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vanillafrog · 3 years

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Yes, Doctor

Pairing: Whiskey x Reader (AFAB Reader)

Summary: You have had a strong attraction to your dentist, Dr Jack Daniels, for years. Now is when finally make a move and what happens exceeds your expectations.

Word Count: 2,673

Warnings: smut!! unprotected sex, PinV, public?, doctor (dentist) kink, hat kink sort of, creampie, oral (f receiving), dentist!au, dirty talk

A/N: we were goofing off in the discord and dentist!Whiskey came out of it so of course I had to live write a whole fan fiction

Most hated going to the dentist. not that you could really blame them. The sterile environment and gleaming medical supplies were quite terrifying but yet here you were with another purposeful cavity. You just had to see him.

Dr Jack Daniels or as he is called by his peers, Whiskey

Whiskey was a cowboy who truly didn't know how to quit. He seemed to always wear a turtle neck under his lab coat and always smell of, well, whiskey and something else equally intoxicating.

He had been your dentist for a handful of years now even though you had moved a good distance away. There just wasn’t any other dentist who could ever make you feel as safe in their care as he did

Whether he was talking to you in his alluring country accent, moving his skilled hands over his tools or just looking at you with those deep eyes, he was safe. Even if he was older. Even if he probably wasn't as interested in you as you were him. He was it. He ruined every other man for you and you barely saw each other pass the yearly checkups and call backs.

This time, however, you had a plan. If it went wrong, that was fine, you would just pack up and go to another dentist closer to home. If it did work, well hopefully you were going to walk out the office with a limp and a cleaner smile.

You wore your most confident outfit. One that showed off your best assets but didn't make you feel like cowering under his intense stare. It was show time.

Walking in, the receptionist examined you and sighed. It was like she knew what your plan was before you even did. Then again, it wasn't like you were going to be the first person to try to seduce Whiskey. A man that attractive probably had clientele who came to him particularly for his looks.

The wait for your appointment was longer than usual but that was fine. Watching the news helped ease your nerves for the mean time. Let you pretend that you were just having a normal cavity fill in and that you definitely weren't planning on fucking your dentist in the dental chair.

A call of your name pulled you from your thoughts. In the entrance way to the back stood Whiskey. He filled up the door way with his board shoulders that flared inwards into his tight waist. His mustache was perfectly groomed as always.

He smiled at you as you made your way to him, eyes quickly roaming your figure. “It's always great to see you sugar," he said as he ushered you towards his work space. “Though, I have to say you might just be a little too sweet." he flashed a smirk with a wink over his shoulder to you. “So sweet you give yourself cavities."

His work space was the usual dentist set up, the desk by the entrance, the chair in the middle and the fluorescent lights that were bright enough to give the sun a run for its money. Yet, he had his own little knick knacks that made it his own.

A coat rack in the corner that held his leather jacket (that you have yet to actual see him wear but desperately need to) as well as his cowboy hat. there were some pictures on the wall from normal dentist mumbo jumbo to more western themed pictures. the man was definitely dedicated to his aesthetic.

“Okay honey, hold right on to that chair and i'll be right back.” Whiskey's eyes took in your appearance once more before walking out the door. the chair was as uncomfortable as another other. just a hard plastic thing with little to know cushioning but it would do what you needed it for.

With a deep breath, you sat back onto the chair, lifting your legs onto the edge but allowing them to be spread allowing the perfect view for Whiskey when he walked into the door.

Was the plan overly risky? Yes. Was there a possibility that someone else could see you? Most definitely. But there was no time to argue the logistics of your half assed plans when the throbbing in your cunt only intensified when you first laid eyes on the cowboy.

You moved to unbutton your jeans before your eyes moved back towards the corner. his hat. without a moment of thought you got up to get it, laying it on top your head before repositioning yourself on the chair.

With unbuttoned jeans, you shoved your hand into your jeans then underwear, slowly teasing your clit with your fingers while keeping your lust filled eyes on the doorway. Please don't let anyone else see this. You begged to whatever god was listening. Though if god were real, he wouldn't exactly approve of your actions right now.

The moments rolled by, the light pressure on your clit was driving you closer to release. Maybe it was how scandalous this all was that was making you all hot and bothered. Maybe it was Whiskey's hat on your head that smelled so strongly of him. Who knows? Didn't matter the moment he stepped into the doorway, file in hand.

Whiskey froze. Eyes widening as lips parted. His eyes danced back and forth between your hidden hand and his hat. It was like he didn't know which was more gorgeous to see. “Jack,” you whimpered pulling him out of his trance.

He threw the file on to his desk, slamming the door behind him and barely giving any thought into locking it. “Well aren't you just looking all pretty sitting there on my chair wearing my hat." His grin was downright feral making you whine.

“Jack please.”

“What do you want honey? You want to cum?" He stood as the edge of the chair, right out of reach. You nodded your head, increasing the pressure and speed on your clit. “Then make yourself cum. Be a good girl and I’ll lick that pretty pussy clean.” Shit, you didn't expect this exact scenario but damn was it hotter than what you originally thought of.

He tilted his head toward the side while he watched your chest increase speed as you got closer to orgasm. “Shit sugar if i had known you wanted my cock so badly I would've given it to your years ago." He kneeled onto the chair, pressing his hands on either sides of your hips so he wasn't touching you but your faces were close enough together that if you just moved an inch, you would get to kiss those lush lips that plagued your thoughts.

“Don't be shy baby, cum for me.” And sure enough, his deep drawl pushed you over the edge. A loud moan had started to make its way out of your mouth before his hand shot up to grab your throat and pull your mouth towards his, suppressing the noise. He devoured your lips like it was his last meal while on death row.

It was hard and pressing but so right that you didn’t want it to stop. You didn't even notice that you moved your hairs until you were tugging his hair to pull his body even closer towards yours. He growled, fucking growled. And if that sound alone didn't reignite the flame inside you then his next actions would've burned you alive.

He abruptly pulled around, grabbing your legs and forcing you to lay half on the chair while your body half was held up by him. “You want me, baby?" You nodded while trying to push your hips towards his making him slap your jean covered thigh. “Use your fucking words, baby."

“Yes yes please, need it so bad.” You barely sounded like yourself, voice high pitched and whiny but who gave a shit when this literal embodiment of walking sex practically ripped your pants and panties down your legs like they offended him. He didn't even bother acting kindly towards your shoes or socks, just throwing them to the side with your clothes before biting your bare ankle.

A low moan escaped your lips as he began to trail kisses up your calf while lowering himself to the ground. His mustache tickled the inside of your leg making you squirm. “Keep moving-" he mumbled in your leg, sucking a large hickey on the inside of your thigh. “And i won't tongue fuck your cunt." He bit down. “And i've been dreaming of how you taste for so long so don't break my fucking heart baby."

You stayed as still as you could as he got to your glistening folds. His dark eyes took in how wet you were for him and he groaned. “Shit.” He settled one leg onto his shoulder and the other pushed off to the side, giving him the prefect view. “This all for me?"

“Jack please." He smacked your thigh, his hand rubbing away the heat of it as though it was second nature to soothe. “It's fucking doctor to you, do you understand?" You nodded quickly

“Yes doctor." He nosed at your pubic bone, so close to where you need him.

“Tell your doctor what the problem is.” His warm breath hitting your cunt making your hips twitch.

“I need- I need you so bad,” you stammered.

“I’m already here, baby.” He moved towards the junction of your hip and thigh, sucking marks into it. Whiskey was going to make sure you walked out of here with a reminder of who owns you.

“Doctor please.” He bit down harshly, a warning. “Need your mouth, please.” He grinned into your skin before finally enveloping your heat with his mouth.

You bucked up into him, forcing him to lay one arm over you to keep you where he wanted. “You taste better than any of the finest nectar god could ever make.” His tongue circled your clit as a finger teased your entrance. You could barely hear anything pass the blood pumping in your ears as he pushed a thick finger into you.

You clenched around him trying to get used to the intrusion. It's been years since you've been with anyone. You weren't lying when you said Whiskey had ruined any other person for you. He pulled back to look at how your pussy looked wrapped around his finger. He couldn’t help but add another and groan.

“You’re so fucking tight and hot.” He curled upwards, finding your g-spot making your back arch and your breath to hitch. “Your’e gonna feel so damn good around me." He latched onto your clit again, sucking harshly while starting to pound you with his fingers.

“Need you to cum again.” He swirled his tongue. “Need you to cum again for me, pretty girl." It was like his life mission was to pull you apart. He worked you over bringing you right to the edge, just teetering there. “Cum for your doctor, sweet girl." And there were the magic words that pushed you over, screaming his name and some expletives. Whiskey didn't even bother trying to smother your noises this time.

Working you through your orgasm, he pulled away and looked at your hazy eyes. He couldn't help to smile. He was proud of being able to wreck you and he planned on doing it again and again, as many times as you would allow him.

Your mind cleared up as he moved to unbuckle his belt that you just realized was a flask. At any other time you would probably laugh at it but with his hands pushing down his jeans and boxers, allowing his cock to spring free, your mind was only able to produce one thought. You wanted him to fuck your mouth.

You reached out and caressed him. He moaned out loud, grabbing your wrist to pull you away. “Baby as much as I wanna see your pretty lips on me as I mark your throat, we'll have to do that next time." He placed a gentle kiss on your lips making your heart soar. Next time. “I still have to fill in your cavity after I fill up your pretty cunt." He pushed you to lay back down while stroking his hard cock.

“Shit baby I don't-" You cut off his worrying with a simple whiney "safe" while wrapping your legs around his hips to pull him towards you. The groan he let out as his dick rubbed your wet pussy was definitely what was sending you to hell but it was more than worth it to feel him run himself along your cunt, gathering your juices.

He pushed in and fuck fuck fuck. He was so thick. It felt as though he was splitting you in half. Whiskey waited a moment as he saw you struggling to take his length. He rubbed your stomach, helping your relax around him. Once he felt you loosen up around him, he pushed the rest of himself into you with a low "shit" that came out so deep you felt in vibrate in your chest.

He filled you to the brim. There was no one that would ever make you feel as whole as Whiskey did at this moment. He leaned over you, covering you half naked body with his fully clothed on. That's when he began to move. Slow at first, letting you feel every vein and ridge of him.

“Baby girl,” his eyes glued to yours. “You fit me so well.” He began to snap his hips harder, making your claw at his lab coat. “Fucking made to be filled by me, to be fucked by me."

His lips smashed onto yours, clacking teeth together as he owned your mouth the same way he was owning your pussy. “You like this huh?" He pulled back, forcing your legs onto his shoulders. “You like being fucked by your dentist while you wear his hat?" His hand moved between your thighs, finding your bundle of nerves with precision. “Shit when I-“ You tightened around him and he groaned.” When i walked in and you were were wearing my fucking hat and touching yourself," he pushed his hips in an upwards angle making him hit your g spot. You were chanting his names while clawing at his seat.

“I got so fucking hard for you. You feel how hard you made me. All. The. Fucking. Time." He pronounced each word with a harsh slap of his hips against yours. You whined. “Getting close, sugar?" You arched your back up, trying to move your hips as much as you could to help push him inside you. He chuckled. “Soak my cock baby, make me yours."

The power this man had was unbelievable. You came harder than the previous two times. It was like heaven's gates crashed down onto you. He continued to thrust into you, grabbing your hips with both of his large hands. “Can't wait to fill you up, can't wait to see you dripping with my cum." You gasped out a "please" making him still in you and throb. Ropes of his cum coated your walls as his hold on your hips was tight enough to bruise but none of that was as important as how beautiful he looked cumming.

His plush lips in an O shape as his eyebrows knitted together and his Adam's apple bobbed with the moan he let out before moving forward and leaning over you, still inside.

You both stayed like that for awhile, catching your breath. He moved his lips to brush yours. “If you wanted a free toothbrush, you could've just asked baby."

You laughed loudly as he nuzzled your neck. Whiskey pulled out making you both wince. His eyes glued to the apex of your thighs, watching as his cum dripped out of you.

“After this appointment, we're going back to my place for round two baby." You smiled at him as he tucked himself back into your pants and grabbed yours.

“Yes, doctor."

#whiskey x reader #whiskey x you #Pedro Pascal #kingsman golden circle #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x reader #vanillafrog fics

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fanwright · 4 years

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Fanwright’s Five! (... other ships besides Sokkla)

@gd2go2 - Very late with this. Apologies.

So, I have five other ships I like as well. Some are more recent than others, some have been near and dear to me for a long time, and some might even surprise you. Here are just a few ships that like, in no particular order of importance.

1.] Alita and Yugo - Battle Angel Alita

This is closest I've ever come across to a cyberpunk Romeo and Juliet story. Besides the couple themselves, this manga (and OVA) solidified my love for the cyberpunk genre and showed me that one could tell story within a dystopian future that could revolve around a tragic love story. There is a reason why the recent live action adaption was made with their particular story arc in mind. Its about a cyborg girl with a mysterious past trying to find her place in a cruel world, about a hard working and desperate boy who’s just trying to find a better life beyond the slums.

Its young love, sometimes innocent, and sometimes gritty, and ultimately tragic. Their story hit me hard and harsh lessons were learned by the main character. Alita became a more mature yet embittered girl after Yugo lost his life, but she kept on going all the same. She met other men, but Yugo, I like to think, continues to hold a special place in her cybernetic heart. Its not a story that’s going to win Oscars, but but man, did it really click with me.

They’re very sweet with each other and on a few occasions they even address the fact about how odd their relationship is. Alita can’t actually feel his hands when they touch. Yugo even comments on the fact that their first kiss was electric. Literally. Like kissing a battery. It got me thinking about how relationships with a few physical hiccups can be possible, but also that they can be overcome in unique ways. As you can probably tell, the little moments between them really resonated with me. Its just very sweet.

2.] Dio and Luciola - Last Exile

Yes, those are two guys. And yes, that would make this a gay ship. In fact its probably only one of two that I ship seriously, the other being Korra with Asami. Surprised? So was I. So let me me explain.

These two have a very interesting relationship. They’re technically childhood friends, but they first met as master and servant. The blonde guy, Luciola, is a servant to the white haired guy, Dio Eraclea. He’s essentially like a one-man retinue for Dio. And Dio is a kind of prince from a mysterious faction called “The Guild” who have a monopoly on technology in the world of Last Exile. Since they were young Dio and Lucciola were inseparable. There are strong hints that their relationship goes beyond being just close friends and its actually very touching to learn in its own way. Dio is very carefree, a bit childish and spoiled, and also sort of enigmatic. Luciola is very quiet, sober, and expressionless, often the voice of calm and reason for Dio.

They have a weird charm that really resonated with me, being both oddly funny yet extremely loyal to each other. They actually got me to thinking that its okay to ship gay ships like this, even if I myself am not gay. If I have no qualms about lesbian ships why should I have qualms about gay ships that I happen to like? Its a learning experience. It is what it is. Same-sex fictional ships don’t really resonate with me, but this one did.

... also Luciola died trying to protect Dio. That kinda sucked. This would be the second ship to have someone die in it.

3.] Jack and Ashi - Samurai Jack

When Samurai Jack was announced to be making a comeback for a final season, I was overjoyed. I had never thought in a million years that the show would ever make a comeback after it was dropped. It was last hurrah for a solid show and I was totally on board with seeing how it would end.

It did not disappoint me. Not one single bit. And if anything reignited my love for this show all over again. Even more so, it actually had a coherent story to follow and really did pull at my emotional stings in some places. Jack finally got to go back home and defeat Aku and he had some help along the way, from one of Aku’s daughters even - Ashi. Yes, Ashi actually a daughter of Aku and its just as disturbing to imagine as you might think.

Jack and Ashi’s journey could be said to be one of the emotional driving forces of this final season. They started off as true enemies, with Jack actually having to kill Ashi’s sisters. She was honestly spared almost by chance. And the deaths actually weighed on Jack a lot, with Ashi bearing witness to an internal struggle that nearly concluded in Jack ending his own life. It was only narrowly avoided with the help of Ashi. It was honestly such an emotional roller coaster ride to see. and the payoff with them getting together and getting married was so good, along with Jack finally going back home after all the harrowing adventures he went through. It was great!

... but then Ashi died because of some time travel mumbo-jumbo shit and that made Jack really sad. I’m still salty about it. I’m starting to see a theme with the ships I like so far lol.

4.] McCree and Asche - Overwatch

Cowboy and Cowgirl. I just... I just really dig it. Its an awesome aesthetic. They sweat bullets and bleed whiskey and they’re like a futuristic Spaghetti Western couple with a bit of history together. I just really like that and I dig it.

I have no in-depth reason for liking this ship. I just do and I love it. Heheheh.

5.] Jaune and Pyrrha - RWBY

This one is a recent ship that really captured my interest as I rewatch the show. RWBY has been a show I’ve been able to follow only very erratically, but from what I’ve seen so far its been a very solid show for me. And I also like the personalties of these two a lot, as well as how they play off each other and how the develop a relationship. Pyrrha takes inspiration from Achilles, while Jaune takes inspiration from Joan of Arc. I’m still trying to get to know them as properly rewatch the show, but I definitely like them together. Its a nice couple.

And yes, to those who already know, I know Pyrrha dies. It seems to be a running theme with the ships I like on this list unfortunately. Its not like I pick these to torture myself! I never wanted her to die anyway!

... seriously why do all these ships on my list have deaths in them!

Anyway, there is my list of five. These aren’t my only other ships of course, I more less chose them at random.

#Battle Angel Alita #Samurai Jack #Last Exile #RWBY #Overwatch

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prismarine-parrots · 5 years

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Tree of Life Pt. 5 (2)

Originally posted: 20 Mar. 2019. Part 2 of finale.

I don’t like word counts and I don’t like that drafts don’t automatically save :/

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 3.5 Part 4 Part 5 (1) Notes

Cub stared at the hat in his hands.

He didn't know what to do with himself anymore. He had seen his phone flash on and off consistently over the past few days, but hadn't bothered to waste enough mental energy to see what was going on.

Honestly, he couldn't be bothered enough to waste mental energy on existing right about now.

He wished he had the courage to go steal his sword back from Mumbo who had confiscated it and end it. Without Scar, everything Cub did was worthless. Most of what he did was Vex-related, and if Scar wasn't there to be the other Vex, then what was the point of even trying to operate ConCorp at all? What was the point of staying at the Country Club, when it only reminded Cub of the things he and Scar had worked in together since they joined together in Season 4?

Cub could still see Scar's smile in his mind. Scar was always the optimistic one- whenever Cub was down and frustrated, the cowboy would be the one to force him out to go golfing or watch Disney meme compilations. Scar was the goofy one, the one who created all the prank ideas, the one who set them up for who they were to become. Cub was too serious, too strategic, to do any of what Scar did, whether it came to his glorious building and terraforming that all he needed was an image in his mind to build or his spontaneous jokes and the silly, slightly naive persona he put on when they were doing ConVex things.

There was the sound of fireworks- Mumbo likely coming to check on Cub. He had tried to stay by Cub's side when he first returned from the expedition, but Cub just wanted to be left alone and kept avoiding the redstoner.

If I can't be with my brother, then I don't want the companionship of someone else. Even if Mumbo did have the same type of friendship with Grian...

"Cub? Where are you?"

The man in the lab coat grunted and exhaled, not bothering to make a real response.

Mumbo sat down on the couch next to Cub in his A-frame house.

"Hey man... Look, I know you're not up to anything right now, but I have something to show you."

"I think I'll pass, Mumbo..." Cub sighed.

I don't want to do anything anymore.

Mumbo didn't move. "I really think you should come see."

"I said I don't want to."

"I know, but I'm making you anyway," Mumbo decided and grabbed Cub's arm. The scientist jerked his arm back in surprise, but Mumbo kept a hold of the white sleeve and pulled him to his feet. "Come on! I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't know it would be alright."

Cub decided he couldn't be bothered enough to argue. He blankly let the redstoner guide him along. They walked along the Country Club paths to the Nether portal and warped through. Cub glanced around at the massive miniature map he helped create- hours of working alone, feeling like he was being productive to the server, instead of being a shell and fading away like everyone else.

"Through here," Mumbo said, leading Cub to a portal near Grian's miniature tower. Cub glanced around, recognizing the geography and paling significantly.

"No... no..."

Not here. Not his base. I can't, I won't!

Cub started breathing heavily as he felt himself start to panic mentally and physically. Mumbo's eyes widened and he gripped the doctor's shoulders tightly.

"Hey, Cub, it's- it's okay, it's alright," Mumbo consoled. "I know how you feel. You know how hard it was for me to stay in Grian's base? I wanted to never leave, but also never see a piece of white concrete again because it kept reminding me of him. But, I promise you, if you go through this portal, everything is going to be okay. Everything is going to be fixed, and you don't have to grieve anymore."

Cub thought about Mumbo's words and blinked, his mind refocusing from its fractured state just enough to really interpret what he had said.

"What do you mean by that, Mumbo...?"

"Have to go through the portal with me and see," Mumbo smirked, a very unusual look for the formal man.

Cub sighed, wishing he could go back to his empty mindset, but he was hopeful, doubtful, intrigued, and terrified all at once. He stepped forward and stepped into the portal, facing Mumbo. The redstoner jumped into the portal as well, only going to be a few seconds behind him in the teleport. Purple swirls covered Cub's vision and his mind blanked, before he felt the world shift and he was no longer in the sweltering heat of the Nether. His vision cleared but he waited in the portal, the distortion starting to return and Cub close his eyes, not wanting to see Scar's beautiful base even sideways. He stayed there, almost frozen, before Mumbo's form appeared and he gently led the doctor out of the violet film.

"Mumbo!" A familiar, unforgettable, and utterly impossible voice said.

"Shhh," Mumbo hushed, "nothing too crazy right now. This is going to be enough of a shock as it is."

"...Grian?" Cub asked slowly. He opened his eyes and there was indeed the strawberry blonde, looking just as chipper as he used to be, although not with the plethora of energy he was used to having.

Grian's eyes widened in a quickly panicked look before glanced around and silently slid behind a palm tree. They were on Black Sands Island, just a boat ride away from the wild main island that hadn't been built upon by the "pirates" by the time Scar...

Don't think it. Don't think it Cub. I can't break down into tear again with others watching. I can't I can't I can't...

"W-what's Grian doing here?" The doctor sputtered in shock. "He's... dead..."

"Yeah, apparently. And a lot of others too. That was, ahem, quite something to be told that I had been dead for real for the past week," Grian chuckled awkwardly, "but I'm back now!"

Cub was scared to ask the question that was in his mind. It was barely even in his mind, he wouldn't let it fully formulate. He glanced down at the brown rimmed hat in his hands that he hasn't let go of since it had fallen to the floor of the Woodland Mansion.

It's not possible. He's dead. But Grian was dead. And he's not anymore. Could he be...? No! Stop lying to yourself! He's dead and you're alone. Alone, alone, alone...

Mumbo glanced to Grian with a panicked look, but the builder only shrugged with befuddlement and looked around for something. There were silent hand gestures being flung but Cub didn't care. He was too enveloped in his own dangerous thoughts to even notice that someone else had slid out of hiding, the concerned look on his face only growing as his brilliant smile faded from the goofy one he had planned to surprise his partner with.

Alone, alone, alone, he's gone, he's dead, Mumbo gets his friend back but I don't get my brother, he's gone and it's my fault, Scar. Is. Dead.

"Whatever you're thinking, stop it right now, Cub."

"But it's my fault..." Cub mumbled, still not focusing on who was in front of him.

The other sucked in a sharp breath.

"No! Never! Cub, look at me! I'm right here! Scar! Not dead! I know you were worried, but I told you you would fix it! And you did! See? Cowboy-pirate-Vex, standing right here in front of you!"

Cub blinked and looked at the taller man that had placed his hands on his shoulders and was giving him a concerned look.

"Is it really you...?"

"Of course! There's only one Scar!"

Cub couldn't believe his eyes. He's really here. I'm dreaming. But I'm not.

"Even with the passion of a thousand Scars?" Cub asked, quoting his favorite line.

Scar was smiling again as he slowly took his hat back and placed it on his head.

"Even with the passion of a thousand Scars indeed!"

Cub's eyes started to water and he buried his face in the brown leather jacket of his friend he thought he had lost.

And life was back to normal.

————

Ren swooped into the stock exchange with no time to lose.

"Alrighty Doc, no more slacking off! You many have lost the aerial dogfight with the phantoms, but now it's time to get back into the groove of things!"

He unlocked the back part of the stock exchange and hustled up to the office overlooking the back side of the mountain. The diamonds that were still missing weren't even a concern as Ren popped the cork on the harming potion and marched up to the bush in the corner of the office and poured the dark red potion all over the plant. The green stem shriveled and the black leaves with red veins lost their slight glow. When Grian had messed with it as a joke before the start of the war Doc had immediately felt the disturbance and had caused a small panic. Grian had apologized profusely for scaring everyone, but after that they had decided it was going to be a rule that no one should mess with another's tree.

"Guess we're bypassing that rule," Ren chuckled to himself. He smashed the healing potion between his hands and tree's particles almost immediately changed to the same golden that Grian's had emitted.

Almost immediately Ren got a text, and when he saw who it was the werewolf smiled. Without a second's hesitation he was sprinting back through the stock exchange, leaving the door open, and came out to the plaza out front where the two stock brokers had had a station set up. Standing beside the bed was a creeper hybrid with the robotic arm and mask, white lab coat blowing slightly in the wind.

"Doc!"

"Hey Ren," Doc sighed, hands in his lab coat pockets and a scowl on his face.

"Why so down? You're fine!" Ren asked with a hint of worry. Was something wrong?

Doc huffed. "Yeah, but I still died. I missed figuring everything out," he grumbled.

"Of course you're upset about this. Come on, let's go see if we can go greet False," Ren grabbed Doc's robotic arm and pulled him along, grinning with exhilaration that life was returning to normal.

————

Impulse took a deep breath as he poured the healing potions onto the bases of his two bros' trees. The black particles almost immediately changed to golden, and while Tango's tree already looked slightly dead even at full health it still perked up, a few sharp, dark yellow leaves sprouting from small twigs, and Zedaph's tree immediately bloomed with pristine white-gold leaves.

Impulse waited, unsure of what to do next. In all honesty, he was scared of his own reaction. Zedaph had been one to die early on, and he probably wouldn't be too bothered, except that the last thing he probably remembered was everyone panicking over Grian's, Wels's, and TFC's deaths. But Tango...

Tango had known what was going on. He had been there for the traveling nonstop, searching for anything that could possibly be a cure. But then suddenly he just went psycho, attacking anyone in his path with a feral rage and primitive tactics- not even his sword, as Python was head butted and stabbed with the demon horns on Tango's head. Impulse had hated what he had done to stop his friend before any more damage could be done: he had slid his own sword through his chest. If it weren't that they had already gotten clues to a cure, Impulse would have lost it. Murdering his own friend? He knew that the others were holding back grief until they found a solution, but that image of the shocked expression on the bloodthirsty demon's face was seared into Impulse's mind.

Stop thinking about that! Impulse scolded himself. He decided to admire the golden particles that were coming off the trees still, trying to brush off his worries by thinking about how gold was very much his thing.

"He'll be alright. They both will. Everything will be back to normal," the dark-haired man sighed shakily.

Watching the swirls did nothing to help.

He didn't currently know where Tango's and Zed's spawn points were, as they had all been busy with their own stuff and hadn't worked on any projects together were they would have slept where Impulse would know.

I'll text them where to meet up, Impulse decided. He swiftly pulled out his phone and texted their private chat to meet them in Tango's fairy grotto. He was already there, as they had decided if they were going to have a very colorfully decorated fantasy place, they might as well have their trio of yellow-topped trees there as well.

"Impulse!"

He turned halfway to be clapped on the back by the strong arm and his demon friend bounding around his side happily.

"You're back! I'm back, cause I'm assuming I died! Is everyone else? What did you do to fix it?!"

Impulse instinctively pulled back from Tango and stared at him cautiously. Tango's carefree smile fell and Impulse cursed himself under his breath as soon as he realized what he had done.

"What... happened?" Tango asked slowly.

The dark-haired man opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the words to explain. He didn't WANT to be mad at his friend- he knew Tango would never do something like that if he had truly been himself.

Get it out of your head, Impulse! It's over now!

He shook his head but Tango grabbed his forearm with his hidden strength and look into his friend's eyes.

"Impulse."

"Tango."

"What happened?"

"Nothing! Nothing. It's all fine now."

"But you're... scared of me?" Tango titled his head in confusion. "Did I do something?" He frowned again. "Fear... I remember... fear? Confusion? And anger... so much anger? Why was I angry? And... I did something bad, didn't I..."

Impulse grimaced. "You... May have killed Python..."

Tango's eyes widened. "I- I-"

"It's okay! We're all better now! The trees have been healed, no one is dead!"

Tango was about to protest again when someone yelled their names and slammed them into a group hug.

"Impulse! Tangoooo! What's going on? I- I don't know, I don't remember? Explain to me what in the world happened!"

"ZEDAPH!" Impulse cried and threw his arms around the beach blonde in return. Zed looked pale with stress and his eyes held a panicked, concerned light.

"You're back!" Tango exclaimed, the worry he had just held about his forgotten actions disappearing.

"Where did I go? Is everyone alright? Did we find out what happened to Grian and... who else? I can't remember!"

"It's a long story man, but it's all good now," Impulse said, glancing between both his friends. Tango shrugged, deciding to take Impulse's word for their earlier argument, while Zed started to get control of himself and took a deep, calming breath and wiped the tears that had started to form in his eyes.

"Well, whatever happened, I'm glad everything is alright. I'd hate for half the server to have died!"

Tango wheezed while Impulse silently laughed, the feeling of normality returning after a week of terror and grief.

"You have NO idea."

The End.

—————————

I'm satisfied with that ending. I was going to do a little more, but at 4500 words I think this is a good place to end it.

Of course, everyone who died is revived, but I decided that writing scenes for everyone would make this too long and repetitive. Everything is back to normal!

Death count: 0! No more weapons in my face please?

How do you feel about this? Sad? Happy? Satisfied? Not? This has been an experiment for me and I'd love to see how you all felt reading through the entirety of Tree of Life

#hermitcraft #cubfan135 #goodtimeswithscar #mumbo jumbo #renthedog #docm77 #impulsesv #tangotek #zedaph #tree of life au #ToL #finale part 2 #im interested to see reactions because this has been posted so differently than when i was writing it #:D #becca writes

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eerythingisshaka · 5 years

Text

Will the Bell Ring? Pt. 3

(Erik Killmonger x Black!OC)

Part 1 Part 2

Kimara pays the barista for her green tea and goes across the street to the studio. This week has been a hectic one for her since she’s been working with Peter Gafflin, an alternative rock artist who is on the come up since his EP dropped last year. Kimara was owed a favor from the owner of the studio, Rick, after Erik helped get him some new equipment from a group that trashed the place after a drug fueled mosh pit they formed to add ambiance to their album. Suffice to say, they would not be returning to record any time soon.

When she enters the studio, Rick is there playing in his grey locs nervously.

“Kimmy! Good to see you 15 minutes past showtime, I really appreciate it.” He smiles, dimples still displaying powerfully under is grey beard.

She shrugs. “You know I have a process, Ricky Kanicky! It all works out in the end, thanks for the hookup on this gig. Are they waiting on me?”

Rick holds out his arm to escort her to the back. “Nah, I stalled them with some mic check mumbo jumbo, so at least their warmed up properly. You need some time in the booth before we start?”

She shakes her head as he opens the door. A gust of patchouli hits her senses. Peter Gafflin and his gang were warming up in a way much different than how Rick described.

“Rick! Thank God, I was ready to call the police, you were gone for like three hours man!” Peter’s rough Carolinian accent boomed as he walked wistfully over to you two in his holely jeans and cowboy boots with his fringed black leather jacket and matching wide brimmed hat.

“No, I just had to go get some extra talent to guide our recording session along. This is Kimara, she’s the third part to our banging backup we keep on hand for artists.”

Peter towers over her at 6’7, but humbly bends to kiss your hand like a prince. “To God be the glory for creating women and music. Put them together and I’m a happy Papa, you know what I’m saying?!” He ribs Rick before clapping thunderously to liven his group. “Aight y’all! Look alive. Dave get your Fender, Bill get your wide ass behind them drums, everybody take your places!”

Kimara goes over to the mics with her other singers. “Wassup Brenda? Tara?”

They roll their eyes at you before mumbling their hellos. You put your headphones on to get ready for the track to play, not studdin them today. They were the fourth pair this year to work for Rick and the studio. They all get inspired to be solo artists or get too wrapped up in the artist of the day and think they can keep up with a touring schedule to only come out of it broke with no plan B, and pregnant.

Singing has always been her dream to do, and any capacity in which Kimara can fulfill that, is one she is willing to go for. It’s her escape, her home away from home, it’s her church, especially when the artist has some good stuff to work with. Kimara hadn’t gotten as in depth with Peter’s discography as she usually does with artist’s before a recording session because her mind could not focus lately. Trying to have a baby has been on her mind 24/7 and Erik filling her mind with hope and then trying to tell her to chill made her crazy. Did he want a baby as bad as she did? Kimara didn’t think so anymore.

She shakes her head and takes a few deep breaths before looking over the music with the girls. Brenda catches her up on the tempo of the song and little points in which Peter wanted them to blow. Southern singers couldn’t deny the power of a good Black gospel when they needed it.

Peter certainly is no exception. He places his hands in front of his mouth in prayer before raising them up to the sky, bringing them down with shaky fists.

“Now THAT is a climax if I ever heard one. What did I tell you Rick? Music and women, the best sounds on this Earth come from both.” Peter smiles pointing victoriously at the three of them before taking his place at his mic. “I’m ready ladies, let’s record this thing!”

After a few dry rehearsals, time came to record. Kimara gives a thumbs up to Rick as he queues up the track to play in your ears. The song isn’t bad, kind of bluesy and it’s about a love misunderstood. Peter plays a man who is trying to convince his lover out of depression, using the analogy of being in shark infested waters. His lover finds the water and waves so beautiful she jumps from the boat and dives in after he protests over and over. He is subjected to watch as the sharks circle around her, he reaches out to her the whole time reminding her that he is there and to take his hand. He can’t tell if her face is wet from the ocean or from tears but she is smiling all the same and it frustrates him to see the danger looming but she isn’t phased.

The song ends ambiguously but Kimara can’t stop her emotions from spilling over and affecting her vocals a little bit. Rick notices immediately and cuts the session short, popping into the booth.

“Hey Kimara, you alright?” He asks in a fatherly manner.

All she can do is nod and wipe her eyes as she wishes she was anywhere but there. Being late is unprofessional enough, but costing an artist studio time, she might as well hang it up now. Peter comes over to Kimara, waving at Rick. “We’re fine, just give us a minute.” He dips his height down to look her in her eyes. “You alright there, ma’am?”

Kimara nods shrugging. “The song is just that good I guess.”

Peter shakes his head. “No, it isn’t. My buddy Ralph helped me to write it, I’ve been wondering about the composition of it since, but when he died in a car crash a couple months ago, I haven’t been able to nail this thing down. He’d know exactly what it needs, but he ain’t here to tell it.”

“I’m sorry for your loss Peter.” Kimara says apologetically.

Peter smiles. “I didn’t kill him, so all’s good! I want you to sing a little something on the track for me, just you, to kind of hear how it sounds. Don’t worry about my notes, just do what feels good to you.”

Peter motions to Rick as he walks Kimara over to his mic, setting the headphones over her ears. Kimara feels nervous instantly, not knowing what to do with the spotlight being on her, this has never happened to her before.

But as the track plays, she sings the lyrics from her heart. They were pretty simple and easy to memorize so when she closed her eyes and flowed with the track, she began to feel that familiar emotion again, accept this time she honed it as best as she could. She knew where her inspiration came from, it was undeniable, but why did he bring the sadness out so easily? Before she knew, the song was done and when she opened her eyes, Peter was on one knee with his hands out.

“You see me right now? This is what you just did to me, an old bachelor crooner ready to lay down it all for your hand. Are you betrothed my dear?”

Kimara laughs as she takes off her headphones, stepping back. “None of your business, because you are too wild for me anyway!”

Peter gets up pointing at Rick. “You hiding treasures from me, you greedy bastard! This girl ain’t a back up, she’s a star in the making!”

Kimara felt hot, trying her best to appear humble, but this man has a way with words that made her completely big headed. “It’s nothing. I don’t have the time for that right now. I’m focusing on my personal life.”

Peter smiles but appears disappointed. “Girl the places you can go. I hope you have someone in your life to remind you of your-your QUEENLY-ness! I wouldn’t leave the house without you by my side.”

Kimara shakes her head. “Well luckily I do have someone. He’s….pretty great I think.”

Peter pulls his glasses down the bridge of his nose. “Well until that ‘think’ turns into a ‘know’ keep me in mind.”

Kimara cackles pushing him away. “You have some nerve. Get back to your spot so we can make this album and go home!”

They share a laugh but before Kimara goes back to her mark she turns to him. “Peter, I did wonder though, with the song: Does the lady ever take your hand? Gets out?”

Peter smiles weakly shaking his head. “Nah, never does. Cuz I pushed her in.”

Nine Years Ago

Kimara sits on the couch with a movie playing in the background but she isn’t really looking at it. Her eyes have glazed over the moving images on her screen and the sounds are similar to being underwater. There is too much happening in her mind at the moment to even be bothered with the world around her.

Kimara hangs her head clutching her knees as she thinks back to a couple months ago, when Erik was there. She had left her part time job at the music college and cautiously pulled up to her house when an ominous figure sat on her front doorstep. Her keys tucked between her knuckles and 911 ready to just hit dial, she steps out the car.

“Whatchu want?!” She bellows, bringing the bass out her voice as much as possible. His head hung low enough that the front door light couldn’t catch his features, face masked in the darkness.

She hears him chuckle. “The hell you barkin at?” He lifts his head up to look at her.

Kimara’s heart dropped in her stomach at the sound of his voice. Covering her mouth, she drops her keys to the concrete, overcome with emotion. He wasn’t supposed to be there, practically considered him dead. Erik gets up, hugging her tightly. “I told you I was gonna be aight. I told you.”

Kimara gasps for breath. “No! You ain’t told me though!” She punches his chest for emphasis.

Erik pulls her away to lift her face toward his, wiping her eyes. “I like a surprise, what can I say.”

Kimara sniffles her snot bubbles, stepping back. “This is so damn embarrassing. How can you act so cool right now. I’m a mess, and you put on so much damn weight, like, the fuck!”

Erik opens his jack to look down at himself. “Well damn! You still know how to talk crazy to somebody.”

She laughs. “No, like, look at you! You got so damn….BIG, like….” Kimara holds his jacket apart a bit to run her hands down his chest.

Erik bites his lip nodding. “Now that’s more like it.”

“Shut up! I’m just in awe! You weren’t scrawny for real but not nearly this buff! What kind of undershirt you got on, you feel bumpy.” Kimara puls at the collar of his shirt, but Erik swipes her hand away.

“Uh uh, you gotta earn the show. Cash upfront.” Erik jokes, putting his hands in his pockets. “You look good too, real….real good. Gettin them squats in huh?” Erik stands on his toes to look around her backside but Kimara steps sideways.

“Here you go! Go on! I don’t see you for two years and you drop yourself here for what? Are you back for good?” Kimara picks her keys up, going to her front door to open it.

“I’m just here to talk, hang out. I needed a place to lay my head, so I figured I could get two birds with one stone.” Erik walks in behind her, closing the door.

Kimara takes off her jacket and sets her bag down. “That’s fine. You welcome here. You gotta tell me how things went! I know you went to Japan at first, but I didn’t get a letter from you after that, I got kind of worried…”

Erik told Kimara about his time in Japan; he was only there a few weeks before he was selected for Special Ops training, which gave him the physique. Most of the rest of his missions were confidential, but the orders he was given were implied.

When he showed his scars and the meaning behind them, Kimara just about lost it.

“How can you mark yourself up like that?! The memories aren’t enough to live with? You have to see them on yourself everyday you look in the mirror?”

“Might as well! I see it when I wake up, when I sleep! In a way, this is therapy for me, makes me feel like what I did wasn’t for nothing!”

Kimara paces the floor agitated beyond compare. “Why would you hurt yourself like that? Haven’t you been through enough to make these permanent changes to yourself? I still can’t believe the day you signed up for that damn program. The details were shaky at best. But the Navy was more important to you than what I thought.”

Erik scoffs. “This wasn’t about you to begin with. We didn’t have anything to fight for. You’re my friend, I had plenty of those. You think you’re the only one that told me to fall back from it? Huh? This gave me purpose, it gave me a vision for my future, something I ain’t had EVER.”

Kimara looked at Erik with disgust. “You’re a damn dumbass.”

Erik cocked an eyebrow. “You better be glad I know you like that, I don't let anybody talk to me like that no more.”

Kimara stands her ground with him. He really forgot who she was. “I ain't scared of you Erik! You forget that I've known you for years now, I'm not just somebody off the street! I've seen you stressed out for exams, I've seen you dealing with people giving you a hard time for being on scholarship, hell US cuz we Black and they didn't believe us! I get that every year on your father's death date, you get extra distant but you let me in to your little rituals to honor him. That Wakandan chant you'd do? I still know it by heart, hell I said it for you!”

Erik looked at Kimara angrily but not because she was wrong. “Stop talkin bout that shit.”

Kimara steps to him. “What you think you hard now? You think you got everyone figured out, you so damn smart?? But you won’t even let yourself FEEL shit no more, is that what your big plan is? Shooting people up and taking their things, like that’s ever worked for anybody.”

Erik snarls. “Except it has, and I have no problem sending it right back to people.”

Kimara points to the door. “Get the fuck outta my house Erik. I didn’t ask for this bullshit in my face.”

Erik turns his chin up at her. “So you done with me now? Now is when you wanna throw me out? I knew you wasn’t worried about me anyway.” As Erik turned away, Kimara pushes his back to get him to the door quicker.

“You fucking bastard! I wasted my fucking time thinking about you! You can’t get outta your own damn head to realize who cares about you!”

Erik reaches for the doorknob, standing there a moment listening to her wail.

“You could’ve been great here with me! I don’t give a damn how tough you think you are, you aren’t this.”

Kimara grows weak from yelling, crumpling to the floor sobbing. Erik crouches down to her quicker than he meant to. It was instinctual more than anything. “Come on now…”

She holds her hands up. “No! You don’t get it. Whatever those people told you over there isn’t true. You aren’t more of a man for doing this shit, for scarring yourself up, for not caring. You’re not human! You’re not yourself!”

Erik freezes when she says this, something finally clicked in him with what she said. Erik apologizes softly, but Kimara was tired. Tired of crying, tired of fighting, she just wanted her friend, she wanted to be happy and for him to be safe and happy too. Erik just held her in his arms, allowing himself to feel like she kept reminding him to. It hurt worse than getting the scars did and when he broke, Kimara was glad. Looking into his face she finally saw the Erik she always knew, the one that she wanted so much from. The world didn’t trample his soul that day, or any day for the next few weeks following.

Kimara allowed Erik in her heart, something she always fought with herself over because they were such good friends and Erik wasn’t the first person she would assume wanting to settle down. But when he looked at her it seemed so genuine, so pure she couldn’t help but fall into him. And that's what she was kicking herself over on that couch a month later, sore and opening a bottle of pills.

Present Day

When Kimara left the studio, she tried calling Erik but didn’t get an answer. Instead she got a generic text saying he would call her later, in a meeting.

She rolls her eyes and decides to go check on his cousin at the community center. He’s helped Erik through a whole helluva lot of bullshit before so maybe he could listen to hers.

The state of the art facility was amazing to see given what it used to be. Old apartments where crime and drugs ran rampant, now it looked like something you would see downtown in the upscale neighborhoods.

When she got inside, it didn’t take long for her to find T’Challa, crouched and talking to a small child standing next to their mother. The child gives him a hug, which he took genuinely and that’s when he sees Kimara.

“Janae, I will see you next week to work on your long division, ok?” He points to her, thanking her mother at the same time before heading over to Kimara.

“Hello! How are you?” He says to Kimara warmly.

Kimara bounces on her toes. “I’m good T’Challa, you?” They share a church hug. Kimara is so happy she can call T’Challa family, without him, Erik wouldn’t even be there.

T’Challa sighs heavily, putting his hands behind his back. “I’ve been better. I’ve been drowning in chamomile tea and crackers to settle my stomach. American alcohol is horrendous.”

Kimara laughs. “Oh yeah, Erik took you out on the town. Did you have fun at least?”

T’Challa half shrugs, smirking. “It was successful for what the goal was. I met with a young lady there and we may have hit it off. I haven’t contacted her about it yet.”

Kimara’s jaw drops. “Whaaat? You playin with women’s heart now T? I never thought of you as the type.”

T’Challa stutters a bit to find his words. “It wasn’t really….well, Erik just wanted to cheer me up for me and Nakia not being on the best of terms, so-”

“Yeah, that’s how he was in college. One girl doesn’t stop his show.” Kimara rests her hand on the back of her neck, playing with her curls knotting at the nape.

T’Challa looks away, visibly uncomfortable. “But I do intend to call her back, I just don’t want to appear too eager and things.”

Kimara pokes her bottom lip out, bucking her round brown eyes at him. “Aww, now don’t go soft on account of me. I know how guys are, so lemme stop asking about your love life. However, if it ever becomes official, feel free to invite her to hang with us. We can make a double date of it.”

T’Challa nods, smiling humbly. “Of course, that would be delightful. I am glad you stopped by actually, I imagine you’re looking for this anyway.” T’Challa turns on his heels, the tails of his jacket picking up with a flourishing wave as he clicks down the hallway.

Kimara follows behind him confused. “What are you talking about?”

Walking down the halls decorated with projects and works tagged with an ‘A+’ or 100% mark whizzed past them as they approached his office. Opening the doors to his office, his footsteps muffle against the lush carpet to retrieve something out of his desk.

He pulls out a burlap pouch to hand to Kimara proudly. “There. Erik is pretty eager to get started on that regimen so you guys can….have at it!” T’Challa gestures awkwardly shaking his hands about in front of him.

Kimara screws her face up looking from T’Challa to the bag. “But I still don’t….OH! He actually asked you about some erectile, baby juice making bull from you?”

T’Challa’s eyes widen. “You and him never stray much from details, eh?”

Kimara opens the drawstring of the bag. “I’m sorry, I just don’t….what is the shit, T?” Kimara pulls out dried leaves and herbs from the pouch.

T’Challa tuts at her. “Aye aye, put it back! He is supposed to boil some water and put that in a cup and drink it. It’s just a mix of common teas and spices, more of a placebo than a real cure.”

Kimara sighs, closing the bag up and placing a hand on her hip. “So I guess Erik really does wanna have this baby.” She murmur to herself.

T’Challa comes around the front of the desk, leaning against it. “Were you having second thoughts?”

She shakes her head fervently. “No, I want to be a mother more than anything right now which….may be part of our problem. I’m forgetting how to be his partner. We got into a bit of a thing when he had his appointment today. He keeps saying I should slow down with the baby making regimen, and I thought for a second he wasn’t taking things seriously.”

T’Challa gives an empathetic glance, crossing his arms thoughtfully. “Excuse me in advance if I’m getting too personal but Erik has told me only a few things, so I’m not unaware. But I know that Erik has your interests in his heart. He knows this is important to you and it is equally important to him. However, he doesn’t do well with rules and regulation. He likes to make things happen and if it works great, if not, move on to something new. And maybe this is his way of moving on to a new method. But it sounds like he wants to take pressure off of you, like with this herbal method.”

Kimara looks at the bag in her hand, feeling herself relax as she held onto it tightly. “I think you’re right. He’s been getting on my nerves with it but I think he’s just trying to show he cares.”

T’Challa nods. “He does, I’m certain of it.”

Kimara gives T’Challa a grateful hug. “Thank you so much! I’m gonna take this to him. Thanks for your help, I knew I would get what I needed coming to you.”

T’Challa gives her a soft pat on the back before breaking the embrace. “Anytime. You guys are a great pair, he’s lucky to have you.”

“You too. He’s come so far because of...because of you. So even though these are dud teas, it may make things a little more hopeful, who knows.”

T’Challa clutches his chest, looking hurt. “Dud teas? I will tell you those are delicious and very relaxing, if nothing else! Fresh import from Wakandan gardens of the royal palace-”

Kimara yawns. “Yeah yeah, I gotta go home now. Tell Shuri I said hello, and if Nakia give you any trouble…” Kimara boxes the air with weak punches.

T’Challa walks her out giving final goodbyes before making her way home to the man of her life.

Walking into their place, Kimara finds Erik sitting on the couch playing 2K.

“I’m home!” Kimara calls out, kicking off her shoes and jacket. Erik presses a combination of buttons on his controller, grunting as he misses his shot at the basket over and over, losing to the computer.

Kimara climbs over the back of the couch, laying her calves over his chest, warming his neck with her serried thighs. “Erik…” she whines.

Erik remains unconcerned with her presence. “Come on, I’m almost done with this quarter, don’t fuck it up.”

Kimara plays with his head, pushing it side to side before resting her breasts on top of him. “Are you still mad at me?”

“When did I say I was mad at you? I thought you were mad at me?” Erik says, still focused on the game until a loud buzzer makes Kimara jump and Erik tosses the controller on the table in defeat.

“I’m not mad, I was just...upset and assuming shit.” Kimara says softly, massaging his scalp. She feels his shoulders relax under her legs as he strokes them.

“So what problems you tryna work through still?” Erik says deadpan.

“None! We don’t have any.” Kimara says sweetly, feeling hands along his face to scratch his beard. “T’Challa gave me his little love potion stuff…” She dangles the bag in front of his face.

Erik takes it, staring at it in his hands. “Aight, just let me know what time you want me to take this and I’ll be on the way to the bedroom.”

Kimara swings her leg around to slide beside him holding on to his arm. “Erik, you ain’t gotta worry about that!”

Erik looks so tired, looking at Kimara wearily. “I don’t wanna be a reason you feel like you can’t get pregnant. I know you think I’m being childish sometimes but I want a kid just like you. This ain’t been good for us though, how we doin it.”

“I know,” Kimara says, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“And soon as those results from the lab come back, we can talk about other shit, but right now, I got you and I’m good with that.”

Kimara’s heart pounds in her chest, what a lovely man he can be. “You’re the fucking sweetest.”

“So don’t be looking at your phone in bed with that tracker, don’t just fuck me without tryna be sexy about it, and don’t down my manhood in the heat of your anger.”

Kimara rubs his chest. “That was bad of me.”

“Damn right it was. Cuz that ain’t no fucking problem.”

Kimara shakes her head. “Never.”

“I know faking, and THAT ain’t it.”

“It’s impossible for me to fake THAT.” Kimara says, knowing exactly what he’s talking about.

“So as a man and as your man, lemme take care of what I gotta do on my own terms. You just keep being cute and fine and smart as you always acting.”

Kimara lays her head across his lap looking up at him. “Never an act babe, I’m all those things and more. Including hungry.”

Erik plays in her wild fro with one hand, the other resting at the base of her throat. “What am I supposed to do about that? You ain’t got hands to dial delivery?”

“Erik! I know you got something in that kitchen, I smelt in soon as I walked in.”

“Yeah, for ME. This a every man for himself house, Ma, you know that.”

“Pleeeease.” Kimara widens her eyes a bit for good measure.

Erik smirks. “You better quit all that for I poke your eye out.”

Kimara scoffs, smacking his stomach as she gets up to look in the oven and pull out a brown paper bag with two containers of penne pasta slathered in marinara meat sauce and melty cheese with the crispy crunchy bread she loves so much.

“You were gonna eat two by yourself, huh?” Kimara quips.

“I can eat a lot more than that, so don’t try me.” Erik calls across the room.

Kimara gets her serving out and practically skips back to the couch to enjoy and watch Erik play his game. Except he still had it on pause.

“So you couldn’t bring mine back witchu?” He asks, voice raising an octave.

Kimara slurps up a stray string of cheese off her fork. “Erik, seriously? I just got in!”

Erik kisses his teeth. “Ok, lemme have a bite of yours.”

“Uh uh! Get your lazy self up and get your own!” Kimara kicks her feet up at him, scarfing another bite.

Erik doesn’t take no for an answer, pushing her legs to one side pinning her. “Gimme some!”

“No! You’re gonna make me drop it!” Kimara squeals, barely holding onto the aluminum container.

Erik just opens his mouth open coming closer and closer to her face. “You gonna spit on me, close your mouth!”

Erik guides his mouth to her fork and she hesitantly puts it in his mouth. He dramatically pauses to savor the flavor, chewing slowly. “Mm! Damn that’s good.”

Kimara rolls her eyes. “Can you get off me now?”

Erik nods, swallowing. “Yeah, just lemme have some bread and-”

“NIGGA IF YOU DON’T GO!” Kimara squirming under him.

Erik takes the container from her hand setting it on the table. “Chill I gotta digest now.” Erik proceeds to open her legs up laying his head against her chest, snuggling in her womanly comforts. Kimara is lowkey seething when all she wants is some damn dinner, but in reality it had been a while since they had been this playful with each other. Putting her needs aside, she takes the time to enjoy his weight on her, his heartbeat on her stomach, the warmth in between her.

“Sing me somethin.” He mumbles in her titties.

That night and every night following for the next two weeks were grand. Kimara hadn’t felt that kind of love for Erik in a length of time she would be embarrassed to admit. It felt like they were dating all over again and she would’ve loved for that to have stayed that way, but then his results came back and her worries erupted all over again.

Part 4

Masterlist

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@chaneajoyyy @sarcastic-sunshines @muse-of-mbaku@dameshaemonique @fonville-designs @destinio1@bakarisangel @wakanda-inspired @klaine15689 @savageiz @nickidub718 @yoyolovesbucky

#erik killmonger fanfic #erik killmonger fic #erik killmonger x oc #erik killmonger x black!oc #black panther fic #black panther au #erik lives #shakafic #fanfic

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overwatchworks · 6 years

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Mcgenji Week (Previous Prompts)

McGenji Week: Starting Out

My first Mcgenji work for Mcgenji week! Hope you enjoy ^0^

The first time Jesse had ever seen Genji was when he was strapped up to an examination table, straining against the bindings and screaming things venomously at anyone that dared to get close. He had been told the new recruit’s name before they walked in, and Jesse hadn’t gone within ten feet of the table, only because Reyes wouldn’t let him. He could tell everyone saw the man as angry, untamable, unstable, but Jesse, Jesse saw fear. Raw, unmistakeable fear, and lashing out was the only way it was kept at bay. Jesse knew because he had been there before, and he didn’t pity Genji, rather, he felt he understood him, in what little way he could.

Genji’s eyes had locked with his when he caught Jesse staring, and the cowboy blinked, then, of course, he winked at the man with a little smile quirking his lips up. Genji had stopped struggling for a moment, just a moment, and Jesse could see confusion flash through those glowing red eyes before it was back to fury. Jesse grinned, a hint of teeth showing as he lowered his eyes, Dr. Ziegler walking in from her office to talk with Gabe. The cowboy sensed boring mumbo jumbo talk about to start, so he backed out of the room with a tip of his hat to the commander and the doctor, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Genji watching him leave. Just before the door shut, Jesse tipped his hat to him too.

The first time Jesse had seen Genji practicing was in the middle of a particularly cold October night. Jesse hadn’t been able to sleep, so he went to the practice rooms to spend his time there instead of restlessly tossing and turning on his cot. He was always the only one there, since no human should rightly be awake at the ungodly hours his body decided he would be, but this time was different. He wasn’t the first one in the training rooms.

Jesse heard them in use, so he peeked in the door, eyes widening when he recognized the shape of Genji viciously shooting training bots and slicing them with his little knife. He didn’t know what it was called, but made a mental note to ask by the end of the week; it would give him a reason to talk to the reclusive cyborg, perhaps get to know him a bit. Jesse slipped inside the room quietly, and he wandered up closer to watch Genji without the barrier of the door. His strength was impressive, but the form was sloppy, no real rhythm or fluidity to his movements, though Jesse supposed that was to be expected from the prosthetics so far. The cowboy rocked on his heels, a little smile playing on his lips when Genji finished off the last bot with a brutal swipe of his blade, and he cleared his throat. Jesse didn’t have time to open his mouth before Genji’s head swiveled in his direction, his red eyes narrowing and brows furrowing angrily while he advanced on the gunslinger.

“Heya. Didn’t mean ta startle ya or nothin’, just thought I might joi—Oi!” Jesse was interrupted with a rough shove, the force of it causing him to stumble back as Genji sauntered past him without a word. The cyborg left the training room and slammed the door behind him, Jesse huffing and pulling his revolver from her holster.

“Well alrighty then.” Jesse muttered under his breath, setting up a practice range for himself and settling into his familiar stance and rhythm.

Jesse heard Genji talk for the first time over the comms on a stealth mission.

“Area five clear.”

Jesse had frowned at the unfamiliar, metallic lilted voice, but that was all it said.

“Agent McCree?” Reyes called, and Jesse shook his head, scanning the area he was supposed to be watching and pressing a finger to the comm in his ear.

“Area six is all clear boss.”

Jesse spent the rest of the mission uncharacteristically quiet, ears straining to catch Genji’s voice again; it had to be his, he knew the way everyone else sounded but him. When Jesse went back to the rendezvous point after another uneventful three hours of observation, he saw that Genji was already there and waiting. The cyborg was fidgeting constantly, like he was nervous or had way too much pent up energy. Probably both.

“Well if it isn’t my good ‘ol friend from the trainin’ rooms! How’re ya doin’ today?” Jesse asked, a lopsided grin quirking his lips as he waited for an answer. Genji just stared at him, then looked away, and the cowboy raised an unimpressed brow.

“Still ain’t talkin’ huh? Welp, that’s alright with me. Everyone’s always sayin’ I could talk the sock offa a wall if I wanted to, an’ they wouldn’t be wrong.” Jesse told him through a chuckle, and he tipped his hat back when Genji continued to blatantly ignore him. He shrugged, then wandered a bit closer to the silent and seething ninja, plopping himself on the ground and stretching his long legs out in front of him.

“The name’s Jesse McCree, ya can call me Jesse whenever ya feel like speakin’. Yanno, ya were pretty damn good with the little throwy stars and that knife ya got, back in the trainin’ rooms. I was wonderin’ if ya’d tell me what they’re actually called, I was wantin’ ta know.”

Jesse tapped the toes of his boots together as he gazed up at Genji, getting a sideways glare and an oppressive silence in response.

“Okay, that’s alright. I guess that’s a question fer another time then. Here, how ‘bout somethin’ ya can answer without words...Ya wanna sit down here next ta me?” Jesse tried, patting the dirt patch next to him, Genji crossing his arms over his chest and scoffing quietly.

“Hey, that was somethin’! See, we’re already gettin’ better at communication! But, suit yerself. Figured I’d give it a shot.”

Jesse gave Genji a grin when he glanced at him, and the cyborg rolled his eyes, making a silent point by walking away from the cowboy’s presence. Jesse sighed and took off his hat, not really expecting anything different from someone like Genji, but he had still given it his best try. He’d eventually get the ninja to crack, and this little interaction-or lack thereof-didn’t deter him in the slightest. If anything, it only made Genji more interesting, and he was going to have to put up with one persistent cowboy.

Genji talked to Jesse for the first time during sparring practice, the cowboy glaring at Reyes when he named Genji and him partners. The damn man knew that Jesse had been trying to get to know Genji, making an effort to be around him and talk to him for weeks, but all Jesse had been able to do so far was piss Genji off with all his chatter and see how strong and ruthless the guy was during his training sessions. If he could, Jesse would put money on Genji just waiting for his chance to beat the shit out of him and shut him up, and this would certainly be a perfect chance for it. Jesse rubbed the back of his neck as he looked around for Genji, and he caught those deep red eyes glaring right back at him from across the room. The cowboy grinned anyways, hoping it didn’t look as pained as it felt, and he wandered over to Genji.

“So, guess we’re partners now, huh?”

Genji, per usual, ignored him and went straight to one of the many sparring rings placed around the room, bumping his shoulder roughly into Jesse’s as he passed. Yeah, he was going to get his ass whooped. Jesse internally groaned and followed the ninja, ducking under one of the ropes surrounding the ring and going to the opposite corner from Genji, rolling his shoulders out.

“Okay, so, can I ask ya a quick question?”

Genji didn’t answer, so Jesse took it as a sign to continue.

“Do ya punch with yer right or yer left hand?” Jesse asked, eyeing the metal knuckles and armour of the cyborg’s left side warily, though his right arm was heavily muscled and tense too. That was just as concerning as the metal.

“I can beat your ass with either.” Genji replied, voice accented, low, and metallic, and Jesse’s eyes widened in surprise, the ninja giving him an actual, verbal answer for once.

“Oh. Charming.” Jesse muttered, sinking down into a defensive stance as Genji began to circle him. The cowboy watched him move, and it was much more fluid than the first time he had seen Genji practice, his movements sure and flowing now rather than the uncoordinated and jerky ones before. Then, Jesse felt the ninja grab him, and he was suddenly on the ground, Genji leaning over him and pinning him down easily.

“How in the hell...?”

Genji’s eyes were practically smirking at him as he backed off, sighing and crossing his arms while he waited for Jesse to get up and brush himself off.

“Okay, ya caught me by surprise there, but—What the fuck?!” Jesse cut himself off when Genji’s fist connected solidly with his nose, and it made an uncomfortably loud crunching sound. The cowboy staggered back, blood running down over his lips and dripping off his chin, and he glared at Genji. The ninja merely stared back blankly, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Alright, ya wanna play that way, I can play that way...” Jesse muttered, wiping his chin and smearing the glistening red liquid across his knuckles as he sank down into a solid stance. Genji raised an unimpressed brow, then moved as fast as a snake striking its prey, but Jesse was ready for it this time. He caught the leg aimed at his side, and Jesse could tell he would have had broken ribs if the kick had landed, the force of it was so strong. Genji’s eyes widened a bit when Jesse twisted his leg, turning around and planting his foot between him and the ninja before throwing him over his shoulder with a little more force than strictly necessary. Jess heard Genji wheeze from the impact, and he didn’t stop to let the ninja catch his breath, landing a punch to the side of his neck to keep him down. Genji gasped and immediately kicked Jesse off of him, spinning and crouching while the cowboy scrambled to his feet, watching him warily. Jesse wiped his nose again, eyes trained on Genji’s tense form, and then the cyborg sprang at him, punching him with lightning speed. The hits didn’t even register in Jesse’s mind until Genji had him on his back again, but the cowboy wrapped his legs around the ninja’s waist and flipped them, using his heavier weight to his advantage. Genji stared up at him for a moment, and Jesse grinned devilishly at him, very aware of the positions they were in.

“Give up sugar?”

“You wish.” Genji gritted out, slamming his left elbow to the side of Jesse’s eye and throwing the cowboy off of him in his daze. They traded punches and kicks to no real avail, each move getting countered or immediately followed up by an opposing hit that managed to knock the breath out of both of them. The ninja tried to sweep his legs out from under him, but Jesse hopped back, seeing the move coming and then moving in behind Genji in a heartbeat. Jesse went to try and throw the cyborg over his shoulder, but Genji reached up faster than humanly possible, twisting and moving close to the gunslinger and jamming his shoulder into Jesse’s stomach to lift him up from the waist. Jesse only got a moment to think, ‘goddamn he’s strong’ before he was slammed into the ground, Genji pinning his arms above him and keeping a knee firmly planted on his chest while they both breathed heavily. They stared at one another, both in mild surprise until cheers erupted around them, Genji and Jesse’s heads both snapping up at the sound. Agents were crowded around their sparring ring, apparently watching them fight, and Jesse couldn’t help but grin at the cyborg.

“Damn, yer pretty good at this.” Jesse murmured, low enough to where only Genji could hear, and he punctuated the statement with a wink and a press of his knee to the ninja’s side. Genji didn’t reply, instead, he immediately moved off of him, slipping out of the sparring ring and shoving his way through the agents before disappearing from the room, Jesse watching him leave in only mild disappointment. Maybe he had taken it a little too far, but he had to say, that was the closest he had ever been to Genji before. The ninja actually looked like he was having fun-as far as Jesse could tell-and honestly, he certainly wouldn’t mind getting his ass handed to him again, so long as Genji was the one doing it.

The first time Jesse touched Genji outside of sparring practice was in the commons room while he was making dinner. Jesse would always make his own food, often times cooking an extra large batch and leaving it in the fridge for the vultures to find, his fellow agents never leaving anything left or letting it last until the next day. That was exactly what he was doing when Genji appeared on the counter he had been chopping potatoes on, Jesse screeching and holding out the knife while the ninja raised a skeptical brow.

“Did you just—“

“No. Nah, absolutely not. I dunno what yer talkin’ ‘bout.” Jesse hummed nonchalantly, blowing a stray lock of hair from his forehead and going back to his potatoes. Genji watched him in silence, his eyes curious as Jesse chopped quickly, then swiped the chunks of potato onto his already boiling broth for the soup.

“How do you do that so fast?” Genji asked suddenly, and Jesse glanced over at where he was sitting cross-legged, hands sitting in his lap with his arms straightened. It was actually quite adorable, seeing this side of Genji, not just the Blackwatch agent and weapon that he liked to make everyone believe he was. Jesse liked him when he acted like a person, was comfortable enough to let his guard down and relax a bit, the cowboy figuring he deserved it, and glad he was the one to get to see it.

“Well, it just comes with time an’ practice, like everythin’.” Jesse replied, and Genji’s brows furrowed.

“I wield a wakizashi fast enough to deflect bullets, but I don’t think I could even try to do what you’re doing.”

So that’s what it was called. A wakizashi. Jesse smiled at the subtle way Genji wove that in, feeling a little bit of happiness that the ninja hadn’t forgotten his original question. So he had listened.

“Here, ya wanna try it?” Jesse offered, holding out his hand and raising his brows, Genji shrinking back a bit and narrowing his eyes.

“C’mon, give it a try. Ya ain’t gonna hurt nothin’.” Jesse urged, and he reached out to Genji slowly, giving him time to back away should he want to, but the ninja stayed in place. Jesse placed his hand over Genji’s wrist gently, then tugged on it lightly to get the cyborg to scoot closer.

“What are you...?”

“Just come over here with me, I’ll show ya.” Jesse told him, and Genji followed the little tugs as he slipped off the counter, now standing almost chest to chest with the gunslinger. Jesse smiled down at him, then turned him towards the sink.

“Wash yer hands first. Can’t be handlin’ other people’s food with dirty hands, yeah?”

Surprisingly, Genji did as he was asked, coming back over to Jesse when his hands were cleaned and dried. The gunslinger led him back to the cutting board, then went behind Genji, chest pressed to his back, putting his hands over the cyborg’s to direct him.

“Now, just pick up the knife here, an’ cut it twice lengthwise, then ‘bout six times vertically, like this.”

Jesse moved Genji’s hands for him, the ninja focusing determinedly at the potato in front of him, and the cowboy couldn’t help but find it ridiculously cute. He continued to help Genji until the cyborg started to chop the vegetables more confidently, and Jesse smiled when he was able to do it well on his own.

“See? Yer a natural.”

Genji peered up at him, a light shining in his eyes that could only be from a grin under that faceplate, and Jesse cleared his throat, going over to stir the bubbling soup with slightly pink cheeks. They ended up cooking the soup together, Jesse adding various things and having Genji cut up more vegetables or stir the delicious smelling pot. Cooking had always helped Jesse relax, and sometimes the mundane things were the best way to get his mind off of things. Jesse hoped this was working for Genji too, at least to distract him for a little while. When the food was done, Jesse ladled out a bowl for each of them, then put the rest in the fridge for the others, smiling at Genji where he was seated back on the counter.

“An’ there ya have it! Wanna give it a try sugar? I betcha it’s even better than usual, what with all yer excellent help.” Jesse chimed, giving Genji a wink and watching as the cyborg’s shoulders scrunched a bit in embarrassment.

“All I did was chop some vegetables...” Genji mumbled, and Jesse grinned at him.

“An’ a mighty fine job of it ya did. C’mon, the food always tastes better when ya work hard ta make it.”

The cowboy pushed the bowl towards Genji, and he took it after a moment, stirring the spoon through the soup. He then turned around, facing the empty commons room, and Jesse didn’t question it as he saw Genji place the faceplate next to him. They ate in a comfortable silence, Jesse glancing at Genji’s back every now and then until the ninja set down his empty bowl.

“That was...Really, really good.” Genji murmured, slipping his mask back into place and hopping off the counter, heading for the door. He turned his head right before he left, his body language almost shy.

“Thank you, Jesse.”

Jesse grinned and nodded, Genji slipping out the door as the cowboy hummed softly to himself while he cleaned. He had to say, as far as things went with him and Genji, that was a pretty damn good start.

#overwatch #jesse mccree #genji shimada #gabriel reyes #mcgenji #mcgenji week #fanfic #fanfiction #WhiskeyWrites #long post for mobile

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hommedeseptiles · 7 years

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Duckdator Musings and In-Game Scribbles

Game Six

May 22, 2017

Nashville leads 3-2

Anaheim: 46-23-13 (Sixth, overall)

Nashville: 41-29-12 (Seventeenth, overall)

We're told that Jonathan Bernier will be starting tonight. John Gibson who's started all of the Ducks' games this playoff is out.

Why. Blue lights spill across the rink and over certain segments of the crowd and we hear PK Subban's name over the PA. The NBA Golden State Warriors also play tonight, leading their wounded Western Conference Final series with the San Antonio Spurs 3-0. The Predators are up 3-2 for their part. Those seated here (at Contender on Ossington-Dundas) remark on the anthem singer's weight gain to some chuckling. Contender is a sports bar. Why is Gibson out? Eddie George, former Titan halfback is on the blue carpet, waving his yellow towel. The intrepid Ryan Johansen, out for the series, the team's number one centre, is also shown waving a towel in joy, elsewhere in the raucous rink. Gibson's injury is cited as "lower body". Despite some articles citing otherwise, he cedes the spot. Gibson was able to practice with the team this morning.

First Period

Nashville 0, Anaheim 0

Pekka Rinne and Jonathan Bernier are the goalies.

Winger Corey Perry’s line starts for the Ducks; Ryan Getzlaff and Rickard Rackell accompany the stony winger.

Chance at Rinne's left is a near thing, the puck sailing wide. Andrew Cogliano. The former Oiler. We remember him best from the Oil's great run in 05-06, the one that ended ... goal. Bernier is beaten. The horns. And Nashville’s Austin Watson shown skating to his bench, a job done. Nashville 1

Anaheim 0

Watson sent a hash puck to the net and it went off white legs, no Preds in sight.

Strand's Theorem says that teams that score get a bit of jump. But the Ducks have been consistent in violating this tenet. They continue with some early post-goal pressure. Finally, the Preds control, send it down and we hear a whistle. Bernier takes a sip. We're shown some pre-game shots of Gibson in practice; he was able to skate this morning, able to practice. Bernier came in last game and looked less technical, less confident than what I remember from his best hockey days (yes, with the Leafs). This town, Nashville, is a hockey town. Believe it. Though they average about 17.5 thousand per game, about the league median, they are considered either the loudest rink in the league or in the top five. Puck is trapped on the boards deep left for Preds. Then it's cleared out. The Ducks go to a power-play. But Anaheim’s unpopular second-string centre Ryan Kesler interferes and he grumbles as he heads to the box. We'll go to four on four. Kesler, the former Canuck, an American, continues with his entitled, gruff ways. He shakes his head in the box, mouth-guard clasped in his teeth. Face-off to Bernier's right. Ducks win it. They are at about fifty-five percent in this series and in the playoffs. Behind Ducks head coach Randy Carlyle, a yellow-cloaked fan sports a bright canary cowboy hat. This is saddle-up country, son. And pleasantly so, one might believe. The town has evolved since mayor Phil Breseden announced in the early nineties that the team would benefit from the construction of a new stadium or arena and attract a sports team (or two). Broadway Street, a line of colourful honkey-tonks, once a place “one wouldn't be caught dead" on has become safer and more over the decades. The Predators first season was 98-99. The four-on-four ends with no threats either way. Eleven and forty-eight. Slot shot. Sissons. Lofts it. Scores. Nobody around him, seemingly. Bernier beaten over the right pad. He hangs his head. Pierre McGuire says it's one the goalie should have had. Or is that McGuire? Nashville 2, Anaheim 0 Five Ducks in their own slot. Lost stick. Men on knees. Weak backhand. Bernier remains adroit. And the Ducks survive. Nine and thirty-nine. The Preds haven't allowed much movement or presence through their own slot and the trend continues. The Ducks are fast enough for Edmonton (their previous-round opponent) but look slow against Nashville. All series. Nine oh one. Faceoff to Bernier's right. . He brings a 0.915 GAA into the playoffs and that number means less these days. It’s at the midpoint; round up the thirty goalies with the most starts and 0.915 will place fifteenth. Rinne’s 0.945, or so, places him first among NHL playoff goalies. Ducks're doomed. Getzlaf. Pauses. Across to Perry in the neutral zone, sideline to sideline puck. Brief entry and the puck is lost. Now on the side-boards, some jostling. Whistle. Perry is there. Duck first-pairing defender Brandon Montour. Some booing. A commercial. My seatmates Gary and Mookie discuss politics and then urban issues including sewer pipes and roads. They've each ordered chicken wings. Our bartender, the venerable Al, mutes commercials in favour of the pub sound system. I think it's his iPod. Are iPods still a thing? We return from commercial to see Ducks head coach Randy Carlyle scratching his head staring at the floor and yelling to nobody in particular. Here’s why. Dangerous Pred right winger Viktor Arvidsson is shown with blood droplets on his forehead and brow as he rose from the ice. McGuire says it's a five minute major; blood. Sure enough, the five-minute clock flashes on. No limit on goals. Preds power. Our bartender yells as Kesler fails to pass on an unexpected foray into the zone. "He's such a bum". I offer that Kesler thought he had the speed to wrap. Replay shows a pass into the low slot off the wrap would have been a certain goal. The bar staff feel that Bernier was, yes, once technically sound but that he hasn't evolved with the game. Two forty-five and the Preds haven't been able to set up yet. The Ducks have had consistent success in preventing entry throughout this series and they've done it in a few ways, notably standing a fence across the blue and daring the Preds to carry it in. It's a staggered horizontal bar of four or three. I shake my head. Preds are in their own zone, stymied and uncertain with ninety seconds left in a major that could have ended the Ducks' chances. I say this aware of the vulnerability of three and four-goal leads in this season's playoffs. The Preds have the best goaltending in the16-17 post-season. Best GAA, best save percentage. Rinne is 34 but still sparkling. The Ducks beat him on key goals over the right stick and shoulder but he's since adjusted. The Ducks' own counter-adjustments remain to be seen. Twenty-three seconds in the major. One last entry. Josi. Almost slowly into the slot alone against three. And he mumbo-fumbos the puck away. Ducks' penalty-kill was sharp; interruption and contradiction. Whistle shortly after. Mookie offers that the Ducks need a miracle tonight and then adds that they have no game plan. Yes, I disagree. Two and twenty-tree. Faceoff to Rinne's left. The Preds slap it out. The Ducks dither and then slap it back in. The crowd begins to regain their voice. Who's this forty-six for Preds? [Ed note: Pontus Aberg, left winger] He starts behind their net. Later he turns nearly 180 and slaps at and connects with a puck in the neutral zone. The game slogs into white mud. Under a minute. Kesler fails to carry through the middle zone. No looking for receivers. The Preds, their fabled long passing game, absent, negated by Ducks roaming, have also slowed and are missing passes. Uncharacteristic. Nervous? Perhaps. The Ducks have shown they can score in two and three-goal bunches over the past five years. Most recently they scored three in the final 3:23 of the third against Edmonton, ruining a 3-0 Oil lead and winning in OT. Hey. They can do that. Some shots of the Conservative Party debate (air quotes) flash across the screen. The decision will be made on May 27th. Is there one last debate? First Intermission Nashville 2, Anaheim 0 Contender doesn't unmute for the intermission and I try and decipher the CBC panel's yellow-circled players (graphic) and play selection. Hrudey and Friedman are there with Kypreos and your friend Ron MacLean. Nice suits tonight. Industrial blue. A third look at the Kesler backhand wraparound shows a Silfverberg fake shot motion to distract Rinne. Perhaps that lets Kesler off the hook? We're shown some grain-tinted, slo-mo post-processed shots of Pittsburgh's 7-0 game five win over Ottawa. Pens lead that series 3-2. Ya. <smh> Both teams are hard to like. Particularly Ottawa. But another Crob Cup with the attendant overly weighted praise is equally irritating. Second Period Nashville 2, Anaheim 0 Golden State game is now on one of the screens here. Good screens. Rinne and company are back on the ice. The Ducks fork and shrug; power and purpose on the boards. They push out and then are back in, Silfverberg firing one into the boards behind Rinne. He's usually more accurate. The boards sounded as cheap as those in a small-town rink. I like the sound. Franchise player Kawhi Leonard is not back. Leggy Manu Ginobli is 39. Sparkling PG Anthony Parker is out. And the Spurs 2-0 lead ends quickly. Three on three entry, the waters churning, and the skates moving without glide. Ducks' Chris Wagner enters with hope. But a whistle. And likely a Preds penalty. Nope. Hmm. Well, I haven't done this in a while, right? Ahem. Plus, this Caesar salad is scrumptious. So is my virgin Caesar. Ya, I know. Play-by-play man Paul Romanuk's joy in a Duck goal is measurably higher than for a Pred goal. Somehow, a breakdown leads to a quick pass from the end-line and a goal. Preds' third-pairing Matt Irwin is a falling tree in the crease as Getzlaf finds Ondrej Kase at the crease-lip. A jagged angle, awkward but standing soldier finish. Nashville 2, Anaheim 1 Preds now defy Strand's Theorem and apply the pressure. Preds penalty. Romanuk and oafish colour-man Garry Galley seem enthused. Five games of this. Now six. But I have control. I could listen to Preds radio, say. Online. There are options. I'll check. Meanwhile, the Ducks ice Getzlaf, Silfverberg and Perry. Early clear.

Fowler and Sami Vatanen are low for Ducks.

Clark enters Contender and Durant is immediately labelled a deserter while the Preds are lauded as the team that we all want to see advance. Our Gary hasn't commented on either situation. He's not a sports guy. Twenty-seven seconds in the penalty. Lindholm's shot is wild, right. I'm reading a book on the Blazers. Halberstam's book on the Portland Trail Blazers 1980 season (The Breaks of the Game). A year removed from Bill Walton's move to the San Diego Clippers. Halberstam accompanied the team for the full season. Antoine Vermette line. Draw won by Ducks. Duck defender Hampus Lindholm clears it around. It pops out. Kase is deep on the left hash. Ducks retain. A man falls, Weber, (no not that Weber). Puck is lost in the logs.

Yannick Weber, former Hab, is a third pairing Pred defender.

I inform Clark that Bernier's presence is a drop-off from Gibson. A significant one. It's harder to prove in numbers but there's something about Gibson's languid state that calms his team. His wanderings. He's unique, even for a goalie. His perspective, for one. Dangle. Yo-yo. Keep and tuck. But no goal. The Preds looked more like themselves on that play than in the whole game. How does emotion shift so clearly, so easily in group situations? When for minutes or hours, a team is stuck ... The Preds finally look themselves, pressing, short-passing, sniping and smouldering. The Ducks can't keep up. A whistle saves this shift even as I watch a Subban hustle-up to get back from a past-hash entry. Seven oh five. Ducks clump down the left. Weber won't allow centre Nate Thompson past him. Now fifty-five traps a man. [Ed note: Cody McLeod, left wing] Clark notes the empty net and we're headed to a Duck power-play. Whistle. Nashville coach Peter Laviolette, one of the NHL's top two coaches (Jon Cooper, Tampa Bay), knee up, shakes his head slightly. The Preds handle the first minute. Ekholm and Subban are on the second kill pairing low. Cleared. An ad-hoc discussion on online trolling emerges amongst my group. At the far end of the spectrum, just short of doxing and death threats is the area where polite conversation ends and feelings get hurt. Sargon is mentioned; new to me. But he sounds like a satirist; right or left, ideology or what have you, they must be first to the goal. First to critique. The best will. Second Intermission Nashville 2, Anaheim 1 Durant. I can't respect it. I tried. I tried to be a good guy. If you want a fucking championship so fucking bad, go buy some destitute former NBA guy's old ring from a pawnshop, then. Or go have one made. Have twelve made. Why the fuck play the games, at all? I shake my head. Number five is quick. But Durant is magnificent. What a block. Perry is interviewed by possible Trump supporter Christine Simpson. Perry manages some humanity for the brief chat. And a wink! For the camera. He's not THAT kind of creep. Third Period Nashville 2, Anaheim 1 Disable the wireless system and then re-enable it again and it will last. So Al informs me with an internet drop problem my new laptop exhibits. The stats show 25-8 shot advantage for Ducks. Surprising. There haven't been good scoring chances amongst. This is the Ducks' last period. Or... Perry the first parry. Eighteen-foot shot from the slot. Sorry. Rinne gloves and retains. Faceoff to his left. And the puck skitters out to Fowler.

The Preds are a five-man golden glove. Five fingers move as one in their zone. And they clasp this entry shut. Draw to Rinne's right. Followed by a draw to Bernier's right. Care is the watchword. Of the screens layered along the wall, the one I watch most often happens to have a toonie and serviette barely visible at the bottom, centred and halfway down the screen's plastic framing. It's to hold the screen in place. Behind his net. Ellis. Sporting the A. He shakes his head. Waits. More waiting. Another Pred circles. A second joins. Now Ellis fires the long pass. Bernier traps it after the carom. And then he extends a blocker into a forward's body. Clark notes it's a nice pass for Arvidsson and we see the skate spray that irritated Bernier on the replay. The pass was just long. Would have allowed Arvidsson a chance alone. Two minutes elapsed. Duck entry is offside. We're reminded that Bernier stopped sixteen of eighteen in game five. As our group discusses Chauncey Billups' (unexpectedly youthful) presence on the ESPN NBA panel (and his championship in 2004 and his rental ring-chasing friends Karl Malone and Gary Payton), the Preds work behind the net, get it in front, shoot and shoot again. And then score. Nashville 3 Anaheim 1 Pontus Aberg, backhander as he rounded a frissoned post. Frosted, he chopped again. Bodies and a barrel. A pirate's eye view.

Talk moves to the Oilers and how much of an idiot owner Daryl Katz might be. Mookie chuckles as he shares that holding a city hostage for an arena goes back to the Romans. Bread and Circus.

The Oil have a great team. They can keep this coach for a couple of years, bring in someone more imaginative (which will help retain McDavid) and they're fine. It's a likeable team. Wagner, a third-line nobody, now rolls a puck up over Rinne's shoulder from an unlikely angle. Nashville 3 Anaheim 2 The Ducks are a team that never really goes away. Ask Edmonton. Ask Calgary (though that series was an Anaheim sweep). The Predators are tactically and physically (speed and skill) the better team. But they don't quite believe it yet. The Ducks know they are outmatched but are clever enough, skilled enough to compensate. Talk of Raptor star Kyle Lowry's contract opt-out, interjections from another bar patron included, are abandoned as Bernier loses his stick and the Ducks scramble to prevent a shot. And they succeed. The pace slows. "I don't think the Predators have gotten one faceoff yet", offers Clark. To the blue. Fired high. Score.

Ducks. Laviolette's yellow and speckled gold tie isn't good for TV. Perry interfered. Refs confirm it. We wait for a review and decision. They call it a goal. The replay showed Perry being felled and his arm colliding with Rinne's chest. Was there any embellished contact, as well? Seems no. And that's the call. Goal stands. Ducks slither across the pond. Anaheim 3 Nashville 3 Ten and forty. It's harder to write when the game flutters a stomach. Harder to think. Harder to focus. Faceoff to Bernier's right. Won by Ducks. Again. Slot shot. Kase. Rinne stretches the right pad. It's still anyone's game and the Preds play breathes as they adjust. Laviolette is good at managing his teams' emotions. Carolina. Philly. We watch the games we can't control. We watch the news and feel small. One vote. One voice. What's it worth. One puck, one team. No skating allowed. Yet, investment is hope. And hope melds memory. Commands future. Doesn't it? And in politics ... one voice becomes many. We outnumber them. And for now, always will. <insert guffaw> But. We do. Commercial break. Josi is in the box when we return. A couple stands, Pred towel waving, defiant in the face of a penalty-kill. Ducks win another faceoff (Clark: "See, these guys can't win a faceoff"). Panic is tempting. Isn't it. Thirty-nine seconds in the penalty. Ducks lead 39-15 on shots. Virtually all harmless. Stoppage. The four on-ice officials gather. Did it get thrown up and out? Looks like it from the replay. No delay of game. Penalty expires. Two down the ice. Across. One-timer. In. Sissons. Nashville 4 Anaheim 3 The crowd rises. The pace responds. Five and seventeen. CBC informs us that there have been 48 one-goal games this playoff. Pred left winger Calle Järnkrok outsprints a man down to avoid the icing call. It comes to nothing and the Ducks are back in the Predators zone. On the boards. Three Preds. Three Ducks. Silfverberg is there. Kept in. Around. Interrupted, Josi. Stolen by Silfverberg. Ducks control like it's a power-play. Contender patrons exhort the Predators. This is a Preds bar. All of the sudden? Several more people in here since the first period. Three and fourteen. Rinne nearly bounces a puck into his slot, going around to play it behind his net. My typing speeds but my thoughts jitter. Rinne. Earning plaudits from all around me. Draw to Rinne's left. Two thirty-eight. Lofter. Won draw. Long. And long, i tap Mookie's arm and it slides in. Two twenty-two. David Poile exults in his double-hand head-tapping nerd way. He's the Preds President and GM. Also the son of notorious Bud Poile (former Flyer executive). Nashville 5 Anaheim 3 Two twenty-two. I inform Clark this is not over; "Dude you're depressing me!" It's the Ducks. Into the Predator zone following another lofter, this one intercepted. Around the boards. Now to 51. Shot. Goal. That red-faced fan is SO happy. Yellow ties. Arms exulting. The Predators may advance. One and thirty-four.

Fifty-one is Austin Watson, fourth-line right winger.

Nashville 6 Anaheim 3 They don't pull the goalie? Come on. Time ticks down. Surly Kevin Bieksa, Duck defenceman, is involved in some bitterness. Typical. Nashville power-play. With 6.7 left. It's complicated. PK is in the SC Final. And so are the Predators.

Final Score

Nashville Predators 6

Anaheim Ducks 3

Predators advance to Stanley Cup final.

HDS Stars: Ondrej Kase, Pekka Rinne, Colton Sissons

CBC Stars: Unknown Clark's Stars: Rinne Mookie's Stars: No comment elicited They pose for photos. PK looks happy. No melancholy. He's happy. Be happy.

#Montreal Mystique #Homme de Sept-Iles #Nashville Predators #PK #Peter Laviolette #Preds #Ducks #Anaheim Ducks #Musing #Musing and In-Game Scribbles #HDS #MM #NHL

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