#Oh and don't tell me there wouldn't be any space for that interior because we're running on sci-fi logic here

[idril-la-wiccan]

I'm 100% sure the Ship has already broken its protocol several times for Louie's sake (yes, I am including the Golden PikPik Carrots incident in this). Why ? I don't know. I guess it's just like that.

Also have my idea on what the Ship looks like inside -provided it does have a living space.

[one-boring-person]

Only Traitors Consort With The Damned (Part Nine)

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: violence, blood imagery

Context: The first of the SRS has arrived, but thankfully not in large numbers.

A/N: hopefully I'll have a more Halloween-esque part to this out next weekend, so stay tuned for that!😁💛

Masterlist

A shiver runs through my body as I move silently through the back streets of Santa Carla, my hand resting on the gun holstered at my hip, gloved fingers tapping lightly on the deadly weapon as if in anticipation, my muscles taut and ready to spring into action. Unsurprisingly, a cool wind is blowing through town, the late October chill easily seeping into my new, stolen black denim jacket, the new outfit the boys found for me acting as a suitable disguise, seeing as the SRS uniform from before is a little too conspicuous, though the chains rattling quietly by my thigh are a little distracting, and the studs adorning the variety of clothes are a little superfluous, but it does it's part well enough. Thankfully, I got to keep my boots, so at least I'm not getting blisters from any new ones.

Biting my lip, I turn down yet another deserted alley, quickly scanning it for danger, noting the lack of people instantly, though there are a few cars and bins sitting by the surrounding walls here and there, each of them providing sufficient cover for a person, or multiple persons. Slowly, I edge forwards, watching the surroundings for any movement, aware that there could be danger at any moment, my heart pounding as I clock the lack of sound in the area, suddenly aware of the fact that there are no working streetlamps on this particular strip of alley, leaving it completely cloaked in darkness. Uneasy, I stop still, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Very carefully, I take off my gloves, placing them in my pocket as I listen closely to the eerie silence, watching the dark space in front of me, hoping to catch anything, should it come closer.

My head snaps round in the direction of a muted footstep, my fingers wrapping around the stock of the gun, pulling it from its holster and smoothly cocking it, flicking off the safety as I turn towards the noise. Mechanically, I lift the weapon a little higher, calming my racing heart before I step over towards the car the noise came from, holding my breath as I try to make out any shapes in the suffocating blackness, finding it nigh-on impossible to do so.

As I approach the car, I lift the gun higher still, edging around the seemingly abandoned vehicle, keeping my eyes trained on the space in front of me, my training kicking in as a dull calm spreads through me, keeping me from moving erratically, everything around me filtering out as I round the bonnet of the car.

A sudden blow to my upper back throws me forwards into the wall ahead of me, the air leaving my lungs as I collide with it painfully, tears springing to my eyes as my nose makes contact, the gun falling from my hands. Recovering quickly, I duck down before the second punch can come, a stifled yelp of surprise escaping my attacker as their fist connects with the hard surface, their knuckles most likely cracking from the force, causing them to reel back a little, leaving me time to spin around and jump back upright again. Without pausing, I swing my fist round into their exposed ribs, feeling the bones give slightly under the impact, my other hand coming round to land a hard blow to their descending face, their body whipping to the side in response. I move closer, intending to grab them, only for them to suddenly lunge forwards and shove me up against the wall, fists pummeling my sides, low grunts of pain leaving my lips as I grab their shoulders, but to no avail.

After a particularly well-aimed punch to the centre of my collarbones, I have to suck in a sharp breath of air, wincing as pain explodes through my chest, rendering me momentarily incapable of retaliating, giving my attacker the perfect opportunity to grab my hair and throw me away from the wall, my body violently crashing into the car bonnet as they drop me there, pain quickly spreading through me as I make contact. Under my weight, the windscreen cracks and shatters, shards of glass digging into my back as I skid over them, my attacker advancing on me with a newfound confidence, my eyes swiftly spotting the knife in their hand. Ignoring the blood pouring from my nose and mouth, I quickly roll to the side to avoid a sudden downwards thrust of the blade, dropping off of the car and onto the floor, going to get up, only to be stopped by a hand grasping my hair again, yanking my head back and pressing the knife to my throat. Eyes going wide, I take hold of their arm and press against it, feeling the icy sting of the blade just cutting into my skin, panic starting to well up in my body as I fight against their strength, only to find them slowly overpowering me.

With one last push, I drive an elbow backwards, catching them in the knee with enough force to make them buckle a little, giving me the chance to duck out of their grip and throw them onto their back on the floor, swiftly pinning then down as I grab my own knife from my pocket, wincing as they manage to use their's to leave a long gash down one of my arms. Putting my knife to their throat, I press down until they stop struggling, the two of us breathing very heavily as we calm ourselves, both waiting for the next move.

When nothing happens, I go to lean back slightly, only for my captive to suddenly write underneath me, kicking me backwards a little so that I have to stretch out my arms to keep myself upright. In doing so, however, I manage to lodge my knife in their thigh, a scream of agony tearing itself from their lips at their self-inflicted wound, blood starting to ooze out from around the base of the weapon, colourful curses and swears aimed at me accompanying the whines and whimpers of pain that follow. Climbing off of them, I swiftly grab their wrists and use the rope at my belt to tie them together, ignoring their pleas and begging, the voice now distinctly male as they try to appeal to my better nature, seemingly forgetting that they just tried to kill me.

I don't look at their face, turning to their newly sustained wound, thinking things over, before making a split decision. Pulling another rope from my belt, I tie it around the top of his thigh, pulling it tight to stop the bleeding, choosing to leave the weapon in place as I work, eventually telling him to shut up as he continues to ramble on.

*

"Who the hell is that and why the fuck is he here?!" David growls at me as I eventually manage to drag the Scout into the cave, a trail of dirt mapping out the path I used as I manoeuvre my way around the messy interior.

"This," I start, dropping the man's legs as I find a better source of light, "Is a Scout, someone sent to find me before the rest of the Clean-up Team arrives. He's here because we're taking him hostage."

Kneeling down beside the now-unconscious man, I turn my attention to the knife protruding from his leg, quickly deciding how to go about this. Taking hold of the Scout's knife, I carefully cut away the fabric of his trousers around the wound, gently testing how tightly the knife is wedged into the muscle, before dropping the weapon in my hand and grabbing a piece of nearby cloth.

"A hostage? Why are you taking a hostage?" David continues to interrogate me, scowling at me as I yank the knife from the wound and use the fabric to staunch the flow of blood that rushes out.

"So that I have some leverage over them when they come for me, though I'm not too sure how well they'll react to this." I muse out loud, only now realising that the platinum blonde vampire across from me is having a hard time controlling himself, "Sorry, I forgot that this would be difficult for you guys."

A small part of me is glad that David is the one who volunteered to stay behind tonight to keep watch with me, given that he seems to have the most self control (apart from Dwayne) when it comes to blood; if it was Paul, the Scout would be dead by now.

David just huffs, sitting in his wheelchair sullenly as he waits for me to finish, blue eyes watching me as I examine the wound.

"Hey, do you think you could get the med-kit from my rucksack, please? I need to stitch this or he'll bleed out." I ask him quietly, hoping he'll agree.

The vampire rolls his eyes, but stands and gets the kit anyway, handing it to me with a grunt. Thanking him, I take out a needle and thread, sterilizing them both as I prepare them for use, removing the makeshift bandage from the wound and leaning in to start sewing the edges shut.

"Where did you learn to do that?" David asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

"This? I learnt on the job, a few years ago. Some werewolf caught me with its claws when I got too close. I had to stitch myself up, so I learned from the experience." I explain dismissively, remembering the incident well.

"A werewolf?" The vampire questions, seemingly confused, "Where was that?"

"Somehwere in Texas, I think. I don't really remember the specifics. Why?"

"Oh, I wasn't aware that there were still werewolves in this country."

"Really?! You can't possibly think you're the only supernatural beings left in the U.S?" I ask, incredulous.

"I've been stuck in Santa Carla for as long as I can remember, so I wouldn't know." He chuckles in response, "What're you gonna do with him when he wakes up?"

I shrug.

"Talk to him, interrogate him. I just need to know how close the SRS are to finding me."

"How close do you think they are?" David queries quietly.

I sigh to myself, sitting back on my heels as I finish the job.

"Honestly, I'd rather not think about it."

Part Ten

[hooked-on-the-feelin]

Ain’t No Mountain High Enough

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- 2k+ words

- Pairing: Peter Quill/Star-Lord x Reader, Slight Thor x Reader

- Summary: After the attack on Asgard, you find yourself drifting through the space with The Guardians of The Galaxy. Thor, being protective of you because you’re a dear friend of his, tries his hardest to protect you. But he can’t protect you from Peter Quill’s pelvic sorcery.

——————————————————————————————

  Everything was gone. Your home, your family, your favorite restaurant. All of it. It was all because of Thanos. All because he wanted the damn infinity stone.

  Random thoughts swirled through you head as you became light headed. You couldn't breathe. It was all too much. You felt weightless. You felt like a feather, just drifting through the open galaxy.

  Your eyelids began to close and everything faded to black.

      

  "Wake," A voice rang through your head and you shot up suddenly, chest heaving. Your eyes began to water as you scanned the room. Who the hell were these people?

   You shuffled back slightly, nearly falling off the table you currently rested on. Your heart was racing as tears began to well in your eyes.

    The bottom of your floor length dress was tattered and torn. The bodice, which was outlined with metal for support and some protection, was sticking out at different angles.

    Your best friend had given you that dress as a birthday gift. And now? It was ruined. They had died on Asgard, along with your family.

    "Y/N," A voice spoke from behind you, causing you to turn towards it. You spotted Thor, who was currently seated on a bench behind you.

    "Thor? You're alive!" You exclaimed, then realized that you were in a random ship filled with random people, "Who are they?"

    Thor shrugged, "Why don't you ask them? They explain it much more creatively."

    You turn to them, studying them each. A raccoon. A tree. A woman who was currently staring at Thor. A man with... red tattoos? A woman with antennas. And finally, a man who was currently staring you in the eyes.

  The man smiled softly at you, causing you to relax a bit. Your grip on the table loosened as you returned the gaze. You couldn't take your eyes off of him.

  "Peter Quill. But most people know me as Star-Lord," He leans against a shelf, causing it to come crashing down shortly after.

    A small laugh escaped your lips, "Who are you guys? Where am I?"

    "I am Groot," The tree says, his gameboy resting at his side.

   "I'm Y/N," You respond.

    Peter stands the shelf up on its side on the floor, taking a few steps towards you, "We're The Guardians of The Galaxy. The fluffy rabbit here is Rocket. Careful, he will steal. Over there in the Green is Mantis. Don't let her touch you if you have any secrets. Thor's not so secret admirer is Gamora. Big man is Drax. And this," He gestures to the ship, "Is home. For us."

You looked around the interior of the ship, "It's... nice. Really."

    Peter nods, slapping the side of it, then pointing to a stereo. Inside was a small cassette, labeled 'My Awesome Mixtape Vol. 2', "This is my pride and joy."

    You nod, "Any good songs?"

     He smiles, nodding eagerly, "Yeah, great songs. The best."

    "Maybe I could listen-" You were cut off by Thor rising out of his seat, grumbling, "We're not here to socialize, Y/N. We have places to be."

    "What places?" You question, "I never signed up for any of this."

     "We need to do this. For Asgard," He says with a sigh, rubbing his chin.

      You bow your head, singing your legs so you now sat on the table, "What can I do?"

    "I'm sending you down to Earth. I have some friends there that can  help you. You just need to be somewhere safe," Thor explains, "Ready?"

       "Hold on. I didn't agree to your proclamation. You may know this people but I don't," You hiss, slipping off the table all together, nearly tumbling to the ground. You let out a cry, clutching your knee. When you pulled your hand away, you saw blood oozing down your arm.

         Peter came to stand beside you, "You're hurt."

       Rocket slaps a hand to his head, "She has eyes, Quill."

        A frown appears on his face, "I'm gonna get you back on that table, alright?"

       You nod, your eyes screwed shut as the pain travels further down your leg. You inhale sharply as Peter helps you back onto the table, placing his arms under your shoulders and lifting you up, setting you down gently.

      It was then that you realized how close you were. You swallowed the bile rising in your throat and mumbled, "Thank you."

       Peter then turns to Thor, "She can't travel if she's injured. Hell, she can barely walk. If it's alright with her, she can stay here until she recuperates."

       He clenches his teeth, "We have doctors on Earth who can actually help her. Come on, Y/N, I'll help you."

       "No."

       Thor's brows furrow, "No? What do you mean? You've always wanted to go to Earth!"

       "He offered. I'm staying. I'm old enough to make my own decisions. I don't know when you got it in your head that you control what I do- but it ends now. I make my own choices."

       Rocket snickers, "I like 'er."

    "If that's how it is," He frowns, "Then so be it. I guess I'll avenge Asgard myself."

      You shrug, "Who said I can't help out from up here? Hmm? I'm sure I can do something. Whether that's mopping the floor or doing something more meaningful."

       Gamora lets out a small laugh, "The floor is dirty. Peter never wipes his feet when he comes in."

       "Gamora..." He says in a hushed tone, pursing his lips, "You said you wouldn't tell anyone..."

        "We all knew it was you, Quill," Rocket cackles, "You have tiny little man feet."

         Peter blushes, "I don't have tiny little man feet!"

       "Ask the real man," Drax says, "He's has muscles."

      "I have muscles!" Peter protests, lifting up the arm of his shirt.

      You scanned his arms. He did have muscles. They weren't overly large like Thor's- and they weren't small like one of your old friends. They were... nice. Really nice. Nice to look at. You tried to look away- but you physically couldn't.

       "Eh," Rocket says, "I stand by what I said earlier. Yer one sandwich 'way from bein' fat."

       "I don't think you are," You say meekly, causing Peter to smile and say thank you."

        "So, you're really staying?" Thor asks bitterly, already knowing the answer. He wished he wouldn't have asked.

       "Yes," You answered, then turned to Peter, who was currently leaning against the table, "Do you guys have anything I could use to bandage his up?"

      "I'll help you with it. It looks deep. You may need some stitches," He replies, grabbing a med kit from above you.

       "Peter, let me handle the stitches. Last time you gave someone stitches, you had to get some, too."

       He sighed, "But I know how to do t now!"

      Gamora shakes her head, "You're not supposed to poke yourself with the needle!"

       "How was I supposed to know that?" He questions, crossing his arms.

       She groans, "I quit."

       "You can't quit. We're in space."

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        As you and The Guardians headed to a planet that you didn't quite remember the name of, you sat quietly on the table.

       Peter has began to clean your wound, letting out a sigh of relief when he saw that the cut wasn't as deep as he had thought, "You don't need stitches, but this is gonna stick like a mother."

      The word "mother" made your heart sink. It reminded you of the family you had lost during the attack. You looked away from where Peter kneeled on the floor, tending to your knee.

      He had been right. It did sting like a mother. You let out a cry as he began to disinfect it, applying alcohol.

       You squirmed, gripping the table as tight as possible.

        He pauses momentarily, setting the supplies down on the floor beside him and walking over to the stereo, pressing play, "Hope this'll distract you."

       Listen, baby. Ain't no mountain high, ain't no valley low. Ain't no river wide enough, baby.

      You smiled at the lyrics. It eased the tension a bit and you loosened your grip on the table slightly.

If you need me, call me. No matter where you are, no matter how far.

  

       You let out a cry as Peter reached a sensitive area on your knee, once again gripping the table. Your eyes were screwed shut.

       In an effort to lighten up the mood, he sang along, "Don't worry baby. Just call my name, I'll be there in a hurry. You don't have to worry!"

       A smile grew on your face as you looked down at him, mouthing a thank you as he finally put the alcohol away.

      Although the majority of the pain had stopped, he continued to sing along, "Cause Baby there ain't no mountain high enough! Ain't no valley low enough! Ain't no river wide enough- to keep me from getting to you, baby."

       You looked up at you through his eyelashes with a classic smile,

       "Remember the day I set you free? I told ya you could always count on me! From that day on, I made a vow. I'll be there when you want me- someway, somehow."

       He repeated the chorus once more, this time as he wrapped a bandage around your knee, securing it a moment later while singing, "Oh no, darlin'. If you're ever in trouble, I'll be there on the double. Just send for me!"

      You let out a small laugh as he stands and takes your hands in his, gently rocking from side to side

      You gazed into one another's eyes as the song continued to play in the background.

       My love is alive, way down in my heart. Although we are miles apart, If you ever need a helping hand, I'll be there on the double- Just as fast as I can!

    Ain't no mountain high enough! Ain't no valley low enough! Ain't no river wide enough! To keep me from getting to you-

      "Babe," Peter finished, leaning forwards to take yours lips in his own. You wrap yours arms around his neck, pulling him closer as your legs wrap around his, your knee still aching.

       He rests a hand below your upper thigh, deepening the kiss as "Brandy" began to play.

       Your hand squeezed his upper arm, and you briefly pulled away, "All muscle."

      He smirked and let out a breathy laugh before pressing his lips to yours, one hand now resting on the back of your hand, tangling in your hair.

You could get used to this.

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

Out Of The Woods (1/?)

This multi chap fic has been one that I've wanted to write for a while. I'm hoping to connect a few loose ends, since my series is getting closer to the end. Don't worry, I still got a couple of fics left in me. I'd love to thank @xerxezra whose conversations with me are always inspirational. I'd also like to thank @dorkydisappointment whose writing got my creative juice flowing.

References to the woman in the journal is from What You Found Amongst The Pages.

In this fic the reader tries to uncover the mystery of the artist behind Zeta-7s portrait.

__________________

Chapter 1: A Glimpse Of The Past

For some time, Rick had been looking forward to taking you here; to the middle of nowhere, in the northwest, where enormous pine trees lined the roads, and evergreens could be found as far as the eye could see. Initially, you weren't sure what you were expecting. A Bob Ross worthy getaway perhaps? Maybe, though unlike the paintings done on PBS, there were gas stations and convenience stores which broke the harmony of trees, roads, and sky; as few and far between they were.

The drive itself was fantastic, and the surrounding area was nice, though you had little to no cell phone reception. And since you couldn't pass the time exploring the weird parts of Reddit, you stared out the window while Zeta-7 sang along to silly travel tunes; the kind that kids would enjoy, but we're actually music recommendations from Tall Morty; another good Rick. You giggled when he sang ‘He had high apple pie, in the sky hopes’, but he didn't seem to mind, he was excited.

However, you were curious as to why Google maps couldn't find the address to the place you two were going to, but Rick seemed to know the directions. Honestly, as long as it wasn't like anything you'd saw in Gravity Falls, then it was going to be fine.

____________

“W-we're here.”

Nope. This couldn't be right. Jumping out of the passenger's seat, you were taken aback and a bit creeped out by the amount of moose statues and decorations which surrounded the place as though to protect it. Could they be part of the security system perhaps? And if they were, was it generally safe to even be here?

“We are? Really?”

“Y-you bet.”

Before your thoughts ran away with the idea, you turned towards him. “Rick, do you need any help with the luggage?”

Opening a portal, he stepped through carrying all the luggage, then reappeared in front of you a few seconds later. “No, it's - I already took care if it.”

It was just like him to be one step ahead of you. How unfair. “Rick, I could've helped you know. I'd hate for you to hurt yourself.”

“True,” he admitted matter of factly. “but if I didn't do it, then I couldn't d-do this.”

To which he then took your hand and pressed a soft kiss on it. “I-I needed to make sure you had a warm hand t-to hold. It's cooler out here th-then it is back home. ”

You gave him a playful shove in return, which made him laugh wholeheartedly before he went on explaining the brief history of this place all the while giving your hand a light squeeze.

The moose lodge, as it was named, looked more like a tacky cabin at the edge of the woods instead of the forgotten shack amidst a family of trees. It was located almost two hours away from the nearest town, and the easiest way to get there was by taking a single dirt road right off the state road twenty miles back; both of you agreed that using his portal gun would've been more convenient. The house itself used to belong to an old colleague of his, but Rick bought it a few decades ago and used it when he wanted to get away from the city, and think about life and so forth; as well as paint. Walking up the steps, he commented, “I-I know it's not much,” unlocking the front door with a moose-shaped key. “but I hope y-you'll like it.”

You really didn't want to tell him that the place looked like a tourist trap, but he stood there, waiting for your approval, nibbling on his bottom lip.

Oh, you didn't like the overwhelming amount of moose decorations, but you smiled nonetheless. “I'm sure I will. I mean, I guess I didn't know what I was expecting, but at least it will be peaceful. Right?”

“Th-that's right.”

Whatever opinions you held about the exterior design, the interior was a different story. When he opened the door, your senses were invaded by the scent of old paint and aged wood, with hints of pine and decades-old smoke. Following right after him, you gasped at the sight of the walls; each inch of wall space covered with paintings. There were scenes and landscapes, hidden figures in the brush, creatures you couldn't begin to describe, flowers, trees, and anything which had and might still be alive; his own private art gallery. With a few clicks on his phone, the curtains opened up, allowing the light to chase away the shadows.

And when the light settled on a particular painting, you walked past him, towards the furthest wall, nearest to the master bedroom, where a large painting hung above the fireplace; it was a portrait of him, done in the romanticism style. “Oh my God. Rick, that's…. did you paint that? I can't believe it, it's amazing.”

“N-n-no, I didn't paint th-that one, but I-I wish I did.”

You found it hard to believe because it captured his essence so perfectly. It was of his form illuminated by the mid-afternoon light, kneeling next to a flowerbed, holding an unopened rose, kissing it gently as though to bless it. His hands were covered in dirt, and his loose fitted, round-collared shirt allowed for a few chest hairs to peek out. As always, when he was around his plants, he was in this trance-like, reverent state; the quintessence of his being; peaceful and alluring in the fact that he didn't seem so broken. The closer you stood to this work of art, the more you felt as though you were staring at a historical figure rather than a throwback photo of your boyfriend.

The posture featured you'd seen him do on multiple occasions, when he took a moment to meditate, appreciating the beauty of life, and all once, you were envious of the one who got to see him this way, taking their sweet time, appreciating the inner beauty of this soft, tender, but complex man. It also reminded you that Zeta-7 had been young once, and handsome even though he thought otherwise. Touching your shoulder lightly, he sighed. “I-I know. Time hasn't been kind t-t-to me.”

“What are you talking about? You look great, but I can't believe this is the first time I'm seeing this. It's gorgeous.”

“Gee, that's - th-thank you.”

“When was this done? You look so young there.”

“Hohoho, not - not that young. It um - it was painted a-about thirty years ago, by a very good friend of-of mine.”

A good friend? Rick didn't have many good friends. “Were they an artist?” you wondered.

Scratching the back of his neck, he avoided your gaze. “While she'd never claim t-t-to be, I thought she was. I um - why don't y-you make yourself comfortable while I make us s-something t-to eat.”

She? You had many other questions you wanted to ask, but knowing him and how he changed the subject, it seemed that that was the end of that; for now. “Okay,” you acquiesced, determined to bring it up at the first opportunity. “but can I pick any room I want?”

“Out of the two bedrooms? Sure g-go ahead.”

__________________

After a simple dinner, you two went for a walk. There was a slight chill in the air, but thankfully you had a sweater and a warm hand to hold as you two followed the trail. You were glad to find that you were in better shape than you had anticipated, but that's what adventuring with a mad scientist will do. Here and there he found mushrooms which he took note of to return for later, and at some point, you climbed a tree, much to his disbelief, and teased him to come after you; he did, but you received a scolding which he then after profusely apologized for.

Later, after returning, you delighted in a warm bath and thought it would be a good time to unpack. Rick had disappeared somewhere around this time, which made you wonder if he had an underground lab here. Casually, you walked past the living room, with no intention of stopping but that larger than life painting caught your eye again. Unlike the other paintings along the walls, there was no artist signature. Hmm, what a tease the artist must've been.

In comparison, Rick hadn't changed very much over the years, except for the wrinkles of course and well his hair used to be darker. Still, you couldn't help but stare at that painting, envious of this old friend of his he had mentioned. Who was she? Was she beautiful? Did she love him too?

You thought more about it as you unpacked your stuff in the small bedroom next to the art room. It wasn't so far fetched to believe that he could've had his fair share of lovers, but then you had yet to see any feminine influences about his house except for a few treasured belongings of his mother. There was the woman from his journal, but he never brought it up and you had never confessed to having invaded his privacy, so you still weren't at liberty to do so. How was it that after all this time, there was still this bloom of mystery about him? Well, because he was humble and reserved, and only shared information which wouldn't hurt him.

Oh well. You'd have to get over it someday, but was it so wrong to be jealous of someone you never met?

TBC