#if i beat it i ain’t wearing a johnny
Note
The boys reactions if you asked to do their makeup?
the gangs reactions to you wanting to do their makeup!
!warnings!
1.fem!reader
2.mentions of putting concealer and foundation on, so like just imagine you bought ones that match them lol
3.swearing and minor violence at the end.
Johnny Cade ;
“johnnycakes, would you let me do your makeup?”
you said looking at your boyfriend sitting on your bed as you did your own makeup at your vanity.
“h-huh? like..on me?”
“yes johnny, on you.”
johnny wanted to object he really did but when you just stared at him he got nervous.
he just nodded his head yes because he didn’t want to disappoint you.
so you smiled as wide as you could and shot up out of your seat.
“really?! you’d let me?”
“huh uh…”
“EEK! well, sit down!!”
johnny sighs as he makes his way over to the chair.
johnny didn’t know what you were gonna do to him!
well, he did have an idea. he watches you do your makeup so often that he’s memorized your routine.
he has to admit, he was scared at first, but when you started to do his makeup he immediately relaxed.
johnny didn’t know you doing his makeup could be this relaxing.
he almost fell asleep!
johnny’s scared of the eyelash curler. he doesn’t like how close it is to his eye.
when you’re finished and you show him the finished product, he can’t help but look at himself at all angles!
“so? did i do good?”
“yeah, real good.”
Dallas Winston ;
only way you’re gonna do his makeup is if you have pity points!
if he forgot something special or you guys just finished settling an argument and he feels bad? you just got yourself dallas winston pity points!
put ‘em to good use.
but if you’re askin’ to do his makeup, i think you are!
“dal..?”
“yea?”
“can i do your makeup?”
expect him to slowly turn his head towards you with shock and disgust.
he has dignity!! he’s a cool tuff grease, what makes you think he’s gonna put ANY sort of makeup on??
“no.”
“well, do you remember the time that you got mad at me for like no reason? you still gotta make it up to me..”
“FINE. i’ll let you do my makeup. just don’t bring that up again.”
you smile as you grab your makeup bag while dallas groans.
if you have one of those cute lil headbands with animal ears on them please put them on him?? it’d be so funny??
“y/n are you fucking kidding me?”
“what do you mean dal? you look so cute!”
dallas has ZERO clue on what you do for makeup.
he doesn’t even know what concealer is.
when your finished he just blankly stares into the mirror while you laugh your ass off.
“this isn’t funny.”
“no-no you’re absolutely right! i-it’s just the fact that thee dallas winston is wearing makeup!”
Ponyboy Curtis ;
“gee, pony. im realll bored..”
when you started anything with ‘gee’ ponyboy knew you were gonna suggest something stupid.
“*sigh* what do you want to do, y/n?”
“you should let me do your makeup!”
ponyboy scrunched his face up at the idea, but the longer he thought about it, the more okay he was.
“okay, just don’t make it wear it out in public as some cruel prank.”
“i would never!”
ponyboy would also be another one to find you doing his makeup relaxing.
he doesn’t close his eyes though, he’s too busy asking and trying to guess what you do with everything.
“oh! what’s that for? is it to like…pluck my eyebrows?”
“no pony, it’s to curl your lashes.”
“what.”
he thinks you beating his face with a beauty blender is ticklish.
“stop moving!! im trying to blend out the foundation!!”
“it ain’t my fault it tickles!”
but when you’re done he definitely forgets it’s on and goes into the living room with the gang in there.
“WOAHHH WHAT’S ON YOUR FACE PONY?”
“you got something to tell us, kid?”
“OH SH-“
and now he’s running to his room to tell you to take it off as you hear the gang laughing like hyenas in the other room.
“y/n, y/n please take this off. i need to go get a pepsi.”
Sodapop Curtis ;
he is absolutely for the idea of you doing makeup on him!
when you asked him he smiled so bright, you could’ve sworn you looked right into the sun!
“love…you should like, let me do your makeup.”
“yeah!! let’s do it!!”
when you get your makeup out, expect him to be touching everything.
the second you put something down, it’s already in his hands.
“ew, why is it sticky?!”
“cause it’s a primer, babe. it’s supposed to be sticky.”
he puts you on his lap while you do his makeup so, ‘you can see better.’
yeah right.
so the whole time while you’re doing his makeup he has his hands around your waist with his eyes closed.
OH MY GOD PLEASE LET HIM PICK THE EYESHADOW COLOUR.
he may pick ugly colours that totally clash, but it’ll make him happy.
“uhh, oh! i like this red and…that purple!”
“…seriously?”
if you put lipstick on him, expect him to try to be kissing you all the time.
“soda!! stop tryin’ to kiss me, i’m trying to put the makeup away!”
“aweee, y/n doesn’t want my kisses…??”
let him have at least one and he’ll feel better.
he DEFINITELY keeps it on all day.
“what the fuck are you wearing?”
“you don’t like it stevey wevey?🥺”
he says while making duck lips in steves direction.
Darry Curtis ;
you have to ask when he’s tired.
because when he’s with you and tired, he’ll let anything you do slide.
so while he’s sitting on his chair with his head thrown back after ponyboy and soda are sleep, it’s the best time to ask.
“hey darry?”
“..yea?”
“since you ain’t doing much, can i..do your makeup?”
his eyebrows immediately tighten at the thought, but after 10 seconds he realizes theres no use in putting up a fight.
“sure doll. just be quick.”
and on that que, you’re rushing to get everything you need!
i don’t see darry liking the feeling of makeup, so this does infact have to be a speedy process.
he doesn’t ask what anything is, he trusts you enough to know what you’re doing.
he does not let you ANYWHERE near his eyes though, it freaks him out too much. but if you’re dead set on doing full glam, expect a long conversation of trying to convince him.
“do you really have to?”
“yes darry, eyeshadow and mascara is the KEY to any makeup look! especially with these pretty browns you have!”
when your done he’ll go look in the bathroom mirror and laugh a little before he asks for you to take it off.
if you’re feeling a little silly funny and goofy, do not take the lipstick off. let it stay there and pray it stays on ‘till the morning.
and if it does? you and the gang will have a field day oh my god.
“wow, super man! what do you do at night?”
“..what?”
“JESUS CHRIST DARRY, WHY DO YOU HAVE LIPSTICK ON?”
“…WHAT?!”
Steve Randle ;
unlike his best friend, steve isn’t one for makeup.
he’s ‘too tuff for any of that!’
bullshit!
all you gotta do is twirl your pretty hair and flutter those lashes and he’ll do it.
“aw, c’mon steve! it won’t be too long..”
“fine. but speak of this to anyone and i’ll tell them about last tuesday.”
and that’s how you got steve to sit down all nice and pretty to do his makeup!
he stares at you while you do his makeup.
he doesn’t have a goddamn clue what’s going on.
he barely understands foundation, so please be patient. he will ask what everything does too.
“whats that do?”
“this is blush steve, can’t have you lookin’ like a ghost.”
another one that picks out the eyeshadow colour, expect he actually picks good colours.
he is very aware of the what colours clash and what doesn’t, and he cannot be looking like a clown around you.
“pick which colours!”
“the cream and this blue.”
he is very nervous about the mascara, very.
but once you do one eye, he’ll even blink to help you!
when you’re done he thinks you did a great job!
he might even go terrorize sodapop for the jokes.
“don’t ya think i look pretttttyyy mr.curtis?”
“steve, get out of my house and never come back.”
Two-bit Matthews ;
he isn’t new to makeup in any shape or form.
so if you ask him to do his makeup, he’ll nod his head real aggressively.
“babyy…you should let me do your makeup.”
“i thought you’d never ask!”
his little sister has definitely put makeup on him before, but like, only kiddie makeup.
so when he seen the makeup you had?? he was astonished to say the least.
“woahh! you have actual eyeshadow, and real blush!”
he will sit there looking pretty, kicking his feet as you apply the highlighter to his face.
he licks off the lipstick as soon as you put it on.
he doesn’t mean too! he’s used to his little sisters chapstick that tastes like cherries.
when you’re finished his look, he WILL keep it on with pride.
he doesn’t care.
“two-bit, are you fucking serious.”
“yes i am. my wonderful girlfriend put it on, isn’t she just the sweetest?”
“…”
“I SAID, isn’t she just the sweetest.”
and now he’s a man with makeup, holding a switchblade, threatening someone to call his girlfriend sweet.
author notes ;
1. I LOVE GETTING REQUESTS SO MUCH PLEASEEE KEEP THEM COMING??
2.also, I HAVE 42 FOLLOWERS NOW??? I STARTED NOT EVEN 3 WEEKS AGO???
taglist-ish LMFAO:
@diorgirl444 - i remember you asked to be tagged..TELL ME IF U DONT LOL🙏
may 14th, 2023.
#2knightt#the outsiders#the outsiders x reader#dallas x reader#dallas winston x reader#johnny x reader#johnny cade x reader#darry x reader#darry curtis x reader#ponyboy x reader#ponyboy curtis x reader#sodapop x reader#sodapop curtis x reader#steve x reader#steve randle x reader#two bit x reader#two bit matthews x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
welp, this one has gotten out of hand (over 3k... yikes) but here we are! part 3 of the secret-dolly-parton-fan eddie munson saga (only 2 more parts after this!)
[part 1] [part 2] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6 + complete on ao3]
part 3: coat of many colors
Only a few weeks later, Eddie starts to slip up.
Any other day he’d wake up to the sweet, sweet sounds of his favorite Dio album, but one morning he grabs an old Johnny Cash album that Wayne sometimes listens to and puts that one on instead.
It’s nice, and even though it’s apparently recorded at an actual prison, it still feels like home (Eddie tries not to think about that too much).
On a late night when Wayne’s still at work, he fishes his old acoustic guitar from underneath his bed and starts strumming away random chords that sound like the country songs his momma played when he was little. Sometimes he still remembers the lyrics, softly mumbling them even though there’s no one around to hear them.
It’s nice, it doesn’t sound as sweet as when his momma played it for him, but it still feels like home (Eddie actually thinks about it a lot this time).
And it’s not like he’s abandoned his usual music or anything. He still has his Judas Priest tapes in the van because his driving would probably even more reckless if he drove without any music (and isn’t that saying something). And he still loves his sweetheart more than anything, she just has to deal with sharing him for a bit.
Not a lot of many people notice it, at first. Mostly because he still keeps that part of himself hidden, safely tucked away in the comfort of his own bedroom.
But Wayne notices, because of course does.
“Whatcha wearin’ there, son?” Wayne asks, never looking up from where his eyes are glued to the morning newspaper.
Eddie’s halfway out the door already, car keys jingling against his rings when his uncle speaks up, turns around in the doorway. “Uh…”
He looks down at his clothes - what is he wearing anyway? Ripped jeans - all fine, nothing new. White t-shirt - okay, not his usual color but not that strange. Forest green plaid button down and beat-up leather boots that both actually belonged to Wayne at one point - yeah, that must be it.
“Yeah, I mean I know they’re yours… You want them back or somethin’?”
Wayne chuckles and closes the newspaper, leaning back in his chair. “No, no. Not at all. Just surprised you’re wearing it. Ain’t you meetin’ the kids?”
“Uh, yeah?” Eddie frowns. “Should I… not be wearing this?”
“Wear whatever you want.” Wayne shrugs. “It’s just nice.”
“Nice?”
“Yeah, nice. Nice to see you bein’ comfortable wearing that sorta thing again.” Wayne says. “Lord knows you wouldn’t be caught dead in it years ago.”
Eddie thinks back to when he first came to Hawkins, with an almost empty suitcase and ratty old teddy-bear in his hand. He didn’t have any clothes that were fit for the cold Novembers in Hawkins, more used to the mild Tennessee winters, so Wayne did the best he could and dressed him up in the warmest thing he had on hand at the time. A warm, blue flannel that Eddie’s small frame almost drowned in.
Not that he cared about it at that point. He only cared about how warm and soft it felt.
Which was fine up until the point that the other kids at school started caring about their clothes and how they looked and they started laughing at Eddie’s clothes. Making fun of how poor he was that he couldn’t even afford a decent sized shirt. Teasing him in the locker room about the holes in his socks.
He decided then and there to swear off all the clothes Wayne picked out for him and changed his style up completely. His classmates were gonna bully him anyway, but he’d be damned if they insulted Wayne in the process.
“Well, yeah. Guess I’m goin’ back to my roots.” Eddie shrugs.
“Noticed that as well.” Wayne is smirking now, way too pleased about the whole situation and gestures to his mouth. “Your accent, Ed. Any minute now and you’ll be talkin’ like Miss Parton herself.”
Eddie’s face heats up - if only Wayne knew what he’s been up to in his spare time “Shut up, old man. You’re gonna make me late.”
He drives a little faster than normal to the Wheeler’s house, because Wayne really did keep him a few minutes too long, but he still ends up relatively on time for Mike’s birthday party. Everyone’s already in the decorated basement (balloons and garlands and all) and Mrs. Wheeler is snapping pictures left and right, much to Mike’s obvious dismay.
Mike’s face does light up when Eddie comes stumbling down the basement, present in hand.
“Happy Birthday, mini Wheeler.” Eddie says, ruffling his hair.
“Hey, not fair! We were friends way before you befriended my sister.” Mike sighs.
“Eddie’s just got good taste.” Nancy smirks before turning back to her conversation with Max and El.
“She said it, not me.” Eddie laughs. “Now open your present.”
He’d bought Mike this older copy of a D&D manual. It’s a first edition that Eddie randomly found one day in a thrift store and considering the grin on Mike’s face, Eddie knows he made the right decision.
Behind them on the table there’s a bunch of already-opened presents but one sticks out to Eddie - a beautifully depiction of the Party members, including El and Max, painted onto a notebook.
“Nice notebook.”
“Isn’t it the coolest? Will made it for me.” Mike gushes. “He always knows what kind of present to get me. He’s such a good friend.”
Eddie bites back a laugh. Poor Mike, so tragically oblivious to what’s staring right in front of him, bowl-cut and heart-eyes and all. But since he can’t actually laugh Mike in the face, he just smirks and pats Mike on the shoulder.
“Oh Michael… Bless your tiny lil’ heart.”
Mike just beams at him, once again blissfully unaware of the little back-handed compliment that just escaped Eddie’s Tennessee mouth and runs off again to join the party. Not noticing a thing.
But apparently someone does.
“What was that?” Steve asks from where he’s standing behind Eddie.
“What was what?” Eddie replies automatically. He doesn’t turn around just yet, slightly terrified to find out Steve’s reaction. Not there’s any malice to be heard in his voice, but Eddie’s learned to be careful even when everything seems to be safe.
“That… the whole bless your heart thing.”
“That’s a just saying.” Eddie shrugs.
“But the accent… where did that come from?” Steve stammers.
That comment finally makes Eddie turn around only to find Steve staring at him, jaw slacked and cheeks tickled pink. And well, isn’t that interesting.
Eddie grins as he takes a step closer to Steve, head cocked to the side. “Didn’t you know? I ain’t from around here.” He’s really laying the accent on thick this time, just to see how Steve will react.
It pays off beautifully because Steve just stares at him again, his face turning an even deeper shade of pink that contrast with the tight yellow t-shirt he’s wearing. Eddie’s stomach bubbles with giddiness at the sudden power he’s holding over Steve, making him all flustered like this.
God, he really shouldn’t be flirting with his very-much-straight crush but it just feels so good.
“Where- where are you from then?” Steve clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.
“Tennessee, baby. Born ’n raised.”
Steve opens his mouth and closes it again, does it a couple of times actually, like he’s a goddamn guppy. It’s, frankly, adorable and Eddie’s never wanted to kiss him more. He lowers his gaze, his hands moving through the air like he’s unsure what to do with that.
“I’m just… I’m just gonna talk to Robin for a sec. Be right back, okay?”
Eddie watches as Steve disappears in between the kids, sees how he frantically talks to Robin before dragging her upstairs, clearly in need some alone time.
Huh. Weird.
-xxx-
Eddie comes clean about his roots to the rest of his friends a couple days later and to his surprise, no one really seems to bat an eye. Sure, there are few laughs here and there but it’s never bad. A couple of questions (mostly from El) about where he grew up and that’s that.
Or so he thinks.
Because he also told Steve, Robin and Nancy about the fact that there’s a country bar just a couple miles from Hawkins and that he’s being going there almost every week just to feel a little at home again. And now, they obviously want to come with.
Eddie’s feeling slightly nervous about it - this is still on a whole other level than just wearing one of Wayne’s flannels and bringing out his drawl every once in a while. This is about who he is, how he was raised, and he’s not really sure how things’ll go down if his friends react weirdly about it.
Pat is surprised to say the least when Eddie strolls into the Off-Road next Wednesday with Robin, Nancy and Steve in tow. Robin swore up and down that they should dress the part even though Eddie told her it wasn’t necessary, but there they are anyway, plaid shirts and all.
It’s slightly embarrassing to be honest, but Robin seems to enjoy making him suffer (well, that was until Nancy took off her plaid shirt and tied it around her waist to show off her tight black dress underneath and Robin almost had an aneurysm. Ha, how’s that for payback?). And besides, Steve’s looking unfairly hot in that light blue flannel so who’s Eddie to complain?
“Well, well, well. Looks like you got some friends after all, Ed.” Pat grins. “Welcome y’all.”
After Eddie introduces everyone, Robin starts talking Pat’s ear off, overjoyed with the fact that she’s finally meeting another queer woman, asking her all kinds of questions about growing up queer and how she met Tish. Eddie smiles, feeling happy for his friend.
On the other side of the bar, Steve and Nancy are hunched over the jukebox, arguing about the next song to play.
“Is that him?” Tish asks as she puts down his beer - Eddie figures he might as well take advantage of the fact that Nancy’s driving tonight. She nods to where Steve is clearly losing the argument with Nancy. The way he’s bending over the jukebox in those tight Levi’s is making his ass look insane and Eddie lets out a strangled sound.
“Yeah, that’s him alright.”
Tish lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Eddie. You’re screwed.”
“Why, geez. Thanks for that boost of confidence, Tish.”
Tish just winks at him and disappears back into the kitchen. Eddie just sits and sulks for a bit, head rocking along to the song that Nancy picked out until Robin suddenly slides into view, eyes filled with mischief that Eddie doesn’t care for one bit.
“So… A little birdie told me you’ve been singing Dolly Parton songs here on the regular.” Robin says in a sing-song voice.
Damn Pat and her blabber mouth.
Eddie narrows his eyes at her. “And what about it, Buckley?”
“Nothing! Just wondering if you might wanna play a song for us tonight?” Robin asks. She clasps her hands together and pouts when Eddie rolls his eyes at her. “Please? I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
“And how exactly do you propose to do that?”
“Well… I can’t really say. Not yet anyway.” Robin smiles awkwardly. “But I promise you’ll be happy about it once it works out. Please?”
Eddie sighs - he’s never really been able to resist someone begging and he’s not gonna start now. He finishes his beer in one swig and makes his way over to the stage, taking the now-familiar acoustic guitar from the wall.
His friends sit down at a table close to the stage, staring at him with eager excitement as Eddie tries to think of a song to play. He feels strangely nervous. They had seen him play before, been to a few of Corroded Coffin gigs and he even sang the Beatles’ Blackbird for Nancy’s birthday but this still feels scarier, more intimate.
And the thing is, he can’t really go with one of the songs he played her before because one wrong look in Steve’s direction and he’d be fucked for life. Or even worse, a love song - that’d make for a real awkward evening. So, he finally settles on a song that’s neither of those, but still a song that’s very close to his heart.
“Back through the years, I go wonderin’ once again. Back to the seasons of my youth…” Eddie sings softly, though his drawl rolls out of him with full force.
He can’t help it, it’s the only way he knows how to sing this song because it’s the way his momma sang it to him every night before going to bed. Tucking him in tightly underneath the duvet, covering his face with kisses until he couldn’t stop giggling. Her voice soft and warm as she sang him to sleep.
“There were rags of many colors, every piece was small. And I didn’t have a coat and it was way down in the fall. Mama sewed the rags together, sewin’ every piece with love. She made my coat of many colors, that I was so proud of.”
He thinks of Wayne. Thinks of the clothes Wayne gave him while growing up. How he wore them to school with pride, excited to have clothes to call his own. To have a home and someone taking care of him, not because Wayne had to but because he wanted to.
“So with patches on my britches and in holes in both my shoes, in my coat of many colors, I hurried off to school. Just to find the others laughing and are making of fun of me, in my coat of many colors my mama made for me.”
Thinks of his classmates laughing at his accent, at the way he dressed, at his amazement of seeing snow for the very first time. Remembers going home to Wayne with tears in his eyes, stuffing his plaid shirts into the deepest corner of his closet and trading it for plain black tees instead. Remembers staying up late when Wayne was at work to practice his speech pattern by watching old tv-shows and repeating the lines.
Looks up at his friends. Realizes how he’s showcasing all those parts he hid away for years and is for once, rewarded for it. They’re listening intently, proud smiles on their faces. Nancy and Robin are leaning against each other, their fingers finding their way to one another.
Glances over at Steve, whose hands are folded underneath his chin as he looks at Eddie with a gentle smile, his eyes soft and almost like honey underneath the warm ceiling lights of the bar. He barely blinks, eyes glued to Eddie and Eddie only. It’s a bit distracting, if Eddie’s being honest. He feels his cheeks heat up and he almost misses a chord at one point, realizing then and there why he didn’t pick a love song in the first place.
He needs to sing, not melt into a puddle of goo underneath Steve’s gaze, goddammit.
“Now I know we had no money, but I was rich as I could be. In my coat of many colors, my mama made for me. Made just for me…”
The song softly fades away and Eddie mumbles a quick thanks into the microphone as his friends and the rest of the the bar burst out into applause. He shuffles over to the table where he’s met with Robin and Nancy beaming at him and pulling him into a tight hug.
“That was so good.” Nancy gushes.
“Yeah, it was amazing! You should switch music genres, if I’m honest.” Robin nods. “Change Corroded Coffin’s name into Corroded Cowboy or something.”
Eddie chuckles. “Not sure if the guys are gonna like that. But thanks, girls. Means a lot.”
Steve stays strangely quiet in between Robin and Nancy’s stream of compliments, just fiddling with the coaster in between his fingers. It’s not until Nancy drags Robin to the dance floor when an upbeat song starts playing and Eddie slides into one of the empty seats they left behind, that Steve speaks up.
“You have a really nice voice, you know that?”
He says it so softly that Eddie can barely hear him over the bluegrass music on the speakers. Still, it’s enough for Eddie’s cheeks to flush pink.
“Thanks.” Eddie replies, ducking his head to prevent Steve from seeing his flushed face.
“Seriously, man.” Steve says. “Think about Robin said. I mean, I love hearing you sing and scream about the world’s injustices with Corroded Coffin as much as the next person but…”
Eddie’s heart starts beating out of his chest because holy fuck, Steve loves hearing him sing, Steve loves hearing him sing, Steve loves hearing him sing.
“But these songs seem to come so natural to you, y’know?” Steve glances up to meet Eddie’s eyes, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. “You make it seem so…”
“Easy?” Eddie supplies.
Steve smiles and there’s something in his eyes that Eddie can’t quite decipher. A secret that only Steve seems to know. “Yeah, exactly. Easy.”
Eddie feels the flush on his face deepen underneath Steve’s gaze and he needs a way out before he starts doing something incredibly stupid like drag him to the bathroom just to see what happens when he calls Steve darlin’.
“You want a refill?” Eddie says quickly, gesturing towards the empty beer bottle on the table. “My treat.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Eddie.”
The sound of his own name rolling off Steve’s tongue almost makes Eddie stumbles as he stands up makes his way towards the bar. Smooth, Munson, real fuckin’ smooth.
“Two beers please.” Eddie tells Pat, drumming his ring-adorned hands on the faded wood of the bar.
“Here ya go.” Pat says, handing him the drinks. Eddie’s about to turn back, when she stops him. “Ed, I don’t mean to mess with your head or anythin’… But are ya sure that boy’s straight?”
Eddie snorts. “What’d you mean? ‘Course he is.”
“Well, I won’t be so sure about that, kiddo.” Pat says with a knowing smile. “I’ve been seein’ the way he looks at you tonight and well… let’s just say it’s the same way I look at Tish every morning I wake up next to her.”
Eddie looks up to where Steve’s chatting with Jack, one of the older regulars who’s an actually banjo player in his spare time. He just watches them for a minute, a soft smile playing around his lips, the one he always gets when he’s looking at Steve.
Steve looks up and their eyes meet, a bright smile appearing on his face as he wiggles his hands in the air to wave at Eddie. He seems so happy and he’s never looked more beautiful.
Christ, Eddie’s so in love with him.
“That. That look right there. No one looks at their platonic friend like that. Not when there are other feelings involved.” Pat says firmly. “You might wanna start re-thinkin’ this whole situation, Ed.” She adds cryptically and returns to where she’s drying off another glass.
A tingly feeling spreads all over Eddie’s body, a shiver running up his spine. It should feel nice, it does feel nice, but at the same time Eddie knows it’s actually the worst feeling in the world.
Hope.
tag list:
@solosnail @gothbat99 @unclewaynemunson @legitcookie @henderdads @goblin-eddie @trikigirl271 @alienace @stevethehairington @blank1eboi @fruitandbubbles @courtjestermunson @steveisabicon @stereoteleversion @wrenisflying @spectrum-spectre @hotluncheddie @punkharringtxn @remislupinisthevoiceofgod @panicatthediaz @thegingervulcan @sharkruption @goodolefashionedloverboi @thelastwalkingsoul @undreamingscatworld @magpiemuseum @mightbeasleep @maya-custodios-dionach @theokatz @this-earlobe-is-naked
#steddie#steddie fic#steddie fanfiction#eddie munson#steve harrington#steddie ficlet#steve harrington x eddie munson#stranger things#this one got away from me#i got cursed by munson family feels as i often do#also sorry to everyone i tried to tag but somehow failed to do so??#really dunno what happened there#alice's writing adventures
938 notes
·
View notes
Note
PLEASE KEEP GOING WITH THE KITANA/HAVIK STUFF IT'S COOL AF AND IT'S KINDA GROWING ON ME...
I love being enabled <3
One sided enemies to reluctant friends to Something to Secret Lovers, my beloved
Am not gonna sit here and tell you Havik magically loses all resentment for political establishments/monarchiest just because Kitana is a positive element he can associate those things with bc that ain’t it lol
“Not all monarchs and totalitarian autocracies cosplaying democracies are evil we can just co exist 🥹” that’s amazing if you like wack shit!!!
.he’s the hobie brown of his universe, in case it wasn’t obvious.
He was a punk, she’s burdened with duty, and devoted to a crown poisoned with responsibility . can I make it more obvious
“Your mom wants to keep you on a path that’s boring. I’m gonna lead you to a path that rocks!” “Oh that sounds lovely ☺️”
Havik intentionally snaps off body parts just to freak her out; Kitana never reacts unless he’s cracking his knuckles.
This man deadass twisted his neck off and she doesn’t blink, but god help him if Kitana catches him slouch “you’ll hurt your back!” “I am literally a zombie”
Heavy make out sesh in the throne room/her bedroom/just anywhere that’s a Space. Kitana thinks they’re being incredibly stealthy with their forbidden romance. They are not.
Kitana: is there a motive behind Tanya visiting your room at such a late hour?
Mileena: is there a motive behind your breath reeking of roadkill
“absolutely can’t cook for shit” bf + “this is delicious and anyone who dares disagree shall face the wrath of my tiny fists” gf
Havik’s love language is bullying; Kitana’s is quality time. Don’t misunderstand tho Havik KNOWS he’s got a goddess in his hands and worships the soil she blesses with her feet
He just shows it. Differently!!
“How can you not fucking forsee it’ll rain, now you’ll freeze; of course I’m physically shielding you all day.”
HAVIK IS FUCKING BIG!!! Huge!!! Big ASS MF!!!!! He takes full advantage of it. Am absolutely insane about this man’s back, shoulders, thighs. Kitana spies his statuesque, burly but beautiful anatomy with a discreet eye (she’s not discreet)
Kitana wearing red to match him and Havik wearing blue for her. They are EQUALLY whipped
Pls. Imagine the teasing
Johnny: You know, I hooked up with a princess too, once
Havik: She doesn’t need to be payed to act interested, Cage
Sindel: Be careful with Havik. His ambition is damning
Kitana: His vision is bright, mother
Johnny: I love a beauty and the beast story
Havik: Stop showing her your meaningless films! I’m tired of watching them!
Mileena: A man, sister?
Kitana: It seems I have no valid defense
Johnny: 20 bucks says my boyfriend beats your girlfriend, any day
Havik: Are you so desperate to lose?
#THEM <333#I love them a lot for#havik#mk havik#mk1#mortal kombat#kitana#mileena#johnny cage#text#text post#mk1 2023
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
I’m never gonna get tired of making these
———-
Kerry: You’re mine.
Johnny: First of all I’m on probation
Johnny: “I” belong to the state of California
-
Mike: oh my god River’s online what do i do?
Vincent: idk send nudes???
Mike:😏you first
Vincent: TO RIVER YOU IDIOT
Mike: OH-
-
Rogue: hey we could use some backup tonight, can you come to the bar?
Johnny: On My Way!
Johnny: omw*
Johnny: I ain’t that fucking excited trust me
-
Mike: I hate being high why do I hear footsteps
River: Are you walking?
Mike: oh shit.
-
Johnny: how have I impacted your life?
Kerry: you have made it indefinitely more difficult
-
Venus: Pls bring back toxic masculinity cus why’d I show up to a date and he’s wearing the same shirt as me?
Vincent: Who wore it better?
Venus: he ate me up I had to wear my jacket.
-
Mike: Swear to god I got tell a cunt knee sis bro my mind is so powerful
Vincent: you got WHAT
Mike: Tell a cunt knee sis
Vincent: Dude what are you talking about?
Mike: mf where you can move shit with your brain
Vincent: TELEKINESIS?
-
Henry: Top Ten Applebees I’ve Been Arrested In Rated By How Good The Floor Was For Doing The Worm.
-
Johnny: Everytime I’m on a mission with Rogue and she tells me to shush I have the overwhelming urge to start screaming.
-
Vincent: Did you know when you eat a pineapple
Vincent: It eats you back
Judy: Yes.
Mike: moans
Mike: that’s so fuckinh hot.
River: pineapple that vores you?
Vincent: I regret meeting you all.
-
Vik: Vincent was acting very stressed and I asked him what was wrong and he said “I’m very busy today.” I asked what’s going on. He said “kerry and I are going to the store at six.” I said “And?” He looked at me like I was crazy.
Vincent: you don’t understand my day revolves around this now.
Kerry: Dude we don’t have to go exactly at 6…
Vincent: NO.
-
Kerry: Hey my input saw you from across the bar and we hate your vibe. He’s gonna beat the shit out of you.
-
Mike: I’d rather slurp a Jean jacket through a straw than fight Johnny.
Vincent: that sounds oddly specific??? Have you slurped a Jean jacket through a straw- IS THAT WHERE MY JACKET WENT?
Mike: no questions at this time.
-
Vincent: You and your boyfriend are so cute
Kerry: thanks he’s a rescue
Johnny: CAN YOU STOP?
-
Johnny: throw back to when Alt wasn’t answering my texts so I texted her “did you die or something?” ….man.
-
Johnny: beating the stinky allegations
Kerry: I had to pin you down to the bathtub fully clothed
Johnny: I’m squeaky clean yo
-
Vincent: Happy anniversary to us and only us
Mike: Wtf I took the picture give me credit before I report
Vincent: oh so your homophobic now? You’re gonna be homophobic to me on my anniversary? Wait until Judy hears about this.
Mike: BRO
(Picture by @arczism )
#anyway I fucking cried trying to type these#cyberpunk 2077#cyberpunk college au#cyberpunk incorrect quotes#vincent welles#2023 vincent#vincent 2023#kerry eurodyne#cyberpunk kerry#johnny silverhand#cyberpunk johnny#judy alvarez#rogue amendiares#viktor vektor#tiny mike#mike kowalski#cyberpunk 2077 Henry#venus ambrose#River ward#cyberpunk v#male v#kerry x v#kerry eurodyne x v#kerry#male v cyberpunk#ker x v#kerry eurodyne x male v#kerry x male v#silverdyne#v x kerry
77 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ghost Headcannons
a/n; this man has me hooked lord have mercy😩
pairings; Simon “Ghost” Riley x AfroLatina reader
warningss; just some swearing
Immediately this man is an incredible boyfriend
I think he was only distant at first cause he didn’t want to hurt you but after he realized how much it wanted you, his love for you was a no brainer
His love languages are words of affirmation and affection (given and received) and acts of service (given)
“You look nice today.”
“Good job, baby.”
Sweetest man ever.
He likes physical affection but he could go without it.
He does love hugs though, especially after he’s been away for a while he’ll just lift you off of the ground and hold you for like 10 minutes.
The mask is on a lot. BUT NOT ALL THE TIME
You’ve grown accustomed to it, and even steal a couple of his and wear it around the house mocking his accent. “Take down the sniper johnny.”
He just raises an eyebrow
He likes dancing with you. Wether it’s bachata, cumbia, merengue, or just holding you close to Louis Armstrong, it’s gonna happen. He ain’t bad either.
Even though you guys are in the company of your very secluded home and each other, he’s still on alert.
Don’t sneak up on him.
You walked into the room he was in too quietly one time and he pulled a knife out. It didn’t come anywhere near you but it was one of the most terrifying moments of your life
Asked to watch your quince video🥲
He’s learned to cook for you and when your tired or just had a bad day, he makes your favorite meal that reminds you of home.
He hasn’t met your family in person because it’s difficult to leave the country when your supposed to be dead, but you guys video chat with them all the time
“Simon! Cómo estás, querido?” your mom loves him.
She came to visit once and spent the entire day with him. he even cracked a smile
You make sure he stays up to date
“…so that’s why we love Meghan, hate Camila.” “Right…”
You also have a ton of nicknames for him!! Sort of
“Hey Mostly Ghostly” “That’s new.” “You’ve never seen that movie?” “Nope.” “Get your ass in the living room blanquito!”
He lied to Alejandro about knowing Spanish. He picked up on so much while living with you.
“Has visto mi camisa azul?” “Did you just ask me a question?” “….” “It’s in the wash.”
He loves Romeo Santos. You caught him listening to his music when you came home one day. His fave is Llévame Contigo (yes he knows what the lyrics mean)
He can’t sing for shit in English but when he sings with you in Spanish it’s literally the best
I think he’s softer than a lot of people let on, he’s a little twisted but he loves you with every beat of corazón 🫶🏾
He actually holds your hand before you guys go to sleep. Cuddling is too damn hot but touching you grounds and relaxes him so he does that instead.
He loves kissing your forehead, crown, and nose
He also sits you on the counter and stands in between your legs
You're almost always sitting on his lap cause you're clingy but so is he lowkey
he also loves encanto and coco 🤭
#ghost headcanons#ghost mw2#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#ghost fic#ghost fluff#ghost flower#simon riley#cod x reader#cod mw22#cod modern warfare#cod#cod mw#if he or soap dies in mwiii im dying too tf#afrolatina#goddess
110 notes
·
View notes
Text
In Memoriam: Celebrities who died in 2022
In Memoriam: Celebrities who died in 2022
Peter Bogdanovich, 82. The ascot-wearing cinephile and director of 1970s black-and-white classics like “The Last Picture Show” and “Paper Moon.” Jan. 6.
Sidney Poitier, 94. He played roles of such dignity and intelligence that he transformed how Black people were portrayed on screen, becoming the first Black actor to win an Oscar for best lead performance and the first to be a top box-office draw. Jan. 6.
Marilyn Bergman, 93. The Oscar-winning lyricist who teamed with husband Alan Bergman on “The Way We Were,” “How Do You Keep the Music Playing?” and hundreds of other songs. Jan. 8.
Bob Saget, 65. The actor-comedian known for his role as beloved single dad Danny Tanner on the sitcom “Full House” and as the wisecracking host of “America’s Funniest Home Videos.” Jan. 9.
Dwayne Hickman, 87. The actor and network TV executive who despite numerous achievements throughout his life would always be remembered fondly by a generation of baby boomers for his role as Dobie Gillis. Jan. 9.
Ronnie Spector, 78. The cat-eyed, bee-hived rock ‘n’ roll siren who sang such 1960s hits as “Be My Baby,” “Baby I Love You” and “Walking in the Rain” as the leader of the girl group the Ronettes. Jan. 12.
Fred Parris, 85. The lead singer of the 1950s harmony group the Five Satins and composer of the classic doo-wop ballad “In the Still of the Night.” Jan. 13.
Ralph Emery, 88. He became known as the dean of country music broadcasters over more than a half-century in both radio and television. Jan. 15.
Yvette Mimieux, 80. The blond and blue-eyed 1960s film star of “Where the Boys Are,” “The Time Machine” and “Light in the Piazza.” Jan. 17.
Meat Loaf, 74. The rock superstar loved by millions for his “Bat Out of Hell” album and for such theatrical, dark-hearted anthems as “Paradise By the Dashboard Light,” “Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad,” and “I’d Do Anything for Love (But I Won’t Do That).” Jan. 20.
Louie Anderson, 68. His four-decade career as a comedian and actor included his unlikely, Emmy-winning performance as mom to twin adult sons in the TV series “Baskets.” Jan. 21.
Howard Hesseman, 81. He played the radio disc jockey Dr. Johnny Fever on the sitcom “WKRP in Cincinnati” and the actor-turned-history teacher Charlie Moore on “Head of the Class.” Jan. 29.
Ashley Bryan, 98. A prolific and prize-winning children’s author and illustrator who told stories of Black life, culture and folklore in such acclaimed works as “Freedom Over Me,” “Beautiful Blackbird” and “Beat the Story-Drum, Pum-Pum.” Feb. 4.
Lata Mangeshkar, 92. A legendary Indian singer with a prolific, groundbreaking catalog and a voice recognized by more than a billion people in South Asia. Feb. 6.
Betty Davis, 77. A bold and pioneering funk singer, model and songwriter of the 1960s and ‘70s who was credited with inspiring then-husband Miles Davis’ landmark fusion of jazz and more contemporary sounds. Feb. 9.
Bappi Lahiri, 69. A popular Bollywood singer and composer who won millions of fans with his penchant for feet-tapping disco music in the 1980s and 1990s. Feb. 15.
Mark Lanegan, 57. The singer whose raspy baritone and darkly poetic songwriting made Screaming Trees an essential part of the early Seattle grunge scene and brought him an acclaimed solo career. Feb. 22.
Sally Kellerman, 84. The Oscar and Emmy nominated actor who played Margaret “Hot Lips” Houlihan in director Robert Altman’s 1970 film “MASH.” Feb. 24.
Emilio Delgado, 81. The actor and singer who for 45 years was a warm and familiar presence in children’s lives and a rare Latino face on American television as fix-it shop owner Luis on “Sesame Street.” March 10.
Traci Braxton, 50. A singer who was featured with her family in the reality television series “Braxton Family Values.” March 12.
William Hurt, 71. His laconic charisma and self-assured subtlety as an actor made him one of the 1980s foremost leading men in movies such as “Broadcast News,” “Body Heat” and “The Big Chill.” March 13.
Brent Renaud, 50. An acclaimed filmmaker who traveled to some of the darkest and most dangerous corners of the world for documentaries that transported audiences to little-known places of suffering. Killed in Ukraine when Russian forces opened fire on his vehicle. March 13.
Taylor Hawkins, 50. For 25 years, he was the drummer for Foo Fighters and best friend of frontman Dave Grohl. March 25.
Estelle Harris, 93. She hollered her way into TV history as George Costanza’s short-fused mother on “Seinfeld” and voiced Mrs. Potato Head in the “Toy Story” franchise. April 2.
June Brown, 95. She played the chain-smoking Cockney matriarch Dot Cotton on the British soap opera “EastEnders” for 35 years. April 3.
Bobby Rydell, 79. A pompadoured heartthrob of early rock ’n roll who was a star of radio, television and the movie musical “Bye Bye Birdie.” April 5.
Gilbert Gottfried, 67. The actor and legendary standup comic known for his raw, scorched voice and crude jokes. April 12.
Liz Sheridan, 93. She played doting mom to Jerry Seinfeld on his hit sitcom. April 15.
Robert Morse, 90. An actor who won a Tony Award as a hilariously brash corporate climber in “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying” and a second one a generation later as the brilliant, troubled Truman Capote in “Tru.” April 20.
Naomi Judd, 76. Her family harmonies with daughter Wynonna turned them into the Grammy-winning country stars The Judds. April 30.
MORE: Maren Morris, Carrie Underwood and more react to death of Naomi Judd
Mickey Gilley, 86. A country singer whose namesake Texas honky-tonk inspired the 1980 film “Urban Cowboy” and a nationwide wave of Western-themed nightspots. May 7.
Fred Ward, 79. A veteran actor who brought a gruff tenderness to tough-guy roles in such films as “The Right Stuff,” “The Player” and “Tremors.” May 8.
Ray Liotta, 67. The actor best known for playing mobster Henry Hill in “Goodfellas” and baseball player Shoeless Joe Jackson in “Field of Dreams.” May 26.
Andy “Fletch” Fletcher, 60. Keyboardist for British synth pop giants Depeche Mode for more than 40 years. May 26.
Ronnie Hawkins, 87. A brash rockabilly star from Arkansas who became a patron of the Canadian music scene after moving north and recruiting a handful of local musicians later known as the Band. May 29.
Ann Turner Cook, 95. Her cherubic baby face was known the world over as the original Gerber baby. June 3.
Jim Seals, 80. He teamed with fellow musician “Dash” Crofts on such 1970s soft-rock hits as “Summer Breeze,” “Diamond Girl” and “We May Never Pass This Way Again.” June 6.
Jean-Louis Trintignant, 91. A French film legend and amateur race car driver who earned acclaim for his starring role in the Oscar-winning film “A Man and a Woman” half a century ago and went on to portray the brutality of aging in his later years. June 17.
Mark Shields, 85. A political commentator and columnist who shared his insight into American politics and wit on “PBS NewsHour” for decades. June 18.
James Caan, 82. The curly-haired tough guy known to movie fans as the hotheaded Sonny Corleone of “The Godfather” and to television audiences as both the dying football player in the classic weeper “Brian’s Song” and the casino boss in “Las Vegas.” July 6.
Tony Sirico, 79. He played the impeccably groomed mobster Paulie Walnuts in “The Sopranos” and brought his tough-guy swagger to films including “Goodfellas.” July 8.
Larry Storch, 99. The rubber-faced comic whose long career in theater, movies and television was capped by his “F Troop” role as zany Cpl. Agarn in the 1960s spoof of Western frontier TV shows. July 8.
William “Poogie” Hart, 77. A founder of the Grammy-winning trio the Delfonics who helped write and sang a soft lead tenor on such classic “Sound of Philadelphia” ballads as “La-La (Means I Love You)” and “Didn’t I (Blow Your Mind This Time).” July 14.
Taurean Blacque, 82. An Emmy-nominated actor who was known for his role as a detective on the 1980s NBC drama series “Hill Street Blues.” July 21.
Paul Sorvino, 83. An imposing actor who specialized in playing crooks and cops like Paulie Cicero in “Goodfellas” and the NYPD sergeant Phil Cerreta on “Law & Order.” July 25.
Tony Dow, 77. As Wally Cleaver on the sitcom “Leave It to Beaver,” he helped create the popular and lasting image of the American teenager of the 1950s and 60s. July 27.
Bernard Cribbins, 93. A beloved British entertainer whose seven-decade career ranged from the bawdy “Carry On” comedies to children’s television and “Doctor Who.” July 27.
Nichelle Nichols, 89. She broke barriers for Black women in Hollywood as communications officer Lt. Uhura on the original “Star Trek” television series. July 30.
Pat Carroll, 95. A comedic television mainstay for decades, Emmy-winner for “Caesar’s Hour” and the voice of Ursula in “The Little Mermaid.” July 30.
Judith Durham, 79. Australia’s folk music icon who achieved global fame as the lead singer of The Seekers. Aug. 5.
Olivia Newton-John, 73. The Grammy-winning superstar who reigned on pop, country, adult contemporary and dance charts with such hits as “Physical” and “You’re the One That I Want” and won countless hearts as everyone’s favorite Sandy in the blockbuster film version of “Grease.” Aug. 8.
Lamont Dozier, 81. He was the middle name of the celebrated Holland-Dozier-Holland team that wrote and produced “You Can’t Hurry Love,” “Heat Wave” and dozens of other hits and helped make Motown an essential record company of the 1960s and beyond. Aug. 8.
Wolfgang Petersen, 81. The German filmmaker whose World War II submarine epic “Das Boot” propelled him into a blockbuster Hollywood career that included the films “In the Line of Fire,” “Air Force One” and “The Perfect Storm.” Aug. 12.
Anne Heche, 53. The Emmy-winning film and television actor whose dramatic Hollywood rise in the 1990s and accomplished career contrasted with personal chapters of turmoil. Aug. 14.
Bob LuPone, 76. As an actor, he earned a Tony Award nomination in the original run of “A Chorus Line” and played Tony Soprano’s family physician, and also helped found and lead the influential off-Broadway theater company MCC Theater for nearly 40 years. Aug. 27.
Charlbi Dean, 32. The South African actor and model who had a breakout role in “Triangle of Sadness,” which won this year’s top prize at the Cannes Film Festival. Aug. 29.
Marsha Hunt, 104. One of the last surviving actors from Hollywood’s so-called Golden Age of the 1930s and 1940s who worked with performers ranging from Laurence Olivier to Andy Griffith in a career disrupted for a time by the McCarthy-era blacklist. Sept. 7.
Ramsey Lewis, 87. A renowned jazz pianist whose music entertained fans over a more than 60-year career that began with the Ramsey Lewis Trio and made him one of the country’s most successful jazz musicians. Sept. 12.
Jean-Luc Godard, 91. The iconic “enfant terrible” of the French New Wave who revolutionized popular cinema in 1960 with his first feature, “Breathless,” and stood for years among the film world’s most influential directors. Sept. 13.
Irene Papas, 93. The Greek actor and recording artist renowned for her dramatic performances and austere beauty that earned her prominent roles in Hollywood movies as well as in French and Italian cinema over six decades. Sept. 14.
Henry Silva, 95. A prolific character actor best known for playing villains and tough guys in “The Manchurian Candidate,” “Ocean’s Eleven” and other films. Sept. 14.
Louise Fletcher, 88. A late-blooming star whose riveting performance as the cruel and calculating Nurse Ratched in “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” set a new standard for screen villains and won her an Academy Award. Sept. 23.
Pharoah Sanders, 81. The influential tenor saxophonist revered in the jazz world for the spirituality of his work. Sept. 24.
Coolio, 59. The rapper was among hip-hop’s biggest names of the 1990s with hits including “Gangsta’s Paradise” and “Fantastic Voyage.” Sept. 28.
Kevin Locke, 68. An acclaimed Native American flute player, hoop dancer, cultural ambassador and educator. Sept. 30.
Sacheen Littlefeather, 75. The actor and activist who declined Marlon Brando’s 1973 Academy Award for “The Godfather” on his behalf in an indelible protest of Hollywood’s portrayal of Native Americans. Oct. 2.
Loretta Lynn, 90. The Kentucky coal miner’s daughter whose frank songs about life and love as a woman in Appalachia pulled her out of poverty and made her a pillar of country music. Oct. 4.
Judy Tenuta, 72. A brash standup who cheekily styled herself as the “Love Goddess” and toured with George Carlin as she built her career in the 1980s golden age of comedy. Oct. 6.
Jody Miller, 80. Her hit “Queen of the House” won the 1966 Grammy Award for best country performance by a woman. Oct. 6.
Anita Kerr, 94. A Grammy-winning singer and composer whose vocal group the Anita Kerr Singers provided the lush backdrop to the Nashville Sound. Oct. 10.
Angela Lansbury, 96. The scene-stealing British actor who kicked up her heels in the Broadway musicals “Mame” and “Gypsy” and solved endless murders as crime novelist Jessica Fletcher in the long-running TV series “Murder, She Wrote.” Oct. 11.
Robbie Coltrane, 72. The baby-faced comedian and character actor whose hundreds of roles included a crime-solving psychologist on the TV series “Cracker” and the gentle half-giant Hagrid in the “Harry Potter” movies. Oct. 14.
Joanna Simon, 85. An acclaimed mezzo-soprano, Emmy-winning TV correspondent and one of the three singing Simon sisters who include pop star Carly. Oct. 19.
Lucy Simon, 82. The composer who received a Tony nomination in 1991 for her work on the long-running Broadway musical “The Secret Garden.” Oct. 20.
Leslie Jordan, 67. The Emmy-winning actor whose wry Southern drawl and versatility made him a comedy and drama standout on TV series including “Will & Grace” and “American Horror Story.” Oct. 24.
Julie Powell, 49. A food writer who became an internet darling after blogging for a year about making every recipe in Julia Child’s “Mastering the Art of French Cooking,” leading to a book deal and a film adaptation. Oct. 26.
Jerry Lee Lewis, 87. The untamable rock ‘n’ roll pioneer whose outrageous talent, energy and ego collided on such definitive records as “Great Balls of Fire” and “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On” and sustained a career otherwise upended by personal scandal. Oct. 28.
Takeoff, 28. A rapper best known for his work with the Grammy-nominated trio Migos. Nov. 1.
George Booth, 96. A prize-winning cartoonist for The New Yorker who with manic affection captured the timeless comedy of dogs and cats and the human beings somehow in charge of their well being. Nov. 1.
Aaron Carter, 34. The singer-rapper who began performing as a child and had hit albums starting in his teen years. Nov. 5.
MORE: Backstreet Boys perform emotional tribute to Aaron Carter during show
Leslie Phillips, 98. The British actor best known for his roles in the bawdy “Carry On” comedies and as the voice of the Sorting Hat in the “Harry Potter” movies. Nov. 7.
Jeff Cook, 73. The guitarist who co-founded the country group Alabama and steered them up the charts with such hits as “Song of the South” and “Dixieland Delight.” Nov. 8.
Gal Costa, 77. The singer was an icon in the Tropicalia and Brazilian popular music movements and enjoyed a nearly six-decade career. Nov. 9.
Kevin Conroy, 66. The prolific voice actor whose gravely delivery on “Batman: The Animated Series” was for many Batman fans the definitive sound of the Caped Crusader. Nov. 10.
Gallagher, 76. The long-haired, smash-’em-up comedian who left a trail of laughter, anger and shattered watermelons over a decadeslong career. Nov. 11.
John Aniston, 89. The Emmy-winning star of the daytime soap opera “Days of Our Lives” and father of actress Jennifer Aniston. Nov. 11.
Robert Clary, 96. A French-born survivor of Nazi concentration camps during World War II who played a feisty prisoner of war in the improbable 1960s sitcom “Hogan’s Heroes.” Nov. 16.
Jason David Frank, 49. He played the Green Power Ranger Tommy Oliver on the 1990s children’s series “Mighty Morphin Power Rangers.” Nov. 19.
Wilko Johnson, 75. The guitarist with British blues-rock band Dr. Feelgood who had an unexpected career renaissance after being diagnosed with terminal cancer. Nov. 21.
Irene Cara, 63. The Oscar, Golden Globe and two-time Grammy winning singer-actor who starred and sang the title cut from the 1980 hit movie “Fame” and then belted out the era-defining hit “Flashdance ... What a Feeling” from 1983′s “Flashdance.” Nov. 25.
Freddie Roman, 85. The comedian was a former dean of The Friars Club and a staple of the Catskills comedy scene. Nov. 26.
Christine McVie, 79. The British-born Fleetwood Mac vocalist, songwriter and keyboard player whose cool, soulful contralto helped define such classics as “You Make Loving Fun,” “Everywhere” and “Don’t Stop." Nov. 30.
Julia Reichert, 76. The Oscar-winning documentary filmmaker behind “American Factory” — often called the “godmother of American independent documentaries” — whose films explored themes of race, class and gender, often in the Midwest. Dec. 1.
Bob McGrath, 90. An actor, musician and children’s author widely known for his portrayal of one of the first regular characters on the children’s show “Sesame Street.” Dec. 4.
Kirstie Alley, 71. A two-time Emmy winner whose roles on the TV megahit “Cheers” and in the “Look Who’s Talking” films made her one of the biggest stars in American comedy in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Dec. 5.
Angelo Badalamenti, 85. The composer best known for creating otherworldly scores for many David Lynch productions, from “Blue Velvet” and “Twin Peaks” to “Mulholland Drive.” Dec. 11.
Stephen “tWitch” Boss, 40. The longtime and beloved dancing DJ on “The Ellen DeGeneres Show” and a former contestant on “So You Think You Can Dance.” Dec. 13.
MORE: Ellen DeGeneres mourns tWitch in first on-camera message since his death
Shirley Eikhard, 67. The singer-songwriter who supplied songs for Cher, Emmylou Harris, Anne Murray, Chet Atkins and found lasting fame penning Bonnie Raitt‘s Grammy-winning 1991 hit “Something to Talk About.” Dec. 15.
Thom Bell, 79. The Grammy-winning producer, writer and arranger who helped perfect the “Sound of Philadelphia” of the 1970s with the inventive, orchestral settings of such hits as the Spinners’ “I’ll Be Around” and the Stylistics’ “Betcha by Golly, Wow.” Dec. 22.
**It’s only December 28, this list might expand**
Pelé 82. (1940–2022), soccer icon Dec. 29
Barbara Walters 93. 1929 – 2022) was an American broadcast journalist and television personality. Dec. 30
Pope Benedict XVI, 95; born Joseph Aloisius Ratzinger, 1927 –2022. was the head of the Catholic Church and sovereign of the Vatican City State from 19 April 2005 until his resignation on 28 February 2013. Dec. 31
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
HAVE YOU SEEN THE STATE OF HER BODY? MAD!!
#if i beat it i ain’t wearing a johnny#adealo wanna roll with the geezer#is it me or lifestyle sweetheart?#actually i don’t give a shit#i’m a rapper now might aswell live in it#she smoke up in my hotel billing it#you can do what you like darling—#that’s been stuck in my head all day
1 note
·
View note
Text
Girly
Request: Would it be possible for you to do a request where the reader is the Curtis brothers sister (between Sodapop and Ponyboy) and she is not feminine at all (she wears trousers, converse and jean jackets) and one day the gang sees her dressed up all girly.
WARNING(S): N/A
You looked at your reflection in the mirror for the millionth time, sighing as you smoothed out your new, light yellow skirt. Your mouth formed into a thin line as you eyed the white blouse that clung to your chest.
Your best friend had set you up on a date with a boy you barely even knew. When you reluctantly agreed she dragged you to a fancy boutique on the south side of town and bought you an entire outfit. Sure she meant well, and you appreciated it, but you couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable.
Never in your life have you thought you would be caught dead in a skirt and blouse. You never really liked girly or skimpy clothes, but she had insisted you wear something feminine for once.
You were nervous about the date, but petrified of how your brothers would react. You neglected to tell them about the date, knowing they would freak out and most likely ruin it for you. But you knew when you walked out of your room all hell was going to break loose when they see you in a skirt.
As you slipped some socks onto your feat you scoffed as your gaze landed on the new saddle shoes your friend had bought you.
“No thanks.” You mumbled under your breath.
You walked past your brand new shoes and smiled at your beat up converse that laid strewn out on the side of your bed. You slipped them on and tied them tightly, feeling content as they perfectly molded to your feet.
You sat on your bed for a moment, glancing at your alarm clock. He was supposed to be there in ten minutes to pick you up. You decided that it was now or never, you got up and walked towards your door. With a deep breath, you closed your eyes and silently prayed to yourself before exiting your room.
You swung the door open and put on the most normal face you could muster. With your head held high you confidently strolled down the hallway and towards all of the rowdy boys that occupied the living room.
Ponyboy was reading a book on the couch with Two-Bit sat beside him sipping on a beer and watching TV. Steve and Soda were wrestling on the floor, your big brother was winning only for a moment before Steve flipped him over and held him in a head lock.
“Hey, guys.” You said, casually leaning against the wall.
“He–” Ponyboy stopped once his gaze landed on you.
His eyes widened as he scanned your wardrobe, raising his eyebrows.
“Um… What– er… What are ya wearin’?” He asked skeptically.
Once those words left his mouth it seems as though the other boys in the room actually took notice of your presence. Two-Bit began to choke on his alcoholic beverage like a maniac. Soda stood laying on the floor dumbfounded while Steve was on top of him, looking at you with his jaw dropped.
You rolled your eyes at their reactions, looking down and playing with the hem of your skirt.
“I know I look lousy… Ya don’t have to rub it in.” You grumbled.
Your head snapped up when Two-Bit began to wolf whistle at you. A deep blush painted your cheeks as Steve began to join in while your two brothers looked at them in disgust.
“Howdy! Get you kid!” Two-Bit exclaimed as he examined you. “Don’t you look pretty!”
You smiled at the ground, “Awe, shucks–”
“Golly! I don’t think I ever seen you all dressed up before, you look awful nice!” Steve said.
“Erm… yeah. Why are ya dressed up anyhow?” Soda asked as he pushed Steve off of him.
“Gee, Soda. Thanks.” You said sarcastically.
“Don’t get me wrong, kiddo. Ya look gorgeous! I’m just confused… What’d you get all dolled up for?”
“I got a date…” You stated.
“A DATE!?” Both Soda and Pony shrieked.
“Why don’t ya tell the whole neighborhood while you’re at it.” You hissed.
“Hey! Why all the hollerin’? What’s goin’ on?” Darry entered the living room from the kitchen.
“Nothing.” You said quickly.
“Y/N got a date.” Soda ratted you out.
You glared at your older brother before giving the eldest Curtis a sweet smile.
“A date?” Darry asked skeptically. “Were you plannin’ on tellin’ us any time soon? What makes you think you can go on a date?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, “I can date whoever I want, Darry. I’m sixteen for cryin’ out loud I can handle one date!”
Darry sighed deeply as he stared down at you, he was absolutely horrified seeing you all grown up and looking girly as ever. The last thing he wanted to do was to get into another argument with one of his siblings. He had been fighting with Pony constantly and snapping at Soda, he didn’t want to bicker with you too.
You were caught off guard when he bent down and wrapped you in his arms, giving you a big hug. Shaking off the shock you hugged him back, squeezing his broad shoulders.
“You look beautiful, buddy.” He told you.
“Thank you, Dare-Bear.”
He snickered, you had given him that nick name when you were little; and you knew that he would crumble and get all soft from your words.
“Look, I don’t feel like fighting with ya…” He pulled away from the hug to look you in the eyes. “But please, stay safe. If that kid tries anythin’ you best know all of us are gonna head for the cooler.”
Everyone agreed as he said this, you just laughed and gave your brother a kiss on the cheek before heading towards the door.
“Wait you’re actually lettin’ her go?”
“He best keep his hands to himself!”
“Bring a sweater.”
“Use protection!”
“SHUT UP, TWO!”
“I’ll be fine!” You reassured.
“Curfew is eight o’ clock.” Darry said.
“Nine.” You argued.
“Eight thirty, take it or you ain’t goin’ missy.”
“Fine. Love you!”
With that you were out the door, your date wasn’t there yet so you took a seat on the front steps.
“What are you doin’?”
You jumped in surprise as your head whirled around to face the voice. It was Dally accompanied by Johnny, they were leaning against the house whilst sharing a cigarette.
“Hello to you too, Dal.” You said with sass laced in your tone.
He chuckled dryly, trailing off as he eyed you. You shifted uncomfortably and turned away from him.
“You look nice, Y/N.” Johnny said quietly.
You turned and sent him a warm smile, “Thanks, Johnny.”
“Where you goin’ off to dressed like that?” Dally asked.
You raised an eyebrow at him, “Why the sudden curiosity?”
He simply shrugged, “Figured you’d be doin’ somethin’ special… you never dress like… that.”
“D-Do you think it looks bad?” You didn’t mean to stutter, but you couldn’t help it.
He smirked, looking you up and down once more. Silence fell between the three of you for a while.
“Take that as a yes.” You scoffed.
“Nah…” Dally said. “You look smokin’.”
“Really?” You asked. Not once has Dallas Winston ever complimented you, and to be honest you wanted to make sure you heard him right.
“I don’t like repeatin’ myself, doll.” He replied smoothly.
You smirked and averted your gaze from him to the road, a light blush tinted your cheeks. Soon enough, a beat up car came to a stop in front of the house. Your date got out and gestured for you to get in, holding the door for you.
“Looks like that’s him…” You breathed out as you got up.
“He better not try anythin’.” Dallas said lowly.
“Awe, Dal. Didn’t know you cared about me that much.” You teased as you walked down your front steps.
“Shush up, kid.”
His eyes raked your body as he watched you walk away, getting into the guys car. He smirked at you when you shot him one last playful glance before your date drove off.
“I didn’t know the Curtis gal was hot.” Dallas said.
“Best not let her brothers hear you sayin’ stuff like that about her.” Johnny silently warned.
Dallas scoffed, flicking his finished cigarette into the dirt before heading back inside. Johnny followed close behind him.
#the outsiders#the outsiders x reader#the outsiders imagine#the outsiders fanfiction#the outsiders fic#the outsiders fandom#curtis!sister#ponyboy curtis#sodapop curtis#darry curtis#dallas winston#johnny cade#steve randle#two bit mathews
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
the only exception
pairing: bron breakker x fem!reader
warnings: swearing and violence.
request: can we get a fic for bron breakker where he has a crush on reader? tysm!!
a/n: i hope i did well and you enjoy this sweetheart!
words: 808 + not proofread
you are the only exception.
“to be honest..” you spoke into your mic. you were standing in the ring with Electra Lopez doing a promo for your match next week against two people you both couldn’t stand, Tiffany Straton and Mandy Rose.
“this is getting boring. you two flaunt the fact you have money, Tiffany more than Mandy. you both think the entire locker room should bow down to you, and that’s damn sure ain’t about to happen when it comes to the two of us.” you said pointing a manicured finger between you and Electra.
you both had similar outfits on. you both wearing white open toed platform heels, her with a white bandeau top, blazer, and shorts set while you opted for a white cami dress and cardigan.
Electra moved closer to you and stared deep into the camera. “daddy should’ve told you not to mess with us.” she said at Tiffany.
“and the WWE Universe should’ve told you that belt is going home with me at New Years Evil.” you spoke to Mandy, the crowd cheering the two of you on.
you knew there was only a matter of time before the two of you were interrupted by them. turning to Electra you nodded at the ramp as a signal to leave before suddenly toxic attractions music hit, both Tiffany and Mandy appearing.
they both looked you two over before laughing.
“my daddy said you’re both just jealous.” she smirked. Mandy giggled at her before addressing you.
“y/n, i think her dads right.” she spoke before stepping closer to the ring. “you’d never have my title.” she said raising it into the air.
you brought your own mic up to speak before Grayson Waller’s music hit.
“well this is getting messy.” Wade announced to those at home.
you looked at him with a raised brow before looking at Electra, her face mimicking your own while the crowd boo’ed at his presence.
“ladies ladies!” he called. he did a double take at the two offending girls before walking to the ring and eyeing you two.
he was so weird.
“there’s enough of me to go around.” he spoke into the mic as he smiled opening his cheetah print button down.
Electra laughed at him and sighed.
“boy nobody wants you. you’re not Xyonn.” she told him.
Mandy laughed too before looking him up and down. “definitely not Otis.”
“and my daddy said I don’t need to waste my time on boys like you!” Tiffany quickly said while swinging her purse.
Grayson’s face fell before he turned to you.
you definitely didn’t like him. you had been eyeing Bron since you debuted.
“well y/n…” he smirked before walking up and getting into your face. you backed up each time he moved forward, only stopping when your back hit the ropes.
his face was way too close.
“can someone come get him?” Vic mumbled at the announce table.
“what do you sa-“ his started before his voice was drowned out by the sound of Bron Breakker’s music.
great.
you were supposed to put Mandy and Tiffany on notice.
not call out the whole damn roster.
Bron ran out with his usual attire, his muscles showing and he showed pure aggression with his own mic in his hands.
“she said back the hell up Waller.” Bron said climbing onto the ring also. Electra had backed up with the extra body’s added into the ring and stood in a corner while Bron got into Grayson’s face.
Grayson’s blue eyes widened as he backed up from you. the stronger and taller male in front of him was freaking him out.
“he-hey Bron.” he stuttered out, licking his lips and looking between the both of you.
“i-i didn’t know she was yours.” he said holding his palms out and upward to Bron.
Bron turned and looked at you in the corner of his eye before cutting his eyes back at Grayson.
“after what you pulled with Johnny i should beat your ass.” Bron told him, Waller rolling his eyes at the mention of the beloved man.
“but this?” Bron asked. “you know i have a thing for her and you come out here and out your grimy hands on hers and invade her space.”
“invade mine!” Bron yelled before throwing his mic down with a harsh thump and bumping his chest hard into Grayson’s, the hit making him stumble back.
Electra made the move to grab your arm and drag you by the announce table while the two of them tussled on the mat.
it was hitting you.
Bron, someone you had been eyeing since your first day had been eyeing you too.
he came out to save you.
you hated the idea of a work relationship, but for him? you’d allow him to be the only exception.
you liked him back.
#bron breakker imagine#bron breakker#wwe nxt#wwe imagine#wwe x reader#bron breakker x reader#mandy rose#nxt 2.0#grayson waller
127 notes
·
View notes
Text
hi I have something for y’all called a disaster.
I wrote an Inimitable!Spiderman/Modern Star Wars AU because no one can stop me, not even myself. it is like 47 pages long. I am handing it tenderly to y’all.
--------------
Title: impossible scenario
Summary: Peter runs into some drunk assholes arguing, calling each other Han and Luke. He lets it roll off him until he can’t anymore and eventually finds himself for the first time on the other side of someone more chaotic than himself.
------------
There was an argument happening under a fire escape. Peter knew about it because a concerned dude wearing a fuckin’ Yankees cap had flagged him down with waving arms and told him that someone needed saving, Spiderman. Some tall asshole was kidnapping a young blond dude, the guy and his too-cool-for-him girlfriend explained. They’d heard the two scuffling.
Peter maybe stared for a beat too long at them because the gal pointed two blocks behind him and said, “That way. I think the blond guy might be drugged. He’s slurrin’ something strong.”
Peter liked her shoes. They looked like Miles’s, but blue.
“Spidey?”
Miles told Peter all the time that he wasn’t cool enough to wear Jordans. MJ and Johnny had agreed. Such sad times.
“Spidey.”
“I got it,” Peter sighed.
The gal tsked.
“Man, you’re too young to be this jaded,” she said.
Peter sighed.
“You’re the third person to say that this week,” he said. “You think I should go back to therapy?”
There was a pause.
“You know that answer, dude,” cool-gal said. “Go save the twink.”
Twink. Got it. Thank you, citizen.
“There are websites for that shit, Spidey.”
Bye now.
“Apps, even.”
Bye, bye.
“BetterHelp or Headspace or somethin’—”
“Two blocks, you said?” Peter asked.
--
Two blocks away, there was indeed a man with dark hair trying to lift a violently intoxicated twink up onto the first steps of a fire escape. Peter examined his options. There were many ways to ruin a potential kidnapper’s day. His favorite involved coke and mentos, although he’d received feedback that that was a waste of perfectly good food. Down the list was also the option to walk over and scream bloody murder so that the kidnapper shat themselves and dropped their target.
That was good, but Peter was tired and the thought of mustering up the energy to scream at a noticeable volume made his thighs turn to Jell-o.
That left snark and violence.
Today, he would not choose violence. Only for today.
He strode out of his dark temporary residence between two dumpsters directly towards the tall dude and his mark. The mark was a messy one. Bless his heart, he was unwittingly making himself the most noncompliant victim to have ever victim-ed. Every time the tall guy got him almost vertical, he gave up his corporeal form to become drunk slime and ooze back to the ground with various moaning sound effects.
It would have been funny if not for the kidnapping context.
The fact that Peter had been standing there under the beams of two separate side-building security lights and neither of those two had noticed yet was also objectively funny—or would have been, if Peter had the capacity for processing humor at the moment.
Alas. This was what he got for telling Tony that he’d evolved beyond the need for sleep. He got caffeine-pilled. And there would be no true rest until that shit wore off, exhausted as Peter’s body yearned to be.
“Kid, work with me here,” the tall guy said.
“I can’t, I’ll die,” the shorter one moaned.
“Luke.”
“I’ve done my time—thirty years in AZKA—”
“Keep your voice down, oh my god.”
Peter was just standing here, fellas.
“Luke.”
“Why’s it always me? Why’s it always gotta be me? The hell did I do to piss off the whole galax-galaxy? HA. My bad, my bad. The whole universe?”
God, what a mood.
The tall guy dropped his grip on the smaller one and loomed over his puddle of ooze with poison in his gaze.
“People are going to die, Luke,” he said.
“So what? They’re always dyin’. Everywhere I go, people’re dyin’ and when it’s not them dyin’, you know who is?”
“Kid.”
“ME.”
“So you’re just gonna wallow there, feelin’ sorry for yourself?” the tall dude snapped.
“Sure am,” the puddle of ooze hummed.
This was not a kidnapping. This was a come-to-Jesus in the back alley of a bar. Peter was not needed here. He turned around on his heel and stopped when he heard a sharp intake of breath.
“Is that?” someone whispered.
“Don’t mind me, pal, just your friendly neighborhood—” he started.
“Look what you did,” Tall and Handsome hissed at Ooze-Man. “Someone went and called Spiderman on us.”
Peter lifted a brow as Ooze-man ripped its chest up from the asphalt and composed itself back into a human shape with fluffy blonde hair and huge wide eyes.
“Omigod, it’s Spiderman,” the guy said. “Wait, no. Gimme a hand. No, not that one, fuck off, nevermind, I don’t need you.”
He drew himself up to standing, only leaning slightly on his buddy there and gave Peter as lopsided smile.
“Hi, there,” he said with a twang that Peter couldn’t place. “Were you lookin’ for someone, handsome?”
Ah, they had reached the time of night when all the drunks needed to tell Peter things he already knew about his ass. He loved this time.
Not to mention that this dude looked eerily like Johnny. Scarily like Johnny. So much like Johnny that Peter almost wanted to take a picture of him to send to Sue so that she could print up some lost and found posters.
“Just lookin’ at you, babe,” he said. “This guy botherin’ you?”
The tall guy blanched and then grabbed at his face in horror. Peter swallowed his laugh.
“He sure is, hon. You got time to rescue me?” Blondie crooned.
“Luke, please. Please.”
“Because I’m in real distress,” ‘Luke’ said with a pout mighty enough to fell Thor.
“You sure seem like it,” Peter said. “C’mere. I’ll walk you home. Leave that tool, he ain’t worth your breath.”
He held out an elbow like proper gentleman and was pleased at the hand that Luke laid over his heart in response.
Peter could imagine Johnny’s face in six different expression of jealous horror at a selfie taken with this look-alike. Each was beautiful in its own special way. As payment for being referred to counseling by the public, he at least deserved to receive at least two of those faces.
“You mean that?” Luke asked him.
“He doesn’t,” his tall companion said.
“I sure do, where do you live? I’ll walk you,” Peter said.
“Oh my god, I’m gonna cry, he’s gonna escort me,” Luke said, all choked up and fanning his eyes lightly.
This tall friend grabbed him before he could escape, though, and pulled him back behind his own body.
“Listen, Spidey, this is a misunderstanding,” he drawled. “I know this idiot—he is technically my idiot— and I’m the one escorting his ass home. Thanks, though. You’re a real menace. Beat it.”
MMMMMMM.
And here Peter had been planning on being jaded and miserable this fine night. How could he now when this dude was ticking every box that made him feel alive?
“What’s your name, dollface?” Peter asked across the short distance.
“None of your business,” Tall Guy answered abruptly.
“Luke,” Luke said around him. “Are you gonna save me?”
“In just a minute,” Peter said, striding forward with a hard roll in his shoulder and deep drop in his knees.
It was amazing how Tall Guy wanted to take some steps back all of the sudden. Peter couldn’t help but let a smirk widen his face as he advanced.
“Okay, hang on now,” Tall Guy said with both palms out in front of him. “You don’t know what this is about, Spidey. You don’t want to get involved with this, trust me. He’s just bein’ dramatic. No need to get testy.”
“You sure do a lot of talkin’ for your friend there,” Peter noted through his grin.
“Yeah, Han,” Luke said.
Ha.
Han. Han and Luke. Ned was gonna be enraptured when Peter told him about this later.
“Luke. Back me up.”
“Why should I?”
“Because,” ‘Han’ finally snapped. “I’m not doin’ this because I want you to suffer, alright? I don’t want nothin’ to do with it either, okay? No one does. But it’s this or—”
“Or everyone else,” Luke finished for him in a strangely toneless voice.
Han sighed.
“It’s always everyone else,” Luke said.
“Not here.”
“Why’s it always everyone el—No, no, here. Why not? We’ve got fucking Spiderman in our midst, how much more surreal can this moment get? No. You listen to me, Han—”
“I’ve been listening to you all damn evening and you know what I’m hearing?”
“—I lost my life for this. I lost my home, my aunt, my uncle, my hand—”
“I’m hearing you making this about you.”
“—everything I ever knew, and I tried to make it right, didn’t I? I made the school. I gathered the kids—”
“And it’s not just about you this time, kid. It’s not about you, it’s not about me, or Leia, or Chewie or—”
“—I lost my kid and the love of my life, and I finally get a second chance at finding them and giving them the goddamn happy ending they deserve, and the next thing I know—”
“Luke, you’re the only one,” Han said.
“I WAS NEVER. THE ONLY. ONE, HAN,” Luke roared out of absolutely nowhere, sober as a saint. “I was never the only one. EVER. Ahsoka. Go find her. She’s everything that I’m not and more. She’s the real—”
“Luke.”
“Stop saying that name. I HATE that name. I would do anything for twenty goddamn seconds where I didn’t have to be him.”
“You don’t mean that,” Han said quietly. His shoulders had rounded out and become black and heavy under the weight of their shadow. Luke’s eyes, however, looked like topaz.
“I mean it,” Luke said.
Oho.
So shit had gotten real tense, real fast, so Peter about to make a decision that was gonna make Shelley so proud of him she would weep when he finally slunk back in through her office door.
He was leaving. He was turning around and taking a wee jog. Maybe turning a corner, having a little jump over a fence, up a wall, to a place as far away from this one as superhumanly possible.
Bye, bye.
“This galaxy needs you, Luke.”
Peter stopped five paces away.
“They need you,” Han repeated. “And I need you.”
Peter slowly looked back to see that Luke’s face had twisted sharply out of the light, towards the alley wall.
“I’m sorry that we met again like this,” Han said quietly. “I’m sorry it’s always you. You don’t deserve this. No one deserves this.”
“Shut up,” Luke said.
“But if you don’t do something, then it won’t be just me and you and all these random others sliding back into that cesspit we all barely crawled out of.”
“Stop.”
“You’ll never find him if things go back the way they were.”
“You—you don’t know that. There—maybe—”
“Luke. Listen to me. Please.”
“Maybe there’s a chance—”
“Luke,” Han said reaching out and putting a hand on Luke’s shoulder and clenching it hard enough that Peter should see the bunched fabric, “Do you want Din to live through this shitshow a second time? Hasn’t he suffered enough?”
Peter shivered. The pressure at the base of his neck was building. The Spidey Sense wanted to hiss in his ears like white noise. It pinned him where he was, staring over his shoulder at those two solid shapes, one digging a hand into the flesh of the other.
His stomach turned.
Luke said something that Peter couldn’t hear. Han pulled him toward his own body by the grip he had on his shoulder. At first, Luke seemed to stagger, like he was walking on black ice. He stopped a single step away from Han’s body, still with his face angled severely away. Han said something to him.
There was a long pause, then Luke seemed to fall forward. Han caught him and crushed his head into his shoulder, lowering his own until it was almost touching Luke’s ear. They clung to each other.
Luke was crying.
The Spidey Sense started to crackle and pop in Peter’s ears.
“I gotchu, kid,” Han said in a rasp. “I gotchu. We’re gonna get through it.”
Peter blinked once and finally unlocked the muscles in his neck. He wasn’t meant to witness this. He held out a wrist and fired a line.
--
It was weird.
It was just weird.
Something wasn’t right. And Peter couldn’t make his stomach not writhe about it.
Luke.
Han.
An offhand mention of like, characters. Character names. They were character names. Leia, Chewie.
Peter had heard of people who lived their lives honestly believing that they had been other people—fake people—in past lives, but like, damn man. Why would you put yourself in a position like that were you were moved to actual tears for some elaborate street-drama?
Maybe it had been a joke? That was the only thing he could think it could be. Maybe the universe had gazed upon his hubris at work and gone ‘ah yes, I know what this young man needs: emotional confusion at midnight on a Thursday. That’ll fix him.’
If that was the case, then yeah. Good job, universe. Good job, larpers. Y’all are equally sick.
But if not—and Peter no longer lived in a world where he could rule out any possibilities—then he had just witnessed—Dude, he’d just witnessed—
He couldn’t even think it. It was beyond him. It was so far beyond him that like he might have a real stroke taking the thought seriously.
There was only one person who could hold that kind of information unscathed.
Only one.
--
PP: Ned. I need you to listen to me and tell me I’m not crazy.
NL: no promises but go on
PP: I think? I just saw? Luke Skywalker? And Han Solo? In an alley behind Kitty’s?????
NL: fascinating
JS: Say more
PP: who let you in here?
JS: you?
PP: SECURITY
NL: Peter say more
PP: I can’t there’s a nerd in here and it’s vibrating at the wrong decibel. SECURITY???
MJ: yeah?
PP: I’m trying to have a breakdown. Can you remove Matchstick please?
MJ: what kind of breakdown
JS: he thinks he met Luke Skywalker
PP: Security has failed me. God?
NL: Peter can you name three things you can see.
PP: I am not manic. I am in touch with reality. I’m just having anxiety because I just fucking saw two people calling each other Luke and Han fighting behind Kitty’s. Like real fighting.
JS: nicknames?
PP: I—
PP: oh my god nicknames
PP: Johnny I’m so sorry I ever doubted you. never leave my side
JS: 😊
MJ: wow that’s cringe. Imagine naming yourself after SW characters
NL: does kitty do a cosplay night now????
PP: idk it was wild. People thought that ‘Han’ was trying to kidnap ‘Luke’ but when I got over there, Luke started flirting with me and then shit got real and they started arguing over like him hating his name and not wanting to do something and losing everything or some shit
NL: that’s a lot. I’m sure it was nothing, though, peter.
PP: yeah it was. My SS has been going nuts ever since I left. You think they bugged me?
JS: yes I will come search your body imminently
MJ: my job storm, back off
JS: after MJ has finished prelim checks, I will then search your body for you out of the kindness of my heart ❤
NL: that’s weird, the SS doesn’t usually freak out about cosplayers
PP: ikr?
NL: lol imagine if they were serious
MJ: don’t say that
JS: well now we have to lean in. thanks ned
JS: they were definitely real. God they were so real. You hear that Fate? You got us. They’re definitely real.
PP: BUT WHAT IF THEY WERE?
MJ: cue breakdown
NL: that would be so fucking funny. Luke Skywalker and Han Solo trying to save the world from the hellscape of nyc. The rats alone would thwart them.
PP: ned I’m freaking out
NL: oh you mean you’re actually freaking out?
PP: deeply
NL: oh shit sorry. I’ll be over, have you slept yet?
PP: NO
MJ: on it
JS: can I join?
NL: no johnny
MJ: no johnny
PP: 😭
JS: one day our love will build a bridge, peter. In the meantime I am stroking your ear comfortingly from midtown
--
Need and MJ’s weight pinning him to a mattress brought sleep but not necessarily comfort. They both thought that this was a sick joke someone had played on him that was now destroying his psyche. They thought that the couple pointing him back towards the cosplayers had been in on the joke.
Peter would have agreed with them if it wasn’t for the Spidey Sense. Everything else lined up perfectly.
Ned sighed in the morning and told Peter to go talk to Wade.
--
Wade’s hallucinations were, by far, more auditory than visual, but he stayed quiet while Peter talked his ear off over the phone in his locked office. He waited until Peter had run out of words to describe the feeling of impending doom and then huffed a bit of a laugh into the receiver.
“Them Star Wars people are unreal, Pete, you know this,” he said. “Look at Ned.”
Ned was perfect.
“Take off those rosy shades, hon. Now, look again.”
Ned had perhaps memorized the entire scripts of the first three movie and 90% of the spaceship names and the jedi lineages.
“Uh-huh. Keep going.”
Peter didn’t want to.
“We all gotta do shit we don’t want do.”
Fine.
Ned’s goal in life was to go to his wedding in a stormtrooper suit.
“Keep going.”
Every Lego project they’d built together since 13 years-old had been a Star Wars-related one. When Ned had decided to move out of his parents’ place, he’d shed actual tears over MJ and Peter mutually suggesting that he sell some of his memorabilia.
“Will this delightful buffet before our very eyes, what is the likelihood of your two pals being drunk larpers in too deep to quit?” Wade asked.
73%.
“Uh-huh.”
“Thanks, Wade.”
“No problem. Although, now I gotta see this. You said they were behind Kitty’s? You think I can get a stormtrooper costume in 8 hours?”
“They’re not still gonna be there, Wade,” Peter huffed. “It’s 10 am.”
“You ain’t know that. What if Luke Skywalker’s a useless drunk, huh? You ever think of that?”
No.
“What’d he look like?”
Peter groaned.
“He looked like Luke Skywalker,” he said. “Blond hair, blue eyes—sort of like a chipmunk that forgot its stripes.”
“I’m onto you, Skywalker.”
Peter hung up to Wade’s cackle. He slouched low and tapped his pen against his desk. Then against his fingers.
He stared at the edge of his keyboard.
“What’s the weirdest thing you could imagine, Pete?” he asked himself.
--
PP: sam
SC: yeah?
PP: do you like star wars?
SC: nah
PP: you’re perfect
PP: do you believe in past lives?
SC: like spiritually or culturally? I know I was a cult-kid for a min there but before that we were Buddhists and like, past lives are part of the package
PP: that’s cool. What do you think of people being reborn as themselves again like, 500000000 years later? From a galaxy far far away?
SC: I don’t think about those people
PP: okay well, hypothetically. Let’s say that you were going to imagine someone who embodied that whole spirit. Who would it be?
SC: Buddha
PP: not buddha
SC: is this a riddle? Is it Jesus?
PP: THOR. Thank you this has been helpful ily bye
Mr. Stark asked him over a cup of viciously black coffee why Peter was seeking out the demigod of his present nightmares.
That usually meant that he and Thor had disagreed on basic physics principles again. Peter took that also to mean that the demigod was still in the building. Possibly loose.
“He’s with Banner,” Mr. Stark said scathingly.
“Thanks, you’re amazing,” Peter said as he sailed out of the room.
--
Thor was sitting on Dr. Banner’s lab table, despite Dr. Banner telling him to get off no fewer than two times in the five minutes that Peter was in there, schmoozing and making pleasantries. He warmed Thor up to the home-run hit by asking him all about past lives and present lives and what the soul was on Asgard. Thor was only too happy to explain a load of nonsense that made Banner roll his eyes and poke at his muscles with a thermometer.
“So, hypothetically speaking,” Peter drawled in a very casual lean, “With the infinite galaxies and universes, etcetera, there could be one where Star Wars people exist. And so hypothetically, they could get reborn into a universe like ours.”
Thor blinked at him.
“You remember the laser swords?” Dr. Banner deadpanned.
Thor lit up.
“I suppose it’s possible,” he told Peter indulgently. “But if that was the case then it would be a long tragedy, no?”
…yes…
Say more, Thor-man.
“Well,” Thor said with a big, happy smile, “The series of events that unfolded in that story seemed to me to be one of triumph and tragedy. With one would come the other—that’s how these stories work, yes?”
…yes.
“So if Master Luke Skywalker and his companions arrived into our space here, then they must experience the same in order to be themselves,” Thor said, bobbing his head in pity. “Perhaps what would look like a new start for such people would result only in terror and disappointment until the same conclusion was reached.”
Peter felt his own grin twitch.
“So it’s not impossible?” he asked.
Both Thor and Banner looked at him quizzically at the same time.
“Peter?” Dr. Banner asked. “Is this coming from somewhere?”
Peter’s grin twitched so violently, it turned into a grimace that even superstrength would not let him maintain.
“Can I borrow one of you?” he asked.
--
Wade was not happy to be met outside of Kitty’s in the middle of the day, especially because his stormtrooper outfit, in his words, ‘did no justice for the size of his balls.’
Peter was ignoring that. He dragged Thor past Wade’s righteous anger until he was standing on the place where the other two had stood the night before. Thor stood there gamely.
“There,” Peter said. “Any like, energy signatures?”
Thor glanced around and shrugged.
Wade scowled at him and hounded him off the spot so that he could stand there instead.
“I feel nothing,” he said, devoid of emotion.
“Same,” Thor said.
Damnit.
“Perhaps you are—”
The Spidey Sense smashed through all of Peter’s sense and screamed at him to get to the street.
Get to the street. Get to the street. Get to the—
There.
Across the way. Chipmunk, no stripes.
That was the guy from the day before. He was on the opposite sidewalk smashed in with the crowd, dragging a hand through his hair and laden with a backpack and two separate totes. He was wearing a strange set of clothes—a mash of casual and formal—and seemed to be in a hurry, the type of hurry that involved pushing past folks at a half-jog and not stopping at streetlights.
“Got ‘im,” Peter hissed.
“No shit?” Wade asked over his shoulder.
Thor made a sound of interest.
“I see him, too,” he said. “What incredible energy, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Wh—
Peter whirled on him.
“Don’t you fucking say that,” he warned. “I’m gonna go distract. You two, on my six.”
--
Peter broke four traffic laws on his way around the block. He swung himself around a corner and fucked up the collar on his labcoat and counted to four before stepping out right into ‘Luke’s path.
They collided. Luke stumbled back and dropped one of his totes.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Peter blustered. “Are you okay?”
Luke swore and dropped down without answering, collecting the odd ends of metal that had clattered out from his bag and now rolled loose over the pavement. Peter stooped to join, gathering rings and pipes of all sorts of sizes in his hands. Oncoming folks gave them a wide berth.
It took a moment for Luke to realize what Peter was doing, but when he did, his shoulders went stiff as a board.
“DON’T TOUCH THOSE,” he snapped, just as Peter made to pick up a little plastic bag with a wad of tissue inside it.
Peter froze.
“Oh. Sorry,” he said.
This time, Luke finally met his eye.
“Oh, Jesus. No. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Luke blustered, “Thank you. I’ll—I’ve got them. Thank you, though. It’s okay.”
He took the metal out of Peter’s hands and stuffed them back into his bag. He snatched the plastic bag before Peter could touch it and put that on top.
“Excuse me,” he said as he stood. “Thanks again.”
And just like that, he hurried off past Peter down the pavement.
Peter watched him go.
“Catch?” Wade asked softly from the corner.
“Negative,” Peter said, reaching into his sleeve and holding up the thin aluminum tube he’d hidden up there by the edge of his shirt-sleeve.
It was shiny and longer than he’d expect for any plumbing project. The inside appeared to be coated with some sort of heavy, non-reactive material, and half of the outside had grooved bands carved into it.
“Someone’s building something,” he said.
“Mid-century sink?” Wade asked, taking the tube.
“Nope,” Peter said.
--
NL: That is a lightsaber hilt
NL: where did you get that? It’s like mega accurate. Was it etsy?
PP: I stole it
NL: give it back
PP: I can’t I stole it from Luke Skywalker.
NL: Peter.
NL: we talked about this.
PP: He’s Luke Skywalker. I swear on the grave of my mother
MJ: this is a problem. This is now an intervention.
PP: I will prove it. If he’s Luke Skywalker, then he will do ANYTHING to get this thing back.
NL: and if not?
PP: then I will wait two days before politely tracking down his home address and then I will return it via wall crawling
JS: UM
JS: SORRY
JS: PETER CAN YOU CALL ME?
PP: no
NL: no
MJ: no
JS: are
JS: are you sure??? Because there’s a guy in Reed’s lab right now talking to him and Sue, asking SUPER politely for access to—I shit you not—the crystals we picked up from that space trip the other day???
NL: …
PP: …
MJ: …
PP: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
MJ: fake
NL: no way
PP: WHAT’S HIS NAME, JOHNNY BOY????
JS: I can’t
PP: nope you gotta
JS: I can’t I’m gonna cry I didn’t ask for this
MJ: out with it
NL: please say it’s obi-wan
JS: HHHHHHHHHHH
JS: nope
JS: just a guy named Ben 🙃
PP: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
PP: I told you motherfuckers
JS: right. So like. Awkward. But you uh, know that hilt thing you have?
PP: …is Obi-Wan Kenobi about to beat my ass, Johnny?
--
There was something about putting the hilt into the palm of someone more famous than Captain America that made Peter’s knees weak.
It did not help that Luke Skywalker had flirted with him the other night.
It did not help that Luke Skywalker didn’t recognize him as Spiderman.
Nothing helped, really, especially when those big topaz eyes lifted and Peter could see that their rims were red and raw.
“Thanks,” Luke Skywalker—the embodiment of hope itself—said in a soft, defeated rasp.
Every alarm in Peter’s head said to save him. Save him from what? How? Who knew.
Ned and MJ seemed to feel the same way, if the pressure on each of his arms was anything to go by.
“Well, that’s all cleared up, then. Thank you so much for your help; it is deeply appreciated,” a stupidly pleasant gentleman with a perfectly combed beard and lovingly coifed light hair said to the room at large.
Obi-Wan Kenobi—pardon, Ben Kennedi—was far more handsome than any movie could ever dream to make him. What they’d done to him in the 1970s, Peter saw now, was a fucking crime. He watched as this beautiful human being set a warm hand on Luke Skywalker’s—pardon, Luke Naberry’s—shoulder and used it to steer him towards the Baxter Building’s front entrance.
He watched as the two of them, like true Master and Padawan, stepped out onto the landing and opted for the stairs. For one fleeting, unbelievable second, Luke looked back over his shoulder at all of them before taking the next step after his Master.
He was right the other night.
He wasn’t the only jedi. Not anymore.
“So that just happened,” Sue acknowledged for everyone after the door had clicked closed and the sound of footsteps had faded off to nothing.
“I’m going to cry,” Reed announced.
“This is single-handedly the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Ned said.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi walked into our kitchen,” Reed told Sue like she hadn’t been there right next to him.
“The empire is trying to establish itself under our very feet,” Sue said back a little viciously.
“The real empire,” Reed whimpered.
Wait.
No, go back.
“For real?” Peter asked.
Sue and Reed looked back at the rest of them and then exchanged a look.
--
Peter was sad now. Depressed and laid out on his side staring back at Valeria’s huge eyes on the floor while Ned and MJ and Johnny asked Reed and Sue two hundred clarifying questions.
Peter didn’t need the specifics. He was thinking back on the conversation that he’d witnessed between Luke and Han Solo—Han Solo who was tall with dark hair and dark eyes and an accent straight out of New Jersey. Solo who had probably been charged with forcing Luke to face the facts in front of all of them because he was the one who Luke trusted most.
But it had shattered them—both of them.
The New Hope had given up everything. He was tired. His heart was torn. He was jaded just like Peter had been that same night. He’d been avoiding the tightrope that Peter had already started crossing, though, probably looking for every possible way to not have to set the first foot on that wobbly line.
He’d walked it before.
Valeria reached out with a chubby, round hand and touched the side of Peter’s face.
“Spiderman,” she said with terrifying understanding, “Someone needs help.”
He wriggled in close enough to bonk heads with her.
“Baby Storm,” he whispered, “I think you’re right.”
--
MJ thought that Peter needed to leave things alone. She pointed out that he had plenty of problems without getting involved in universe-saving. She gestured to Johnny and volunteered him for the job.
Johnny refused on account of needing to be the prettiest blond in any room. He claimed that if he wasn’t, he had to fight for dominance.
Ned was on the other end of the spectrum. He had 43 reasons why Peter should get involved with things, and 40 of them ended up in the same place which was ‘it would be cool.’
One of Ned’s better reasons, however, involved pointing out that Peter had already stolen half of a lightsaber. He was good and involved now, whether he wanted to be or not. And that was enough for Peter to decide to go on a hunt to give a formal apology.
He recruited Ned to help him locate Luke Skywalker.
That didn’t work.
They tried Luke Naberry.
That didn’t work either.
They ended up going through every possible iteration of every Star Wars name they knew and then filtered out the people who’d been named by exuberant parents and then filtered out anyone who didn’t live in New York and they ended up with fat lot of still nothing.
It was like Luke Skywalker didn’t truly exist in this world.
Until MJ found his Instagram by typing in ‘guys who look weirdly like Luke Skywalker.’
She held the phone aloft in triumph and they all gathered round to gape in awe at her intelligence and research skills.
Luke’s Instagram was nothing but pictures of coffee.
He had one selfie and this selfie was enough to have gotten him onto a BuzzFeed article. In it he was holding—you guessed it—coffee. Iced coffee. One in each hand.
He was shaking them, and one had been labeled with his name—hence the public connection made.
“Someone needs to tell him that coffee is not a food group,” Johnny observed.
“Maybe he works nights,” MJ said.
Ned lifted an eyebrow.
“Maybe this is his job,” he said.
There was a pause.
Some snooping revealed that Luke was an honest to god food website editor. He was a cameraman.
Repeat. Luke Skywalker, cameraman. He filmed all the food hosts for his company’s Youtube channel. He edited videos. He more or less blended into the background of everything, while having his finger prints on damn near everything.
This was a man after Peter’s own soul. They were kindred spirits in hidden identities, content creation, and suffering under a boulder of responsibility too great to cope with.
He had to find him now.
And after they had his Instagram it wasn’t too hard. He seemed to hang out in various parts of the Bronx and Peter just so happened to know some folks out that way.
--
Louis told Peter that he would never speak to him again if he found, befriended, and then didn’t share Luke Skywalker (the man, the real man, I’m not fucking with you, Louis). But he also recognized a place on Luke’s instagram that he seemed to be working his way through the menu of. He sent along an address and told Peter not to forget his promises.
Angel asked why he was looking for Johnny Storm in the Bronx.
Peter left Louis to rattle sense into her.
He took a walk on Saturday morning. A long walk. A long train ride, then a walk, then a half hour of squinting, and then, lo and behold, he found a blond guy banging his head into the center of an out door metal table across from a woman with heavy braids trailing down the sides of her neck. She was much older than him and drummed white-painted fingernails across her cheek as she thought.
Peter hid and called Ned and MJ for an ID. He peeked the phone’s camera out enough for them to see the other two and then snatched it back.
Ned was about to flip a table.
“That’s clearly Ahsoka Tano,” he said. “She—the braids, dude. Dead give-away. And she put ribbons in them, like what even is discretion?”
Peter didn’t know that person. He continued not to know this person, even as Ned dragged him through a trainwreck of Star Wars lore.
“So she’s a friend,” he said.
“She’s like a jedi, but not like a jedi, she was a jedi, but then she said ‘fuck the order’ and—”
Great. Peter was approaching.
Ned held his face in his hands. MJ told Peter to report back on his findings. Peter ended the call and inched closer, weaving through the crowd and slipping into the coffee joint to see what nonsense they were selling.
It was nonsense with lots of syrup. He could never say no to syrup.
He watched the two outside while waiting for his order. Luke gesticulated to his friend and she spoke, giving reasonable gestures back. He stopped her and dug out his phone and that little plastic baggy full of fluffy material. He answered his phone. His friend took the little bag and held it up to the light.
She frowned at it.
Luke pushed away from the table and walked away to take his call. Peter’s order was called. He grabbed it and swerved out towards the patio.
“Hello,” he said at the edge of Luke and his friend’s table. “Is this seat taken?”
Luke’s friend stared at him.
“It is,” she said. “Move along, hon, you’re ten years too young.”
Wow.
“For your friend?” Peter tried. “Could I leave my number?”
He had this lady’s attention now. She was looking him up and down, appraising. Peter tried not to flex. He stayed cool. Matt-levels of cool. He smiled winningly.
“Alright, why not?” she said, digging through her bag for a receipt and a pen. Peter beamed as he leaned down to scrawl his number down on the back. He got halfway through before he heard a step stop nearby.
“Look alive, kid,” Luke’s friend said. “Hey, Luke, this guy was just—”
“You again?” Luke said.
Peter lifted his head and brows.
“Hi,” he said. “I just wanted to apologize.”
There was a long silence.
Luke’s friend looked between them and then gave Luke a long, judgmental stare.
“You don’t have to,” Luke said. “Thanks, though. How did you find me here?”
Mmm. Beginner’s luck.
“Here,” Peter said, offering his number on the receipt. “If you ever need someone to talk to who gets it.”
Luke’s friend bit her lip and looked away in secondhand embarrassment. Peter ignored her for now.
“Thanks,” Luke said. “You don’t and you won’t. But you’re very pretty.”
Nice.
“You’d be surprised,” Peter told him. “Gimme a text. I’ll leave y’all alone now. Enjoy your coffee.”
He left. But not before hearing, “but that ass, Luke.”
--
Ned told him that there was no way that Luke was ever going to text him and he was disappointed in Peter’s hostage-taking skills.
But he was proved wrong two hours later and, for his crimes, had to admit Peter’s brilliance publicly.
LS: hi sorry. This is Luke. This morning when you stopped by our table, did you happen to see a little plastic bag on it?
Why yes. The one in Peter’s pocket right now? That bag?
PP: hi!! I did, actually. You guys aren’t very subtle 😏
LS: it’s not coke
PP: I’m not judging
LS: no, it’s not coke, I swear. It’s something INFINITELY more important. Did you happen to see if it had fallen on the ground?
PP: ah, no, sorry. I didn’t see it
PP: OH NO
PP: oh my god I’m so sorry, I think I took it with me when I accidentally took your friend’s pen.
LS: I
LS: what’s your name?
PP: Peter ❤
LS: Peter, you have a fucking problem
LS: I’m starting to think that you want something from me. And listen, you’re a handsome guy, but I’m not available and my type isn’t kleptomaniac. What do you want for it?
PP: well you got me
PP: to talk
LS: about what?
PP: mostly about why you look like you’re a wet phonebook in a bad gutter
LS: a phonebook???? What era are you even from????
PP: I could say the same to you, sir.
LS: I
LS: wh
LS: alright touche. The point is that I’m not going to talk to you. I just need that bag back. It’s a life and death situation.
PP: what are they? They aren’t coke crystals.
LS: how would you know?
PP: what are you, a cop?
LS: NO. This is going nowhere. What. Do. You. Want?
PP: To. Talk.
LS: I’m not going to talk to you.
PP: then why did you ask me to rescue you?
He held his breath.
LS: I didn’t
PP: you did
LS: I didn’t ask you for shit. This is it. What’s your last name.
PP: Man 😊
LS: Man what
PP: That’s my last name.
LS: Peter Man.
PP: oop, nope, sorry. That’s someone else.
LS: …so I’m calling the police, now. That’s what we’re saying?
PP: depends. Do you still need to be rescued?
Come on, Skywalker. Come on, remember.
LS: I never asked you to rescue me.
PP: You did. Think back.
LS: I didn’t
LS: I just made a joke to
LS: WHAT AFAJSDFA DTTH E FUCK
Peter cackled and let himself fall onto his back.
PP: Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii ❤
LS: YOU’RE
PP: Just your friendly neighborhood guy ❤
LS: YOU
LS: you
PP: me
LS: THAT’s how the storms knew you
PP: yep 💋
LS: I don’t even know what to say
PP: it’s okay, you don’t have to say shit. The main thing I wanted you to know was that I hear you. And if you need it, I’ve got you.
LS: You’re literally trying to rescue me??
PP: it’s my job
LS: IT ISN’T. How have you never been arrested? how did you find me? Did you track my phone? Is it some kind of spider thing???
PP: yes
LS: I am legally obligated to kill you with the force now
PP: harder daddy
LS: ADaaSDASFSDFSdd
LS: oh my god Han is going to lose his gourd
LS: I’m sorry I just I can’t believe you of all people stole my damn hilt
PP: I’ve got……………………..sticky fingers
LS: go die
LS: no I didn’t mean that sorry that’s a thing with me and my sister. I mean, okay. You got me. Hero of NYC.
Peter’s cheeks were starting to hurt.
PP: I’ll bring them back to you.
LS: Please do, Ben’s about to have a stroke.
PP: you mean obi-wan?
LS: he’s convinced his cat ate them. There’s a staring contest happening. No one has blinked in two minutes and I don’t want to be here for the internal investigation.
PP: where do you live?
Luke sent an address. Peter held his phone high and walked it into the living room where Ned was bitchily composing an Instagram post. He and MJ looked up at the same time.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Peter said. “Luke Skywalker and Co. live in a cemetery.”
--
It wasn’t a cemetery. It was a funeral home, but close enough.
Luke was waiting outside on the stoop in a cardigan about four sizes too big for him. It was there probably to protect him from the equally large ragdoll cat in his arms.
Peter smiled. Luke stared at him and then shook his head and went through the screen door. Ned gave Peter a biting look.
“Made friends, I see,” he said.
“We’re doin’ great,” Peter told him, hopping up the stairs. “Look at us, totally—”
“Insidious.”
Peter stopped and turned nervously to see through the screen door where Obi-Wan Kenobi had seized both of the cat’s cheeks. Luke continued to hold it with maximum doneness levels.
“Where have you been?” Obi-Wan asked the cat seriously.
“We have guests,” Luke said. “Take your beast.”
Obi-Wan snatched the cat out of Luke’s arms with contempt all over his face.
“You are a villain of the highest order,” he told it.
“Ben. Guests. Please evacuate. I am hosting negotiations,” Luke said.
“We should have named you ‘Sith.’”
“Ben.”
Peter was not going to laugh at Obi-Wan Kenobi. That was too surreal.
“Come in,” Luke said, returning to hold open the screen. “I hope you’re not allergic. There are two of them.”
T-two?
“The other one is Junior.”
Peter stepped over the threshold and found himself in a room that looked like a human birdhouse. It was full of surfaces that were almost completely empty, as though an enrichment object had once lived there but had been removed as punishment. Luke waved Ned and MJ in and accepted their apologies on Peter’s behalf.
Peter ignored them to lock eyes with a creature more stunning than any he had ever encountered. It sat on the kitchen counter by a single clear jar labelled ‘Not Spice.’ It blinked grumpy green eyes.
“Oh, it’s these people again?”
They all looked behind them to see Obi-Wan peering around a doorframe with the first cat draped over his shoulders.
“Kleptomaniac,” Luke said, pointing at Peter. Peter waved.
“Huh,” Obi-Wan said simply. “I will distract Ahsoka.”
He vanished. Luke grimaced after him.
“Let’s go talk in the back,” he said. “There are no bodies, I promise.”
--
The funeral home had a little deck and a yard small even for this far out in Queens. It was crammed full of plants that appeared to be in a competition to bloom. Luke invited them to sit and then left to make coffee.
Coffee, yes, how had Peter forgotten.
He peeked over the side of the deck down where there was a large stone set in the center of the garden.
“A seeing stone,” Ned whispered to him.
“Oh, how did you know?”
They all jumped.
Peter swore that Obi-Wan hadn’t opened that sliding door. How had—what—
Ned was at a loss for words in the face of one of his greatest heroes.
“I—uh. M-movie? I mean, sorry. It was in The Mandalorian, second season, with the—”
“Yet more television,” Obi-Wan said derisively.
They all stared.
“Can you teleport?” MJ asked him.
“I thought you were bothering Ahsoka?” Luke asked, from inside. He squeezed past the man and his cat with three glass mugs in hand. He set them down on the little square table off to the side of the desk railing.
“I was, but then I got curious,” Obi-Wan said. “And I lost Junior.”
Luke stared at him.
“I’m going to lock you in the basement,” he said.
“Try, try, and try again,” Obi-Wan told him, petting his beloved cat’s head.
“Do you even know who Spiderman is, old man?”
“More television.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Peter had to keep a conscious watch on his jaw, lest it fall open in the face of the most handsome, clueless man on the planet. He watched as Obi-Wan, disgusted with all this ‘television’ nonsense skulked back off into the guts of the home. Luke shut the door behind him.
“So,” he said, holding out his hand. “We’re talking. Fork ‘em.”
Ah.
Fair was fair.
Peter produced the plastic bag from his pocket and handed it over. There was a shout somewhere inside followed by someone going ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’
“Ben keeps our home ghost free. He terrifies all the wannabee haunters,” Luke said simply. “Thank you for these. I imagine it’s somewhat of a shock to learn that it’s all real.”
It was, but it wasn’t the weirdest thing Peter had encountered by far.
“How long have you lived in New York?” he asked conversationally.
Luke gave him a weird brow.
He seemed smaller than before in that enormous cardigan. Certainly smaller than the movies made him seem. His face was a little thinner too, and his lips seemed to slope into an almost permanent pout.
“About twenty years,” he said. “We were born in California, but Anakin moved us here when we were eight.”
Anakin? Like, Darth Vader, Anakin?
“’Luke, I am your father’—yeah, that guy,” Luke said with a scoff. “Except, you know, he ain’t dead. And he’s the only one who can make Ben remember that tea isn’t a meal, so we keep him around for that and to scream back at Leia.”
Peter was already completely lost to the dynamics of this household. It wasn’t like the books and movies—Ned’s twitching for his phone to take notes was proof enough of that.
“That’s awkward,” MJ said. “So did y’all do like, collective counselling for the past life shit?”
Luke deflated and moaned into his hands.
“It’s not past life shit if your damn name is the same,” he said. “It’s complicated.”
It sounded like it.
Imagine growing up with your apparently-Star War-obsessed father and uncle who’d built a home and a business (presumably) around that shit, only to find out later that they’d done it because it was literally their religion.
What a trip.
“When did you find out?” Peter asked gently.
“Oh, you know. Last week,” Luke said with a bitter grin. “Quit my fulltime job. Dumped my ex. Broke my lease and now here I am. Once again. Back at this place.”
“Do you want a hug?” Ned asked into the awkward silence.
“You’re very sweet,” Luke said. “If I touch another human, I will start crying and never stop.”
Yikes.
Barely holdin’ on by a thread there, buddy? How’s the hyperawareness going?
“Why does it matter, is my question. For you, I mean,” Luke said with a suspicious squint. “You fought a goblin guy, didn’t you? With a hover board?”
Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh, yeah.
Yeah, Peter sure had done that.
“And like, the bird dude? Didn’t you down a plane?”
Perhaps.
But Luke had blown up the Deathstar, no?
“These things are not equivalent,” Luke said flatly. “I joined a rebel alliance. There were loads of us.”
Mmm. Perhaps so.
“God, how old are you even? You look 22.”
Peter gawked.
“I’m 27,” he said.
Luke did a double-take.
“That’s a lie,” he accused. “Tell the truth or be compelled.”
“By the Force?” Ned asked hopefully.
Luke blinked at him. He pointed at the glass sliding door which revealed Obi-Wan holding Junior the cat above his head by the kitchen sink.
“The Force,” he said.
Ned’s face fell.
“Do we not have the Force, here?” he asked.
Luke flinched.
“Listen,” he said abruptly, “We’re workin’ on it. This isn’t our original galaxy. The rules are all different. The only one who’s managed to make even a spark happen is Obi-Wan so far, but as soon as we find Master Yoda, it’s over. We’ll already have won.”
“You lost Yoda,” MJ mused.
Luke stammered and caught himself.
“We lost a lot of people,” he snapped. “It happens when you shift galaxies. Anyways, that’s what the stone is for.”
MJ glanced back at the stone and then leaned her forearms onto the small table.
“So, let me get this straight,” she said. “You jedi folks all popped up over here by some cosmic accident. You don’t have the Force. Most of you don’t even remember who you are. You lost your most experienced Master, and you’re going to fight the Sith?”
Peter stirred his coffee nervously.
Luke’s eye twitched.
“We don’t need the others,” he said. “We only need the Force. To fight the Sith. Yes.”
MJ frowned deep and held her chin with both hands.
“So you need the thing you for sure don’t have the most,” she said.
Luke opened his mouth, but not before the window by the door snapped open and Obi-Wan leaned out to say, “We always have the Force.”
Luke covered his face in despair.
“I was listening from the kitchen window,” Obi-Wan told him lovingly.
“GO FIND CODY ALREADY,” Luke roared at him.
“I did, he’s right here,” Obi-Wan said soothingly, stroking his angry cat.
“The other Cody.”
“Oh, I am trying, don’t you worry.”
“Ben, so help me God—”
“Force.”
“SO HELP ME FORCE—”
Star Wars had really left out the part about Luke’s explosive temper. Peter winced, but Ned laughed and the sound seemed to have a calming effect on Jedi-on-Jedi crime about to take place in the kitchen. Obi-Wan appeared pleased with this development and emboldened. He wove past Luke out onto the desk and came over, cat and all, to point down to the seeing stone in the middle of the garden.
“Others who feel the Force’s energy will be drawn to it,” he told Ned fondly. “It’s how we got Luke back home.”
“It’s not,” Luke said. “You called me.”
“And so others will also come,” Obi-Wan said with confidence. “The most important thing is that we believe in the Force. And from that, we will find guidance and power and—”
“He means Yoda,” Luke translated. “He’s been putting frogs on it as an offering, even though me, Ahsoka, and Anakin told him that this is a human’s world. A human’s world, Ben. Even if he did eat them, he’s not eating them raw.”
“Don’t be discouraged by Luke’s attitude, he is very stressed,” Obi-Wan told Ned and Ned only affectionately. “I told him not to be, you see there are four of us here already, and the Chosen One is among us.”
“Anakin told you to stop calling him that,” Luke moaned, massaging his temples.
“He was the first to be aware of our present situation,” Obi-Wan said.
“He took a hallucinogen and had a paranoid breakdown,” Luke pleaded. “Ben, please. Go inside. Think of your blood pressure.”
“Perhaps, but it was a useful breakdown, was it not?”
“I am so sorry for him, he’s getting senile,” Luke said to the rest of them.
“Your energy is different,” Obi-Wan informed Peter out of absolutely nowhere. “Are you also Force-sensitive? Were you drawn to the stone?”
Er.
No.
Sorry?
“He’s Spiderman,” Luke said, gesturing pointedly. “Remember Spiderman?”
Obi-Wan did not. Peter suspected, actually, that Obi-Wan still used phonebooks, if he used phones at all, that was.
Luke took a deep breath and let it out.
“Okay, let me just lay it out,” he said. “We’re doing the best we can with what we have. You don’t have to get involved with this. We appreciate your help, but what would help us even more is if you stay out of it, alright?”
Yeah, okay. Sure. Peter could respect that.
“Amazing. And don’t tell other people.”
Understood.
“Unless they’re Force-sensitive,” Obi-Wan said. “In which case, ask them how they feel about rocks.”
Luke just stared at him coldly this time.
“You didn’t used to be like this,” he said dangerously.
“No, I used to be stressed,” Obi-Wan told him. “But you and Ani are doing that for me, so I have resolved to be a free spirit. Nice to meet all of you. Have more coffee. I don’t like this one; I will have it out of the house by sundown.”
He left, and possibly for good this time. No one knew what to say in his absence.
“So,” Peter tried, desperate for something to break up the tension. “You said a few days ago that you were looking for someone?”
Luke finally stopped making growling faces towards the sliding door. He lit up like a bulb.
“I am, actually,” he said.
--
Luke was looking for a very particular person named ‘Din.’ He described him as ‘six feet tall and covered in armor.’ He asked if they knew of such a person.
Peter had to shove a hand against his mouth in case he made an unwanted connection between this description and Obi-Wan behavior.
“Haven’t,” MJ said. “Who is he?”
“My husband,” Luke said.
Ned choked.
Peter choked.
MJ tilted her head.
“You have a husband?” she asked. “I would have remembered a husband in that series.”
Luke leaned his chin on his palm and gazed sideways over the city. He seemed to sigh.
“I don’t know why he isn’t connected to me in the media created here,” he said. “It’s probably because he’s always been very shy.”
Oh, aw. Peter loved that. The contrast between them was heart-warming.
“We had a son together,” Luke said. “His child. He brought him to me. One of my students, at first.”
Hang on a minute here.
Peter exchanged a glance with Ned. Ned tried very hard to pick a way to approach this sensitively. He landed on asking, “What was his name again?”
“Din,” Luke said. “Din Djarin.”
Ned cringed.
“He was a Mandalorian,” Luke explained. “Very, very, very shy. Like, he would rather chew off his own leg than make small talk with a stranger. I think, before I knew all this, I was still subconsciously looking for him. All my exes are the same type.”
That—
Okay, so like.
Did these people own a TV?
“Do we look like we own a TV?” Luke deadpanned. “No. If Ben senses anything bigger than a datapad happening in this place, he’s driven to madness and breaks it.”
UH?
“He doesn’t actually break it,” Luke sighed. “He just finds a way to make it unusable—putting clothes on it, disconnecting the monitor, that kind of thing. He thinks they waste electricity.”
What a guy. Peter wanted to put him and May in a room and see what conspiracies they could spin together.
“Why do you ask?” Luke asked.
Ned cleared his throat.
“Do you have a, uh, datapad, then?” he asked.
--
“DIN. That’s DIN. He’s got his own show. Oh my god, that’s—stay right there. Don’t move.”
Bless this man. Peter wanted to hug him so bad. They’d lost him to the staircase leading up from the second floor to the attic. Peter wondered who he was showing the tablet to.
Maybe Obi-Wan?
“I told you this already,” a voice up there said.
“LOOK AT HIM.”
“You’re killin’ me, smalls. We had this exact conversation last week. Did you forget?”
“You knew where he was.”
“Alright, alright. Downward march.”
Anakin fucking Skywalker came down the stairs with a handful of Luke’s shirt in one hand and the tablet shoved under his other arm. He paused and frowned at the three of them in the kitchen frozen in shock, and then apparently decided that that didn’t matter. He carried on dragging Luke with him towards the kitchen counter. He dropped the tablet onto it and Peter realized that the lower half of his sleeve on that side was empty.
He watched as the guy let go of Luke and chased the not-angry cat off the counter, cursing.
“Alright, this?” he said, tapping on the tablet. “Is the link I put here.” He rapped the same finger on what Peter now saw was a whiteboard covered in rows upon rows of symbols that he’d never seen before.
“Din here? Din here. You see?” Vader told Luke with untold patience.
“I can’t read that,” Luke moaned. “You lied to me.”
“It’s up in the kitchen, Luke.”
“You’re a liar and a cad. Do it in Basic.”
“This is Basic.”
Oh, dear. All that fanfic about Luke meeting Darth Vader and having a breakdown was looking real embarrassed now, wasn’t it?
“If it’s Basic, why can’t I read it?” Luke demanded.
“Because, like I told you last night, the night before, and the night before that,” Vader said painstakingly, “It doesn’t all come back at once. It’s going to take time.”
“We don’t have time,” Luke snapped.
Vader leaned his head back with half-lidded eyes. Luke didn’t look even remotely like his kid, even with him looking all pre-quels-like now.
“We talked about this, too, remember?” Vader asked.
Obviously not. Luke was distressed. He had eyes only for the tablet now.
“No, of course not, silly me,” Vader said. “Why are humans here?”
“Ahsoka went home,” Luke said.
“Thank you, that was not my question.”
“What was your question?”
“Why are non-order humans here?”
“I told you, Ahsoka went—”
“Son, I will kill you if you continue to act like Obi-Wan,” Vader said without missing a beat.
“You can try,” Luke said offhandedly. “But only one of us has two handed grip.”
There was a long stare.
“It’s Obi-Wan,” Vader told him. “Why do we have living guests?”
He gestured back to Peter, Ned, and MJ like they were flies on a set of blinds.
“Oh, because that’s Spiderman and he stole your kyber crystals,” Luke said.
Vader rounded on Peter, and Peter actually felt fear.
Vader blinked once.
“This may as well happen,” he decided somehow placidly. “I’m going back upstairs. Where did your grand-master go?”
“Into the mist,” Luke said. “Can you feel Din?”
“Negative, ghostrider.”
“When the Force chooses you first out of favoritism, can you feel for Din?”
“Ah yes, can I feel for your Force-repellant life partner with all of the Force energy that I do not have? Yes, I sure can.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Anytime, primary monstrosity of my loins.”
UM?
This felt a little hostile for Peter’s tastes. Not that it wasn’t earned. Clearly it was earned. It was just horrifying.
“Guests, you are dismissed,” Vader said in their direction. “Unless you’re drawn to the rock outside, in which case, you may stay. Otherwise, do not darken this doorstep again, or else we will leave you with the other dead in the morgue.”
“Thanks for bringing the crystals,” Luke said from behind him. “And for talking. I do feel better, actually.”
--
They left the funeral home. Obi-Wan was outside by the mailbox as though waiting for them. Peter wasn’t sure he had any emotional energy left to approach him with.
“Thank you for speaking to Luke,” he said as the three of them attempted to pass unnoticed. “It’s good for him to talk to others his own age.”
Uh-huh. Good night, sir?
“Good night, Peter, Ned, and Michelle.”
They hadn’t given their names.
They definitely hadn’t given their names.
--
Ned wasn’t sleeping for two years. He made this clear with a lot of clapping gestures and then rolled around on the floor, talking about all kinds of shit that Peter couldn’t decipher. MJ watched him and flicked her eyes up to Peter with concern on her forehead.
“That family is cinematically dysfunctional,” she said.
Correct.
“They’re barely their own characters.”
Correct.
“What now?”
Peter wasn’t sure. The best he could think of was to just keep an eye on the situation. Maybe check in every couple of weeks?
“If you say so,” MJ said. “I think you made Ned’s life, by the way. Good job.”
--
Peter tried checking in every two weeks. It started because he happened to hear of a tunnel collapsing in Queens nearby the funeral home. He texted Luke to ask if he needed a save and all he got back was a ‘well, not anymore.’
After that, Peter kept a close eye on happenstances occurring around the city. There were more than he bargained for. And when he glanced at Luke’s Instagram after the first week after the tunnel collapse, he noted that two of the nails on the hand Luke held his coffee to the camera with had gone completely black.
That was worrying.
Peter was used to be the danger-prone asshole in his friendgroup. He did not like this role-reversal. MJ asked him sarcastically what the problem was.
He texted Luke again.
PP: how many nails do you have left bro?
LS: we put a hole in one to release the pressure
PP: that don’t sound great bro.
LS: it’s fine. Oh, but good news
PP: oh?
LS: the most predictable thing ever has happened. The Vader has regained force power
PP: that’s worrying
LS: ? why?
PP: won’t he go dark?
LS: ah, no. He fucked up and raised me and Leia with Ben this time after our mom died. He had his chance to go dark and traded it for 8 consecutive hours of sleep instead.
PP: I truly don’t know what to say
LS: It’s fine we did 12 years of family therapy after the accident so we are no longer on the DSS watchlist
PP: I know less what to say
LS: he won’t find din :/
PP: is that your priority right now?
LS: aren’t you supposed to be spiderman or something? Don’t you have chaotic things to say?
PP: you know normally I do, this is literally out of character for me. but I think you also might be absorbing my chaos.
LS: that’s fair. I have that effect on people. Hey, is your buddy Ned available to chat? He knows more than I can remember about my old life. Can I borrow him?
That sounded like a horrendous decision.
PP: yeah let me get you his number.
LS: thanksssss
--
Ned reported a few days later that his services were needed at the funeral home. He was leaving them all now to befriend Luke Skywalker as was his true destiny.
He came back a few hours later and reported that his services had been helpful and he was pleased to say that Darth Vader was now the official herder of ‘wans’ in the house. This included all Obi-Wans and padawans.
He seemed to be the only guy there who could like, retain information given to him for some reason. He accepted this as his lot in life and went around repeating the same things to the others ad nauseum until they finally stuck for them.
Peter wondered if that was his personal hell.
Ned didn’t think so. He thought the guy was pretty chill about it and had probably been doing it for a while now. He did it more for Ahsoka Tano and Luke than he did for Obi-Wan. Although that was probably because Obi-Wan appeared to be on a hunt that made all non-relevant information given to him slip off his back like water.
--
Another two weeks. Another text.
PP: hey luke, I saw you drowning on the news. You okay?
LS: GOD my ex-workplace keeps calling welfare checks on our house. We’ve had more cops here then flies these last few days.
PP: ex-workplace is one way to refer to your old job. Sounds like they cared about you. What did you do?
LS: preschool teacher.
Peter was going to lose his shit right here on this bed.
PP: was that your calling?
LS: that was Luke Naberry’s calling. Luke Skywalker’s calling is to make the lightsaber go vrrrrrrm
PP: you honestly terrify me
LS: thanks han says the same thing. OH. HE FOUND CHEWIE.
PP: no shit??
LS: yeah I told Ned, not you. But yeah. He found him lugging boxes for a bodega. And now they both work at the same bodega. Which like, objectively, is a bad thing because Han was a UN translator.
PP: I’m
PP: sorry
PP: what?
LS: I know he was all respectable and shit. It was awful. I can look at him again without feeling like I’ve failed in every part of my life.
PP: dare I ask what your sister does?
LS: lawyer
PP: not senator?
LS: we’re not old enough to be senators.
PP: every moment becomes more concerning than the next. You fascinate me. This is why they put you in like, all the films.
LS: because I’m sexy yeah
PP: that too
LS: not to you. I’m off-limits bub. I’m married.
PP: how’s that going for you?
LS: Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
PP: I see. So no Din yet?
LS: I will find him if it kills me
PP: that’s so romantic. Hey you should watch that series. They gave him a little green yoda in it. Really cute.
LS: that’s my son you piece of shit
There was no winning here.
--
MJ asked him a few weeks later if he was still keeping up with the Jedi drama since the whole city had recently decided that Peter was a snack.
Obviously he hadn’t.
She told him not to worry, Ned had. She told him to talk to Ned, so he went and talked to Ned with a heatpad in one hand and a coldpack in the other.
Ned patted at him sympathetically and informed him that Luke had reunited with the Force. It was going poorly for him, mostly because the Force wasn’t used to people being in touch with it in these parts of the universe. It kept telling each of the jedi that there was a disturbance and then luring them to each other to fight to the death.
Luke described it as the Force-equivalent of an auto-immune disease.
They’d taken to gathering in the living room of the funeral home to meditate in a circle, as though to calm the Force’s anxiety while scenting each other for protection.
It had a 40% success rate. Everyone was sleeping in locked rooms for the time being, just in case someone got compelled to do something rash.
Peter asked Ned if he’d finally lost his crown as King Chaos of NYC.
Ned patted him on the knee more firmly than before and said that he could regain his crown by introducing a calming element into the jedi household.
Peter had his pride to defend, so he asked what that element ought to be.
--
Din Djarin, the Mandalorian, the leader of all Mandalorians, was bound to have a name that looked nothing like the one they had for him. Luke nearly exploded when Peter approached him to asked him (and his taped fingers) more about who Din Djarin was outside the name.
They proceeded with caution, however. So far, Peter and Ned had discovered only dissonance between Luke’s account of his life partner (his ‘heart, stars, sun, and sand’) and the guy on the screen for the tv show. That was to be expected, given that they had met Luke now and learned of his somewhat explosive personality.
But even still, Luke’s description of Din Djarin as ‘kind, compassionate, tender, shy, emotionally stable, dependable, sweet, caring, and hunky’ seemed slightly biased.
Peter just wanted to know how tall this guy was. Hair color. Eye color. Skin color. Blood type. That kind of shit.
Luke said that Din had brown hair, brown eyes, Type Who Knows What blood, and was about six feet tall. He had no idea how much he weighed. He’d never had need for that information. He knew that Din was human, which was probably helpful in a galaxy far, far away. He knew that he spoke Mando’a as his first language, then Basic, then a whopping fifteen others. And he knew that Din was probably looking after their son.
Vader asked Peter over a mug of coffee (also labeled in the funeral home’s cabinet as ‘not spice.’) if Spidersenses could overcome a dearth of information. It took Peter a few moments to realize that he was sympathizing with him.
“You’re not going to find Din,” Vader told Luke. “You need to look for the kid. You’ll find the kid first, you always have.”
Luke took his coffee and poured it down the drain.
Peter decided that he didn’t want to get in between that burgeoning battle. He told Luke to text him if he remembered anything else.
--
Wade was pissed that Peter had been meeting and ‘cavorting’ with Luke Skywalker without him. He claimed ownership of the Din Djarin mystery in order to cram himself into Luke’s good graces. But quickly, he ran into the same stumbling blocks as Peter.
Din Djarin was six feet tall with brown eyes and brown hair.
That was what they currently had to go on.
Wade would have torn out his hair if he had any, but he stopped himself and accepted the challenge. Peter watched over his shoulder as he chicken-pecked his way into a list of social security numbers held by the NYC State ID issuing department and started methodically filtering names that did not sound like ‘Din.’
He started broad with all ‘D’s and then narrowed it down further and further and further until he was left with a shitload of Daniels.
He stared at the screen before him and vibrated.
Peter massaged his shoulders before he cracked.
It helped. Wade started filtering by height, then by eye color. Then by hair, and only ended up with several hundred people.
He vibrated again, but this time, Peter couldn’t help him.
He sighed. Wade said that there had to be a better way to do this. He got up.
--
Wade made about four thousand missing posters with the name Din Djarin on them which he recruited the whole team to plaster up around NYC. This was not a request.
Miles asked him why they were doing this for a tv character and had to be let in on the gig.
He lost his shit.
Louis tried to retain his shit.
Angel still didn’t know how the whole jedi thing worked.
Dave hummed and haw’ed and took his time in calling bullshit. Wade asked him to look deep into his eyes and ask if he was entertaining bullshit that fine evening.
Dave changed his opinion and took a stack.
--
There was no way that shit was supposed to work. There was just no way. A) because Wade had the worst ideas of all mankind and B) because Peter had the worst luck of all mankind. So the two of them together should have destroyed all the prospects of success for that job.
But instead, while they were hatching a new plot involving setting up a sham sociological study for people who responded to Star Wars names, Wade’s phone went off.
He grabbed it and opened the message and lo and behold right there was a note that read,
“I hope you are not a reporting body because this is going to sound certifiably insane, but I think I might be the guy you’re looking for?”
Wade screamed.
Peter scolded him not to get too excited too soon. They had to see the man first.
Wade texted furiously, asking for a picture and got a message back that said, “please do not dox me.”
They got no answer until Wade promised not to dox the guy.
And then they got an image of a man with brown hair and brown eyes with olive skin. His face was remarkably square. The picture wasn’t just him, though, he had in his arms a little boy with a head covered in tight ringlets. His eyes were so dark they were nearly black and he was maybe two years old.
The caption said, “apologies, my son needed to be in the picture.”
Wade cooed and entered Dad Mode to ask how old the baby was and what he liked to do and Peter lost the fathers to that small talk for a while before Wade oh-so-casually asked, “So you feel like you’re from outer space?”
“It sounds strange,” the guy on the other said wrote back, “But I do. Like every day I wake up and look in the mirror and something is wrong. I feel like I’m always forgetting something when I leave the house. I watched the tv show of the guy who’s name was on your fliers and the kid in it reminds me so much of my son. It’s eerie. They make the same sounds. He made the same sounds before we even watched that show.”
Wade whistled.
“I think this is him, Pete,” he said. “He called Baby Yoda a ‘kid’ not a yoda.”
Peter stared. He hadn’t even caught that. That was smart as hell.
“So what now?” he asked.
Wade sniffed.
“Get Skywalker to send you a selfie,” he said.
--
PP: Luke are you pretty right now?
LS: My face is intact
PP: take a selfie and send it to me
LS: cannot do that. Face is intact is a baseline situation. Let me find an old one. Oh, they all have my ex in them. This is awkward.
PP: it doesn’t matter I can crop it.
LS: no I have to be cute or I’ll perish hold on
PP: are you sure you’re not Johnny Storm?
LS: yes, he’s got loads of muscles. Sent.
Selfie acquired.
Luke looked very smiley in it. His eyes were blown out from the lighting, but it showed his sloping smile and his low, back-set dimples. Peter sent it to Wade. Wade sent it to his new friend.
They waited.
They waited five minutes.
Then ten.
Then half an hour.
Then nearly two.
And finally, Wade’s phone rang. He picked it up and set it on speaker so that Peter could hear.
“Hello?” Wade said.
There was a long pause.
“Where did you get that picture?” a low, almost smoky voice demanded on the other side.
“A friend,” Wade said sleazily. “You know him? He’s a cute little thing, ain’t he?”
It took the dude on the other side of the line worryingly long to respond.
“What do you want?” he finally asked.
Wade brought his head down in interest.
“What’re you willing do to?” he asked.
They waited. Peter didn’t know what was taking this guy so long to—
“Anything.”
Ah.
Okay. That.
That sounded about right.
Wade cackled.
“You know his name?” he asked.
“I do,” the man said.
“What’s his name then, pal?” Wade asked.
“It’s none of your fucking business.”
Holy shit. Holy shit. Peter clutched the back of the couch. Wade was grinning so hard, Peter could see it through his mask.
“You want him, you need to show me that you know who he is,” Wade said. “I ain’t got ‘im here, but I know where he is. Come on, big boy. Who is he?”
Peter could hear the man take in a deep, shaky breath.
“His name is Luke,” Din fucking Djarin, the Mandalorian himself, said.
--
Din fucking Djarin’s name at the moment was Danny Jabaran. He stood six feet tall with a medium build and that baby of his in his arms.
He was not afraid of Wade.
He was not afraid of Peter.
The suits didn’t scare him; this man was a space warrior. The leader of the space warriors. Peter was humbled to stand in his presence, old jeans and tattoos and all.
“Vigilantes,” he acknowledged.
“Deadpool,” Wade said, offering a hand. “And this is?”
“Grogu,” Djarin said.
Baby Yoda lifted his big liquid eyes up to Wade and blinked twice. Then he wriggled around and hid in Djarin’s neck. Djarin put a hand on his back and didn’t drop eye contact.
“Tell me everything,” Djarin said.
--
Ned screamed. Michelle screamed. Peter reminded them that he had neighbors and invited Mr. Mand’alor to sit on the couch for a bit while he called Luke.
Michelle claimed the spot next to Djarin and asked Baby Yoda Grogu for his little hand. He studied her and hid again, making a prolonged sound of distress that Djarin cut off by saying, “Hey. Manners.”
This somehow made baby Grogu turn back to Michelle to stare at her offered hand.
He took it. She shook with him and then took hers away.
Grogu perked up and reached for it again.
“You’re the Mandalorian,” Ned said.
Djarin looked right at him.
“A Mandalorian,” he corrected.
Ned blinked back tears.
“You’re so cool,” he creaked.
Djarin frowned.
“You...are too?” he tried.
Ned wept into a fist.
Peter left them to call Luke in his bedroom. Luke picked up on the third ring with the start of an ingrained greeting that sounded a whole lot like a customer service recording. He caught himself, though.
“I have someone I’d like you to talk to,” Peter said. “I think you might want to sit down.”
Luke’s unusual quiet on the other side made Peter grin.
“Are you sitting?” he asked.
“I’m sitting.”
“Alright, one moment,” Peter said, walking out into the living room. Djarin had edged far, far away from Ned, as far as he possibly could without being rude. He looked up when Peter came over and sat down on the arm next to him.
“Say hi,” Peter said.
Djarin frowned at him and then the phone.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
Peter waited. Djarin lifted his head over to see the phone’s screen.
“Hello?” he tried.
“Din?”
The Spidey Sense crashed through Peter like a tidal wave.
Djarin had gone completely still.
“Din? Is that you? Can you hear me?”
“Shit,” Djarin said, lifting a hand to cover his eyes. “Goddamnit. Jesus.”
“DIN.”
“Dank Fucking Farrik.”
“Oh my god.”
Baby Grogu’s face snapped toward the phone with huge eyes. He grabbed at Djarin’s collar, then his jaw and started bouncing a little in his arms.
“Bu?” he asked.
Djarin couldn’t make himself move.
“Grogu?” Luke asked. “Hey, baby, is that you, bubba?”
Grogu grabbed Djarin’s face urgently, so that he couldn’t hide his raw eyes anymore.
He pointed at the phone.
“Yeah, I hear ‘im, kid,” Djarin said.
“MMMMM. Gib.”
“Ah. That’s not ours. We don’t grab. We ask,” Djarin reminded as Grogu pleaded for the phone. Peter snickered and gave it to him. He just held it, staring.
“Do you wanna see him?” Peter asked. “Luke, can we maybe video chat?”
“Y-yeah,” Luke said. “Hold on. Oh god, my face. Uh, hey Din are you still near-sighted, hon?”
Djarin huffed a laugh that turned into a whole-body tremor.
“I got contacts,” he said a little hysterically.
“You got WHAT?” Luke yipped, “Okay, no. No, I gotta. Be still, this heart. Okay let me just take off the butterflies. On moment, Grogu, Daddy’s just gotta dunk his face in the damn sink.”
MJ bounced her eyebrows at Peter as he gently took the phone back from Grogu and tapped on the camera. He offered it back the kid and received a deep gaze of wonder in return. Djarin turned the screen right-side up in his hands.
Luke finally turned his camera on and revealed himself to be very swollen in the jaw with damp hair and a cut very close to the rim of his left eye.
Grogu screeched.
Luke laughed.
“Look at you,” he said, “I’m gonna cry. Oh my god. Where’re your ears, pal?”
Grogu analyzed this reaction for 2 full seconds and then shoved the camera right into his dad’s forehead. Djarin took it from him and liberated himself so that he could see Luke who was clutching at his face, absolutely already sobbing, bless him.
He looked up to see Grogu and instead got Djarin and finally just broke right in half.
Peter swallowed back the growing lump in his throat. His eyes were starting to warm a little.
Djarin found a watery smile in himself.
“I know you’re not cryin’ because of me,” he said gently.
“Where’s your helmet?” Luke sobbed, wiping viciously at his eyes. “People are watching, you harlot.”
“I know,” Djarin said. “I lost it.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Luke.”
“This is all my fault. I should’ve—I should’ve—”
“Luke,” Djarin said again, full of warmth, “You died for us.”
Luke shook harder than ever.
“There is no greater sacrifice a warrior can make,” Djarin told him. “I was honored for you to have made it for me and our son. This has always been the Way.”
“This is the Way,” Luke stammered.
“I missed you,” Djarin said. “Where in God’s name have you been?”
“I was a preschool teacher in the Bronx, man, I dunno what happened,” Luke said tipping his face up to force the tears back in.
“In the Bronx? Where?”
“Uh, off Allerton and Lurting?”
Djarin started shaking with laugher.
“I work off Laconia and Mace,” he said.
“You what?”
“We’ve been blocks apart this whole time.”
Awwwwww.
“I’m going to stab myself,” Luke moaned. “I’m going to stab myself in the arm. I was right there and I sold out for my part-time gig barely weeks ago. Oh my god. I’m going to—move, old man, I’m suffering—Wait. Din, did you find your parents?”
Djarin stood up and held the phone out straight.
“Where are you right now?” he asked.
--
Look at all these people hugging each other.
Look at them crying all over. There was a baby in there, wailing because he was so happy to be back in the arms of his other dad.
Aww. AWWWW. Peter was getting emotional again, he was going to see himself out.
“Wait. Peter.”
He looked up to find Luke holding a hand to him.
“Thank you,” he said. “You really are a superhero, you know that?”
Yeah.
Sometimes, he did.
--
The city had plenty of problems as it was, yeah, more now with a bunch of jedi running around, linking up with each other and spreading memory like mushroom spores. But it didn’t feel that much different.
What it felt like now was Ned showing Grogu how to hold his hand at the seeing stone in the funeral home’s back yard to make the Force happen while Obi-Wan reported cheerfully that the cat perched on it was still not levitating.
It also felt like watching Luke freak out over text to Ned and Michelle about his ex losing their mind at him dumping them after two years to marry this random mechanic within a week of getting together.
Peter got to see this from new angles, too, one of which was the bottom of the funeral home’s attic stairs, which Anakin Skywalker liked to sit on while his grandkids—both Grogu and Han Solo and Leia Organa (pardon, Leia Naberry)’s son—came over to show him things that he was very well aware of. These were stolen from him by Auntie Ahsoka and her friends who Ned knew and Peter did not.
And there was something warming about how even these folks—people from a galaxy far, far away, occasionally needed a Spiderman.
--
#spiderman#starwars#dinluke#inimitable verse#ficlet#this is the niche of the niche but I know like 5 of you read both my mando and spiderman fics#so this is for you doll#and also the fact that I have a fucking PROBLEM
142 notes
·
View notes
Text
Skin
Pairing: Angel Reyes x black!reader
Summary:Angel gets to see your dancing skills.
Warnings: Smut
A/N: Inspired by a conversation with @tomhardydallasstarsgirl. Also a special dedication to @starrynite7114
I strongly suggest listening to Rihanna’s Skin while reading.
Coco was dragging the Mayans to a dance studio. The girl he was seeing at the time invited him to see her routine. “I don’t understand why we don’t just go to a strip club.” Gilly complained as they made their way through the parking lot. “This is free, man! They may not be naked, but you might get a lap dance. Now stop complaining!” Coco stomped out his cigarette and put some pep in his step.
Trish and her group just finished performing their rendition and now it was your group’s turn. “Oh, there he is!” Crystal whispered excitedly to you. Turning around you saw Coco waving at Crystal with the rest of the Mayans behind him.
Immediately, you started freaking out. None of them could see you like this. Especially, your best friend Angel. They all thought you were an innocent schoolteacher, not some dancing vixen.
You went out to seek reprieve from your other best friend and dance instructor, but she was already shaking her head no. “C’mon Nic, please! You perform with the group!”
“Nope! This is kismet. The forces at be wants you and Angel to bang and who am I to deny them?” Before you could stop her, she began to introduce you and your group. “Anddd, we have a special little treat,” Nikki stood behind you and clipped the microphone to the bottoms under your sweatpants. “Miss. Y/N here will be singing as well as dancing.”
Angel quirked an eyebrow at you saying, “Really?” In return you gave him a small smile and shrugged.
As the best starts, the dance studio dims to a blueish purple color, setting the mood that you’re singing about. The further along the song played, the more you got into it and stopped worrying about what Angel would think. Usually, you would find an unsuspecting target to sing and dance to, but instinctively you zeroed in on Angel. Tonight, he was gonna be the object of your desire.
I got a secret that I wanna show you, oh
I got a secret so, I'mma drop em to the floor, oh
You teased as if you were gonna strip out of your sweats and when you didn’t you swore you heard Angel say ‘fuck’. His eyes got fiery and you knew you had him under your spell, so you gave him a sly little smile. Angel raised another eyebrow saying, ‘You better quit while you’re ahead’, but did you listen? Hell no!
Go deep, I'mma throw it at you
Can you catch it? Don't hold back
You know I like it rough
You hit the squat, tugged on your own hair and bit your lip. “Oh shit!” Coco was there for Crystal, but he couldn’t help but be entranced by you. Angel hit him in his stomach when he caught him lurking at you too long for his tastes. “Look at your own fucking girl.”
“Hate to break it to you mano, but everyone’s staring at your girl.” Angel looked around and Coco was right. His brothers were getting their eyeful of you, even his baby brother. “Really, Ezekiel?”
“Sorry man. It’s like she’s a fucking siren.” They were so consumed with arguing within themselves they didn’t notice that you were slowly strutting towards Angel.
So why you standin' over there witcha clothes on?
Baby, strip down for me, go on, take 'em off
Don't worry, baby, I'mma meet you halfway
'Cause I know you wanna see me
Angel held his breath as he watched your body move towards him. He always knew you had a banging body, but the way you moved confirmed it. His eyes followed every little move you made.
Almost there (ha, ha)
So baby don't stop what you're doing (Uh-huh, ah)
Softer than a mutha, boy, I know you wanna touch
Breathing down my neck, I can tell you wanna (No-o-ow)
Finally, you were close to Angel. You had sung into his ear as you slid your hand down his chest to his sizable crotch. “Querida, you’re playing a dangerous fucking game. You better be sure you can handle the consequences.” Oh, he was really pissed, but not as pissed as he was about to be.
I got a secret that I wanna show you, oh
I got a secret so, I'mma drop em to the floor, oh
Unlike the other time, you weren’t a tease and took off your sweats and over shirt, revealing solid black bikini bottoms covered in fishnet shorts with a black bikini top to match.
No heels, no shirt, no skirt, all I'm in is just skin
No jeans, take 'em off, wanna feel your skin
You a beast, oh, you know that I like that skin
Come here baby, all I wanna see you in is just skin
O-o-oh, oh, oh, oh your skin
O-o-oh, oh, oh, oh just skin
O-o-oh, oh, oh, oh, I'm lovin' your skin
Oh, oh
The male dancers joined in and it was practically dry humping to Angel. The chemistry between you and your partner had him seething. To Angel it seemed that if your dance partner could, he would’ve fucked you right then and there. “Imma kill him,” Angel muttered to himself.
“Calm down, playboy. Look,” EZ pointed out to you walking towards him again.
All I wanna see you in is just skin
All I wanna see you in is just skin
Oooh
All I wanna see you in
All I wanna see you in is your skin, oh
You circled around Angel as if he was your prey, but in reality, you were his. He’d have to show you as soon as this song was over. His eyes followed you as you circled him. He wasn’t missing one second of this. As you surrounded him you took off his kutte and put it on yourself. Angel knew he was gonna fuck you once he saw you started dancing, but when you put his kutte on he knew he was gonna fuck you while you wear that and nothing else.
The song continued to slow down, and you slid your back against Angel’s front as if he were a human pole. “Y/N,” he growled, warning you, but you weren’t listening.
You were no longer singing, but the instrumental kept playing. The outro was freestyle, so you let the music flow through you and did whatever came to you naturally. And naturally you wanted to tease Angel. Since you near the ground, you slid down to your chest to arch your back. To go a bit further, you slid your hand under your body to grab your clothed pussy.
You couldn’t see, but you could hear the little commotion of the Mayans behind you. It sounded like Angel was ready to snatch you right off the floor and the others had to stop him.
Rolling over your head, you hit the splits which earned you cheers from the other dancers. Looking over your shoulder at Angel while biting your lip, you bounced up and down. He tilted his head at you and clenched his fists. You could tell he was hanging on by a thread, but you just weren’t through with him yet.
Crystal and you got together and began grinding on one another until you got into a squat, twerking on one another. But this time your eyes were on Coco. When Angel saw he wasn’t in your eyesight, he moved to stand in front of Coco. “Angel, move! I can’t help it if Y/N wants to look at a real man,” he teased. “Man, fuck you!”
You could see that Angel could possibly start wrestling Coco, so you removed yourself from Crystal and started popping one butt cheek at a time. That kept Angel’s attention until the song was over.
Everyone applauded your group. Yahir, your dance partner came and gave you a hug. “Damn, Y/N you did the damn thing!”
“Thanks! You weren’t too bad,” you joked, nudging his shoulder. Your conversation didn’t last too long because Angel with your duffel came and interrupted it. He kissed the side of your forehead and whispered into your hair only low enough for you to hear. “Tell your friend goodbye before I beat his fucking ass.”
“But I want to see everyone else dance.”
“Nah, we got some business to handle, querida.”
Yahir stretched his hand across your body to shake Angel’s hand. “You must be Angel. Y/N talks about you all the time.” Angel gave him a weak shake. “Yeah, I’m sure she does. Anyway, we gotta go.” Angel didn’t even attempt to say bye, he just drugged you to the door.
“Bye, Y/N!” Coco told you as you walked pass him and Crystal. “Bye Johnny,” you sung, giving him a flirtatious smile.
Angel tugged you even harder, making his brothers laugh at him. “Go straight home, no pit stops. Understand me?”
“Yes Angel.” You snatched your keys out of his hands. “Want your kutte back?”
“Nah,” he pressed his hands on your shoulders. “I like you in it.”
Angel kept close to you, not letting a car come in between you two as he followed behind. He even got off his bike before you were able to turn off your car. It was like he was glued to you. He was so damn close to you as you unlocked the door that you could feel his hardon.
When you finally entered your house, Angel threw your things to the side, lifted you in his arms and carried you to your room. “Yo ass like showing out, huh?”
“Angel, what are you talking about? Matter of fact put me down. Best friends don’t act like this.” You tried to wiggle your way down, but Angel held you tighter right on his erection. “Best friends also don’t grab their pussy in front of each other while singing about fucking. But I ain’t trying to be your best friend.”
“Then what are you trying to be, Angelito?”
“Your man.” His lips hovered over yours. “Hmm, I don’t know if I want that. I know Crystal doesn’t mind sharing, so there would be no problem for me getting at Coco.”
Angel threw you on the bed and ripped your fishnet shorts and bikini bottoms. His tongue surrounded your clit. He suckled on it like he was eating a peach. “Angel!” You wrapped your hands in his ebony hair, pulling on it when he wouldn’t give you release.
He lifted his head and licked his lips. “It ain’t nice to tease, is it?”
“No,” you cried out. “Then who’s pussy is this?”
You should’ve just let it go and comply, but your whole friendship with Angel was built on teasing and you weren’t about to stop it now. “Mm, I’m still stuck between Coco and Yahir. Maybe I’m leaning more towards Yahir. Did you see how he practically pounded my pus-”
Angel caught you off with his dick. Now you were a mumbling mess. “Huh, what was that mami?” He cupped his ear, pinning you down with his other hand. Still no words could be formed. Never in your life have you had the delicious mix of pain and pleasure. Angel was stretching you out in all the the right ways. “Angel, please. Move.” You were gripping onto his wrist from how intense he felt.
“Nah, not until you tell me who this sweet pussy belongs to.” It was killing Angel not to move, but he knew he had to wait you out. “Shit, Angel you! You own this pussy, my body, my heart!”
A lone tear fell down Angel’s cheek. “I love you, Y/N. Always have. Let me show you.” Angel began moving, giving you slow, deep powerful strokes.
Cupping his face, you leaned up to kiss him. “I love you, Angel.”
Your proclamation drove Angel crazy. It was the words he’s been waiting years to hear. He tore his kutte and your top off your body and flipped you over on your knees. “Give me that arch that you were throwing in my face earlier,” Angel ordered with a smack to your ass.
A thrill ran through you, but you were a little upset that he took his kutte off you. “I thought you wanted to fuck me with your kutte on.” You looked behind you and shook your ass a little.
Angel kissed you down your spine, making you shiver with each one. “We got time for that later. Right now I need to feel your skin against mines.” Angel slid right in, causing you and Angel to spill out a harmonious, “Fuck.”
This time Angel fucked you faster, but still hitting you deep. “Look at my dirty little puta creaming all over my cock.”
“Angel,” you whined, reaching behind you, trying to push him away. It was too much. He was too much. The pleasure, the ecstasy was overcoming you.
Angel grabbed both of your wrists and held them with one of his hands. “Nah, take this dick. Keep that same energy you had earlier.”
He was brutal with how good he was making your body feel. Every time he felt you lose a bit of your arch, Angel would pull out of you until it was just like he liked it. “Don’t be getting lazy on me now.”
“Please, daddy! Let me cum!” You begged on the verge of tears. “Only because you asked nicely.” Angel let go of your wrists and snaked his hand under you to rub on your clit. The added pressure had you falling apart, screaming Angel’s name.
“Shit, querida, I’m cumming.” Angel pulled out of you, jerking himself off until his seed coated your back. He got all primal and possessive when he saw you covered in his cum. You felt Angel fingers dip into his cum on your back. “Angel, what are you doing?” You asked tiredly. “Just making you mines.” He snapped a picture of his work and showed it to you.
With all the energy you could muster up you turned towards him and rolled your eyes. “Really, Angel? AIR?”
He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “There wasn’t enough for Angel Ignacio Reyes.” Throwing a pillow at him, you hit him in the face. “I hate you!”
“I love you, too,” he chuckled, pulling you both to lay down and get some rest before round 2.
Tags: @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @starrynite7114 @brownsugarcoffy @bigsisbria @thesandbeneathmytoes @sadeyesgf @ifoundmyhappythought @angelreyesgirl @woahitslucyylu @thickemadame @my-rosegold-soul @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @ljstraightnochaser @angrythingstarlight @imanerdychubbyqueen
#black!reader#angel reyes#angel reyes x reader#angel reyes x black!reader#mayans mc#mayans mc fanfic#mayans mc fanfiction#angel reyes fanfic#angel reyes smut#frizzlesfic#frizzlefic#frizzlewrites
470 notes
·
View notes
Text
i’m bad too 02 || kdy & reader
title: i’m bad too - drabble series
pairing: kim doyoung x reader
genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, goodboy!doyoung, nerdy!dy (basically he’s a dork) & badgirl!reader
word count: 1.6k
a/n: yes, i realize i updated 2 days ago and i should probably update my other fics but this is just too fun to write :)
please let me know if anyone wants to be tagged!
taglist: @wownajaemin
← previous chapter || next chapter →
“The fuck is up with the toothpick?” Johnny asks, recently dyed blonde hair slicked back to showcase the furrow of his brows. “Smoke a cig like the rest of us. Be normal.”
“A good boy has her caught.” Naeun teases, leaning against the seat of her bike. She’s got her hair tied back in a tight ponytail today, ears exposed and full of piercings. “She ‘on smoke no more.”
You roll your eyes, hopping off your motorcycle before you spit out the toothpick. “Mind your own business, will you? We came here to work on that stupid task.” Johnny gets off of the wall he’s been resting on, tossing the cigarette butt onto the ground then stepping on it with his combat boot. “Aight. Well, prep yourself. Boss ain’t gonna be happy if we leave with nothin’.”
The task takes barely twenty minutes, just enough time for you to get back to school. Flinging the black duffel bag into a dumpster in an alley, the three of you brush off your hands. “All good? You think he’s gonna actually dive in the dumpster to grab this shit?”
You laugh mockingly, shaking your head at Naeun. “Absolutely not. Maybe one of his guys though.”
“So,” Johnny begins, starting his bike. The engine roars, piercing through the air, and sometimes you question whether or not him constantly revving will bite him in the ass later. The three of you are supposed to be discreet but Johnny seems to act otherwise. “You headed to the club this weekend?”
Naeun tilts her head. “What club? What’s happening there?”
“Pandora’s Box. Heard there’s a cool college event happening there.”
“Johnny, you’re not in college. You’ve never been in college.” You lift a brow questioningly. “What are you getting at here?”
“Just saying. There’s hotties out there. Also—I forgot to mention, that’s where the boss plans on paying us for this task.”
To blend in, you opt for a crop top and leather pants. Sure, you’re dressed black from top to bottom, but you don’t plan on sticking out like a sore thumb. Slipping on black booties to match, you’re set for the night.
Your riding jacket is thick enough to get you through the brisk winds of winter, thankfully, because it’s been gradually getting colder as the sun begins to fade away. Putting your bike in neutral, you kick out the side stand to park it before noticing a familiar figure standing outside with a group of men—who also had similar recognizable features. Sliding off your helmet, you realize your worst fears have come true.
It’s Kim Doyoung waiting in the queue outside of Pandora’s Box.
Grabbing his elbow, you pull him aside. “What are you doing here?” You hiss. “It’s not safe out here.”
He’s so pretty tonight—he matches you in an all black outfit, turtleneck and black jeans. He’s not even wearing his glasses as usual, he’s got in contacts and you get to see his face a lot clearer. Hair styled back, exposing his forehead, Doyoung still makes your heart skip a beat.
“What do you mean? There’s an event happening tonight. All black.” He gestures to his body. Briefly, his eyes scan you and your attire. “Seems like you got the memo.”
You roll your eyes. Maybe this should be okay. Everyone is here, essentially, and the Boss won’t want to be held accountable with a plethora of witnesses. “Nevermind. Forget it.”
“You look pretty,” He says suddenly, unfiltered. His pools of chocolate are warm when they bore into yours, causing your face to heat up. “Um… thanks.”
“Wanna meet my friends?”
You snort. “Why?”
“Because I may have told my friends I was seeing a hot girl who is definitely way out of my league.” He grins innocently. “It would be nice if they stopped teasing me. They think I’m lying.”
Shuffling through your jacket pocket, you spot your box of toothpicks. Casually, you pull one out of its contents before popping it into your mouth. You’re far from hot, in your perspective, but it seems to Doyoung that he thinks that you’re more attractive. “I think you’re hotter than me.” You say it so calmly that it’s his turn to blush, tips of his ears tinting crimson. “But alright. Lead the way.”
Swiftly, he slides his hand into yours, interlocking your fingers together. “I know you haven’t actually officially responded to what I said, but I still stand on my position.”
Scoffing, you shake your head. “Alright, lover boy. Go introduce me to your friends.”
His friends’ mouths drop in awe—it seems that everything Doyoung said in describing you wasn’t a lie at all. They all stutter in introduction and a greeting, and truthfully, it felt nice to feel normal for once.
Doyoung says your name, and the sound of it rolls off the tip of his tongue with ease. “We’ve been uh… talking.”
“Talking.” You reiterate in confirmation, nibbling on the toothpick. It’s a habit you’ve discovered since quitting. “Doyoung seems excited to inaugurate us. How do you know him?” His friends are either from tennis club, LoL, and you recall someone mentioning that they go back from the first semester of college. They’re like Doyoung; innocent, sweet, and nice. The group is here simply because they wanted a night out of fun, to meet girls (Doyoung swears he’s just tagging along), and hoped they could find themselves a girlfriend here.
You purse your lips. “I don’t think you’ll find any kind girls here.” Putting emphasis in your words, you mean the way you executed it. Pandora’s Box isn’t for good boys, no, they’re not for boys like Doyoung and his friends. Maybe you’d stick by them tonight, instead of dipping out right after receiving your pay. They need protection, after all, and who else can provide that? “But good luck, nonetheless.”
“Are you leaving?” Doyoung asks, the space between his brows scrunching up in fear. He’s afraid you’ll leave, just when he’s barely got your attention outside of tutoring. “Where are you going?”
“Nah, gimme a sec.”
Doyoung watches the sway of your hips as you walk to the front of the line, passing and ignoring the glares from the people who wait in the queue as you eye the bouncer. He admires how much you don’t care how people see you, you’re just… you. “You know the deal.” You say casually to the bigger gentleman, all muscle, no neck. He nods through his shades, ready to lift the red belt of the barrier but you halt him. “And my boys too.” Tilting your head to signal Doyoung and his friends, the bouncer grumbles.
“Don’t growl at me, Tony. I know your real name.” You can tell he’s narrowing his stare at you through his sunglasses. “Also, it’s 9:00pm. Wrong time of day to be wearing those.”
“Just get yours and your little friends’ asses in, will you? This crowd is gonna give me a hard time once you go in.”
“Mm,” you hum, patting his shoulder despite the height difference. “You’re the best, Tony. Say hi to your kid for me.” He stiffens.
“Come,” You motion Doyoung and his friends over to head inside. “We can skip the line.”
After that exchange you had with the bouncer, Doyoung is distraught. He can’t seem to understand who you really are, and this side of you that you’re unraveling has him at his peak of curiosity.
“How’d you get in? Does your dad own this place?” The two of you decide to grab something from the bar together as you observe his friends from the mezzanine, arms resting on the table that overlooks the dance floor.
“No, but that would’ve made life a bit easier.” You discard the used toothpick onto the table before bringing the rum and Coke to your lips. “Why are you here anyways? You say that your friends wanted to go clubbing but why here?”
Doyoung sighs, swirling the beer in its bottle. He’s not a big fan of drinking, but the alcohol is bringing him enough courage to talk to you seamlessly. “Lucas said he met a girl that’s got him all… caught up. She said she comes here often and would be here tonight.”
You freeze. “Doyoung. What’s her name?”
“I don’t know, possibly Nayeon? Naeun?”
Groaning, rubbing your face in your hands. “Alright, let’s get your friends outta here. No meeting with Naeun tonight. She's trouble.” Just when you’re about to turn away, you run into someone who nearly spills your drink. “What the fuck—“
“Baby.” Naeun grins mischievously. “Where ya headin’?”
“You’re too involved. I don’t like that.” You suck in your cheeks. “Stop interfering. I’m taking Lucas out of here.”
“Eh. But I like games.” She sneaks a glance over at Doyoung who seems clueless. Extending a hand to offer a handshake, she doesn’t wipe off that smirk on her face. “Hi, you must be her boyfriend. I’m Naeun—her best friend. Wingwoman, really, but somehow she managed to snag you from under my wings.”
“She’s… never mentioned a best friend,” Doyoung admits, firmly shaking her hand. “I’m Kim Doyoung. I’m also her tutor.”
You hiss. “Don’t tell her that.”
Naeun laughs heartily, hand on her chest to refrain herself from cracking up even more. “Why the hell are you still getting tutored? You don’t need that stuff. It’s just junk for your brain when you could be training for other things.”
Doyoung is even more confused now. Who were you? What were you hiding from him? “What other things?”
#doyoung smut#doyoung fic#doyoung x reader#nct#nct fic#nct smut#nct127#nctu#gyukultfics#idk what to tag like ever lol
127 notes
·
View notes
Note
What are the boys reaction to having a sassy baby girl
Billy Russo: He loves it. His baby girl always makes him laugh, and he loves that she can surprise him with the things she says. She had a lot personality since birth, and he loves seeing her grow and blossom. “Don’t call me a baby,” she demands one day, wearing only a diaper and Billy’s suit jacket, “I’m not a baby, I’m a big girl!” “You’re a big girl?” He laughs back. “You can’t even read yet.” “Yes I can,” she argues, opening a book upside down, “it says words!” Billy nods. He couldn’t argue with that.
Logan Delos: Logan often foregoes work, sits down, and interviews your daughter. “How old is Daddy?” He asks. “Seven!” ‘How old is Mommy?” “Four!” “How old are you?” “I’m your baby,” she giggles, rolling her eyes, “you know how old I am!” Logan laughs, leaning down and kissing her chubby little cheek. “You’re right, you’re right. Daddy knows how old you are,” he chuckles. She wraps her little arms around his neck for a hug. “Daddy, you pretty but you stupid!”
Jax Teller: Jax is so in love with his baby girl and her fierce little attitude. For Halloween, she said she wanted to be him. So now she was swaggering around in a mini-kutte with shades and a backwards hat on. “Lookin’ good, darlin’,” she says to Jax with that patented Teller smirk on her face. He’s laughing so hard, he’s crying. She goes over to you and says “want a ride, darlin’?” and then proceeds to walk around the clubhouse and flirt with everyone she saw. Yup--that’s definitely his kid.
Coco Cruz: “Daddy eats all the cereals!” was the first thing you heard when you got out of your car. Coco and your daughter were on the porch, facetiming with Letty, who was laughing her ass off at her baby sister’s antics. “Daddy eats all the cereals, and he can’t read!” She went on, her little voice making you smile. “Daddy has hair like a girl! Daddy only has two shirts! Daddy has drawings all over him!” You quickly join Letty, laughing as Coco sighs. “Why you gotta roast me, querida? Daddy has feelings, you know.” “Daddy has feelings!” She points at him, mocking him, and you have to take a breath, you’re laughing so hard.
Angel Reyes: Angel absolutely adores his sassy baby girl. He sat at the table with EZ, watching as she looked up at you, frowning, with her little hands on her hips. “No no,” you said, wagging your finger, “Daddy is mine!” “No no no,” your daughter interrupted, putting a hand up to silence you, “Daddy is mine! He’s my Daddy! You don’t even live here!” “What? Yes I do!” “No no no, you live outside!” Angel and EZ had tears in their eyes. “Go back outside Mommy!” Your daughter took your hand and led you to the door. “But come back before dinner!”
Miguel Galindo: Miguel sat in his chair at his desk with your daughter on his lap. “What are you two doing?” You asked as you walked in. Your baby was on the phone, babbling away. She put her chubby little hand over the speaker and said “I’m working, Mommy! I have to pay bills!” Miguel laughed, and you did too. “I’m very important,” she went on, “I’m very very busy and very important,” then she went back to her ‘call’, “I want answers NOW!” She demanded, and you raised an eyebrow at your husband. Your baby girl was a Galindo through and through.
Nick Amaro: “Ms. Maria,” your baby girl looked over at Zara’s mom, her eyes squinted as she was being held by her father, “why are you so mean?” You and Nick both stared over at your daughter, and Maria’s mouth dropped. Zara was unaffected. “I--I’m not mean,” Maria said back, eyes darting between you and Nick and your baby, “you think I’m mean, sweetheart?” “You yell at my Daddy on the phone a lot,” your daughter answers, tilting her head, “I think you need a nap.” Zara nods in agreement, her hand in Maria’s. “Baby, that’s--” you start, but Maria interrupts. “You know what, you’re right,” she sighs, looking over at Nick, “I’m sorry. I... I’ll work on that.” “Okay,” your baby says brightly, “start working now!”
Johnny Tuturro: Johnny absolutely loves how sassy and active your daughter is. “Daddy, this is gross,” she says, pushing her plate away. “What? Baby, that’s ghetto scramble! It’s good!” He says back while you laugh. “It’s gross,” she repeats, making a face, “Daddy, it’s too ghetto!” You and Johnny both laugh at that. “I don’t even know how to respond to that,” he confesses. “Only Mommy should cook,” your daughter adds, “She’s good ghetto. Daddy is bad ghetto.”
Rio: Rio spends as much time as he can with his kids, and he loves how smart your baby girl is. So when she’s on his lap, eating an ice cream cone at the park when Beth--pushy and impatient as always--walks up, he already knows his daughter ain’t going for it. “I called you five times,” Beth starts. “He has a wife!” Your daughter interrupts, glaring from over her ridiculously large cone. Beth freezes, and Rio chuckles. “She knows, mamas, it’s okay.” “My Mommy is the prettiest girl in the whole wide world--after me, right, Daddy?” Rio nods. “That’s right.” Beth clears her throat and forces herself to smile. “I know all about your Mommy, she’s very very pretty, but your Daddy and I are partners,” she looks over at Rio, “and it’s very rude not to call people back.” “You’re rude,” your baby quips, not missing a beat, “you just walked up and didn’t even say hi!” She looks up at Rio. “Daddy,” she reports, scandalized, “she didn’t say hi!” “I know, baby,” he says back, kissing her nose, “that’s not very nice is it,” he looks over at Beth, his eyes hard, his baby girl wearing a matching expression on her little face, “But she’s still learning. She’s gonna say ‘bye’ right now.” Your baby grins.
*******************************************************************************************
Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! I hope you like this one, I feel like I could have written this forever, especially Rio’s, haha.
Everything Taglist: @sweetybuzz25 @mrsjaxtellerfan @rhabakoli @encounterthepast @realduckvader @justvnash @knowles-morgan @ateliefloresdaprimavera @evanlys19 @nyxxnoxx @carlaangel86 @luminex3 @jigsawlover10 @gollyderek @otomefromtheheart @lexxierave @amethyst09 @falsehopesndreams @a-dorky-book-keeper @witchygagirl @glimmerglittergirl @nich0lasmatthews @ben-c-group-therapy @felicity-x0 @amirra88 @yourfellowangel @vibranium-soul @xserenax-13 @woahitslucyylu @gemini0410 @ktiz90 @theoceanhathsolace @starrynite7114 @my-rosegold-soul @papa-geralt-of-cirilla
#Billy Russo x reader#logan delos x reader#jax teller x reader#coco cruz x reader#angel reyes x reader#miguel galindo x reader#nick amaro x reader#johnny tuturro x reader#rio x reader#bre's boys#bre's boys preferences
669 notes
·
View notes
Text
Performance - Johnny x Fem!Reader (Kinktober Day #14: Lap Dance)
NSFW. 18+ ONLY. AFAB reader. Fem pronouns. Lap dance, insecure reader. 2k
You give Johnny a little show.
“I feel silly,” you tell Johnny, nervously fidgeting with the floaty white robe. “Like . . . I don’t know. Like you’re just going to laugh at me and then leave the minute I get this off.”
Johnny looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed. You can see your own fears mirrored in his eyes, of course - Johnny Joestar is the reigning monarch of ‘feeling like the person he loves could abandon him at any moment’. You two have that in common; and though you both reassure the other with kisses and soft touches and words as best you can, it’s one of those niggling doubts that’s always there, threatening to overwhelm you at the most inopportune moments.
He sighs.
“I ain’t,” he says, softly. “Darlin’ . . .”
He stands up, using the arm of the chair to steady himself before he walks to you. He’s come so far in his physical therapy since the Steel Ball Run, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his bad days - what it does mean is that he saves his bad days until he’s out of the public eye. He feels safe to be unsteady when he’s with you.
“Johnny,” you say, and then you sigh. You let him wrap his arms around you and kiss the top of your head, breathing in his comforting scent, feeling reassured by the weight of his arms around you. He’s softer than he looks - his stomach and thighs still bear the softness of all the time he spent not using them, though his arms around you are strong and powerful.
“If you don’t wanna do it for me, I ain’t gonna make you,” he murmurs into your ear. “I’m not like that, you know that.”
“All those other girls . . .” You say, haltingly - it’s a thought that’s constantly tearing at your mind. Johnny Joestar the former playboy -the womaniser. Expert in the kind of women who don’t get afraid of stripping down in front of their lover. Expert, too, in the kind of women who’ll happily get on a stage and get down to their birthday suit with a live band and not a scratchy old gramophone--
“Don’t hold a candle to ya,” he says. He tips up your chin, his smile crooked - your heart skips a beat as you look at him, just like it always does. You can’t believe how lucky you are, sometimes. It’s not easy - you didn’t expect it to be easy. Johnny is damaged in some ways, needs careful handling, is liable to curl in on himself in self-hatred . . . but despite that, he’s all warmth when it comes to you. Little smiles. Reassurances. His hand around yours, squeezing. “Now. Ya’ gonna give me a show, sweetpea?”
You catch your lip with your teeth, but you allow yourself to be stepped back from. You meet Johnny’s eye, the man giving you an encouraging smile - and all at once, you feel more confident. You feel emboldened, as he takes his seat back in front of you.
Sure, Johnny’s seen a hundred girls in burlesque shows and at theatres and in dimly lit bars, but . . . this is different. Those girls were being paid for their time, had to flirt and flutter eyelashes as contracted - and you’re doing this for Johnny because you want to. Because you love him.
You walk slowly and deliberately over to the gramophone and bend, making sure that the sheer froth of the robe stays close to your body, framing your shape in white chiffon. The needle is dropped into the groove carefully, and as you hear the first crackling strings, you straighten yourself out.
You meet Johnny’s eyes as you bring your hands to the front of the robe, teeth still biting at your bottom lip. You let your hips move slightly in time with the music, fingers undoing the strip of satin that’s keeping the robe flush against you. One long, slow step so that you’re closer to your lover has you inches away from him, slowly stripping the piece of fabric away so it falls from you and lands in a pool at your feet.
Johnny takes a great, shuddering breath. His eyes darken as they sweep the length of you - the curves of your hips and the dip of your waist and where your undergarments frame your figure. You’ve always felt self-conscious of it before - but in front of Johnny, you feel beautiful. The strap of the piece you’re wearing is pushed down one shoulder, your hips still moving - and Johnny groans as the other follows suit.
You enjoy teasing him a little while. You let yourself move closer to him, place a hand on his thigh, brush your finger over his lips - before turning to wiggle out of what you’re wearing, letting it join the robe on the floor as you stand in front of Johnny wearing absolutely nothing.
You stay there for a few moments, keeping it so that he can only hungrily follow the lines of the back of your body - the small of your back, the curve of your ass, your hips still bumping from side to side in time with the music filling your bedroom. You raise your arms slowly, showing off how you look, hands tangling in your hair playfully. You’d never usually be so bold in the nude - but as you peek over your shoulder with fluttering eyelashes, you can see that it’s taking all of Johnny’s self control to not rear up and take what he wants, and it makes pleasant heat roar low in the pit of your stomach.
You turn slowly, approaching him.
“Remember,” you murmur, thighs wide apart as you take your seat on his lap, straddling his hips - brushing your bare sex over where his trousers are looking uncomfortable but not quite settling on him yet, “you can look all you want, but you can only touch when I say so.”
“I’m gonna die if that ain’t soon,” Johnny says, all low southern charm, but he keeps his hands by his side clenched into fists to stop himself getting too acquainted with you.
“You’ve lived this long,” you say, leaning in close to whisper in his ear - he shudders, pleasantly. “It’d be a shame to die just from that, after everything else . . .”
“You’re what matters now,” he tells you, and the glow of your arousal mixes with the glow of your pleasure that he cares about you, and you take your seat more thoroughly. You wonder if he can feel how wet you are through the fabric of what he’s wearing - you wonder what he’s thinking as you gyrate your hips, keeping the beat. His cock - trapped between the plump lips of your labia and the material - twitches as you grind them in circles.
He sighs, tipping his head back, letting out a breath of air that’s more like a whistle. You want to kiss the bob of his Adam’s apple, lick it and bite. Move along his neck until he’s shuddering and pleading, sensitive - work open the buttons of his shirt and kiss the freckles on his shoulders.
You settle for the neck. You lean into him, your lips feather soft as you imagine leaving lipstick marks all along him. He whimpers, sensitive to the last - his cock twitches again. You think, if you tried hard enough, you could get him to come just from the way you’re seated on him and the touch of your lips - but you’re not that cruel. You want him to end this night inside of you, murmuring your name - you want to end it with both of you telling each other how much you adore them.
You bite his earlobe gently.
“Ahh,” Johnny whimpers, and this time he can’t stop himself - his hands come to rest on your hips, fingers digging into the skin. “Sugar--”
“Johnny,” you whisper, softly. “That’s against the rules.”
“I can’t not touch you,” he says, and his voice cracks. “Not when you look like this, and not when you’re doing that, and not . . .” You feel his cheeks warm and you pull back, looking at him - his freckled face is flushed, and it’s very obvious against the strawberry blond of his hair. “It’s embarassin’,” he whines, and as you gyrate your hips one more time and he helplessly bucks into it, you realise exactly what it is he’s protesting.
Giddiness rises up in you.
“I don’t wanna . . . y’know? And you against me like that . . .”
That you could reduce Johnny to that? You’d never have thought it true, if he weren’t scowling and looking away and the colour of a sun-ripened tomato.
“Sugar, darlin’, honey--”
You slide off him and onto your knees, your hands gently coming up to rest on his thighs. You stare up through wide eyes. Johnny meets your gaze, an unsaid beg apparent in how he looks at you; he wants you to touch him. He wants you to stop teasing him. And though you know from how hard he was he appreciated the show, you also know that Johnny Joestar isn’t the most patient man alive today.
“Well,” you say, breathlessly, as your fingers go to the clasp and placket of his star-patterned pants. “I don’t want you to make a mess on your nice clothes.”
155 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hunter References:
Cosmetics:
Alice In Dairyland: The name is taken from an agricultural marketing program of the same name
Annie Oakey: The Name is a play on the name of the famous sharpshooter and Oak trees, which are found in abundance in Wisconsin
Ringling Ringlets: The name references the Ringling Brothers Circus, which was founded in Wisconsin.
Selkies Shawl: A nod to the Scottish Selkies myths and the Hunters Scotch heritage
Red Red Robin: A nod to the American Robin, the state bird of Wisconsin
Voicelines:
“You get hurt, hurt 'em back. You get killed... walk it off”: A quote taken from Captain America
“Well, this ain't the first time I've been covered in piss.”: A reference to the practice of using Deer Urine for hunting
“ Beam me up, Engie”: A play on the Star Trek quote
“Shot through the heart, and I'm to blame”: A play on the lyrics from You Give Love A Bad Name by Bon Jovi
“He who is prudent and lies in wait for an enemy who is not, will be victorious”: A quote from The Art Of War
“I might wear Red/Blue, but green and gold can't be beat”: A reference to the Green Bay Packers, the State football team of Wisconsin
“And he ain't gonna jump no more!”: A line from Blood On The Risers
“Remember, kids, only you can prevent wild fires.”: A quote taken from the Smokey the Bear campaigns
“oh I fell into a burnin' ring of fire” A line from Johnny Cash’s Ring Of Fire
“well goodness gracious great balls of fire!” A line from Jerry Lee Lewis’ Great Balls Of Fire
“You might be as mean as a wolverine, but I bite like a Badger”: A Reference to the Badger, the state animal of Wisconsin, which is also known as the Badger State
“Build me up, buttercup”: A reference to the song of the same name by The Foundations
“ nyeh, what's up, doc?”: A quote taken from Bugs Bunny
#The Hunter#tf2 hunter#tf2 oc#tf2 tenth class#tf2 10th class#Hunter reference#Will probably reblog this whenever it gets updated with more refs
3 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
mel-in-the-sunlight
flectere si nequeo superos
marvinpinheiro-blog
Sem título
asoundofdrop
Waiting here as I count the drops...
as548784q
제목 없음