, he turns back to you, shoving his hand back into his pockets.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

You just shrug, leaning out the window. “Nothing, I don’t think.”

“My uncle Wayne has the night off and I was hoping you might like to have dinner with us?” He asks. “I know I haven’t met your old man yet, but I mentioned you and now my uncle is nuts about meeting you. You can say no, I don’t expect you to-“

“Sure.”

Eddie smiles brightly and nods. “Okay then. Can I pick you up?”

“Normal spot.”

“Normal spot.” He confirms.

You watch as he disappears into the woods and close your window.

——————————————————————————

I starting writing this during a slow day at work and couldn’t stop until it was finished. I hope you liked it!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x hopper!reader #starnger things #stranger things eddie #Eddie munson Drabble

[i-am-suffer]

I’m going through the anti Aang tag rn and…. sigh….. there’s so much bull shit….. like people can have whatever opinions they like but so many of them are based off of unbelievably shallow takes on Aang’s character and character arcs. People are choosing to hate a fictional child because they can’t be bothered to see anything other than the worst in him. So now, in a fit of saltiness, I will be debunking some of the recent Aang criticism I’ve found.

Firstly:

Huh???? Whoever you are, anon, I think you’re the one who doesn’t know what good character writing is. Aang isn’t my all-time favorite, and he’s not always written consistently, but he still manages to tell a compelling story of a boy who, even after the genocide of his entire people and with the weight of the world on his shoulders, still manages to hold on to his happiness, his kind spirit, and his morals. And even though he makes mistakes (mistakes that his antis refuse to stop screaming about) he’s still a good person. Not even deep down, either, it’s right there for everyone to see. Which makes it doubly frustrating when people ignore that obvious fact.

Secondly:

Okay, so the context of the comic panel is this: Aang is mulling over his feelings for Katara, and he’s a little sad. Katara walks in, wanting to train with him, but he says he doesn’t want to. Katara thinks he needs to train, especially his firebending — and she’s not wrong — but then she starts throwing water at him and asking him to spar with her. So Aang, frustrated, does some firebending. That’s about where the comic panel is taken from. Taken out of context like that, he looks like he’s about to attack her, but he doesn’t. He actually gets really scared about almost hurting her and asks her if she’s okay. So, thank you for showing the whole unbiased truth, and not ignoring any parts that show things that contradict your opinions on any characters, tumblr user the-badger-mole. You clearly know the importance of reading the entire story before forming said opinions.

*deep breath* Okay. Now let’s talk about the Ember Island Players.

I don’t think Aang kissing Katara was a good decision for the writers to make. In my opinion, Aang was being ooc. They also should have shown him apologizing to Katara afterwards (which I definitely think happened because why else would Katara make the decision to be with him in the last episode?) But even onscreen, Aang isn’t portrayed as being in the right, and he’s clearly shown regretting his actions. He hits himself and calls himself stupid, and he was miserable for the rest of the episode. It was a mistake on his part, and he’s incredibly guilty about it. And it’s important for shows aimed at kids to show characters making mistakes they could make, teaching them not to do those things. That being said, I don’t think Aang traumatized Katara by kissing her. If he had, she wouldn’t have come back to him, and she wouldn’t have initiated the kiss in the finale. Katara is not the type of person to resign herself to a life of assault, and Aang is not the type of person who would knowingly assault someone, especially not someone he cares about as much as he does for Katara.

Which leads into the next criticism:

I am flabbergasted. What do you mean he never helped Katara with her problems? Who was willing to drop everything to take someone he had just met all the way across the world so she could learn waterbending? Who stood up for her when Pakku was being a misogynist? Who comforted her when she was crying about being forced to bloodbend? Who gave up the chance for ultimate power because her life was in danger? And that’s just what I can list off the top of my head. And of course he empathized with her! Also, the kiss at the invasion wasn’t assault. It may have taken Katara by surprise, but it wasn’t assault. Just say you don’t like Kataang and leave it at that.

Fourthly:

It wasn’t handed to him. The lionturtle was foreshadowed in season two, in the Library episode. And stop acting like a thirteen-year-old killing a man with his hands is the best solution. Taking a life is deeply traumatizing, whether or not it’s justified.

Fifthly:

I can only think of one time where the pan-up thing happened, in the fortune teller episode (lmk if I’m wrong tho). Getting flustered when your crush looks pretty is not a crime like these people say it is. Also, Aang literally travelled across the world with Katara and has seen her at her worst, and yet people still have the audacity to claim he doesn’t know her as a person? And don’t try to tell me he doesn’t respect her (“A herd of rhinos… or two waterbenders” —Aang).

Next:

Bro. This boy had his entire people killed, including his father figure and all his friends, and just when he’d made two new friends, they were given an opportunity to leave him and seemed to want to. He was afraid of losing Sokka and Katara! He didn’t hide the map out of malice. Plus, he was going insane with guilt the whole time he was hiding it! Sure, it was presented in a comedic light, but he was clearly suffering! And when he got found out and his friends understandably got angry and left, he didn’t try to stop them! He didn’t care about attention, he cared about his friends. (Plus that whole episode was really poorly written, not just with Aang.)

Okay, that about wraps things up. Thank you for reading my long, salty post. I’m going to put this in the anti Aang tag in an attempt to get the antis to actually think about their opinions for once >:3 To my fellow Aang Aapreciators, I congratulate you on your good taste. Love you guys <3

#atla #avatar the last airbender #atla aang #atla meta #pro aang #aang apprectaion #aanglove #avatar aang #pro kataang #avatar the legend of aang #aang defense squad #aang #anti aang #aang critical #long post

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Chapter 17: Revelations

A/N: Hiiii guys! Sorry this is like, late. I had a parenting emergency yesterday, nothing serious but the smallest needed to go to A&E (she’s ok) which is why I haven’t looked at my inbox or posted this. So…I’m throwing this out there. I have been through it but honestly, if it doesn’t make sense just smile and nod and wait for the next chapter. ✌🏻

Warnings: Mentions of order 66, slaves, feelings, canon violence, droid deaths (but who cares with these guys), Tech being Tech and allowing everything to get in the way before he reacts.

Word Count: 7k+

Tagging: @idoubleswearimawriter @ravenclawbitch426 @dreamqueenkala @moon-wrecked

You entered the Marauder landing pad and smiled at Hunter casually leaning against the ship. The side panel was open but you couldn’t see Echo or Tech working on it, so you assumed they must have gone for supplies.

“How was the race?” He asked with a raised eyebrow and you made a face at him. “I heard you took on a Nosaurian.”

“I didn’t,” you hastily corrected him. “He was being shady and I took him by surprise. I realise I could not have, taken him, otherwise.” He uncrossed his arms and rubbed a hand across his jaw, scratching at the stubble he could never seem to keep on top of. “Anyway, what’s the plan for today?” You were dressed in your armour, ready for another gruelling training session.

“I thought we could do something, a little you focussed today.”

“Not sure I like the sound of that,” you said with a brief chuckle. He pulled a strip of material from his belt and you saw he had one of his bandanas in his hands.

“I need you to trust me.” You eyed the material suspiciously knowing he wanted to blindfold you but with no clue why.

“Hunter…”

“You’re safe here.” He was right. Looking around the landing pad not much could happen that would lead to anything awful.

Clasping your shaking hands together you nodded. “Ok.”

He was careful, moving slowly behind you and gently slipping the red strip over your eyes so the light of day was blocked out.

“Can you see anything?” Tentatively your hands reached up, brushing his fingertips before they withdrew and you explored the feel of the bandana. It wasn’t too tight, not too loose but you couldn’t see either.

“No.”

“Good.” You felt odd. With your eyes covered you could hear slightly better, your fingers twitched as your other senses came to the forefront in a flood. “I want you to concentrate.” He sounded somewhere else and you turned in his direction. A scuff on the duracrete had you turning again and your heart roared in your chest. “Slow it down. Breathe…” he was like a shadow, slipping from one side and then the other. So you stood still, inhaling deeply and letting it out in a controlled exhale.

Tilting your head, you closed your eyes behind the bandana and focussed. Hyper awareness ripped through you, it made your skin tingle when the air shifted, or your head move when a sound echoed. Your heart slowed, the pound of it setting a steady rhythm.

He didn’t give you warning when he attacked but still your vambraces came up to clash with his and he huffed. “Good.” The pressure lifted and you reset your pose. Turning on the spot you were sure you were tracking him until he rushed you from behind. Instantly you ducked and his swing went over your head. Spinning quickly you kicked the front of his knee and heard a soft grunt as he hopped out of the way. “I still want to know where you learned that move,” he groaned, as he worked the pain out of his joint.

“It’s a natural reaction, usually knees don’t bend that way and a broken leg is a real hindrance,” you explained, resting easily on your right leg with your fists raised.

“Hmm.” It went silent again but now you could hear his footsteps, the subtle flinch in his gait as he still suffered from your blow. This time he didn’t relent, rushing at you from the front you successfully blocked his moves with a clash of armour. Vambrace against vambrace, your knuckle plate blocked by the palm of his hand, your knee plate jarred against his thigh and it gave him the advantage he needed.

Your balance tipped and he grabbed your wrist, twirling you round so his arm was across your throat. You were a whirlwind, utilising the hold break he had taught you on Maridun to devastating effect as he grunted. He tapped on your spaulder so you released him, springing back a couple of paces as you stretched your fingers out and curled them back in.

“That, was impressive,” he mumbled with hidden awe.

“Can I take this off?” You asked, reaching for the bandana but he gently stopped your movement.

“Not yet. I want you to concentrate and block everything that comes your way. Got it?”

“Yes.” Balling your hand into a fist, you flicked your wrist quickly. The shield Tech had enhanced your armour with came alive with a soft bumph and a crackle. The blue disc hummed as it protruded just above your wrist. Swinging it a few times you rolled your shoulders and readied yourself.

The first shot glanced off the shield and you turned when he changed position. Soon Hunter was having to use every position he could think of to try and get one of his stuns past your defence, but still he couldn’t tag you with the bolts.

“Oh man!” Wrecker exclaimed excitedly which made your awareness clock a couple more figures.

“Grab a blaster,” Hunter ordered. Now you had to invoke evasive manoeuvres as well as block incoming bolts when Echo and Wrecker started firing.

It didn’t take long before you began to tire and your foot slipped, allowing a bolt from Wrecker to slip under your defence making you fall to your knee.

“Hold!” Hunter was approaching, his fingers carefully slipped the bandana off your eyes as you flexed your numb hand. “Wrecker only tagged your arm,” he explained. “But you probably knew that.” He helped you up, Omega giving you a cheerful wave from behind him which you returned with a smile. “When the feeling comes back to your arm, we’ll move to target practice.”

You settled yourself on a crate and nibbled a ration bar from a pouch on your belt. Training like this always drained you but never enough to wipe your mind. You had always hated sleeping, but lately the feeling something bad was coming had been weighing on you. An extra darkness that threatened to drag you with it, a darkness your demons thrived in.

Meditation wasn’t working, exercising your skills wasn’t working, the impending doom feeling never left. “Hunter…”

“Stitch,”’he rumbled mildly in return, seating himself next to you.

“Do you ever get that sensation that everything is about to change?” He leaned on his thighs, his hair falling softly over his bandana as he tipped forward. You watched the shadowed side of his face when he grimaced slightly.

“I always assume change is coming,” he told you.

“I don’t mean a change in a mission…something larger.” His position didn’t change and you ran your hands down your thighs in a nervous gesture. “Can we check on the others?” He sighed, his shoulders sagging a little. “Can you contact Rex?”

“I could, whether he’ll answer…” he turned his hand outward and shrugged.

“I just…” you turned to look back at the ship, imagining Tech sitting inside no doubt doing some maintenance on a secondary system somewhere, fine tuning his ship. He’d never admit it, but he did feel something for the Marauder…like he’d never admit outloud any sense of feeling for you or anyone.

You wished you had said all you wanted to in Safa Toma, but it wasn’t the time nor the place.

“What happened?” Hunter didn’t need to say anything else because you already knew what he was asking in that husky tone.

“I was going to tell him,” you admitted, hating the way your face crumbled and your barriers were immediately non-existent. Hunter had replaced Tech in some ways, becoming your safe space to express but never in the way you wanted. It wasn’t the same.

“And?”

“I couldn’t. He didn’t—understand what I was saying.” Shaking your head you swallowed a block of emotion from your throat. “I’m terrified if I tell him how I feel everything with change and not for the better.”

“But it’s already changed,” Hunter pointed out and a soft sob threatened to break free.

“I know. I know! I don’t know how to fix it, fix us. It’s my fault, I’m no good at this I’ve never…” you glanced at him feeling the heat in your face. “I’ve never had these feelings before, I don’t know what to do with them.”

“Neither has Tech.”

“If he even has them,” you muttered sullenly and Hunter breathed noisily through his nose, checking the ramp was clear before he spoke.

“I am not one to dish out this sort of…advice. But surely communication is…needed?” You could see he was struggling with what to say. “The Stitch and Tech I saw on the ship that night…”

“Something happened,” you interrupted. “I can’t put my finger on it. On Maridun,” you whispered. Yes, you. There were too many thoughts in your head, too many names, too many words…“I’m sorry. Can I skip target practice today?” He got up when you did, giving you a nod and watching you walk off the landing pad as quickly as you could.

“It was me, wasn’t it?” Hunter raised his voice, not needing to turn around when Tech ducked under the nose of the ship and stood next to his brother.

For once Tech had nothing to say, he was still internally processing what he’d heard, he wished he could understand all this better but he didn’t even know where to begin. “With the training.” Hunter waited patiently for a response, his soft gaze tracking over his brother as he let him work out what to say.

“I have to admit—watching you bring her phobias to life and not have her flinch away from you was something…I struggled to accept.” He did, he assumed he was the only one you’d let close enough for comfort, for touch.

“Is that it?” Hunter prompted with a deep voice. “Are you sure it’s not just—jealousy?” Tech adjusted his goggles, unsure of how to explain the pangs in his chest he had been ignoring for so long now.

“There is nothing happening to incite such an intense reaction,” he started but Hunter turned to him with a sigh.

“This is it, Tech. The connection you both share is deep and she is not coping without you.”

“Stitch does not need me, nor anyone else to survive.” In his eyes you had endured so much, you were the strongest human he knew. He had seen soldiers endure less and come off worse.

“It’s nice, that you think that,” Hunter crossed his arms and looked in the direction you had disappeared. “She puts on a front, much like you do. I know what comes out of here,” Hunter tapped Tech’s forehead, awarding him a scowl. “Doesn’t match what goes on in here.” Now Hunter tapped on Tech’s chestplate. “But when it does…” Hunter ended with a shrug, letting Tech come to his own conclusion. Which he hated, because he didn’t think along the same lines as everyone else around him.

Tech had observed a difference in your behaviour since you started training with Hunter; but also he realised communication between you had reduced in that time. Tech had kept himself busy, trying to keep his mind occupied and off you, he assumed you’d contact him if you needed to. He never considered you would need him and not contact him.

“She misses you.” Tech’s mouth dropped as something inexplicable swept through him, a sadness that came out of nowhere and he realised, the heaviness in his chest was because he missed you too.

Without a second thought Tech shoved his datapad at his brother, catching Hunter in the chest and started to follow you into the streets of Ord Mantell.

The medbay was quiet, just a few patients dotted the bays and you asked Tesama if she needed any help before closing. The Twi’lek shook her head and you made a mental note to up her wages. Heading into the office you waited for the door to shut, sealing you in the quiet and the gloom.

Peace wasn’t your friend these days, it rarely had been, yet your nightmares had been building. The changes were subtle at first, but now they screamed at you.

With a touch the top drawer opened and you saw your stim kit that you hadn’t used in a while. Staying awake was never the best option, sometimes the longer you left it the worse they came back, ripping and shredding their way through your mind and you shuddered.

A knock had you closing the drawer. “Yes?” It was Beetoo, announcing the one with goggles was here. Tech? But why? You followed her to a bay where he was sitting on the edge of a bed, arms crossed and his brown eyes fixed on the wall until you entered.

“Tech? What’s wrong?” He pushed his goggles up into his face, his fingers flicking in his telltale way and you knew he was nervous. “Is it your leg?” Still he said nothing and you decided to give him a check up while he was here. “Let’s do the basics,” you suggested quietly. “Lay down.”

He did, training his gaze onto the ceiling as you busied yourself getting a medscanner. You scanned him, twice. Nothing troubling showed up and you again wondered why he was here. Placing a sensor in the middle of his chest you ordered him to breathe, watching his chest cavity rise and fall without a hitch.

“I’m going to take a blood sample.” He turned his head away, giving you access to his neck. The sample was quick but he still flinched slightly when the mechanism activated. You held a small dressing to the tiny puncture hole while the machine analysed the sample in your hand. The light flashed and you raised an eyebrow. Nothing.

Moving round to the other side you looked down at his leg. He had his utility belt on but you could easily work around the straps. Instantly he tensed but you persisted, running your thumbs firmly along the line of his muscle pressing at certain points and watching his face for any reaction that wasn’t blushing. Again, nothing.

“Tech?” You leaned over him slightly and his eyes had no choice but to magnetise to you for a second. “Are you hungry?” You saw the puzzled frown, the confusion in those beautiful eyes and smiled at him. “I am after my training.” You turned away, hearing him sit up when you left the bay. He knew his way round, if he wanted to follow, he would.

Sure enough he appeared in the doorway of your private kitchen, his arms crossed, fingers resting on the curve of his chin as he clearly had a head full of thoughts.

“Did you see some of my session with Hunter today?” You saw him jerk out the corner of your eye and his mouth finally opened.

“Yes.”

“I wondered if you could look at my shield?”

“Did it fail?” Now he was right next to you, his scowl of focus pulling down as he tentatively reached for your vambrace. You could barely feel him through the plates of armour and he was very careful about touching you still. You had got better with that, training in such close quarters with Hunter had really shattered your barriers.

“No, but this was the arm Wrecker tagged me on.”

“Your shield and the circuits within the vambrace itself should be unaffected by such a weak blast.” He explained, releasing your arm.

“But surely—well,” you handed him a drink, taking a breath to try and calm your quivering insides. “Our nervous system is our electrical system? Yes?”

“Correct.”

“So how can the stun blast overload my bio electrical system but not that within my vambrace?” You heard the quick inhale and saw the way he looked down as though he wanted to bring his datapad out to refer to it only, he didn’t have it.

“The katarn disperses the strength of the shot and therefore it would not have been able to penetrate enough to do any damage. Our skin does not offer the same protection, travelling along the nerves and therefore creating the numb feeling you experienced.” Giving him a small smile you nodded. This is what you missed. Having him in your space and talking about stuff that others would probably find inconsequential. He was also correct. “How is your arm?” You made a show of stretching it out, flexing your hand and noticing it already felt back to normal.

“The effects never last long.” He went silent again as you prepared some bread and meat, slicing up a meiloorun and putting the plate in front of him. “Any missions coming up?” You asked, desperate to keep the conversation flowing.

“Cid has requested our presence at 18:00 hours.”

“I wonder what she has for you this time.” Breaking apart your piece of bread you saw him sigh, his eyes casting to the side.

“I dread to think,” he replied candidly.

“As long as you come back to me in one piece,” you said firmly. You could feel his gaze on you but instead you concentrated on your food and he eventually did the same.

He stood up when you did, handing you his plate as you cleared everything away and hovered by the door. “Would you…like to join us?” Glancing up, your brow furrowed slightly, noticing his agitation.

“For the briefing?”

“Your certain skill set may be beneficial for this mission.” You scoffed quietly.

“Cid doesn’t know about my skill set.”

“Your training is no secret,” he said simply. “Your medical ability is renowned. Your other skills, I am not aware of her possessing such knowledge.”

“Not going to order me to stay behind?” His face fell and you wondered if it was too soon for that joke.

“I admit, that was poor judgement on my behalf,” he said quickly.

“It was a joke, Tech. Count me in.”

“Ah.” He precisely adjusted his goggles. “Then I suggest we find the others.” Swiping your helmet off the side you followed him outside.

“These need to be delivered to Vanguard Axis.” Cid slid a case across the desk which Hunter stopped with his fingertips.

“The chain codes you had Tech forge?” He asked hesitantly.

“What did you think they were for, Bandana? Hanging on the wall like decorations?” The Trandoshan scoffed and crossed her gangly arms. “It’s a straight up swap. Something I’m sure even you lot couldn’t get wrong.” You exchanged a look with Echo knowing full well even the simplistic missions could go very wrong. “There’s a lot of dough riding on this. Don’t mess it up.” Hunter gestured for the squad move out and you went between Tech and Echo, your gaze lingering on Hunter as he picked up the case.

Once in the bar he handed it to Tech who was already on his datapad. Not a word was spoken until they made it outside and dusk had settled over Ord Mantell. You moved aside to let some patrons down the stairwell to the bar and bumped into Tech by accident.

“Are you coming?” Hunter asked gruffly. He wasn’t happy about this mission, it was one thing using Tech to forge the chain codes but this could put them in Imperial sights if it went wrong.

“I am,” you answered.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Echo muttered while Wrecker and Omega did a high five.

“Easy mission,” growled Wrecker and the squad began to head to the Marauder.

“It’s never straightforward with us,” Echo countered, gesturing with his scomp.

“Echo is correct,” Tech spoke up. “But I cannot see what could possibly go wrong on this particular mission.”

“Like you did all the other times,” Echo grumbled under his breath and you nudged his shoulder with your own.

“You’ve got me.”

“No one will die then.” He injected sarcastic cheer into his tone and you smiled. “Keeps us on our toes,” he finally conceded.

You were cold. An icy cold that stole the warmth from your body. A cold that whispered of death as it snatched your life away with icicle hard fingers. It created an ache all over your body, shattering your muscles as you shivered against it, lancing pain into all your joints.

The wind kept you pinned to the ground, whistling through the snowy rocks and hurling the soft powder into your blinking eyes. It was dark. Either that or your vision was failing. Snowflakes clung to your lashes and your face burned until it numbed under the relentless slap of the weather.

Digging your fingers in you made yourself crawl forward, there was something up head, a mound behind a rock that you were drawn to.

Not a single part of your body was unaffected. Your fingers were sore even though they felt like someone else’s. The dangerous temperatures were slowing your bodily functions, freezing the blood in your veins and you couldn’t feel your legs anymore.

Breathing hurt, moving was torture but you didn’t stop. The closer you got the more you could make out and even in the murky dark you saw something you recognised. A rifle. It was so alien in this wasteland, so out of place that even covered in snow, it stood out.

Hauling yourself up you dusted off the snow with your protesting, rubbery fingers, revealing something that made you choke on a sob. You’d recognise that armour anywhere, his tattoo stood out darkly against his drained skin tone and you tried to feel for any signs of life. You were shivering so badly you couldn’t sense anything and you let out a raspy cry of frustration.

“C-C-Crosshair!” It didn’t matter who he was, right now he needed help and so did you.

There was nothing. No one came, no help was nearby, nothing could exist in this roaring wasteland. “Help!” Your cry was stolen, ripped from your mouth and tossed out into the desolate void. Even the Force had abandoned you at this point, your connection as numb as the world around you was harsh and you slumped over Crosshair’s still form. If you could give your last remaining flickers of life to him, you would. It was who you were.

Stitch…

Latching on to him, your blazing beacon in the dark, you let Tech guide you free from the horror before it consumed you.

“Crosshair!” Even with your eyes open and your mind seeing you were back on the Marauder, you couldn’t shift the deep chill that had settled along your bones. Dragging in a breath to your aching chest, you met Hunter’s shocked gaze. Wrecker had you in his arms and his whole body tensed.

“Crosshair? You saw Crosshair?” He gasped. “Where?”

“I d-don’t k-know!” Your teeth were chattering and Tech appeared, pushing past Hunter who was still frozen in place.

“Wrap this tightly around her Wrecker. The pressure should decrease the tremors…your temperature is extraordinarily low. I am concerned as to why.”

“H-heat!” You stuttered. “I n-need b-body heat!” Wrecker didn’t hesitate, wrapping the blanket around you and covering you with his arms.

“Uh, it’s not working!” He cried as you kept shaking.

“I’ll help!” Omega clambered in and settled against the side of your shivering form inside Wrecker’s embrace. Tech shrugged and crouched down, moving your legs to the side so he could lean against you in a sitting position.

“Are you joining us?” He asked Hunter.

“All right.” He stepped over Wrecker’s leg, squeezing in beside your wrapped up body, letting out a sigh. Soon the ripples of your vision fell away but no one moved. Tech was on his datapad as Wrecker leaned easily against the wall, his arms full of you and his family. Omega was dozing in the combined heat but you could feel Hunter was brooding.

Echo walked through from the cockpit, doing a double take at all of you on the floor. “What…?”

“Body heat,” Hunter explained. Echo looked over the group and gave a defeated shrug.

“All right.” He found a spot beside Wrecker, leaning against the larger clone with a satisfied sigh. “Is there a reason?” He asked suddenly, twisting round.

“Stitch was cold,” mumbled Omega from somewhere next to you and Echo met your eyes buried in the depths of your blanket. He nodded as though that was an acceptable explanation and sat back, resting his head on Wrecker’s shoulder and closing his eyes.

It grew quiet. Wrecker and Omega were snoring, Echo and Hunter had returned to the cockpit some time ago but Tech stayed firmly planted against your legs. He jumped when you shifted, letting you stretch out with a quiet groan. Wrecker’s arm fell away and you shuffled forward to sit next to Tech.

“What are we walking into?” You asked quietly and he sucked in a quick breath.

“Vanguard Axis is a criminal cartel completely run by droids. They will not be easy to reason with and I’m hoping this mission will go as smoothly as Cid suggested,” he replied in hushed tones.

“She’s got you forging chain codes now?”

“It is a fairly menial task.”

“That’s not…”you cut yourself off with a sigh and he looked up from his datapad, taking note of the frown on your face and the way your feet lifted off the floor intermittently.

“You do not need to be concerned. They cannot be traced back to me.”

“Coming up on Vanguard,” Hunter called from the cockpit and Tech got up. He reached for you, his hand extending suggestively and you looked up. His eyes darted between you and his hand in the second that you hesitated, fingers stretching just that bit more until you took it. Tech pulled you up, a little too abruptly and you stumbled, steadying yourself on his chest-plate.

“I forget how strong you are,” you mumbled.

“You are not alone in that,” he replied, reaching up to realign his goggles and look at you pressed against his armour.

“Tech!” Hunter barked and he jumped slightly. Your fingers trailed over the ridges of the katarn as he turned away, wishing he didn’t move and you had a few moments with him so close. Letting out a forlorn sigh you turned to see both Omega and Wrecker grinning up at you, their faces clearly telling you they’d just witnessed everything that happened.

“What?” You asked, trying to shrug off their attention. Picking up the blanket you hid behind it, folding it and ignoring the pair of them peering round it. “Oh stop it!” You hissed and Wrecker snickered.

“We know wha’ we saw,” he whispered using his thumb to point at himself and Omega who nodded.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Gear up.” You welcomed Hunter’s interruption, dumping the blanket on a bunk. “We are on approach. Echo and Omega, stay with the ship.” You heard the young girl sigh beside you, she really did hate to miss out. “Stitch, Tech, Wrecker and I will make the exchange.”

You watched the space station loom through the canopy, a large concentric structure with flight decks all dotted around the curve. In the middle was a city like structure with a protruding communications mast.

Tech expertly guided the ship into the entrance, gently alighting on the surface and opening the ramp. You rolled your shoulders, holding the case with the forged chain codes as you waited for Hunter to lead the way.

“Cid said the Vanguard Axis is notorious for illegal smuggling. So be ready for anything.” You heard the warning in Hunter’s voice, making you press in closer to the boys when a tall droid stepped out from some crates. “Let’s make the drop.” The four of you stepped forward, Tech beside you and Wrecker behind as Hunter led the way inside.

He came to a stop in front of a droid and you carefully scoped the surrounding area until the droid allowed you all through. It reminded you of Cid’s back room just without all the knick knacks that Cid had collected over the years. One droid was sat at the desk while two flanked it, with weapons.

“You have the forgeries?” The droid asked in a monotone voice. Stepping around Hunter, you opened the case and showed it to them. “We need to ascertain their viability.”

“That will not be necessary,” Tech immediately said. “I created these chain codes myself. They will fool the Empire.”

“Your assurance is meaningless. Check each one.” The red droid approached and waited for you to hand the case over. It was a painstaking process, watching them remove each one and putting them in a reader. Tech gave a little sigh via the private com channel and Hunter moved restlessly, crossing his arms as he no doubt glared at them from behind his helmet.

You felt uneasy. Something, familiar was nudging you, teasing your awareness like ghosted fingertips down your spine. A whisper, so faint, tickled your ear and you turned, only for Tech to tilt his head in a silent question. It turned to a high pitched whine, ringing at a level you were sure only hounds could hear.

The longer you were here the more certain you felt that something was going to happen. A surety in your gut said something wasn’t right. But you couldn’t do anything except twist the fabric of your glove around your finger.

You began to sweat, you could feel it inside your helmet, sliding down the back of your neck so slowly. A pressure was building in your chest, your lips parted as you struggled to remain outwardly passive. You felt Tech beside you, his presence questioning but he wasn’t able to ask if you were ok. Forcing yourself to breathe, you took in a deep one, letting it try and push that uncomfortable feeling down and letting it drain on the exhale. Except, it didn’t work.

A com went off and you all but jolted in a rustle of katarn, the boys tensing at your reaction. If you were twitchy, there was a good reason why. Blaster fire sounded down the com and a droid voice stipulated they had a “situation.” The droid leader turned its head to look at Hunter.

“Problem?” He drawled. There was a pause, and then the droid just got up and left with its counterpart. You slumped, the boys turning inward to face you.

“The cause of that blaster fire is either Echo or Omega. Most likely Omega.” Tech finished matter of factly. Sure enough Hunter’s com went off and filled your helmets with Echo’s voice.

“Hunter, we need backup. Now.”

“Come on.” None of you needed telling twice, filing from the room and easily finding the others. Omega and Echo were pinned down with a young Wookiee. The droids were advancing with blasters drawn and Hunter fired off a shot to get their attention off the others. “They’re with us.” He stated loudly. The ringing in your ears increased, the pitch was off and your blaster hold faltered.

“I would advise you to take your soldiers and extricate yourselves from the situation,” the droid leader intoned.

“No!” Omega cried. “They’re going to hurt him.” The droid turned back to her.

“Oh, on the contrary. The Wookiee is worth a great deal to our buyer. Alive.” Alive. They were dealing, in slaves. Selling slaves. Something dangerous settled in you. A shot of adrenaline spiked through your body, making your fists clench. Straightening up you shuffled forward, eyeing the droid leader from Wrecker’s right side.

“You can’t smuggle living beings,” Hunter said firmly.

“For the right price. I can do whatever I want. Now stand down or be destroyed.” The pressure in your head increased with the ringing, your entire body vibrated with it and you acted.

Without a thought you ducked down and took Wrecker’s knife. Hurling it with accuracy you never showed in training straight into the side of a droid's head, cutting its circuits and making it drop to the floor.

Blaster shots sounded as they fired on the Wookiee who sent their shots back with a few practised swings of the bright weapon he was holding.

The Batch exploded into action barely a second after you started running towards the group of droids. They provided you cover as you slid across the floor to retrieve Wrecker’s knife. Wrenching it free you spun round and sliced the legs of another droid, stabbing it in the face as it went down beside you.

“Get to the ship!” Hunter ordered loudly and you jumped up, now using your blaster to fire on another droid at point blank range.

“Come on!” Wrecker yelled at you as he took out another one before it could fire on you.

The group flowed through the facility, droids dropped like sacks of rusty bolts, their circuits exposed and sparking as bolts penetrated their casing. You jumped aboard the ship, releasing a breath you had no idea you’d been holding, grinning from the increased high as your heart careened inside your chest.

Blaster fire pelted the outside of the ship as Tech and Echo manoeuvred it in the hangar, finally flying free of Vanguard Axis. You dumped your helmet on a bunk and handed Wrecker his blade back, hilt first.

“Nice going,” he said gruffly, clapping you on the shoulder. You moved into the cockpit and rubbed your ears to try and dissipate the ringing that was still happening, although muted.

No one spoke for a while as you all rode out the buzz from the unexpected, yet successful, attack. Your attention drifted to the back of the ship, where the Wookiee was hunched as he glared at the floor.

You weren’t an idiot, you knew what a weapon like that signified, the coloured blades were the centrepiece for many story snippets you’d heard over the years. Rumours, lies, myths. He was a Jedi. And it scared you senseless.

Tech pushed the ship into hyperspace and the unspoken question of, what happens now? hung in the air. You looked up to find Hunter staring at you, a quizzical look on his face as he tilted his head and you frowned. No. You didn’t want to tell the Wookiee who you were, what you could do. The more you grew closer to the core of it all the more real it became.

“Why is he sitting back there alone?” Omega asked quietly. Hunter turned in his seat to look down the ship.

“Because he’s scared. He’s been through a lot.” Wrecker handed her some rations and stepped to the side. You knew why they had all congregated in the cockpit, why they didn’t speak to him.

“Well he still needs to eat.” You all watched her approach the Wookiee and offer him the ration box. “Here, you look hungry.” Hunter tapped you on the shoulder and gestured with his eyes for you to come but you shook your head, letting them head down the ship. Instantly the Wookiee snarled, roaring a warning at the clones and they stopped in their tracks. “What’s wrong?” Omega asked.

“He doesn’t trust us.” Hunter sounded sad and you almost stepped forward, soaking up that feeling of sorrow and guilt that he emitted.

“Well, seeing how all clones were given an order to execute the Jedi, he has good reason to be cautious,” Tech added. It was the first time you’d really heard them speak of this. You knew what had happened, the whole Galaxy did and Rex had given you a slight insight…but the boys had never spoken much about it.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Hunter spoke directly to the Wookiee. “But we are not like the other clones.” He sounded so desperate to get his point across. His emotions were bleeding from him and it made you finally move, putting a hand on the chair as he sat down. “We did not follow that order and we don’t work for the Empire either.”

“Hunter’s telling the truth. You don’t have to be afraid of us.” Omega reached down and pushed the rations towards him. “It’s ok. Eat.” As soon as he started she moved to the bunks, sliding your helmet across so she could sit down. “I’m Omega. What’s your name?” The Wookiee spoke, his speech patterns softened and you turned to Tech for an explanation but it was Hunter who responded.

“My Wookiee is a little rusty, but I think he says his name is Gungi.” Tech slipped his visor down and consulted his datapad beside you as the Wookiee responded. “Did you catch that?”

“He’s been on the run since Order 66 and was attempting to reach the Wookiee homeworld of Kashyyyk before he was captured by those smuggling droids.” Tech told him and Hunter turned back to Gungi.

“I’m not sure how you survived this long on your own, but it’s impressive.” Something else blossomed from Hunter in that moment, tentative and pure as it speared through his guilt. Hope.

“If he’s trying to get to his homeworld we can take him.” Omega said after she’d jumped down.

“Been a while since we’ve been to Kashyyyk,” Wrecker rumbled happily.

Hunter got up. Echo stepped aside but turned to address Hunter before he entered the cockpit. “The Empire could have outposts there by now. We don’t know if it’s safe for him there.” Hunter sighed and looked back at Omega and Gungi.

“He’s a Jedi. He’s not safe anywhere.” You peeled away from the seat, following him into the cockpit and closing the door behind you both. Hunter sat down heavily with a sigh as you paced a few times, waiting for him to say anything.

“Something happened,” you stated.

“Yeah, we picked up a Jedi,” he replied with a soft scoff and you almost rolled your eyes.

“No. Before, before all this. I can feel it.” He leaned back, pouting slightly and crossing his arms.

“I thought you didn’t have those kind of senses,” he grumbled.

“Maybe I do.” He hurmphed softly and you sat down opposite him. “Do you want to talk about it?” Spinning in the seat you waited to see if he would take you up on the offer. Watching the relaxing lights of hyperspace and finally he sighed, turning slightly in your direction.

“When the Order…happened,” his speech was stilted and you gave him the time to breathe and sort out what he wanted to say. “We were on Kaller. Was a routine objective, clear the clankers. General Billaba was there with her Padawan…” your brow furrowed at the way his emotions changed, sweeping through him like a physical pain. “The regs were having a hard time so we cleared the way for them. Commander Dume was going to come with us but as we left the regs…they turned on his master.” Hunter spread his hands, rubbing the palms together as he leaned forward on his knees. “The Order had no effect on us, well. Most of us.” You let the reference to Crosshair pass but you could feel the twinge of Hunter’s regret.

“What happened to the Jedi?”

“They killed her. The kid managed to run away and I went after him with Crosshair. He didn’t help matters,” he mumbled, closing his eyes as the guilt swelled. “I could have done so many things differently.” Taking a deep breath he continued. “I almost had the kid convinced that we could help when Crosshair shot at him, that moment of trust gone.”

“You are not responsible, Hunter.”

“No? Isn’t that burden I have to bear?” Casting all hesitation aside you kneeled before him, putting a hand on his cheek to make him look at you. Your gaze roamed over the shading of his tattoo, feeling the spiky stubble through your glove that marked his jaw.

“It’s the Empire’s fault. It is not yours. Not even Tech could have predicted all of this happening the way it did.” He scoffed quietly, a ghost of smile on his lips as he gazed at you. “You did what you could at the time….and that’s why you’re deciding to take Gungi home,” you finished. His eyebrow shot up at your words.

“Am I?” The door slid open and Tech paused on the threshold.

“Am I interrupting?” There was that bite to his words whenever he happened upon a moment like this but his emotions were harder to read than Hunter’s.

Hunter sat up away from you, breaking your hold and you sat back on your heels, getting up in a fluid movement. “Not interrupting,” he told Tech. “Set course for Kashyyyk.”

“Aw, YEAH!” Wrecker thundered from the hold and you smiled. Tech shouldered past you, Hunter gave you a look and sidled out of the cockpit, closing the door behind him which you thought was unnecessary.

“Have you been to Kashyyyk before?” You asked, hoping to rope Tech into a conversation.

“Yes.” The dismissal was clear in his tone and automatically you hesitated. You were going to walk away when you thought, no. You’d worked too hard to finally get you back to some semblance of normalcy.

“What’s it like?” You put yourself in Echo’s seat this time, drawing your knees up and watching him expectantly.

“A jungle planet in the mid rim, found in the Mytaranor Sector,” he rattled off.

“Any interesting fauna?” Tech looked up out of the canopy, his gaze swinging to you as his leg started to jump. You had him. He couldn’t help himself.

“Actually, yes. The fauna on Kashyyyk is the most fascinating I have found so far…” smiling to yourself, you settled back in the seat, watching the way he gestured when he explained something. Catching his eyes meeting yours when you asked a question and the uneasiness fell away between you both.

If you could sit here forever and hear him talk about creatures for the rest of your life, you would. Tech would probably never realise it, but he created a sanctuary of comfort that no one had ever provided you with before. And you cherished it.

#sanctuary #tech x reader(stitch) #tech x reader #tech x you #tech x f!reader #tbb tech x you #tbb tech x reader #tech #the bad batch #tech the bad batch

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

Look at Me, part 9

Sanji x Reader (eventual), slow burn

Warning: slow burn, pining, drinking, eventual smut in later chapters. 18&older.

a/n: Comment below if you want to be tagged in this series.

Summary:  After joining the Straw Hats after leaving Fish-Man island, reader is using the time between islands to get to know her new crewmates. Well, except for one. Sanji’s fawning and cooing over the opposite sex drives reader crazy - how can she get him to see past her looks? And does she even want him to notice her?

masterlist

The ocean breeze hit cool against your cheeks; night had wrapped itself around the ship - nothing for miles in all directions. It was peaceful to hear nothing except the waves slumming against the wood panels. Your back was snuggled against the grassy area, eyes staring up at the casting moon and all thoughts were focused on your sisters. The little information, any was precious to you, Sanji had given you had the ability to keep you happy for years. Just knowing they were doing fine eased some of the guilt from leaving them behind. Violet and Zora had been the light in your eyes growing up in the castle that homed your family. Days spent running down the long cold halls, voices echoing as you tried to hide from each other. Zora was always the loudest and rambunctious, her charming ways easily influenced you into her “treachery” as your mother would put it, but it was always your little Violet that came to your rescue. She’d eagerly smooth any annoyances of your mother and she’d gladly do anything for the youngest daughter of hers.

“Good times…” you whispered to no one, there were good times – it wasn’t like your parents were complete monsters, you loved them and they you. It was the pressures and expectations of being royalty that strangled at your throat; the amounting pressure of an arranged marriage that felt like the end of your life. That was why you left. You very much still loved your family, but parting ways was the only way you’d have been able to live a free life.

“…. aren’t you cold out here?’

Sanji’s voice was low and secretive as he laid beside you, throwing a blanket over your laps. His arm was pressed against yours and you held the moon’s graze, much too nervous to even glance at your late-night companion. It had been now three days since you kissed him, and those days were filled with small, tender moments. Sanji remained the same, doting but even more respectful as ever. There were soft glances and smiles exchanged across the room, and each night during dinner, his seat was securely next to yours. He walked you to your room every night after supper or sat with you on the grass, the two of you drinking tea before bed. He’d ask you questions about your childhood, and he confessed the horrors of his – in the end, it seemed, the two of you escaped lives that neither of you wanted.

“It’s not too cold out,” you assured him, finally looking over to him. A cigarette was perched between his lips, and you casually plucked it out of his mouth, he watched with a smile as you took a hit before handing it back. His fingers touched yours and he felt warm.

“Can’t sleep again?”

“…I’ve been thinking a lot about my sisters. I can’t help but wonder how they are.”

“I’m sorry my information has made you worry…”

Sanji frowned when you sat up and reached for his hand resting on the top of the blanket, your fingers wrapped around his knuckles, and you smiled at him. “No, what you did for me was the kindest thing anyone has ever done. I know now that I made the right decision in living my island – all these years I have carried this guilt…”

He sat up quickly, crushed his smoke, and took your hand in both of his, and your eyes teared up. “…. don’t feel guilty, sometimes we must be selfish.”

“…selfish? You left to be free of a cruel father, I left because I hated dresses,” you joked and he smirked, shaking his head. He scooted closer and held your hand against his chest, caressing your knuckles softly.

“Our circumstances might have been a bit different,” he stopped when you snorted and the two of you broke into a laugh. “But…look where it’s gotten us.”

“Pirates,” you quipped, waving the hand not being held towards the ship’s bow. Sanji smirked and agreed, noting that you seemed to be enjoying your time as a Straw Hat. “I am having the time of my fucking life.”

“Me too.”

The two of you fell quiet and when Sanji released your hand to lay back down, you followed suit. He wiggled his arm under your head, and you allowed him to pull you into his side; his fingers massaged your shoulder, and you quietly said his name.

“Yes?”

“…telling me about my sisters has been a tremendous gift. It feels like I am truly free knowing they weren’t left to deal the consequences of my actions,” your head dipped back to look at him and his face was delicate. Young and fruitful. He waited patiently for you to continue, but all you could do was lean forward and kiss him on the lips. He groaned and pulled you closer, fingers brushing strands of hair from your face. Sanji kissed you back before pulling away and leaning back into the grass; your head came down onto his chest and he made sure to cover the two of you up against the cool night.

….

“I knew it,” Robin’s voice was gleefully monotone as she stood over Sanji and you; the two of you wrapped in a large blue blanket, Sanji’s arms around your shoulder and your face hidden against his chest.

“She can do better,” Zoro yawned, kicking Sanji’s leg. The cook jumped awake, holding you against his chest. His expression grew angry when he saw the swordsmen, but your eyes opened, and he quickly gave you a soft smile.

“Good morning,” he whispered, and your smile faded when you noticed Robin and Zoro. Instantly you pulled from Sanji’s embrace and his face fell, but he quickly got up and helped you to your feet. He started to fold the blanket when Zoro asked if you wanted to do some morning sparring and you quickly declined, and Sanji laughed.

“See, not everyone wants to sweat so early in the morning, Mosshead.”

“Shut up,” he growled, storming away; Robin gave you a knowing glance before strutting away towards the kitchen. Sanji sighed and checked his watch, mentioning breakfast.

“Luffy will be open soon, coffee?”

You nodded, embarrassed of your reaction to your crewmates seeing Sanji and you in such an intimate position. He might not have noticed you noticing his reaction and you felt terrible, especially after all he had done for you. Reaching for the necklace that permanently remained around your neck, you apologized, and Sanji said for what.

“For pulling away like that, I…can I be honest with you, Sanji?”

“Always,” he grinned, tossing the folded blanket over his shoulder; he stood with a hand on his hip as you explained that you were unsure of him. His eyes filled with panic, and he asked how so.

“Your obsession with women was my first impression of you – “

“- you shot me for that,” he joked, reliving any tension in the air. You broke out in a smile and grabbed his hand, holding it tenderly.

“I know and I apologize for that, but can you try to understand where I’m coming from? I don’t know what this is,” you looked to your entwined hands than to him. “…but I don’t think I would be able to continue this without knowing if you were willing to…”

Commit?

The word dangled on the tip of your tongue and heat rose to your head – how did you go from hating this man and his weird tactics, to presenting this word. You felt idiotic, because after two kisses and dozens of moments together, you were finding yourself falling for the cook. It was absurd, but it also felt like the universe coming full circle.

Sanji was your betrothed at one point in your life and had things worked out the way your families wanted, he would have been your husband and who knows how that would have ended. Maybe the two of you would have had a rough start, but things would smooth out – Sanji was after all, under the overreactions to women, was kind and sincere. Plus, you had seen him in battle and his abilities had fascinated you from the beginning – it was just his behavior on Fish-Man Island that you found repulsive.

Now, the real Sanji stood in front of you, and you couldn’t help but feel something for him.

“…I understand,” he spoke respectfully, lifting your hand to his lips. He gave it a quick peck and smiled. “I will show you, okay?”

He placed your hand back down and you smiled. “Okay.”

“Good, now – do you want some coffee?”

Sanji held out his hand and you took it, allowing him to lead you to the kitchen. Robin, who had been sitting on the upper deck, glanced at you and you shrugged at her. She grinned and went back to her book as Sanji looked over his shoulder. “…. some eggs too?”

“Bacon too?”

Sanji’s laugh was heartily, and it warmed every inch of your body. “Yeah, bacon too.”

……..

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#sanji one piece #vinsmoke sanji x reader #sanji x reader #one piece #look at me series

[rotworld]

13: Death Match

the rising star of an underground monster fighting ring is offered a reward for his win streak and asks for something very specific. the fight committee finds you walking home alone one night.

->explicit. contains noncon, gore, murder, kidnapping and captivity, dehumanization, threats of gun violence, feral behavior, size difference, terato.

.

.

.

The spit of gravel becomes the steady hum of asphalt. The car turns; turns again. Stoplight red glares through your blindfold. The man in the backseat with you laughs into the phone, his fingers skimming the backrest behind your head. “No, he wasn’t joking! You saw the list, right? He put that together himself. I didn’t even know he could write, I thought they were all illiterate. Looks like a fucking child’s handwriting, but it’s almost intelligible.” The hum of the engine quiets and the car is moving slowly, streetlamp dots passing overhead. You’re not on the highway anymore. You grope blindly for a door handle, fingers stiff and straining as the zip ties dig into your bound wrists.

There’s nothing. Just a dip in the plastic where a door handle should be. 

“Ah, I have to go. Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute, you can start the match. Bye.” There’s a hand on your shoulder, twisting you around in your seat. You squirm as far away as you can but there isn’t far to go, your shoulders knocking against the door. You hear the metallic flick of a lighter. A window cracks open and the pungent odor of tobacco swirls through the car. “Hey there,” the man says, affable. “I’m guessing you want that gag off. You’re going to listen first. I don’t like to repeat myself.” 

The car jolts to a stop. You hear the whine of old steel hinges, the rattle of an industrial garage door peeling open. Somewhere, there’s music playing, a pounding techno bass throbbing through concrete. There are bright lights and voices, a brief exchange between the driver and someone outside, and you make one last desperate attempt at escape. Screaming through the gag, flailing, throwing yourself at the panel divider between the front and back seats until you’re wheezing and exhausted—it’s all for nothing.

“Is that Spike’s new toy?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What a waste.” 

The man in the backseat slaps you. It startles you more than it stings. “Pay attention,” he snaps. “You can be replaced. Alright? Don’t think for a second that you can’t be. You’re a cockwarmer, and cockwarmers don’t bitch or whine or fight back. If you do any of that, he’s not going to want you. If he doesn’t want you, he’s going to rip your fucking head off while he’s balls deep in you, and then he’s gonna mope about it for a week. I don’t need him moping, I need him in top form. There’s a lot of money riding on this next tournament—” 

You hear screaming. Concert hysteria. People hollering, cheering, that electronic rhythm even louder as the car jolts and shudders into reverse, sliding to a stop. The driver’s door opens. Cold metal presses against your jaw. The blindfold is ripped away and you see the barrel of the gun, the crisp white sleeve behind it. Your captor is neat and freshly-shaved in a suit and loosened tie, smiling around a cigarette.

“You’re going to walk with me, at my pace,” he says. “You’re not going to go too fast or too slow. If you do anything—and I mean anything—that seems suspicious, you’re going to die. Okay? Do you understand? Nod if you heard me.”

You hesitate just a second too long and he presses the gun harder into your skin. You hear a click as his fingers flick across the safety catch. You nod quickly. His smile is wide and vacant like a habit rather than an indicator of feeling, but there’s sick, sadistic glee in his eyes. He tugs you out of the car, a hand wrapped around your forearm. You’re tugged quickly across a parking garage, through a heavy door and down a dark, cramped hallway. The sound of screaming gets louder. There’s another door up ahead with a STAFF ONLY sign stuck to it. 

“Welcome to the Pit,” he says and pushes the door open. 

After being denied your senses, the sights and sounds are overwhelming. You’re engulfed in noise, jeering and shouting, rhythmic sports chants and the booming echo of a live commentator’s projected voice. You see a stadium, descending rings of seats packed to capacity. Harsh spotlight shines across an elevated stage, and a rotating camera feed honed in on the action plays above the platform. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust, to make sense of what you’re looking at. Animals? Dogfighting? Two hulking figures circle each other like lions. 

One lunges. It’s gray like stone and covered in splotches of discolored fuzz, leathery membranes connecting powerful arms to a lean, muscular body. It’s as quick as a rearing snake when it strikes. There’s a thunderous crash as they hit the ground tangled together, a bloody flail of claws and legs and teeth. You hear inhuman noises that trip your fight or flight response, the shrieks and howls of something fighting for its life. The tide turns, the one pinned to the ring thrashing to freedom with a hard right hook that spatters bright, liquid red across the ring. You hear an absolutely monstrous hiss as it gets back to its feet. 

It—he—is a monster. They both are. They’re both big but this one is towering, a wall of solid muscle and scar tissue. You can see muscle bulging beneath bumpy, scaled skin as he rolls his shoulders, a thick, spike-covered tail slamming against the ring with the sound and force of a gunshot. 

Your captor marches you into the heart of the chaos, front-row seats in the heated glare of the spotlights. People are friendly, shaking his hand, excited to see him. They act like you aren’t there, jostling you around in a rush of greetings and introductions. You aren’t offered a place to sit. 

“Welcome back, Greer,” someone says to your captor. “He’s doing great tonight. Talon’s having a hard time.” 

The monsters are back to circling again, watching each other as they skirt the edge of the ring. Greer pulls you close by the shoulder and points at the one with the tail. “That’s who we’re rooting for,” he tells you. “I scouted Spike years ago and he’s in a whole other league. You’ll see what I mean. You stand right here, make sure he sees you when they go around again.” 

He yanks your gag out but it doesn’t matter. No one would care if you screamed, even if they could hear you over the noise. Every time the monsters clash, throwing themselves at each other, there’s a chorus of excited hollering. Spike is popular, a crowd favorite. People are chanting his name. Talon goes for his throat and Spike bats him away with a raking slash across the face. The sound Talon makes, the shrill agony and desperation in his voice, makes your chest constrict. He stumbles back against the ropes at the edge of the ring, right in front of you, so close his blood spatters across Greer’s shoes. Greer’s hand clamps down hard on your shoulder. 

“Smile,” he mutters. “He’s sizing you up.” 

Your heart skips a beat. Spike is right there, halfway across the ring, facing you. Seeing him from behind was already intimidating, but now you’re paralyzed. His face is frightening, reptilian, vaguely aquatic, small nostrils and large, fang-like teeth curved out of his mouth. His chest is pale, the color of fresh, yellowed bone compared to the bottle green of his sides and back. He’s shirtless like Talon, covered in oozing bites and punctures and a sheen of sweat. 

Large eyes, veined like amber, flick from Talon to Greer to you. His slit pupils widen, nostrils flaring. 

You scream when he surges forward, his jaw opening wider than humanly possible and clamping down on Talon’s throat. They both go crashing to the floor and Spike is on top, enormous claws pinning Talon’s feebly straining hands to the ground. The crowd howls. Greer gets tense beside you, eyes wide and excited. The commentator is hysterical, yelling that this is it, the moment, the killing blow, and you want to close your eyes but you can’t look away. 

Spike never once breaks eye contact as he yanks his head back and takes a chunk of Talon’s throat with him. 

The sound is awful—flesh wrenching, ripping, bones snapping like twigs. Talon convulses and tries to scream but all you hear is a dying rattle, the flutter of exposed soft tissue. Blood arcs across the front row of spectators and you feel it distantly, smell the reeking of wet rust and innards soaking your shirt and dripping down your scalp. Those golden eyes are focused on you and only you as Spike grinds a mouthful of sharp teeth through Talon’s neck, leaving his head dangling by a thread. It’s chaos. People jumping and screaming, stunned and rapid fire commentary, the whole stadium shaking with the sheer, excited force. 

Greer’s smile widens. He looks at you out of the corner of his eye like a cruel child with a mouse trapped under a box. “I think he likes you,” he says. 

It’s a blur after that, a rush of movement, of endless hallways that all look the same, faces and laughter and endless phone calls as Greer leads you somewhere. You can’t stop thinking about watching someone die right in front of you. It wasn’t quick. He was alive for such a long time. He struggled and strained and the stringy remnants of his neck kept vibrating with sounds he couldn’t make, pain he couldn’t even express. You’re shoved through another doorway and suddenly Greer is no longer next to you. You look back and he’s in the hall, waving, before he slams the door shut. You hear the lock turn. 

Then you hear that same low, rattling hiss from the fight.

Your skin prickles. You turn around slowly. The room is small, dark and dingy, the fluorescent bulbs dim and humming. The floor is bare concrete and there’s hardly any furniture. You see an off-white fridge, a lopsided couch that looks second-hand from a college dorm, and a TV perched on a crate. And standing in the middle of the room, so big you have to crane your neck to find those bright, yellow eyes in the dark, is Spike. He hasn’t changed, hasn’t showered. There’s still blood caked to his chin and smeared on either side of his mouth.

He uses the same speed you saw in the ring to reach you, a sudden lunge and your arm is engulfed in his iron grip. The scream catches behind your teeth, terror constricting your throat. Spike drags your bound hands out away from your body. It takes just a second, just the slightest press of his claws, and the zip ties split apart. You stare at your wrists, the bruising and blisters left by tight bands of plastic. 

“Hurts?” he asks. 

You’re startled by the sound of his voice—that he speaks at all. The word comes out worn and gravelly, hoarse from disuse. You nod slowly. He lets out another monstrous hiss, his eyes flicking to the door behind you. You let out a squeak when he picks you up. He does it one-handed, slinging you over his shoulder. You wince at the hard texture of his shoulders digging into your stomach with every heavy footfall, but he doesn’t carry you for long. You’re dropped on the couch without fanfare. Spike stands there, looming over you. Staring. Not at your face, but lower. Your shirt’s riding up and his eyes are fixed on that spot of exposed skin. 

“Spike?” you say quietly. 

His face twists into a snarl, jagged teeth bared. “That’s not my name,” he says. You try squirming away, slipping past him. His hand lands heavily on your shoulder, shoving you back down. “My name is Zegrid. Call me that. Or ‘mate.’”

The things Greer said to you in the car come rushing back all at once. Your pulse races. Zegrid wrestles you back down when you try to run again, resting a knee on the couch to cage you in. He growls and his jaw is around your neck, hot breath fanning against your skin. The pricking point of one tooth digs into your soft, vulnerable flesh. He doesn’t move until you’re sobbing silently, resigned and trembling under him. He pulls back, his jaw popping back into place, and wipes the drool from his face. You beg him not to hurt you.

“Not going to hurt you,” he says. “Not if you do what I say.” 

He sinks onto the couch, the frame creaking and bending beneath his weight. You put up little resistance when he reaches for you, squirming a bit in his large hands as he pulls you into his lap. Your difference in size is staggering. Even like this, your head just barely comes up to his chest. The first thing he does is hold you. You’re crushed against his chest, surrounded in the smothering heat of his body. Your fear wanes the longer you sit there, still alive. Your arms are trapped against your sides but you relax cautiously, leaning into the embrace. Zegrid makes a rumbling sound deep in his chest that vibrates through your body, something close to a purr.

“Soft,” he mutters. “Feels good.” He squeezes you, hard enough to hurt and cut off your air for a few agonizing seconds. “Ready?” he asks.

Your stomach does a nervous flip. “I don’t really want…”

“You have to.” He pushes you away far enough to see your face. He studies you, his gaze piercing. His thumb claw digs into your hip, slicing straight through your clothes. “You don’t like me?” he asks. His tone is tense, something dangerous lurking in the words. “I showed you. I’m a good mate.” 

You think about Talon, or whatever his name really was. The gaping, shuddering wound, red and glistening. Zegrid, watching you with bated breath.

He clutches you tighter. He’s breathing a little faster, each inhale ragged and growling. “He said I could have whatever I wanted if I kept winning. He said—”

There’s something on the wall behind him, you realize. Paper. Torn notebook scraps and unfolded envelopes, whatever he could get his hands on, all taped to the wall. And there are scribbles all over them, heavy, messy ink scrawls. They’re fragments. Not full sentences, but brief thoughts. A list, you realize. A series of descriptions. Hair. Facial features. Body types. It’s vague, not always a perfect match, but it’s easy to see that these descriptions fit you. There are pages upon pages of these notes, this patchwork wishlist, and a sick, sinking feeling comes over you the more you read. 

“I want a mate who is soft and feels good to hold,” he wrote. “I want a mate who is always nice to me.” 

Zegrid is rambling under his breath, getting more worked up, more growling and furious, the longer he talks. His claws start to sink deeper, through cloth, through flesh and muscle. Your whimpers don’t stop him, don’t even register beyond earning a louder, more insistent growl. You touch his chest, gently settling your palms on rigid pectoral muscle. His voice abruptly cuts off.

“You’re…a good mate,” you stammer. He stares at you, his pupils narrow slits. “You are, really! I’m just nervous. I know you can be…strong.” Don’t think about it, you tell yourself, but it flashes through your mind—carnage. The force of his bite. The clench of his jaw and the snap, the squelch of the body pinned under him. “But can you be gentle?” 

Zegrid tilts his head. His eyes flick up, over your head, his gaze distant and thoughtful as though you’ve just asked him a riddle. “No,” he says sadly. “I don’t think so.” 

“I bet you could,” you say. You try to demonstrate, smoothing your palms up and down his arms. He feels kind of nice. The texture is rough but not sharp in most places, segmented into little squares like alligator skin. His purr gets louder and his hands are on your hips again, heavy but not squeezing or hurting you. He likes to squeeze you, feeling your flesh under his fingers. “Like this, see? I think you could do this. I’d like it if you were gentle,” you add. 

You think you’re getting through to him. Zegrid tries it once, moving his hands along your sides. He catches you with his claws once, opening a hole in your shirt, but he’s careful, you notice. He does it again and his expression is scrunched in focus. 

The purr is vibrating against your skin, louder than ever. Your hands freeze over his shoulders when you feel a distinct bulge in his pants. 

“I’ll try,” Zegrid murmurs, “some other time.” 

His hand swipes up your back and your shirt splits along your spine, cold air hitting your back. He peels it off of you, flicking his claws impatiently across the front to rip through the rest of it. You panic, crying his name, telling him to wait, stop, don’t, but he doesn’t listen. You’re lifted easily and he’s taking the sharpened end of his finger to the seam of your pants, ripping it open at the crotch. Your fingers rake uselessly over his bumpy skin as he lifts you, peeling you out of one pant leg at a time. 

“Stay still,” he says, sounding only mildly annoyed when your palm smacks into his cheek. He nips your hand in warning, the softest scrape of his teeth leaving small, bloodied pinpricks. “You’re going to like it. Mating is supposed to feel good.”

His wording fills you with dread. Supposed to? Has he never…? 

The bulge you’re sitting on is still growing, already straining obscenely against the fabric. The second Zegrid tugs his fly down, his cock springs out half-hard and oozing precum. Your breath hitches in fear when he nestles it, hot and throbbing, between your thighs. The tip is thick and tapered, the shaft bulging with veins and ridged on the underside. Your stomach lurches when he pumps his hips, grinding himself against your sex. There’s no way it’s going to fit. He’s going to kill you just trying. 

“I can’t,” you tell him, desperation seeping into your voice. “You’re too big, I can’t—” His hands are on your hips again, but now they’re lifting you, holding you threateningly over his bobbing cock. You start begging, tears filling your eyes. Zegrid lifts you slightly, high enough that it’s easy for him to bend and nuzzle against you, cheek to cheek. He keeps up his purring while you tremble and sob and slowly, with a long, satisfied hiss, he pushes inside you. 

He goes slow. You think that’s what you want until it’s actually happening. The very tip of his cock is small but the head flares out, wider and bulbous, and your body struggles to take it. The stretch is a dull ache and then it’s sharp and burning, your muscles clamping down, refusing him. Zegrid makes a growling sound, both pained and pleasured. To your shock and disbelief, his large hands start roaming your body in smoothing, massaging movements, mimicking what you did for him earlier. It helps. You’re still afraid and in pain, but he seems to understand he might break you. 

It doesn’t take long for his hand to graze your sex. He notices. You gasp and your inner walls loosen ever so slightly. He does it again, the pads of his fingers rubbing up and down. He’s clumsy at first but he’s learning, quick to adapt to whatever signs you give him. Every time a moan slips out and you buck against his hand, he pushes further into your tight heat. You can’t believe there’s still more of him. You feel full and horrible. 

Zegrid’s chest is heaving. He’s holding back. You don’t know how much longer that’ll last. But the rise and fall of his shoulders draws your eyes to them, the bulging muscle and tough skin marred by scars. They’re gouges, deep, old wounds wrapped around his arms, crisscrossing his chest, a nasty series of punctures across his stomach. You can’t even imagine what would be sharp enough to pierce his body and leave lasting marks like this. 

“You’re real,” Zegrid says quietly. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown. “This isn’t a dream. I have a mate. Here, and all mine.” He moves, and it punches all the air out of your lungs. Your thighs quiver and your hands scramble and scratch across his rough skin. He’s easy to hold onto, the bumpy, hardened flesh of his biceps perfect for your nails to hook into. That’s your only consolation when he spears you on his cock in one hard, upward thrust. “Mine,” he growls. You aren’t ready for him to start a punishing rhythm, bouncing you on his lap. He’s muttering again, a litany of “mine, mine, mine,” spilling from his lips. He palms your ass, his affectionate squeezing becoming hard and painful. His claws dig into your flesh, wetting his fingers with your blood.

You give up trying to speak or move. You don’t have the strength, the breath, the presence of mind to do any of those things. Zegrid gets greedier, more ferocious, with every thrust. That slow pace builds until you’re crumpled against his chest, sandwiched between the sounds of his pleased purrs and hiss and the meaty slap of his hips against your trembling body. 

“Mine,” he snarls, and then the world is spinning, upending, your back hitting the couch. Zegrid crouches, seemingly coherent enough to keep himself from crushing you beneath his full weight, but he’s getting sloppy. His claws prick your skin as he pushes your legs up against your chest. It takes him a few tries to penetrate you again because he’s too eager, shaking too much, unable to stop himself from rutting against whatever his cock touches. He humps the curve of your ass, his tip smearing precum over your tailbone. He has to grasp himself in his fist and plant a hand beside your head to steady himself. 

You whine when he breaches you. You swear you can feel him in your stomach, slamming into your ribs. All of his restraint is gone and he fucks you wildly, his hammering pace leaving you raw and gasping for breath. The only mercy you get is his inexperience. Zegrid ruts faster and harder until he suddenly hits his peak, and then he’s shuddering, snarling, cumming inside you. You heart leaps into your throat when his jaw clamps down on your shoulder. His teeth feel serrated, thorny as they sink into your skin. You scream until your throat’s sore, and then you wheeze miserably, streaming down your cheeks and wetting the couch beneath you. 

Zegrid pumps you full of him. He thrusts a few more times, deep, churning motions that push and pull your body with him. He has to hold down your hips to pull out, one last spurt of cum coating your insides as he wiggles his tip free. You’re manhandled one last time that night. Zegrid maneuvers you out of the way as he lays down and then drapes you on top of him. You feel awful. Your chest is sticky with sweat and sweltering against his heated skin, and your back is too cold. 

“Next time,” he murmurs, his words thick and slurred with exhaustion, “gonna be gentle. Promise. I’ll learn how, for you.” 

Ridges of scar tissue graze your chest. Zegrid falls asleep quickly. You find out he snores, and he’s dead to the world. You shift uncomfortably, moving his hand away from your raw, sore ass, and he doesn’t notice or move it back. You’ll get up later, you think, after you rest and recover. You’ll find a way out of this. You stare at the ceiling, blinking fresh tears away. Your gaze is drawn to the wall—the paper scraps.

“I want a mate who will love me, even though no one has ever loved me before,” he wrote.

You listen to Zegrid’s slowing, restful heartbeat and the soft purrs he’s still unconsciously making. You hope there’s a way out of all this for him, too.

#rotpeach writes #goretober #original

[scertifiedsavanaclawstan]

Chance Encounter

Eyyo finally finished this drabble about @jackplushie‘s automation au! Its scavenger yuu/reader meeting Grim. Hope yall enjoy it!

WC: 1060

Warnings: None

Your sack hung heavily over your shoulder. Not heavy with scrap unfortunately. Just disappointment. You had found barely anything of value all day. A few good circuit boards but not much else. You were lucky you still had some credits saved up… today's haul wasn't going to get you much.

A bell chimed as you swung upon the door of your buyer's shop.

A man in a pointed mechanical mask outfitted with luminous yellow goggles turned to great you from the workbench he had been standing over.

"Ahah! If it isn't my favorite scavenger, just in time! I was wondering if I was going to have to close up shop without your daily visit!" Crowley loudly declared as he walked over to the counter where you placed the sack.

"Crowley, I'm your only scavenger." You sighed. He did this every time. But so did you.

"And I have no least favorites!" He said before diving headfirst into the sack. Honestly your mentor was birdlike in more ways than just the mask… although his top hat usually alleviated that… probably in the wash going by how much grease he was sporting. He usually looked like he had stepped out a steampunk novel… a good one, but still.

"Hmm I can see why you were taking a while. Not much luck today." He came out holding a few of the circuits. 

"Just a bad day." You sighed in response.

"For the both of us I'm afraid…" He said as he turned one of the pieces around in his hands. "I just found a mostly intact pet android but I'm having no luck in fixing it up I'm afraid."

… He really had a weird definition of bad luck on his end.

"Oh!" He suddenly clapped his hands together, "Maybe you'd have a better time with it though! We could do a trade!"

"A trade…"

"Yes! I'll take these doodads and you can have the droid!"

"...You don't have any cash do you?" You responded.

"Nonsense!" He said far too quickly, "Besides, it's in your favor, these circuits are… not particularly valuable as is…"

You kinda wish he wasn't right about that… plus you really didn't have any projects…

"Fineee."

"Wonderful! See, aren't I so generous?" Crowley remarked as he walked back to his workbench, picking up whatever was resting there before coming back.

He laid a small cat styled android on the table. It was… cute, in that chunky, boxy sort of way. It might've looked like it was sleeping if it weren't for the open panel and pile of exposed wires.

"I've checked everything, and none of his parts are broken…" Crowley sighed, "So I hope you'll have better luck getting him to turn on."

You nodded. Even if Crowley could be a bit of a pain, this was still an exciting find, you'd never even heard of a bot showing up in the scrap yards in such pristine condition. Crowley probably just forgot to charge the battery or something.

.

.

.

Okay maybe the problem wasn’t Crowley. You had been standing over your workbench for hours and still hadn’t gotten the damn cat to turn on.

You had charged its battery, replaced all its wires, resoldered the motherboard, and then completely replaced its cooling system just for good measure. And it still. Wouldn’t. Turn. ON!

At this point you were probably just going to have to give up. At least for today…

You look out your window to watch as a passing cloud lets the moon shine through. So it’s well past time to eat some dinner.

You look through the cupboards and you find… one can of tuna… great… maybe it'd be nice with some bread?

You set the can on the counter and begin rummaging through the fridge, finally pulling out a loaf of sliced bread and setting it on the counter right next to- nothing?

You blink, but the tuna is still gone. Like it vanished into thin air.

What did not vanish into thin air was the sudden cacophony coming from your work room. Like an angle grinder was being slapped against a cast iron fence. You walked to the door to peek inside and saw… the android, sitting on its haunches with your tuna can held in its grubby little hands and very sharp teeth.

Now that it was switched on you could see that its eyes, tail tip, and the insides of its ears were glowing bright blue.

The bot seemed to finally succeed in biting the lid off the tuna can- hey wait!

"That's mine!" You exclaimed, rushing into the room and grabbing the cat droid by the neck just before it could pour the tuna into its now yowling mouth.

"EH? Hey! Haven't you ever heard about finders keepers?" The cat asked as he flailed in your grip.

"Haven't you heard of how robots can't eat?"

"Of course I can eat! Now let me down you stupid human! That tuna is calling my name!"

"You probably don't even have a name." You sighed.

"I'll have you know I've got the best name!" The android crossed his little arms, "I'm the great and powerful master Grim! And you'd better remember it!"

You watched as Grim continued struggling in your grasp. It was interesting to see an android who had named itself… even more a cat android that was talking… or could eat. Supposedly.

"Okay you can have the tuna…" You began, causing Grim's head to snap towards you. "If you tell me how you turned on."

"Hehe heh! That's an easy one!" Grim replied smugly, "I've been on since that weirdo charged my battery! I've just been waiting for the right chance to sneak away… but that guy didn't have anything worth eating. Now gimme tuna!"

You blinked as you dropped Grim and watched him shove his face to begin devouring the tuna.

He… couldn't have been right. You'd done a bunch of work on him that he couldn't have been online for… and you verified that he was off, otherwise you wouldn't have been working on him so long… SO long…

But as you watched him yawn after finishing the tuna, you had to admit he was kind of cute. In his own way. And you were pretty lonely other than your visits to Crowley…

"Y'know Grim…" You began, "How'd you like to stay?"

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst yuu #twst headcanons #automation au #no actual x reader but 'reader insert' isnt really a tag so

[illuminatedcomics]

Today I remembered Mad Magic, and I made a LONG post about it. MM ran from November 2017 to May 2020 for a total of nearly 200 pages, my longest comic yet, not only in terms of actual continuous posting, but in development, as I have sketches and art dating back from 2011. Almost ten years of planning and drawing resulted in me having a big burnout that lasted a year and a half. It wasn’t MM fault that happened, and this post is sort of me coming to terms with what went wrong.

While the details and the higher concept shifted and changed multiple times, the heart of this comic always remained the same: there’re two girls, they’re roommates, and they live through a series of comedic horror adventures. 

Around early 2017, I combined this first draft with many newer ideas about high concept parody/deconstructions of Harry Potter: “What if a teenage Chosen one enters their adulthood and realizes they can’t top all the stuff they did as a kid?” and “What if one of those wallpaper background bullies that work as henchman for the main rival was the center of the narrative?” To be honest I was never a huge fan of Harry Potter, but still, I was in the right age group to see the movies as a kid, and read a few of the early books, so these concepts intrigued me.

Enter Mad Magic, the story of Joy Kaplan, former Demon Goat (that’s your house Slytherin), who after getting kicked out of school, ends up living a life of expedients, together with sassy Alix Peck, a punk girl that appears normal but has actually a mysterious past.

You know how they tell you “don’t make your first comic your big end all epic magnum opus”? Well, Mad Magic wasn’t technically my first attempt at a webcomic, but it nailed the too big for its own good part. When I finished planning it, it was going to be 17 chapters long (40 to 80 pgs each), with dozens of characters, twists, turns, action scenes, magic, time travel, vampires, elves, doppelgangers, lovecraftian gods, crossovers with other stories of mine, long haul plans a la Once Piece where that one character introduced in one panel in page 4 of chapter 1 was supposed to become the main villain of the story arc of chapter 12…

Considering the series ended after 4 chapters and a quarter, we know something broke down along the way. But what? Well first off MM was a ton of work. I structured the pages in a large euro-comic style, with four rows of panels, that fluctuated between 10 to 20 each, all full color. With a day job, completing a full page could take a couple of days or even a full weekend. So that was tiring, maintaining the schedule ate up a lot of free time, and whenever I missed an update or decided to take a brief hiatus I always regretted it and felt like crap about it.

But the biggest problem was a lack of general fulfillment and this absence was caused by my perceived inability to “find an audience”. There’re plenty of articles online explaining the causes of burnout, and one of the big ones is the problem with “reward”, when you don’t feel like the effort you put into something is worth what you’re getting in return.

There were people reading Mad Magic, there were people that seemed to love Mad Magic, but in my eyes, they were never enough… but what would’ve been “enough” anyway? What magic number would've made it worth it??? Ultimately, this junction between my inability to gather a larger interest, and the presence of this foggy, undescribed “number” of people that would’ve satisfied me caused the wheels to break down. I was letting things like subscriber counts, likes per page, pageviews and reblogs dictate how I perceived my own creation. If a page got fewer likes than average, I started wondering, obsessing what was wrong with it. 

The point is, after nearly three years of working on Mad Magic, doing my damnest to put out pages weekly, I was seeing absolutely no growth in reach or audience and I didn’t really know what I was doing wrong or if I was doing anything right in the first place. This stagnation led to stress, which led to losing pleasure in doing the comic in the first place, so that I was forcing myself to make pages, eventually leading to burnout and the complete loss in my desire to draw again. It took me a year and a half to get back into things, a period so nasty and bleak that even the idea of reading a comic made me queasy. The fact that this coincided with the global covid pandemic exacerbated the problems, but I think that even without that, it would’ve simply taken a bit longer to reach the same point of no return. I realize now this mentality was unfair towards the few readers I had, and to myself too.  I try not to worry about the idea of “finding an audience” anymore. I make the stuff I make because I want to, if I catch myself thinking “people won’t care about this” I nip it in the bud. I’m lucky enough that I don’t need to draw for a living, and considering artist’s spaces on the web seem to be constantly shrinking, the whole endeavor of finding a following online seems just a headache. I also try not to be bothered by the concept of schedules and updates.  I only draw when I want, when I feel like it, and it works. I look at stuff like Toxic Park, one of my current projects: in 2022, I produced around 80 pgs of story in two blocks, when the will and inspiration to do so hit me. That’s roughly the same amount of pages of Mad Magic I made in a similar period 2017/2018, by forcing myself to have at least one page ready every single week. So, the change in schedule or lack thereof, didn’t result in a change in output. Not to mention, that in both cases, I tried to develop other ideas simultaneously, and while with MM coming out that felt like crunching, at my leisure carefree pace I also made a 20 pages historical comic, Theo the Lucky, and nine more shorter comics, which are all around two to three pages worth of story (and you’ve seen posted on this blog). Simply put, I feel like I draw so much more now that I don’t cage myself in a mentality where “I must get this done before this completely imaginary deadline hits”.

I still hold the Mad Magic’s cast dear to my heart, they’re part of a ten year journey. I often try to think of ways of bringing it back, but continuing from the point where I left it off, where things were just starting to get interesting, doesn’t feel right. I may follow Osamu Tezuka’s Star System, where the same characters in personality and design are recontextualized in completely different stories. We’ll see.

Mad Magic is still up on tumblr where it was originally posted! And looking back at it, I think it still holds up relatively well. I lost all passwords and emails relative to that account so I can’t access it, but the entirety of the comic in its uncompleted state (I think some pages might’ve been weirdly flagged during the tumblr porn ban?) can still be read here:

@madmagic-comic

#my comics #webcomics #tldr #wall of text #illuminatedcomics #mad magic #web comics

[hapan-in-exile]

Volume 2 - Post #7: Elevator to Nowhere

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem Reader

Total word count: 3.4K (of 21K total in Volume 2)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

______________________________________________

VII. Mando is correct in assuming he can run much faster than you, using a firm grip on your elbow to steer you along the seamless metal corridor at a brisk pace. Ahead, you see Nito sitting cross-legged on the floor, hunched over a data-pad.

“There should be an elevator just down this way,” he says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. 

As you continue down the hallway, the air starts to feel damp and fetid. You practically jump out of your skin when a trickle of water falls from overhead, sliding down the length of your arm. There’s a chalky film coating the ceiling, running the length of the passage. Your eyes trace the milky, serpentine pattern all the way to the end of the corridor, where it drips down, thickening between the seal of the elevator doors. 

“Is this thing even operational?” 

“Only one way to find out,” Nito says, stepping up to the access panel.

Despite the angry whirring and clicking noises, the top half of the door manages to slide open, which would be just wide enough for you all to crawl inside if the elevator car wasn’t hanging sideways off the tracks.

Nito uses all four arms to swing from a few precarious footholds into the hoistway. Suspended from the car’s service hatch by his feet, he unpockets the binoculars at his belt and peers into the darkness. “I can see a ladder. Looks like it goes all the way down the shaft.”

“Ok,” you take a deep breath, rolling your neck, then squaring your shoulders. “Can I see your knife?” You ask Mando, holding out your hand. The train of your gown has got to go, along with a few seams you’ll need to tear open for range of movement. “And fuck this thing!” You shout, ripping the Miralukan visor off your face. “It’s worse than useless.”

“Yah!” Nito hollers, botching the landing of what had been a spectacular dive. “Sorry,” he says, collapsing into a knot at your feet. “I’m still getting used to seeing you without the…” he waves a furry hand back and forth in front of his face.

“Thanks, buddy. Thanks. Real nice,” your offending eyes narrow sarcastically.

“Wait, no—" you cut in, remembering yourself. “Thank you, Nito, for staying to make sure I was okay.” You place a hand on his shoulder and give him a tender squeeze.

“You’re welcome, Thuli.” He says, gripping your fingers in return. “Hey, why was that chick calling you ‘Dahra’?”

“Let’s not get too into this right now, ok?” Deep sigh. “It’s just … so my full name is Thulindahra. Thuli, Thulani, Dahra…I just use different names with different people.”

Nito’s brows shoot up, “Oh yeah, like a liar, you mean?” 

“Well, now you know all my aliases,” you smirk, tilting your head and winking at him. “Don’t you feel special?”

“What’s the plan here?” Mando interjects, looking at you.

“Right. Okay. Given the state of water damage…this escape route must be abandoned. If we can make our way down the shaft to the docking bay…I think it’s safe to assume it would be empty?”

You wait for the Mandalorian to pass judgment, but he remains stubbornly silent. 

“How far down do we need to climb, Nito?” 

“I’d say about a hundred meters.”

“Ok,” you nod, ticking off your fingers. “We take the ladder. Pry the docking bay doors open. See what kind of exit we can make from there.”

“Alright, Thuli will go first,” Mando says in a flat tone that does not invite further explanation.

“Why? I mean, that’s fine…I just…”

The bounty hunter pauses before clearing his throat. “Because you’re not wearing anything under that dress, and I’m trying to be respectful.”

With your dress cut to above your knees, there was a distinct possibility of putting it all on display. “Oh…um, thanks.” Now was not the time to get distracted by thoughts of Mando discovering the unique way you trimmed your pubic hair. 

Or how hot it would be to get fucked from behind on a ladder—which has definitely been the subject of several late-night fantasies on board the Razor Crest. (Like, what if he were to catch you on your way up to the cockpit? And he had to grip the rungs for leverage to thrust deeper inside you...) Ladder sex seemed ideally configured for 'helmet-on' intercourse.

Damnit, this is all Raife’s fault! All the sexy stuff tonight has been his doing. A not-insignificant part of your brain is still back in the library with those supple lips. It had been fun, for a very brief moment, before the shallowness of it all made your heart sick...remembering that you'll never get to kiss the Mandalorian.

There you go! Focusing on how lonely and miserable you are is a great way to douse the impassioned sexual energy bubbling inside you. And Mando decides to go last down the ladder, so you don’t have to worry about staring up at his sculpted ass for ten floors.

Which is for the best. The climb downward is such a tedious repetition of right hand, left hand, right foot, left foot, over and over, and over, that at times it's difficult not to lose focus, especially with Nito’s incessant chatter. 

“So are your eyes, like…bioluminescent?” He asks, absolutely fascinated.

“Um, it’s a reflective layer that brings more visible light back through the retina.” 

“Cool! And you were just born with it?”

“I think it's a genetic mutation. Hapes was colonized by humans, but it was a trait within the indigenous population since light from the Nebula–”

“Oh, so it's like an evolutionary biology thing.”

“Quiet!” Mando growls.

The sound starts out as a faint whining noise of metal surfaces scraping. It builds to a low groan that’s nevertheless distant. You’re about to suggest that it might be the waves crashing into the cove below—when the cables snap.

And that sound is immense, like the clash of a thunderstorm. Then, the whining transforms into a deafening, grating noise punctuated each time the elevator car smashes into the narrow shaft of carved rock above.  

There’s nothing else to do but wrap your arms around the rungs of the ladder and hope you don’t get pulverized.   

When the plummeting car sails past you, the roaring woosh of air sends every tendril of hair flying over your face. What’s left of your hemline flutters wildly around your waist. You quickly close your eyes against the draft and, as such, don’t see the debris shaken loose by the falling elevator car before it knocks into you. 

There’s a moment when your hands lose their grip on the ladder, when you realize something terrible has happened and you no longer feel weightless, you simply start to fall.

The jolt of Nito’s grip yanking you up by the wrist, catching you in midair, is felt in every joint and ligament of your body.

You're waiting for the car to crash at the bottom—but, instead, you hear an enormous splash, followed by a deep glug-glug noise as the elevator sinks underwater. When there’s no reverberation, you begin to wonder if there is a bottom…or if this is just an endless chasm to the seafloor. 

Your free limbs, fingers, and toes all reach out desperately, trying to retake your hold on the ladder. Silent tears stream down your face from frustration and helplessness. Each time Nito swings you towards it, your fingertips barely brush against the metal, your nails sending flakes of rust flittering like petals. 

The Ardennian's grip squeezes tighter, but you continue slipping through his hand like falling water.

“I’m too heavy,” you shout up at him. “Nito, you have to let go.”

“No!” He cries. 

“Thulani!” Mando yells, pleading in his voice. “Wait! I can–”

“Nito,” you say, giving him the kindest, most gently reassuring gaze despite the searing pain shooting up your arm. “You have to drop me.”

“I can’t!” His voice breaks. “I can’t let you fall into nothing. I can save you!” 

“Thulani!” The Mandalorian calls out to you.

“You’ll lose your grip on the ladder, Nito.” Silent tears pour forth from your eyes, but if you succumb to despair now, he’ll never find the courage to drop you. “Nito, you have to let me go.”

“Hold on!” 

"Ni—"

Ultimately, Nito is spared from making such a harrowing decision when the ladder collapses beneath you. No, not just the ladder—the entire fucking elevator track.

At first, your limbs pedal through the air, instinctually searching for a way to claw yourself back up. It takes your body a moment to remember that you’re falling to your death.

It’s pitch black this far down the shaft, so you don’t know when you’ll hit the bottom. It’s just whoosh, after whoosh, after whoosh of air rushing over you. Through the panic, you remember the need to clench every muscle, to make your body as rigid as possible and point your toes down so the fall doesn’t send your knees crashing into your skull. 

The rational part of your brain knows this is what to do, but it just makes you plummet faster, hurtling downward like a javelin. Waiting for the bottom is terrifying.

When your feet finally hit the surface, the shock of cold makes you scream, water filling your open mouth. It's a stupid mistake, but at least you remember to throw your arms and legs out wide as soon as you’re under to slow your dive before you lose all chance of returning to the surface. With no source of light, it's impossible to tell how far you’ve plunged underwater.

Thankfully, you have the ability to eke out every molecule of oxygen from your blood. You’ve got maybe ten minutes. Twelve if you can stay calm. 

You have to. ​​Your heart strains against your chest, thinking about Nito and the Mandalorian. But along with the fear and the tightness in your lungs is the relentless drive of adrenaline. You have to save them.

Finally breaking the surface, the stale, dank air trapped at the bottom of the elevator shaft might as well be a fucking alpine breeze the way it fills your lungs with glorious oxygen. It’s difficult, but you have to concentrate on slow, measured breaths so you won’t hyperventilate.

You hear a frantic thrashing in the water nearby. Mando?

Suddenly, you think back to that day on Dorumaa and remember his intense fear of drowning. 

The memory had been from when he was a boy—after he started to wear a Mandalorian helm, but before he was truly Mandalorian. It was his first time learning some new skill. He’d been so focused and determined. But, also excited to put on the jetpack. It was such an exhilarating freedom soaring across the skyline like a rocket until one of the engines spluttered out. A careening arc plunged him into the icy lake pooling at the bottom of the caldera where they’d been training. The force of the impact hit him like a body blow. There hadn’t been time to activate the neck seal. Instead, the water surged up under his helmet. That infinitesimal space between his face and the Beskar vanishing as the water filled his nostrils and poured down the back of his throat—

It was Mando. It must be. He’s panicking, and it would kill him. If he hadn’t been able to pressurize his helmet before hitting the water…he probably still has that fucking thing on. 

Yes! There’s the light from his headlamp strobing under the water straight ahead of you.

You can’t see a godsdamned thing, so you just kick out toward the tiny bead of light and sound of churning water.

Swimming blind towards a drowning man is exactly what you are not supposed to do in this situation. Best bet is to grab him from behind, but it's not going to be—kriffing hell!

Your vision explodes in a white glare, accompanied by a sharp, excruciating pain when Mando’s elbow connects with your temple. Blood begins pouring down the side of your face from the gash in your now split eyebrow, immediately washed away by salty water. 

“Mando!” your cry transforms into a stream of bubbles. Then you feel the tips of his leather fingers brush against yours in the black water. Steeling yourself, you grab hold of his wrist, pulling him to you and wrapping both legs around his waist. Recalling the cut on his right side, you stick your fingers directly into the wound.

The Mandalorian let out an agonizing roar, but the pain distracts him from thrashing about long enough for you to wrap your other arm around his neck. You close your eyes and ready yourself for the flashes of heart wrenching trauma, pushing it all aside to focus on flooding his entire nervous system with aminobutyric acid.

Mando’s body, held tightly in your arms, finally begins to relax. You kick hard, pumping your legs to drag him upward. He had stopped struggling, but his body was solid muscle and armor. Your head throbs, your limbs are so tired. Goddess, please don’t let him drown!

Someone of divine origin hears and answers your prayers. Mando shakes with each wracking cough and gasping breath. You reposition him between your legs, clasping his back to your chest with your arm across his shoulders. “Shhh,” you whisper, gently leaning back so his head can rest against your stomach, floating just above the water's surface. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

There’s no other sound but the slosh of water surrounding you. So when the Mandalorian pulls his helmet up over his mouth…you actually hear…that’s him breathing. 

Your whole body is numb from the temperature of the water and the exhaustion. But each steadying breath you hear from Mando’s lips is a blessing, lifting you up to the heavens.

Turning his head to cough, the rough stubble of his chin brushes against the smooth skin of your stomach, tugging at the last scraps of your dress…his mouth was that close. 

With your arm wrapped loosely around his shoulder, it would be so easy to draw your thumb over the length of his jaw. You fiercely wanted to touch his mouth. Did he have thin lips that disappeared when he smiled? Or were they full and soft, the kind that would pout when he lost his patience?

“Thank you,” the Mandalorian says, a whisper spoken into the surrounding darkness. 

The sound of his voice–his real voice–without the distortion of the modulator pulls you into a kind of dreamy hypnosis. You imagine him speaking directly into your ear, whispering your name.

You’ve heard it before, but from behind curtains or through doorways. Never this close. His lips were bare inches from your skin.  

“I’d forgotten that you’d seen that memory,” he coughs, still catching his breath. 

It’s impossible to guess from his tone whether he welcomed this intimacy or resented your intrusion into the recesses of his mind. How much truth was underneath all his teasing about dark powers and witchcraft?

Without realizing it, the muscles in your chest tighten, forcing you to beat your arms beneath you to keep Mando’s head from sinking below the surface. Stupid, your heart warns. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Sitting up, Mando tucks his legs beneath him under the water. The moment he leaves the circle of your arms, the cold rushes in. The pain is dull and sharp at once, making you lightheaded.

“I didn’t hear the kid hit the water,” he says, the familiar crackle of the modulator masking his deep timbre.

“Nito!” That snaps you back to reality. “Can you see his heat signature?” 

“Up here!” Nito calls down from somewhere high above. Mando’s head turns, casting the beam of his headlamp over the collapsed elevator shaft until it lands on the Ardennian. He was hanging by two sturdy limbs about fifty meters overhead. 

Blessed Mother. With the advantage of six opposable thumbs, Nito had managed to keep his hold on the ladder. 

“The exterior supports must have come loose,” he shouts, pointing to something on the opposite side of the shaft. “Kinda tilted, but we can still get the docking bay doors open.” 

“Right,” Mando says. 

You hear the grappling hook release and the metal clang when it punctures the surrounding rock. There’s a slow churn of water as the Mandalorian pulls himself, hand over fist, through the roll of shallow waves to climb up towards the doors.

Turning to look back for you, the beam of his headlamp blinds you momentarily. Muttering a hasty apology, he turns off the light. “What’s wrong?”

“If I stay floating, can you pull us to that winch over there? On your right?”

He shifts through the black water before slipping an arm around your waist, tugging you back below the surface, and tethering you to his side. “I’ve got you,” he says, kicking out to drive you both forward.

Bolted into the rock, the winch is partially submerged but stable. When you reach the drum, Mando slams his fist against the slab of corroded metal to moor you in place. Wrapping his arm tighter around you, he hoists you onto the hood. As soon as your hips clear the edge, you immediately collapse to your side, waves slapping at your face where the water line crept up. 

The wet leather of his gloved fingers traces over the gash splitting your eyebrow.

“Why haven't you healed yourself?” 

“I'm focusing all my energy on ensuring I’ll be able to use this arm again,” you smile through gritted teeth. “Nnngh—pretty sure I dislocated my shoulder.” 

“You need me to…?”

“Yeah, I can’t–anngh–I can’t lift it into place on my own.”

“Okay.” The Mandalorian steps on top of the winch to face you. He slides his grip over your ribs to gently lift you into a sitting position, one hand over your shoulder and the other under your elbow. “I’ve heard this hurts worse than childbirth.”

You scowl, “Well, I wouldn’t know if that’s what you’re ask— aaaaaaaaah!” 

The scream that escapes your lips sounds like the last pathetic throes of a dying animal. 

Something deep inside you—your will, maybe—breaks into a million pieces from the sharp, skull splitting pain. You sob and sob until your body is aching. All the pain, from your arm, from being trapped at the bottom of this fucking elevator shaft, from seeing Zemika with that fascist, from ruining your favorite dress, was all coming out. 

And when it feels like you might be done, the sobbing comes on again like hiccups.

“Is Thuli, um…?” Nito asks timidly.

So much for professionalism.

“She’s gonna be alright.” Mando’s hand finds you in the dark, pulling you against him and wrapping you in his arms. “Hush,” he whispers, understanding it was his turn to be strong for you. “We’re going to make it out of here.”

How exactly, wasn’t clear. 

“I know where Ozan Sango is,” you mumble quietly into his chest, forehead resting on his shoulder. 

“I’m sure you do,” Mando scoffs, another laugh you’ve earned from him tonight.

“Why didn’t you go after him?”

“I did,” he says, a strange hesitancy in his voice. “But, Nito said you needed me. I'll always come if—”

“I know,” you smile up at him. You’re not sure how much of it he can see through the helmet’s viewplate, but it’s a wide, deeply felt smile meant to convey gratitude and tenderness. “I know you're going to get us out of here.”

And the darkness that’s been hovering around the edges of your vision finally overtakes you.

**********************

Read the next post: Post #8: Making the Bed

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[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

A Little Death on Thanksgiving

No matter how the days passed, they were all the same and Erik was as numb as his fingers clutched around an iced coffee. Maleah loved iced coffees. But the fall, it had swept her away from him and returned empty-handed. 

Erik x OC (Maleah) • Music • Angst/No Smut

It was 3 PM on a dreary fall Wednesday afternoon which could be through the floor to ceiling, wall to wall paneled window in the conference room. There was a slow, light rain.

"Have you considered the current socio-political climate, Mr. Gregorio,” Erik asked, having zoned out of James Gregorio’s commercial presentation with subtle tones of racism against Indigenous Americans.

“I.. Excuse me?”

“You’re telling me with all of your education you think this is smart business? Has it dawned on you at all, the influence of the BIPOC American audience over social media and current trends? A commercial this racist? In 2022? Mr. Gregorio, you are out of your rabid ass mind presenting this to me.”

His wheels turned and went flat considering Erik approved of his idea earlier in his office. The shark-faced Baldwin clone went red with anger and embarrassment. His ears matched his oxblood tie. It made Erik's day to piss him off. It was the only reason he kept this lone white man employed in his company.. to step on his neck for a spot of workday relief and entertainment. He needed the distraction. 

“Political correctness is the trend for this generation and I assure you our audience is diverse, Mr. Gregorio,” he peered over his rimless frames. You’d have me make the biggest mistake of the fiscal year in the fourth quarter. That’s all, Mr. Gregorio, you can have a seat. Ms. Williams, please proceed with your idea.”

She grinned at the packet in her hand and packed as the meeting was over. Erik had another meeting via video conference in his office, but he wasn’t mentally present. The small framed photo of Maleah’s smiling face watched him from his desk as he spoke and he absentmindedly rolled a black beaded lizard keychain she’d made for him in his fingers. 

“Mr. Stevens are you alright,” CEO Bradford asked from the top right of the screen.”

“Oh, yeah,” he wiped his eye with the initial handkerchief from his pocket. “Allergies,” he sniffed. “It’s that time of year.”

“Allergies,” Highman agreed. “Bad year for it, I have to keep Flonase or else I feel like a cokehead with all the sniffing I do.” 

Erik smirked, but he still wasn’t paying much attention.

"Which colors do you like better," Maleah held two very, very different palettes on opposite sides of her youthful glowing face looking to Erik to choose, one was a Morphe that had many different colors and the other was a PIXI that had similar peach and gold colors. Erik did not care about the colors, the palettes, or makeup in general. She didn’t need any of it in his mind. Her excitement was the solo thing to make the trip worth it. He couldn't help but think she was the cutest thing walking.

"Why not get 'em both." He took them from her and dropped them to the Ulta basket along with some more random palettes that looked like something she'd love. Her mouth went wide since she was one to look at price tags, but he always spent big and to him this was miniscule. It was his nature to give gifts and one of the main ways he expressed his love. He knew her favorite color was pastel purple so he knew that if he put a pastel palette in the basket he’d see that gleaming smile. "Anything for my puddin pop," he pecked her cheek. “What else?"

"More?" Her doe eyes popped. He smirked. That’s one thing he loved. She appreciated everything he gave her no matter how big or small. She still had the pink plastic diamond ring he gave her almost three years ago early into their relationship. He’d got it from a candy machine but she kept it on a necklace that she put around the neck of the blue stuffed bunny he gave her on their first official date. They’d gone to the fair.

"Anything you want. My baby will always be spoiled.”

"I don’t know how I got so lucky with you. Thank you daddy," she grinned, earning a gentle pinch on the cheek. They’d needed a second basket and the second basket was only half full. He looked for the familiar containers that he’d seen in her possessions, adding cleanser, a mask, and primer. "You're the best!" Her head rested on his bicep and she clung to his arm for as long as they were in the store walking side by side. She was always clingy, but lately it had intensified. She wouldn’t leave his side not even for him to shower and it was getting harder for him to go to work and leave her behind with that sad and lonely face she’d put on. She wasn’t lonely, she was just spoiled rotten.

Part of the clinginess was her pregnancy. It had been a surprise to them both, but Erik was completely ready for this baby. He was ready to make things official and propose, he only needed the right moment which couldn’t come directly after a pregnancy announcement or she’d assume that was the only reason he proposed. He escorted her through the aisles and held her basket so she wouldn't have to let go of his arm. Absentmindedly, he interlocked their fingers rubbing her knuckles.

"Ooh-ooh! I want that one too, please," Maleah pointed to a brown Fenty gloss using her sweetest gimme voice. He picked it up and added it to the building collection. "The pink one is really so so pretty," she pointed next to it.

"You're pretty," he muttered watching a grin spread slowly on her face while he put one of each color in the basket. His compliments always lit her up from the inside. It was the most adorable and serotonin-producing thing.

That was one of the last pure and happy moments he had with her before her pregnancy went tragically left. She miscarried and it broke both of their hearts so bad, they couldn’t recover. Maleah wanted a little boy so badly since before they were together. She’d tried and tried to get pregnant on her own and this was going to be her shot to actually become a mother. Erik wanted it for her. He wanted it for himself too. Having a son sounded like a dream come true. He’d have someone else to spoil and teach and invest in. Someone he could put his future and hopes into. He wanted a little boy but in the end he didn't care about the gender so long as the child was healthy and biologically his.

As if losing the baby wasn't hard enough on them both, they found out together that the miscarriage was incomplete and wreaking havoc on Maleah's body very quickly. She needed an abortion to remove the dead fetal tissue. She was continuously bleeding and in so much pain, that Erik wished they could switch places. If he could take it instead of her he would and it killed him that he couldn't do anything but stay beside her, watch her suffer, and advocate that she receive a life-saving abortion quickly. Of course with his money and connections, he made it happen.

Now Maleah had always struggled with seasonal depression brought out by the fall and winter, but now it was cocktailed. She’d lost a child, the possibilities, and she’d almost lost her life because of the law and then again in surgery. Her hormones were haywire and her level of depression scared Erik. This was new territory. No manner of encouragement, words, or gifts would bring her back from the edge that she’d tipped over. She refused therapy. She refused intimacy. She refused company from her friends and family. She even refused his company. He had to force his way in and make her eat. He felt abandoned, like she wasn’t considering what was still in front of her. He was going through it too! In his mind, they were supposed to be going through it together.

“Maleah, puddin pop, we gotta move forward.” He brushed her straightened hair to detangle it while she stared blankly at the ultrasound. She didn’t wanna hear that.

He was like a ghost haunting the mortuary in his grief. He spared no expense. Her funeral was elaborate with flowers and people everywhere, her family, friends, ex-coworkers (since she didn’t work) and a purple pastel casket. It all happened so quickly in less than one month after the abortion. Maleah was gone from him forever and the worst feeling was that he couldn't save her. He couldn't bring himself to accept the way that things had gone down, he had failed her and lost two people in such a short period of time. Maleah, his daily dose of serotonin, his once so happy baby girl, the object of his affection.. was gone. He'd never hold her, hear her insults, or see her gleaming smile again.

“You can move forward,” she glared storming away to lock herself in the bathroom. For some reason, she thought he didn’t care like she cared. For him, he could have a baby with anyone and she’d said this, but she herself could never have her own baby. He couldn’t get through to her no matter what he said and then, just like that.. She hit a wall. Maleah died on Thanksgiving and it was ruled a and it was ruled a normal death. She’d died of grief and he was the one to find her.

A year later, he was still a broken man stripped of simple joy. Not even money could make him want to stay in a place where Maleah was not.

By 7:46 PM that Wednesday, Erik was in critical condition due to carbon monoxide poisoning. He was rescued from the Mercedes-Benz SUV in his garage by Maleah's brother who had been worried about him and keeping tabs. Maleah's family went to the hospital in support but it wasn't clear which way Erik would go. According to doctors it was up to him to live or die.

@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @nobodybaby93 @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @tgigoldie @sicksadgen @honeycoatedgld @thehomierobbstark

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[drustvar]

Ch. 2: Gifts and Curses

The start of Julian Devorak and Rosie Springwald's entangled fate. At least, that they remember.

WC: 3,675 A/N: Chapter 2 babes. Fun with eels, blood, and evading the law. Ao3 Link || Full text also available under the read more.

“Julian?” Rosie squinted into the shadows, but she was sure the tall figure was him; standing at the canal’s edge framed by the light of the moon. Behind him, the city towered like a behemoth, a chaotic sprawl of buildings piled on top of each other. In his hands was a beaked mask, which he turned over slowly as if unsure of what to do with it.  “Fancy seeing you here, Rosie. Out for a night walk, hm?” Julian sighed, and his gaze dropped to the water below them. The shiny red paneling on the inside of his coat reflected brightly in the water, crimson on crimson blending together. 

Rosie followed his gaze. “I dunnae know, I was just…following the water,” she said before she shook her head, trying to rid the sight of the poisoned river from her mind’s eye. “What are you doin’ here?” “Me? I was just…thinking. What a funny, fickle thing life is, isn’t it?”  “Life and fate are two sides of the same capricious coin,” she murmured. “You shouldn’t stand so close to the water,” she gestured for him to take a step back.  “What, this water?” Julian grinned, and for a moment she was scared he was going to jump right in. “It’s harmless, Rosie. Or, as harmless as it can be. It won’t do anything to me. Or anything to anyone, anymore. Sure, a few people might get sick if they go for a swim, but,” he sighed, his gaze lifting from the water to the sky. “Isn’t it a miracle? They went and figured it out. Or outlasted it. Wonder how they did it?”  “Miracle or not, I don’t trust it. Get away from it, please.” He laughed and took a step back from the canal, if only to appease her. “Ah, it’s no matter, I suppose. Life finds a way, doesn’t it? The plague is over.” 

She glanced at the water again. If what she had seen flowing through the fields was to be believed, she wasn’t sure that was the case. 

Julian sighed heavily. “And so is my career, just like that. Who needs a plague doctor if there’s no plague? It’s like,” he paused, his face splitting into a bitter grin. “Like a Count without a city! A barkeep with no drinks,” as he threw his arms out in a flourish a piece of hair obscured his good eye. “So here I am. Throwing away the last piece of a past I can’t reclaim. A pity, isn’t it? Ah well,” he glanced down at the mask once more, and then tossed it into the water below them. Pale, slithering shapes swarmed it as soon as it hit the surface.  “What are you doing?!” Rosie lunged, failing to even come close to catching the mask as it fell. “You need that! Did you forget what I said? The Countess has all her dogs out after you-” she was cut off by a ragged screech as the raven from earlier returned, circling them in a frenzy.  “Speak of the devils,” Julian said. “Look lively, Rosie. We’d best make tracks.” 

|| They hurried along the canal, following it to where it merged with the streets. Julian reached the end first, turning and waiting for her, glancing  around for any sign of their pursuers. Rosie’s breath caught in her throat as she felt her hip twinge painfully and then give out beneath her. She slammed hard  onto the canal’s edge, breath knocked out of her as she slid. The last thing she saw before the reservoir swallowed her was the doctor lunging to grab her, his hand just barely missing her arm.

She’d never thought the waters of the reservoirs would be so cold or so dark. The frigid temperature was suffocating, and time seemed to slow as she sank. Something slimy brushed against her leg, followed by a sharp sting in her side. The pain was enough to snap her out of her daze and she flailed, clawing her way to the surface.  “Rosie!” 

Julian’s hands gripped her shoulders as he pulled her from the water, her nails scraping wildly against the stone for purchase. She gasped at the return of air to her lungs, and began to cough up water. 

“I’ve got you, you’re alright,” Julian’s voice was barely audible over the pounding of her heart and her own coughing. She winced as the stinging in her side only worsened when she tried to get to her feet. Attached to her abdomen was a slimy, undulating creature, her own blood visible through its translucent skin. 

“Ah, that’s not good. Hang on-” 

She didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence. She grabbed the creature and tore it from her side, throwing it on the ground and crushing its skull audibly beneath her heel. 

“Nasty little beastie,” she hissed and spat on the ground. 

“You shouldn’t have done that!” 

“It’s fine,” Rosie said, briefly glancing at the bite. Already it was beginning to weep a volatile looking fluid. “We need to keep moving.”  “Rosie, those eels are venomous-” Julian grabbed her arm, trying to stop her.

“I said I’m fine! Now come on,” Rosie shrugged him off and started to stagger towards the road. She was soaking wet and despite the night having been warm, she was freezing. She only made it a few steps before she stumbled and slumped against the side of a building. “I just need a minute,” she murmured. Her legs felt so weak, how had she ever walked before? Doing so seemed impossible now. Julian scooped her up, despite her protest that she was fine, she just needed a minute. She was faintly aware of the blood soaking through her clothes and running down her leg, but she was quickly becoming too dizzy to care. 

“Can you stand? Just for a moment?” He asked her as they ducked into an alley.  “Trying,” her words were slurred and becoming incomprehensible. She gripped his arm tightly as she struggled to make her legs work. Had her limbs always felt so heavy?

“Right, foolish question,” Julian said as he pulled her further out of sight of the street. “Easy, easy,” he said as Rosie suddenly flailed, her eyes glassy like a dazed animal. “Let me see that bite.” She was barely conscious; only faintly aware of the cool, wet stone pressed against the side of her face and the rustling of her corset being unlaced and pushed up out of the way.

“Sorry, sorry. I have to get to it.”

Whatever Rosie tried to say in response was trapped behind her teeth, coming out as a low gurgle. She stared at the stars overhead, faintly of Julian’s hands as he worked.

“I was trying to warn you, if you don’t properly dislodge its jaws, the eel panics and injects its entire venom supply. I’m sorry,” Julian said.

“Not your fault,” Rosie managed to say, although her words were still slurred and broken.

“The bleeding isn’t going to stop, damn.”

From the corner of her eye she could see Julian sitting back, his brows furrowed in concern and frustration. As he peeled off his gloves, she started to convulse, as her body gave one last attempt to fight off paralysis.

“Hang on, just stay with me.” Rosie caught the briefest glimpse of the murderer’s brand burned into the back of his hand as he cushioned her head against the pavement. “Stay with me, Rosie.” The palm of his hand was cold when he pressed it over her wound. With her last remaining gasps of consciousness, she tried to hold still.

“Deep breaths for me. This will only take a moment.”

Somehow, she was able to follow his directions. His thumb lightly brushed her cheek and slowly the pain began to ebb away. She gasped for air as her lungs were freed and able to work again.

“Why does somethin’ always seem to go wrong when we run into each other?” She asked, finally able to enunciate.

Julian let out a sharp bark of laughter. “If you’re able to joke, that’s a good sign. Should also mean you can sit up.” He helped her slowly shift upright. She was still dizzy, but his hand on her back steadied her. “At the very least, you didn’t catch me breaking and entering this time. But, I’ll admit that I was surprised to see you in the neighborhood. You’ve got some kind of luck.”

“Luck?” Rosie snorted. “Bad luck, maybe. Half drownin’ and poisonin’ myself in the span of five minutes. Must be a record.”

“Ah, but it could have been worse,” he pointed to the canal’s end, a violently cascading waterfall of red. It was much higher than she had first realized, and as she craned her neck she could see that the pool at its bottom was very shallow. It had structures to prevent gondolas and fishing boats from falling, but if the current had caught her it surely would have swept her down.

“You have a point,” she shuddered and turned back to the doctor. Her eyes widened as she noticed the glowing mark on his throat. “My God,” she whispered, and reached out to touch it before she stopped herself. Something about the mark was unnervingly familiar. A shadow passed over his countenance as he met her stare.  “Ah, do you recognize your master’s handiwork?” As he spoke, fresh blood blossomed under his clothing, already visibly beginning to seep through. “This was his parting gift to me. A curse. I’m able to take away bodily wounds, as you can see,” he pressed a hand to his side, before pulling it away and staring at the blood smeared on it. “And in return, I get to experience them for myself.” He winced in pain, a cold sweat visibly beading on his brow. 

‘I’d never known Asra to curse,’ Rosie thought. 'Always had the impression that he thought he was too good for that sort of magic.'

Julian sucked air through his teeth as he swayed forward. Rosie caught him, supporting him with her shoulder. ‘If I’d known he’d suffer, I would have told him to let the venom run its course.’ She thought as she watched the blood trail down his side. “It won’t last, it never does,” he murmured. “A curse from a witch who fears commitment.”

“Take as long as you need, it’s the least I can do,” she said, as she shifted to let him rest more comfortably against her shoulder and her chest. His skin was cold and his breathing was shaky. She ran her fingers gently over the nape of his neck in a light, soothing pattern.

“Then again, I’ve never been bitten by a vampire eel before. This might be interesting.” He sighed and slumped a little more against her.

“Thank you,” Rosie said after a  quiet moment had passed. 

“I,” Julian blinked up at her. “Don’t mention it. That is, well, circumstances being as they were… I’m just glad you’re alright.” Both of them fell silent as they heard a dreaded sound: Palace guards patrolling the outer walls of the city. “Shit,” Rosie hissed under breath. “Will you be alright? Can you walk,” she asked. He was still visibly shaking, and the bleeding hadn’t stopped. “I can carry you if you need me to.” 

“I’ll be fine. In fact I promise you I’m near good as new,” Julian said as he ushered her into a connecting alley.  The alley was narrower than the last. Julian pressed close against her as they tried to hide as far back as they could. She felt her hair raising as the guards drew closer. She didn’t know what she’d do if they were caught, and didn’t want to think about it. All she knew was that she wouldn’t let them have the chance to get near him. She glanced at him, pain evident on his face despite his prior insistence. His eyes were fixed on the street before he shifted to meet hers. For a moment they stared at one another in silence. 

“Rosie-” 

“You should have stood behind me. If they only see me-” A clinking sound from the alley’s entrance silenced her. The guard was kicking a bottle along as they walked, not paying any attention at all as they passed by. “Not the time,” Julian whispered. “Let’s go.” ||

He grabbed her hand and led her out of the alley, casting a cursory glance down the street before breaking into a run. The city passed them by as a blur as they evaded the patrols; weaving around buildings and ducking into the shadows as needed.  “Julian,” Rosie hissed. She could tell from his breathing that he was still hurting, still weak. He held a finger to his lips and pointed. She hadn’t even noticed it before, across the road from them was a garden nestled between two tall, seemingly abandoned buildings. Just barely visible through the shadows cast by the garden’s overgrown trees was a padlock on the wrought iron gate.  ‘I can blast the lock no problem,’ Rosie thought.  ‘If we can get inside, it’ll be the perfect hiding place,’

One thing stood in their way: a street lamp. It seemed painfully bright, and anything under it was visible for quite a ways down either side of the road.

 ‘No, it won’t work. Surely they’ll see us,’ she thought, pursing her lips.

But before she could say anything, Julian was already running across the street and pulling her along with him. She gripped his hand tighter as she steered them right to the gate. Magic was already crackling in her palms as she grabbed for the lock when Julian half lifted, half threw her over the wall. She landed awkwardly in a heap, and just a second after Julian dropped down next to her.

“Are you alright?” Julian asked as he helped her to her feet.  “Fine, I-” Fast, close footfalls made her blood run cold. “Get down!” She hissed as she dropped to the ground, pulling him down with her. She held him close to her chest, his head tucked under her chin as she tried to hide him from view with her body. After what felt like forever, the guards finally passed by, leaving them with only the sound of their beating hearts. Rosie waited another minute, just to be sure the guards were really gone, before letting Julian out of her protective hold.  “Thanks,” he said, helping her to her feet once more. 

“Of course,” Rosie dusted herself off and pretended not to notice how red his face was. “We shouldn’t stay this close to the gate. Another patrol will be here soon.” 

Julian held a curtain of ivy open for her, and together they ventured further into the garden. ||

The garden was overgrown, clearly abandoned for some time. The plants had long since taken over the stone structures, obscuring what were once alabaster columns and marble statues. Between the moonlight and the shadows cast by the untamed foliage, the garden seemed like a quiet, shrouded world all of its own. Rosie sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Finally, they were safe, at least for a little while. She stopped to look at a statue of a lion, carefully pushing leaves out of its eyes. It must have looked fierce, once. But now it seemed tired and ready to return to the earth. Julian led the way, stepping around roots and cracked, jutting stone floors before they settled at a dilapidated fountain. Rosie sat, and started to squeeze the water from her hair. 

“Ah, look at this place!” Julian said. “A perfect hiding spot. You made a good choice.” 

“You were the one who pointed it out,” Rosie shrugged. 

“I uh, I was actually pointing at the building over there,” he nodded at the structure to the right, barely visible through the overgrowth. “But this is much nicer. Looks like you’ve a knack for finding hidden beauty, Rosie.” 

She laughed and shook her head, sending droplets from her still-wet hair scattering through the moonlight.  “I wonder how many parts of the city have fallen to ruin like this, hm?” He looked around them before carefully making his way over to one of the statues. It was grotesque, something between a bull and a gargoyle. “Ah, and look at this brute. Hello there, handsome.” He wrapped an arm around the statue’s muscular shoulders and turned back to Rosie with delight in his eyes. “Dangerous looking creature, isn’t it?” 

“More handsome than dangerous, if you ask me,” she said, not looking at the statue at all. “But how is that bite? I can tell you're still hurting,” She started towards him. She squinted to see if any of the blood on his coat was fresh.  “Oh, are you worried about me, Rosie? You needn’t be. Perfectly alright, see?” He spread his arms wide and nearly knocked a bust over in the process. He swore as he caught and steadied it. “I, uh, ahem. Reflexes notwithstanding.” 

Rosie snorted. “You said that before. Just let me see it, I know a  thing or two about mending too, you know.” She reached for him but he stepped back, just out of reach. 

“Really, it’s fine! Just a little bite, nothing I can’t handle. There are more dangerous things than eels,” he said. 

“Well that little eel sure knocked me on my ass. So I’d really like-” Julian wasn’t paying attention, something else had caught his eye. 

“Ah, hold still, Rosie,” he reached out and slowly plucked a flower off her shoulder. It had a vivid blue glow, just like the luminous trees overhanging them. The flower’s star shaped petals curled inward , beginning to close as he touched it. He offered it to her, a quirk to his lips as he twirled it in his fingers, She reached for it, the blue glow reflecting brightly in the gold of her eyes. He stopped her, shaking his head and pulling it back just out of her reach. 

“Ah, ah ah. Careful. There’s poison in these petals.”    She stared at the glowing flower. She had seen it before in her herbal compendiums, but at the moment its name escaped her. 

“Deadly Starstrand,” he said. “A single drop of poison distilled from this flower could kill an elephant where it stands. Its killed tyrants and kings; innocent and guilty. It could topple entire empires in a careless hand,” he offered it to her once more, something eager in his gaze. “Do you still want it?”

“Aye,” Rosie said as she plucked it from his gloved fingers. “Deadly it may be, but only to those who dunnae know how to handle it.” She sniffed it lightly. The flower had a faintly acrid scent, an underlying note of iron that swirled in the air. “The only danger it poses is from ingestion. Otherwise, it makes a lovely centerpiece,” she said as she admired the way the flower’s own light blended with the light of the moon. 

“Ah, right again,” Julian said, gently taking it from her hand and tucking it behind her ear. His hand lingered against her hair for just a moment longer before dropping down to her shoulder. 

“You certainly weren’t frightened by its ‘danger’,” she said as she took a step closer. 

“Afraid of danger? Why, Rosie, I live for it,” he grinned. “Positively enchanted by danger, I am.” 

“So does that mean pain doesn’t scare you either?”  “Why should it? In my line of work you can’t be afraid of a little pain. One might say I,” he paused, his gray eye glowing silver in the low light. “Have an intimate knowledge of it.” 

“Is that so?” Rosie’s voice was low and husky, almost a growl. She took another step closer, this time placing a hand on his waist and pressing lightly against the wound. He gulped and stared down at her. 

“O-oh are we dancing? I didn’t know you could,” Julian said. “What, er, what’s your poison? Tango? Waltz?” 

“Whatever you’d like,” She all but purred as she took another step closer and pressed more heavily against the wound. He bit his lip and made a stifled noise. It didn’t sound pained, if anything it sounded pleased. He took another step back and bumped into the crumbling wall behind him. The look he gave her was desperate. 

“S-so not the waltz, then. Pity, I’ve been known to cut a rug-” his fingers dug into her shoulder, gripping her like a lifeline as he slid down the wall.  ‘Does he like pain? ’ She wondered, as a devilish spark began to shine in her eyes. It quickly fizzled and died into concern when he whimpered quietly again. ‘Maybe he’s just trying to hide how bad it is, I shouldn’t have done that.’ 

“Rosie-” before Julian could say anything else, the sound of the iron gate screeching as it was pushed open startled them. 

“Right on time,” he scowled. “Let’s leave before our guests arrive, hm?”  ||

With the garden’s sanctity compromised, the two hastily escaped over the crumbling wall out onto the streets once more. They ventured deeper into the city, through more questionable and unfamiliar areas than Rosie had ever been. Julian seemed to know the area like the back of his hand—or at least, all the routes needed to escape their pursuers. Eventually, they came to a small cottage on the outskirts of the district. The residence didn’t seem well maintained; some of the brickwork was starting to crumble and there were holes in the roof that had been hastily patched with whatever material was on hand. But it was lived in and homely. In the yard, chickens were making their way into a small hutch for the night. In the window, a lantern glowed faintly. 

“In we go, Rosie!” 

Julian didn’t wait for her to respond, instead clambering through a window set low to the ground and pulling her in after him.

#chapter 2 lets GOOO #i intend to have the third one out on valentines day bc soup shenanigans ;) #arcana #the arcana #rosie #rosie springwald #julian #julian devorak #kismet #mine

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Nick Helm’s a bit like Rhys James, in that any time I’m not actually looking at him I think of him vaguely as one in a sea of comedians who can be rather amusing on a TV panel show sometimes but he’s nothing special. And then every time I actually watch him, I remember, oh right, he’s fucking hilarious. That is the only thing Nick Helm has in common with Rhys James.

I watched the NextUp stream of his 2023 Edinburgh show, and God, that was so much fun. So much fun. The energy. So much energy. Where does he find the energy? …I just looked up his age, because to be honest I though it would be around 50, and I’ve learned it’s 42. But somehow, the wildly high levels of energy he puts out there make him seem older than he actually is. I think because what happens is he uses wildly high levels of energy, this tires him out, so he’s always out of breath and looks like he’s on the verge of keeling over, and therefore, I thought he was older than he actually is. 42’s not that old. Lots of people could keep this up at 42. But it’s possible that Nick Helm has aged himself beyond his years by so much time doing this shit.

He’s older than he used to be, I’ll say that. In that Edinburgh stream from last week, he looked noticeably older than in his Catsdown Dictionary Corner spots from the mid-2010s. But weirdly, given his comedy style, I think that actually helps. Because he hasn’t slowed down. He just looks like maintaining the energy levels is harder for him than it used to be, and making it look like everything he’s doing is really hard for him is part of his schtick. A schtick that works even better now that he does have grey in hair, and his voice is gone a bit, and he’s out of breath after every song. I realize this is coming off as an incredibly backhanded compliment, “I love the way Nick Helm seems old and fading now.” But honestly, I really do love it! He’s always been great fun, but I think I like this version of him best. Because let’s be honest – he was never a great singer. A beautiful singing voice wasn’t the point. The point was that he was a bit raspy because he kept going comically over the top to try to sing too intensely. Well, at this point, he starts getting the raspiness in his voice earlier than he used to, I think. And it works.

This show was for the tenth anniversary of his album Hot ‘n’ Heavy, which came out in 2013. It’s not a stand-up comedy show, it’s a concert. He plays every song off the album, in order. He does some talking between the songs, and does establish a comedy bit that runs through the whole show, where he berates the audience for not being good enough. He builds it up and then pays it off with enough skill to remind you that he is a comedian, but this isn’t a musical comedy show. It’s a music concert but the songs are funny. And it’s great. It feels like how Nick Helm is meant to be. He’s up there with a full band (a band that includes, among other people, comedians Rob Deering and Huge Davies), and concert-style lights and shit, running around the stage like a rockstar, shout-singing at the audience for an hour and a half.

I think this will reappear on NextUp when they catch up in September, if anyone wants to watch it. You can also buy the album on Bandcamp, though to be honest, seeing Nick Helm’s wild stage presence really adds stuff to it that you don’t get in an audio-only album. It’s amazingly funny to hear his songs delivered while he physically regards his audience with the intensity of a man challenging them to a fight, throwing everything at them that he possibly can, until his voice goes hoarse and he’s literally gasping for breath.

I’d say this song summarizes Nick Helm pretty well. If you like this, then check out more of his stuff. If you don’t, then you will not like anything else he’s ever done. I think it's excellent.

#Youtube

[kalpasio]

The Herrscher of Stars

The Herrscher of Stars: Done With This Bullshit

A Kalpas x Herrscher!Reader fic, Chapter 6 below!

Kalpas…wasn’t happy. Where most people went through the five stages of grief, he just skipped straight to anger and never really got to the rest. What he was angry at or about changed every day. Sometimes it was Emile he was mad about. Other times it was a mission, or Kevin, or his shoe coming untied.

Sometimes it was you.

He tried to kill you twice that first week. It was your fault. You were a Herrscher. You killed him. At the very least you stood by while he died. You should’ve known what was happening!

Just because I’m a Herrscher doesn’t mean I know what every other Herrscher is planning. It’s not your fault. He’s just throwing a fit.

“Things must be bad if you’re the one trying to comfort me,” you gave a sad laugh and harshly rubbed some tears away with your hand.

I’m not comforting. I’m being rational. I can’t see anything when you keep crying like this.

“Emile is dead and Kalpas hates my guts. What do you expect me to do?”

Cry.

“There you go.” You sniffled then gave an extra loud sob. Star sighed but rested her hand on your shoulder and left you in peace for the rest of the night.

You found Kalpas sitting alone in one of the holo-training rooms. The panel outside listed it as empty when you checked, but there he sat on the floor with his back facing you. One leg was bent out to his side, and the other up so his arm could rest on it. In his hands he slowly spun one of the knives you’d seen Emile use so often. After a second of staring, you shook your head and went to leave, but he stopped you.

“He’s in one of those Divine Keys,” he growled. “I’m going to find him. No one else should have him. When I do, I’m going to kill you.” The room heated to a nearly unbearable temperature, but you couldn't notice over your own blood boiling. Letting out a sharp breath, you made to leave the room again, only to be grabbed and thrown further in. Kalpas only threw one punch before you snapped.

“Enough!” He was forced to the wall beside you, pressed flat against it, unable to move. Walking towards him with narrowed eyes, you looked straight at him and spoke. “I am responsible for thousands of deaths, but not his. Find someone else to blame.”

You waited a few seconds for a response, but none ever came. Kalpas stared at you, but none of the signs that identified you as a Herrscher were there. No glowing eyes, all that rage, frustration and hurt came straight from you. Force holding him to the wall may have come from Star, but the fury in every action was you alone.

He wasn’t one to forget easily; you doubted he’d change, but you weren’t going to sit around and be his personal punching bag anymore.

“This wouldn’t have happened if they let me build the Divine keys,” Vill-V raised her hands to her shoulders and shook her head, but that secret smile she wore never slipped.

”You wouldn’t be building them, and I doubt The Expert needs the construction of a thousand Divine Keys on top of her current projects.” You looked around the workspace trying to find the part you’d come up for in the first place.

“Don’t you make someone else do all the work for you? Well fighting in this case.” She gave a smug look when you froze, and Star laughed.

She’s right, you know.

“Could you just ask your boyfriend to stop destroying things? Repairing Divine Keys is more annoying than building them,” Vill-V glossed over the fact that she’d called you out as a Herrscher and found a different nerve to poke instead.

“Kalpas isn’t my boyfriend,” you forgot what you were looking for and stared blankly at the workbench.

“But—”

“Generally, relationships where one party tries to kill the other are considered toxic,” you sent her a look that said ‘drop it,’ but when does Vill-V ever listen.

“You haven’t even tried! Besides, trying to kill you is just how Kalpas shows he cares. Look at how many times he’s tried to kill Kevin!”

“You try to kill Kevin too.”

“Yeah, but that’s cause it’d be cool,” she grinned. “Look,” she got serious for a moment, “they’re talking about putting him back in the Deep End if this keeps up. I don’t want him ruining my masterpiece!”

“I’ll see what I can do,” you grumbled, forgetting about the part you needed, and left.

You didn’t have to do anything, it turns out. Kevin and Su ended up finding Kalpas, and as far as you could tell, he was given a slap on the wrist, told not to go near any Keys of Domination, and set free.

At the very least, that last part was true. He came to your door the next day. Emile’s knife was in a holster strapped to his thigh, and he looked ready to kill you. Instantly, you had two star lances summoned behind you. No one outside the door could see them, but Kalpas knew the threat they posed.

“I need you to find Emile.”

“No.” You started closing the door, but a hand stopped the motion and forced it back open.

“He was the only one that tried to kill me. I need to be the one to kill him. Not some useless Herrscher.”

You squinted your eyes and furrowed your brow at him for a moment before giving up. “I don’t follow your logic at all, and I’m not gonna help you destroy some of our best weapons against the Honkai.”

Kalpas growled and his grip on your door was turning the metal a bright orange. “They’re going to do the same thing to you. Put you in some shitty weapon and give you to someone who doesn’t deserve your power. You think they care that—”

“I think I’m done listening to your bullshit. I know you care about Emile, but he’s not some weapon, he’s not in that core, the Herrscher is. When I die, it’s not me in that weapon, it’s the Herrscher of Stars.”

As you spoke your voice rose in volume. Quietly, you added, “I miss him too. I wish I could help. Maybe then you'd remember how much I cared about you.” He didn’t stop you as you closed the door this time, his hand slipping away.

Kalpas tried. After weeks of getting nothing but anger from him, you finally got what could maybe, possibly, be considered a normal conversation. He was still talking about wrecking things, but not specifically Divine Keys. Taking into account how little you two really spoke when on good terms, this was at least a step in the right direction in your eyes.

In his eyes, everything was fixed. You’d talked, and everything was fine now. That night, he came to your room and asked, “What the hell are you doing.” When you told him you weren’t sleeping in his room, you weren’t prepared to see someone pout so visibly without being able to see their face. The pout quickly turned into a very angry scowl that erased any smile on your face. Despite his clear annoyance, he didn’t drag you out of your room. He got hotter, but his temper stayed in check, and he left with nothing more than a scoff.

He didn’t really know how to get back to being as close as you had been before. Emile had really done…everything. Movie nights were his idea, any meals together were because he knew everyone’s schedule. Even the first night you’d slept in the same bed had been his idea.

As nice as you were trying to be, it was clear you still didn’t trust Kalpas. He liked it when people tried to kill him, and you simply weren’t a fan. That made the weeks of murder attempts after Emile's death a little awkward to work around. There was no convenient loss of heat to force you to spend time together, and you weren’t providing much for him to work with in terms of free time. Kalpas thought he had a chance when an agent claimed you were a Herrscher, but you handled that yourself.

“I’m pretty sure every Herrscher so far has been killed,” you didn’t even blink at the accusation.

“Not the Herrscher of Stars!”

“The Herrscher that appeared once and then never again? Like every other Herrscher? Because Fire Moth kills them?” You moved to walk past the agent, but he blocked your path, even Kalpas’ growling not deterring him.

“I saw them! The night the Herrscher of darkness attacked!”

“You mean when it was so dark no one could see their own nose? I don’t know why you’re so convinced it’s me—”

“You use the same weapon!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, “And so do two hundred other MOTHs on base.” Your gaze turned steely as you finally stepped past him. “Go bother one of them. Or better yet, report me to Dr. Mei. I’m sure she’d love it if you were to waste her time.”

“A little birdie told me you and Kalpas are on bad terms.” Elysia was standing outside the door to your meeting and followed you as you left.

“I think listening to birds as often as you do is grounds for a chat with Su.”

“Nah, this birdie was just me,” she giggled. “I haven’t seen you two spend much time together since…”

“I’m tired of telling people I don’t like it when someone tries to kill me.” You stopped walking and ran a hand over your face in frustration.

“That’s just how Kalpas shows he cares—”

“And I’m tired of hearing that too!” Your hand flew down to your side and your eyes bored into the girl in front of you.

“Have you tried reading my ‘Guide to Kalpas for Dummies’?”

“I really don’t think that will help…”

“Probably not!” Elysia grinned at your eyeroll. “But I want to help! Kalpas is so much nicer to work with when he’s not moping.”

“Moping?”

“Yeah! He’s all sad you’re not talking to him so he just beaks everything on missions.”

“He does that anyway!”

“Yeah, but now he’s sad while doing it!”

“Elysia!”

“I think you two should kiss,” she nodded with her eyes closed and a finger raised in the air. Peaking an eye open, she saw your scowl and tried again. “I think you two should have a very sexually charged fight.” Looking again, she saw you’d left and had to run down the hall after you.

“Pleeeeaase? I want you two to be happy. That’s all.”

“Reminder: being attacked does not make me happy.”

“He attacked you before and you two got along fine after that! What’s different this time?”

You walked slower and slower before coming to a stop. Elysia looked at you curiously, not speaking to give you a chance to think.

“We’re both scared?” you whispered. “I don’t know.”

“Have you tried—” Elysia cut herself off. “I don’t know how well talking would work actually…hmmm.”

“He wants Emile back and I’m just the next best thing,” you grumbled angrily.

“I know that’s not true. He cared for you both before and he still cares for you both now. At least give him a chance!” She spoke sternly, catching your attention. Holding up a finger again, she smiled. “One date!” You blinked at her for a moment.

“I don’t think we’ve ever been on a proper date…” Elysia blinked at you now, her smile becoming a confused frown.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s always been lunch in the cafeteria or just sitting around together.” You shrugged, it had never really occurred to you before, and certainly didn’t bother you.

“Ok. Soooo we’re gonna fix that first, and then everything should be fine!” The girl didn’t give you much of a choice, holding your hand and skipping down the hall.

I don't think I've ever had this many page breaks, yike. alSO THANK YOU WORD FOR CHANING "KALPAS" TO BOTH "K'LPAS" AND "KALP'S" I'M GONNA SHRIEK. STOP CORRECTING ME WHEN I DON'T ASK FOR ITTTTTTTTTT WHERE DID THAT EVEN COME FROM????????????

I hope you know every time I type "ot" and then find it, it physically pains me. also extra fuck word for NEVER POINTING "OT" OUT (I need a different document program before I lose my marbles)

#kalpas x reader #honkai x reader #Emile (HI3) x Reader #Kalpas x Reader #Kalpas x Reader x Emile #azaryawrites #tamalethebear #cross posted on ao3 #edited finally!