#only realized upon closer inspection that my guy was missing part of a toe

[poisonedartfrog]

#art #traditional art #wildlife art #watercolor #birds #sketched this little egret from a photo i took at the beach today #only realized upon closer inspection that my guy was missing part of a toe #also his beak is actually longer than that but i ran outta room on the page 🙃

[badger-writes]

Star Wars OC Ship Week 2021 - for light and love

uhhhh Hello! 😄

This fic and all its chapters was written for Star Wars OC Ship Week's inaugural year 2021, an event spotlighting OCxEC romances & platonic friendships helmed by @findswoman! It's also the first time I've personally ever taken part in an event week so I hope I do a good job! 😅

Whether you're a High Republic fan or you just want to see the big lizard get smooches, hope you enjoy! Leave comments and kudos if you do! Looking forward to sharing all I've written over the course of the week w/ y'all!

1 - How They Met

It all started, as these things do, in a medical bay.

Kelto Lem, a Jedi healer, had been busying himself with organizing the implements and instruments of the first aid wing in the Halls of Healing. This was light work, and peaceful, which suited him fine. Rarely, if ever, were there emergencies in the Jedi Temple of such scope and scale as to totally overwhelm the medical ward, and to the best of his recollection they had never occurred in the early morning, when dew was still settled on the trees and grasses of Monument Park. This made it an optimal time for preparing the ward for most of the day’s eventualities well ahead of schedule; this making good sense to him, he settled into this habit as a padawan and had never quite given it up. In time, it became almost a meditative practice for him - refilling stores of fresh bandages, taking stock of available pharmaceuticals and herbal remedies, refilling the kolto canisters…

And so it was in the middle of this daily routine that he was interrupted by the door sliding open. He turned to look and nearly dropped the medical scanner he was holding - for two reasons.

 The first: his guest was built like a permacrete E-Web bunker. Broad and tall, with an implied physicality that not even Jedi robes concealed, the visitor - a Trandoshan - strode into the ward with an aura of stern command, stolid orange eyes locking upon Kelto almost immediately. His emerald scales shone with a slight luster as he walked, the claws of his toes clicking against the tile floor, until he came to the edge of the biobed in the center of the room less than a foot away from the resident healer. The sheer weight of his presence made Kelto feel small by comparison - he, a shorter pale-scaled Rodian with stripes of deep blue running along his jaw and neck, who wore a satchel of first aid essentials on his hip everywhere he went and tied back his spines in a long, narrow topknot ending in a spiky pom where they escaped the hold of the strip of linen which restrained them.

The second: he was covered in scorchmarks.

“Star’s End,” Kelto said, when he could finally get his (dry, dry) mouth to work correctly. “What in the world happened to you?”

The Trandoshan rumbled, mouth pulling to one side in chagrin. It was a deep, bassy sound, and it landed straight in the pit of Kelto’s stomach. 

“A… mishap with the duelling droid,” he grunted, in the sibilant speech of his species. “I was not focused. Lost sight of my present. It seized the opportunity, as you can see,” he added, gesturing to his scorched robes.

“You were training? This early? Chee,” Kelto said, shaking his head. “And I thought my morning habits were odd - jump up on the bench, here, I’ll patch you up.”

He turned away to fetch some burn relief supplies, piling them on a tray. When he turned back, the Trandoshan had sat upon the biobed - and his tunic was resting carefully folded on the bench beside him.

“Ahghg,” he said, and everything on his tray rattled as he short-circuited.

The Trandoshan gave him an odd look. “Yes?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing. I’m fine,” Kelto stammered. “Let me just, uhhh… set this down here.”

He let the tray’s repulsorlifts catch it in midair, so that it would hover at his side. Then he took a ball of fluff and daubed it in a squat open vial of kolto, letting the excess drip off and trying not to think too much about the barrel-chested masterpiece of physicality sitting just within arm’s reach to his right.

“So, how did this happen, Master …?”

“Knight, actually,” the patient replied. “Not master - not yet, anyway. And as I said, I was training.”

“Only a Knight? ...Well, I guess if you were a Master, you wouldn’t have ended up - err, you know what, forget I said that.”

With kolto-ball and medigauze dressings in hand, Kelto turned to his patient and gave him a quick once-over. There were injuries in areas roughly corresponding to the placement of scorch marks on the surface of his clothes, but fortunately, most of them didn’t seem too severe - the robes acting as a layer of insulation against the worst of it. Quite intentionally, he started on the outside limbs, an attempt to spare himself another hot flush provoked by looking straight on at his patient’s torso. Sskeer didn’t even flinch when he touched the wet medical fluff against an abrasion on the side of his arm.

“I train on one or two levels above the normal training setting,” the Trandoshan offered, by way of explanation. “Thus, my injuries.”

“Ah,” Kelto murmured, mostly to himself. “A masochist.”

Sskeer grunted reproachfully. “The training settings are designed to hold back. There will be no such reprieve in the field. Therefore, I train the body to anticipate the presence of harm - to become numb to its threat, and then, to surpass it.”

“So you’re fine with the pain?”

“Pain can be ignored. And my people have thick hides. I endure.” 

“Well, I’m no duelist, but in my estimation you could probably stand to bump back down a few levels,” Kelto observed, winding a bandage around his forearm. “At least until you can defeat one of those saber-happy droids.”

Sskeer hrrred. The sound landed in Kelto’s gut again. “Bold words from a nurse.”

“Bold enough to be a Knight, like you.” The Rodian retorted, flashing him a smirk - and turning away immediately when the sensation of being perceived became too much. (His cheeks were so warm - was it supposed to be so hot in here?) Falling silent, he took one of Sskeer’s wide, thick-fingered hands in his own, turning it to inspect the green welt on its back.

“I did not realize you had risen to Knighthood as well,” the Trandoshan offered as Kelto dressed his injury. “If I offended, it was not by intent.”

“It’s fine. I’d rather people forget, honestly. Most people, they see a Jedi and think, ‘wow! Laser swords! Magic powers!’ - but that’s… never really where I felt comfortable.”

“You feel your place is here.”

“It’s where my talents lie, I think. I’ve sort of been drawn to the healing halls ever since I left the creche. And… well, to be honest, I like being able to help people doing this. So… I guess it’s true what they say, about the Force having a path for us all, and all that.”

Sskeer hummed. “That is good.”

“Yeah, and I remember when I was little, Master Rancisis came by the ward and said a-- I’m sorry, am I rambling? I’m rambling, aren’t I? I’ll just shut up and tend you--”

“It’s fine.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I just dropped basically my whole backstory on you--”

“It’s fine,” Sskeer said - firmly, but patiently. “Really.”

And Kelto believed him.

It’s funny, he thought suddenly, how quickly you can get comfortable with someone else. A moment ago he could barely stand to meet Sskeer’s gaze - now, though, he could look him straight in the eye without feeling like wilting. Sskeer had surprisingly deep eyes, he noticed, for how small they were. Deep and dark. Like he could dip into his pupils and fall forever --

Oh gosh, there’s a huge green mark right on his temple. How did he miss that??

Kelto dunked a fresh puffball in the healing fluid and held it up to the Trandoshan’s brow, cradling it in his long, sucker-tipped fingers. This time, when it touched his skin, Sskeer flinched and barely suppressed a hiss. On instinct, Kelto shushed him - a habit picked up from soothing much younger patients, when he got his start tending the younglings’ skinned knees and broken bones.

“This one’s not so bad, I think,” he murmurs. “Just needs a little kolto to help keep it clean. Just put some ice on it every few hours for the swelling and it’ll go away soon.”

“And this?”

“Hm?”

Sskeer gestured again to a long line of angry green flesh across his trunk.

“OH Force,” the Rodian cried, slapping a hand against his forehead. “I completely missed that somehow, thank you so much, I’m so sorry. Gods, I’ll get right on that--”

The Trandoshan surprises him with a chuckle. “Rather absentminded for a healer, aren’t you?”

“D-don’t judge!” Kelto sputters. “I’ve been distracted.”

“By what, exactly?” Sskeer asked, with a smirk.

“... J-just lie all the way down, please?”

Sskeer leaned back onto the biobed, hands resting behind his back. Now the whole of his broad, stocky abdomen lies prone under the glowlights, throwing the long diagonal burn across his trunk into stark, unmistakable relief.

“Why is this one so much worse,” Kelto wonders aloud.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘worse’. As I said, I endure.”

“I’m sorry, this doesn’t look like a giant, stinging saber-welt to you?” Kelto peered closer at the mark, hesitantly plying the flesh of the Trandoshan’s belly under his fingers. “...Actually, wait. This is almost a first degree burn. What kind of training saber makes marks like these?”

Now it was Sskeer’s turn to fall quiet and avoid eye contact.

“...You… did something pretty dumb, didn’t you.”

“...When my performance against the droids began to suffer, I… disabled some of the limiters on the droids,” Sskeer growled, at length.

“Y-you did WHAT?”

“I thought it would motivate me to improve,” he shrugged.

“So when I called you a masochist earlier and you didn’t really deny it--”

This time, Sskeer almost snarled. “It’s no crime to seek out a proper challenge.”

“Oh, and if every adrenaline junkie Padawan jumped off the High Council Tower, you would too?”

“Will you just stop arguing and fix this?”

“I--” Kelto groaned. “Okay, whatever, big guy. Just - just hang on.”

He arranged his hands on either side of Sskeer’s wound - one above on his chest, one below on his stomach. Then he sucked in a deep breath through his snout and released it slowly, letting his eyes fall shut as he exhaled. 

He was panicking, he knew. Overcorrecting. There was no reason to take things this far when he was literally standing in a room filled with other, more practical solutions - and certainly not over something so silly as a shouting match with a Knight he barely knew. But by now, good sense and training had momentarily fled him. 

Here, in this moment, Kelto sank into the Force and let himself be guided by the simple instinct to help.

He took another slow breath in, and out, and began to concentrate.

And then…

Sskeer sensed it before he saw it. He craned his neck over his chest to see - and rose up on his elbows, watching intensely.

With preternatural speed, the hideous burn across his torso lightened, shrank - and then vanished. In its place only unblemished scales remained.

Like he’d never even been touched.

Kelto let out one final, explosive breath - and almost collapsed. Sskeer jolted to his feet and grabbed his arms, cradled his back in one arm, steadying him on his feet until he could recover.

“Nice catch,” Kelto panted, when he’d finally recovered.

Sskeer was looking at him differently, the Rodian noticed through the blur of lightheadedness. Looking with him with something like awe.

“That was… quite a feat,” the Trandoshan noted. “It seems you were correct to follow the path of the healers.” 

“Y-yes, well,” Kelto murmured sleepily, “we all have our own special talents.” 

His eyes trailed back to Sskeer’s chest, fingertips idly following their gaze down his trunk. They tickled, just slightly; Sskeer registered an unexpected, but not wholly unpleasant shiver down his spine.

“Think we’re all done now,” the Rodian mumbled. Then his big, sea-blue eyes blinked - slowly, then rapidly, like a Wookiee propeller-engine starting up - and he realized his hand was just shy of cupping one of Sskeer’s pecs.

“UM,” he said loudly, jumping away. “YEAH, so, all done. Clean bill of health. You should be completely fine within the next day or so, and then you can go get your butt handed to you by the training droids again, right? Yup, glad to help, have a nice day, May the Force Be With You and all that jizz, ahaha~”

The Rodian became a flurry of hyperactivity around the ward, re-stocking and re-checking shelves and cabinets for reasons Sskeer could not divine. To appear busy, he supposed - and discourage his continued presence.

It was, he decided, reather endearing. 

Sskeer let the flustered healer flail a moment more before saying, “I don’t think you ever shared your name.”

When he looked over his shoulder, Kelto’s face looked as bright as a Life Day orb - only much, much greener. “Huh?”

“Force healing is no small feat,” the Trandoshan observed, slipping his tunic and tabard back over his shoulders. “To have seen it performed is a privilege; for something as small as my own self-inflicted injury, and after my own stubbornness - an honor. 

“I’d prefer to thank you for it properly, and to apologize. But for that, I must ask your name.”

The Rodian stared. Then coughed, turning to lean back against the counter before him. “Uh, well… That’s … kind of you, but I - you know, we’re Jedi and all. W-we don’t really serve for gratitude’s sake.”

“For the sake of a fellow Jedi, then, and a friend?” 

“…Friend?”

A bemused head tilt. “Are we not?”

“W-well, that’s moving a bit quickly, isn’t it? I mean - we don’t even know each other’s names.”

Sskeer stared.

“Sorry. Sorry. I’m not dumb, I swear, I’m just -- panicking.”

The Trandoshan gave him a funny look. (It was kinda cute, Kelto noticed, when his nose scrunched up like that.) 

Just spit it out. Spit it out. Spit it out. You’re blowing it. Just spit it out spititout spititout---

“My name’s Kolto,” he said -- and groaned.

“Your name,” Sskeer echoed, “is...‘Kolto’?”

“Noooo, no, not ‘Kolto’ - Kelto! Kelto! My name is Kelto. Kelto Lem. I just - I’m just called ‘Kolto’. By - certain people.”

“Because… you work with kolto?” he ventured. “Or because it happens to sound similar?”

Kelto sulked, crossing his arms. “Because Torban Buck thinks he’s funny.” 

Understanding dawned. “Ah. Yes, he certainly does.”

“Mmmmgh. Well, now that I’ve botched my own introduction, I guess you know me. So you can leave me to my shame, now, I guess.” Kelto returned to the business of managing the ward - opening and closing cabinet doors slightly harder, this time.

A wide, three-fingered hand landed on his narrow shoulder, making him jump.

“Thank you, Kelto Lem,” Sskeer said. “Truly, you’re a credit to the Order.”

His voice was deep and warm. Kelto swore he could feel his breath tickling his ear.

“A-anytime,” he replied, spine locking ramrod straight.

He senses Sskeer’s presence pass by behind him, and imagines it’s what little Rodian swamp-fish feel like when big surface trawlers pass by, and catch them in their wake. “And perhaps when I continue my training,” Sskeer added, “I will remember to return here, for my wounds to be dressed.”

“Orrr you could crush those droids and never need to come back here again!” Kelto shakily returned.

“I’m sure I could, at that,” Sskeer chuckled. And the door slides shut behind him.

The moment Kelto was certain he was alone, he took a little paper cup and pours himself a drink of cool sinkwater. It takes gulping down two full cupfuls before he cools down, sinking heavily on his elbows against the counter.

“‘Kolto’,” he muttered, scoffing. “God damn it.”

#StarWarsOCShipWeek2021 #star wars #the high republic #sskeer #original character #oc x canon #how they met #fanfic

[georgemackayhey]

Rules For Falling In Love: #2

summary: In which George wants to get married. But… you’re not dating. Why should you say yes?

a/n: The love for this fic has really made my heart ache in all the best ways! I hope yall love this update and I look forward to all your feedback of any and all kinds, as always ♡

w/c: 2k

───※ ·❆· ※───

You had a week from hell, one where you seemed to live and breathe your work against your will. When you were free to do as you pleased, all you wanted was to do was absolutely nothing.

When you got home to find George seemed to have been waiting there all afternoon like a puppy, you rolled your eyes, entirely too exhausted to consider having fun. But before you had the chance to give that speech, George ushered you to the sofa.

"The last season, it's starting right now." He explained, turning the volume up on the telly that was already on. The show in question was one of those horrifically trashy ones. A silly little show you both got hooked on when you had the same cold, nowhere to go, and nothing else to watch. Now you needed to know what happened next.

The days weren't always like this. Between the years, you'd drifted apart from each other, floating back together for odd dinners and weekend getaways. It wasn't even like this when you started living together. But it seemed like in the blink of an eye you were spending more and more free time side by side, planning more than a few shared breakfasts and rainy afternoons.

Nights like these were expected by now, and you realized you'd be amiss if they ended anytime soon. George had called off dating some year or two ago, shaken by the Hollywood scene and the popularity contest he seemed to be in on, during films and even off set, in local shops he'd gotten recognized in. You'd forgotten that dating was a part of social life, far too preoccupied with your work and the plans you always had with George after hours to get to know anyone new.

It all made too much sense. So when the first commercial break kicked in and George passed the snacks he was holding over to you, as if he just remembered you were there, you spoke up.

"I'll do it."

You took the snacks, holding George’s eyes as his searched yours. You knew that he knew what you were agreeing too. Just when you thought he was about to speak, the show came back on and both of your focuses shifted entirely on the screen. You hadn't known what to expect... But the way everything seemed so vastly normal, sort of jarred you.

And for the next couple of days... neither of you talked about it at all. Sure you're busy with work and George had been fretting over a couple of important telephone interviews. But you thought surely he'd be more anxious to discuss logistics, or bring up the subject he invented, at all.

It wasn't until the next weekend, that the conversation picked up where it left off, again.

You'd spent the early Sunday morning roaming through the storefronts of an overpriced market. You ducked inside to relish the air-conditioned sales before dipping back out every few feet to admire the booths full of flowers, handcrafted gifts, and expensive decor. You'd buy absolutely everything here if you could.

You did have a mission. It was to pick up something to bring to dinner, a Sunday evening tradition with George's family. You'd been invited for as long as you could recall, and you'd never shown up empty-handed. Usually, flowers and desserts did just fine. But you were entirely too indecisive over what to purchase, this morning.

You'd become lost in a conversation with a woman who sold soaps and lotions, locally and expensively made. You rambled with her for so long that you'd lost sight of the person you'd come here with.

When you spun away from the lady selling soaps as new customers flocked closer to inspect her products, and you went on the hunt for George. You spotted him from behind, leaning in to speak with a vendor nearer inside. And just as you start to drift in his direction, he noticed you, too, through the crowd. And as the people part and you're nearly toe to toe, George doesn't greet you like usual.

There is no jab about where you'd been missing for so long, there isn't even a hello. Instead, you watch as George's smile grows mischievous, before bending at the knee.

Between his thumb and finger is a ring, just your unique style. It's from the booth he knelt in front of now, where hundreds of other delicate and novel jewels were displayed.

"What's all this then?" You laughed, standing in front of the guy you'd known longer than how to do simple maths.

"Marry me?" George asked, for the hundredth time, it seemed. You hadn't ever expected the question. But after this week, it came again at long last. You wondered if he'd ever bring it up again. But this time was different. This time, he smiled softly and held a real promise in his hand, looking up to you with a squint to block out the sun.

"I suppose I will." You grinned, answering quietly as George beamed up at you.

A couple of old ladies gasped from a couple of steps away, turning to watch on as George rose to his feet, grabbing your hand with both of his.

"Thank you, y/n. I cant wait." He said as if he'd been planning this for longer than he'd been pestering you about it.

"Why, we're practically already married." You laughed, mocking the statement he kept returning back to over the weeks. You watched as George slid the ring on your finger, with a pretty little design you couldn't have chosen better if you tried.

"Kiss her!" One of the elder spectators demanded like she was watching a wrestling match and coaxing on the fighters.

"I suppose I should," George remarked, mocking you, from moments ago. When he dipped down to place a teasing, chaste kiss on your lips,  the old ladies cheered. When you swatted his arm with a playfully furrowed brow, the old ladies grumbled, completely let down by the way you ruined the moment.

"Don't blow it, Mackay. Go pick one for yourself, now." You warned your friend who was already giving you a playful smirk as you pointed to the collection of rings he was meant to choose from.

He found the perfect band, with specks and flecks that matched your own. And he liked it, best of all. The two of you walked out of the shoppe with matching rings, in fits of laughter as you imagined all your friend's reactions.

To celebrate, you stopped at a stall selling frozen yogurt and ordered one big container; because it was extremely overpriced, and George didn't mind sharing, because according to him-

"We're official." George boasted, digging into the dessert as you walked back toward your neighborhood, enjoying the perfect morning weather.

"Not quite." You reasoned. "We've still gotta get the worst part over with."

"The worst part?"

"Throwing a faux wedding. Lying to our guests. Drawing far too much attention to ourselves. This feels so much more like a business interaction than an event. Not that I'm not glad to do business with you, of course." You laughed, stepping in time with your closest friend.

"We don't have to make it a whole big thing. I only asked to be married, not for a garish wedding. We could stick to signing a few papers and call it a day."

"Are you serious? I want you to be explicitly clear about what you want because whether we make it one or not, this is a big deal."

"I'm okay with it." George chuckled, forcing the frozen treat in your grasp for a turn. "Either way, we'll need some witnesses."

You grumbled, remembering he was right. You weren't ashamed to marry him. Only embarrassed at the slightest bit of misjudged attention, and worried that your decision would be mistaken for something it wasn't, by anyone you explained it too.

///

"I've forgotten to get something to bring! I've never not brought something to dinner." You panicked, feeling your pockets in a last-ditch effort to find something to keep the tradition alive. George let out a little chuckle as you stalled in his parent's driveway. You reprimanded him for not being just as panicked as you, but he just laughed harder as he reached for your hand.

"Well how about this time I bring you."

A new set of nerves danced on end when you remembered the ring on your finger. You'd walked into the entry of his parents lavish countryside home like clockwork, without a gift but with very big news. But even in the strange twist of events, the familiar setting and George's calming presence meant nothing was out of the ordinary. You were only making the decision to keep it that way. Surely everyone would understand.

As you waltzed further into the home, there was no grand greeting. His father was sat in the living room, focused on a game that flashed across the telly. He turned his smile to the pair of you just before shouting back at the team he was rooting for. George's mother was in the kitchen, and upon hearing the pair of you come in, started rambling about how dinner wasn't quite ready and how hectic her day was.

You and George stalled in the entry of the kitchen, sunbleached wallpaper and worn old furniture welcomed you. When George's mother turned from the stove with a huff and a hand on her hip, she glanced between you and her son and asked why you were both just standing there.

"Has something happened?" She asked in a grave low tone.

George glanced to you as if to ask you for permission to say something. Or maybe to warn you he was about to, anyway. You knew it was best to rip the bandaid off. So you gave the smallest nod and held your breath.

With a look across the way to his father clicking the telly off in perfect time, George made his announcement.

"We're getting married!"

Despite George's sound excitement and the glowing smile on his face, his mother let out a breath with a hand to her heart.

"Oh thank God, I thought someone had died." She explained, reaching back to turn a knob on the oven. Her relief was comical, and just as she spoke up, you realized all the excitement you'd expected, was stored away in the girl bounding down the stairs.

George's sister nearly tripped over herself as she squealed into the room. You might have wanted to plug your ears, but the girl bound your way, babbling incoherently, grabbing your hand to see the ring she expected to see there.

"I knew it. I can't believe this day has come but I knew it would." She gasped like she'd just become a billionaire, as if her very own dreams had just come true. George's father sauntered closer, glancing at your ring with a pleased hum, offering a simple and pleasant congratulations on his way to steal a bit of dessert before dinner.

"So now I can finally expect some grandchildren, yeah?" George's mother shuffled toward the cabinet full of wine, a place she only searched through when the very best and worst news hung heavy over your weekly dinner parties.

"I don't think that's possible." You choked out in a hurry, as George's sister dropped your hand, spinning to face her brother who was holding back wild laughter at your expense.

"You can always adopt, dear." His mother pushed, spinning back to the oven when it dinged. George was in the middle of explaining your plans to his sister, who was shaking her head in disapproval.

"No! No way will I stand by and watch you get married without throwing a party. Can't we talk about a big white wedding? Oh please." She turned to you with big pleading eyes.

"No, no no no. I can't do that. I'd pass out before saying I Do and what's the point of that? We're just gonna get it done." You pointed.

"I'll just see about that." She stormed deeper into the kitchen at the sound of her mother asking her for help finishing your traditional Sunday meal.

"I'll try and thwart her plans to decorate the register's office with rose petals." George brought his hands to your shoulders with a smile you shared, as he led you to the table. His parents argued over what bottle of wine to open, while his sister went on making plans of her own, just for you. Normalcy remained.

///

"You two cannot be serious." Dean sat slack-jawed across a high tabletop in your very favorite pub. He'd barely touched his scotch, but you and George were on your second round of drinks you'd been downing while waiting on your friend to show up to tell him the news.

"Who else would we ask, Dean? You're our third wheel." You laughed, leaning in to shout past the music overhead. You'd already told George's family and asked his sister to be one of your witnesses. The girl was more excited than you and George for your big day. Dean was the only other person you could imagine inviting along, whose presence wouldn't make you break out into a nervous sweat.

"No, I mean you can't be serious about getting married!" Dean laughed, keeping his wide, dark eyes boring into yours.

"We've already worked most everything out. Will you please come?" George leaned in closer, taking his turn at coaxing his best pal into being there for the two of you.

"Yeah, fine," Dean softened, his smile reaching his eyes. "But I'm bringing a cake. Not to celebrate, but to stress eat." The fellow raised his glass in a silly toast. You laughed as you clinked your glasses together, then swiftly ordered another round.

"Well I don't want to steal your thunder but I've been meaning to tell the both of you something..." Dean shifted in his seat as you and George settled into a quiet focus on your friend.

"I've been seeing someone. Only been out a couple of times, but I quite like her already" Dean explained, a blush creeping under his eyes. George encouraged his friend to tell everything about the girl he'd been dating. You urged Dean to bring her around some time, thrilled at the prospect of having a fourth wheel to join in your nights of fun.

As Dean went on telling the tale of his first date with his new girl, your drinks came.

"Won't you miss dating around?" Dean seemed to worry, after thanking the waiter for his drink.

"I haven't missed it this far." You shrugged, sipping your fresh cocktail all the while. As free as you'd been till now, the thought of getting to know someone new, letting your guard down, building trust, just thinking of it all exhausted you.

When George leaned over you to accept his new drink, he flashed the waiter a tipsy smile.

"We're getting married!" He chuckled, and you did too. As you two broke into drunken giggles, the waiter offered unimpressed congratulations. Dean slammed back his new order in time to ask for another; either to catch up with you and George or to deal with the pair of you, you couldn't tell.

───※ ·❆· ※───

taglist: @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes @andux @imaginationandlove @velvetgoldsilver​ @queen-bunnyears @maria-josefin​ @dearevansamham​ @belledamsceno​ @nilletellsstories​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @loulouloueh​ @visionsofmelodrama

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #george mackay imagine #george mackay fanfic

[ouatimaginesnetwork]

Partners in Crime: Chapter 1

Hey guys it’s Hannah! Here is the first chapter to my hades x reader story. So far I have ten chapters. I love it, and I hope you guys do too. As I explained in my earlier post, this Hades is not based on the Hades from ONCE, however I still feel it is a story you would all love. Please enjoy! 

Prompt: you’re a college student definitely in need of break. On holiday in Greece, you find yourself in a world of things you barely know.

You look out your plane window at the rolling deep blue water before you. It’s breathtaking, gorgeous in fact. You can’t wait to get in the water. Greece is such a beautiful place. Before you know it the plane lands and you have your things sent to your cousins house. Being Greek yourself, you already know where you’re going as you head down the docks, cross over them, and find your familiar secluded inlet. Dipping your toes in the water you feel a rush of pleasure flow through your body. You hadn’t been to Greece since you were a little girl, for your grandfather’s funeral. At a very young age your parents moved to America where you now attend college in the great state of Ohio. Since your freshman year, your mother died and you have few friends. Wading further into the water you sigh a deep breath of contentment. Deciding to go for a real swim, you backtrack to the shore and shimmy off your shorts and t shirt, leaving your phone in the pile with them. Diving head first into the water, the sea comes alive around you. You love swimming and venture out further into the deep. The next events transpire so quickly you don’t even have time to get out of the way. An unmarked boat speeds above and runs right over you, just as you are about to surface. As a result, you’re knocked unconscious, your body floating lifeless in the water, blood pouring from a gash on your head. 

Later your eyes flutter open, as you cough up seawater. Glancing around, you find yourself in a cave of sorts. Slowly sitting up, you feel someone watching you. Turning around, you find a hooded figure, pale as ash, waiting in a row boat, calmly staring down at you. “Where am I?” You ask the figure. “A state of sorts,” they reply with a smirk. Upon your look of confusion he decides to elaborate, “You lie between life and death, life ebbs out of you as we speak.” You look around panicked. “Where am I actually? Is this a dream?” “Of sorts,” he smirks again, “Your actual body lies in a hospital in Athens. They do everything they can to keep your breathing going. Only time will tell, is what they want you to believe, but really, it’s someone who will decide your fate. Now come along,” he gestures to the boat. In your head you know it is a dream so you see no harm in stepping into the man’s boat. He rows slowly, down a river that winds through this dark, dank place that reminds you of the underground. It’s on this journey that you finally take into account your body. For whatever reason, you are robed in deep red silk gown with sleeves cut open at the shoulders that flows all the way down to your toes. Reaching up to your head you gasp as you feel no gash where there should be. The man rowing simply snickers.

After another 10 minutes of rowing the boat suddenly stops. The man gestures to the shore and you carefully step out. “Walk down the corridor and take a left at the end. His majesty is waiting for you.” You step lightly and quickly on the balls of your feet, searching for any source of light. Turning left, you see a door, just as the man said. You carefully push it open. At the end of an open chamber sits the most beautiful man you have ever seen in your entire life. With hair so black it’s almost blue, it glows in comparison to his deep blue eyes that pierce into your very soul. With skin so pale, he almost appears as if a ghost, you study him in awe. He talks with a tiny man, who has wings, they appear to be arguing. He slowly looks up, and his eyes bulge as he glances over you. Quickly regaining his composure he tells the winged man, “get this done,” and ushers him away. He motions you forward. You walk across the floor toward him as if you were floating. Upon closer inspection you see he is wearing a crisp blue toga. A toga. And suddenly you understand who he is. “Hades,” you mumble, lowering your head slightly. Most people would address him as lord, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. “(Y/n). I must say it is a surprise to see someone so young in my presence.” You barely nod as you continue to stare into his deep deep blue eyes. He offers you a place next to him, and you sit down. He begins to tell you the predicament of your situation. “You see y/n, you’ve lost too much blood for any normal person to live. You have no family, no friends. It’d be very easy for you to slip away of the mortal world without notice.” You nod solemnly. He continues to rattle on about your situation but instead of paying attention your eyes wander to your surroundings. Everything here was so dead. Of course it is the underworld. Above you a dead branch hangs from a dead tree. It makes you sad to see something so lifeless. You can almost imagine the flowers growing off of it and the branch springing back to life. And much to your surprise, that’s just what the branch does. The flower reaches towards you and you pick it up in your hand. Bright yellow, almost like the sun itself created it, the flower stares back at you. That’s when you noticed that hades stopped speaking. He looks at you, jaw dropped. “Nothing...... nothing grows here,” he whispers. You pull your hand back from the flower, and just as quickly as it came, it shrivels up and dies. “It’s dead now,” you state plainly. Hades nods and recomposes himself. Weighing the options, he decides it’s time for you to go. “Y/n, you may go.” Before you even know what your saying you reply, “Maybe you’re right. If I left, it’s not as if anyone would miss me. Besides life here seems interesting enough,” boldly you add, “Would I be able to see you? If I stayed?” He eyes you curiously. “You know most people would rather avoid the lord of death.” “But your also the lord of wealth,” you point out. He cracks a grin and says, “Someone knows their mythology.” You blush as he continues, “You know I could sense you’re Greek. Your long thick brown hair is telling, and your olive skin just gives it away. The only thing that would give someone pause is your stunningly deep e/c eyes.” You blush even more from his praise. Summoning two glasses of wine, he hands you one and says, “Tell me more about yourself.” You frown staring at the glass. “Will this keep me here. Like Persephone?” You ask. His gaze immediately darkens as he says,  “There is no Persephone. That part of the myth is something you mortals made up. Demeter had a daughter named Persephone. But she was destined for mortality and died eons ago. I never met her.” It’s hard to hide the shock on your face, but more importantly, you feel guilty for ever asking if he would keep you here against your will, when you asked to stay. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. He shrugs your apology off. “You were going to tell me about yourself,” he adds. You nod and begin. “My mother was born here, and my father born in Italy. When they met and fell in love, worlds collided. Their families hated each other. So I was born in Greece but my parents didn’t want me to grow up around those so hostile towards each other. So we moved to America. To a small town in Ohio, called Athens actually. My mother taught Greek mythology at Ohio university. My father died shortly after we arrived. Like my mother I decided to attend school where she taught, but in the middle of my freshman year, she passed away suddenly. No one knows why. So I will continue my studies there in the fall. I came to Greece this summer to try and relax but we see where that got me,” you stupidly grin. Hades watches you with interest. “I’m sorry about your parents,” he says softly. You nod your thanks. He studies you carefully. Before he can think or realize what he is saying he blurts out, “You are the most beautiful mortal I have ever seen.” Then he lowers his head as he mentally curses himself for embarrassing you. You lower your gaze as you shake your head no. He blushes even more, sitting in silence. It gives you a chance to watch him. His eyes twinkle and you try to soak up all the beauty before you. Admiring him, you look up as the flower above you blooms again. Instead of frowning, Hades too looks up at the flower. Extending his arm towards it, his eyes leak through a look of wonderment. “Nothing is supposed to grow here,” he says again. “How....” he ponders. Thinking about more flowers, three more appear. Each brighter than the last, you feel positive the sun has something to do with these flowers. Hades reaches for one, and plucks it gently. He brushes aside your hair and sticks it behind your ear. It blooms even more at the gesture.

“I wonder how I got so lucky as to get noticed by one of the most powerful gods ever,” you mumble. Suddenly, the little winged man appears again. “Sir, I really must advise that you come with me. There are other souls to be decided,” the man urges. Suddenly guilt fills you, you’ve kept one of the most important people in the universe from doing their job. Hades shakes from his daze of staring at you. “Of course.” He gulps before saying, “Y/n, you may go. Follow the hallway back to Charon and he will take you back across the river Acheron to the land of the living.” He pauses, looking at you solemnly. “It certainly was a pleasure meeting you my dear.” You can’t hide your displeasure as you depart this handsome god. You feel his gaze lingering from behind you as you leave.  

You go back across the river all to quickly. Walking around where you first woke up, a bright white light begins to descend upon you and you flash back to reality.

#hades x reader #hades x persephone #hades imagine #ouat #greek mythology #the olympians

[electricbluetempest]

Alternate DKJ Bad Ending

@nothing-but-luds and I wrote another fic, this time as an alternate take on the Part 9 Bad ending. Brace yourselves for character death and angst.

***

The doctor was practically frozen, heart beating ten thousand miles a minute. There’s no way this could be happening, the boys betrayed everyone and now innocent citizens were paying the price. His son was immobile, lying on the examination table ready to be taken.

Two shadow hands were wrapped around his wrists, another clamped to the back of his head. Forcing him to watch as his robot was about to be dragged to hell. The boys made a motion like they were about to deploy their own shadow hands, when Kahl got one burst of adrenaline that caused him to cry out. 

“Wait!!”

They stopped, even the purple demons restraining his wrists turned to look. Kahl actually didn’t expect them to listen. Maybe they thought his desperate pleas were going to be hilarious. He took one good inhale through his nose, exhaled through his mouth, then spoke.

“Take me instead.”

The cups froze, even the demons. They all broke into a laughter, Kahl embarrassed about this decision.

“You think you can sacrifice yourself for your /son/?” Mugman teased. “If you’re willing to do this, it’s already too late. Your robot is with us now, there’s nothing else you can do, NOTHING!”

“But-“

“Finish this up, boys!”

The hands slowly began to devour the robot into hell. With anticipation, he broke free and ran to the robot, putting his arms on him.

“Please! Just take me instead!”

“You’d really be willing to give yourself up for a machine?”

“Yes. I’ve made up my mind. Just don’t take him!”

The boys thought about this for a second.

“Y’know, boss probably wouldn’t be too happy with us bringing back a broken robot.” Mugman said, clanging his fist on the robot’s unconscious chassis.

"I think you’re right.” Cuphead added, a gleam in his eyes. “If we brought back the person who /built/ the robot, he could make our boss tons of catastrophic weapons! Think of the reward we’ll get.”

“You know what? We’ll take you on your offer, old man.”

Their shadow hands shifted from the robot to Dr. Kahl.

Kahl can slowly feel hands starting to take him, going from his toes and slowly rising to his head. There’s no turning back now, but this is the only way to save his son.

“You’re gonna love him, Doc. The boss is very /nice/!”

Knowing Kahl only has a few seconds left before the shadow fully surrounded him, he decides to say good-bye to his son. “Robot... good-bye.”

The shadow had completely covered the doctor then vanished into dust.

“I think that’s all of them!” Cuphead rubbed his hands. “Now what should we do with this robot?”

“Who cares? We got the scientist’s soul, let’s go to Isle 2 and continue this!”

“Yeah!”

The boys and the purple demons left, leaving behind the robot on the examination table. The carnage moved to the west, towards another island of unsuspecting civilians.

System reboot...loading. Complete.

The robot’s eyes fluttered open, remembering the fight with the boys, looking down at himself to see he was now fixed. His father’s sacrifice meant his soul was now freed, but he didn’t know that.

“FATHER?” He tentatively stepped off the operating table and looked around the island. Why was it so empty?

"FATHER? WHERE ARE YOU? I'M BACK!" The robot called out, roaming around the cities and streets, looking high and low. "FATHER? PLEASE COME OUT."

From the robot's view, he can see chaos from Isle 2. He walked his way, finding his childhood friend getting captured by purple demons.

"BON BON!" The robot reached his hand to rescue her, but it was too late. The baroness had vanished, as well as the shadow hands. 

"WHAT'S GOING ON?!" The island was now empty, only leaving the robot as the only debtor who hasn't been sent to hell.

Still confused, he needed answers. Panicked, he knelt down by Bon Bon’s candy guards, casting a huge shadow down on them. They were inspecting the part of the pavement where the hands dragged her beneath, and pivoted to face the robot.

“WHAT HAPPENED?”

None of the guards looked like they wanted to talk about it, but the waffle took it upon himself to fly up close to the robot’s face and speak.

“I don’t know if you know this, but the Baroness had a deal with the Devil. Now her debt’s come due, and...his minions took her away from us.”

“BUT I HAD A DEAL AS WELL. WHY HAVEN’T I DONE THE SAME?”

The guards all looked puzzled, until the robot spoke again. “HAS ANYONE SEEN MY FATHER?”

The robot searched the island, looking from Isle to Isle until he decided to give in. He sat down on the pile of junk, surrendered.

"DID HE LEAVE ME? WHAT DID I DO? IS IT THE CONTRACT?"

There was nothing else the robot can do, now that his father is gone and no where to be found. Something twinkled on the robot's sight, he saw the casino lights shining. Out of curiosity, he decides to check if his father is inside.

He’d gone to this place once, several years ago. It was probably one of the most conflicting decisions he’d ever made, because on one hand he got people to accept him, on the other he’d given up his soul. He couldn’t fit in the casino doors, so he decided to lean his body against a sturdy part of the mountain and pop his head off. It hovered, floating inside the casino with ease.

The robot was frightened by what he saw inside. Some of the other citizens of Inkwell that he’d seen around were being used as entertainment for the casino. But they weren’t there for enjoyment, the demons that frequented the place were torturing them for their own amusement.

He went to a backstage area to find the Baroness. Dress tattered and torn, hair a smeary mess. She was sniffling into her hands, muttering something about a fight she had been forced into.

“BON BON?”

Perking up at the synthesized voice, she looked up to see the robot’s head hovering above her. “What are you doing here?”

"I CAME HERE BECAUSE EVERYONE'S GONE MISSING."

"Robot, there's no time to explain. You need to get out of here! This place is too dangerous for you!"

"BUT I NEED TO FIND MY FATHER!"

The robot wasted no time and explored the casino, finding many debtors, but no sign of his creator.

"FATHER? FATHER?" He searched, only to find two cells from afar. Not wanting to get harmed, he hid behind a large spiky rock to find two cups beating up an old man.

Kahl was curled over in a fetal position, groaning in pain as the two boys kept kicking and taunting him.

“Not so smart are ya, smart guy?” Cuphead said before kicking him again. “Betcha wish you were back home, crying about that hunk of metal you gave up your own life for, huh?”

The robot was stunned. Did his father really do that for him?

“Who even does that?” Mugman laughed. “It’s just a robot, you could’ve built another one!”

“No...” Kahl choked out. “He was mine. He was special, he was the only-“

A swift kick to the face shut him up.

Maybe a wire came loose, or a circuit malfunctioned. Or maybe he just became enraged. Either way, something inside the robot’s electric mind snapped.

Something began to overwhelm the robot's emotions, not wanting to hold it any longer he released his full anger.

"WHY ARE YOU HURTING MY FATHER? IF YOU HURT HIM, I'LL HURT YOU!"

The cup brothers jolted, finding a giant robot head next to them. "Oh, is this some kind of movie cliche where someone surprisingly comes to rescue the hero?"

"Pfft! No big deal. Let's continue using this old man as a punching bag."

Now the robot was at full rage, using a mechanical arm to scare the boys away. They left his father, unconscious and wounded. The robot flew closer to inspect the body.

"FATHER? CAN YOU HEAR ME?" The robot tried to wake him up, rolling him over to find blood on his father's face, as well as his body. A pang of dread hit upon the robot's realization. "IS HE /DEAD/?"

What was it again that humans had? Something you could check to see if they were still alive. That’s right, vitals! The robot protruded his arm from his mouth again, putting two fingers on his father’s wrist, then the side of his neck.

That couldn’t be right. Maybe he just wasn’t doing it correctly. There’s no way he didn’t have a pulse. ...Breathing! If the robot put his hand near Kahl’s nose, he’d feel a breath, right?

...Why isn’t that working, either? Heartbeat. Just gotta put your ear to his chest and listen.

...

...No. This isn’t real.

Before the boys could come back, he produced another hand out of his mouth to scoop up his father’s body. It was limp, and his face frozen in a look of pained melancholy. He went back the way he came, carrying the body into the room of debtors, where Bon Bon was now joined by a couple others.

"EVERYONE! THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH MY FATHER!"

Everyone began to gather around the robot as he placed down the body on the floor.

"IS HE REALLY /DEAD/?"

The debtors tried to revive him, but unfortunately it was too late.

"Robot..." Bon Bon announced. "I'm afraid he is."

The robot gasped in shock, realizing that his father is /gone/.

"THIS CAN'T BE! HE SAID HE'LL ALWAYS BE THERE FOR ME! HE DIDN'T HAVE TO LEAVE ME THIS EARLY!"

"I'm sorry...but he's dead."

"IS THERE A WAY TO FIX HIM? LIKE HOW HE DID TO ME?!"

“Humans don’t work that way, I’m afraid.” Bon Bon was struggling to hide her own tears. “What he did for you was noble, but it cost him his life.”

The robot was struggling to process this. He’d only known about death as a concept. To be seeing it in real life...?!

A loud noise came from the hallway in a distance. Bon Bon turned to the robot with urgency. “Leave now. Bury him, give him a proper funeral. Don’t come back to this horrible place.”

“BUT-“

“It’s for your own good.”

She gave him one last goodbye hug, kissing him quickly before the robot picked his father back up and left the casino. Outside, he set his father on the ground, put his head back on his own body, and picked up Dr. Kahl once again. He looked so small now. His father, lying in his hands, bloodied and lifeless.

“YOU GAVE IT ALL UP FOR ME?”

Of course, his father didn't reply back. All he gave was silence.

"FATHER, YOU SACRIFICED YOURSELF TO SAVE ME?"

Again, there was silence.

"I KNOW YOU CAN'T SPEAK BUT ALL I WANT TO SAY IS THANK YOU FOR SAVING ME!"

Having nothing else to say, he went back to long term memory, remembering the funeral from 15 years ago. He found an empty casket from the junkyard and dug up a hole big enough to fit the casket.

"GOOD-BYE FATHER.' The robot placed down the casket inside the newly dug hole.

He covered the casket with dirt, sitting on his knees and just staring at it for a little bit. He could feel something rising up in his chest, but didn’t know how to express it. He couldn’t cry, he had no tear ducts.

Something compelled him to go back into the workshop, where he noticed his father’s journal open to a page on the control panel.

‘Maybe if I stall for enough time, I can figure out a way to get his soul back.’

“...HE DID, IN A WAY.” Lip quivering, he smiled a melancholy smile.

The robot opted to lie down next to where his father was buried, one hand on top of the grave, the other underneath his head.

Sleep mode: engage. Wake up in...UNDISCLOSED hours.

“THANK YOU, FATHER.” The robot closed his eyes as he went to sleep.

The island was quiet and less populated from then on. But in the years that passed, anyone that was brave enough to venture into the junkyard found a rusted metal man, plants and garbage blown about him, sleeping peacefully forever, with his hand protecting his own father’s resting spot.

#cuphead #cuphead don't deal with the devil #dr. kahl #dr. kahl's robot #dr. kahl's journal

[embracetheapocalypsewithme]

Embracing the Apocalypse, Part 11: Negan Settles Rebecca's Hash

Holy shit, you guys! We've finally hit some smut! Are you ready? I sure am!

Summary: Rebecca and Negan have a private conversation in his office. On nice, plush, comfy chairs. Near a fireplace. Add a bearskin rug and it's the backdrop to every bad 70s porno ever. You know where this is going. 

 Word Count: 2,673

Content Warnings (or selling points?): Smut, Negan, Negan being Negan, oral sex, finger fucking, eventual sex, slow burn.

You can also read on Archive of Our Own at: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8807527/chapters/21280643

Part 1: The Tale of Thelma Facefuck

Part 2: What’s Up, Doc?

Part 3: A Successful Job Interview Begins with a Firm Handshake and Ends with a Salty Surprise

Part 4: A Crack in Everything

Part 5: Sorting Duty Sucks

Part 6: A Faint Whiff of Bullshit in the Air

Part 7: Turn and Face the Strange

Part 8: Poor Life Choices

Part 9: 8.5 out of 10

Part 10: No Plan

Part 11: Negan Settles Rebecca’s Hash

Part 12: I know Where That Hand Has Been, Negan

Part 13: Gimme Danger

Part 14: The Loneliest Hours of the Morning

Part 15: Well, Fuck You Too, Kitty!

Part 16: That Escalated Quickly

Part 17: Well Fuck Me Gently with a Chainsaw

Part 18: Shards of Glass

Part 19: Donkey Heaven

Part 20: Morphine Dream

Part 21: Promises to Keep

Part 22: Are You a Killer?

Part 23: That the Hill You Want to Die On?

Part 24: Keeping Up Appearances

Part 25: Bird on a Wire

Part 11: Negan Settles Rebecca's Hash

Once they were in the hallway and well away from the sorting room, Negan’s demeanor changed from stern and business-like to jovial and even a little childish. He laughed loudly, slinging one of his huge arms around Rebecca’s shoulders.

“Did you fucking see their faces? Roxy looked like she just about shit herself. That was so fucking great!”

“Yeah,” Rebecca was a bit less enthused with the situation, but shot a nervous grin up at the tall man, “That was actually pretty cathartic, to tell you the truth. I can be kind of petty sometimes.”

“Oh, I’m extremely petty, my dear. You and I will get along just fine,” he said, tugging her closer as they walked.

“Is that so? And how do I know you won’t turn around and be an asshole to me someday?”

“Nah. You’re cool and you aren’t a fucking idiot. I don’t think I’ll ever need to settle your hash.”

“Settle my hash? Uh, thanks, Grandpa!” sarcastic eyebrows rose above her eyes.

“I’m not that old! I just like that expression. It has character,” he chuckled to himself again, “Did you see Ted? Teddy looked like he wanted to stab me in the throat! As if he could ever find the balls for it.”

At Negan’s words, Ryan’s warning came flooding back to Rebecca, spoiling the high of her petty revenge against Pencil-Dick and Roxanne. She slowed her pace and gracefully ducked out from under Negan’s arm, “Are you so sure about that?” she asked, lowering her voice.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Fuckface? What the fuck did I do now?” an expression of genuine concern blew away some of his cocky expression.

“I think we need to talk, but not here. It’s too public, and this is kind of a private matter.”

“Oooh. I like the sound of that. Let’s get that round, little ass of yours into my office and have a meeting.”

Rebecca’s nose wrinkled at this, “You are really, really shit at compliments, you know? Also, that’s not the kind of private I meant.”

“I know. Sorry,” he lowered his voice, but still gleefully linked his arm through Rebecca’s, leading her in the direction of his office, “Follow me, Madame!”

“D’accord, Monsieur!”

“What?”

“French. I just said –“ she shook her head, “Never mind! Let’s go!

The pair walked the short distance to Negan’s office, which was located at the other end of the same floor they had been on. He held a heavy wooden door open for her and waited for her to walk into the Sanctuary's power centre. 

The office was one of the most beautiful rooms Rebecca had laid eyes on in the years since she had fled her suburban home in the hopes of surviving the tragedy that had engulfed the world. A stone fireplace with two matching armchairs placed in front of it filled her view as soon as the door swung open. A plush red sofa was pushed against the rightmost wall, and to the left an enormous desk made from solid, dark wood sat facing the large windows that peered from the top of the building, giving them a panoramic view of the outside world. The walls of the room were made from a lighter, warmer wood and were almost entirely covered with bookcases that were filled to the brink with every type of printed media imaginable.

Rebecca continued to scan her surroundings until her eyes fell to a small table just to the right of the door she had walked through. Her breath caught in her throat and tears sprang to her eyes at the sight of what was sitting upon the piece of furniture. She turned to inspect it, her fingers lightly coming to rest upon the wooden surface of the table. It was something akin to an act of religious devotion, as if she were viewing the body of a saint that had been pent up in an Italian cathedral for centuries.

The silence was broken by Negan, “Holy hell, Fuckface. You’d think that you’ve never seen a record player before. I guess you are young enough that maybe that’s true,” he put on a tone of condescension, “This is what old people used to play music on.”

“I know what a fucking record player is,” she said, her voice low. Rebecca’s head turned toward him as a tear began to streak down her cheek, “It’s just that it’s been so long since I’ve heard music. I never really thought I would again, aside from the nights that the old guys from the kitchen get out their guitars and try their best not to suck. I didn’t even realize how much I missed it until I saw this,” she gestured to the machine.

“Well, the next time they hook up the generators, you can come and listen to something if you want. We raided a used record store at one point. I bet I still have a bunch of good shit somewhere in here!”

Her eyes sparkled with emotion as she said simply, “Thank you. I would like that very much.”

“You a big fan of anyone in particular? I can look next time I have a few minutes.”

She smiled softly, her eyes still trained on the table, “Oh, I listen to everything. I love it all. But my favourite era was definitely the 70s. I think that’s when music peaked, personally. The Clash, Iggy Pop, David Bowie, Kraftwerk…” she trailed off and closed her eyes, taking another deep breath.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said softly.

She turned back to him and took in his face. His eyes were warm, amber pools in the daylight and his hair was perfectly coifed, as always. Standing on her toes, she placed a hand on his shoulder before leaning forward to kiss his lips lightly. Her pulse quickened as he returned the kiss, allowing their mouths to linger together for a moment before it was over.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Because I wanted to,” she shrugged, “Maybe I’m just happy that there’s still music in the world. Or something.”

“Well,” he cleared his throat and gestured toward the armchairs, “I suppose we should get down to business.”

“Right. Yes. Let’s do this.”

They took their seats and faced one another across the fireplace as if they were about to discuss politics over glasses of brandy and cigars in a Victorian gentlemen’s club.

“I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just come out with it: I think you might be in danger,” Rebecca began, pausing a moment before adding, “And I could be too.”

Negan’s eyes narrowed and the stern expression he had worn earlier in the sorting room returned, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Rebecca thought for a moment before replying, “I was talking to Ryan this morning just before you interrupted our stimulating workplace activities.”

“What the fuck does that little douche have to do with anything?”

“He was really quiet and didn’t seem to want to talk to me, so I asked him what was wrong. He told me that he couldn’t talk to me as long as I’m friendly with you -”

“The fucker’s probably just jealous,” Negan interjected, “Do you think I didn’t see how he put his arm around you yesterday? He wants to bang you for sure.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened for a moment before laughter erupted from her mouth, “Are you fucking joking? Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, why else would he be all fucking handsy with you, and give a shit about who you’re friendly with?”

Rebecca chuckled again shaking her head, “Dude, Ryan’s gay as hell! He has no interest in me in that way whatsoever. We were legitimately just friends.”

“Huh,” Negan looked dumbfounded, “Well, I guess that blows a hole through my theory, don’t it?”

“I guess it does. Any-fucking-way, Sherlock, Ryan said he couldn’t be seen with me because it might put him in danger.”

“Why the hell would being seen with you put him in danger?”

“Because he thinks that you are in danger. That people here want to hurt you. And I might be in danger too if it gets out that you and I are…whatever we are!” her voice had taken on a hard edge and she was beginning to get frustrated with how dense Negan could be sometimes. Everything seemed to come down to fucking or wanting to fuck with him. It was the only lens he saw the world through.

Negan’s face was a mask of concentration as he considered her words for a moment before shaking his head, “Look, I know I’m not going to win a popularity contest. And, yeah, things are different around here than the last time I was in power. But do you seriously think people hate me enough to want to hurt me?”

“I don’t really know,” she said firmly, “I haven’t been here long enough to know. But I do know that Ryan seemed freaked the fuck out. And that scares me.”

He paused again, seemingly deep in thought, before locking eyes with her, “You know, Fuckface, if you’re that freaked out, you could stay with me. Then you wouldn’t be all alone and vulnerable in that shitty dorm room,” he said, “And I have guards! With guns!”

Rebecca’s mouth plopped open for a moment as she struggled to find her voice. This was moving way too fast. She had known Negan for less than a week, was already getting ominous warnings from friends about him. Now he wanted her to shack up with him.

“I-I…don’t think that’s such a great idea,” she managed.

He shot her a perplexed look, “I’m not asking you to devote yourself to me for all eternity or anything. This isn’t a playing house thing; it’s just practical. You’re scared. I’m big. I can take care of you.”

“And what about your guards? What if one of them isn’t interested in keeping you safe? Or what if someone offers them something they want to stand by while someone attacks you? Have you thought about that?”

“I know how to handle myself. I’ve been in more precarious situations than this, believe me.”

“And I can handle myself too. I wasn’t saying all that to get you to protect me, Negan. I just thought you might want to know what the word on the street is. If you say that you can handle it, and that there’s nothing to worry about, I believe you.”

“Then believe me. I can handle it. There’s nothing to worry about,” he said, locking his eye to hers.

“Ok,” she said quietly, “But I still think we should be careful outside of this room. Maybe don’t let everyone know that we’re…as friendly as we are. Just in case.”

“Sure. If that’s what you want. Like a secret fling?” he asked leaning forward in his chair.

“If that’s what you want to call it, fine. Like a secret fling,” she said, her body relaxing into the soft cushions behind her.

Negan leaned forward further in his seat and scanned his eyes up and down Rebecca’s body, “Now that is a sweet fucking sight,” he said, his voice becoming lower.

“What?” asked Rebecca, looking around.

“You. In my chair, all relaxed with your legs open. Fucking sexy.”

“You can’t be serious. I just told you that someone might try to kill you and you’re horny?”

Without answering her, Negan slid out of his chair and onto his hands and knees before crawling like a dog across the floor to her chair. Rebecca giggled as he laid his head against her inner thigh, peering up at her from the floor.

“Oh my god,” she giggled again, “You are serious!”

In spite of her laughter, Rebecca felt herself getting turned on at the sight of him on the floor with his face pressed against her bare leg. She let her legs separate further before planting her unencumbered foot on the top of the chair’s seat. Negan took this as a cue to proceed, and trailed his tongue from her knee all the way up her inner thigh until it met the hem of her shorts. A surge of wetness began to pool in said shorts, and Rebecca’s body trembled with a shiver.

“You like that, Fuckface? Want me to go a little higher?”

She bit her lip and briefly considered saying no for fear of getting caught, but quickly reminded herself that the likelihood of someone entering Negan’s office unannounced was slim. Her lust sucker punched her right in the common sense, and she was shocked to find herself fumbling to undo the zipper on her shorts before wiggling out of them with Negan’s face just inches from her crotch.

“That didn’t take much fucking convincing, did it?” he asked with his signature cocky smirk.

“I’m sorry, did you want me to play hard to get to stroke your ego, darling?”

“Fuck no! I hate mind games and bullshit like that,” he mumbled, his eyes devouring the sight of Rebecca, now naked from the waist down on his chair, “Mmm. No panties. Dirty girl.”

“I actually don’t own any at the moment, but sure! Let’s go with that interpretation. It’s sexier.”

Negan grabbed her thighs, forcing her to slide forward in the chair so that her ass was right on the edge of the seat. Rebecca slung her legs over the chair’s arms to spread herself open for him.

“Mmmm. This is turning out to be just the kind of meeting I wanted to have with you,” he said before bringing his tongue out to trail lightly against her wet opening. Rebecca gazed down at him as he lifted his face to look at her, “Is this ok?”

“Mmm-hmm,” her brain was beginning to fog up with desire and she was at a loss for words now.

“Good,” he said, simply, before bringing his mouth down on her again, this time more firmly. Rebecca’s breath hitched and a small whimper escaped her. The sound of her pleasure seemed to flip a switch in Negan because he let out a deep growl before thrusting his tongue deep inside of her and sucking lightly at her sensitive clit.

“Oh fuck!” Rebecca cried arching her back against the chair, “Fucking hell you’re good at that.”

Negan raised his head out from between her legs for a moment to say, “I know,” before plunging himself back in. The sensation grew to be too much for Rebecca to stand and she found herself placing a hand on top of his head to push his mouth away from her as she gasped for air.

“Will you finger fuck me? Please?” she asked breathing heavily as she gazed into his eyes.

“Holy fuck, that is the hottest question I have ever been asked,” he exclaimed before roughly inserting his index and middle finger inside of her and pumping them in and out relentlessly. She gasped at the sudden sensation of him inside of her and threw her head back against the chair.

“Fuck you feel good,” she moaned, grinding herself against his hand.

“Good!” he laughed, “I fucking hope so.”

He continued to move his massive fingers in and out of her opening as the moans intensified to meet his pace. She could feel herself soaking his hand with her wetness, as he began to alternate between finger-fucking her and lapping at her clit with his tongue. Her orgasm was very close now.

“Jesus Christ, I think I’m going to-“ she was interrupted by a knock at the door. She and Negan both froze in place, unsure of how to proceed.

“God damnnit!” hissed Negan, “I forgot that I invited your new supervisor to meet you.”

Rebecca’s head felt fuzzy from pleasure and probably a lack of blood flow to her brain, but Negan’s words cut through the clouds.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she whispered.

“Um. I also forgot to congratulate you on your new position.”

“What?"

“Welcome to Scavenger duty! Surprise!”

#comicnegan> #negan smut #negans thirst squad #negans cock fanclub #twd fanfiction