#GIVE ME THE MECHANICAL CHAIR!! GIVE ME THE LOUD WHISTLE!! GIVE ME BLOOD!! GIVE ME DEATH!!! GIVE ME CANNIBALISM!!!!!!!!

[nonbinary-arsonists]

listened to a Lot of musicals today bc of a 9-hr bus ride (as opposed to a 5-hr car ride. yay american public transport) i love sweeney todd

#mmmmm i love sweeney todd #a true tragedy #i Have to see it again #the movie is NOT ENOUGH!!! #GIVE ME THE MECHANICAL CHAIR!! GIVE ME THE LOUD WHISTLE!! GIVE ME BLOOD!! GIVE ME DEATH!!! GIVE ME CANNIBALISM!!!!!!!! #their relationship is so cute. man who appreciates a work partner + woman who is deeply and entirely in love. #and then he kills her <3 #and then her adopted son kills him <3 #DEATH! BLOOD! MURDER! PIES!!!! #anyway this isnt digital circus but if yall would like to see more musical shit i am more than welcome #i also listened to all of rent and all of beetlejuice and all of into the woods #sweeney todd #musicals #stephen sondheim #mrs. lovett #my art #digital art #sketch

[impala-dreamer]

Testing Her Out

The Walking Dead FanFic

~Your new husband wants to put you through some tests to see just how obedient a wife you'll be.~

Negan x Reader

1,750 Words

Warnings: Dom AF Negan. Exhibition. Cock Warming. Face Fucking. Semi-public. Hotness.

A/N: Idk where this came from, but I like it. Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

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“Well, just look at you. All dressed up just for me.”

Negan grinned as he kicked back in his chair, boots lifting to cross on the table in front of him. He arched his back, stretching as he looked you over: his latest conquest, newest bride.

He had sent Dwight to your rooms with a box and a note, orders from Negan to wear the skimpy lingerie inside and make your way to the conference room. It was day time and the halls were busy; a hundred men at least had seen you walking to meet your husband, half naked, tits propped up and spilling over the too-small blood red teddy he’d picked out. The crotch was open and the lace was barely there; it was a certainty that all of his officers had seen your gifts today, but that was the test.

Could you make it to Negan without backing down?

Could you submit ultimately to him without hesitation?

Would you do anything for him?

“Do you like it?” you asked, folding your arms behind your back so that nothing was hidden from his view.

He nodded. “I do.” His voice was rough and deep, running around in your head like a drug as his words rolled like a rich melody from his lips. “I’m glad you made it.”

You bowed your head, but kept your eyes on his. “Of course. You asked for me, I came.”

Negan licked his lips slowly and let out a deep breath. “How’d it feel, walking all the way here almost naked like that? Did my men give you any trouble? Did they look at you? Whistle? Make you feel like a slut?”

“They were very respectful, Sir.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Ah, I bet they looked. It’s OK. I wanted them to. Wanted them to see what’s mine.”

You swallowed hard as a shiver crept down your spine at his words. Mine.

Dark eyes narrowed over you. “You are a little slut, aren’t you? I can see it.”

Biting your lip, you nodded subtly.

“No, darling,” he whispered, teasing you as he leaned forward. “Don’t be shy. Say it. Tell me what a slut you are.”

“I’m a…” Words caught in your throat, but you pressed on, wanting to tell him, to show him, please him. “I’m a slut.”

His palm slapped the table hard as he rejoiced, making you jump. “Yes! Damn right you are!” His boots dropped to the floor and he smirked, leaning over with his elbows on his knees. “I knew it the moment I saw you, I did. I said, ‘there’s a girl who’s gonna drop to her knees and suck my dick any fucking time I want’.” He paused and tilted his head to the side, a smug expression painting his handsome face. “Was I right? You can tell me, I already know.”

You felt your pussy dripping slowly down your thigh, and you squeezed your legs together lest you make a puddle on the floor. “Yes, Sir. I’m a slut for your cock.”

He snapped his fingers in the air and sat back. “Hot damn! I am good at this!” He drummed his fingers on the table and then reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a cigarette. It dangled on his plump bottom lip as he flicked a lighter, moving terribly slow, every motion making your anticipation grow deeper. The flame crackled on the stale fag, lighting his face with a dangerous glow that faded as he snapped the Zippo lid shut.

“Now, let’s see just what you’ll do for my cock.” He let out a thick stream of gray smoke and leaned back as he unzipped his jeans. “Come here.”

You took a step but he stopped you, holding up his hand.

“No. Don’t you walk to me,” he said, voice dropping deeper than ever. “Cock sluts crawl.”

Without a word, you fell to your knees and crawled to him, the cold concrete rough against your skin. You kept your eyes on him, making sure he was pleased as you exaggerated your movements, forcing your hips to swing and your tits to bounce.

“Ain’t that a pretty sight.” He took a drag and blew the smoke towards you. “I like you.” His wink sent a wave of obedient desire through your system and you felt your nipples stiffen.

When you reached his boots, you stopped, sitting back on your heels but staying down as low as you could. Negan looked down at you with lust in his eyes. The cigarette hung on his lip as he reached inside his tight jeans and removed his cock, laying it out for your hungry gaze. He was long and thick but not scary-so. Your mouth watered and your clit throbbed, but you remained still, waiting, praying for a taste.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, wrapping his fingers around the base.

You did as you were told, your eyes glazing over as your lips dropped into a perfect circle, a bit of drool escaping from the corners of your mouth.

“Perfect.” Negan scooted forward in the chair and held his cock just before your lips, daring you to move. It was hard to resist, but he hadn’t told you to move yet, so you stayed put, breathing in the heavy musk of his warm cock, your pussy clenching as you imagined swallowing him down.

A knock at the door pulled a startled gasp from your lungs, but you held your pose. Negan cracked a smile. “Fuck, aren’t you an obedient little thing!” He sat back but didn’t hide his cock, moving the chair so that it was perfectly centered at the head of the table. “Tell you what,” he said in a husky whisper. “I’ve got a little business to attend to, and you’re gonna sit under this table and keep my dick nice and warm while I do it.” He tapped the smoke, letting the silvery ashes fall by your side. “How’s that sound?”

Mouth still open, you nodded quickly, a like of spit falling to your tits.

Negan clicked his tongue and nodded towards the table. “Get under. I want absolute silence from you. Don’t want any of these assholes knowing I’m getting my knob polished while they’re rattling off numbers and shit, you hear me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

It was the last noise you made. Quickly, you crawled under the table and fit yourself between his legs, taking his soft cock into your mouth and sealing your lips around him.

Negan gave a little hum of satisfaction but otherwise ignored you, calling his lieutenants inside.

“Let’s go!”

They spoke about life in the Sanctuary, dull things that flew in one ear and out the other. Someone who’s voice you couldn’t place rattling off numbers and spoke about food rations. Another man gave a rather boring report about perimeter defense and something called Alexandria.

None of it mattered.

All you could do was keep Negan’s cock warm and happy. You held him in your mouth, heavy on your tongue, swallowing gently whenever you needed to. He grew hard, swelling in your mouth and soon the tip was nearly ghosting over the back of your throat.

Negan kept his cool, sitting casually in his seat, Lucille propped up on your left, ashes from his second cigarette piling up on your right. He cleared his throat now and then, nodded and added a few words here and there, but mostly, he listened. Whatever anyone thought of him, he was a good man, just trying to make the best out of a crap world and keep his people safe. Maybe that mix of bad boy and hero is what attracted you so much to him, but it was hard to philosophize while his cock grew huge in your mouth, nearly suffocating you.

As the meeting wrapped up, you came back to yourself a bit, realizing that your lips had gone numb and your jaw was aching badly. Still, you kept him warm, occasionally pulsing your tongue against the thick vein underneath, all while trying to contain the flood of saliva that pooled in your mouth.

When the door shut, Negan let out a deep sigh and dropped a hand to caress your cheek. “Damn, darlin’. You did real well.”

A happy hum escaped around him, but he let it slide, smiling down at you.

“Real well,” he said again, rubbing his hands on his thighs. “Now it’s time for your reward. Make me cum.”

Finally able to move, you came alive, bobbing your head, sucking him in hard and deep before sliding away with tightly curled lips. He was already flushed and leaking; it didn’t take long before he began to thrust along with your movements, fucking into your mouth with deep grunts.

“Fuck. You got a mouth on ya.” His right hand snuck around to clamp down on the back of your neck, taking over your mechanical movements. He set his own pace, forcing your head back and forth over him, fucking your face until his breath began loud and heavy. “You gonna take it? Gonna take all my good cum?”

You hummed again, lips vibrating around the base of his cock as he shoved your nose into the graying hairs around his dick.

“Yes. That’s it.” He spasmed on your tongue, cumming quickly, and you swallowed it all down, sucking on his cock as if it were the only thing keeping you alive. “That’s right. Such a good cock slut. Fuck. Sucking my dick so good. Yes!”

You sucked until he began to tremble, stomach and legs shaking as oversensitivity set in. He pushed you away then, and you fell down, exhausted, body numb but buzzing under the surface.

Negan tucked himself away and zipped up as he stood, kicking his chair back, metal screeching over the cement floor.

“That was wonderful, darlin’. Thank you.”

He reached down and held out his hand, carefully helping you up. Your legs were weak and you fell into him, laughing as if drunk when he caught you with a smile.

“Easy there!” Negan wrapped his arms around you and you closed your eyes, cheek resting for a moment against his warm chest. “Let’s say we get you back to bed, hmm? Good cock sluts need their rest.”

You pulled away a bit and looked up, pouting.

“Oh, don’t you worry, sweetheart,” he whispered, tapping your lips with his finger. “I’m gonna call for you again real soon.”

2020 Forever Tags:

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#the walking dead #negan x reader #smuttt #negan smutt #negan #one shot

[aerynwrites]

Liberation

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Companion

Author’s Note: Okay! A lot of things to discuss in this note so pay attention!

First...Yay! The new series is officially here! I am so excited to see what you guys think, and I am even more excited to see where this series goes. This series will follow the TV show somewhat but will also, obviously, be a bit different. This part takes place before and during episode one.

secondly, I took a glance at my follower count earlier today and you guys...I hit and surpassed 1,000 followers!! I am BEYOND grateful for each end every one of you guys. You encourage me to continue to do what i enjoy doing and am passionate about! I am so so so appreciative of all your kind messages over the course of this blog and these series. You guys ROCK! I may try and do like a little special thing for 1,000 followers, because this is a huge achievement for me. Thank you all again, and as always i love to hear what you all think. Enjoy it!

Word Count: 3.1k (whoops)

Warnings: Cursing, Drinking.

Chapters: Prologue, One (here), Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight

////

You immediately spotted the client as you and the Mandalorian entered the large room, you also took note of the four guards stationed several feet away. The client, a dark-skinned man with silk robes and large rings adorning every finger, sat up straighter in his chair taking in the sight before him. He took note of the asset still held firmly by your hand before looking you up and down and letting out a loud laugh.

“Well it looks like you had a good time finding my old friend Bora, here” he said gesturing from your filthy form to the man standing next to you.

You narrowed your eyes, a scowl settling on your face, “Well he’s here, so where are my credits?” you spit.

The man just lets out another laugh clearly amused at your behavior but brings out a small bag of credits dumping them on the table. Once you quickly made sure the correct amount was present you roughly shoved the bounty into the arms of a nearby guard. You quickly swiped the credits from the counter and put them back in the bag, before turning on your heel and walking to the door. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw the Mandalorian flinch and reach for his blaster as you started to leave, apparently worried you would try to run with the money.

“Don’t worry,” you assure as he follows behind you and out of the building, “You’ll get your credits. I just wanted to get out of there.”

“Did you even check to make sure he paid the promise amount?” the Mandalorian asked snidely.

You turn to him and send him a harsh glare, “Yes I checked.” You bite, “I’m not as stupid as you seem to think I am.”

He turns to you fully now and tilts his head down slightly before returning to look at you, “Your appearance would say otherwise,” He deadpanned.

You felt the blood rush to your face, angry at his dismissive tone and snarky comments. you grip the bag of credits tighter in your hand, “Fuck you! I don’t even have to give these credits if I don’t want too, and right now you are testing my generosity,” You bite.

You see the man subtly move his hand to hover over his blaster, “I’m getting the credits we agreed upon,” he paused looking at you in silence for a moment, “one way or another.”

You both stood there facing one another in a silent face off. Your chest still heaving in frustration, and you considered your options. Run and get shot. Fight back and get shot. Give him what you promised and hopefully not get shot. The man in front of you seemed to be able to read your thoughts because he tilted his head to the side slightly.

“Well,” the low modulated voice, “What’s it going to be?”

You contemplated running again before letting out an indignant huff and begrudgingly dug out your share, and maybe a tad bit more, of credits from the bag before tossing his share to him. He swiftly catches it before dumping its contents into his other hand. You watch as he counts them before looking back to you and clearing his throat expectantly.

You roll your eyes, “you can’t blame me for trying,” you pout before flipping him the extra one hundred credits you swiped.

He caught that one just as easily as the rest before returning them to the bag and pocketing it, giving you a satisfied nod. You clutch your share in your hand before looking over your shoulder at the bustling market.

“I’ll go get my supplies and then meet you at the shipyard in…” you trailed off.

“at sunset,” he fills in before turning to go pay the mechanic, “And clean up before then. I don’t want you tracking that stuff in my ship,” he tosses over his shoulder.

“whatever,” you silently flip him the bird behind his back, smiling when he doesn’t notice, “I’ll see you later.”

He doesn’t say anything as you both part ways.

////

You sit in the local cantina, loud music filling the air as you slowly nurse a dark amber drink you didn’t bother to remember the name of. You had been alternating between sipping the drink and pressing the cool glass to the area just above your right brow, a nasty bruise already starting to form from the blow a rival bounty hunter gave you. You had already gotten the supplies you needed, consisting of some tools and parts to maintenance your blaster as well as enough ration portions to last several weeks - you even had some credits left over. You had also done as the Mandalorian asked and found a place to clean up. Your clothes were a lost cause, so you opted into buying a new set before cleaning up, washing your armor, and then heading to the cantina you now sat into waste time until sunset. The sudden halt of the music and hushing of the crowd brought you back to the present. You cast a glance to the spot where everyone else was looking and saw none other than your armored escort making his way through the parting crowd to where you sat. You didn’t say anything as he came to stand next to you, looking down at you as you took a sip of the drink in your hand, grimacing slightly at the burning sensation.

“Are you even old enough to drink?”

You set your glass down on the countertop harder than you meant to and glared up at the man above you, “Yes, I’m old enough to have a fucking drink. Why do you have to be so goddamn condescending all the time?” you frown as you return the glass to your face, desperate for some relief from the throbbing in your head.

“It’s time to go,” he states plainly, offering no explanation for his behavior.

“Can I not finish my drink?” you ask sarcastically.

“Do you want me to take you somewhere or not?”

You huff and roll you eyes before downing the rest of your drink and stand up pulling a backpack over your shoulder as you gesture towards the door and bow mockingly.

“Lead the way O’ Mighty Mandalore,” a mocking smile on your face.

He just lets out a scoff as he brushes past you and out the door of the cantina with you following closely behind.

You both walked in silence back to the shipyard, the only sound being your footsteps on the ground and the quiet conversations of citizens passing by you. You followed a few steps behind the armored man not wanting to intrude on his personal space. He doesn’t seem to be the type that’s too fond of people. As you finally round the corner to the shipyard, you let out a low whistle as you see the Mandalorian make a beeline towards a large, sleek Razor Crest.

“Nice ride,” you say as you walk up to the ship and run your hand over the hull, “No wonder it cost so much to fix.”

The owner of the ship turns to face you after paying the mechanic, “It’s expensive to fix because it’s old,” he counters.

You drop your hand from said ship and look at him with a deadpan expression, “you could learn to take a compliment you know.”

He doesn’t respond, he just presses a button on his arm guard, and you watch as the ramp to the ship opens with a hiss and bursts of steam. The Mandalorian swiftly enters the ship and you follow, not wanting to get left behind. You take in your surrounds as the ramp closes behind you. It’s not a large space but enough to move around. There’s a locked compartment that you deduce holds weapons or valuables and then a row of carbonite containers, which you note are filled with frozen people. You shudder slightly as you think about the poor souls who had been trapped in there. While you’re new to the whole bounty hunter gig, you aren’t oblivious to the brutal tactics the more experienced hunters use to ensure they get paid. You frown slightly, wondering if you made the right choice in profession. You couldn’t see yourself doing that to another being, knowing that they feel the same things as you do.

“Are you coming?”

The increasingly familiar baritone voice brought you from your thoughts and you turned to see him halfway up a ladder leading to the top portion of the ship. You nod quickly and follow him up and into the cockpit of the ship. As he heads to the captains chair and starts up the engines you glance around the space and take it all in. you think the average person would be overwhelmed by the amount of buttons and switches, but your past ventures had made you very knowledgeable about ships and mechanics. While you couldn’t fly the ship well you could most likely fix anything that came up.

In your analysis of the ship you weren’t prepared for the sudden jolt as the Mandalorian lifted the shift from the ground. You stumbled slightly and grabbed onto the back of his chair to steady yourself before falling ungracefully into the chair to the right of the pilots seat. You grunt as you land in the chair and awkwardly pull your backpack out from behind you and toss it on the ground. The ship finally steadies as you leave the planets atmosphere and you take a moment to get more comfortable in your seat, looking to observe the man in frnt of you. You watch in silence as he locates a planet several systems away and sets the ship into hyper drive. He takes his hands from the control stick and fiddles with a few other switches before sitting back in his seat slightly, not completely relaxed but somewhat relaxed compared to his usual guarded stance. You take your gaze from the mysterious man and instead turn to look at the stars buzzing by in white and silver streaks.

“where are we going?” you ask quietly.

“Nevarro.”

You nod, he really is a man of very few words.

You both sit in silence for a while longer. You just staring out the window and occasionally watching The Mandalorian as he messes about with the control panel. You are almost startled when he speaks up.

“How old are you anyway? You seem a little young to be doing…this” he gestures vaguely around him, clearly referring to bounty hunting.

You shift in your seat to face him, “I’m nineteen...So old enough I suppose.”

He just hums quietly before flipping a few more switches.

“Why’d you pick Nevarro?” you ask, “It seems oddly specific.”

“That’s where I base out of,” he offers, not mentioning his clan, “And that’s where the main guild base is located.”

A deep scowl settles itself on your face at the mention of the guild, fuck those guys.

The man seems to notice your change in demeanor, “Got something against the guild?”

You shrug your shoulders, “I just tried to get in with them once but the guy that runs it…beef jerky or something – “

“Greef Karga?” the man corrects.

You snap your fingers, “Yeah him. He took one look at me and said ‘you are in the wrong place kid, we don’t usually take people so... green’,” you mock Greef’s voice as you recount his words, before slumping back in your seat, “Can you believe? He didn’t even give me a chance.” You say bitterly.

“He has a point,” he defends.

You bristle at his words and open your mouth to bite back but he beats you to it.

“You are inexperienced. And in this life inexperience will get you and those around you killed. He was right to turn you away.” He states finally.

You feel yourself deflate at his words. You knew he was right, logically it makes sense, but it still hurt to hear them, especially from someone so renowned. It hurt to know that you would probably never make it as a bounty hunter, not on your own anyways. You didn’t respond, too upset to come up with a snarky comment, something that the masked man took note of. He glanced discreetly at your form beside him and immediately noticed your forlorn disposition. He felt something stir inside him, and before he could stop himself, he spoke.

“I can help you. show you some pointers if you’d like,” he sees you immediately perk up at his words.

“You’d really do that?” but you narrowed your eyes slightly, “What’s the catch?” you asked skeptically.

“Any bounties we catch are split eighty-twenty.” He states firmly.

That actually wasn’t a terrible deal, especially since you would have transport while you were with him, plus the fact that a real life Mandalore would be teaching you pointers on how to be a bounty hunter. All you want to do is hug the man in front of you, but you restrain your self and instead settle for a large grin and excited nod, like a child that just found out they could get candy.

“That sounds great.” You finally get out, “Thank you.”

“Good, because we’re here,” the ship drops out of hyper drive as he speaks, and the planet comes into view.

Your leg bounces impatiently against the chair as you wait for the Mandalorian to land the ship and shut it down.

“okay let’s go,” before the words have even fully left his mouth you are out of your seat, blaster holstered at your side and dagger tucked securely in your belt, looking excitedly at the man before you.

“You need to calm down,” he states, “this whole,” he gestures to you, “excited kid persona doesn’t really fit with this crowd.”

You immediately understand and put on a serious face, straightening your posture, “okay, Is this better?”

You hear the man sigh before brushing past you and out of the ship, you take that as a yes. So you follow, beside him this time, as you both walk towards the cantina where most of the guild member spend their spare time and spare credits. As you enter the bustling building, it falls eerily quiet, just as the one on the last planet did.

So, this must be a regular thing for him, you think to yourself.

You follow the leader until you reach a table, occupied only by Greef Karga.

“Ah Mando,” Greef greets, watching as the Mandalorian sets four tracking fobs on the table, “That took longer than usual,” he comments.

“I ran into some problems,” the Mandalorian explains.

“I see,” finally Greef’s eyes fall to your figure standing behind the armored man, “and I assume it had something to do with this one. What did I tell you kid, you’ll cause nothing but problems.” He accused, directing the last bit at you.

you bared your teeth in a sneer and took a step forward, ready to slap that smirk right off his face, but Mando put his hand out to stop you.

“She’s with me.”

Greef tilts his head curiously, “I didn’t take you as the babysitting type Mando.”

“Not babysitting. She’s my partner.” Mando defends, “Now, where’s my payment?”

Greef casts one last curious glance at you before he fishes in his pocket for the credits. You and Mando take a seat across from him as he sets down three different colored pieces of metal, the imperial insignia stamped on the front.

Mando looks at Greef, “Those are imperial credits.”

“They still spend,” the guild leader argues.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard but the empires gone,” you pipe up.

Greef glares at you before sitting back, “It’s all I’ve got.”

You look between the two men and become concerned when Mando reaches for the fobs. What was he doing?

But Greef grabs his hand before he can leave with them, “Save the theatrics, fine I’ll…” he digs around in his pocket again and produces 3 white spherical items and sets them on the table, “I can do Calamari Flan…but I can only pay half.”

Mando seems to consider the offer before setting the fobs down and taking the flan from the table, “Fine. What pucks do you have?” he asks handing the flan to you.

You quickly tuck it into the small pouch attached to your belt as Greef starts pulling pucks from his bag.

“I have a bail jumper, a bail jumper, another bail jumper, a wanted smuggler – “

“I’ll take them all,” Mando interjects and your eyes widen in surprise. That was a lot of people to hunt down.

“No. hold on." Greef stops Mando from taking the pucks, “There are other members of the Guild, and this is all I have.”

“Why so slow?” Mando asks.

“Not slow, very busy actually.” Greef explains.

“Then what’s the problem?” you ask, confused at what was happening.

You feel Mando nudge you in the side harshly as Greef sends you another glare, he really doesn’t like you for some reason.

“They don’t want to pay guild rates, they don’t mind if things get sloppy.”

Mando looks a Greef for a moment, considering his options, “What’s your highest Bounty?”

“Not much…Five thousand?”

“That won’t even cover fuel these days,” Mando says, aggravation clear in his voice.

Greef hums thoughtfully then clicks his tongue, “Well there is one job,” he admits, seemingly hesitant.

“Where’s the puck?” you ask, trying to sound like you know what’s going on.

“No puck,” Greef tells you both, “Face to Face. Direct commission. Deep pockets.”

“Underworld?” Mando questions.

“All I know is no chain code,” he pulls a small card from his pocket, “do you want the chit or not?”

Mando pauses, and glances from you then back to the card briefly before taking the card from Greef and standing abruptly. You look from Greef to the retreating Mandalorian then back to Greef before scrambling to your feet to follow your partner.

But before you leave you turn to man still sitting at the table, “Am I still to green for you Greef?” you ask mockingly before turning to leave without waiting for a response.

You rush out of the cantina and collide into something cold and hard, and stumble back slightly, rubbing at the spot on your head.

“Watch where you’re going,” a familiar voice warns.

You smile sheepishly up at Mando and take a few steps back, looking up at him, “What was with all the cloak and dagger for that thing?” you point to the card in his hand, “It seems like it’s a big deal for a bounty to not have a puck,” you observe.

“It is,” he confirms, “It’s unusual to meet with a client face to face, at least through the guild.”

You nod in understanding, “So…are we going to do it?”

Mando pauses for a moment, this is very unusual, and if someone is trying this hard to keep this bounty under wraps, it means it’s more dangerous. You had obviously never dealt with anything of this caliber, you could be a liability. But he had seen you fight off those bounty hunters, so you weren’t a complete liability. He looks at you one more time before nodding his head and pocketing the card.

“Let’s go.”

////

Tags: @tryn25​ @igotmadskills​ @dizzydazed​ @mouseofmickey​ @therobinathome​ @lirinchi​ @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8​

(Let me know if you would like to be tagged!)

#the mandalorian x reader #dyn jarren x reader #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #dyn jarren #star wars

[banditthewriter]

Blue Healer - Tommy Shelby

Here is my second try at Tommy Shelby, roughly seven thousand words. Hopefully you like it!

Title is from the song Blue Healer by Birdtalker which is kind of the inspiration for this fic and definitely one of my favorite songs.

Warning: Please ignore my lack of 20s medical procedure expertise. I did some googling and took creative license with the rest! 

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

*****

Birmingham was a change of pace. It was less of the hustle and bustle that you were used to from London and the places you had lived before. And there was something authentic in the way people lived their lives here. You didn’t see as much of the snobbery and distaste.

You found a small flat that you could afford on your salary once you found a job working at a local hospital. They needed nurses and you were trained. It paid well enough and between that and your savings, you were comfortable. 

A fresh start. It was long overdue.

There was an area that most of the people you met told you to stay away from. It was called Small Heath. Despite the name, the area was quite large. Factories upon factories, the area seemed to be the industrial part of Birmingham. 

When you asked why you should stay away from Small Heath, the answer was always the same. 

“The Peaky Blinders.”

You’d asked to have the term defined, but no one seemed willing. They took assurance that you wouldn’t wander into Small Heath and took that to mean that you didn’t need to know more. 

Despite your independence and freedom of will, you stayed away from Small Heath. Whatever the Peaky Blinders was or were, you were confident that you wouldn’t have any run ins as long as you stayed on your side of the city.

It was a good plan, if a little flawed. It never occurred to you that while you might stay on your side of the city, the same could not be said for the Peaky Blinders themselves.

About three months after you started at the hospital, you were in the office late one evening. It had somehow fallen to you to not only be a nurse, but to keep order of the medical records as well. This particular night, the doctor on call had left sometime after seven. The hospital had very few patients in the beds currently, so the building was manned by only a few attendants. And then there was you.

You preferred to be at the hospital instead of your flat. The flat was always quiet, unlike where you had grown up. Here there was always something that needed your attention.

While you sorted through the evening’s paperwork, you heard a loud commotion from the back entrance of the hospital. You stepped out into the hallway, curious and worried, when you saw a group of hard looking men wearing suits rush into the area. 

A man at the front of the group noticed you. He pointed at you with a hand covered in blood.

“Oi, nurse. Where’s the doctor?”

You swallowed nervously as you tried to fight the urge to back into the office once more.

“He’s… he went home. I can call him and get him here if he’s needed?”

There was a curse from behind him and you realized the men were carrying something. No, not something, someone. There was someone on a stretcher of some sort. One of the attendants had come rushing in at all the noise and went deadly pale before he rushed forward.

“Mr Shelby, the doctor is about twenty minutes away.”

The man, Mr Shelby, swore a streak at that.

“He hasn’t got twenty minutes. What about you, can you help him? He’s losing a lot of blood.”

The attendant was shaking so much that you doubted he’d be able to hold a scalpel even if he was trained to use it. You swallowed down your own nerves and gave yourself a shake. This wasn’t the time to be afraid to raise your voice.

“I’m trained,” you called as you put your paperwork down on the table, going into the hallway. “Do we need to go down to the OR?”

“No time,” someone behind them shouted. A second man dressed just as the first approached, his light blue eyes moving from Mr Shelby to you and the attendant. “Can you remove a bullet and stop the bleeding?”

A bullet? Goodness, were these gangsters?

“I can.”

The man surveyed you for a moment before he nodded, clapping Mr Shelby on the shoulder.

“Bring them both, it happens here.”

Mr Shelby grabbed the attendant’s arm, but you hurried forward before he tried to grab you. As you followed the second man, you tried not to observe him too closely. He walked with confidence and authority that you hadn’t seen since you left London. There was something that told you that he was in charge.

In the room the men had commandeered, there was a man spread out on a table, blood dripping down from his side onto the papers they hadn’t scattered before they set him down. He looked young… too young to be dying with a bullet in his side.

You pushed the sleeves of your blouse up and turned to the attendant who looked petrified. You nodded to a supply cart nearby.

“Here’s what I’ll need Andrew,” you began before you listed off the supplies you would need. “You don’t happen to know his blood type, do you?”

The attendant disappeared to the supply cart to make sure your materials were there. You looked around at the men in the room to get a response. When no one answered, you looked at the man on the table. He was wincing in pain, his eyes clamped shut as he grit his teeth.

“We have the same blood type,” the man from before responded, stepping forward as he shed his jacket. 

He knew what you had been getting at.

“I need to stop the bleeding first or a transfusion is pointless, but stay nearby. What’s his name?”

“John, my name is John,” the patient ground out as he tried to breathe through his teeth.

“Alright John, I’m Y/N,” you said as you grabbed a syringe full of something to put him to sleep from Andrew, checking the dosage before you leaned over John. “I’m going to give you a sedative so that I can work on you. I don’t want to take the chance of you moving while I’m fishing around in there. You’re going to stick around though John; I’ll be very upset if you die on me.”

He gave you a smile, blood on his teeth from a cut on his lip. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a wince as you stuck the needle into his arm. 

As you pressed the plunger, you watched his eyes flutter shut. Once he was down, you set to work.

It wasn’t an easy job, but you worked quietly and diligently. Once you had the bullet removed, you set to work fixing the bleeders. It was unnerving to work in this environment, with men scattered around the you and watching every twitch of your fingers, but you did your best to force them out of your mind. You just focused on the work.

Out of the woods in that regard, you went to work setting up the transfusion. Andrew stuck at your side, professional as you gave him quiet orders. The other men moved when you did, never blocking your view. Sometimes they’d hand you something you asked for if they were closer than Andrew was.

At the end, you told Andrew to clean and dress the wound where you at stitched him closed. While he did that, you moved to the other man with the needle and tubing for the transfusion.

“Have a seat,” you said as you pointed at a nearby chair. “And your arm, please.”

The man followed your orders without blinking. He had rolled his sleeve up and laid it out for you. It wasn’t hard to find a good vein thankfully, so you went ahead to do the draw. Once that was set up, you held out the switch mechanism to Mr Shelby and told him to hold it high while you set up John’s IV as well.

The whole thing took an hour, but it was those first fifteen minutes that had been crucial. If they had waited for the doctor, you were sure that John wouldn’t have made it.

Needles removed and everyone cleaned up, you checked John’s vitals and sighed, rubbing the back of your forearm against your forehead to wipe away the sweat.

“He should rest and take it easy for a while, but I believe he will make a full recovery. We can give him something for the pain, but we need to keep an eye to make sure there isn’t an infection.”

The man that you had used for the transfusion stood up, obviously a little wobbly but not about to ask for help. As he lowered his sleeve, he looked over at you and nodded.

“Thanks for helping my brother,” he said as he looked down at the patient.

Brothers? You didn’t see too much of a resemblance, but maybe there was something there.

“Of course,” you said as you dusted your hands over the apron that covered your dress. “He needs to be taken to one of the beds to rest.”

Andrew got a few other attendants to help carry the stretcher to a bed that could be moved. While they brought him to a room, the other men started to scatter. 

“Here,” the man known only as Mr Shelby said as he wrote something down on a sheet of paper that had a few dots of blood on the edge, “if something happens in the night, have someone find us here.”

You didn’t even look at the paper as you gave a nod, watching as he collected John’s brother and started to pull him towards the back entrance. The brother looked over his shoulder at you before they disappeared through the doors.

Alone for a moment, you glanced at the paper in your hands and frowned at the address. It wasn’t familiar. The Garrison must have been a pub. But then scrawled at the bottom were two words you hadn’t expected.

Small Heath? Those men were from Small Heath? 

Andrew came into the room and looked around at the mess that had been made. He let out a low whistle as he looked over at you.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?”

Operated without a license. If and when the hospital found out, you were bound to lose your job, maybe even be arrested.

“I know,” you said quietly as you folded the paper in your hand once more. 

“You just operated on one of the Peaky Blinders. Hell, you had the needle in the head of the organization’s arm. Jesus Y/N, you’re fearless,” Andrew added before he turned and left the room.

And you? You were left to collect yourself. 

Those were the Peaky Blinders? Gangsters, obviously. And the man with the startling blue eyes was the head? Well, you had thought he was in charge, hadn’t you?

With a sigh, you got to work cleaning up the room. Once you were done there, you’d check on John once more before you called the doctor. Might as well get it over with.

------

It was almost noon but you didn’t have anywhere to be. Food didn’t sound appealing but you knew you needed to eat, so you went into the kitchen to see what you had available. As you started to rummage, there was a knock on your door.

Unable to think who would be visiting you, you moved and opened the door. On the other side stood the man from a few nights before, the head of the Peaky Blinders. You’d never even got his name before he had disappeared.

“Oh,” you said quietly as you tried to think if you should invite him in or shut the door, “can I help you?”

He looked down, the brim of his hat blocking his eyes. You saw the flash of something metal in the hat, but your focus went from that to the cigarettes he was pulling from his pocket.

“You weren’t at the hospital,” he said as he put one of the cigarettes between his lips to light it. “John’s been released. I wanted to thank you again for your assistance but you weren’t there.”

As if this wasn’t strange enough already.

“I don’t work at the hospital anymore,” you explained as you shifted your weight, uncertain still if you should invite him in or not. “After it came out that I had operated on someone without the proper training or license, it was decided that I should just be removed from the staff.”

They had decided not to take it to the courts, but you were under the belief it was because they didn’t want to drag the Peaky Blinders into the situation. And no doubt the man at your door knew that too.

“I got your name and address from the attendant that was there that night. He seemed a little reluctant actually,” he added with the beginning of a smirk before he took a long drag on the cigarette.

For a lot of reasons, you assumed.

You noticed that the neighbor across the hall had their door open a crack. Realizing that you were being eavesdropped on, you opened the door a little wider.

“Would you like to come in?”

He hesitated a moment before he stepped over the threshold. You shut the door and let out a quick breathe before you turned to face him. He was inspecting your living space.

Suddenly you wished you were a cleaner person.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

You heard him clear his throat.

“Tommy. My name is Tommy Shelby,” he said almost nonsensically. 

You nodded and turned towards your small kitchen. You barely got there before you realized something.

“The other man was called Mr Shelby too. A relative?”

“Brother,” Tommy said as he went to look at a picture you had on the table. “Arthur. He’s got a few rough edges.”

“Hadn’t noticed,” you said as you turned back to your kitchen. “I could make some coffee or some tea. Do you have a preference?”

“Tea will do.”

You went through the steps of making tea for the two of you as you tried to ignore the presence in your living room. How strange, you thought, that he showed up at your door. He had said that he wanted to thank you for your help with John, but he could have done that already.

Instead you had invited him in for tea.

Tea poured for the two of you, you sat down at the small kitchen table in the corner. He sat with you, sipping at the tea as if it was something to savor. His eyes never stayed on you long, but every time he looked at you, you felt like he could see all of you. It was unnerving.

The mere idea that you were sitting in your flat having tea with the head of the Peaky Blinders was almost hilarious to you. You’d left London because things had been too dramatic, but this is what you get in Birmingham? You lose your job for doing an illegal surgery on a gangster and then you have tea with the gangster’s brother.

At some point, you’d have to write this down to tell your friends. They would never believe you.

“John wouldn’t have survived if we had to wait for the doctor,” Tommy said, repeating something you already knew. 

“I’m glad I was there then.”

“You lost your job,” he reminded you.

“I can find something else,” you said without any real hope. 

With this mark on you, you wouldn’t find a job in the health industry. No doctor or hospital would take you if they knew what you had done. You’d be a liability.

Tommy leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table, leveling you with that unnerving stare.

“What about coming to work for me?”

Heat traveled down your spine and you tried not to shiver. Or at the very least, you tried not to let him see you shiver.

“I beg your pardon?”

He shrugged a shoulder and tapped his fingers on the table, still maintaining eye contact.

“You need a job and we can use someone with your skills. There’s a lot of injuries and illnesses to go around. I’ll pay you more than what you made at the hospital.”

You should say no. You should definitely, definitely say no. Having tea with him was one thing, but to work for him? Hadn’t everyone told you to stay away from Small Heath because of the Peaky Blinders? And here was the leader of them, at your table with your favorite tea cup next to the ashtray you forgot you had.

“I don’t… would I have to move to Small Heath?”

He began to smile, well aware that you were agreeing. Now it was down to semantics.

And you would come to find out that Tommy was really good at the small details.

------

Your new place was larger than you had expected. There was a guest room that you doubted you’d ever use, but it was made up anyways. The furniture was provided to you, so you didn’t have to move much. And everything that was moved was done so by the hand of a Peaky Blinder.

News of your new vocation and who had hired you had traveled around Birmingham quite quickly. The few friends you had there had found you before you left to ask if you were sure about this.

You weren’t, but it was better than nothing.

Tommy showed you where you would be operating out of. The front of the space seemed to be some sort of gambling den, whereas the place you were in was spotless. After you gave Tommy a list of everything you needed, you set about making the clinic into somewhere clean and workable.

John was there one day to have you remove the stitches you had given him. He had smiled at you as he hopped onto the table, pulling his vest and shirt off with ease. You checked the color and tenderness of the incision, but ultimately you were satisfied. 

“This has healed well,” you said as you set to work with the stitches. 

“Testament to your healing hands,” John replied with a wink that made you laugh.

It shouldn’t surprise you that the man was an absolute flirt. You focused on your task and ignored everything else. When you finished it up, you sat up and gave him a smile.

“I would still urge you to be easy on it for a few days just in case, but I think you are in the clear Mr Shelby.”

“John, please,” he said as he jumped off the table. 

It left him standing right in front of you so that you had to tilt your head up to maintain eye contact. And he was still shirtless. He was grinning at you, his eyes sparkling as if he had an array of things in mind that he’d like to do with you. Or to you.

It was an embarrassing situation for Tommy to walk into. He barked out his brother’s name with nothing else, but it was apparently enough of a warning for John to roll his eyes and step back.

“Didn’t see your name anywhere,” he grumbled as he made his way past you with his shirt and vest in hand. “I’m healed up, in case you’re curious.”

Tommy gave his brother a look and you turned away to work on cleaning up your supplies from removing the stitches. Whatever was going on between the brothers, you weren’t sure you were meant to witness it.

And John’s comment was particularly interesting, but you didn’t want to read too much into it. Perhaps Tommy just felt territorial because he was the one that brought you into their lives. 

Yes, that’s exactly what the problem was.

“Is everything to your satisfaction?”

You looked over and saw that Tommy was alone. You gave a nod and looked back to where you were disposing of the stitching and old gauze. 

“It’s well stocked. I suppose I should have asked before I agreed, but what kind of injuries do you imagine I’ll be handling the most often?”

Tommy shrugged his shoulder as he inspected some of the equipment.

“Knife wounds, bullet wounds, injuries from fights. If it gets to be too much for you, I’m sure we can get someone to mash their thumb with a hammer.”

His sarcastic reply had you laughing. You spun to face him and caught the back end of a surprised look on his face before his face fell neutral once more. 

“Are you positive that I’m worth all of this?” The clinic, the money he’d already spent getting you situated in your new flat, the money he was paying you.

“Every penny,” he replied.

------

The clinic became busier than you had expected it to be. There seemed to be injuries daily, plus people coming in for you to check your handiwork a few days later. It wasn’t just the men, although that was the bulk of your patients. Their women and children came to you as well. You didn’t have access to the medicines you needed, but you made it easier for them to know what they needed to do.

Plus it seemed that some of them knew things they could do, herbs and spices that could help certain issues. It took a while for you to realize the why of it.

They were Romany. Not all of them, of course, but the Shelby clan at least. You heard the unfamiliar language whispered between them sometimes when they didn’t want to be overheard. And gossip traveled fast in these parts. 

You’d heard more than a few people spit the word ‘gypsy’ at their feet as if it was venom sucked from a wound.

You were largely left alone. When you were away from the clinic, you noticed that people seemed to give you a wide berth. News traveled that you were the surgeon for the Peaky Blinders and you were treated with the appropriate response: something between respect and a healthy dose of apprehension.

More than one of them men had invited you to The Garrison for an evening of drinks and laughter, but you turned them all down. It wasn’t that you wouldn’t like to let loose, but you had a feeling that none of them were inviting you in a friendly manner.

Though none of them made you feel unsafe or uncomfortable, you still didn’t want to make any of them think you were interested in them that way. You weren’t. You weren’t interested in any of them.

Except perhaps the biggest enigma of them all. You refused to address your complicated feelings towards Tommy Shelby. 

Besides the transfusion for his brother, Tommy hadn’t required your expertise.

The lone sister of the Shelby clan, Ada had come to help you out in the clinic fairly often. She had some form of training, although it was rudimentary to say the least. She took to your tutelage with a certain focus, watching your fingers as you stitched together a wound or set a broken bone. 

“How did you get into medicine?”

You watched Ada roll up the extra gauze. The two of you didn’t talk much when there was a patient in the clinic, but once it was the two of you, she always had a hundred questions for you. Some of them were about your teachings, but a lot of them were just about you

“My mother was a nurse,” you said as you went to work to sterilize your equipment. “I suppose she still is, but she doesn’t work anymore. She takes care of my niece while my sister works as a secretary. My niece is blind.”

“So you just decided to follow her footsteps?”

Truthfully, you weren’t sure why you decided to become a nurse. Your childhood and young adult years had been spent with you trying to put a distance between you and your family, but you still fell into the familiarity of it.

“I wanted to help people,” you offered as you turned back to your work, “and this was the best way I could imagine doing it. It’s why I didn’t hesitate to help when your brother came into the hospital even though I knew what would happen to me.”

“We’re glad you did. Even though John drives us all to our wits end sometimes, he’s a good man. Usually.”

You smiled at the sisterly affection in her tone as she talked about John. You’d heard the same in her voice when she talked about Arthur and Finn, their younger brother that you had only met briefly. That affection was still there when she talked about Tommy, but there was something else there too. Frustration, perhaps? 

Something about that particular brother made Ada want to pull her hair out it seemed.

“Tommy likes that you’re here,” Ada offered as she went to work on sorting the bandages. 

That drew you up short. You hesitated your fingers over the scissors before you went back to straightening your station.

“It is definitely handy having someone nearby for their purposes,” you replied as you tried to make your breathing even out. 

There was a telling silence from behind you. Even though you weren’t looking at her, you could almost feel her eyes on your back.

“Yeah, that must be it.”

------

“Shit,” a voice swore as you came through the door of the clinic. 

“Mr Shelby?” You rushed forward, dropping your things on the floor to catch Tommy as he swayed into your hold. “Mr Shelby, are you hurt? Come, sit over here.”

You guided him to the table but he refused to sit there. Instead he fell into a nearby chair. You could see him better in the light there. His face looked like he had met more than a few fists recently. Blood dripped down his face splattered onto his legs and the floor.

“Had a bit of a rough one,” he mumbled as he reached up with a hand that didn’t look much better, brushing blood away from under his nose and leaving a smear of red across his cheek.

“I can see that,” you replied as you set to work. “I hope you haven’t been waiting for me long. I usually don’t come in this early, but I couldn’t sleep.”

He let you work in silence after that. He moved his head this way and that while you worked, let you order him around. Once his face and fists were cleaned and patched, you started unbuttoning his shirt.

“What’re you… doin’?”

He had refused pain medication, but he sounded like he was regretting that. When he tried to push your hands away, you tsked him and went back to it.

“I doubt your assailant only went for your face. I need to make sure you don’t have any broken ribs or internal bleeding.”

He must have saw the logic in that because he went to work on his vest. It took a coordinated effort from the two of you to get his shirt open, but once it was, you found yourself at a loss for what you were doing.

Injuries. That’s… that’s why you were removing his shirt. Nothing else. You were looking for injuries.

Get a grip, Y/N, you thought as you slipped back into your professionalism like it was suit of armor.

There were bruises, but it didn’t look like there was any internal damage. And as you checked his ribs, you noticed that his skin was warm to the touch. For some reason you thought his skin would be as cold as his eyes made him look.

But there didn’t seem to be any breaks. Once you were satisfied, you stood up straight and stepped away.

Tommy was staring at you. He sat there with dried blood on the white shirt and on the material of his pants. His chest expanded with every breath, drawing your eyes to the tattoo over his heart. 

“I can send you home with something for the pain,” you said in a rush as you turned towards where your medicine stayed locked away.

“I don’t need anything.”

“Mr Shelby, I really insist–”

“Tommy. Please, just… call me Tommy.”

You bit your lip as you looked over your shoulder. He was struggling to button his shirt, his fingers a little stiff and uncooperative. With a sigh, a quick prayer for steady hands, you went to him to help him with the buttons.

“Tommy. I sincerely suggest taking something for the pain. You’ll feel it worse tomorrow, I promise you.”

You worked on the buttons from the bottom up, leaving a few undone around his neck. Then you rolled his sleeves down the rest of the way as well, your eyes straying to look at his face.

“I’ll grab a bottle of whisky before I head to the house,” he promised in a low voice as he watched you.

Those light blue eyes could probably see every one of your secrets. You licked your lips as you tried not to meet them, worried what you might reveal if you did. Instead you stepped away and gave him a nod.

“I can come by the house later and make sure you don’t need anything. Do you need any help getting there?”

He shook his head and stood up, wavering a bit but steady enough. He bent down to pick up his jacket and vest. Your hand darted out to pick up his hat and he made a noise to stop you, but you continued anyways.

“Ow,” you exclaimed as you lifted your hand up, staring at the cut across to tips of two of your fingers. “What in the name of…”

There were razors sewn under the brim of the hat. You inspected them and swallowed heavily before you held the hat out with your uninjured hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a tone of voice that made you think he wasn’t just talking about being sorry for the cut on your fingers.

You didn’t know what to do with that, so instead you grabbed some gauze and pressed it to your fingers.

“Rest for a bit at least. Your ribs aren’t broken, but you’ll still feel it when you move for a while. And keep those cuts on your face clean and covered for at least a few days.”

Tommy tilted his head down as he reached up to pull the hat on. You saw a glint from the brim as he turned away from you.

“Thanks for your help.”

And with that, he was gone. You listened to the silence in the clinic for a few moments before you looked down at the cut on your fingers.

It seemed as if Birmingham was destined to leave its mark on you after all.

------

The letter had stayed folded in your pocket for most of the morning. The moment you’d gotten to the clinic, you had been pressed by patient after patient. Ada had showed up fairly early and was able to help, but you were both plenty busy. By midday, Ada had complained about being hungry. 

The two of you put a sign on the clinic before you left to grab something to eat. You walked there arm in arm as Ada told you about the man she was seeing and how happy she was.

“You don’t bring him around?” 

Ada made a face as you took your seats in the restaurant. It took you a moment to place, but then it clicked. That was the same look she got on her face when she talked about Tommy sometimes.

“Tommy doesn’t approve.”

That particular Shelby wasn’t just the head of the Peaky Blinders, but he was the head of their family. Arthur was older, but Tommy had the brains for the business. As much as you liked Arthur, you knew he had a hair trigger. Tommy was the planner.

John was the wild card in that case.

“Him and my Freddie were friends once. Sometimes I think they still are. Tommy knows, doesn’t approve, but lately he’s gotten better about letting me be.” She gave you a look that you weren’t quite sure what to do with, then sighed as she grabbed her drink that the waiter had put in front of her. “What about you Y/N? Do you have a fella somewhere waiting for you?”

The letter seemed to burn in your pocket. 

“I did, once,” you said thoughtfully as you raised your glass to your lips. “I don’t have anyone now.”

Ada frowned and leaned forward.

“You said you had family, right? Back in London. What about them?”

What about them indeed. 

“My mother is so focused on my niece and my sister that she probably hasn’t even noticed that I’m not there. My brother came back from the war missing an arm and most of his sanity, so he lives in a home for people like him. And my father…” You took a deep breath and tried not to let your eyes get misty. “My father told me that if I left, that I shouldn’t come back.”

Ada let out a shocked breath at that before she leaned back in her chair. It was the first time you’d told anyone the truth about your family and you tried not to cower from her pity.

“I believe sometimes family isn’t what we think it is,” she said quietly as she looked at her drink. “For me, family is the Shelbys, but it’s also been Freddie. Maybe a time comes when we have to decide what family means to us.”

Maybe she was right. Instead of responding, you raised your glass to give her a toast. 

------

The clinic was dark and silent. You had closed up for the day, but you hadn’t left for home just yet. It had been a busy day and you were grateful for Ada’s help. More than that, you were grateful for her friendship.

With light pouring over you, you pulled the letter out of your pocket and smoothed it down. The address was the one from Birmingham proper, but it had been forwarded to you in Small Heath. The return address was a familiar one.

Inside the envelope were two folded sheets of paper. You hesitated as you opened them. Your name was written in a familiar script, each letter written with care and ease. 

“News from home?”

You jumped and spun around, seeing Tommy in the doorway of the clinic. He held his hands up to apologize for scaring you before he moved over to where you were sitting. His words finally penetrated your haze and you shook your head as you looked back at the letter.

“Not exactly. It’s a letter from my fiance. Well, my ex-fiance, I suppose,” you said as you started to fold the letter back up. “We ended things six months before I left London, but he still writes sometimes.”

“What was the reason for the split? If I can ask.”

You ran your finger along the edge of the paper, but didn’t say anything immediately. When it seemed like Tommy might take the question back, you opened your mouth and let it all spill out.

“I didn’t love him. Even when I agreed to marry him, I wasn’t in love with him. He was a handsome man with good prospects and a good family so it was assumed that the two of us would do well together, but I didn’t want that life. I didn’t want to be a wife that sits at home and waits for her husband to come home. I am a person in my own right and I refused to give that up, even for him or my family.”

You glanced up at Tommy, unsure if you’d said to much. In that moment, you saw respect pouring out of those eyes. 

“What does he say when he writes to you?”

With a shake to clear your head, you looked at the letter. You skimmed the first page to see if it followed the same pattern as the letters before.

“He tells me about his family, about our friends. Sometimes he mentions my family, but not often. And then,” you flipped to the second page, “he reminds me that he loves me and that he wants to wait for me to come to my senses. He doesn’t use those words, but I’m sure that’s what he really thinks about me setting off on my own.”

Tommy held his hand out for the letter. After a brief hesitation, you handed it to him. For some reason it didn’t feel like he was invading your privacy. He put the letter on the metal table and pulled something from his pocket. After a moment he struck a match. He raised the letter so that the edges caught the flame. Then he dropped the paper onto the table.

You stood and approached, watching the letter turn to ash with the help of that match.

“Don’t let someone tell you what you should be or should do. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You can make your own decisions.”

You turned your head to look at Tommy. The light from the fire reflected in his eyes, giving it an eerie glow. That glow made you think that perhaps he wasn’t as cold as his eyes made him seem. That light blue that made you think of the winter sky as the snow fell was warmer than you imagined it could have been. 

You could make your own decisions, Tommy was right about that. And you had a feeling you were about to make one right then. A decision that would change your life as much as the decision to operate on John Shelby had done.

“Tommy?”

He hadn’t looked away from you, but at his name, he turned his body towards you completely. You took a step towards him, your hand raising to press against his cheek.

With your past in flames on the table beside you, you leaned in and kissed Tommy Shelby with everything you had inside of you. And you learned first hand that he had plenty of warmth inside of him. 

------

“Ah, that shit stings,” Arthur complained as you poured antiseptic over his wound.

“It could be whisky,” you snapped back as you grabbed a cloth to clean up the site.

“At least I could drink that too,” he grumbled as you checked the edges of the bullet hole in his arm. “Come now Y/N, it’d hurt a lot less if you’d let me have a sip of something.”

He reached out a hand behind you and you knew he was gesturing for John to hand him a bottle or a flask. You put a little pressure on his arm, earning a grunt of pain from him.

“If you hand him any alcohol John Shelby, I’ll reopen that wound I stitched a year ago and pour it right in.”

“Sorry brother, the doc scares me more than you do,” John said with a laugh as he draped his arm over his Esme’s shoulders, guiding her out of the clinic.

“You’ll bring her back to me soon John, she’s not done for the day,” you reminded him with a shake of your head.

Newlyweds.

“Feels like I’m going to lose my arm,” Arthur grunted as you began stitching his skin together. 

“I’ll take you losing a limb as a slight against my skill, so let’s not. Just a bit more and you’ll be good as new.”

You worked quietly at that point, focusing solely on your hands. Ada was in the other room sitting down, her pregnancy causing her to get tired more often. Her husband would have to be called at some point to come collect her if she didn’t get back on her feet. Not that Freddie minded one bit.

Once Arthur was repaired, you gave him the go ahead to get a drink in him after you made him promise to be easy on his arm for the next few days. He gave you a kiss on the temple before he staggered out of the clinic and back into the gambling hall.

“You are the one person who can make Arthur shape up,” a warm voice called from behind you right before a pair of arms wrapped around your waist.

“He’s scared I’ll come after him with my scalpel,” you teased as you turned your head and kissed Tommy’s jaw. “And Polly does well enough to keep him in line.”

“No, he listens to you. You’ve got a healer’s spirit and it puts all of us on our best behavior around you.”

You turned around in his arms so that you could wrap your arms around his neck. He burrowed into your neck and inhaled deeply. It felt like it had been years since the last time you had seen Tommy, but it had just been that morning before you left for the clinic.

He’d made you an extra half hour late.

With a noise in the back of his throat, something like a playful growl, he lifted you up and placed you on the table so that he could slip between your legs. He kissed you, deepening the kiss when your hand pulled at his hair.

“If this is you on your best behavior,” you teased as he kissed down the side of your neck, “I’d hate to see you misbehave.”

He pulled back and his eyes flashed, danger mixed with love and adoration. He had two settings and you loved him in both.

“Well doc, do you have the cure for what ails me?”

He leaned in to kiss you again after he asked it, tugging your body closer to him so that you could feel exactly what it was that he was talking about.

You bit his lip before you leaned back with a grin.

“Go lock the door love. I’ll take good care of you.”

He raised your hands and kissed the back of each one before he moved to do as you ordered. You watched him walk away from you with a smile on your lips.

You had found a home in the embrace of the Peaky Blinders. More than just a home, you found love. You found family.

And you had no intentions of letting it slip away.

X

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#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #my writing

[streetlites]

The house is small concrete box in the middle of a neighborhood filled with small concrete box houses. Bolivar stops the car at the stop sign and turns it off. “Do you remember my number?”

“I've got it,” I assure him. “Just stay here until I call.” The street is empty now, there were people sitting on the stoop of the house we parked in front of but had since retreated inside. I guess nothing good comes from unfamiliar black SUVs pulling up at 3 AM.

My ears are hot and there’s butterflies in my stomach from nerves. Every step I take closer to the house intensifies my nervousness; Am I walking correctly? What will I do if he doesn’t answer? If he does answer, can I pull it off? I swallow and take a breath before knocking. The sound is loud on this quiet street.

“Who the fuck is it?” a voice comes from inside.

“Omigod, please, please let me use your phone!” I beg, trying as hard I can to emulate the Bay Girls from school. “My car broke down and this is, like, the fourth house I’ve been to!” I whine. I hear the man on the other side grumble but he tells me he’s coming. I clap my hands, “Yay!” When he opens the door, I twist my body before standing straight, popping my chest out where he takes me in, “Thank you soooo much!”  

His brown eyes meet mine and he looks sheepish, “Yeah, uh, no problem.”

“So, do you want me to wait out here, or can I come in?” I ask, smiling.  

He’s still feeling cautious, looking behind me to make sure no one else is hiding. “Uh, yeah, yeah, yeah. Sorry,” he apologizes. “Come in, I’ll go get my phone.”

I look around the kitchen and into the living room; no one is in there, which is good. “Thanks for helping me out,” I coo. “You’re pretty cute, do you have a girlfriend?”

“Ah, nah,” his voice comes from a bedroom. He appears a few seconds later with a phone in hand. “Here.”

“Cool.” I let my eyes wander his body, biting my lip and winking. He smiles back, relaxed.  

I dial Bolivar’s number and it rings once before he picks up, “Buenas noches, bellisima,” he purrs. “Is he alone?”

“Yes? Gabriella! Omigod you need to come and get me! My car broke down and I’m all alone!” I whine.  

“I’m coming,” Bolivar says and hangs up.

I keep talking, “What? No, this nice guy let me use his phone. Please come and pick me up! Alexis went home with some rando and left me at the club and I’m freaking stranded out here!” I sigh dramatically. I shake my head, acting like it’s tragic and the man laughs. “I can’t use the bus! God! Didn’t I drive you around that week your car was in the shop -”

The door creaks open and the man curses when he makes eye contact with Gabriel, his pistol drawn. I drop the phone but the guy is quick; he grabs me and has me in a headlock before I can reach for my holster. “I fucking knew it! Put the gun down or I’ll snap this bitch’s neck,” he warns.

Gabriel stops and slowly begins to lower his pistol to the floor, “You don’t want to do that. That girl? Her people will come after both of us and we’ll wish for death when they’re done. Let her go and we’ll leave.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? I’m going to be the one that leaves.” He tenses, “Put it on the ground now!” He yells. Bolivar places the gun on the floor, his hands up. “Good, now kick-”

I use the split second of relaxation in his grip to bite down hard on his arm. The man screams as my teeth rip through flesh and blood pours into my mouth. The slight recoil gives me enough space to bring my head back and crack into his nose and break loose. I use the momentum as I’m turning to swing my leg around and catch him across the face, bringing him down. His head smacks against a desk and he lands on the floor, motionless. There’s a flare of fury as I’m trying to calm myself down – I need him alive, if possible. I spit the skin and blood from my mouth onto his body.

Gabriel whoops, “You beat his ass!” He laughs, “Damn, girl!”

My body throbs with pain; My teeth ache from how hard I bit his arm, the back of my head from the headbutt, and my leg from the too wide kick. “Shit,” I groan, half from pity for myself and the other half afraid that I’ve already killed him.

Bolivar assumes it’s from the latter as he checks the body, “Oh, don’t worry, he’s not dead. I’ll tie him up. You go start to look through the house.” He says, rolling a desk chair to the middle of the living room.

There isn’t much house to search – the bathroom is small and appears clean. A small altar is lit; Jesus looks mournful as shadows from the flame flickers across his face. I shut the door and go to the other across from it into a sparsely decorated bedroom. “I found a safe,” I tell my partner.

“Shit, I’m not good with those,” he says.

“I am,” I tell him, looking over the lock. I started getting interested in picking locks when I was young, after hearing people tell stories of my mother when she was in the LA-13. She encouraged it and eventually started me on safes; leaving little lock boxes with presents or money inside for me to crack. This one is cheap and the locking mechanism is simple – if I had a drill or some medigel, I could brute force it in a minute or less.

Sighing, I pull two bobby pins from my hair and bend one into a pick and straighten the other to push the pins in place. It is slow going because the pins reset every small turn of the lock and I have to keep pushing them back in until the lock has gone all the way around. When it finally opens, I’m rewarded with the sight of stacks of cash, a gun, a vial of ruby with dab sheets, and about a kilo of coke.

I go into the living room, where Gabriel stands with pieces of mail and receipts littering the floor. “I bricked the phone trying to guess the password,” he says when he sees me.

I stare at him with disappointment, “You could have used his fingers to unlock it.” That was basic!

“Too much blood, it couldn’t read it. But, I’ve got this guy’s name! Jesus Ignacio Soto Ortiz, you can get his phone records later.”

“Gee, thanks,” I complain. “He’s got coke, ruby, and a lot of cash in his safe. Did your contact say he dealt those?”

Gabriel shakes his head, “No, just said the guy was an enforcer.”

“That’s probably our guy’s stuff. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was 20 thousand in the safe.”

My partner whistles, “Why that much?”

“They only allow you to take up to 10 on planes. Whoever he is, he’s already gone.”

He looks like he’s thinking it over and nods, “Explains the airport parking receipt I found. Let’s wake him up and see what his friend’s name is and where he ran off to.” He walks off toward the kitchen and I hear the water running as I try in vain to wake the guy. “That won’t do it. Watch,” he instructs and takes a bowl of water and shoves the man’s face in.

Chuy’s body thrashes, rolling the chair side to side. Gabriel takes the bowl away, leaving the other man wide-eyed, gasping for breath. “Good morning, sunshine,” he smiles coldly. “We’re looking for your friend, goes by the name Jay?”

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” the bound man coughs.

“Which do you know him by? Because we found his things in your safe. You give us a name and I’ll take five thousand of that cash and let you live.”

“That’s my money,” the other man insists.

Gabriel sucks his teeth, reproachfully. “He’s worth 30 thousand to the LA-13, 100 to Marin. And you? Not worth anything at all. I got your address just by asking for it. Free.”

“Fuck you, goddamn Kings,” Chuy spits.

“We’re not with the Kings,” I tell him. Bolivar grins when the realization dawns on the other man’s face.

“That’s right, we’re, what do you call us? Phantasmas?” He turns to me and laughs, “I love it, I do,” he says as an aside before continuing with the other man. “And we’re going to get your friend; it might take longer than we’d like, but we will. You decide whether you’re going to die for him. All we want is a name.”

Chuy shakes his head, “Not from me, no. Never. And I’ve never heard of any Phantasmas wearing no goddamn space suits so, fuck you there, too.”

“Shit, off-world.” Gabriel complains.

“It doesn’t matter, we’ll log it. He’ll come back eventually,” I tell Gabriel, screwing a silencer on the end of my pistol. “I don’t need him because I’ll have his phone records.” My partner nods. “We’ve got him at the apartment when it went down so it’ll placate Marin.”  

“Wait, wait! I didn’t - I only,” the man sputters.

I shake my head at him, “Like I said, it doesn’t matter. You were a good friend. Shame you can’t say the same about him.” Despite the silencer, the shot is loud and my ears ring. The man’s head slumps forward, the ties on his arms and legs keeping his body upright.

“Well,” Gabriel sighs, “I guess that’s it. I’ll call Dito out here and he’ll take the arm off and make it presentable.” He takes one of the small bricks of coke and a 5K stack and shoves them into his jacket pocket.

“Didn’t you tell your contact you’d leave the money?”  

“I left most of it. And a dead man can’t argue that he didn’t already spend it. Shall we?”

#ts4 #sims story #fault lines #fl: aftershock #fla chrono #this is not the original chuy... I couldn't find him #it's possible he already died... but I most likely didn't save after I made him #ugh #whelp it doesn't matter #goodbye beautiful #big block of text #that ended up longer than I thought #violence #ts4legacy

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Overgrown Metal

Chapter 3: Keep Moving

Summary of fic: Almost two decades ago, the fae rose up from beyond the value with technology far surpassing the human race, quickly taking over after lating waste to nearly everything in their wake. Virgil and Roman, Society escapees and hunters run into an uncertain future while fleeing from their pasts. Remy and Remus stare their only chance straight in the face as they teeter on the edge of reluctant adventure. Emile is left his cousins engineering palace and is given the tools to change the world. Logan, a lone researcher and outcast is found by an old friend who offers him a chance of the century. Hyden (deciet), can shift into anything he so chooses, but staying true to his form as his heritage slaps him sideways proves harder than he thought. Patton mourns the loss of his son as he slowly uncovers secrets he wishes aren't related.

Or less wordy:

Eight idiots with trust issues fumble around each other and try to save the world from killer mechanical beasts and fairies that will snap your neck without taking their hands from their wine glasses.

Warnings: Violence, fight scenes, dark fantasy, apocalypse setting, some gore, blood

Warnings for this chapter: none. Though as always if you see something that should be tagged please say something.

Ships: Remy (sleep) x Remus. Brotherly Roman and Virgil. Platonic Logan and Hyden (Deciet)

The spacious barn creaked lazily as the sounds of swearing and hammering overflowed its weather worn walls. It had been repurposed years ago, the old owners either long dead or moved out once the forest began to take over. As it was now it had been cleared of the twisting roots and oddly growing branches that had once threatened to consume it completely, now standing in a small clearing with a house beside it sitting just as pristine. The barn, though repaired, leaned slightly to the side, braced on an extension that housed a lab of sorts with one other room branching out that acted as cold storage.

The main room itself was currently where loud banging could be heard with the occasional swear sprinkled in as the owner tried valiantly to seperate pieces of plate metal from the skull of a fallen beast, eyes vacant and jaw slack as it sat on the table surrounded by already disassembled parts of itself scattered about and repurposed to varying degrees. Jars of different colored oily substances sat on a cart nearby, with empty ones still waiting to be filled. The hammer was thrown down suddenly, its owners pointed ears twitching in irritation as he dragged a hand down his face and took a breath. Sighing loudly, Logan turned and stalked off to the other end of the room to get a crow bar off the rack in hopes that his new method would work.

As he began trying to pry between plates he felt more than heard the halting footsteps outside the barn, though who it was was clearly trying his best to be quiet. Rolling his eyes Logan slammed the crowbar in a weak spot and pulled hard enough to bend the plate and send the bar snapping back to narrowly miss his face. He scowled as sweat dripped into his eyes, rolling his shoulders and gripping the tool with a white knuckled grip.

"It truly is a wonder you haven't killed yourself yet. To think of all that education going to waste with a cracked skull in an old barn, it's almost enough to make me care to check in more."

"The only reason you come in here is because I'm the only thing within a hundred mile radius who doesn't wish you dead on sight."

"How you wound me. It's at least two hundred when I'm far enough away from the coast." Logan smirked as he heard the irritated tap of the others cane punctuating his statement.

Sighing, he placed the crowbar on the bench and turned to face the intruder, leaning against it while crossing his arms. "Hyden."

"Logan." The other greeted mutually. Though he was typically a bit more put together his thick caplet lay crookedly across his tense shoulders, arms taunt as he leaned heavily on his cane with both hands resting on the top. His long hair curled in the afternoon humidy and Logan definitely didn't miss the slight furrow of his brows, though he knew he would be loathe to admit he was in any sort of pain.

Letting out a heavier sigh Logan pushed away from the bench and gestured for the other to follow him. "Join me, I need a break anyway."

Hyden gasped. "The head scientist admitting he needs a break? Who's hand do I need to shake for downloading an once of self preservation into that thick skull?"

"I'll have you know I take breaks on a regular basis, something you clearly need to be reminded of."

"The audacity! I walk all the way here to visit a long time friend-"

"You walked?" Logan shot him a sharp glance as he held the door, gesturing the other into the old farmhouse.

Waving away the concern, Hyden continued. "I flew most of the way don't worry. I only ducked below the treeline the last few miles so I wouldn't be followed, you're welcome for the concern and forethought."

Snorting, Logan pulled out a chair and moved to collect containers of herbs and thr kettle, sighing for the fourth time as it was blatantly ignored for the refrigerator. As the kettle heated he carefully measured out the proper ingrediants, glancing over every now and again to try and catch what his guest was poking at.

"Are those by any chance agorose gels?"

Walking past the fridge to put things away he caught sight of what the other was observing, humming his confirmation.

"Logan, why do you have DNA gels next to leftover chicken salad in your refrigerator?"

"The chicken salad seems irrelevant." The kettle whistled to give him an excuse to avoid the question, carefully pouring out the boiling water.

"Logan."

"Hyden." The name slipped out easily despite his annoyance, making him wonder for a brief moment if he would struggle when he was finally told his real name.

The mans cane taps were heavier than normal as he made his way over to the table and flopped down without his usual show. Giving Loagn a quiet thank you he proceeded to wrap his hands around the steaming mug, frowning in concentration. "Are you trying to find them again?"

"I fail to comprehend what you could possibly-"

"Because they're trying to find you. And they're getting close."

Logan was quiet as he sat, his wrapped hands folding somewhat painfully around his own drink. Pursing his lips he avoided looking at Hyden for a long moment, nevertheless feeling his gaze attempting to pick him apart. Arranging his expression to be carefully neutral he took a drink, smiling as the other did so as well.

"Make sure to drink all of it, it'll help with pain."

"Did you even listen to what I said?!" Throwing his hands up in exasperation he fixed Logan with his best glare.

"Hard not to with that grating tone."

"Well this grating tone," he growled out. "Is telling you to get your head out of your ass and maybe make sure you're safe before telling someone else to take care of themselves."

Logan dragged a hand down his face, suddenly tired. "Where exactly do you expect me to go? I'm so close to figuring out what they're using to power those things, if I move now I won't have any access to the equipment I need, no studies will be concluded, and nearly all of my experiments will be left behind to rot! I need more time."

"Time isn't exactly a luxury here. You're being stubborn and ignorant, as usual, and if you would just listen-" he stopped short as he caught the look the other was giving him, letting out a breath of defeat and softening his tone. "It doesn't have to be today. But it does have to be soon. I'll even come with you, help you scout out a new location if you'd like. I'm sure there's plenty to be found with a little digging."

Mugs empty save for the dregs silence rang between them as they lost themselves in thought. Distantly Logan was aware of the old grandfather clock ticking, suddenly thinking what a shame it would be to leave the sound behind. He knew the other was right even before he fully decided to voice it. Instead he quietly looked over at him, the scales that freckled his face gleaming with the last rays of the evening sunlight. If they were truly leaving, they would have to be careful. Though he knew Hyden was loathe to do so he could easily shift his appearance to hide his scales. Logan wouldn't be so lucky, his slightly off colored skin and pointed ears a dead give away to what his heritage was, even if he had defected from it when the war broke out. He was obviously fae, and that would do him no favors outside of the protection of his remote location.

But he really couldn't stay. If the guard was truly zeroing in on his location he would much rather abandon his research and try to pick it up wherever he could than even think about getting caught and wondering whether he could escape before he was undoubtedly punished for his crimes against his people. He shuddered uneasily as he stood, carefully avoiding eye contact as he took the mugs to the sink and began to wash them. He stared out the window towards the treeline as he did, having to squint to make out the weak protective barrier set around the perimeter by Hyden years ago. Beyond that lay dense forest only a madman would dare trek through.

Or fae guards with strict orders.

Squaring his shoulders before they could droop in defeat he turned to face his companion with a level stare.

"Give me two days."

-------

"Two more days? I thought the town was closer than that." Virgil irritably kicked a stone into the water, splattering the bottom of Roman's pants. They huffed in response, their frustration easily matching Virgil's as they shifted the pack on their shoulders.

"I said at most two more days, it might be sooner than that. We've never really been this far out before, which is a good thing but it means guessing the distance. Pouting isn't going to make it be any closer."

"Not pouting." Virgil pouted, crossing his arms before realizing what he was doing and angrily shoving them in his hoodie pockets.

Snorting with amusement Roman shifted the pack again before grunting and heaving it up and off their shoulder, immediately sagging in relief. Their burden was lifted further as Virgil tugged it out of their grasp and shouldered it easily, walking ahead while adjusting to the weight.

"Thank you."

"You were slowing us down. Somebody's gotta make sure we stay on schedule."

Roman squawked with indignation, jogging a bit to catch up with the emos longer gait. Their mouth thinned as they thought of how to bring up a concern they'd been thinking about for a while, gripping the straps of their pack tightly in apprehension.

"Alright. Spill it." They blinked as Virgil stopped, dropping both the packs and plopping down in the dirt.

"What?"

"Being anxious is my job and right now you're forcing me into unemployment. So either talk or I'm throwing you in the river."

"You do and I'm eating the last two cans of spaghettios tonight while you get nothing but croutons."

Virgil narrowed his eyes. "I fucking dare you to go through with that threat. You do not come between a man and the last can of shitty microwave pasta."

"I have the food pack."

"And I have the flint and steel so start talking before I decide to set you on fire instead of drowning you."

Unceremoniously flopping to the ground they let out an annoyed huff while shrugging off the back pack. "Fine. I've been thinking....that with this next town..maaaaybe finding another person or two to travel with would be in our best interests?"

The last half of the thought came out rushed and nearly incomprehensible but Roman could tell Virgil had heard them clearly as his face adopted a carefully neutral expression, hands twisting tightly in his lap.

"Roman..."

"I know! I know, I definitely get it. But, it would be easier to carry supplies and we could have more! We wouldn't have to stop in towns so much-"

"Roman."

"And it might be safer! More people means more weapons means more protection right?"

"Roman."

They shut their mouth in worry at the defeated tone Virgil had adopted. He twisted his hands tighter, hesitant to continue now that he actually could.

"Am I not....do you not feel safe enough with me?"

Roman sucked in a breath as they realized how Virgil had taken their concerns, rushing to try and fix it. "It's definitely not that! I-Virgil I'm so sorry that isn't what I meant at all!"

They leaned forward and began gently detangling his fingers from each other, holding them tightly once they finally managed it. "Anx it isn't like that. I honestly worry that you aren't safe enough with me. And once our load gets heavier with trading supplies we slow down and it never seems like we're on the road long enough before what little supplies we can carry run out. It was only a thought I wanted to discuss, not an attack on your skill as a fighter."

Their eyes met Virgil's and they breathed a sigh of relief when they were met with understanding, nonetheless continuing to rub soothing circles across his knuckles until he pulled away.

"I guess..." he glanced over at the near overflowing pack of trading goods. "I guess I can see that yeah. But I don't-Roman how can we trust anyone?"

"We probably can't. But we'll look anyway and if we don't find anyone then we don't find anyone. Just, keep an open mind?"

Crossing his arms Virgil looked away to stare out at the water instead, face drawn with apprehension. After a minute he ducked his head in defeat, nodding slowly and standing up. "Yeah. We'll keep a look out. But if we do find someone and after a while they start to act shady we drop them alright? No debate."

"No debate." Roman readily agreed as they stood as well. They began walking again, the silence much less tense than it had been all afternoon. Grinning a bit, Roman smacked their lips in thought. "With that delay it might be two and a half days now."

"Oh come on!"

This work and others are available on AO3!

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #deciet sanders #false writes #overgrown metal #janus sanders #dark fantsy #sanders sides au

[rough-n-randy-rando]

Edd and Flow, Day One

For a town that neither shrank nor grew noticeably, any business that had opened within the last five years was considered new. Java Hut was one of those businesses. About the size of two shipping containers stacked on top of each other and crammed between The Candy Store and Toomey's Tattoos, it was usually a busy place. The very first weekend of summer, with everyone having taken off like they were on the lam, it was almost completely empty.

There were only three people keeping the place warm: Eddward Vincent, known locally as Double-Dee; Barb; just Barb; and a trucker just passing through. Barb, Just Barb, 65-year-old owner of Toomey's, was taking her break and enjoying another romance novel she'd saved from the Goodwill. The Trucker was deeply contemplating the selection of doughnuts to pair with his pitch-black coffee. Eddward Vincent was behind the counter, offering helpful dietary and nutritional advice on each item in an attempt to help him make up his mind.

"I'm not a fancy guy, just something sweet, but not too sweet, gotta watch my weight." The trucker slapped his belly, which thumped like a drum, and laughed. "Ah, hell, gimme the Maple Bar, I'm treatin' myself."

"Excellent choice, sir, one moment." Double-Dee pressed a button and enjoyed the impressed look on the man's face as the doughnut was cycled on a conveyor belt and slid into a waiting paper bag, then lifted to the counter by a spatula/elevator device riveted to the display case.

"Now that's nifty, this from Japan or somethin'?"

"No Sir, it's a design of my own!"

"Well waddya know, we still make 'em smart here in the States after all." The man handed over a five and waved off the change. "Put it to college and remember me when ya win the Nobel or somethin'."

"Thank you, have a wonderful day."

After the trucker left, Barb whistled at Double-Dee and pointed to her lipstick-stained coffee mug. "Mind topping me off, Sugar, story's getting good and I'm remembering how old I am, need a jolt." As Double-Dee obliged her, she set her book down and looked him over. "You know, this town's dead as Tombstone and yet here you are slaving over an empty store." She took out a small compact and checked that her hair, grey with dyed black streaks, was still tied back and nothing was out of place. "Handsome, hardworking boy like you should be out making trouble, breaking girl's hearts; don't you have some doe-eyed cheerleader fawning after you somewhere?"

Double-Dee blushed and replaced the pot of coffee. "Yes, well, I'm set to graduate soon, and degrees sadly don't pay for themselves, Mrs. Sebastopol."

"Baby Doll, it's Barb, Just Barb."

"Mother told me to always refer to adults with respectful titles."

"Well I'm not your mother and I'm not royalty so just call me Barb."

Double-Dee sat at a stool near the end of the counter closest to Barb and smiled. "Alright, 'Barb'."

"See, wasn't so hard, not like your momma's gonna come through the door over there and start beating you with a wooden spoon or nothing."

"A very colorful scenario, 'Barb'."

Barbara pushed her winged-frame glasses up her nose, "You still didn't answer my question."

Again Double-Dee blushed and he gave a nervous laugh in response. "W-well, ah, I suppose I haven't… found the… right person."

"Gotta take time for romance, Darling. That's how I met my James." She leaned back in her chair and crossed her heavily tattooed arms. "Met him while he was on Liberty in San Francisco, Fleet Week, I was working at a diner called Pinecrest. He was with some of his buddies and at the border of drunk, saying he was the 'responsible one.' He was five-six, barely came to my chin, but he was all muscle, with hands like baseball mitts and a face like Gene Kelly. And that uniform, woof. Asked me out as he was carrying one of his buddies to the Cab."

The shop's door rung as it opened, ripping Double-Dee away from San Francisco, Pinecrest Diner, and the diminutive but immensely attractive Mr. Sebastopol. Kevin, dressed in a mechanic's coverall and his signature cap, halted a few steps in and seemed as though he suddenly wanted to leave. He'd come with the specific coal of 'casually' running into the dork, making as much small talk as possible with the dork, and being as close as possible to the dork. And now, he felt the urge to sprint home, and get as far away as possible from the dork.

"Oh hello, Kevin, forgive me I was hearing the most wonderful story."

Barb stood and drained her coffee in one big swig, inhaling sharply through her teeth afterwards, "Stuff's cold. My own damn fault." She pinched Double-Dee's cheek and gathered her things. "Should be getting back to work, stop bothering you with my memories." When she saw the disappointment on his face she checked her watch. "It's a slow day anyways, maybe I'll close up the shop and come bore you with the rest in an hour or so, how's that?"

"Please, 'Barb', I do not wish you to inconvenience yourself just for the sake of my curiosity."

"I own the damn place, nothing inconvenient about it." With that she took her leave, stopping at Kevin to give him a friendly punch in the arm. "And you, when are you coming back to finish up your work, eh?"

Kevin was glad it was the summer, that he was in a thick coverall, and that he'd just walked a half mile on a whim, because his new nervous sweat was easily masked by all the exertion. "Yeah, hah, great to see you too, Barb."

Barb gave him a quizzical look, then licked her thumb and wiped away a smudge of grease on his cheek. "Take a shower at some point today, Red."

And with that, Barb, Just Barb, made her exit, leaving the two with only open air and a cabinet full of doughnuts between them.

"Coffee!" Kevin blurted out, aware he sounded like he was trying to talk over someone. It was possibly his own thoughts both encouraging and dissuading him to do something, damnit.

Double-Dee jumped at the near-order and crossed to the machines, fretting and fumbling over the cups. "What size, wh-what kind?"

"Coffee?" His brain was screaming at him.

"Yes, Kevin, what kind, what size?"

"Hot… Hot Coffee. Sm... Medium."

Double-Dee calmed slightly, recovering from the surprise. "Is house blend fine?"

"House. Fine, finefinefine." His brain had stopped screaming because it was dead.

Double-Dee went about pouring a medium house coffee utilizing a set of hydraulic arms and claws that quickly, safely, and efficiently delivered the steaming-hot drink straight to Kevin, an accordion-style arm presenting it. "That'll be two dollars and fifty cents, please."

Kevin fumbled one-handed with his wallet and deftly dropped it to the floor as he pulled out a five. He stood there, coffee in one hand, bill in the other. Double-Dee cautiously walked around the counter and stooped to get Kevin's wallet. Kevin's body finally made some kind of connection to his mind and he stooped after as well, his chin meeting the back of the ravenette's head.

"Ouch!"

"Sorry, dude!"

Kevin instinctively brought his hands down to pull Double-Dee up, and accomplished slapping the other teen in the face with a five-dollar bill and spilling half of his piping-hot coffee on him as well. Double-Dee stood up abruptly and this time it was his head in the role of attacker, slamming Kevin's mouth shut with a loud CLACK as his teeth became reacquainted. Kevin was knocked off balance and fell backwards, causing him to grab at the air with his now empty hand, snagging Double-Dee's beanie. Double-Dee, with lightning reflexes, grabbed onto his hat and held for dear life, being pulled along, then down, with Kevin.

The two came to rest a coffee, grease and sweat-stained pile. Double-Dee's head was resting on Kevin's chest, and Kevin was holding onto the other boy like they'd just finished making love.

"You, uhm… you okay, Double Dweeb?" 'Yes, good, save face insult him AND ask after his well-being' his inner voice hissed.

"This has been a rather…" Double-Dee rose slightly and shifted into a sitting position, straddling Kevin, his hair disheveled and emerging from under his now wet hat, "… Interesting encounter."

Kevin felt blood rushing back to the brain in his head, as well as his other brain just below the waist. He heard the bell on the door ring and craned his head to see who had entered to witness his shame.

"You know it's against company policy to bang in the store on the clock, right?" Lee Kanker stepped over Kevin and made her way to the rear of the store, calling over her shoulder, "Double-Dee, clean that up will ya, I'm going to change."

Double-Dee looked at his watch, then at his coffee-stained clothes, and the coffee-stained floor, and the coffee-stained redhead he was mounted on. "Messy, messy, messy, these stains will be aggravating to remove." He stood and cautiously leaned over the counter to press a button, summoning a robot that looked like a filing cabinet crossed with a mop bucket that set about cleaning the ground, letting out an annoyed beep each time it found the way obstructed by a still prostrate Kevin. "Please get off the floor, Kevin, it's very dirty, then again I suppose you're rather messy yourself." He extended his hand.

Whatever mix of bravado, sheepishness, and utter stupidity had previously been rattling around inside him was gone, and now Kevin, neutral and defeated, took the offered hand and rose.

"Thanks for the Coffee." Kevin turned on his heel like the failed JROTC cadet he was and strode out, breaking into a dead sprint the minute his foot hit the sidewalk.

Lee came back and took a seat behind the counter, flipping through a Playgirl magazine and putting in headphones. "He had a hard-on."

Double-Dee spun around, his face turning crimson. "Excuse me!?"

Lee ripped out one of the pages and stuffed it in her bra, "Kevin, rock hard."

Double-Dee was speechless. He attempted some kind of response, smoothed out his soaked apron, tucked his loose, wet hair back under his hat, composed himself, and strode towards the rear of the store.

"Be proud, it's a compliment" she called after him, tearing another photo of a near-nude man out and putting him with his compatriot.

Meanwhile, Kevin, winded and his heart thudding in his ears, was about to turn back into the cul de sac when he tripped and gorilla-rolled across the sidewalk, coming to rest on his back. He laid there, staring up into the sun, wishing for it to burn him to a crisp, when a familiar face came into view.

"Kevin, why are you splayed like a fresh pelt on a tanning board, and why do you smell of a Peruvian/Chilean blend?"

"Rolf, bro, I couldn't tell you to save my life." He was pained at the truth in that. He was barely able to contemplate or come to terms with his own feelings, let alone begin to try and play out other people's reactions to them. "I just… I got it bad for someone."

"It? Bad? What, Worms? Rolf has cure for this pestilential malady! Come, we'll ferment some of Victor's milk and pickle a dozen of Gertrude's eggs, you'll be purged and fit enough to harvest an entire field in no time!" Rolf lifted Kevin up bodily and placed him on his feet. "You do not seem as though you are bothered by things which creep and crawl on your insides, tell Rolf your worry so that he may tailor a solution."

"I like someone, dude." It might have been the need to tell someone something, even if it wasn't everything; it might have been the dizziness from getting hit in and falling onto his head consecutively in the span of a few minutes; or it might have been the loneliness that went hand in hand with his recent thoughts, but he let fly. "I don't know why, or, I think I know why, but I don't know what to do, how to do it, you know what I mean?"

"No, Rolf does not understand this."

Kevin let out a sigh. "Forget it, man."

"Rolf does not understand this 'not knowing', this 'why.' If you feel the rustlings of the undergrowth of your heart you do not turn and run like some child without hair on their chest; you declare yourself to your desired, you build a home for them, and plant many a fertile seed so as to leave no doubt of your prowess and virility."

Kevin felt a second wind in him, his friend's words echoing in his head. "I don't know about the planting seeds and whatever but yeah, YEAH, that's what I'm gonna do."

"Ensuring a bountiful harvest is important to courtship, flat-end-of-bread Kevin, now you are saying things that Rolf cannot approve of."

Kevin embraced his friend and took off running back towards Java Hut.

"If you do have worms tell Rolf, he already has the milk and eggs!"

Back at the shop, Barb was engaged in commentary of the men in the magazine with Lee, Double-Dee emerging from the back clean and dry.

"There you are, I thought you'd changed your mind and taken off to avoid my story."

Double-Dee chuckled, feeling refreshed after he'd utilized his patented solo-shower kit. "I wouldn't miss the conclusion of your story for anything, 'Barb'"

"Oooh, juicy gossip?" Lee leaned towards Barb expectantly, Double-Dee sitting beside her at a respectful distance.

"Just talking about my James."

"I remember him, short guy, like my Eddy."

Barb sighed and nodded, reached into her purse and pulled out a much-loved photograph in a cloudy, plastic sleeve. She pulled the photo out and held it so they could see. Barb was young, thin, and naked, a yellow sundress thrown over her shoulder. Double-Dee blushed, Lee whistled. Besides her was a stocky, muscular man with his arms crossed and wearing only a smile, his impressive equipment on proud display. Double-Dee giggled nervously, and Lee nodded in approval. While Barb's skin was an empty canvas, James was a mosaic of Marine iconography, Catholic imagery and more than a couple Japanese geishas in demure and lewd poses.

"He gave me my first ink, our second date." She lifted her arm so they could see her armpit, a wide-hipped hula girl winking back at them. It had clearly gotten a few touch ups over the years, the most well-cared for tattoo out of her many. "The photo's from our first date, Baker Beach. He left for Vietnam a few days later and swore he'd kill anyone and anything to get back to me, even 'the poor bastard who makes the mistake of marrying you before me.' He was a romantic."

"Marriage, after a couple of dates?" Double-Dee was amazed.

"Did you not see what he was packing? I'd have married him on the spot." Lee let out a lecherous laugh and high-fived Barb.

Barb wiped away a tear, smiling at her photograph and other fond memories. "You just know. It's corny, it's old fashioned, but, we did, and so I think anyone can. Plus, he came back in one piece, so I knew he'd be tougher than anything that came our way."

"What happened to Mr. Sebasto… James?" Double-Dee winced as Lee smacked his shoulder.

"Cancer. Had to be something that mean to take my James down. The only thing he couldn't beat with his bare hands." Barb laughed and wiped her eyes again. "No I don't dwell on that. I had him, he was mine, not everyone gets that chance, that blessing."

The door to the shop didn't open so much as it exploded inward, the bell snapping loose as it rung. Kevin stumbled in, soaked to the waist in sweat, coffee stains still on him. Everyone in the shop stared at Kevin, but he only had eyes for, and on, Double-Dee.

"Kevin, you're in even shoddier a state than when you left, what happened!?" Double-Dee sprung from his seat and moved to Kevin, putting his hands on his shoulders and meeting his gaze, assessing him for heat injuries.

"Plant… fffffertile… seeeehhuuuuh." He didn't fall into Double-Dee's arms so much as collapsed into them, then onto him.

"Oh dear, not again." There was no helping it, the pair fell to the ground. "Some assistance, please?"

READ FULL STORY IN SEQUENCE HERE

#kevedd #fanfiction #slshfiction #ship #writting #prose

[soundofseventeen]

Funhouse (Vocal Unit)

Happy Sunday my loves!!! Thrillers aren’t my forte but I hope this is good enough!!! See y’all tomorrow!!! It’s almost 2K words so I’m proud of that!! -Bee

“Good news Y/N,” Joshua said happily, rinsing the thermometer and putting it away, “Your temperature is normal, and there’s no sign of you catching a cold, so you should be good for the fun house tonight!”

“It’s not a fun house; it’s a death trap.”

“Oh come on! It’s gonna be fun!”

“Unless you know, die of fright,” Junhui teased and high fived Jeonghan. “Don’t get cold feet now. You wanted to be a badass, and now you’re suffering the consequences. Hey hyung, get a picture for me.” Jeonghan flicked a finger gun at him and shot him a wink as he left the room

“You're all assholes,” you grumbled. It wasn’t too late to fake a stomach ache or throw yourself in front of a car or something to get you out of the horror fest with the vocal unit. But it was their last outing before they were leaving for a meeting or something for the 31st and if you didn’t do it now, it was until next year. It was either that or apologize for the prank. “Can’t we do something else like going to carve pumpkins or go to a fair or stay home and watch scary movies?” You crossed your fingers in hopes they’d change their minds so you wouldn’t go.

“What’s the fun in that?” Jeonghan smirked at you. You were positive that he could read your mind in that moment because he just kept staring at you, daring you to make an excuse to get out of this. “Now if you’re done being a baby about this, we can get going and then you can thank us for bringing you back alive.”

You took the poster from the fridge, rereading the words and letting the dread wash over you. “You’re taking me to the middle of nowhere where these assholes actually chase you and y’all would actually leave me to die, so nope. No thank you.”

*

“We’re gonna die!” You yelled hysterically,

“Y/N, we haven’t even gotten down yet,” Jihoon sighed, poking his ear probably to make sure you didn’t make him lose his hearing. “And it’s not even bad. Look, there are people taking their kids inside...wait, there’s a petting zoo next to it.”

“We’re in the middle of a cornfield right smack in the middle of nowhere with only a bunch arrows leading the way in and out. And not to mention the scarecrow looking fuckers watching and waiting.” You shuddered at the thought. “It’s something outta a horror movie where no one makes it out alive.”

“And no one will find our bodies,”Jihoon added boredly.

You blanched at the thought and Seokmin patted your shoulder a little too roughly to show you his concern. “Don’t sweat it. We got you.”

“No offense DK, but you’re the reason I’m here.” You peeked out the window and saw multiple people covering their eyes as their friends and loved ones either took pictures or offered words of comfort. There was even someone hugging a baby as a coping mechanism of the aftermath. “You know what? You guys go ahead. I’ll stay in here and play with the Tamagotchi we found.”

Jeonghan unlocked the door and Seungkwan pushed you out. “No, you wanted to play, and that’s exactly what we’re doing.”

“Is it too late for that sorry…”

“YES!” Five voices sang at you before Joshua spoke. “Okay, now everyone pick your partner.” He dove for Jeonghan before he finished his sentence and Seokmin reached for Jihoon which left you with arguably the loudest and most dramatic person in not only the unit but probably the entire group and by the way he pouted at you, you knew he wasn’t happy about getting last pick either. “I can always hold your hand if you get scared Y/N,” Jeonghan winked at you.

“Jeonghan, I’d rather get stabbed by the maniac that’s gonna be after us than hold your hand.” You pushed him away, momentarily forgetting your fear. “That goes for all of you.”

“Boo!”

“AH!” You cowered into said Jeonghan who merely snickered at you. “ Very funny asshole. Move.” The boys paid for their tickets, listening to the guy giving warnings about how the intensity of the haunted house how there was gonna be chases, and critters scattering about; ghosts and people yelling and where the emergency exits were. Then he wished you good luck and pointed out where to start. You gulped.

*

Your hand involuntarily found Seungkwan’s and if he wasn’t just as afraid, he would’ve snorted and given you hell. But the problem was you were in Hell. It started off easily enough. I mean there was a severed head with part of its skull showing warning, “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here,” and then you touched something right after (not that you could remember what it was) and almost yelled when you saw fake blood but refused to break so quickly, but a little whimper escaped and when Seokmin laughed at you, you smeared it across his face and he seemed just as surprised to feel something sticky on his face.

Your first room y’all went to you were seeing a child facing the corners of a wall, scratching them and seeing the marks he left. He was begging that was gonna he good and that he learned his lesson. Then he turned around and saw he was crying blood crying out for his mommy and that left you with chills and you cursed yourself for not bringing a sweater. The little ghost looking girl in the white dress was the one who had you screaming. She literally ran up to you, and started pulling on you and asking you if you wanted to play. And you shook your head frantically and that seemed to anger her, so she called for someone, tattling on you that you didn’t wanna be her friend and out came a lady with her hair all over her face screeching at you, her arm extended and she had grabbed you by the collar too and of course you were already like, “NO NO NO DON’T TOUCH ME.” and bolted out of there, forgetting about the boys and her screaming after you that you were gonna pay.

The next room had a surgeon doing an incision on a rabid dog who leapt off the table and jumped on Joshua who screamed and it triggered you so you yelled and fell on the floor, which made the dog forget about him and instead went to you. You tried to get up but the floor was too slippery so you couldn’t and your next option was to back away into the table which made him growl. This surprised the surgeon who noticed your presence and he grabbed you also by the collar and gave you a creepy grin sans teeth, muttering about how he could use you for his next experiment and the thunder clapping behind him as he cackled maniacally. As scared as everyone was, you’ve yet had to hear the boys, with the exception of Seungkwan who apologizing to his mother out loud and Seokmin who was on the phone telling Soonyoung he loved him. Joshua funnily enough had the dropping curse words response every time he jumped out of his skin; Jihoon was ready to throw hands and Jeonghan simply froze.

The next few places consisted of zombie looking people being chained to an inanimate object and reaching for everyone with a pulse; children running back and forth singing their nursery rhymes and flinging food at you; feeling various pets running across your feet and feeling like someone was watching you. (This thought didn’t help in knowing you were gonna be on your own for Halloween.) At one point you had gone to wash your face in the bathroom (where it actually reeked) to steady your heartbeat, when you figured that you pushed a button or moved something that set off something and when you looked at your reflection, you could see a hanging body with the hand trying to grab you and you running outside, only to run smack into DK. You babbled at them at what you saw and when they peered inside, they didn’t see anything and they proceeded to laugh at you until you repeated your movements and then it was their turn to scream when they saw the body. Seungkwan nearly gave you a heart attack with his screaming because it fell on him first.

“Just one more room and then we’re home free,” Joshua mumbled loudly enough for your group to hear. Unfortunately for you, it was the kitchen and you’ve seen far too many scary movies to know how that turned out. You let everyone else go first, hiding behind Seungkwan in case something popped out, it’d go for anyone else.

You were still in the hallway when you saw the dim lighting in the kitchen, and you heard the flies buzzing around. There was someone hunched over the sink, scrubbing away furiously at whatever was in their hand and muttering something you couldn’t hear but it was enough to spook you. He turned around without warning, and you saw he had dropped a knife on the floor, letting it clatter. “So,” he said in a raspy voice. “You like trespassin’, don’t ya?” He rhymically stomped on the floor. “Ya want me to show ya what happens when city folk like you go around entering people’s houses like ya own the place?” He whistled. “Get ‘em ya stupid boy. Don’t just stand there.” And just like that, a door opened and out came running another fella wielding a chainsaw. And. Running. Towards. You. The guys ran to the open door without thinking and you were right behind them until you tripped over a chair and fell. The guy with the chainsaw used that as an opportunity to grab you by the foot and drag you away from safety. You cried, screamed, begged for someone to help you but to no avail. He was about to drag you through the hidden door when you used all your strength on the leg he was holding to kick as hard as you could. He let you go after that and you got up as fast as you could, running towards the kitchen again. The guy who was washing the knife was blocking the entryway.

“Where do you think yer headed Pretty?” You screamed at that and pushed him as hard as you could, finally at the doorstep of safety and hearing him scolding the chainsaw guy for letting you get away. You saw the relieved look of the vocal unit, beckoning you to join them. You were almost out the door when you felt someone grab you from behind and pulled you back in. You jabbed them, and ran out, not looking to see who it was.

You caught your breath, the adrenaline not leaving you yet, but you felt as though you lived a hundred lives.

You screamed at first when you felt someone hugging you but you remembered everything in that house was make believe. “You assholes! You left me there.”

“What else could we do Y/N?! He grabbed you by your foot!!!” Seungkwan shot back. “Are you okay though? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“That was the longest night of my life. Please, let’s never do that again.”

“Agreed.”

“Shall we go once more?”

“No!”

“Fine, fine. Let’s go home.”

You took one look at the haunted house shaking slightly when you saw the dude who grabbed your ankle waving at you calmly through the window. He was holding a sign that read, “I’ll find you.” in a bloody scrawl. You shuddered.

“Christ,” Joshua mumbled, “they don’t fuck around here do they?”

You shook your head and turned around again. He was gone.

#seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fic #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan x reader #joshua hong #joshua x reader #lee jihoon #jihoon x reader #woozi #woozi x reader #lee seokmin #lee dokyeom #seokmin x reader #dokyeom x reader #boo seungkwan #seungkwan x reader #vocal unit #seventeen halloween #halloween special

[rainagainstmywindow]

All Shades of You (Chapter 5)

Happy Birthday to Percy Jackson! This is super fluffy so it commemorates the Percabeth anniversary as well too I believe. Thanks as always to my lovely beta @san-penedo and enjoy the small lifeguard!Percy i managed to sprinkle in there! (please search #ramwfics or #ASoY for previous chapters)

Percy groaned as he attempted to read the same passage of his history textbook for what appeared to be the hundredth time. The exhaustion that weighed over him thanks to swim practice two hours prior didn’t help either, nor the fact that he had to wake up early tomorrow for his dog-walking gig. He would have little time the rest of the weekend to catch up on homework since he’d taken on extra shifts at the local pool where he worked as a lifeguard to make up for what he couldn’t work during the weekdays now that he was in the swim team.

He got halfway through the passage once again but it was no use, the words just taunted him from the page, dancing around in weird, curvy waves. Frustrated, he slammed the book shut, immediately flinching at the sound. He hadn’t heard anyone come in but Smelly Gabe would give him hell for making any noise during his precious “TV time.” Percy slowly poked his head out of his room and was relieved to find he was home alone. His stepfather was probably out drinking with his buddies and his mom should’ve been heading home from the candy shop. He felt his phone buzz. It was a text from Sally.

Will probably get there in a few hours. Had to close up late and I stopped to get some groceries. Don’t wait up. Love you

Percy texted back a quick reply, knowing full well she was probably closing up but at a new job. She had not wanted to admit it when he’d asked, too concentrated on congratulating him for making the team, but this definitely put a strain on money. His school tuition had already been too much even when he was working more frequently. He wondered once again if this was worth it, if he was worth it. He knew his mom wanted him to have what she didn’t, to finish high school and make it out of this neighbourhood. But he’d only managed to screw up every chance he’d gotten so far, and college just seemed too out of reach. His stepfather seemed to agree with it all being a waste. I won’t waste a dime on your little delinquent kid, Sally! Percy had heard him and his mother arguing after she’d gotten Percy the interview at Goode. As if Smelly Gabe had ever contributed anything but anxiety to Percy’s life. He’d silently prayed he wouldn’t be allowed into the school, didn’t really see how considering his record and poor grades. But, somehow, he’d made it in.

He made his way into the kitchen and rummaged through the fridge. He’d made sure to have an extra large lunch but he had not eaten since practice and he was starving. Percy looked at the clock. 10:32 pm. He figured Beckendorf would be at his apartment, getting back from work himself. Last year he would alternate his time between practice and Beckendorf’s apartment. Most days Grover would join them and they would pass the time bothering Beckendorf about Silena or playing with Mrs. O’Leary. Yet another thing Percy had screwed up when he got himself kicked out. He slammed the fridge door too, this time flinching because he knew he couldn’t afford to break the old thing. It’s not like Beckendorf had stopped inviting him over. He’d even hung out there a few days ago. Percy just couldn’t help but feel guilty whenever he saw him.

In the end, his own boredom and frustration won and he found himself in front of Beckendorf’s door. Mrs. O’Leary must’ve heard him come because Percy could hear her barking through the door. A few seconds later there was Beckendorf staring down at him, still im his mechanic overalls. “Hey! Everything okay?” Percy didn’t miss how his dark eyes scanned his face. There had been a couple of times last year when he’d knocked on his door later at night looking worse for wear.

“Yeah,” he answered casually, “I just got bored. Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.” Beckendorf stepped aside, making sure to hold on to Mrs. O’Leary’s colar. The large Rottweiler had started bounding happily at the sight of Percy, who scratched her ears on his way in. Beckendorf knew Percy too well. “You hungry?” He asked as they shuffled into his living room/kitchen.

Percy tried not to look too embarrassed as he admitted: “I’m starving.”

************

“What?” Percy asked Grover for the second time. He’d been too focused on a scrawny kid flopping around in the pool in front of him to hear what his friend was saying. He’d seen the kid before, not the strongest swimmer but Percy could tell it was more due to lack of confidence than anything else. He’d seen him manage quite well in the shallower parts of the pool. Today it seemed like he’d finally decided to try out the deeper end though. The kid’s parents were nowhere to be seen, and Percy could see the panic starting to creep into his face as he realized the water was too deep to stand in. “I’ll be right back.”

Percy slid into the water. He didn’t want to make a scene since the kid wasn’t actually drowning and he wanted to give him a chance to get out of there by himself. The boy spotted him right away, relief evident in his face. Percy was tall enough to stand in this part of the pool so he made his way slowly towards him. “Hey there.” The kid didn’t make a dash to hold onto him so Percy knew hadn’t gotten too desperate, but the way he was flopping around would tire him out soon enough. “What’s your name?”  

The kid, looking mildly embarrassed, told him it was Trevor. Slowly but surely, Percy got Trevor to paddle to a shallower part of the pool. His parents finally made an appearance not soon after. “Hey ma’am,” Percy called. They were clearly here just to pick him up and they didn’t look too happy about it. The father hadn’t even looked up from his phone. “Is this your kid?” The mother, a woman that appeared to be blonde with unusually dark skin (through his limited color palette Percy assumed it was due to a bad tanning job), looked him up and down but didn’t find it within herself to answer. “I had to help Travis swim away from the deeper end of the pool. He’s not a strong enough swimmer yet for you to leave him on his own like-”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you complaining about doing your job?” The woman’s tone made Percy’s blood boil but he clenched his fists to keep his temper in check. He didn’t need any complaints going to his supervisor. He tried to apologize but the woman was too busy yanking Trevor out of the water to care. Percy tried to put on a fake smile as he waved goodbye to the kid and sulked back to his chair.

Grover looked distastefully at the spot where the woman had gone. “A plus parenting, huh?”

Percy rolled his eyes in agreement and slumped back into his chair. “What were you saying before?”

“Oh right,” Grover tried to calm his nerves, but he’d never been a good liar and Percy knew him pretty well by now. Grover was hoping to catch Percy in a good mood since he knew he wouldn’t like this next part very much. “Well, you know how you’ve been telling me you’ve been struggling with homework lately?”

That question alone was enough to hit a nerve. “I’m not struggling, Grover. I was just saying that I’m tired and I hate reading.”

“Yeah, well I was talking to Annabeth-” Grover held up a pleading hand before Percy could interrupt him- “She’s really smart, Percy! She could help you out after school!”

“Why did you have to tell her anything? I don’t even know her!”

“I didn’t tell her anything about that!” Grover argued. He knew it was hard for Percy to talk about people about his dyslexia and ADHD; he wouldn’t betray his trust like that. Little did Percy know, however, that Annabeth was in the same boat. “I just told her you needed some help with some subjects because I know she’s really good at all that stuff and she actually volunteered herself to tutor you.” It had taken Grover aback a bit actually. Annabeth was nice and always there to help, but she didn’t take on to new people right away. Grover hadn’t gotten the impression that she disliked Percy, but it usually took her a lot longer to show interest in new people. The only other person he knew she’d gotten along with right away was Thalia. Now that Grover thought about it, Percy and Thalia did have a lot in common, though.

“Tutor me?” Percy was looking thoroughly annoyed, eyes fixed on the water before him.

“She’s not going to charge you or anything,” Grover winced at his own comment. It was hard to manage Percy’s temper around this subject. He hated feeling pitied and wasn’t big on asking for help. “She’s just trying to help and she’s new here. She doesn’t know many people besides me and Thalia.” Percy sighed. “She’s the smartest person I know, Percy. I trust her. You met her. She’s cool.” Grover could tell he was going to give in. He knew Percy was worried about keeping his grades up. His swim coach had let him on the team under the condition that he would get his GPA up enough to get out of probation from the school. Grover was also secretly excited about his two best friends possibly becoming friends themselves.

“Fine,” Percy finally said, bringing his whistle up to his lips at the sight of a group of small girls chasing each other. He gave one firm blow and pointed at the sign that read No Running when they both whipped their heads towards him. “I’ve got some free time on Monday after practice.”

*************

Annabeth tapped her pen impatiently against the table she’d settled in at the library. It didn’t help her temper that today she found out that this same pen, which she’d been using since the beginning of the semester, was bright red. The color of romance, her father had once jokingly told her. And danger, Annabeth now thought. Yeah, that seemed more accurate in her case.

The guy was almost an hour late. She was about to give up when she heard what sounded like a chair being knocked over, a loud hush, and a quick apology. A few seconds later, there was Percy Jackson. His hair was still wet from what she assumed was swim practice and he was holding a battered skateboard under his arm. Annabeth was once again struck by the intense green of his eyes. She thought she’d gotten used to the color after seeing it everywhere for the past couple of weeks, but it still floored her. There was nothing else that was that exact shade of green.

“You’re late.”

He at least managed to look guilty as he pulled a chair out noisily, earning him a death glare from the librarian at the desk. “I know. I’m so sorry. We ended late and the subway broke down or something.”

Annabeth would’ve shrugged that off as a half-assed excuse but every time she’d gotten on the subway that week it had stopped for almost an hour. Percy also had a very sincere way of saying things that kind of put her on edge. She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Did you bring your book?” He pulled a history textbook from his battered backpack. She tried to ignore the fact he’d dogeared the page. “Fall of Constantinople, right?”

“Yeah.” She could tell this whole ordeal embarrassed him a little. It was becoming harder and harder to remember she was annoyed at him. “I just...can’t seem to understand why this city was so important. From what I managed to extract from the other chapter, it seems like this whole empire was already done for.”

“I mean it was certainly in decline, and the Ottoman Turks had taken the Balkans and Anatolia by this point. So that made Constantinople the last city holding up what used to be this seemingly unbreachable empire.” Annabeth saw Percy nodding along and jutting down some notes. There was no other way to call it, it was cute. “Constantinople also represented Mehmed’s rival religion.”

“Wait, so he tried to take it again? This Meh...however you say his name? He’d already tried before, right?”

“No, that was his dad.” Annabeth leaned closer to the passage Percy was looking at. He pushed the book towards her so she could get a better look. The font was so tiny that Annabeth almost got dizzy. It would’ve taken her almost an hour to decipher just one paragraph. She pushed the book back towards him, hoping he hadn’t noticed. Thankfully, she had always been good at remembering names and they’d gone over this in her school in San Francisco last year. “Murad was the one who failed to take the city and then his son Mehmed tried again and succeeded. He got this Hungarian artillery expert, Urban I think he was called, to build him a cannon powerful enough to take down the walls of the city.”

“Sorry, could you spell that last name?”

Something about the question made Annabeth falter for a second. Percy appeared to understand most of what they were talking about. It was the names that seemed to stump him. It sounded a little familiar. “Sure.” Annabeth spelled the name out for him and she watched him make some new notes. She thought about how Grover never failed to bring up Percy one way or another when she complained about homework assignments. “Once Mehmed seized the city he used the emperor’s famed cathedral as a mosque. I can’t remember the name though. Is it in your book? I don’t know if they’d want you to know it for class.”

Annabeth observed as Percy scanned the page; she could practically feel the frustration oozing off of him. She was absolutely certain her suspicions were correct when she saw him push the book a bit far away, a trick she herself had tried many times. “Hey Percy,” he grunted in response, still absorbed in the textbook, “are you maybe...dyslexic?”

She felt him tense right away. Grover hadn’t told her for a reason, it was clearly a touchy subject for him. Annabeth was grateful that Grover had also clearly failed to tell Percy about her. “I just think that’s why Grover brought all of this up.” He was now looking at her, a complicated look on his face, like he didn’t know whether or not he should be getting offended. “It’s just that,” it had always been hard for her to talk about it too. It was like a cosmic joke for someone that loved reading so much to be made in a way that made it almost impossible to do so. “I am too, dyslexic I mean. Just looking at that book just now made me want to throw up.” His expression immediately softened. Annabeth noted the way he could easily go from one emotion to another. “That font size is awful.”

“I know right. And it’s and older edition so it doesn’t have an audio version.”

“I think I still have one for my textbook last year. I don’t know if it has everything in this one but-”

“No, yeah. That’d be great! I mean if you don’t mind-”

Annabeth chuckled, definitely cute. “I don’t, Percy.”

He thanked her once again and they finally exchanged numbers. They got through the main events of Constantinople. Annabeth remembered everything pretty well and Percy took notes. She felt light as a feather the whole time. She tried to ignore it. It’d never been this way with anyone she liked in the past. Her crush on Luke had been anything but light. Being with Percy was just nice. She didn’t know about the whole ‘soulmate’ ordeal, she didn’t even know if she liked him that way really, but she definitely wanted to hang out with him again.

An hour later he casually checked his phone and almost jumped off his chair, earning him yet another glare from the librarian. Annabeth tried to mask her snort as a cough. “Sorry,” he said quickly. He turned to Annabeth. “I have to go. Are you free Thursday?” She was pretty sure she would be but she’d have to check. She could tell he was in a hurry though so she told Percy she’d text him. “Thanks again! See you then.”

Annabeth smiled silently to herself as Percy hurried out of the library, bumping into several chairs and failing beautifully at making a quiet exit. Her smiled melted when she looked down at the pen she was still holding. Bright red.

#ramwfics #ramwfic #ASoY #ASoY chpt 5 #percabeth #percabeth fluff #percy jackson #annbeth chase #lifeguard!percy #grover underwood #happy birthday percy! #pjo #hoo #soulmates!au #color!au

[eponymous-rose]

Fic: What Seas What Shores (Pike Trickfoot | T | 2600 words)

[AO3 | FFN]

Pike, aboard Broken Howl.

What Seas What Shores

Quis hic locus, quae region, quae mundi plaga?

Pike Trickfoot once died in a dark room, too far down to see the sky. Some part of her, she thinks, has never forgotten.

It's quiet on the deck of Broken Howl, which really just means she's getting used to the sound so it doesn't seem quite so loud: the creaking of wood, the flapping of sails, and above it all the whistle of the keen wind that sprays salt and cold in her face, that knots her newly white hair into a hopeless tangle, that steals her breath and steals her words and carries them back and back and back.

She squints up at the stars, but they're half-concealed by a faint dusting of cloud; the crew assures her it'll mean days of stormy weather ahead, and she's trying, really she is, to maybe not look quite so excited at that prospect. She knows that the sky and the sea both stretch to a comfortable vastness in a storm, impossibly far removed from cramped chambers where the heavy stench of blood once hung in the air.

Rolling her shoulders against a barrage of unfamiliar aches and pains, she starts her nightly stroll fore and aft, fore and aft, a little self-conscious about her imperfect imitation of a sailor's rolling gait, a little self-conscious about how long it takes her, how silly she feels to be walking without purpose. The crew keep any snide remarks to themselves, or look at her fondly as she passes, which is even more embarrassing. Pike continues her walk, fore and aft, fore and aft, until she's starting to breathe a little heavy, until she counts each breath, each heartbeat. Wonders how many breaths she lost that night, how many heartbeats. Wonders how many she gained.

It's tight quarters on Broken Howl, and she knows at least some of the crew's noticed her scar: wicked and puckered and by no possibility survivable, livid against her midsection and stretching, greedily, all the way around to her spine. She knows because an older elven deckhand, with hair the color of night and skin weathered like old ashes, once tugged down their own tunic to reveal a deep sunburst scar across their throat and chest, then drew her near and kissed her on the forehead and said nothing for a very long time while Pike murmured how sorry she was that this happened to them, that it looked like it hurt so bad, that it must have been so scary. The elf said, finally, "We are all alive here," and Pike smiled uncertainly and said goodnight and lay awake staring at the overhead, picturing the sky above.

And as she lay awake that night and stared, the thought became a mantra, if not yet a certainty. We are all alive here.

And now Pike breathes, and counts her heartbeats, and paces.

"You're very good at this," the boatswain tells her as she rebandages the wound on his shin. The infection's already subsiding, but she's not willing to consider him completely out of the woods. Even a small scratch has a distressing tendency to get worse before it gets better, out here. He's pale and sweating and clearly has a thing about the sight of blood, but he grins at her from behind his bushy dwarven beard. "Extremely good."

Pike shrugs. "Oh, well, you know. You pick some stuff up, here and there." The glow along her hands fades, and she rubs at the lingering tingle in her fingertips.

"Here and there," he says, and she sees the shape of the question on his lips before the wind pulls it away. He shakes his head, instead, and says, "Thanks."

She slaps him on the shoulder, a little harder than she maybe should've, but she can't help it if her muscles keep remembering a much more solid mass. "Hey, it's nothing. You owe me an ale next time we make port."

"Gonna be out here a while," he says. "But I'll hold you to it if you're serious."

"Oh, I'm always serious about ale." She leans back in her chair until her spine gives a satisfying crack; it seems to stiffen up these days whenever she stays in one place too long. "You really didn't have anyone doing this kind of thing before?"

The boatswain rolls his pant leg down with a wince, then stands, putting weight experimentally on the bad leg. "Yeah, I mean, we've had medics. Even a doctor, once. But I guess it's a bit of a weird thing when the only people you patch up are your crew, you know? If you're a medical type on a ship, you're the one who has to watch the closest thing you got to family bleeding or puking or crying 'cause it hurts too much. So they usually head out on their own before too long. Easier to handle that kind of thing with strangers."

Pike swallows, hard, and says, "I guess I could see that."

He smiles too-big into the silence that follows, and runs a hand through his beard, picking out knots tied by the wind. "You'll stick around a while, though, yeah? I can tell you've got the adventuring bug. And we're miserable fucks who spend half our time ignoring you, so you probably don't have to worry about getting too attached."

"Right," she says, and laughs. "Guess I'm probably okay, then."

"I think," she whispers to her holy symbol, sitting alone on her bunk with her knees drawn up to her chest, "that I would like to go to war for you."

She waits, politely, for a godly reply, and when none is forthcoming, she says, "I've given it a lot of thought, and I understand the value of redemption and second chances. Maybe a bit more now than I ever did before. And for me, I think, that means being angry for a while."

And then she's quiet again, listening to the creak of the bulkheads. No reply. "All this is to say that I think that I would like to go to war for you. I think I would like that very much. So just, I don't know, I guess stop me if you think that's not the way I should go."

Alone in the dark, she watches her holy symbol for some sign, any sign, of acknowledgement, then tucks it up under her pillow and goes to sleep.

Pirates are a fact of life on the Ozmit Sea, even for a prize as lackluster as Broken Howl, and Pike's begun to learn when to worry and when to trust in the skill of the deckhands and the crew and her own weapons and spells and cunning to carry the day.

Today the pirates have attacked in the middle of a raging storm, fighting with a horrifying wildness that speaks to their desperation and futility, and Pike is very, very worried.

"Pike!"

She turns, nearly losing her footing on a deck slick with water and blood, and scrabbles toward the sound of the voice, drawing on her dwindling stores of divine energy to light up a half-orc's cutlass in the instant before he swings it down on one of the younger deckhands, giving him enough warning to roll out of the way with a yelped thanks. She's breathing hard now, feeling the pinch of her armor against a glancing scrape left by a crossbow bolt along the join between her shoulder pauldron and her chestplate, but she's breathing, and some part of her is counting off each breath.

The deck bucks beneath her feet, and she feels her stomach lurch, a betrayal of months of training against seasickness, but manages to keep both her footing and her lunch as the sea rises ominously around her. A halfling is drawing his sword free from the guts of the coxswain, who crumples soundlessly to the ground, and Pike lunges, swinging her mace, roaring her terror and frustration and anger like a battle cry. It connects with a force that jars her arms right up to her shoulders, and her fingers flash pain before a tingling numbness takes over. She nearly drops the mace when the halfling's body crumples, has to yank it free and stumble back, gasping for breath.

She's just about to move forward and check on the coxswain when the mast swings into the side of her head and slams her into the deck.

We are all alive here.

She stays face-down for a long while, breathing bubbles into the bloody water around her head, and wonders if this is what it felt like, if this is the moment that's been missing from memory: choking, slowly and helplessly, on the blood and the cold, waiting impossibly long for the void to finally consume her.

But it doesn't consume her, and so eventually she reaches back to the blood matted in her hair and focuses on flesh and bone knitting back together, and she rolls onto her hands and knees, and she looks up to see the coxswain, dead on her back, her staring eyes fixed just over Pike's left shoulder.

Pike fumbles into the pouch at her side, sprinkles diamond dust across the young woman's chest, mouths the words once before speaking them out loud, just to be sure. The surge of power aches, heavy and warm like a smothering blanket, and when the coxswain coughs and grabs at the still-bleeding wound in her gut, when she looks at her in that first wounded moment of bewildered betrayal, Pike says, softly, "I know. I'm sorry. You're all right."

Then the shock kicks in, and the coxswain laughs, high-pitched and nervous, and Pike eases her up to a sitting position and sets to work stopping the bleeding, moving quickly, mechanically. "That was amazing," she says. "You're quite a healer."

She doesn't realize, Pike knows, that she'd stopped living for a few seconds in there. Pike could tell her, but she wouldn't believe it except for when the nightmares of some vast and fathomless depths finally started to haunt her. Instead, Pike finishes a rudimentary healing spell—her stores are nearly spent—to slow the blood flow down to a trickle, then claps her on the shoulder and staggers to her feet to rejoin the battle and the storm.

She drinks often with the crew, out on the deck at night with an impossibility of stars wheeling overhead. The ale's atrocious, the conversation's far from scintillating, but there's something about the slow, rocking weave of the ship between waves and sky that makes everything seem bigger, more significant. Meaningful.

She's had a little more to drink than usual, and she's talking semi-coherently to anyone who'll listen about Emon, about pain and death and fighting, about the feeling of solid metal in her hands and the satisfaction of breaking and remaking. "It's good," she says. "It's complicated, but it's good."

One of the younger deckhands is sitting crosslegged next to her, and when Pike's story of the battle with the Dread Emperor stumbles to a close, she says, softly, "Did you ever see Her?"

Pike blinks her blearily into focus: a smiling, earnest human with short black hair. "Who, Sarenrae?"

"Maybe? I don't know. I was horribly ill as a kid, and I remember seeing a dark shape standing at the foot of the bed during the worst of it." The girl shrugs, drawing her knees up to her chest. "My grandpa saw the same thing, before he went. He said She was terrifying and terrible. I thought She looked sad."

Pike exhales heavily and rubs at the incipient hangover lurking between her eyes. "I don't know. Maybe. It all gets a little weird." Her wandering gaze fixes on the coxswain, sitting quiet and pensive near the helm, hair like a dark halo in the moonlight, and she says, "Hey, I'm gonna be right back."

It takes her three tries to get to her feet, but she manages to stumble over to her with some semblance of purpose, and the woman looks up to watch her approach. "Hi," Pike says. "You're being real quiet."

She shrugs. "Just thinking."

"Okay," says Pike, and, seeing no other options, sits on the deck. "Just thought I'd come over and say hi."

A faint smile flashes across the coxswain's face. "Well, you've done that very well."

"Thank you. I try." Pike picks at some loose splinters of wood beneath her, a souvenir of a sword slash during the battle. "It's not easy, is it?"

The coxswain frowns. "What?"

"That's right," Pike says, and attempts a wink that nearly makes her topple over. "I mean, that's what's what. You know what I mean."

"I really don't know that I do."

"Dying," Pike says, and the word makes her lips more numb than the bottle of whatever it is the deckhands have dredged out of storage this week. "Or I guess living. That one's the hard one because you have to decide to do it. The other one just kind of happens."

"Uh-huh," says the coxswain, dejectedly, then says, "Um," as Pike starts wrestling with the process of pulling her tunic out from where it's tucked into the waist of her trousers.

"No no no, I'm not trying to-" Pike says, and finally forces her fumbling fingers into some semblance of dexterity. She pulls her tunic up enough to show off the horrific scar along her midsection, watches the coxswain stare. "I get it. Okay? So I guess I just wanted to say it's okay to be angry about it. Do what you have to if it means you actually wake up for a while."

The coxswain's smile twists, goes all sad, but she takes a deep breath and nods. "You're leaving soon, aren't you?"

Pike sighs, lying back on the deck to stare up at the dizzying trails of the stars. "Next time we dock at Emon." When the coxswain doesn't say anything in response to that, Pike rolls onto her elbows and looks up at her. "It's just, you know, my friends are all back together, and I miss them, and—"

"You don't need to make excuses." She smiles. "I'm happy for you. You seem a little more sure-footed than you did when you first came on board. Uh. Figuratively speaking."

"Figuratively," Pike repeats happily, enjoying the way the word rolls off her tongue. "Hey, you know what? We're all alive here. Every one of us. And second chances are worth fighting for."

The coxswain smiles, fondly, and this time it doesn't feel all that embarrassing. "You've been a great help, Pike. Thank you."

"You too. All of you. Thanks." Pike yawns. "I'm gonna bunk up here tonight."

"On the deck?"

"My best friend growing up wasn't a big fan of sleeping indoors. I'm used to it." She grins, flopping back, spread-eagled, on the wooden slats of the deck. "I like being under the stars."

She yawns again, looks up at the sky, and listens to her breathing and the thrum of her heartbeat. They seem quieter, now, which really just means she's getting used to the sound.

Her holy symbol is a cool, metallic weight over her heart, a reminder of all things that pull down and down toward the center of the planet, toward darkened chambers that reek of blood. A second chance, she thinks, comes with the responsibility to face that darkness again, this time with the full knowledge of what lurks within it. There's something terrible and wonderful about that.

"I'm ready," she says, softly, not really caring who hears her, and lets the ocean and the stars and the ship rock her softly to sleep.

#critical role #pike trickfoot #eponymous fic 2017

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Half Blood, Whole Heart: Part 5

Pairings: Jax x Reader, sister Winchester!reader- SOA/SPN Crossover

Warnings: Swearing, fluff. lots of angst, character injury….. John being the typical father of a daughter... IDK... if you’re offended, sorry not really

Word Count: 4,390

A/N: So I decided to repost my novel- the story that someone stole from my old blog and put up on Wattpad. PLEASE don’t be an asshole and steal my stories. It CRUSHED me when it happened and almost ran me off Tumblr.

Half Blood, Whole Heart Masterlist     Aesthetic by @ravenangel33​

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Maybe he’s giving us the rest of the week off to go to the cabin early.” Jax suggested as he carried you on his back across the parking lot toward the garage. The two of you had been guessing all morning on what Clay had in store for you.

“Yea right. I still vote pay raise.” Jax shook his head as he set you down in front of the office door.

“Time to find out.” He rapped his knuckles on the door twice before swinging it open. You made it two steps into the door before you froze. Frozen on the CCTV monitor was you, Jax, Sam and Dean standing around the open trunk of the Impala with every gun Dean owned on display.

“Didn’t think I’d find out about it?” Clay asked. You couldn’t take your eyes off the heartbroken look on Sam’s face as you took a half step back.

“Clay, this is my fault. I told them…” Jax started and you shook your head and took ahold of his arm and looked at Clay.

“No, this is on me. Sam’s house burned down this weekend and Jess was inside when it happened. That’s where I was this weekend; trying to help out where I could…”

“Jess was inside?!” Gemma gasped. You nodded as a couple tears slipped from your eyes. “Oh honey.” She said as she jumped up from her chair to wrap you in her arms. “Do they know who did it?”

“They have an idea. (Y/N)’s brothers were on their way to Colorado to follow a lead. I told them since Sam had lost everything he had in the fire they could stay for a few hours to rest since they are now family.” Gemma kissed the top of your head and pulled back to look at you.

“I am so sorry, honey.”

“As am I. Jess was a good girl; but that is not why I’ve called the two of you in here.” Clay said. Gemma sat back down in her chair as he pointed to the Impala’s trunk. “The false bottom; who did that?” He inquired as he looked over at you. Your brow furrowed as you wiped your tears away and sniffed.

“Umm… an old family friend designed it for my dad, originally but Dean went back when he got the car and reenforced it.” Clay nodded as he pointed at the chair across the desk. You quickly sat down on Jax’s knee as Gemma handed you a cigarette.

“Becoming the old lady of the VP of the club comes with its perks. You are now privy to a little more detail of what goes on behind closed doors at church. And this…” he said as he gestured to the car “could not have come at a better time for us. We have a shipment of guns coming in Sunday morning. I need something like this to get them to the warehouse.” You nodded slowly as you looked up at the TV screen.

“Do you have cars already that I can use? And what kinda weight are you talkin’?” You asked as you offered Jax your smoke.

“No to the cars and this shipment is little over four dozen unassembled .223 cal Bushmaster AR-15’s.” You whistled in shock at the idea and nodded your head.

“You need two cars for that kinda weight. Put all that in one and you’re driving dead. You need them done by Saturday at the latest.” You said, thinking out loud and Clay nodded. You shrugged. “Well, since you don’t have cars already, that same old family friend who made that box owns a scrap yard and auto shop in South Dakota. Cash only and it’s far enough away that they couldn't be traced between you and him. He’d help me out; guy is like a second father to me.”

“Take Juice with you with the flat bed and get on the road.” Jax nodded and pat your thigh and you hopped up. After quick goodbyes to Gemma, the two of you left the office and headed for the dorms.

“So much for the cabin this weekend.” Jax said. You blanched and looked over at him.

“Cabin…? Baby, what the hell just happened?” You asked with a laugh. He smirked and looked at you as he held the club door open for you.

“Perks of being my old lady.” You heard someone give a weak, half drunken cheer and you laughed as you headed for your room.

“Yea, well if my dad finds out about this he’s gunna kill me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well I’ll be damned. If it isn’t my sweet little, (Y/N).” Bobby said as you stood on his porch late the next afternoon. You tilted your head and smiled at him as you shoved your hands in your back pockets; suddenly grateful that it was cold enough in South Dakota in October to be able to wear a hoodie to cover your ink.

“Hey, Bobby… sorry for just showing up. I would have called but I couldn’t get ahold of Dean to get your new numbers.”

“You never have to call to come here. Fact, I wish you and your idjit brothers would come around more often.” He held open the screen door for you and you smiled as you and Jax headed inside. “So to what do I owe the visit?” He asked as you headed into the living room. You sighed contently as you looked around the very familiar house.

“New job. I got out little over a year ago and got a job at a shop in Charming, California. Fell in love with this fool here.” You said as you gestured to Jax. “Bobby, I’d like you to meet Jax Teller. Babe, this is Bobby Singer; the man who taught my dad how to hunt, our occasional babysitter growin’ up, and my other dad.” The two men shook hands before the three of you sat down. You bit back a smile as Bobby’s eyes darted over the patches on the front of Jax’s kutte. After a moment, he looked back over at you.

“I heard from John you just up and ran away.” Bobby said as his brow furrowed. You leaned forward and shook your head.

“Bobby, you knew as well as I did I wasn’t cut out for this shit. I am nothing like dad and the boys. I had an out and I took it. Did I go about it poorly? Yea, maybe but I did what I needed to and it turned out to be one of the best decisions I could have made for myself.” The older man nodded slowly as he pursed his lips.

“He hasn’t talked to you since, has he?” You shook your head.

“Dean didn’t until Friday either. Dad won’t talk to me or Sammy anymore and now we can’t find him. Dean and him hunted together for a while but he took a woman in white case in Jericho a few weeks back that the three of us had to finish and he’s been gone ever since. His phone is shut off and everything.”

“He’s chasin’ the thing that got Mary…”

“The one that got Sam’s girlfriend same way.” You said over him and Bobby blanched.

“Balls. How’s Sam?” You shook your head slowly as Jax put his hand on your lower back.

“Not good. He’s on a war path; dropped out and blew off an interview for law school. I haven’t heard from him yet today but I know dad sent them to Colorado for a case.” You watched Bobby’s eyes dart almost questioningly toward Jax and you put a hand on his knee. “He knows. He got the whole life story the other night. I trust him.”

“My guess is it’s a wendigo.” He said as he got up and headed into the kitchen. Your brow furrowed.

“A wendigo this far west?” He nodded as he brought back three beers. “That’s unheard of.” Bobby shrugged as he flopped back down in his chair, sending little wisps of dust into the air.

“Yea, well it’s my guess.” You took a sip of your beer and looked down at the bottle with a small shake of your head.

“Have you heard from my dad?” Bobby stayed quiet for a moment and you looked up at him.

“He’s safe. I… uhh… I talked to the idjit couple days ago.” You sighed and shook your head as hurt and anger coursed through your veins.

“So he can call you but he can’t be bothered to call his kids. Typical John fucking Winchester right there.”

“Awe, c’mon, (Y/N). You know it’s not like that.” You huffed and leaned back against the couch.

“Unfortunately Bobby, it is like that. It’s been like that my whole life and you know it. Mary’s killer then his kids.” You took a swig of your beer as Bobby shook his head but before he could say anything else, you sat back up and got to business. “Look, it doesn’t matter. He wrote me off last year. I ain’t losing any sleep at night over it anymore, but talking about my dad’s poor parenting choices isn’t why we came up here. I actually need your help with some cars.” Bobby laughed and gestured toward the window behind you.

“Car’s I got. What do you need ‘em for?” You bobbed your head to the side.

“Better you don’t ask questions.” You watched him take a deep breath and you once again cut him off before he could say anything. “I need two, drivable cars and I need to get false bottoms in them and get them back to Charming by Saturday. Figured we could use the plans you had for the Impala, use what we can from the lot here and we’ll pay cash for anything we take.”

“Girl, what are you getting yourself into?” You gave him a weak smile and shook your head.

“Nothing I can’t handle. I’m just a mechanic that works in a shop with an odd request from her boss.” Bobby looked at you and you could see a slight look of sadness and disappointment in his eyes before he turned to Jax.

“You get this girl in trouble and you answer to me, boy; we clear?”

“Yes sir, but you don’t need to worry. She’ll always be protected.” Bobby glared at him for a moment before shaking his head and turning back to you.

“Alright, take what you need. You know your way around the yard.” You smiled and stood up to give him a hug.

“Thanks Bobby. You’re the best.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Juice, hand me that torch.” You said as you tossed the last section of fabric out of the trunk of the Ford Aspire you were working on the next afternoon.

“What, you gunna catch this place on fire?” He teased as he handed it over to you. You glanced up at him as you pulled off the flannel you were wearing and tossed it at your friend as you sparked the torch up.

“I’m gunna torch you if you don’t get your ass to work helpin’.” He laughed as you started cutting slots in the bottom to add support beams for the weight of the guns.

“I am helping. I’m making sure you and Jax stay on target.”

“You better listen to my old lady and get to work.” Jax called out from under a Dodge Spirit he had found. Juice let out a little cheer and you smiled as you cut the torch off. You grabbed the rubber mallet and knocked out the pieces you cut and grabbed your first support beam.

“Still like the sound of that.” You called out as you laid the beam across the floor of the trunk.

“Did I not raise you better than that?” The sound of your dad’s voice made your blood run colder then the cool air that was blowing through the open doors. You stood up straight and walked around the back of the car to see your dad standing at the opening of the garage.

“Dad? What are you…?”

“No, better question is what are you doing?” He demanded. “I get a call from Bobby yesterday saying my little girl shows up on the back of a motorcycle with some punk asking about cars with false bottoms.”

“Dad stop.” You said as you headed toward him. You saw Jax sliding out from under the car he was tuning up and you started to pray that there wouldn’t be a fight. John shook his head.

“No, you stop. I gave you a good life and you throw it away for some guy you don’t even know.”

“She has a good life now with me and my family.” Jax jumped in and you side stepped between him and your dad.

“Stay out of this boy. This is between me and my daughter.”

“A daughter you stopped talking to a over year ago because she made the choice not to bounce from motel to motel with you to fight a fight that wasn’t hers anymore.”

“Jax, stop. I got this.” You tried as you put your hand on his chest. He shook his head as he gently grabbed your wrist.

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Dad, will you please, just stop for a second.” You begged but John simply ignored you.

“I’m the man who has been taking care of her for the last year when you refused to talk to her because she didn’t agree with your lifestyle.”

“Oh, because hunting is so much worse than being in a fucking biker gang!”

“Juice, get him out of here!” You shouted over the men. Juice came running and shoved Jax toward the lot as you tried to push your father away from the man you loved.

“What the hell are you thinking, (Y/N)?” John shouted as his eyes followed the two men into the yard. “How could you think that that is a better life choice for you?”

“How could I not?!” You screamed back as you took a step back. “Dad, I spent my whole life traveling across the US, living in fucking motels, bouncing from school to school with almost no parental supervision or friends for that mater. I mean for Christ’s sake Dean raised me; not you! Then when I started hunting with you, I got arrested at least once a month, I committed felonies every single day and I broke more laws then I care to even think about. With Jax? I have a steady job as a mechanic that pays really good money, I don’t get arrested, I don’t break the law, I have the same roof over my head every night… tell me how being with him is so much worse.” He stayed quiet for only a moment as his eyes fell from yours… and straight onto Jax’s name tattoo across your heart. You watched his rage flare in his eyes as he glared at you.

“You let him BRAND YOU!” He roared. You didn’t even have time to stop him as he stormed around you toward Jax. You spun around as John stalked up to him.

Your stomach turned as your dad got a halfway decent punch in. As Jax pulled back to swing, you finally reacted. You ran into the garage to where Jax had tossed his kutte and pulled the gun he always carried out of the pocket. You sprinted out into the yard, pointed the gun away from the house and the men and fired.

“ENOUGH!” You screamed as you stormed toward the men who had found themselves on the ground in a mess of blood and limbs. You aimed the gun at both of them and scowled. “Jackson, walk it off.” Your boyfriend shoved away from your dad and headed into the garage with Juice on his heels. You kept the gun pointed at your dad and you shook your head at him.

“How can you sit there and ask me if you raised me better than being called someones old lady when you have been avoiding your kids for years and you just beat the shit out of my boyfriend because I choose to get a tattoo? I’m 23 now, dad. You don’t get to make my choices for me anymore and I choose the life I’ve made for myself.” You lowered the gun and headed back into the garage. “We need to get these cars done, guys. No more fucking around.” You put the gun down on the tool box next to the Aspire and forced yourself to go back to work. After a moment, Jax came over and pulled you out of the trunk and into his arms.

“Babe, I’m sorry.” He said and you shook your head and sighed.

“You shouldn’t have let him get to you. That’s not your fight, baby.”

“Yea but I don’t want him talking to you like that.” You looked up at him and gave him a small shrug.

“He’s my dad.”

“Still doesn’t give him the right to talk to you like that.” You gave him a chaste kiss and smiled.

“That’s John Winchester. I can tell you right now, he’s not done. I bet he’s up at the house, stomping around and licking his wounds. Bobby will calm him down the way Dean was always able to and just like he used to, he will see the logic he can’t see when he is mad. I learned that about him when he used to fight with Sam.” You reached up and gently brushed your thumb across a bruise that was just starting to appear on his jaw and you shook your head. “I can’t believe you punched my dad and my brother the first time you met both of them.” He smiled and shrugged.

“Yea well in my defense, your dad swung first.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So what do we have left to do to get these on the road tomorrow morning?” Jax asked softly as the two of you sat on Bobby’s porch late that night. You exhaled your cigarette smoke and glanced over your shoulder at the front door.

“All I gotta do inside is put on the top of the box in the Spirit and reinstall the lining in both trunks; two hours max. Can you to check the breaks on the Aspire for me though? I didn’t like the way it was breaking with all the tools in the back.”

“What was it doing?” He asked as you took a drag of your cigarette.

“Takin’ it’s sweet ass time. Felt like I was trying to break through sand so I’m missing something somewhere and could use a fresh pair of eyes.” He nodded as the screen door squeaked open. You both turned around to look at John who had been avoiding both of you for the past 24 hours.

“You’re smoking again?” He asked harshly as he took a seat in an old chair by the front door. You scooted over to lean back against the banister and nodded. He gestured to Jax. “He know?”

“Yes sir.” He sighed and ran his hand over his face, leaned forward and shook his head.

“(Y/N), I know you think I treat you differently than your brothers but I need you to know that’s not the case. It’s just… you’re my little girl. I never wanted this life for any of you kids, especially you but I didn’t have another choice. I had to go after…”

“I know daddy.” You interrupted.

“No, honey, you don’t. It’s not a spirit.” You sat up a little straighter and turned toward him.

“You know what killed Mary and Jess?” He nodded slowly.

“You cannot tell your brothers you know this yet; you understand me?” You nodded. “It’s a demon… and it wants Sam.”

“What?! Why does it want Sam?” John shook his head and shrugged.

“Haven’t got a clue but I’m closing in on it quickly. I know how to kill it and it knows it.” He looked over at Jax for a moment before he looked back at you. “You listen to me… if you are choosing to be out, you stay out of this. This is one nasty son of a bitch. I fought for years to keep you out of this life as best I could by leaving you behind. Figured it was the only way to keep you safe, so if being with… this guy…”

“Jax.” You watched him inhale slightly to fight off any anger and he gave you a half nod.

“If being with Jax is what you want to do, you don’t get involved with hunts. Period. If we need you; I will call you and only as a last resort. Otherwise, you stay hidden.” You nodded and took a drag of your cigarette as John stood up. “I do love you, (Y/N) and I did the best I could with you and your brothers.” He leaned down and kissed the top of your head before walking past you down the steps to his truck. You spun around on the porch as he opened the truck door.

“Hey dad?” He paused and looked over at you. “Call the boys. They are really worried about you.” He nodded and pointed at Jax.

“You take care of my little girl, son.” Jax nodded as John got into his truck.

“Love you.” You called out as he was about to close the door. You could see his smile by the lights in the cab and he bobbed his head in agreement.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” You leaned against Jax’s shoulder as John started his truck. As he pulled out of the driveway, you waved goodbye and sent a little thanks to who ever allowed you to have a little closure on the family business chapter of your life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Cars look good, (Y/N)” Clay says as you gave him a quick tour of the storage boxes that lined the trunk and under the back seats of the two cars. You beamed as you shoved the back seat of the Spirit back in place.

“Thanks. Jax and Juice were both a lot of help.” He nodded as you closed the back door and he turned around to talk to Tig and Chibs about the run. You looked at your boyfriend and shrugged. “Guess that was my thanks?” You asked softly and he chuckled and nodded.

“Best you’re gunna get.” The guys started heading to their bikes and you sighed.

“Be safe, come home to me.”

“Always darlin’.” He said as he cupped your cheeks and gave you a kiss. “Enjoy catching up on sleep without me.”

“Yea right. I sleep like shit when your gone.” He gave you a chaste kiss before forcing himself away from you. “Love you!” You called out. He spun around and smiled at you as he cupped his hands around his mouth.

“I love my old lady!” He shouted over the buzz of the engines and your laugh was lost in a handful of cheers. He blew you a kiss as he got on his bike and you waved as the group pulled out of the compound. You headed inside to your room with the full intention of cleaning up and starting some laundry for the week but the comfort of your bed was too much and you did take a nap.

——

A sharp knocking on your door woke you up and you rolled over with a groan.

“Yea?” You called out groggily. You blinked a few times to let your eyes adjust to the light as Gemma came into the room. “Hey mom, what’s…” as your vision finally focused, you could see tears falling down her cheeks. You sat up quickly and shook your head.

“Honey, it’s Jax…” You jumped out of bed and grabbed your boots.

“Where is he?” You demanded as you fought to function through your panic.

“St. Thomas.” You jumped up and grabbed your phone, keys and helmet and walked past her.

“I’ll meet you there.” You could hear her crying as you raced out of the club. Every step you took felt like you were running through quicksand. You shook your head; forcing yourself not to cry as you began a repetitive chant of ‘he’s fine’ in your head.

You sped out of the compound and down the cracked pavement; pushing your bike to the limit and breaking traffic laws left and right. The short trip felt like it took hours until you were finally pulling into the hospital parking lot and parking next to the motorcycles. As you were pulling off your helmet, you heard someone shout your name.

“What the fuck happened?” You shouted as you stormed over to Chibs, who was out front smoking. He shook his head.

“Mayan ambush on the caravan. We split the party ta keep ‘em off the cars. ‘e took a couple ‘its. It…” He trailed off and you shook your head.

“Where was he hit?”

“‘e took two ta the left side in ‘is vest an’ one ta the left leg… but it clipped ‘is femoral artery.” Your breath caught in your lungs and you took a step back as your whole world seemed to cave in on you. You grabbed your friend’s arm as your knees gave out.

“No… no, no, no…” You said as you sank down to the ground. Tears started pouring down your cheeks as you tucked your knees up to your chest.

“‘e’s in surgery now. Did the best I could ta stop the bleeding.” He said; his words far away despite the fact that he was now sitting next to you. After a few minutes, he offered you a lit cigarette.

“You think he’ll make it?” You whispered, not really wanting to know the answer.

“Aye. ‘e’s a strong lad, ‘e’ll make it.” Chibs said. You didn’t know how long you sat there before Clay and Gemma show up. You linked arms with Gemma and the two of you headed inside to wait for news. Time seemed to stand still and with every passing minute, it got a little harder for you to convince yourself he was going to be OK.

Part 6

#Jax x Reader #Half Blood Whole Heart #SOA/SPN crossover

[occasionalfics]

Cross the Stars, part XII

part xi, part xiii

A/N: I had to have SOMETHING dramatic happen while they were stuck in limbo! TW: NSFW, language.

Summary: Yondu is frustrated, his crew takes it out on Indriza, but she sets them straight.

Words: 5,095

~~~

Being that the three of them cannot leave the ship, Indriza gets to know Peter very well. He trusts her, she thinks, especially because she listens to him and makes sure he knows he is not alone. She grows attached to the Terran child, despite the growing paranoia and stone in her stomach that counteracts the stars in her skin.

She can’t help herself. Peter Quill is the little brother she’s lost to the Kree. He is so bright, so fun, so full of hopes and dreams that she wants to help see through. He is so innocent, she thinks when she can’t sleep at night. And he is doomed to live among the Elector’s almost abominable crew - but she says none of that to Yondu. These are his people, she knows. She would be angry if he insulted the Axion II crew, even now, and so she gives him the respect she knows he is due.

These two people - Yondu and Peter - are her family, a family she had adopted almost too quickly and with too much fervor. The ghosts in the shadows still haunt her, but now, so do images of Omara and Stakar Ogord that her mind conjures in the dark. Still, she has to keep going. For them. She left her old family for this one, and she will protect it to the end of her days.

Kraglin is a part of that family as well. He does not have a bounty over his head, however, and is more willing to come and go without Yondu than he had previously been. He is the most obedient of the crew, always doing as Yondu asks or demands of him, bringing back soaps and food and trinkets, some of which Yondu collects and some he sends Kraglin to sell.

On a night when he decides to leave, Yondu gives him personal credits to use as he pleases, just for being loyal and hardworking. And willing to learn - Kraglin must want to be a captain himself one day, she thinks, if he can get back into Stakar Ogord’s good graces.

With this little family, she feels safe. With the rest of the crew, she is on guard. Thankfully, most of them are also gone for the night. She doesn’t know where, nor does she particularly care. Peter requested time alone to figure out a small mechanism Kraglin had brought him on his last excursion, Kraglin went with the crew, and so she has Yondu to herself.

He sits at his comm pad, attentively scouring local news sites for reports for Stakar or Omara - or any faction, really. She lays on the bed, watching him patiently, studying his methods. He is meticulous in private scenes, careless and impulsive with the crew around; gentle and contemplative with her, stern and hardened with anyone else. He makes a good captain and a good lover, but they feel like two separate people entirely.

She can only imagine this all stems from his life as a slave, and maybe somewhat from his conflicted feelings toward Stakar Ogord. She has them, too. She knows the hardship he is facing, has chosen to face it with him, and yet...he is still silent sometimes. Too silent, secretive to the point of leaving her out of conversations he has in his head. Or with his comm pad.

“Dammit,” he mutters.

She pushes herself up, resting her chin on a palm, elbow against the bed. “What?” she asks.

He doesn’t notice, just keeps scrolling. He rubs his face when he’s reading, sighing every few minutes. And then his eyes widen.

“What?” she asks, using both hands to push herself further up.

He looks at her as if he doesn’t expect her to be there. She puts her legs off the side of the bed and walks to him.

“What’s wrong?” she asks as he looks up at her.

Yondu stares for a few long seconds, his mouth hanging open in a shocked expression. “They’re gettin’ close,” he says, hardly louder than a whisper.

She forces herself not to lose control. Her breathing hitches, but that is all that she allows. ‘Closer’ could mean anything. The galaxy is a lot bigger than the Elector and its crew. ‘Closer’ could mean two jumps away, but she is tired of paranoia, tired of worrying when she hardly has Yondu to herself when the crew is aboard.

She sighs and says, as straight and calm as she can manage: “It’s taken them this long to come ‘close.’”

“They have a informant,” he says. “They have ta.”

She scrunches her face up. “How do you know that?”

“Yer lil’ friend,” he says, though his expression is unchanged.

“Allura?” she asks. Impossible, she thinks. Allura clued them into the bounty being raised...but Indriza also hasn’t heard from her since then. No updates, no comm contact, no reaffirmation that she is, in fact, their ally. Or that she still loves Indriza, the way Indriza still loves her. But no contact means that she could not possibly know anything Indriza knows, including their location. Indriza shakes her head. “Try again.”

“Who else would it be?” he asks, his raspy voice rising a notch or two.

“I don’t know,” Indriza admits, crossing her arms. “But I haven’t spoken to Allura in weeks. She doesn’t know anything.” She doesn’t want to accuse any member of his crew for his sake, but she has her suspicions...even if they are vague. “Maybe we’re just not being careful enough.”

“Not careful enough?” he asks. “What else can we do that we ain’t doin’ already?”

“Maybe we don’t let the whole crew leave at once from now on,” she says. “They all go the same place. It could send red flags that we’re not too far. A jump or two away isn’t that difficult to track.”

He looks her in the eye, thinking over her suggestion. “You wanna organize my men into shifts?” he asks, then laughs.

She jumps at the sound.

“Ya’d have to be a damn celestial to be able to pull that shit off. These rabble don’t follow rules.”

“I know,” she says flatly. “But do you have any other suggestions, Captain?” she asks, taking a step back from him with the last word, which is filled with venom.

His laughter stops abruptly, and he stands. He mirrors her stance: legs apart, arms crossed, a stern look on his face. “No one takes that tone with me,” he says. “You think you got the best ideas ‘cause you was a captain once?”

She dreads where this is going, but her rising anger doesn’t stop him. How could it, when she only shows it in her eyes and the tense way she stands?

“Look where ya are, ‘Driza. Far from home, without yer sister.”

“Stop,” she says, low and with warning on her tongue.

“Yer only friends are the girl ya spent when ya couldn’t have me,” he spits.

“Stop it,” she says, louder this time. Her fists clench at her sides.

“A kid from Xandar, a kid from Terra, and an exiled Pirate!”

Her nails bite into her skin as she says, “That’s enough, Yondu.”

“No it ain’t,” he says, just as stubborn as she is. “Who do you think you are, ‘sides my side piece? Yer own sister took yer power away, and all because you ahd feelings for me! How’m I supposed ta trust yer judgement?”

Before he even has the last syllable out, one of her arms drops. The other hand flattens and connects with his scarred cheek, resounding a loud crack.

“I said stop,” she says through her teeth.

His lips form an ‘o’ for a whistle, but she turns around and ignores him, her eyes rolling. No sound leaves his body until she is at the door, and then it is only him saying:

“Where the fuck do ya think yer goin’?”

“Wherever I want,” she answers without a glance back at him. She opens the door, steps out, and doesn’t bother closing it. She knows where Peter’s room is now, so she heads there.

Along the way, she walks past a room where three men are playing some card game. There’s a large pink-ish person with dark matted hair and teeth so long and sharp that his mouth doesn’t close properly; one with light hair that’s dreaded, with no other significant identifier; and a yellow man with no hair and no lips.

“Cap’n’s little toy,” the pink man growls as she passes.

“I thought you all wanted to get laid,” she mumbles, stopping only long enough to roll her eyes.

She doesn’t get far, though. She hears a chair scrape against the floor, and a few seconds later, hot breath is too close to her hair. She turns and glares at this pink man, the bulging veins in his head and neck, the misshapen scars that dot his skin. They’re far less attractive than Yondu’s, but maybe that’s because of the spittle dripping from his teeth.

“You don’t get to walk away from me, little girl,” he says. “Not when you’re all alone and defenseless.”

She chuckles. “You must know nothing,” she says, vitriol lining her words.

He reaches for her bum, pulling her closer to his disgusting breath, a growl in his throat - which she lifts her heeled boot to. He lets her go, but not before his hand flies at the back of her knee. They both stumble, only he stays on his feet and she falls to her back. But he is temporarily incapacitated, given that he can’t breathe.

Indriza pushes herself off the metal grate beneath her, then runs at the pink bastard, punching him square in the jaw when she’s close.

She doesn’t hear the other chairs scraping, only sees the assholes as they come into the hall. The pink bastard falls, gasping louder than before, as his friends come at her. Thankfully, she’s gotten into the habit of keeping her knife in its holster on her thigh. She swipes it out and stabs it into the leg of the yellow goon that attacks her, then the one with the dreads comes at her quickly, and using his whole body he knocks her to the ground again. He forces her to turn over, and ravages her face with his bony fists.

She has enough sense to lift her knee with some force, but it doesn’t do much. Either he’s tiny, she thinks, or he doesn’t have anything there at all. And he’s stupid. Her knife is still in her hand, so between punches, she brings it close to her face, then points it up and puts it right in his eye. He screams as blood falls onto her, but she has enough time to push herself out from under him and stand. While the asshole screams, she leans forward and pulls her knife out of his socket.

“You wastes of stardust will remember this. I am Indriza Ombato, and I will not be trifled with.” She spits at the screaming man, then walks away from him.

She is almost at Peter’s door when she realizes how hot she is and remembers that she has blood all over her. He can’t see her like that. She will terrify him. He is innocent- young- dear to her, and she wants to keep his high regard for her. Showing up like a monstrous ravager, rather than his friend would certainly ruin all the work she’s done to get him to open to her.

She sighs and closes her eyes, knowing she is trapped. Indriza doesn’t want to go back to Yondu’s room. Not yet. She can’t go to Peter’s, and she has no room of her own anymore. She is covered in disgusting blood and sweat, and she feels almost...broken. Alone, definitely. Disgusting, terrible, angry, ugly. Hot.

She sighs, pushing the words from her mind. Indriza has nowhere to go but to the shower, even if she has to deal with Yondu on the way. At least he won’t attack her like the assholes behind her - or so she hopes. He is oddly off key tonight. He’s never intentionally insulted her since she’s come to the Elector, but that outburst...it makes her feel as if she means nothing to him. Like she’s just another crew member, someone he can disrespect to prove he has power over her.

But he, too, forgets who she is. She may not be a captain anymore, and she may not even be a ravager anymore by technicality, but she is still Indriza Ombato. She is still made of Axion blood and ancient stars. Her skin is as valuable as her skill, and she will not let him forget it. But first, she needs to be clean.

She takes the long way around to Yondu’s room, though. She doesn’t necessarily want to walk past the heaping pile of dickbag lining the hall along the short way. By the time she makes it back, most of the blood has dried on her face. Her lips are cracked, her hair is stiff, and the tendons on her knife are already wrinkled from exposure and dehydration.

When she opens the door, she finds that Yondu is back at his comm pad. He doesn’t look at her when he says, “Back so soon?”

She says nothing until she shuts the door behind her. “Make sure your men know that if they attempt to assault me again, I won’t spare them.”

That’s when he turns to her, smirking at first, as she expects. But immediately, his mouth drops and opens, his eyes widen, and he stands. “What the fuck happened?” he asks, coming over to her in a few long, quick steps.

“Three of your crew attempted to show me my place. I showed them theirs instead,” she says through her teeth, though with a calm face.

“They put their hands on ya?” he asks.

“What do you think?” she spits. She feels so hot, again, that she imagines the blood on her boiling.

He looks at her from head to toe, but says nothing else. He stops on her knife for too long, watching as a few small drops of blood fall to the floor. And then, without another word, he walks around her and leaves the room. She hears a whistle just before the door shuts completely, and finds herself smirking.

With him gone, she sighs and suddenly feels the weight of what she’s done. Her muscles hurt - especially her arms. The hand holding her knife is hotter than the rest of her body, and her fingers are pastel from how tight she is holding her weapon. She loosens her grip as she walks to Yondu’s bathroom and turns the water for the shower on. She puts the knife on the chrome tub and lets the water clean it off as she takes her clothes off and throws them into a heap on the ground. Then she steps into the shower, careful not to step on the knife.

She uses the soaps Kraglin picked up for her at one of the outposts they’d recently stopped at, loving the scent of Lumin chocolate as it washes over her head and cleans the fluid out of her hair. The heat of the water calms her body as it cleanses, and helps clear her mind as well. When she’s satisfied that she’s rinsed the last layer of grime from her skin, she turns the water off and steps out.

Yondu is sitting on the bed when she leaves the bathroom, clothless and dripping. He’s fiddling with the Yakka arrow, rolling it between his fingers - this is what she thinks is a restless habit he’s picked up recently, but she’s happy to see it. To Indriza, it means that he has finally understood what’s happened in the last half-hour.

“You in the business of takin’ eyes now, Driza?” he asks.

She shrugs. “If the situation calls for it,” she replies.

He chuckles, giving her a crooked, toothy grin. And then he stands and puts the arrow in its holster, sans whistle. Yondu gives her a once-over, then finds her eyes.

“Yer gonna have bruises in the morning,” he says with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“I’ve had worse,” she replies.

“Are you okay?” he asks slowly, his grin faltering, his voice all seriousness.

Indriza lets out a deep breath before nodding. “You underestimate me,” she says, looking away from him and biting her lip.

“Nah,” he coos, stepping closer still.

She moves back without thinking and feels the cool metal of the wall against her naked back. She shivers between the moisture on her body and the temperature of the wall.

He skips a beat before lowering his head. “I’m sorry, ‘Driza. I shouldn’ta said what I said.”

“You underestimated me,” she repeats, watching as his fin glows red for an instant.

He nods. “Yeah. I did, and it almost got ya killed.”

“Not even close,” she says. “Those three assholes are nothing against me.”

He laughs, though not condescendingly. His nod only affirms it. “Stakar trained you good,” he says. “Real good. Tulk’s pro’lly gonna need’ta get a glass eye.”

“Tulk deserves it. He did the most damage to my face,” she says, knowing that he is looking at all of the places she will be discolored in the coming weeks, all of the places that will be too tender for him to touch for a few days.

“Where were ya goin’, anyway?” he asks.

“I wanted to talk to Peter,” she answers.

“About?”

She shrugs. “Nothing in particular. I just...needed to be around someone that respects me.”

He closes his eyes briefly. When the red pupils are back on her, he says, “I do, Driza. Promise. I love ya, respect ya, and I hate myself for sayin’ those things. None of’em were things I think.”

He sounds pathetic, she thinks, but the thought is not in her own voice. It is in Omara’s, and it undermines everything she is feeling for him. Yes, Indriza is angry, but now she pities him for his groveling.

She has to get Omara out of her head. Her sister will not ruin her happiness, or make it harder to get back to happiness, anyway. Not now.

“Look, Yondu,” she says, crossing her arms again. “I don’t expect to be your equal in front of them. I don’t expect for them to accept me as their leader. I don’t have many opportunities to show them I’m worthy of their respect.” She leaves out the part that she doesn’t particularly care for their respect. Just his, Peter’s and Kraglin’s. “But when we’re here, in our space, and I am your most capable ally, I expect you to share important information with me. Did you forget that I also have a bounty on me now?”

He shakes his head. “No, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me that,” she says, dropping her arms. “I’m not your superior. In here, we’re equals. Out there-” she points to the door, “you’re my captain. I’m not a Lady, not your mother, and not your better.”

“You are,” he says suddenly.

“What?” she asks.

“Yer better’n me.” He takes one more step to her, is nearly pressed against her. Some of the water from her hair falls onto his boots, but he doesn’t care or even notice. “Yer faction’s always been known as the good one. Ya help kids and the destitute. What do I do? I steal, or I send people to steal for me. Hell, I send a kid to steal for me! Of course yer better than me, Driza.”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“I don’t give a damn what ya meant, I’m tellin’ ya what I mean. Peter likes ya. Kraglin likes ya. Everyone likes ya.”

“Tulk and his idiot friends don’t.”

“Fuck’em. I don’t care what they think. I care ‘bout what that Terran kid thinks, and he trusts ya. Ya got the dang kid to share his stupid music box thing with ya, for stars’ sakes!” His eyes are wide, his arms outstretched, his words on her face. She is reminded of why she’s fallen in love with him.

“And Kraglin- that kid was scared’a most of the crew before you got here,” he says, getting increasingly quiet as he goes. “He was learnin’, but slow. I didn’t even know the two’a ya were close or nothin’.”

“We’re not, particularly,” she says in a flatter tone than she means.

His expression changes to confusion, so she goes on.

“I like Kraglin. We have an...understanding because we’re both important to you and you to us, but I don’t know him that well. Not as well as I know Peter.”

“Well Kraglin’s got nothin’ but kind words ‘bout you,” Yondu says. “Keeps tellin’ me he sees how…” He doesn’t finish.

She waits a few seconds before softening her face and pushing off the wall so that they’re chest to chest. She feels his warmth through his shirt. “How what?” she asks. “Tell me.”

His face is as serious as his tone when he says, “How happy ya make me, Driza.”

She smiles a genuine smile then, and wraps her arms around his neck. His go to her waist, his fingers resting just above her butt. “That’s all I want,” she says. “I want you to be happy, like I am. But I want you not to use that happiness against me. Ever again.”

“You got it,” he says. “Absolutely. Never.”

She gives him a quick kiss before saying, “Our important business has not been forgotten, but it can wait. We’re far from most of the crew right now, and we need to take advantage of that.”

He kisses her that time, urgent and apologetic. The stars glow under her skin when he slides his tongue into her mouth and massages hers. Just before she closes her eyes, she sees the stars under his blue skin, too, shining enough to blind her.

When he pulls back for breath, Yondu asks, “You wanna?” and nods to the bed.

Indriza puts a devilish smirk on her face and pushes him back herself, until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he falls back. She holds onto his coat, falling with him, and then struggles to get it off. He helps out, sitting up so that she straddles his lap. They get the coat off his shoulders, but he has to stand briefly to get it out from under him - so he grabs onto her waist, brings her with him a few inches, and then lowers them once the tails are out behind him on the sheets.

Since she has nothing on, they’re both focused and quick about getting everything off of him. She notices a huge wet circle in the center of his shirt, from her hair, with two smaller, less wet circles beside it, from her breasts. But then the shirt is gone, across the room, and they work to get his pants and underwear off. He kicks his shoes off, then the rest of the clothes, and then she removes herself and kneels beside him.

Looking up at him, she wraps her fingers around his member and brings them up and down the shaft. He closes his eyes and moans, loudly, so she goes faster. Then she has a better idea; she moves so she’s in front of him and leans over, taking the head in her mouth, licking and sucking in time with his heavy breathing. She opens wider, pushes herself down further, and takes more and more of him until she can’t without gagging - but it’s most of his length anyway. The rest is in her hand still, which she turns and lifts, turns and drops. His moans get louder and louder. Her tongue feels each streak of pleasure he does as his cock gets harder. Then, without much warning, she tastes something salty and sticky, but not altogether unpleasant.

She removes him from her mouth and smirks at him when his eyes fly open.

“Stars, Driza,” he moans.

She stands quickly, taking her hand from his cock, and grabs his chin, squeezing hard enough to squish his cheeks. “Shut up,” she says. She lets go of his mouth and pushes him back on the bed. When he tries to sit up, smiling and laughing at her, she pushes him back. “Don’t move,” she demands.

“Aw, come on darlin’,” he says. “I want ya. I need ya. Look at me,” he says, now panting.

“I said shut up,” she retorts, louder now.

His face falls for just an instant, and then he catches a glance of her looking for something.

She goes to the bathroom and pulls a cloth from the cabinet. When she returns with it, Yondu smirks the toothiest smirk she’s ever seen.

“Sit up,” she says, rolling the cloth into a long tube.

He complies.

She gets on the bed and crawls around him, then brings his wrists together behind him and ties them with the cloth. When he’s secure, she presses herself against his back and whispers, “You’re going to do as I say tonight. Understand?”

He nods, still panting, but says nothing.

She smiles. “Good.” She comes back around, sits next to him, and says, “Get up.”

Again, he complies, totally silent.

“Kneel.”

He does.

She moves to sit on the edge of the bed, putting her palms out behind her on the sheets. Indriza opens her legs wide and bites her lip. She doesn’t have to tell him what to do - he comes to her on his knees, mouth open, and stretches to fit around her sex. She inhales sharply, then again with his first lick. And his second. She moans when his tongue finds her clit, and then more when he lingers there, moving over it - back and forth, up and down, almost too expertly.

She puts most of her weight on one hand and brings the other to her breast, fondling her nipple as it hardens and becomes more sensitive. And then she nearly jumps when Yondu puts his tongue inside her, which earns him a giggled moan. “That’s nice,” she whispers, moving her hand over her body. He pulls and pushes his tongue in and out of her, faster and faster the louder she gets, occasionally revisiting her clit. She feels a coil of tension form in the pit of her stomach, and puts her hand on the back of his head. “Stars,” she moans as waves of bliss surge through her.

She doesn’t want to cum like this, though. As much as she enjoys how skilled he is without his hands, she pushes his head from her abruptly. He looks at her confused before she closes her legs, crossing one over the other.

“Up,” she says.

He stands. She smirks again.

“You’re very good at listening, my love,” she says, standing as well. She reaches around him and undoes the cloth. “Arms up,” she says.

He does it. She ties the cloth back. He brings his arms in front of him.

“Now sit.” She points to the bed.

He sits. She pushes him back again, and this time, he doesn’t fight it, and even puts his hands over his head in anticipation.

“Beg for me,” she says, standing back.

“Please,” he calls. “Please, Driza. Stars, I need ya.”

“More.”

He grunts, growls in his throat. She sees his cock twitch and feels satisfied with herself.

“Galaxies, Driza. Love, come over here and get on me. Please.”

She loves hearing him like this. Begging for her. Needing no one else, wanting her so desperately. She feels a twitch in her core when she nods, and slowly approaches the bed. She climbs up, straddles his middle, and leans in to kiss him deeply.

When she’s had enough waiting, she pulls back and tells him, “You’ve been a good captain,” before sliding back onto him. Her eyes close immediately and she bites her lip as she slips off of him, then back on, taking more of him each time she goes back. When she has him in her as far as he fits, she sits up straight and rocks her hips frantically, letting out guttural sounds that match his. He bucks his hips up to meet her as she moves back and forth, building the tension in her pit slowly despite their speed.

“Fuck,” he moans. “Driza, I’m almost-”

“Wait,” she says. She puts her hands on his legs behind her and pumps harder, faster, moaning almost to the point of yelling.

“Shit, Driza-”

“Yes,” she says. “Come for me.”

He does, as if on cue. His hot seed fills her up, but doesn’t bring her over. He pumps up into her, his cock going softer with each insert. She is dripping with her own wetness and now his, but she is still not finished.

“Fuckin’ stars, Driza,” he pants, his face lazy and voice light.

“I’m not done,” she says, pulling herself up off of him. She moves up his body until her clit is directly above his mouth. “Finish me.”

She feels the cool metal of his gold tooth first, and it sends shivers throughout her body. And then his tongue is back inside of her, working her clit, licking up the sloppy mess he’s left her. She rocks over his mouth, playing with herself when his tongue is inside of her. “Shit,” she moans as the tension grows - and then, without warning, it releases. Her legs tense around him, and he lets out a startled groan, but he doesn’t push against her. He lifts his head and presses his nose into her pelvis, intensifying the pounding in her groin. She falls forward with a moan, surprised at how powerful the orgasm is. “Ohmystars,” she yells, laughing as soon as the words are out of her mouth.

She feels him laugh from beneath her ass, and then sees his tied hands between her thighs. He’s reached up and has his fingers on her, just resting sweetly as she comes down. She undoes the knot, and once he has control of his arms, he’s turned around and turns her around so that they face one another, and he kisses her so hard, she falls against the bed.

“Fuck, Indriza,” he says, taking his time to pronounce her full name.

“You’re welcome, Captain,” she whispers, that devilish smirk back on her face.

#yondu udonta #yondu fanfic #yondu x oc #cross the stars