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notquitecanon · 8 months

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Call Me... // Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen's favorite late night nurse, but he's been avoiding your fire escape since an unfortunate accident. You both miss each other just enough for some emotions to slip through the cracks. You don't even know his name, but you'll settle just to know he's alright.

TW: blood, canon typical injuries, kind of hurt comfort, Matt's a self sabotaging martyr as usual, kinda sunshine!reader??? maybe if you squint

Bolded line is from a prompts list from several months ago so I lost the link. If it's yours let me know and I'll link it!

"I haven’t seen you in weeks… I’m worried you’re in another dumpster somewhere. Just call me back…please?" You whispered harshly into the phone’s receiver, burner cell jammed between your ear and shoulder as you fumbled with your keys.

It was true. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen hadn’t graced your apartment in weeks after three months of near nightly visits. At first it was serious stuff, stab wounds and splinted bones. It took two weeks for him to crack a joke. But once that stone cold exterior cracked, it was shattered. He was kind, sweet even. Every few visits, he’d bring by supplies to replenish your kit and, usually, with a bottle of wine in the bag. Emergencies turned to what he called ‘urgencies’- wounds just barely deep enough to justify stitches and dislocated joints. Which then turned into stopping by at the end of his nights for a ‘check up’, where he took advantage of your central heating, warm beverages, and warmer presence. Then, some Yakuza jackass appeared on your doorstep three weeks ago, fortunately your devil hadn’t been far behind. He took care of him, and you figured the thug, now minus fifteen teeth, would have a hard time telling anyone where to find you. Nevertheless, you found the ‘available apartments’ section of the newspaper taped to your seventh floor window. That had been the last night ’the devil’ had paid you a visit.

"Anyways… I guess I'm asking for a sign of life? Something? Please? Bye." You pleaded, voice kinder this time as you managed to finally unlock the door and slip inside. Locking the knob, deadbolt, chain, and newly installed jam that had been mysteriously delivered not too long ago. With a huff, you discarded your keys, and bag in the entry way before delving deeper into your dark apartment, flicking lights on as you went.

"You really need to start locking your windows." A deep voice sounded as you rounded the corned into your living room. Heart jumping to your throat and stomach dropping, you let out a yelp as instinct took over. The familiarity of the voice didn’t register as adrenaline flooded your system.

"SHIT!" You shrieked, flinching backwards so fast that the hallway runner rug caught under your feet, sending you careening into the wall. Without thinking, you put the Yankee’s starting pitcher to shame as you pitched your phone at light speed towards the voice. Of course, the shadow effortlessly caught it.

"Shit!" The intruder mirrored at your fall, and it was then that you realized who it was. As you collected yourself a slew of curses slipped out, looking into the dim living room to find the Devil of Hell’s kitchen slowly rising off the couch, he was already sans black shirt and mask, "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you."

"Yeah, well, mission failed." You muttered, pressing a hand to your chest as if that would still your pounding heart. Slowly, you finished your shuffled into the living room, flicking on the overheads as you went. "Shit, you could have called. Sit back down."

You could have used the heads up, the gash across his chest looked serious, and not in the cute excuse to see each other way ’serious’ had meant last month. He breathed a sarcastic laugh, tossing your phone back to you before producing a shattered burner cell with a… bullet hole?

"You have a funny way of saving my skin when I least expect it." He tried a cheeky smile. You rolled your eyes, picking up your pace as you retrieved your first aid kit from under your kitchen sink, "Consider this a sign of life?"

"A sign of barely alive, more like." You answered, rounding back around the couch to sit across from him. Harshly pulling on a pair of rubber gloves and splaying out an array of supplies both his lap and yours. "You’re unbelievable. Almost a month of no contact and then you just appear and leak blood on my couch."

"I’m sorry." He breathed, face angled to where your knees now touched. You rolled your eyes, ripping into a packet of gauze and setting to work dabbing the blood. And he sounded sorry, pitiful even, looked it to. His unseeing eyes stared straight past you and yet somehow straight through you at the same time, mouth settled in a puppy like frown. He told you once that he was catholic, and you now wandered if that’s why he was so good at looking guilty.

"If it wasn’t for the newspapers, I would have thought you were dead." You drove your point home, with a small voice, too angry to be a whisper and yet too concerned to be a hiss. The evidence of his activities was written across his bare torso in older cuts, new and fading bruises, and a couple of bandages that he’d obviously applied himself, "And you’ve obviously been busy."

"Figured out how the Yakuza found you. Handled it. Didn’t want to lead anyone else back here." His explanation was strained, pushed through gritted teeth as you applied antiseptic to the largest, freshest gash. You cooed small apologies, irritated as you were with the vigilante, you hated being the source of his pain. You picked up a suture kit, quickly threading the needle.

"Well, as far as excuses go, that’s not the worst." You muttered, half joking and half touched he’d go through this for you. You’d known he was a walking martyr from the moment you’d met him, but still. He’d taken the beatings so you’d sleep safe.

That was something else, "Lean back, gotta stitch you up."

He complied as you stood, using your shoulder to nudge the floor lamp so the light was better for you. Even then, you position on the coffee table wasn't cutting it as leaning forward cast a shadow over his chest. Neither was kneeling in front of him, as the gash was too far up his chest for your position to be adequate. You muttered a quick apology as you flitted around him, trying to find the best place to plant yourself. Beside him on the couch might work, but you’d be straining to hold yourself up at that angle and keep your hands steady.

Bloody-knuckled hands found your waist with amazing precision for a blind man, easily lifting you and placing you over one thigh after he spread his legs a bit wider. He held you steady, angling his eyes to the ceiling to give you the broadest view of his chest. One of your knees pressed into the couch cushion between his legs and the other pressed into the outside of his thigh, caging the his black-clad thigh between your own like a seat. If your weight bothered him, he gave no indication. He did however turn his ear ever so slightly towards you and smirk ever so devilishly, "How’s that?"

"Very convenient, thanks." You forced your voice to be flat instead of the breathlessness you felt. Stupid charming vigilante. To his credit, it gave you the perfect access without blocking the light. And if you got to feel ever twitch of his insanely muscular thigh between yours? Added benefit. The devil, even bruised and bleeding, was insanely warm and smelled like something out of a terribly sinful romance novel. The manly small of musk and sweat should have been revolting, but the way it mixed with a fading aftershave would have been distracting if you weren’t so focused on the drip of crimson down his toned abdomen. Before your train of thought could derail again, you gave a quiet warning watching your patient steel himself before you began running the needle and thread through the torn skin. Other than an initial hiss and the clenching of his fists against your waist, he went silent as you worked.

The two of you sat in an almost tense silence. He could feel how close your face was to his chest, the waves of breaths washing over his skin, the smell of shampoo in your hair faint enough to know you’d put off washing it, the sound of your heartbeat slowing back down after he’d gotten you excited, the slight sound of your teeth worrying the inside of your lip. He knew he shouldn't be here, Claire could have patched him up, probably would have if he asked really nicely. He probably could have if he really tried, but he’d just missed you. Between Fisk and the Hand and the law firm… everything was messy. You were still simple and sweet and far more caring than he thought he deserved, a balm just to be near you.

"Could you talk to me?" He asked, so quietly you almost missed it in your focus. You tied off another knot, seeing him wince.

"Hmm?" You hummed, pausing to look up from the half stitched wound. His eyes lowered to your face, his clenched hands at your waist loosening to rub the fabric of your shirt between his fingers. You always wore such soft things, he wondered if you’d be so soft underneath. You took opportunity in the pause to wipe some of the blood from his skin.

"I’ve missed your voice, even if you want to yell at me or be upset with me, just let me hear it." His voice was like a prayer, so sincere it made you shift on his leg. What was in the holy water at his church?

"I’m not going to yell at you, honey. I’m not going to kick a man when he’s stabbed." You shook your head, rearranging yourself to get that optimal view again, grazing a gloved finger over a purple bruise on his ribs, "Besides, someone beat me to it."

He chuckled at the lame joke, leaning his head back against the back of the couch again as you began stitching once more. Instead of scolding him, you caught him up on all the details and minor drama that he’d missed over the last few weeks. The funny things and annoyances from work, things your family had sent you, what your friends had been up to, your opinion on current happenings in the city. He listened to you like it was the most interesting thing he’d heard all year, chiming in with questions and quips of his own. You’d missed his voice too, not that you’d boost his ego by telling him that.

"There." You finally finished, tying the last stitch and taping a bandage over it. The vigilante under you didn’t make a move to leave, instead his hands kept you still on his lap. You breathed a laugh, moving on to everything else. You removed the old bandages, giving half healed wounds a thorough cleaning. You applied comical Disney bandaids to the more minor cuts on his hands and were even brazen enough to kiss his split knuckles. The vigilante seemed to preen under you attention as you cleaned and applied Vaseline to his busted lip. As if it was too good to be true, his lip twitched downwards as his eye brows furrowed. His face angled away from yours, his unseeing eyes falling on the window he’d come through.

"You know, the burner phone's been broken for two weeks now. Took the bullet not too long after the yakuza paid you a visit. Couldn't bring myself to throw it away, a little piece of you." He admitted, a pitiful smile twitched up before pulling downward again. He groaned, starting to shift you off his lap, “I shouldn’t be here, it’s not right.”

You allowed yourself to fall to the cushion beside him, but snatched the black shirt away from him before he could make a move for it. He’d been too busy letting his hands linger on your waist.

“Why not?” You asked sternly, tucking the shirt behind your back as if the vigilante in front of you couldn't probably drop you six ways to Tuesday if he wanted to. Not that he could ever consider raising a hand to you, “You got hurt, I patch you up. Seems right to me.”

The devil tensed, first leaning away and then leaning really close. His freshly bandaged fingers tapped your knee as if to emphasize his point, “I don’t deserve this kindness. And even if I did, if I could, if I was good, I would stop coming here so you could live in peace.”

You were a silent for a moment, wanting to make sure your response was exactly how you wanted it to come across.

“The third time you fell through my window, you told me that if I ever wanted to be left alone, all I’d need to do was change the candle I keep by the window.” You recounted his words. You hadn’t known about his senses at the time, he was still cryptic and mysterious. But you’d never changed the candle, buying new ones of the same scent when it would burn out, “You warned me what might happen. You gave me an out, one that I continuously chose to ignore. You did everything in your power to protect me when that choice had consequences. That was good, because you are good. And good people deserve kindness. You put too much on yourself, honey.”

As you spoke, you laid your hand over his on your knee, giving it a slight squeeze to convey your own point. The crimefighter listened to your voice, your heartbeat, the quickness of your breath, finding no deceit and even if he didn’t believe you words, it was nice to hear them. Your kindness washed over him, letting him relax for just a second before he shook his head, laughing sarcastically to deflect the dangerously sappy emotions you stirred. You called him honey like it was his name, and part of him wondered that if you knew his name if you would still call him honey.

“You barely know me, sweetheart.”

His own nickname slipped out by accident, usually just something he called you in his head when he allowed fantasies about telling you everything, coming home to you as the vigilante and the lawyer, seeing just how far your good grace could take him. His lips quirked up in time with the uptick of your pulse and the way your breath caught for a moment.

“I know enough to know you deserve some good.” You whispered earnestly, reaching up to graze the Star Wars bandaid you’d stuck across his the cut on his cheekbone. Almost instinctively, he leaned into the touch. You smiled softly, maybe you’d both missed each other a bit. The combined concern for the other and the time between his last visit making you both a little sappy, or at least more honest about it, So, you breathed a laugh, making another lame joke just to earn one of those chuckles you loved so much, “Besides, I know you well enough to have your blood on my hands.”

But he didn’t laugh, instead, he pulled his face from your palm, his own bandaged hands taking your bloodied gloved hands in his own. Gently, he pressed your hands together, your loose fists creating almost heart like shape as he pressed reverent kisses to each bloody hand. The vigilante was kind always, flirty and joking, occasionally flirtations bordering on something else. But this? This was different, it was new. Intimate. You’d almost feel like a voyeur for watching the scene if it you weren’t playing a starring role. Your mind flashed to those romance novels you’d thought of earlier, this put all of them to shame. So much so that your hands started trembling against his lips.

He held them tighter, but not in a constrictive, cage like way. More in a ‘let me hold you together’ kind of way before gently peeling the dirty gloves off and, again, kissing your clean hands underneath. His face angled to yours, nothing but sincerity lacing his features.

"You know my blood better than my own heart does.”

“God…” You whispered, letting your head fall against his shoulder, your nose nudging his collarbone and your eye lashes fluttering against his neck. His stubbled cheek fell to the crown of your head. You cleared your throat again, "I know your blood, but not your name. For someone I care so much about, that’s kind of sad.”

It was the first time you’d ever admitted it out loud in such certain words. The vigilante ran gentle hands up and down your arms, silent as a million thoughts went through his head. You heart was racing, not from lying, but in anticipation. Despite your racing pulse, you seemed almost totally at ease with you skin against his, one of your hands pressed to a bandage on his ribs and the other holding purchase at the waistline of his black pants. Nothing sexual, just the perfect place for your soft hand to land.

Despite the million thoughts, he really had two options. Keep his secret, and keep you at an arms length, to keep things sweet and simple and not too deep. Or. Let you in a little deeper, he'd swim oceans to keep you afloat. Enjoy your sweetness, even if things were complicated. He kept still, holding you as gently as you had touched him, a promise to himself that he could be gentle and soft, just as he could be lethal and ruthless. Two sides of a balanced scale.

Your heart had slowed down again, the soothing motion of his hands on your arm lulling you. You had been worried about his response. You’re confession had gotten too real, you were worried he’d jump out the window and disappear again. And you’d be left with nothing but bloody gloves and the thought that maybe you’d just imagined the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

"Matt.” His voice was quiet, just barely above a whisper, “You can call me Matt. Just don’t stop calling me."

#matt murdock x reader #Daredevil x reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil x you #daredevil x female reader #matt murdock x y/n

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dronebiscuitbat · 2 months

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Give Me a Reason: Chapter 4 - "Tessa"

Uzi came home from school that day exhausted, both socially and physically. And was ready to jump for joy when she realized her dad was still at work. Leaving her to have the house to herself. Although she shouldn't have been been expecting anything different, Khan almost lived at his job; installing security systems for JCJenson.

The rest of her classes were normal, not counting her Computer Literacy class which she shared with N and he'd done what he'd done all day, sit right next to her and just… talk. Sometimes she didn't even have to reply and he'd still take it as an answer and keep talking to her. It should have been annoying, but it never felt that way.

But even though it wasn't annoying, it did drain her social battery to the point that it was empty, and now all she wanted to do was rot in her room watching anime. Plus… she had something squirreled away for when she had the house to herself.

She threw her backpack down by the door and ran at a dead sprint to her bedroom, where she kicked off her boots and hoodie and threw herself onto her bed with a content sigh. Although it was broken by a loud mewl, Salem; who had been taking a nap on her bed, had been interrupted and wasn't exactly happy about it.

“Sorry buddy, just had a long day.” She reached up to scratched the black cat's chin and he purred, seeming to accept it as an apology, he licked her face with his scratchy tongue and she immediately grumbled and jerked away.

“Ew! Sandpaper licks!” She yelped to herself and lifted the cat up in her hands, dangling him in front of her face before she sighed and buried her face into his fluffy underbelly and sighed. Salem didn't react in the slightest, only bleped.

“You know what sounds good right now buddy?” She pulled back and asked him, a smirk on her face as she shook him gently.

“Breaking into my stash, hell yeah.” She stood up and sat the poor cat down, who only returned to his previous activity; napping.

She looked around like she was afraid someone was watching before heading over to her desk and opening the bottom drawer, at first glance, it was full of nothing but old folders and sketchbooks, but a quick brush of her hand reveled that the drawer had a false bottom, that she quickly removed and pulled out a baggie of dried, green leaves, a lighter and material to roll a blunt.

A gift for herself, bought with allowance she'd gotten from her dad. She'd been rationing it all summer, knowing she'd need it way more during the school year and now she had no more reason to wait.

It didn't take long for her to roll up the paper into a blunt and light it up, reveling in the smell that permeated her room almost immediately, she stuck it in her mouth and took a huff, some of the static that had been building in her head all day dissipated as she gave a relaxed sigh.

Now, what was the best thing to watch while high…?

Meanwhile…

Tessa’s car pulled into the front of the school exactly fifteen minutes after it ended, it was a dark grey, like wet slate, and a pristine little BMW sedan that had never once been damaged.

“Tessa!” N gave her a wave as he came up to the passenger window before opening the door, throwing himself clumsily onto the plush leather of the seats, a feminine, accented voice giggled at his entrance.

“Have a good first day then?” The woman driving the vehicle asked, she was a young thing, 23, with shining green eyes and long brown hair held in two separate small pigtails near the front and a proper bun in the back, right now, she was dressed in her work attire, a white labcoat partly stained with something unknown and a green dress shirt underneath. Black slacks and weathered, black leather boots.

“Yeah! I mean… I got a little lost in the halls. But I met someone who was really nice! She let me sit beside her and ramble! Oh! And she really liked your tuna sandwich! And! She let me borrow a-” He suddenly stopped his excited talking, his eyes going wide as he realized.

“Aww biscuits! I forgot to give Uzi her pencil back…”

Tessa threw her head back and laughed, before shaking her head and beginning to pull out from in front of the school.

“Uzi? Like… the little submachine pistol?”

“Mmhm! She's cool, she has purple hair!” N smile got wider as he framed his face with balled fists. An energy which seemed to bleed into the woman driving, because her smile grew as well.

“You think she's pretty don't you?” She asked, smirking while lifting one brow up, driving through the small town of Copper, it used to be a mining town, but now it was the home of one of many JCJenson appliance factories.

“T-Tessa!” N's face filled with blush his eyes growing wide as he suddenly gripped the seat underneath him.

“What? Do you?” Tessa’s smirk grew wider, as he voice took on a teasing tone, if anything his blush grew worse as he leaned forward, his hands moving forward to clutch the air in front of him.

“I-I, No! We've only just met! Don't do that!”

“Oh but you were blushing! You have a little crush? On your first day?” Tessa loved her little brother, she did, but lightly teasing him was also something she took great joy in, he was always so animated with everything he did.

“No! Tessa stop that! I don't have a crush on her! I just thought her hair and piercings looked cool!” He crossed his arms and looked away from her while his blush cooled.

“Oh I know, Nathaniel! I'm just teasing you!”

N grumbled, while he knew that, he didn't really appreciate it, how could he have a crush on someone he just met? That was weird wasn't it? Sure, he thought her hair was pretty and her laugh was fun, but those were so… shallow. He was more into personalities, not any kind of physical attribute.

Tessa made a left, off the main road and onto a gravel one, leading into a wooded, secluded area, with it being the middle of spring, the trees all along the long driveway were in full bloom, little white flowers breaking up the hues of greens.

N always liked this part of the property the best, it still held all of Copper's natural beauty, instead of the perfectly manicured hedges and color coordinated flowers of the manors garden. Speaking of…

Tessa stopped in front of a huge wrought iron gate, the only entrance to the tall, spiked fence that led to the rest of the property, Tessa leaned out of the window to press a button on a large stone pillar.

“It's me, let me in.” She sounded tired already, but the voice on the other side was about to add to it.

“Mrs. Elliot requires all passengers to be acounted for, young master Tessa.”

“Oh for- it's Nathan! He lives here!”

The voice on the other end didn't respond, but the gate did open. She sighed and N just looked at her sheepishly.

“You know Mr. And Mrs. Elliot only want our safety, that's just them keeping everyone safe.”

“From what, were not in the big city anymore, I don't think anyone even knows this place exists.”

He didn't have an answer for that, so he just rested his elbow on the door and watched out the window as the Elliot Manor came into view.

The entire building was painted white, with plenty of windows in a style that portrayed it's age, there was a fancy, two door garage on the bottom floor, a fountain and a garden both in the front and in the back. The driveway went from gravel to newly paved cobbled road, which Tessa went over to pull into the garage.

“Alright, we're home!”

Next ->

#murder drones #uzi doorman #serial designation n #murder drones tessa #nuzi #biscuitbites #give me a reason #I meant to post this last night but I fell asleep #we meet Tessa #slight drug use #it's weed

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idontknowreallywhy · 28 days

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75-3

Final part of this fluffy nonsense. Yea it’s mildly unhinged… but once the idea of Scott tormenting his offspring by being outrageous took me… well… who am I to argue?

Again a warning for old people being romantic ;) (at what point do I need to make this Teen rating on AO3? Perhaps it has crossed that line with all this insinuation 😏)

Part 1 / Part 2

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

Kala Patthar was one of their favourites.

It was objectively a beautiful sunrise, of course. But there were other reasons that wouldn’t have made it into the guidebook.

By 2077 the Tracy villa and all of its many architecturally improbable extensions was teeming with life. And trip hazards. If there wasn’t a bum-shuffling toddler lying in wait for the unwary around every corner it would be one of the multitude of domestic animals that had begun to take over in the years since Grandpa Jeff uttered the immortal words “Aww I’m sure a couple of kittens or a bunny rabbit wouldn’t hurt…”

Or perhaps the unsuspecting might fall foul of a horde of stampeding kindergarteners cackling over some nefarious plan to make the lives of the Tracy adults just that little bit more Interesting this morning.

Or worse, TEENAGERS. Several of these had seemingly sprung from nowhere to lurk moodily in doorways, complain about adult incompetence, monopolise the holoscreen and consume a significant chunk of the Tracy fortune in snack form.

Suffice to say, it was busy. And with apparent responsibility for two of the grouchy teenagers, the most devious of the kindergarteners and the loudest of the toddlers, Scott and his long suffering wife had their hands full. And their brains. Chances to escape grew scarce and any idea of a semblance of privacy anywhere on the Island was absolutely laughable. Most trips off-island had become taxi journeys for a horde of offspring (theirs or a sibling’s… it mattered little) desperate to see “the real world”. Such was the life of a parent. They wouldn’t have changed it for anything. And yet.

And yet.

It was on Scott’s 45th birthday that, doubtless to enable some grand surprise-party-esque scheme in his absence, Virgil had insisted on the weary pair leaving the island for a few hours to, in his words “just do something, anything, as long as it is somewhere else”. And so they’d taken off in One and set a course for the next impressive sunrise they could make it in time for - the one reflected off the highest mountain on the planet, best viewed hovering a few thousand feet above the smaller peak of Kala Patthar.

Despite the close proximity of the new co-pilot seat, it had quickly became clear that Thunderbird One was just too shouty for any kind of conversation to take place without yelling oneself hoarse or using the IR comms system. As that wasn’t always ideal for training and so on, Brains had installed small headsets so the two pilots could communicate privately.

Of course a truly private conversation was a rare treat and Scott had taken full advantage of that during the half hour flight to their destination. As it turned out, he had a lot of ideas about how they might spend their free morning and had run them by her in some detail.

By the time they arrived she was wound so very tightly she’d leapt over the top of the seat before he’d even got the autopilot engaged. It had been a more than little hairy for a moment, albeit they both dissolved into hysterics as soon as it was clear One wasn’t about to become an unexplained fireball to add to the mystique of the mountain range below them.

Scott smiled to himself at the memory. Perhaps not their most responsible hour… In any case, the mutual near death experience had led to child five’s eventual appearance… so all’s well…

This morning, the journey was necessarily longer and the conversation perhaps a little more suitable-for-all-audiences. But he treasured it all the same. The sound of her voice never failed to soothe the uncertain, scratchy parts of his soul. Together, things just made more sense.

One’s cheerful song filled the rest of his hearing and everything was right with the world. Without travelling a whisker over Mach 7 they reached the Himalayas well before dawn managed to. After ensuring the autopilot would do the business this time (see, he could learn), Scott pushed back the shoulder guards, leaned around and reached back to grasp his wife’s hand.

“Right, give me a second.” She took a breath and steadied herself before reaching a foot tentatively forwards towards the footplate. She was a little less sure of her step these days, her famously steady hand shaking a little within their white knuckled grip on each other. He worried about that, the same way he worried that she was a little slower, a little thinner.

A little more fragile.

But then, he supposed, so was he.

If she slipped, could he still pull her up? He thought so, he was still lifting rather more in the gym than his medic-approved fitness plan recommended. But even then, the entirety of her body weight dangling by one arm would likely be… bad… for her arthritic shoulder.

He twisted more and reached around with his other arm to catch her round the waist. His back complained a little. He ignored it. Mostly. At least, he didn’t groan out loud. You’re not old until it’s audible.

Perhaps at some point the two of them would have to admit this was a ridiculous thing for a couple of their age to be doing and find a park bench to sit on to watch the sunrise like all the normal, sensible OAPs. But as she finally made it around to the front, fell into his lap and snuggled against his shoulder he thanked whoever might be listening that today was not that day. They had never really achieved normal or sensible so it seemed a little late to start pretending now.

His arms settled around her as naturally as they always had. He buried his face in her hair, as silver now as his own had been for the last twenty years, but the scent that surrounded him was the same as the first day he’d held her.

A shaft of gold burst over the horizon and bathed them in its warmth. They both knew full well the ship was so highly insulated that the internal temperature sensor wouldn’t even have flickered but they’d both swear they felt it even so.

These days they appreciated the unique view a little more. For a few minutes at least.

She’d obviously been pondering the same memories he had as, with a little huff of mirth she raised an arm to point out one of the shadowy outcrops below.

“You know… it must be thirty years to the day since I almost made you nosedive into that particularly pointy hunk of rock.”

“I believe you’re right…” He couldn’t resist a little smirk “… although it didn’t end so badly as I recall… happy birthday to me.”

She looked up at him. He looked back. The eye twinkling thing was involuntary, it really was. Apparently she thought otherwise and whacked him on the chest.

“Stop that train of thought right there, old man, I’m not as agile as I was.”

He pouted. She raised an eyebrow. He finally gave into the desire to stroke it softly and murmured:

“Can’t help it, you being so pretty and all.”

She blushed then, which made everything ten times worse and they forgot about the sunrise for a while.

As if summoned by the earlier conversation, the resulting and now very much grown-up child in question appeared on the comm but neither of them noticed Mal’s hologram pop up until the horrified squawk transported Scott immediately back to Alan’s teenage years.

“Dad, what the hell are you doing in Kathma… MOM! DAAAAD! Aaaaaggggghhhh my eyessss. You can’t DO that in a Thunderbird, it should be illegal!”

She giggled. Scott’s lip quirked. Apparently the near completion of his third decade had not entirely exorcised the angst-ridden whine. Scott refused to lift his eyes from her face but winked and dropped his voice into the tone that still made all but one of his children jump to attention:

“Do what, exactly, Malcolm?”

There was a pause, before the whine intensified in another direction:

“Uncle Virgil! Dad and Mom are… are… well… SMOOCHING in One and it’s inappropriate and… and unhygienic, please tell him to stop.”

A familiar rumbling laugh could be heard retreating in the background as his brother firmly refused to get involved. Uncle Gordon, however, clearly saw an opportunity to broaden the education of his clearly-far-too-sheltered 29 year old nephew:

“I’d wager he’s done a lot worse than that young Mallie. Oh the stories that little silver firework could tell…”

“That’s no way to talk about your sister in law.” John interjected.

Scott snorted and his wife cackled.

“Don’t call me Mallie. And ugh, I did NOT need that mental image!”

It would have been a waste not to fully appreciate his son’s tormented facial expression and he would never be fully able to turn down the chance to show Gordon how it was done. Thus Scott kissed his beloved on the nose then finally looked up at the hologram with a smirk:

“Just as well for you really, son, else you would not have existed.”

The jaw drop was most pleasing. As was the subsequent gulping fish impression.

“That… that is not the sort of thing a person needs to know about… himself.”

“I didn’t know you were such a bashful butterfly, Marshmallow.” It seemed his mother was unable to resist a little light teasing of her own - the deployment of the childhood nickname a low blow.

“I’m not! It’s just… at your age… it’s not safe! I bet you have no safety harnesses! One is more risky than the others. What about your heart, Dad?”

A line had been crossed. Nobody made reference to that little… incident… and got away with it. Particularly when they were the prime suspect in yesterday’s washbasin-lizard prank that had probably put more strain on the senior Tracy heart than any more pleasurable pursuits could inflict.

Revenge could take so many forms…

“I’ve ravished your mother in plenty more dangerous places, Malcolm, and plan to continue to do so as long as possible. So unless there was a pressing question you had… I’d like to get back to the task in hand.”

He squeezed her knee and winked. She whalloped him again and hissed his name disapprovingly while utterly failing to convey any sense of genuine disapproval.

He was going too far and he knew it, the poor lad had gone from hologram blue to hologram purple and he could hear Gordon guffawing fit to rupture something in the background. But when he could feel the love of his life pressed against his chest and shaking with silent hysterics he couldn’t stop himself. He’d always loved making her laugh… it was his greatest weakness.

“You… I cannot believe you said that, Father. Out loud. I… I am returning your birthday present!”

Scott was about to feign a sad face when a quiet comment whispered into his ear made him cackle.

“Awww shucks, but I guess I’ll live. Your Mom reckons hers will make up for it.”

It was good for the self-proclaimed heir to Gordon’s throne to be on the receiving end of the teasing for once and Scott had no regrets. Although he did choke slightly when the raven haired 13-year old offspring of his eldest daughter wandered into shot, grinning, gave a cheeky salute and called “Go Grandpa!”

He was for it now.

“Now look what you’ve done! She’ll be traumatised! And Loopy Lu will kill you dead. Deader than dead.”

“Not if she hears you call her that first, she’ll be too busy hunting you to bother with me. Why don’t you go and be a supportive uncle and minimise the terrible trauma I’ve inflicted. We’ll be back for dinner.”

“You’d better.”

A finger was wagged with impotent menace.

“And if you’re smiling sickeningly when you are… there will be consequences!”

“Good to know.” Scott swiped the hologram away.

They sat together quietly for a few moments, content with just the sound of each other’s breath. The sun had truly risen now and was already too bright to look at. Scott pushed away the irritation at missing the moment - the sun rose every day after all - they didn’t need the excuse of An Occasion to come and watch that particular little trick. They could even come back tomorrow. Although maybe he would try to find some sort of light harness… just in case.

His wife chuckled to herself again and sighed “We probably won’t live that one down for a while.”

Scott lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles one by one.

“What would you like to do now?”

She paused for a moment as she ran her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. “Pigeon Island isn’t far… you could land and we could go for a walk along the shore?”

“It’ll be pretty empty down there at this time of day.”

“Precisely.”

He grinned and put his hands back on the control levers.

“Well as we have been vigorously reminded, health and safety is paramount so you’d better hold on tight, Mrs Tracy.”

“I always do.”

Thunderbird One performed a wide arc over the highest place Earth had to offer before her scram jets squealed in delight as the trio chased the dawn across the sky.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #unnamed wife of Scott Tracy #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #romance #old people romance klaxon

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theresattrpgforthat · 11 months

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I'm a TTRPG designer, and also a big fan of the video game Terraria. I'm stuck on fun ways to handle material gathering and crafting. Send me some inspiration! Thanks!

THEME: Gathering and Crafting

Hello friend! Putting this one together was very fun. I hope you enjoy it!

Stoneburner, by Fari RPGs.

Stoneburner is a sci-fantasy solo-friendly demon-hunting community-building tabletop role-playing game.Inspired by the new school revolution movement, players take on the role of a group of dwarves who must assume control of a demon haunted mine, along with its accompanying settlement, which they inherited after the death of their distant relative.The game focuses on the dwarves' journey as they navigate the challenges of their new responsibilities, rebuild a new thriving community, and clear the mine of its fire spitting monsters.

A techno-fantasy game of exploration and survival. You’ll be delving into a mine to extract resources and attempting to maintain and protect your community not just from magical beasts, but also greedy and plotting rivals. The system is built on Breathless, which is pretty rules-lite on the face but has a lot of possibility to expand, borrowing quite a bit from the NSR but giving the GM specific cues where they have a license to complicate the story. You’ll find a lot of familiar pieces here, with character classes, special abilities, and loot tables. Stoneburner isn’t fully ready to be published quite yet, but in the meantime you can check out the free preview!

Hostile (Rules and Setting), by Zozer Games.

Welcome to the gritty, retro-future universe of HOSTILE. Based on the Cepheus Engine, these rules add in realistic combat rules as well as setting-specific rules from some of the eighteen HOSTILE supplements. When combined with its companion book, the HOSTILE Setting, you will have a complete, stand-alone, retro-future sci-fi game. HOSTILE is a gritty, near future roleplaying setting that is inspired by movies like Outland, Bladerunner and Alien. It is a universe of mining installations, harsh moons, industrial facilities, hostile planets and brutal, utilitarian spacecraft.

When I looked up info about this game, HOSTILE was described as not an ALIEN RPG, but rather an RPG that you could plug Alien into. It’s a space horror setting, but what kind of space horror is up to you. The Rulebook has rules on trade, salvaging, and other pieces of resource management, while the setting book contains construction rules for your own mega-ton spaceship. There’s also plenty of colonies, survival rules, campaign advice and encounter tables. If this is interesting to you, I’d recommend checking out the Double Shift Bundle, which offers both the Rulebook and the Setting Book for 20% off.

Forbidden Lands, by Free League Publishing.

Forbidden Lands is a new take on classic fantasy roleplaying. In this open-world survival roleplaying game, you’re not heroes sent on missions dictated by others - instead, you are raiders and rogues bent on making your own mark on a cursed world. You will discover lost tombs, fight terrible monsters, wander the wild lands and, if you live long enough, build your own stronghold to defend.

As raiders and rogues, in Forbidden Lands you will need to scavenge to survive. Built on Free League’s Year Zero Engine, this game uses an abstract resource called consumables which your characters will have to find regularly, because food goes bad and you can only carry so many things. The game focuses on the dangers of the road, although not all dangers are terrifying - you’re not fighting orcs all the time - sometimes you’re just battling mosquitoes and cold weather. There’s also rules about building, maintaining, and defending a stronghold, which sounds kind of similar to building and defending your house in Terraria. There’s a lot to keep track of in Forbidden Lands, and as long as you don’t mind playing characters with a somewhat loose moral compass, this game might be for you!

A Fistful of Darkness, by monkeyEcho.

A Fistful of Darkness is a Weird West Fantasy hack of Blades in the Dark with heavy emphasis on the fantasy part. It’s not intended to be an accurate history lesson or a simulation of past times. It is designed to be a cinematic game which lets you play all those Weird West tropes towards the end of the world.

Imagine a world with the magic and mystery of the frontier: wide open plains of the Old Wild West in all its beauty and madness, where violence and sacrifice dominate every single day. Now add the Hellstone rush, underground mayhem in mines and brand new sciences & machines. Don’t forget immigration, injustice, vigilante justice, outlaws, gunslingers, slick talkers and setting suns. This all in the face of an impending doom: Demons and the four riders bringing the end of the world as you know it. How do you make it to the top of this powder keg, which side will you take in the impending war and how much will your soul suffer? Let’s play to find out!

Forged in the Dark games abstract your resources a bit, but the Hellstone of A Fistful of Darkness is so important to the setting that you’ll find yourselves doing whatever you can to get your hands on it. It’s a crafting material, it’s currency, and it’s the bringer of mutations and curses, what with it being a demonic material and all. Because you’ll be running a group playbook alongside your own characters, you’ll be working together to improve your tools, allies, abilities and home base, especially if you choose the Scavengers Posse. If you like action and suspense as much as you like inventory and communal goals, then this game is for you.

LOOT, by Gila RPGs.

Do you love loot? Then you're in the right place.

Go on quests, find loot, do it all over again. Your character is entirely defined by the loot they wear and carry. Loot is generated and passed out at the end of each quest with a dynamic loot pool system.

This is an application of the LUMEN system that eschews dice. Players have a number of uses for each of their approaches, which can be spent to overcome obstacles. Complications arise when you have to cobble together a solution using a different approach, or when you avoid marking an approach at all. This is a game still in a free playtest, so the designer is happy to hear feedback if you decide to give it a whirl!

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #gathering #crafting #resource management

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quietlyimplode · 11 months

Text

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 21 - Found family

Warnings: child abandonment, grief

Word Count: 1.8k (gif not mine)

Summary: Clint leaves to find a person from his past, surrounded by the family he created.

A/N: <3

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

2013

NEW YORK

“Can you find someone for me?” Clint asks Tony, looking around the room, and the technology it holds.

He can’t help but touch the screens and play with the holograms as he waits for Tony to reply.

“Can you pass me the copper wire?” Tony asks.

Clint hops up on the bench and throws it to him, his aim true.

“I can find anyone, if they want to be found, and even then, likely I can find them if they don’t want to be,” he answers distractedly.

“Can you hold this here?”

Clint hops down and pushes on the wire, analysing the circuitry and frowning.

“You’ve wired it wrong,” he surmises, pointing with his other hand.

Tony swears and rubs his face.

“How long have you been up for?” Clint asks, a pinch of worry for his friend and his insomniac ways.

Tony looks up and glances at the time.

Jarvis answers for him, “twenty six hours.”

Clint swears it’s sounds almost disapproving.

“What are you trying to do?” he asks, knowing that until the project has reached a satisfactory conclusion, there’s no way Tony will stop.

Rubbing his forehead, Tony shows him the circuit board connected to the towers alarm system, and automatic controls for system lockdown.

Clint frowns.

“Has there been any attempts to get in here?”

He doesn’t understand why Tony was upgrading the already functioning system.

He shakes his head.

“No, but I just..” he pauses.

“Who do you want me to find?”

Clint ignores him and without words helps, correcting the circuitry then placing the upgraded board into Tony’s hand.

“You know, if you get sleep, these things become easier,” he grins.

Tony rolls his eyes, the lower limbs of the suits attaching as he flies to the control box outside and installs the board quickly.

There’s a quick glow, and a light force field covers the tower before disappearing again.

Clint didn’t realise how big the project was, and smiles as Tony returns.

“Come get some food,” he prompts, holding the door open as the legs come away and he reaches ground again.

Tony obliges.

Heading to the kitchen, Clint explains about Gus.

The ex-carney, convenience store owner that stayed close to the circus and protected Clint from future foster homes and set him on the path of this life.

There’s some hesitation in the way Tony replies, and Clint doesn’t quite know if he should have trusted him with the story.

“Why do you want to see him again?” Tony asks, handing him a Stark-Pad.

Clint hesitates, feeling judged in the moment.

“I want to tell him about Barney, maybe just check that he’s okay. Thank him I suppose?”

He doesn’t know, not in any way he can put into words.

Tony is uncharacteristically quiet, before he takes the stark-pad off of Clint and opens up a data base, taking time, he seems to hack into some sort of data base.

It takes him a minute or so, before he hands the tablet back.

“He’s still in Iowa, Cedar Rapids, last known address was near the Prairie Park Fishery,” he pauses, “we can go now if you want?”

Clint stops in his tracks.

“What?”

Tony points upwards.

“Two hours, we can go there now if you want?”

Clint nods slowly.

“Yeah okay,” he says impulsively, “let me just send a message to Natasha, and let her know.”

Tony shrugs, “sure, I’ll be up at the hanger, if you ask Steve it will be a party.”

Clint decides on calling Natasha, feeling a slight urgency on getting going.

“Hey,” she picks up, after a beat.

“Hey,” he answers.

“I asked Tony to find Gus and he found him in like five seconds. He asked if we wanted to go visit, and I’ve said yes,” he says quickly.

“Doyouwannacome?”

Natasha takes a second before responding, and then tells him she’d meet him at the hanger.

He smiles. It’s like a road trip with his friends, something they’d do at the circus.

It’s seems somewhat fitting.

Picking up the phone again, he calls Steve.

“Hey man,” he says as the phone clicks over.

“Hey,” Steve replies.

“Natasha and Tony and I are going on a bit of trip to see an old friend I have in Iowa. Do you want to come?”

“When?” Steve asks.

“Now?”

Steve takes a moment and then agrees, Clint thinks he can hear the change in his tone, a small amount of pleasure at being invited.

“Come to the hanger when you can,” Clint tells him, “we’ll be waiting.”

The trip to Iowa is an exchange of stories. Clint starts by telling the story of Gus and how he taught him magic, he shows the others a trick and then produces a coin from Steve’s ear.

Much to his delight, Steve replicates the trick and produces two coins.

Tony, not to be outdone, produces two coins and a card.

Natasha bursts out laughing.

“You’re all magic nerds,” she says, joyfully.

The rest of the trip they try and outdo each other, Natasha taking the lead in flying the plane as they all show off random magic tricks, and teaching each other the ones they don’t know.

She gives them a ten minute warning and looks back to see Clint smiling, a true smile that had been so rare from the events of New York to learning of his brothers death.

She hopes this is positive and that Gus is the man Clint believes him to be.

Otherwise, she might kill him herself.

Clint knocks on the door.

Alone now, he wishes he hadn’t been so adamant to do this himself. He’d left Natasha with the others in the plane, promising to be back soon.

The anticipation feels heavy as he hears movement in the house and he hopes Tony was right in the address.

The door opens slowly, and Clint smiles lightly.

“Hello,” he opens, “I don’t know if you—“

“Clint?”

The door opens wider, revealing Gus, now older but still the same man.

“Hi,” he says shyly.

“Clint!”

He pulls him into a hug and Clint feels himself sink into it, feeling like a kid again.

“Come in,” Gus asks, ushering him through the door.

“Can I get you anything?

Clint doesn’t get a chance to answer as Gus disappears into the kitchen and returns with beer and a bottle opener.

He takes it and opens them both, offering it to cheers which Gus does with a smile.

“Clint,” he says, almost in reverence.

“How are you?”

“I’m good,” Clint replies, not sure what to say.

He came here to say that Barney was dead. To thank him for helping him when he was a child, to pointing him in the direction of the military.

“I — wanted to find you,” he starts.

Gus stands, finds an album on the bench and hands it to Clint.

“Open it,” he gestures.

The album has photos, some articles from the circus, pictures of Clint he’d never seen before, gently he turns the pages, emotion welling inside.

He can’t speak.

Gently touching the photos, he sees himself holding the bow and arrow as a young boy, stance strong and gaze focussed.

“That’s my favourite,” Gus says, watching Clint carefully, “you had such natural talent from the get go, and even if archery didn’t get you famous, I think you would have been a fantastic pickpocket.”

Clint huffs a laugh, turning the page.

“And now you’re an Avenger?”

There’s clippings from the paper from the last twelve months.

Of Tony, Steve and Thor, of him and Natasha. Articles and pictures.

Clint thinks it’s one of the kindest things someone has ever done.

He smiles.

“I’m just a human, amongst superhero’s, metal men and gods,” he laughs, starting at the start again to take the photos in.

“Maybe it’s what they need, to keep them in line,” Gus retorts.

Clint stops at a picture.

Barney stands arms crossed with a smile as Clint does a handstand.

He stares at it, and forces breath.

Barney.

“He’s dead,” he whispers, taking the photo out, he shows it Gus.

“He’s dead,” he repeats again.

Gus hobbles over to sit with Clint, taking the photo and then handing it back.

“I know,” he nods, and hugs Clint in a side hug.

“He came here, a couple of years ago, asking after you, I showed him and told him you had gone into the military.”

He turns the page and Clint finds the picture of himself in uniform.

“He was so proud of you,” Gus tells him.

“I think he wanted to tell you.”

Clint can’t help it; he cries.

For the loss of his brother, for all the words left unsaid and the time they’d never get back.

“Do you think he knew I loved him?” he asks, voice as small as a child’s.

“Of course he did,” Gus nods.

He closes the album, and motions for Clint to follow him.

“Barney stayed here, for a little while at least, and drew some pictures. I held onto them, as I hoped— I wished I would see you again.”

He opens the door and pulls out some pictures from a drawer.

The pictures are of Clint and Barney as children, their faces small and chubby.

Clint feels the tears on his face as he furiously wipes at them.

“Your brother, he was complicated and could be harsh and I think he wanted to protect you but didn’t know how… You were both so young.”

Gus looks down.

“I think I failed you both but I did the best I could,” he admits.

Clint shakes his head.

“No,” he refutes, “you saved my life, probably Barney’s too. I came to thank you.”

Gus waves him off.

“Take them,” he tells Clint, “they’re yours, the album too if you want anything from it.”

Clint nods, finding the album, knowing what pictures he wants and the ones he wants to show Natasha, maybe even the others.

He sits back down, not quite ready to leave yet.

“I’m going to get married,” he confesses.

Gus looks up, his smile wide.

“Will you come?”

The nod and laugh is infectious.

“Of course, of course I will,” he agrees.

He sits back and takes a sip of the still cold beer.

“Tell me about her,” he asks.

The plane home is in darkness, as Clint shares the chocolate and pictures that Gus sent with him.

He tells the stories behind the pictures, prompting Steve and Tony to tell their own.

Natasha holds onto the picture of Clint and Barney and stares at it for a long time.

“He looks like you,” she whispers later.

“Remind me,” he tells her, “remind me to tell you the story behind that one.”

Natasha hands it back to him, and nods, bringing her head to his and pushing it against his.

“I’m proud of you,” she whispers, so the others can’t hear.

“It’s hard facing our pasts, and I’m glad it went well.”

He regards Natasha and all the history she has with facing her past; the good and the bad.

He nods.

“Me too, Nat.”

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meriadoc-doc-hamilton · 4 months

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Thanks for the advice! Turned out that the Sekhmet wasn't that much of an issue, since the Lancaster body was out of direct line if sight.

On an unrelated note, one of my lancemates got an old SecComm mech that looks like

This out of the personal collection of some hotshot pirate who thought he play poker with the big boys.

Is it... is it supposed to enter killing frenzies? It also sounds like a million overlapping whispers going on near it. Gives me the heebie jeeebies.

Well, huh. I haven't seen one of those in a long while. That looks like one of Harrison's Enkidu models. They're quite rare these days - the Armory prefers the Tokugawa because it's a lot more stable. In my opinion, they're the only frame more likely to cause collateral damage than the Blackbeard.

Field Advice:

They're likely to overheat, so make sure they have solid cooling systems.

Stay out of their way when they're frenzied.

Do not. Under any circumstances. Install a SEKHMET in one.

#lancer rpg #lancer #lancer rp #lancer ttrpg #mech repair tips #daily life of a mech technician #harrison armory #ha enkidu #transgirl kitty mech #let me know if there's a blank poll in the post i couldn't figure out how to take it out

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gtbutterfly · 8 months

Text

new gt story?

hey, so I wrote a short opening to a new story I thought of, should I continue it? let me know your thoughts. criticism is appreciated.

______________________________________________________________

It was winter, way past the holiday months and weeks before it could ever be considered anywhere near spring. In the morning there was ice blocking the glass windows before the sun melted it away and kept the the rest of the day cool. There wasn’t any snow, there hadn’t been in a long time. Anytime it was cold enough for snowflakes to fall, the sky was perfectly clear, and any time there was a storm, it was roughly just room temperature outside. The coldest it got was the nights. Occasionally it would drop to near twenty degrees Fahrenheit. The nights were frigid and silent, no bugs making noise, and barely any cars to be heard in the distance. It was a small, quiet town, after all. Woods surrounded it and no more than a thousand people lived there. The town was founded by a logging company, most of the residents when they first moved there were employees.

Decades ago, there was an incident regarding the logging mill. According to the old newspapers, the workers recalled some kind of earthquake, tremors in the ground, but it wasn’t an ordinary earthquake. It was like footsteps, they said, “thump, thump, thump,” in the ground. “Boom, boom, boom,” as it got closer. More and more workers reported these vibrations in the ground, and worry was caused throughout the company and the town. They even hired a team of scientists and investigators to find what it was, but they never found anything, at least not anything they’ve shown to the public. A few people decided to investigate the tremors themselves. They went into the forest. They haven’t yet been found, presumed dead. The people in charge of our town decided to make rules for the townspeople's safety. There was a curfew installed, and no one was allowed to be outside a building after eleven pm until sunrise. They banned camping out at a certain point away from the town. No one is allowed to do their own investigations of the mysterious tremors that are still felt today. For the most part, this town is silent. The days are filled with the sound of trees being chopped down and falling in the distance, as well as the children playing, and being scolded for going too close to the woods. At night, on the other hand, it was perfectly silent. Quiet enough to hear a pin drop. There was the occasional sound, wolves howling, the wind blowing, trees and leaves rustling against each other, appearing as black silhouettes in the sky.

On some of these nights, I would stay up, gazing out the window of wherever I was staying. Being in this town's foster care system, it would vary over the weeks. I was told that my birth parents were some of the missing persons when the tremors first happened. They left their infant child to run into the woods after some monster or ecological event and were never seen again. I don’t remember them, I don’t exactly miss them either. I couldn’t miss something I never had. The feeling I had was probably closer to envy than anything. Every couple of weeks, I would be assigned to a new family to care for me. Most of them are friendly, but sometimes I end up with the same family multiple times since not many people sign up. As far as I’m aware, I’m the only person in the foster care system in this town. The house I was staying in now was near the edge of town, right next to the dark forest no one was supposed to step in. I’ve heard about other students at my school sneaking out there at night, as part of some dare or just to impress others. Usually, I would never think to do something like that. I never cared much about impressing others, I mainly kept to myself, some would say too much.

I stared out the window towards the forest. The moon just barely made the scene conceivable. I wasn’t looking at the forest anyway, I was looking above it. At the sky. The area is so rural that there's no light pollution here, so it’s perfect for stargazing if you're into that. Unfortunately, there hasn’t been much since the curfew was enacted. I was in one of the few houses where you could see the stars from indoors. The night sky was beautiful, objectively speaking. There were thousands, millions of stars scattered about, circling a white, glowing moon. There was space dust swirling around. The sky was a dark blueish shade of purple, barely on the line between magenta and black. I looked at it. I thought It looked nice. It had to. I knew that, but I didn’t quite feel it. I didn’t feel much toward the sky. I felt nothing. The sky was dark. And blue, and black, and purple, and had dozens of stars and elements of space in it. It was beautiful. And I felt nothing. I just stared out at the sky until I felt something that made me flinch.

A vibration. It was quick, too quick for an earthquake. It was followed by another vibration. And another. The next one was bigger. They kept getting larger and larger. Wolves howled and whined in the distance. The trees rustled against each other harder, but there was no wind blowing at all. Something was pushing them. Then I saw it. Whatever it was, it was massive. A giant silhouette hidden in the night and the trees. I could just barely make out the reflection of moonlight in its eye. It was nearly 50 feet tall, taller than any building in the whole town. I thought I was dreaming. I pinched myself.

“Ow,” I wasn’t. A fifty-foot humanoid was walking through the forest. I saw it. It walked passed the houses and the trees and retreated into the forest. I got up from my chair and walked away from the window. I went outside the back door. I couldn’t tell you why. All I felt was the same nothingness from before. But why? A literal giant was walking behind houses, and I felt no fear, no dread, no joy, no excitement. Just nothing. I felt nothing as I followed the giant into the woods. Leaves crunched under my slippers. I followed the giant for a couple of minutes, occasionally hiding behind a tree or bush if they ever looked my way. I still didn’t know why. I didn’t have my phone or a camera to get evidence that it existed, I obviously wasn’t planning to confront it. Maybe it was just curiosity. Eventually, the giant stopped. I hid behind a tree, but that didn’t matter. They knew I was there for who knows how long. They turned around. Their voice were softer than I expected, rather than being big and booming but just made the air vibrate.

“I know you're following me, kid,” they said. Their voices sounded tough and feminine. “You got something to say?”

It all hit me at once. Everything I was supposed to be feeling before, fear, dread, curiosity, it all fell on me as my stomach dropped as the beings voice buzzed through the air and into my body. I was dumbfounded. I didn’t say anything. My eyes were widened as I stepped backwards. Why did do this? Why did I break our towns rules and go out after dark and follow a massive creature that could kill me in an instant? They were looking down at me with its red eyes. They were bending down to look at me better. Suddenly, I was running. There wasting any thoughts in my mind anymore, only emotion, only fear. I didn’t know where I was going, I just kept running away from the giant. It was dark. The trees blocked out the moonlight, and I was sprinting in pitch blackness. It was cold, one of those nights where it got down to near 20 degrees. I could feel tremors behind me. The giant was following me. I ran faster, until I tripped over the root of a tree, falling into a shallow river. It was cold, frigid and shocking. I didn’t move for a moment. The water was knee deep. After the shock of the cold, I felt pain coursing though my body, mostly in my arms and head, I must have hit it against a rock when I fell. My vision was blurry, either from the head trauma or the water in my eyes. I looked up at the dark silhouette standing over me. The giant. They were standing on they’re knees looking down at me. I couldn’t see their expression in the darkness. I heard them sigh, as their massive hand reached down towards me. Then I blacked out.

#borrowers #g/t #giant/tiny #gt community #g/t community #sfw g/t #constructive criticism welcome #g/t writing #giant tiny #gt writing

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richerlandtv · 5 months

Text

So last year when the 15th Doctor's Sonic Screwdriver was revealed...

A lot of people were going on about how it doesn't look enough like a screwdriver. It made me think "well, what does a Sonic Screwdriver look like?" And the more I thought about it, the more I thought, ultimately, you can get away with a lot with the Sonic Screwdriver so long as it's at least cylindrical.

So I opened up Maya and made a bunch of pieces and swapped them in and out until...

I had designed my own Sonic Screwdriver. Quite proud of it, too!

But to fabricate it, all I could really do was 3D print it, and while it's lovely for a hunk of plastic it just doesn't do anything.

So I asked a wizard.

Custom Sonics are absolutely amazing at making Sonic Screwdrivers. I sent them 3D turnarounds, photographs, and design documents and good (time) lord did they knock it out of the park.

Look at this!

It's absolutely beautiful!

Machined in real metal, with brass accents and durable resin grips, and fitted with lights and sound. Its weighty but light, feeling good in the hand.

I feel like it certainly measures up to other Sonic Screwdrivers!

I am so happy and so proud to have this in my collection.

If you want your own Sonic Screwdriver, definitely consider Custom Sonics for replicas, original designs, or to get a quote on your own custom design! (I'm not being paid to advertise, I promise lmao)

About the design:

I wanted this to look like the original Sonic Screwdriver had been built upon over the years, rather than simply being replaced. So there are elements of the Sonic Screwdriver seen in the Classic series acting as a base for the design, with everything else added on over the top.

Thinking of how the Doctor might improve on that original design in-universe, I thought about its weaknesses as an item. The Doctor could easily drop it and it might roll away, so I added a flat-edged grip. It also gets used a lot, so I thought it should have a ventilation system to prevent overheating. There are two sets of vents: the round ones near the top, and more subtle square ones near the grip.

The War Doctor uses the original Sonic Screwdriver but with the emitter head removed. We're never told why, but I like to think this, along with the additional piece added to the base, was done to give it more power. With that in mind, I thought perhaps an even more powerful Sonic Screwdriver - without an emitter ring - would need something to focus and stabilize the sonic waves. The Eleventh Doctor's and Fourteenth Doctor's Sonic Screwdrivers have "petals" which may or may not serve that function. This design has two additional emitters mounted on antennae to focus and stabilize the beam. The emitter head has a screw thread so a new emitter ring can be screwed on. I did design an emitter head, but with the stabilizers, the shape wasn't very satisfying, so that went unfabricated.

The base was left with an opening, which I imagined would allow it to plug into the TARDIS. This worked out well as it left room for Custom Sonics to install a charging port.

The brass rings were inspired by the Dalek Time Controller and The Rani's TARDIS console.

The silvery metallic blue colour was inspired by K-9.

The emerald and brass colours were chosen simply because it's my favourite colour combination. The use of brass was also inspired by clockwork, with its obvious relation to time travel and my own personal enjoyment of clockwork.

So that's my custom Sonic Screwdriver!

#doctor who #sonic screwdriver

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lokiandbuckysdoll · 2 years

Text

A Year Without Your Love

Summary: Loki leaves for a year not realizing the damage he has caused you until he returns.

Paring: Loki X Reader

Word Count: 1,951

Warings: Angst, crying, yelling,

Dividers: @silkholland

A/N: this was a Wip i thought i post while i try and work on Lokis’ bay part 8, so enjoy :)

You had walked down stairs quietly to find your dog Apollo messing with something under the couch. As you inspect closer you see he has a hold of your necklace with your engagement ring on it, you quickly yet gently grab it out of his mouth. " How on earth did you get this?" You look at Apollo thinking he's gonna respond “wow i really am going crazy” you thought to yourself.

You sat on the couch as you held the ring in between your fingers, Apollo laid jumped on the couch and rested his head In your lap. As you sat on the couch you put the necklace back on, you couldn't help but fidget with it as the memories flew back to the night you got it.

Loki and you had been together for a year. The two of you were madly and deeply in love with one another there was no doubt about that. On the night of your 2nd anniversary, Loki popped the question and asked you to marry him. You automatically said yes as tears filled your eyes. That night was a very special night to the both of you.

A couple weeks after your anniversary you had planned a nice romantic dinner with a gift for Loki , as the night came Loki never showed up. You thought it was strange he didn't show. The next morning you woke up to sunflowers in your room with a note from Loki.

" My dearest love, I'm deeply saddened to say this; however I must return to Asgard with Thor for some family business. Please forgive me dear darling for missing dinner and enjoy these beautiful sunflowers, I shall return in three days" Singed your love, Loki ♡

Little did you know those three days would soon turn into a week, a week into a month, a month into a year as Thor and Loki never came back, let alone visit .

As the months passed Tony and every one could see you were not yourself. You had started to withdraw from everyone. Tony and you decided it was best for you to move out of New York and back to Your hometown in California.

You always loved the idea of how Clint and his family were, and you wanted that with Loki. Tony made sure to take care of everything once you moved back to California. He had the best security system installed for you, a secret weapons rooms in your house, anything you can think of he made it happen. You were like a daughter to tony and he wanted the best for you.

As you stop thinking about the past you look at your phone and yawn as you stretch and Apollo hears and he automatically knows it's bedtime, he runs up the stairs to the bedroom getting in his spot.

You looked at him and smiled a little, when you entered the room you checked the small space next to it and smiled before you got into bed and drifted off to sleep.

As you were sleeping a frighteningly loud sound flew through the room as lights flickered and flashed. You heard a swirling "whoosh" followed by the faint sound of a voice as the sound repeated itself and all became calm once more. You shot up out of your slumber and Apollo was already on alert, you checked the spot again next to your bed.

You typed in a code near the dress and emergency protocols were put in place, you then grabbed the small handgun as you were headed downstairs cautiously. As you made it into the living room aiming the gun to the shadow figure standing there. You automatically put it down as you couldn't believe who was in front of you.

There he stood, adjusting his costume which was a traditional suit from his own world. Not the black suit and tie you were used to.

"My dear, you won't believe the day I had”. He ran his fingers through his hair to pull it out of his face, he looked up in the opposite direction of you. "Darling? Y/N-" he turned, "oh- there you are." He was relaxed, nonchalant and didn't even appear that excited to see you.

" One year" You mumbled.

"What was that?" He leaned in closer.

"You've been gone For one ...Year...Loki!." You whispered yelled, He raised his brows, surprised. He often was when he learned how long it had been. Time went differently for him. " I can't even stand to look at you! " You huffed past him as you made your way to the kitchen. He gave a weary sigh, and shuffled to follow you.

"Darling.." He muttered as he reached out to place a hand over yours. You pulled away as you sipped on a glass of water.

"Don't call me that!" You barked as you turned, staring into his eyes, and then stomped back into the living room.

"I get you're upset but you're being a bit dramatic, darling."

"I'm not being dramatic! One whole year, and not a word! You were off, god knows where, doing god knows what-" you paused, "fucking god knows who!"

"Y/N!" He practiced scolding.

Apollo moves in front of you in a protective stance as he senses your distress.

"No! I get to say it. You probably already have some goddess wife"

"You know that isn't true..." he growled.

Apollo begins to growl at him, " Apollo stand down" you order him and he listens, he sits down by your feet waiting for your signal if you need him to attack.

You turn your attention back to Loki "How would I? You go missing for a year!No notes, no gifts, you just left out of the blue, making me wonder if you found someone new or if you were even alive!..." your angry expression dropped in realization, " Was I just a play thing to you, did you even mean what you said when you proposed!?" You cried.

"You are not my love… he looked from side to side as he spoke and then dropped his arms down to his sides as he sighed. "I have given you my word, you are my only when I placed that ring on your finger"

"Then how come you never came back to me!"

"I had to take care of some things"

"How do I know that’s not a lie!? You're the god of lies after all."

"Mischief. You know that."

"Same shit!"

"Please...Y/N..." he begged.

"No! I'm sick of this!" You went to storm out of the room, but he was faster. He blocked your way to go up stairs. . He looked deep into your eyes and they burned with frustration. His voice was deep, and smooth.

"You are my only escape. My only relief from my own world and my own madness." As he spoke, he moved closer, but you moved away. He walked you back, towards the railing . "I keep you here, where you are safe and I am at peace. I bare my soul to you, and you alone." He wrapped his fingers firmly around your wrist as he pulled you close to him.

"You didn't keep us safe Loki!" You pull your hands out of his grip, his eyes lock with yours " Look around Loki we're not even in my apartment in New York!" You yell almost on the verge of tears. He can see how hurt you are, he then looks around to realize he is in a house, then he realizes again it's your house.

He pressed your chest against his and held you there by the small of your back. You couldn't help but cry, you then placed your forehead against his and his hand on you cheek. " Read me" you say as you lay your hand on top of his hand. Without hesitation he reads your mind, every thought, every emotion, every memory, you ever had in the year he's been gone.

He pulled away from you and began to cry “ my god what have i done, I’m so sorry love". Just then a small cry came from the bedroom as you loosen yourself from his grip to head to the bedroom. As you enter you see your 1 year old daughter Luna crying. You could tell she heard the yelling and awakened from her slumber. “ m- mama!” was all that she said and you could feel yourself jump into action. Picking her up from the crib and bringing her to your chest as you pushed her raven hair away from her face and cooing at her. “ hi sweetie i'm sorry mama woke you up”

She continued to cry but eventually calmed down and you placed her back in her crib. Loki had entered and the sight of you putting your daughter to sleep made him cry even more. He knew he probably shouldn't but everything in his heart was telling him to hold you.

So he wraps his arms around you tightly as he hugs you too. You began to cry into his chest as he kissed your forehead and just rubbed your back, you stayed there for a couple seconds enjoying the feeling of his embrace. You pull back and look him in the eyes.

" I was all alone.... And scared... I didn't know what to do'' your voice cracks as you try not to cry again. " I needed you Loki.... and you weren't there.. you weren't fuckin there!" you whisper as you fist his shirt with tears streaming down your face and you can feel an angry build again. He quickly just bears hugs trying to calm you down as you cry.

After a while you begin to calm down. Loki takes you down stairs and you sit on the couch as he makes you some tea. The two of you sat there for hours, he just watched you as you talked and explained everything, the only time he did talk is when you looked at him for a response. You told him how hard your pregnancy was and how you came up with the name Luna and everything there was about her.

You told him about the house and the dog. You told him you forgave him and how much you loved him. He apologized almost a million times. After a while you begin to get tired again and notice the sun has already come up. He picks you up bridal style and walks up to the bedroom. He lays you down on the bed as he begins to walk out. "Loki.." you say hesitantly, " Yes" he turns around.

" can you please sleep in the bed with me I- d- don't want you to l-l-leave again" Your eyes begin to water and he quickly rushes into the bed in embracing you. " I'll do anything for you my love... with everything in me I am truly and deeply sorry to see the pain I caused you, I never wanted this to happen I am truly sorry" you look up at him and can tell he is genuinely hurt by the pain he caused you and you see tears form in his eyes.

You put one of your hands on his cheek as your other hand pulls the necklace out of your shirt and shows him the ring. " I never took it off, although you've caused me pain Loki..... truth be told you're the love of my life and I'm still very much madly in love with you... I always have and always will love you."

Just then both your heads turn as Luna says something you thought she and Loki would never get to hear or say. “ Dada”

TAGLIST: @nana1000night @hannibals-favourite-meal @huntress-artemiss @lokisgoodgirl @michelleleewise @vbecker10

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki marvel #loki imagine #loki odinson #loki god of mischief

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loremonster · 2 months

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Btw ALL CRAFTS BENIFIT FROM INCREASING YOUR UNDERSTANDING OF MECHANICAL FORCES AND THE SHAPES OF ENGINEERING.

I grew up with my maternal grandparents visiting every summer with their trailer attatched ( heavy duty, biiig truck needed, deseil, associate the smell with their visits to this day, and the characteristic sound of the idiling engine ) and working with my Engineer ( Computer Science + UI Design, Electrical, HVAC, Boiler operation and troubleshooting, specialization in retrofitting old buildings with large multifloor airflow systems with minimal disturbance to the original structure, later trained to supervise new construction + oversee and assist in the labor of installation on site ) Dad to plan, construct, and install home and barnyard improvements / modifications / upgrades.

Not only were the blocks I played with from age 6 months to 14 years old made from scrap wood with the edges sanded off to make em kiddo safe, I was often Around as Dad and Grandpa were drawing on grid paper, discussing weight distribution, load bearing beams, when a box support is needed, how the square design of a box support is modified and how measurements on paper became the pieces that made a whole heckin chicken coop in one summer. As I got older I was trusted to read off those measurements so no one had to come down off a ladder to check things, and read the tape measure from the bottom and call out appropriate adjustments before a trim line is drawn. Dad goes down, Grandpa goes up, he checks the measurement again and makes his own mark. If they match, they cut. If they don't, they discuss how they made the measurement to troubleshoot why they got different results, and then we did it again to ensure understanding had been reached.

Measure until its consistant, accept human error, accept it happens All The Time, and check things until You Are Certain. THEN trim material.

A similar addage is learned in sewing; measure twice, cut once.

Mathamatics teaches guess and check, a handy principal in fibercrafts of all kinds.

Those scrap blocks I mentioned? Taught me about mechanical forces like gravity, friction, weight distribution across multiple shapes and which shapes built up best without falling over or bracing; all principals I applied later not only in crafting DIY stuff around the house but also within my artistic practice when imagining and arting locations, clothing, and people.

A lot of practical knowledge gets locked behind the barrier of Theoretical Physics ( i.e when its just numbers on paper Theorizing On How A Thing May Work In Real Space ) before an institution will let ya get your brain onto some real instruction. But there's a lotta things you can do to learn these things in your own home, and most are forms of play or creative hobbies.

Near everything you do with your body and brain together benifits both, in skill and theorizing on future intentions as they go from an idea to something others can SEE and sometimes even HOLD IN THEIR HANDS.

I still firmly beleive the ability to idiate upon something until one figures out How To Show It To Someone Else is truely the closest humans get to Actual Magic, and exists somewhere within everything people make or actuate with their physical person. And I think that undefinable Magic is what we call Art. The Arts. Crafting, creative, visual, audio, narrative, culinary, woodworks, masonry, smithing, fiberworks, fabrics, tailoring, and more than I even know to name because the catagory of Things People Imagine And Then Make Real is PRETTY FREAKIN WIDE.

These things are not sperate from the "hard" bodies of study and practice, math used to be considered magical and esoteric, and only became respectable when Accurate Measurement caused less people to die at the Apothocary, birthing the More Respectable Alchemist, and later into just Chemist-- all based on Math; an imagined system applied to the real world, bounded on proven precepts that are applied over and over and over to LITERALLY ANYTHING we can try it on to see If It Still Tracks Or We Missed Something-- thus why Gravity Is A Theory, and why Theory is one of the strongest words in scientific study, physics, and so on; it means It has Survived Years Of Genuine And Strenious Testing, Found Every Way It Was Wrong, And Continue Tweaking And Testing And CALIBRATING Our Imagined Incraments To Measure The World And Think More Accurately About Future Intentions.

Like the practice of all crafts and arts.

I guess this is Art Theory now? 🤷🏼

#blog #art #craft #theory #math #science #engineering

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hapan-in-exile · 10 months

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Volume 3 - Post #6: You can find me in the Club

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem! Reader

Total word count: 3.5K (of 45K total in Volume 3)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

__________________________________________

VI. Gwellis Bagnoro is waiting for you near the front of the club and waves you over. Neon Dreams. Good name for a nightclub in Daiyu City.

It’s a clusterfuck inside. This dark, cavernous warehouse that looks like it might have been some kind of industrial factory in a previous life.

Despite the crush, everyone steps aside to give Mando a path without looking up from their drinks.

Must be nice.

You, on the other hand, have to quickstep to follow in his wake before the press of bodies can drag you away like a riptide into this sea of black silhouettes and glitter.

“Gwellis,” is the extent of the Mandalorian’s greeting. He tosses the cloak over his shoulder so his holster remains within reach before sliding into the booth and making sure he had a clear line of sight toward the entrance.

Once again, there’s only one way in or out of this establishment. Why did no one in this godsforsaken town worry about safe and unobstructed exit routes?

A server soon arrives with a bottle of cloudy liquor and three glasses. He gives the Mandalorian a sly wink before heading back to the bar. Because no one in this galaxy is immune to a six-foot-three hunk of muscle in shining Beskar armor, ladies and gentlemen.

Gwellis uses a vocoder, so you’ll actually be able to keep up with this conversation. If you don’t go deaf from the throbbing bass coming through the club’s sound system. It’s clear why this place is popular with folks engaged in the...clandestine economy. Unlike the cosmopolitan nightclubs of the Inner Rim, there are no elevated lounges or platforms for elite clientele to preen and exhibit. Visibility is terrible, and you can’t hear a fucking thing.

“Mandalorian, I am glad we can do business.”

Gwellis helps himself to the liquor and pours you a drink. A thoughtful gesture considering the Onodone immediately pulls his trunk up from his lap and drops it down the neck of the bottle to suck up the remaining liquid inside. You’re kind of a lightweight, so you decide to sip yours. And, of course, Mando’s glass goes untouched.

Having sucked the bottle dry, Gwellis gets down to business. From beneath his robes, he pulls out a data-pad and scrolls over the screen. “I was surprised to receive this commission. Disguise is not the way of a Mandalorian.”

“It’s not for a job,” he says, tilting his head toward you. “My friend, she needs some new identification. ID, chaincode, and an implant.”

Gwellis studies you and taps something into the data-pad. “A war orphan from Saleucami, I think. Gone missing amidst the rubble from the siege.”

Fuck. Tragic but very plausible. You nod.

“Can you pass for human?”

When you nod again, Mando fixes his view plate on you. It was a subtle turn of his head, and someone who didn’t know him well wouldn’t have caught the shift in his attention. But you do.

“Good. Human will be easier.”

Gwellis regards you for a moment before launching into an incomprehensible stream of noises. The vocoder stays silent, so the high-pitched clicks and whistles are for the Mandalorian’s ears only.

“He says it’ll cost you fifty thousand credits.”

Shit! With Vos’ reward, you can afford it, sure, but that’s a lot of fucking money. And the fact that it’s exactly the same amount you just received from Vos feels like a weird fucking coincidence.

Dammit, you had planned to save at least ten thousand of that for jewelry. Why must all your victories be so fleeting?

“Arrive at my ship on the twenty-seventh hour.”

You finish your drink in one gulp as you watch the Onodone disappear back into the crowd.

“I told you it wasn’t going to be cheap,” Mando says evenly.

“You didn’t kick him under the table, so I’m sure it’s a fair price.”

“We’ll use funds for the job to cover it.”

“No, that’s okay. I know Nito needs money to buy some gear, and we should probably save the rest for Ubaa’s crew and payoffs.” You take a deep sigh. “Plus, it’s a good investment for me now anyway.”

The Mandalorian pauses to take in your expression. Which must be challenging given how little of your face is visible with the hood and visor on.

“Don’t think it’ll withstand a serious background check, but you could probably get a straight job after this.”

After this? Working with Mando, life had been unfolding one day at a time. You hadn’t put much thought into the future. Yet here he was, anticipating the day you’d finally ‘come to your senses’ and choose safe, civilian life. It’s hard to believe that could be a possibility.

“I already have a job,” you say wryly.

Whatever he might think, right now, you’re not ready to imagine a life without him.

“But, thank you. I’m relieved to have this kind of cover. I didn’t know anyone who could do this for me when I went underground. I mean…I knew that I must have ended up in some database…But, kriffing hell, it took months to coordinate our clinic deliveries. And yet the New Republic can just drop whatever they’re doing to run a cross-check?”

“Are you just now realizing how they hold this galaxy together?” He scoffed. “Surveillance and security is what they’ve got to offer.”

“Mando…that’s a shockingly pointed bit of social criticism. I didn’t take you for a revolutionary.”

“I’m not. But I’m also not blind to how this all works.” There’s a subtle switch in mood before he rests an elbow on the table. “Can I ask you something?”

“Um, sure. Yeah. I’d like to resume normal adult conversation.”

He sighs roughly and tosses his head.

“You know you’re not getting the deposit back for that room, Mando.”

You catch him mumbling something about cheap drywall and try not to snicker. While it’s absolutely ridiculous behavior for a grown man to punch holes in the wall…you can understand that Mandalorian warrior culture probably doesn’t impart a lot of wisdom about dealing with complex emotions like guilt and shame.

And hell, this is coming from a woman whose coping response was to cry and masturbate in the shower, so who are you to judge?

You lean in over the table to hear him better, “What did you want to ask me?”

“How are you planning to pass for human?”

You try not to blush when he leans closer, too, and you sit huddled together with your knees touching under the table.

“If I remove the reflective tissue from my eyes…that’s really the only visible difference.”

“Remove? How?”

“Do you want me to go into detail? Most people get the heebie-jeebies thinking about cutting—”

“Alright, fine.” He holds up a hand to stop you. “If it’s that simple, why didn’t…sorry, maybe that’s not something you want to talk about.”

“No, no! I’m never going discourage you from taking an interest in me,” you grin. Then, sigh. It’s a deeply personal topic to get into while trying to shout over a bass system. “I’ve probably been holding onto this delusion that someday I’d get to go back home. But there’s…not really anything to go back to…”

“What about your family? Your brother?”

That’s another topic you’re not prepared to get into at Neon Dreams, so you just shake your head no.

“There’s nobody waiting for me—well, no one who’s waiting to welcome me back.”

“Could you…reverse it?” Mando asks in a surprisingly gentle voice. “Make the tissue regrow?”

“Maybe,” you smile at him sheepishly.

“I’m sorry you have to do this, Thuli, and that it feels like you’re losing a part of yourself,” he places a gloved hand over yours to stop you from twisting your fingers into knots. “But, it’s the right choice. The smart choice.”

Is this what Mando told himself when he swore the Creed? He took so much pride in being Mandalorian…had it been an easy decision for him to leave the life and dreams of that little boy behind. Your heart clenches in your chest, overwhelmed with this realization of your shared loss.

Is that why you don’t want to give up on him? Because you’re hoping that mending his heart will somehow make yours whole again? Wouldn’t that be nice…

“Didn’t think this would be your scene, Mando.” You attempt a coy tone to lighten the mood and change the subject. Not too coy, though. You’re afraid to flirt with him that openly after all your talk about respecting boundaries. “Are we about to embark on a wild night of partying without the kids?”

Even though he hasn’t had anything to drink, Mando does seem more relaxed despite the chaotic surroundings. He extends an arm across the back of the booth and stretches his legs out under the table, crossing them at the ankle. Of course, he’s even sexier in this casual, languid pose.

“We have three hours to kill. I’m getting comfortable.” He nods behind you towards the back of the club, where the pulsing vibrations emanate. “Knock yourself out.”

You look over at the dance floor, where shimmering neon incandescence rains down on the revelers below. It looks fun, actually. Like the kind of place you’d go to on leave with some of your fellow medics. Get drunk, dance, sing badly, find someone to bring home for the night, and forget the brutality and brushes with death for a night.

“Do you like dancing?” You ask on a whim. “Or, do Mandalorians not dance?”

“After game hunting, there is usually a…ceremony.”

“Ah, so liturgical dance!” Your eyes go wide. “Hmmmm, I don’t think the DJ plays Mandalorian chants. Guess I’m on my own.”

“You like this kinda of place?” He asks, sounding almost disdainful. Good. It’s easier to maintain the distance between you when you’re reminded that despite some shared trauma, your personalities are still galaxies apart.

“Yeah,” you grin defiantly. “You don’t have to be some club kid to enjoy the distraction of getting drunk and rubbing up against beautiful strangers. It's a good way to wash the taste of war out of your mouth.”

“I can understand that,” he says earnestly.

And you begin to wonder what, exactly, does a Mandalorian do to decompress?

You’ve known some elite soldiers, and their work always burned holes into them—which needed to be filled. Sometimes, they’d filled those holes in their hearts with you. But that wasn’t the case for Mando. Ditto on drinking, drugs, and dancing, apparently.

“So you don’t go clubbing. What’s something you do do for fun?

“Fun?”

“Yes. There’s a word for it in Mando’a. Nuhur? Good times? So I know Mandalorians are familiar with the concept.” He sighs as though you’ve asked him to perform long division. “You love throwing knives, isn’t that a Mandalorian game?”

He laughs—an actual, audible laugh. “When did you learn Mando’a?”

“We spend literally days at a time in hyperspace.”

“And this is what you do when you aren’t playing cards with Nito?”

“Yes. I read. I learn things.” Lately, you’ve become particularly interested in researching Mandalorian mating customs. “Don’t you want the kid to know your culture?”

“He’s a foundling, and I’m in his debt for saving me from the Mudhorn. My duty, by Creed, is to protect him. But this is no life for a child. Once it’s safe, I’ll find a real home for him.”

“Home is who you make it with, not where.” Whether he admits it or not, Mando loves that kid like a father, and you’re not going to let him just dismiss the depth of that relationship. “You seem pretty real to me.”

“What made you leave?”

“Huh?”

“What made you leave Hapes?”

Dammit, he’s too good at catching you off guard with these probing questions. You reach for an easy answer, but when you begin to respond, he cuts you off with a raised hand. “I know you ran away to join the Rebellion. That’s not the whole story. Not with the home you left behind.”

“Everyone expects life inside a royal palace to be so glamorous, but it is, above all else, exceedingly tedious.”

“Getting attacked by lions is tedious?”

Wow. You hadn’t expected him to acknowledge that conversation at all, given what happened afterward.

“Can I ask you about one of your scars?” You look up at him timidly. “Like how you got that one on your calf?”

It was a jagged white thunderbolt running from his heel to the back of his knee.

“I killed an Altagak. At the time, our Covert was located on Altora. They can consume entire herds—and villages. The locals asked us to rid them of the beast. The scar running along my calf is from its tusk.”

“How old were you?”

“I was fourteen. It was…an important trial for me.”

“I imagine it's hard?” You grimace, “to kill an Altagak? It’s an apex predator.”

“With tusks,” Mando nods. Which surprises you to a huff of laughter. He’s getting better at making jokes.

“You’re lucky it didn’t cripple you.”

“Lucky I wasn’t gored. Not everyone survived.”

You raise your glass and arch an eyebrow, “Thank the gods for skilled healers.”

“Hmmmm,” his exhalation hums through the modulator. “It’s always impressive how effortlessly you manage to avoid answering my questions.”

Mando’s tone starts off playful when suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you see his body retract sharply. His elbows come to rest on his knees as though he’s poised to launch himself out of the booth.

You look around to see a tall, stormy blue Twi’lek approaching your table, a gigantic grin spread across his face. The Mandalorian is a formidable warrior, but this guy could give him a run for his money—he’s big and broad, his tattoed arms clearly toned with use.

“Mando,” the Twi’lek places a hand on the Mandalorian’s shoulder. “It is you!”

“Bril,” Mando sighs in exasperation but extends himself to clasp the man’s outstretched forearm in the most congenial gesture you’ve ever witnessed from the bounty hunter. “It’s been a while.”

You can’t be sure if they’re friends, but Bril is at least confident he’s not about to be stabbed because he slides amicably into the booth next to Mando.

“Your new business partner?” He winks at you, and before you can stop yourself, you smile back.

“Something like that,” the Mandalorian mutters.

“You did always have a thing for the bad girls, Mando.”

Behind Bril is his female Twi’lek companion. She is stunningly beautiful.

Literally, you feel your breath catch in your throat when your eyes meet. Her skin is the color of sea coral, and she had adorned her lekku in gold thread, woven with gemstones, beads, and pearls, all braided through her golden headband. She takes a seat on the stool next to Bril, directly across the table from you, and you try your best not to gawk.

Bril waves over a droid with another bottle of liquor. You probably shouldn’t look wasted in the photos for your forged identification, so you’re taking it slow. But whatever this beverage is, it’s pretty strong, and you definitely feel its effects.

“Thought you left all this behind, Mando? Working for the Guild. Keeping your hands clean,” the Twi’lek says conversationally, placing a hand on his companion’s thigh. “But, I still hear things.”

While the Mandalorian doesn’t elaborate, Bril’s good spirit remains undeterred. You get the sense that they might, in fact, be friends. At least this is the first person you’ve met who wasn’t harboring some underlying hostility towards him.

It’s a tantalizing prospect. Maybe you’ll get to learn a little bit more about Mand—

“Like that shit with Ranzar. Handing your ex over to the feds, Mando? That’s cold even for you.”

Wait, what?

That, right there, how you nearly snap your neck from the speed with which you turn to look at Mando, is proof enough that you’ll never be able to play it cool with him.

“I did what I had to,” the Mandalorian says smoothly without looking at you—or he could be staring you full in the face. How the fuck would you even know?

“Don’t you always,” Bril laughs and shakes his head. “Did you buy the fancy armor with Xi’an’s bounty? Didn’t think she’d fetch that much.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

You down your drink in one gulp and pour another in the hopes that you’ll be less visibly tense over this discovery if you’re drunk. For fucksake you are nearly trembling with shock. Breathe. You gotta slow your breathing.

Ugh, you might throw up.

Please, please, dear goddess, have mercy on me and prevent me from dissolving into a panic attack in front of all these people! Okay, you’re tearing up a little bit, but no one can see behind your visor.

Every muscle in your body is rigid. You can sense Bril’s companion watching you with concern.

“I didn’t think Mandalorians coupled,” she purrs in a low voice.

Yeah, neither did you.

What is this bizarre weight settling onto your chest? The crush of rejection. And betrayal.

As though he’s deceived you somehow? Because all this time, you’ve been telling yourself that this barrier between you is because the Mandalorian can’t be intimate—with anyone. That it's forbidden. And now you know that isn’t true. He just doesn’t want to be intimate with you.

You always did like the bad girls, Mando.

Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck. All your smirks and winks and stupid flirting…and all he wanted was some stone-cold bitch. Like Morrigan.

That figures. Ironic. Just the completely exact opposite personality traits, contrary to the foundational core of your being. You couldn't even be her if you tried.

Gods, you are such an idiot. Throwing yourself at him. You fucking climbed on top of him! Ugh, the shame is so intense you can taste the bile roiling up your throat.

Bril guffaws, and you're shocked to see him actually nudge the bounty hunter with his elbow. “Your armor doesn’t include a codpiece, does it, Mando?”

It’s an objectively funny joke, and you’d love to smile away the devastation that’s probably written all over your face, but you refrain from laughing out of misplaced loyalty.

“I’m here running Spice, of course.” Bril stops howling long enough to resume polite conversation. “You looking for work? I can always stand to elevate my game with a warrior of your caliber, Mando.”

He'd said, "It wasn't just you" out of...pity? Did he feel sorry for you pathetically thirsting after him?

Aaaaaaaaah, that means you've been this creeper, sexually harassing him for the past how many months now?!

While you desperately search your brain to determine the exact moment in time when you started brazenly flirting with the Mandalorian, Bril’s companion moves around the table to crouch down next to you.

“Hey,” she looks up at you through her long, dark lashes. “Do you like MARTINE?”

“W-w-what?!” You stutter, surprised out of your shame spiral by the unexpected question. “Um, yeah. Of course. I lost my virginity listening to their second album.”

Fuck...you are such a stupid idiot. You really convinced yourself that Mando was a virgin.

“They're here–in the VIP lounge.”

“Seriously?! Like…performing?”

“Yeah, I guess it’s their cousin’s birthday party or something.”

You crane your neck to see if you can spot a VIP section.

“Let’s leave the boys to catch up,” she says, slipping her hand into yours.

“Okay,” you whisper, and without a single glance at Mando, you slip off your jacket and let her pull you away from the table.

“This is such a sleazy ploy, but if we cause a stir, I think we can get the bouncer to let us in. Are you up for for it?”

Leading you across the room and past the bar, you're pulled underneath the showering lights of the dance floor. She moves with the artful grace of a trained professional, and from the way she looks in her catsuit, she just might be.

Everybody’s watching her dance, but she only has eyes for you.

It’s suddenly very important that she knows how amazing your hair is, so you release it from your hood and run your fingers through its length to shake it out until it cascades in pearlescent sheets around your hips.

You still can’t hear a fucking thing, but you read her lips, exclaiming how much she loves it. She catches a strand in her outstretched fingers to trace its length. Her hand comes up again to tuck it behind your ear before tilting her head and leaning in slowly. Fixing you with her aquamarine eyes, she places a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Wait. This isn’t just to get Bril gassed up, right?”

“What? Fuck, Bril. He’s not gonna get us past that bouncer.”

As you both continue dancing, intertwined, her hands trace over your waist and around the edges of your ribcage before grabbing the full swell of your breasts and squeezing. You gasp, but she catches it from your mouth with slow, languorous kisses. Her lips are full and soft.

You realize that even if this is some elaborate performance for Bril, you don’t care. A deeply lonely place in your heart needs this kind of tenderness and attention. It feels good to be desired after the sting of...whatever it is you’re feeling about Mando.

You wrap your arms around the small of her back and lean into her kisses. The drumbeat picks up, and your knees and hips begin to bob in time with the music. You jump and swivel, swinging your hips and pumping your arms until you're gasping. It felt so ecstatic to release this toxic energy from your body with each breath and drop of sweat.

Both of you keep moving through this endless cycle of dancing, laughter, and kisses while the crowd around you sways and rocks.

“Do you want to try to sneak in?” She asks with an excited gleam in her eye.

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

Continue reading, Volume 3 - Post #7: Counteroffer

Back to Volume 3 - all posts

#mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mando smut #sexy mando #mando x reader #mando x you #sexymando #din darjin smut #the mandalorian smut #din dijarin x reader #mando fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #mandalorian smut #star wars smut #din djarin

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granulesofsand · 10 months

Note

Hi! Thanks for taking the time to read my question

TW: mention of wanting suicide, SH (some details), feeling trapped

I have something I've not heard anyone else talk about, and I'm wondering what could cause it. Could it be programming? Are there other possible explanations?

I'm not going to make assumptions one way or the other, or jump to any conclusions! I just want to understand

Firstly, I've tired to SH several times. But when I hold the knife up to my skin it feels like there is literally an invisible force stopping me. I physically can't do it. I have one similar memory as a teenager re breaking rules. I wanted to go somewhere I wasn't allowed, but I physically couldn't cross the threshold. Like there was an invisible wall there. Body just wouldn't do it

I had the opposite experience recently where I didn't want to SH but felt a really strong compulsion to (when fighting to go out and socialise instead). I managed to make a compromise and just scratch instead, but it was a near thing. How come I can do it only when I don't want to?

Secondly, suicidal ideation. Whenever I really want to do it, my body shuts down. Like I'm paralysed. As in: I'll be really thirsty but unable to reach for a drink. I can make small movements with my hands but actually moving is impossible. Thinking slows down and while the thoughts are kind of there it's hard to even think them (or anything)

That might sound like a good thing, to be prevented from doing that! But it's scary and I feel trapped. Like my body & life doesn't belong to me

I've not heard from anyone else with an experience like this

Have you come across anything like it before?

Tapestries

🗝️🏷️ RAMCOA, abuse, self-harm, deprogramming, bright images

This is like that other system who ended up quite probably being programmed. I want to say that this is possible without conditioning, and it would be true. But this is also one symptom, and one strand is not enough to encapsulate a tapestry.

I like that as a metaphor (you can skip down for a more concrete response); while some woven pieces use the same yarn for every warp column or weft row or both, the final product can still be large or complex.

Many tapestries use many yarns, varying in color, texture, and weight. There are lots of ways to fit a few strings together, and the differences might only be noticeable within context.

Possibilities

Basically, it’s very possible for both this forcefield stop and tranced self-harm to have sprung from typical (heavy) dissociation.

Going by your name, it could be an alter influencing external behaviors (consciously or not) or one of the defense mechanisms that your brain took up to survive.

It doesn’t have to look helpful to have been defensive, but you might be able to find an apparent reason for it within non-RAMCOA trauma. This type of bodily override is well-recorded in DID systems, so it needn’t indicate anything further.

Because they can occur naturally, however, they can therefore be installed by abusers. If you already know about a programming history, this doesn’t invalidate anything. It isn’t a definite no, and especially the sh is worth looking into, whether it’s programmed or not.

Perps could use the stop to insure only they control what harm comes to you or to keep you more obedient outside of their gaze. Having a system inflict punishments or follow through rituals without perp intervention suits programmers, and this one is widely seen in survivors.

For the Future

It wouldn’t be weird either way, and progress from this point looks fairly similar; talk to alters, build trust and get them updated on safety and daily life in the present, and working with them and their trauma as you form a relationship.

If these things happen again, maybe try reaching out to see who (if anyone) is doing it and why they feel they have to. You can converse with parts of yourself or the collective without that sentiment belonging to any alter, like a singlet’s inner dialogue.

You’ll be okay, even when it’s scary. Spend some time brushing up on coming skills and self-care if you can, it helps to lessen the blow of any discoveries or problems y or encounter. Good luck, and remember that you’ll see the tapestry in time.

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xkittypunkerx · 4 months

Text

SCREAM - A Beautiful Lie

Chapter Summary and Gang Members: Punk and his gang realize that AJ Lee has returned and begin to make their plans.

Gang Members

2009 Heel CM Punk

SOA Season 1 Jax Teller

James Keenan aka Corey Graves

The Shield Seth Rollins

Jimmy Jacobs

Chapter two

-April Mendez-

Within the next week or so, any stranger would think that we've been living here for years. We installed an amazing improved stereo system, flat screen TV, and a few other needed appliances and such. I guess you could say that our parents really love us.

I groggily opened my eyes to the smell of bacon and eggs flowing through the house. Kofi must be over here showing off his secret culinary skills. I stretched as I got out of bed, and made my way down to the kitchen. "Well look who finally decided to get up," Kaitlyn laughed as she swallowed a forkful of hash browns.

I rolled my eyes, "C'mon, I didn't sleep in that late!"

I noticed that both Kaitlyn and Kofi were staring at the oven clock and suppressing laughter, so I followed their stare and saw that I had slept in until 10 AM! I was supposed to be at an illustration intern meeting in exactly 30 minutes...

"Shit!" I cursed as I ran down the hall to my room and quickly changed into a black and grey pinstriped business suit, straightened my hair, and applied just a slight amount of makeup, enough to look like myself but not so "scary."

I rushed to the kitchen again, noting I only had 10 minutes left. Good thing that this event was on campus, otherwise I'd be mega screwed.

"Ok, I should be back around one, so you guys can go to lunch without me if you want. Um...don't forget to clean up. Peace out!" I yelled as I ran out the door to the truck.

If I wasn't in such a rush, I could've had just enough time to laugh at myself. Seriously, I just sounded like their mother! All humor aside, I pressed the pedal to the metal and pulled into the parking lot mere seconds before the meeting was about to begin.

When I walked in, it turned out that they were still distributing name tags. And much to my surprise, people were still stumbling in after me. Sometimes I honestly believe I worry way too much.

The meeting itself was a great success. I ended up meeting some pretty cool people, some of which I had common classes with this semester, got brochures for internships, and even received a couple of compliments on the drawings I've gathered thus far for my portfolio. Anyone near me could tell that I was excessively ecstatic as I practically skipped back to the truck. At this rate, tonight would definitely be a party night.

I drove home to find two very strange things: it smelled like shit and Kaitlyn had left a note. I plugged my nose in suspicious disgust as I crept into the bathroom to see if I could figure out the source of the massive stench.

I groaned as I looked at the chunk of nastiness resting at the bottom of the toilet. The water was raised unnaturally high, and something told me this thing was clogged. My suspicions were confirmed after four flushes, and no success. No matter how many times I tried to flush afterward, it didn't go up or down...now that's really gross. That note better explain what's going on here.

The note was written on the back of some receipt and resting on the corner of the counter.

It read:

AJ, I'm leaving to go look for a job. Kofi said he'll stay here a little longer, but he'll probably be gone before you get back home.

Love, Kait the Great

I rolled my eyes after reading her signature, but then realized that it must've been Kofi who was the one responsible for the clogged toilet, though it doesn't really seem like something he would do...

I groaned as I pulled the phone book out from under the kitchen desk and looked for a plumber. I dreaded the thought of some gross fat man coming here while I'm helpless and alone - talk about paranoia. Remember: keep the past where it belongs.

I forced myself to dial the number and sat on the couch waiting for him to arrive.

-Jax Teller-

"Is anyone else ready to go look for new prey? I need someone to fuck with," I asked in a bored tone as I skimmed through some text messages in my cell.

All of the guys agreed in their own way as we chugged our liquor besides, as if it were water. At this point in our world, liquor was almost necessary to keep the entertainment and creativity flowing.

As I lounged back in the leather recliner, a random memory suddenly entered my mind, causing some beer to slip past my lips as I began laughing. "What's so funny, man?" James asked, eyeing me strangely.

"Do you guys remember April Mendez, from like 3 or 4 years ago? Damn, I would just love to go hunt her down and finally finish off our first project," I suggested.

Punk had a thoughtful look on his face, as if he was reliving memories, before he finally ended up cheering for the idea. He should be the one to support the idea the most, considering the fact that AJ Lee was his girlfriend at the time.

"You know, that would probably be way better than any of the kills we've done lately. It would be challenging to find her, but damn would it be worth it."

Seth stood up and walked over to the computer nearby. He was always the pro when it came to stalking people. "Don't worry, I'm on it!" he announced with a confidence-filled grin.

He quickly typed April Mendez's name in some weird college database and you'd never believe it, but we found her. It would seem that AJ Lee must have forgotten all about us, because she was stupid enough to return to the neighborhood for her college education.

It's a shame she has no idea what she's in for. And I can promise you that she will greatly regret the day she ever decided to return to Chicago. We each exchanged pleased looks as we gathered around the kitchen table, shoving all the fast food wrappers and bloody utensils out of the way so we could plan properly.

The following morning, Punk, Seth, and I decided to go gather some dirt on AJ Lee, find out where she lives, and create a reason for us to return to her new home later tonight. AJ Lee attended a rather prestigious college located right in the heart of Chicago. It was a sprawling campus, with several residential locations.

Of course, since AJ was so much classier than the other freshman, she's living in the gated community of condos. Luckily, the community was along the edges of the campus, right near a thick forest

Seth drove the van off the main road and down the bumpy, grassy hill to the right. If our calculations were correct, then we should be close to her condo...number 233 A. Once we saw the black rod iron fence, we decided to jump it and try our luck.

"Hers is just a couple feet down the street," Punk noted as we walked slowly down the sidewalk.

I decided to go ahead of the other two slightly, just to get a sneak peak inside the house. As it turns out, it would seem we weren't alone. A girl and a guy were both sitting at the kitchen table, chatting. Looks like all we can do is sit and wait until these little inconveniences disappear.

"Hmm, maybe we could snag that chick as an encore or something?" Seth suggested, nodding toward the black and blond-haired girl.

"That could work...or we could just use them against AJ somehow. I don't really give a shit what we do with them, I just want this to be the best work we've ever done," Punk said.

I nodded, "Don't worry, man. We'll use all our tricks on this one!"

We waited in the bushes until we were sure that both people left the condo. Then, we picked the back door lock and made our way inside. Seth whistled and said, "Check out this place!"

I made my way further into the condo, walking down the short hallway until I ran into two closed doors. "Which one do you think is hers?"

Punk shrugged and kicked both doors open with just enough force to get the job done, yet keep the doors' hinges intact. One room was green and the other was black and white. "This one's definitely her room," he confirmed as he stepped into the green room. Oh that's right, green was her favorite color.

She had tons of band posters plastered across the walls, a HIM comforter on the bed, and framed pictures of her with those two other people along the shelves attached to her desk. Punk stared hard at the photos, his eyes holding a hint of resentment.

He shook his head and placed a hand over his heart and said with a tone of false pain, "She doesn't even have a picture of her and me together! I'm devastated." I humored him with a laugh as I scanned the rest of the room, memorizing every bit of it for our return tonight.

"Hey guys we don't know when the bitch is gonna be back so we better work fast," Seth pointed out, leaning casually against the white door frame.

I got up off her bed and found my way down to the basement to mess with the electric system. And just for a little bit of entertainment, Seth decided to run over to the bathroom and take a massive dump to give me a reason to return as a plumber before the real fun begins.

Before we left, Punk changed the locks around so that we had easy access to the condo tonight, regardless of whether or not little defenseless AJ thinks that the door is locked.

"How'd it go?" James asked, briefly glancing up from his Sports Illustrated magazine.

"It's perfect! We've got the whole house rigged for our benefit and Teller's is gonna head back over there in a couple hours just to fuck with her," Punk exclaimed, reaching into the fridge for an ice cold water bottle. "Also, she doesn't live alone. A girl and guy were there earlier today, so we have a couple toys to use on the side."

"The guy actually lives across the street, but the girl does in fact live with AJ. I think we should take her too for a little extra fun for the rest of us," Seth added, showing off his stalker skills once again.

"I agree with Seth. Do you think you two can keep this chick out of the house until we give you a call confirming AJ Lee's capture?" I asked James and Jimmy.

"Her name is Kaitlyn," Seth interjected.

James smirked, "Sounds hot. Besides, Teller, you know we're the best at stalking, distracting, and capturing!"

I assumed that AJ had to be back home by now, so I drove over to this plumbing place downtown that we had a special connection with. Clearly, we've pulled this particular maneuver before.

Before entering the building, I changed into the navy blue jumpsuit and pulled the hat down low over my forehead. I nodded curtly at the young guy working at the front of the counter.

"Tell... Teller, what are you doing here?" he asked, just barely above a whisper.

I stared at him intently, savoring the fear in his eyes. "Relax kid there's nothing to worry about. I'm actually doing the job this time. No bloodshed involved."

He knew all too well that in most cases I used this cover up to sneak inside homes and steal the beautiful women inside. Technically, I wasn't really lying. AJ would stay safe and sound while I fix her toilet. I wouldn't be using a disguise to take her away tonight.

Ten minutes after my arrival, the phone rang shrilly through the tiny building. "I've got this one," I said reaching excitedly for the phone, clearing my throat to sound professional. "Hello, J T Plumbing. What can I plumb for ya?"

"Um, yeah, my toilet won't flush and, well, someone...you know...emptied a little too much and it won't budge. Do you think you can come out here and fix it?" she asked timidly.

I smiled as the tone of disgust in her voice reached my ears. "Sure, thing darling, that's our job. Can ya give me an address please?"

She told me the address and even gave me the code to get past the gate. I told her I'd be there momentarily and hung up the phone. I loaded a few things into the van and headed back over to the campus.

I arrived at her place a few minutes later and had to silence a laugh as I rang the doorbell and waited to see her filthy little face. The hardest part of this whole thing would be pretending to be nice to her, but it would all be worth it in the end.

I formed a perfectly fake, business-like smile on my face once she opened the door. Her eyes widened momentarily and she hesitated to speak after first seeing me. I knew she didn't recognize me... probably assumed I'd be fat and creepy...even though I didn't think all men of this profession were like that.

But then again, I'm not really a plumber.

In the next Chapter: The Gang Kidnaps AJ Lee

#cm punk #cm punk fanfiction #cm punk x reader #aj lee #jax teller #seth rollins #kofi kingston #tara knowles #wwe #sons of anarchy #fanfiction

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