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2kmps · 3 months

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𝙱𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙾 𝙴𝙰𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙽 𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝙴 𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙴𝙽 - 1/2

the ghoul x chems dealer!reader | mdni | 4.7k

story summary; "thou shalt get sidetracked by bullshit every goddamn time" was what the ghoul told lucy back then, and it rings true even now when his chems supply has dwindled to the last vials and he learns of you, a reputable chems dealer masquerading as a brothel-keeper in a busy merchant settlement and seeks you out. you end up kidnapped, his plans just keep getting derailed, there's a whole lotta ropes and gunslinging, and you won't stop prying into his business.

story warnings; MDNI!/18+, major season one spoilers!!, canon non-compliant, fallout prime based, extremely crude humor, graphic depictions of gore + violence, gun violence, body horror, addiction, mc is a drug dealer, injury to mc (shot in the shoulder), copious cursing, cooper uses (sweetheart, hun, sweetie quite a bit). there is plot! the warning list expands significantly in the second part.

notes; this occurs, more or less, directly following the events of season one. this canon non-compliant bc I have an extremely loose understanding of fallout lore and am not strictly following it, sorry. hopefully it does not detract from the story! 🫡

ty @hantaslittlearsonist for your excellent proofreading! it's been enjoyable working with you! this is also part of @ficsforgaza initiative!

if you enjoyed the first part of this fic, please reblog and interact!! it really goes a long way for writers when you do!

He had learned about a reputable chems dealer in a settlement called Twin Burns right before blasting a gory hole straight through the ugly man’s head. Through the empty skull, facing a cloudy eastward window, he owned those seconds of unmuddled peace as orange-pink daylight filtered in through the dead ghoul and saturated the rotten shack with warmth, preluding a new day beneath the magnifying glass of the sun.

The MacLean kid had been the one to do the work to get them to Twin Burns by altering the route in her pip-boy, tweaking and twisting knobs right and left until the screen displayed coordinates that pointed in them some nebulous direction; far off-course from where they needed to be headed. Far away from the answers that had eluded him for two centuries, inundating him in a sort of madness as intimately familiar as his bitterness, as the grief that had settled in places in his bones and blood that radiation couldn't come close to touching.

As it turned out, his new (or old) innate nature overruled the friction in his jaw upon the first spasm, an undetectable cough that inflated his chest and didn't quite make it out of his throat. He smothered it, swallowed around the itch, rifled through the saddlebag laid across his shoulder and counted three days worth of vials left—that was being generous.

It only took six hours to reach Twin Burns, a sprawling place welded together with all manner of materials meant to take on some semblance of buildings with cloudy glass placed in uneven windows, tilted doors that swung open easily enough because of the claw-like grooves worn into the floor from unending traffic. Outside, vendors peddled their goods out of suitcases and metal carts with wheels, roasted iguana skewers over metal rings with tall flames that lashed out with the sway of the breeze.

Hundreds of bodies coalesced into a single clusterfuck in his mind, all inconsequential to what he was searching for. Their bleats for attention were static as he couldn’t differentiate the voice of the man selling immortality elixirs from the man three or four stalls down claiming the glowing meat he held from a lead rod the full length of his body (while wearing lead gloves to the elbow) was safe for consumption.

He moved onward through the crowd, hardly registering the wide berth he was given despite a number of ghouls manning the stands alongside their nonirradiated counterparts.

What he did notice was the growing swelter of midday heat, a certain wailing pitch from the vendors that made his molars creak as he grinded them together, and the fact that the MacLean girl had been swept up by some unctuous sales scheme and wandered off with the dog.

That made it easier to track down what he was looking for without the kid’s grandiose heroics to get in the way of what he needed to do. She had lost some of that righteous wind in her sails, like the revelations at the Observatory had permanently stuck a needle into her lungs and kept them from expanding the swell of her chest with all the same misguided pride she once had had.

In a way, he was grateful for her newfound temperance because she reminded him far too much of himself before his ghoulification, before the war, before the bombs dropped, and before he learned he had once loved and lain with the embodiment of evil. The Mojave Wasteland with all of its depravity came nowhere close to that.

He trusted his instincts, more specifically his training and centuries of survival, to guide him the rest of the way to a building skirting the edge of the town. Despite being as dilapidated as the rest of the structures in Twin Burns, this one still had a greater sense of care put into its construction—rusted aluminum walls and sloping rooftops were hammered into metal and wood to assure sturdiness. A true testament that humans would put their time and money into the shit that didn't matter.

Using a hand to push his way through the swinging doors, drab saloon style ones on creaking hinges ready to break, he was assailed by rapturous sounds on the upper floors—moans, cries, praise, and degradation forming a cohesive amalgam of immorality. Inside the brothel was cooler than the streets where vendors fried their iguana and brahmin meat, but the heat that managed to get trapped inside was almost suffocating.

“Oh, hey there!” greeted a ghoul behind the front counter, accent heavy and Bostonian despite the raspiness grasping his throat like a fist. “You, uh, lookin’ for a good time, pal?”

Next to him, you slid a finger between the pages of an issue of Astoundingly Awesome Tales to take a good look at the newcomer. You had been folded up in an old armchair with flat cushions, the seat of it deep enough to suck you down until your chest touched your knees, though you were quick to climb out of it while fanning a light breeze with your magazine.

First, you noticed that he was a remarkably pristine ghoul—no slivers of shredded, irradiated flesh or gleaming white skullcap showing between patches of brittle hair. This one seemed to have all of his appendages intact as well. Second, this guy was packing some mad firepower in his holsters, guns you weren't even able to identify despite all your working knowledge of firearms, meaning he had probably modified them himself. More concerning to you than that, however, were the dark leather tatters he was outfitted in.

Those weren't the type of clothes you'd loot off some desecrated corpse or have the wild fortune of stumbling upon. Rather, that sort of ensemble was earned across time and bloodshed; a veteran wayfarer who'd seen the wastes’ reach worsen, watched crumbling cities finally succumb into gray hills of rubble and scrap, and who had lethal accuracy with lead.

One of his sort showing up never meant anything good. You always put your intuition second to business, with this very much being one of those moments, fastening a homey smile across your face that you hoped was disarming, if not a little meek.

By the time you stood at the counter, the old magazine had been rolled between your fingers and palm into a hard, hollow tube that you used to lightly smack into your colleague’s chest until he took it away.

“I've got this, Clark.” you said. He took the hint without commentary. The commonwealth variety of all things had tempers that flared faster than a flip-lighter, but Clark had enough sense to know when to put up a fight and when to leave it alone.

“Welcome in, my ghoulish friend!” came your next words fancied up in enthusiasm and quite business-like, you were convinced. “What can I set you up with today? I know it may sound busy upstairs, but we have plenty of rooms and plenty of folks eager to please… for a fee, of course!”

The Ghoul wasn't bothered by the acoustics of the place; how the lewd noises from up above seemed to catch into the wood and metal and reverberate down the foundational beams, through the ceiling where thumping beds made overhead light fixtures jitter and flicker. Even the floor under his soles vibrated like a pulse, making layers of dirt and dust rise up in a smoky, brown haze that latched onto the fabric of his pants.

All that dirt and dust had nowhere to go except everywhere in the building, so it settled on the front counter, covered chairs and table tops in a grainy, yellowish grime, and collected in your hair and the folds of your clothes every time you moved. There wasn't much to the place as it were: a cramped parlor with the reception desk, some furniture, an assortment of picture frames roughly hewn from wood with black and white photographs of prostitutes; and finally the three of you, taking up all the breathing room downstairs.

“You it?” The Ghoul asked, lifting his chin in your direction while you fiddled with a pendant leashed to a chain around your neck.

He thought it looked vaguely familiar somehow.

“Well, that depends, newcomer. What are you looking for?” you rejoined, shifting your weight from one hip to the other to simulate impatience. “This is the finest brothel you're gonna find for a hundred miles. We don't discriminate against your kind here, you know? We have gorgeous ghoulettes, a few charming ghoul-y gentlemen—if that's your preference.”

"We also have some handsome, healthy gentlemen and lovely ladies—if that's what you like. We have no shortage of variety, believe you me. There’s an upcharge for our premium choices, but I assure you there's a reason why they cost more.”

You had finished your spiel with another cordial smile meant to impress, score the jackpot and secure yourself in his eyes as someone wholly winsome and conscientious of whatever his needs might be. Some of your drivel had been stretched—as was natural out here in the wastes where simple wordage was enough to rob a man of his next meal, his caps, his humanity, his life—though none of it had been a blatant lie.

Since taking over this shithole of a brothel months ago, per leadership demands, you'd had to learn to adapt to a broadened clientele. All sorts that were a familiar sight as well as those you intuited could be easily swayed with some well-timed charm, and good-enough smiles that didn't require you to try too hard.

With enough rambling and conviction behind your words, you found it was rather easy to convince anyone of almost anything. You hadn't discovered that particular skill from taking up burning mattresses after the ghouls ejaculated on them and shooting nonpayers in the groin though. That had come long before, but you'd decided it was especially useful in this profession.

This man, this ghoul, however, was hardly aroused from your description of the brothel’s services. Rather than asking you more as you’d hoped he would, he jutted out his jaw and rolled it around as though it were dislocated, or something alien to his body. Within that motion, he had something of a crooked smile as he nodded to himself.

“You don't seem the type to make living rentin’ out people's bodies.” Cooper’s teeth showed through his smile seeing yours start to strain and wither like all manner of life out here did. “You ain't got the right pitch for it.”

Clark still had a hold of the magazine and was wringing the tube between his hands to stave off the anxiety of letting you conduct business. The varnished front and back covers made an awful squeal against his palms as he twisted it again and again self-soothingly. You elected to ignore him, rationalizing that he was high off of Jet most of the time anyway, so his jitteriness was just something else you'd admonish him about later.

“Well!” you exclaimed, patting down the countertop with the full splay of your hands. “You caught me red-handed! This isn't my usual gig. I usually just collect the money, change the sheets, burn the mattresses in some cases—as I'm sure you understand.” When he didn't look any more convinced, you continued with an awkward laugh, “The truth is, our madam recently had her face ate off by a ghoul—one of ours, actually—the bitch just lost her mind and lunged. Madam lost her legs back in Shady Sands, couldn't do a damn thing about it. By the time we found her, there wasn't much left of her head. So, I'm the interim madam, you see…”

You had noticed he stopped flexing his jaw to nod along with your long-winded ordeal, a good indication that he wasn't hearing anything you were saying. He sighed during the midst of it, his disinterest whittling away at your confidence but not so much that you stopped talking.

It was only when he drew back the tatters of his black coat, like curtains parting from center stage, that your voice collapsed around a sudden tightness in your throat. You imagined the feeling was most similar to a vacuum crushing an aluminum can into a jagged, oddly grotesque-looking sphere—except it was in your body and your voice and anxiety, pink and meaty and a little coarse but not sharp.

The Ghoul didn't touch the handle of the gun strapped at his hip, but he made sure you knew it was there. He stuck his fingers through the belt loops on his pants, letting his hands hang limp while watching Clark squirm and your expression go through more phases than the moon.

“Oh,” you laughed again in false good-nature, “I know—I know I'm not what you're expecting. I don't look the part, like, at all. I get it. But, I do my damndest everyday to show up—”

"I heard from an old fella just passed that there's a vendor somewhere here 'round this settlement that has wares I'm particularly interested in.” The Ghoul said. “Wouldn't happen to be you, would it?”

You had an enormity of thoughts bleed into the forefront of your mind at that moment, stealing the humor from your face, but you believed you still managed a friendly-sounding tone. “I don't really know. There are a lot of vendors up and down the road of this settlement. Maybe look a little harder instead of hassling an overworked brothel-keeper, eh?”

“Hey.” Clark warned, abandoning the magazine on the floor as he neared the counter and reached into one of the cubby holes. “Think you've overstayed your welcome, buddy.”

But, he wasn't seeing Clark at that moment. A sameness in suffering didn't inspire camaraderie in him, not to the point where it was worth acknowledging, anyway. When he came across ghouls in a pitiful state, he'd sometimes offer some solace in the form of a distant memory—a wife's warm bread, the high from a good quality chem, the silky feathers from a crooning vixen’s boa as she drank and laid herself out over a piano—before they'd lose their brains and hearts to an explosive round and he could finally feast.

His smile grew stiff, lips leathery and pale and stretched thin across dry, yellow teeth and a prominent gum line that he couldn't keep wet enough for the skin inside his mouth and lips not to stick together. Had it not been for the mood displacement—your fairly light-hearted business venture turned into this guy squaring up alone against you and Clark—you wouldn't have been so bothered because ghouls sometimes just looked like that.

Just looked wrong.

No doubt this guy had the skill to back up his confidence. The words flowed out of him easily, without all the same inhibitions that’d slow any other man's speaking down to intervals of paced breaths used to materialize an elder’s wisdom and a mother’s worldly caution from some deep part in their psyche.

Knowing this made you itch all over; the needle-like hairs covering your body stuck you like thousands of tiny pins. Goosebumps hardly felt natural in a desolate, torrid climate such as this, yet there they were and they hurt on the sharper edges of your body where the sun had fried your skin and begun to make it bubble and flake like mole rat flesh roasting above a fire.

You couldn't give yourself the credit of being particularly smart or shrewd, but you did know a bad feeling when you had one, and you'd been around the ends of the wasteland enough times to know when to draw a gun.

The Ghoul’s parched, gummy smile still in place, he said, “I’d rather not make this harder for you than it needs to be, hun.”

The facade slipped off of you entirely right then, just as you hoisted a modified assault rifle onto the countertop. A sharp vibration quaked through wood, whereas an onerous metallic rattle lasted in your ears well after the sound had actually stopped. It was at least half your size, hefty in your hands, and had been adjusted over time through sleepless nights in the wilds, supplied by barters gone awry where you came out a little bloody and battered, but alive, richer in caps and wares.

You were frowning at him, the whites of your eyes on show as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. If there was one thing you could do well, it was convey death with a glance.

“I don't sell to an unestablished clientele”—you kept one hand wrapped tight around the rifle, just how you imagined you would holding a feral ghoul by its skeletal neck while it clawed and gnashed its rotted teeth at you—“turn your ass right back around and walk out of here, ghoul.”

He smacked his gums, almost as though he were agreeing that was the better option in this case, but he didn't move. “Sure thing, sweetheart. But you're comin' with me.”

Clark fired the first shots from his hip in rapid sequence, filling the downstairs space in an explosive clamor that made your ears ring. The reverberations in the air were inside your mouth, playing your teeth like piano keys; meanwhile, wood slats overhead trembled as feet pounded across them, loosening dust, catching the screams of the prostitutes and patrons within the grain.

Being lost amid the ruckus had made you take up the rifle too late. The Ghoul had already unholstered his gun and put a bullet straight into Clark’s firing arm, blowing it clean off his body in a mess of agonized wails, red and pink gore made of sinew, tissue, blood, and exposed bone. The appendage landed next to your feet, fingers twitching a little as the nerves died, and went cold.

You stirred at Clark's howls of pain, but only because you finally registered what had happened—how quickly it happened. The Ghoul nudged aside a single empty shell with the toe of his boot, appeared to wrestle back a grimace from the horrible cries your partner made, took aim and fired again.

This time, you reacted by clambering across the counter and sprinted for the half-saloon doors leading outside, listening to the second round hit, explosion muffled by a wet splatter and Clark’s abrupt silence. You didn’t turn around to affirm the visual you now held in your mind—fleshy, mucky, and viscous, and simply kept on for the doors. Clark wouldn't have anything on him worth skirmishing with this guy for, anyway.

The midday sunlight fitted through gaps above and below the swinging doors, between the washboard vents that cast yellow stripes across your body as you approached. Ordinarily, you hated the oppressive heat of the Mojave, having spent an exorbitant amount of daytime hours lounging, reflexively complaining to Clark about bailing out of this whole prostitution operation, of taking your marketable skill set back east and setting up shop in Goodneighbor where all the freaks and addicts like to congregate.

Had Clark’s head not just been completely blown apart, he would've followed you without ever asking where to. He was just that way—hopelessly loyal to you since the moment you supplied him with a half-emptied box of menthols when all he had wanted was one to tide him over until he could score some Jet.

You had found him on your last trip through the Commonwealth in a settlement. He’d been sitting on a mildewy bedroll and called out for a cigarette in a particularly despondent way, probably expecting you'd walk on by pretending not to hear him, as did most smoothskins.

“All I got are menthols. Not even gonna lie, they taste real bad,” you said. “That good enough for you?”

Luckily for him, you had a soft spot for ghouls, especially the downtrodden sorts with retriever personalities. That much had been easy to discern the moment his eyes brightened at the slim box you handed to him. “Need a job? Know how to shoot a gun? I need some firepower to cover me on my way back to the Mojave.”

He smiled up at you, renewed but fragile, “Clark Gillespie at your service! Tell me to shoot and I'll ask ‘where?’.”

As you pushed through the wood saloon-style doors to the outside, wincing against a faceful of stiff, hot air and radiant sunlight, you thought that Clark had deserved better than you constantly bitching at him about the state of things—the heat, the woes of scrubbing ghoul semen out of mattresses, how business could just never be simple.

And, then, those thoughts were gone with a gunshot and a sudden, sharp protrusion of searing white behind your eyes. That surge of pain evolved into rage rather than fear, forcing your mouth to shape a snarl, teeth grinding, nostrils flared wildly as you stumbled out into the silent streets filled with prying eyes.

“Motherfucker!” you screamed at The Ghoul as he emerged from the brothel, using one hand to part the disfigured swinging doors holding on by a hinge. You struggled to keep a grip on your rifle as you lifted it to aim through the scope. “You fucking shot me! You just killed my help!”

“Well, now, that doesn't sound very business-like of you. Don't a fella got a right to defend himself out here in a place like this?” he took every step forward that you took back from him, eyes downcast to the break in his gun as he replenished it with bullets. “I could be wrong, I'm gettin’ up there in age, but wasn't it your partner who opened fire in a public establishment?”

You tried to breathe through the pain, bloating your cheeks way out—holding—and then letting the air release through gaps in your teeth with rattly hiss. Blood fell from your shoulder as heavy pellets into the sand and dirt by your feet, pockmarking the ground with a trail leading right to you.

“That doesn't count,” you said. “You threatened me. What did you think was going to happen?”

The Ghoul snapped his break-action shut and humored you with a half-shrug. “If we’re goin’ off of that, well, then, I threatened you politely.” He gave another one of his rough smiles. “I ain't much, hun, but I am a man of my word. No reason for us to go ‘round like this if you let me peep those wares of yours.”

If Clark were still alive, you'd be talking him out of a Bostonian temper tantrum and unloading his pistol. Meanwhile, you'd be annoyed but in overall possession of your bad feelings towards this stranger for the sake of making some caps and getting him out of your hair. However, Clark was gone and your mood was borderline homicidal.

“Go to Hell!” you locked him in your crosshairs and took off the safety.

The Ghoul never took his eyes off of you. “Already livin’ and breathin’ it now, sweetheart.”

The tense pause gripping the long stretch of road in Twin Burns broke into a discordant echo of sounds just then—gunfire and panic. From your left and right, vendors and wastelanders mimicked startled radroaches immersed in blinding light, scurrying, discombobulated as they ran and upended booths and carts. They shouted as they scattered; some vendors tried to collect heaps of wares in their arms, and the locals armed themselves and hid out of sight.

No one would come to stop you from emptying your rifle into a ghoul. He wasn't worth risking their own skins for. You soured the stifled air in gun smoke and soot, struggling to pace your breaths through that combination of hot smog in your lungs and the pain pounding up through your shoulder with reach recoil.

Your aim was clumsier than usual; unsteady and distracted by everything that had happened, but you'd been close enough to point-blank range where it didn't matter that you weren't looking through the reticle anymore. Each bullet hit the ghoul somewhere on his body, apparent in the way he lurched backward as if dragged like a child's plaything on strings.

Through a charcoal-gray haze, you watched the spray of bullets tear through his clothes and pierce into him, leaving a dozen or so worm-like, black holes which didn't bleed. You pretended to hear the sounds of shredding fabric, wet squelching from your ammunition obliterating what was left of his intestines. No doubt if you were to cut him open after the fact, black, gelatinous, foul-smelling decay would be what spilled out on the beige ground.

The Ghoul managed to keep his hat on top of his head as he fell against the stairs leading up into the brothel. The prostitutes and patrons still inside were huddled together along the walls nearest to the swinging doors, hazarding glances over them to see if this wave of violence was any closer to receding. Their voices went from indistinguishable mutterings to merging into a chorus of excitable chatter when the gunshots finally stopped.

Click. Click. Click.

“What? No. Fuck!” you hissed, shaking the rifle futilely before lifting it to your shoulder again. You pulled the trigger.

Click. Click. Click.

“No, no, no!” If it were possible for the gun to sputter cartoonishly in exhaustion, it'd be an appropriate time for it to do so. You felt no resistance as you continued to squeeze the trigger, allowing enough time for the acrid tang of smoke and the gray clouds to clear from the vicinity. “Goddamnit!”

Clickclickclick. Click. Click. Clickclickclick.

From some ways, you perked the sound of laughter that you realized was coming from The Ghoul. It was a winded, raspy sort of laugh that you imagined felt a lot like having sand stuck to the sticky membrane in your throat and shards of glass lodged sideways—impassable, no amount of water or swallowing would get rid of it.

“Feelin’ good now? Get it all outta your system?” he was already back on his feet, patting down the sides of his coat as though all you had done was blow dust on him. “Looks like you left home without somethin’ important. Ammo’s pretty hard to come by out here. I'd give you some of mine, but, ah, I think you'd probably waste that, too.”

A torrent of shock raced up along your spine; the disbelief and fear made you simultaneously hot and cold. Sweat matted the downy hairs on the back of your neck and streaked the sides of your face in fat pearls, cutting through a thin layer of grime on your skin. The heat was at its worst in short bursts—pulses of lightheadedness that made your wound throb, reminded you that your ears were still ringing, that your exposed skin was burning, burning, burning in the sun—

“Well, as much as I'd just love to keep shootin’ the shit with you like this, I've got places to be,” The Ghoul said this with one of his almost lipless smiles and a slow drawl, “how about we wrap up this little transaction of ours and I'll be on my way. Sound good to you?”

You decided the best course of action to take now was to hurl your rifle at him and haul ass for a narrow tunnel between scrap houses. Meanwhile, he examined the modifications on your gun after having sidestepped your throw and picked it up. He only briefly glanced in the direction you had gone, at the gap you had wedged yourself through and fresh streaks of blood which glistened off of the metal walls.

He whistled a tune as he followed your trail—the artful stripes of red, the untidy boot prints in the dirt that ran circles like a dog on a leash before veering left, the rankness of human odor—while searching through an array of bullets on his bandolier for ones that could fit the magazine for your rifle.

a/n: hey, guys! I hope you enjoyed the first part of this! originally, I was going to hold off on posting this until the entire story was done—but, in the interest of knowing which project I should be devoting myself to, I'll be posting it in two parts.

this first part and then the second which will contain the other 12-14k. I am asking—begging—humbly for you to please reblog and interact if you'd like to see more from this project!

210 notes · View notes

verysium · 11 months

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ACT 1, SCENE 3: blue lock headcanons

sae is into skincare: lotions, serums, the whole set. he and rin used to have self-care nights as children during which they would sit in bed with matching face masks and watch cartoons on the family tablet. if they were in a good mood, they would let you join.

barou listens to classical while working out. no joke. this man is so insanely focused he will shoot goals and play paganini at the same time. his work ethic is low-key why you were attracted to him the first place.

nagi is lazy to the point he will deliberately buy five pairs of the same exact pants just to save himself the trouble of having to choose an outfit in the morning. thank god for reo otherwise nagi would still be dressing like he just crawled out of bed. he still can't do much about his bedhead though.

rin desperately wanted to join sae in the deeper end of the community pool; however, he was deathly afraid of drowning. his only logical solution was to cover himself in pool floaties while he dipped a single toe into the water. even to this day, he still has traumatic memories of that experience. you need to hold his hand every time.

kaiser acts like his football prowess comes entirely from natural talent. in reality, he trains to an obsessive degree behind the scenes. you could come home at midnight, and he would still be there replaying every single highlight of his recent game. he is the type to keep detailed notes about all the players he went up against.

isagi likes to walk around his hometown of saitama and just observe the snapshots of life around him. whether it's a street vendor, children playing on a grass patch, or a couple in the sunset, he secretly enjoys these little vignettes of human experience. he would become sentimental when it comes to you. sometimes you have to pull his head out of the clouds.

nagi has parents who work overseas, so the most he sees of them is through video calls or holiday presents. occasionally, he also gets a birthday card shipped through international mail. when you threw him his first surprise party, he secretly felt touched because his family was never big on physical celebrations.

sae is ridiculously good at anything that involves data and calculations. he participated in a math competition one time in junior high, and he would have made it to the national level had he not been entirely focused on football. refused to tutor rin in algebra though because apparently his little brother has to figure out everything for himself. if it were you though, he would begrudgingly agree.

bachira holds the world record in procrastination. his notebook, pencil, and eraser are still as untouched and pristine as they were on the first day of the academic school year. he does not know what a book is, nor has he read one. he only studied because you refused to cuddle with him otherwise.

ego eats so many cups of instant ramen noodles that his glasses begin to fog up from time to time. anri has to clean the frames and lenses weekly just to make sure his myopic self can even see. at this point, she's the real MVP of the entire series.

barou likes to open the windows right after it rains because he enjoys the sweet smell of petrichor. his ideal day would be spent lounging on a couch with some tea and a novel. it would be even more perfect if you snuggled under the blankets with him.

niko sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night, immensely insecure about his forehead. he thinks it looks giant though it really isn't. you have to brush his fringe back and pepper kisses down his face and remind him that a big forehead means a big, sexy brain, so it really isn't that bad. he believes you and goes back to sleep.

shidou would make fun of boomers. in fact, he'd ridicule every single person he considers past their prime. he does not believe in any form of authority, nor does he like being told what to do. if he had his way, he would have turned the entire world into anarchy a long time ago. the only reason why he doesn't wake up and make himself everyone's problem is because he doesn't want to upset you.

kaiser knows he is very well-endowed physically, so he purposefully walks around your apartment shirtless. if he catches you eyeing him, he will make a big deal out of it. tries to not-so-subtly flex his biceps every time he reaches for the milk carton.

reo loves cocktail dresses, especially in the wine red shade. something about the accentuated figure and natural curves gives him goosebumps. his favorite part of you is when your tummy slightly protrudes after you've eaten too much. you might think it's embarrassing, but he thinks it's adorable.

rin only uses shower gel, mostly because he learned his lesson after using the locker room shower stalls. never use bar soap, always use bottled. he's also the type to always have shower shoes. sae taught him that.

bachira is the type of student to completely misread the question and still not feel bad after the teacher points it out. oh no, he was actually supposed to solve for x, not just circle it? he'll shrug it off like nothing ever happened. at least he tried. the teacher should be grateful for his effort.

sae says he does not understand the sentiments behind cute couple traditions but then proceeds to get upset when you show up to his game without wearing his jersey. would definitely get you matching bracelets for your anniversary.

aiku has a high spice tolerance. he would definitely drown his food either in sriracha or buldak sauce. if you can't handle spicy though, he would set aside a separate plate just for you and manually spoon out the food just to make sure you have something to eat too.

aryu never has dry cuticles. he is always trimming and filing to perfection. sometimes he has beef with your nail tech because he thinks he could have done so much better on your acrylics. refuses to let you go to a salon because he already has all the tools and expertise necessary.

sae does not know how to cook. his manager has always ordered take-out for him. the one time he tried to use a microwave, he completely misread the package instructions and nearly burned the entire building down. called you up with the straightest face afterwards to tell you that the smoke alarms were not shutting off.

barou unconsciously caves into peer pressure. every single new trend makes him rethink his personal style. however, he views it all with an old man mentality. like what are these youngsters doing these days? dying their hair every possible color of the rainbow? he has to do that too. proceeds to call aryu to add red streaks into his own hair. sometimes you have to remind him that external opinion should always taken with a grain of salt.

chigiri has a major sweet tooth. if you so much as bake him one single treat, he will have made plans to put a ring on your finger before he even finishes the damn pastry. his ideal partner is someone mature and understanding who can take care of him well. definitely likes the homemaker type.

gagamaru is the seeing friend in your relationship. no matter how many trips he makes to the optometrist, he will always come back with perfect 20/20 vision. definitely a nature enthusiast, and he loves hiking. even if you're blind as a bat, he will always be there to hold your hand in the dark.

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scruplescripture · 1 year

Text

Seeing a lot of human shadow prismo, tried to make his hair look like swirly cotton candy because I was thinking about those custom cotton candy vendors… that and those shitty popsicles that never look quite right

Prime prismo shape dear god I suddenly have a sweet tooth

#prismo

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probablyasocialecologist · 18 days

Text

In 1940s Britain, at a time before fast food and ready meals were staples of the British high street and in a country struggling to deal with the ramifications of war, a popular new restaurant chain was established. It served high-quality meals at reasonable prices, attracted customers from the full spectrum of British society, and grew at a rate of 10 new sites a week at its most popular. The brains behind the operation? The British government, led by the prime minister, Winston Churchill. Churchill’s British Restaurants, a chain of government-funded canteens offering nutritious price-capped meals, were intended to counter inflation in food and fuel prices related to the war, as well as to boost community spirit. At their peak, there were more British Restaurants across the UK than there are branches of McDonald’s or Wetherspoons today. Now a new report is calling for the return of a “national restaurant service” in some form, as a way to tackle contemporary issues such as health inequality, food insecurity and even climate change in the UK. A forthcoming report entitled Public diners: the idea whose time has come, by food policy NGO Nourish Scotland, marks the beginning of a campaign to introduce restaurants as a new piece of national infrastructure, a call backed by politicians and experts. A public diner, according to the report, is a state-subsidised eatery serving quality and ethically produced food at affordable prices. Crucially, says Nourish Scotland, they are neither charity nor a treat, but rather everyday eating places for entire communities to access.

[...]

Last year hospital data showed the number of patients in England and Wales being treated for nutritional deficiencies had tripled in a decade while a January 2024 survey by the Food Foundation found 20% of UK households with children reported experiencing food insecurity. And, Nourish Scotland says, ingredients could be sourced from organic farms, reducing unsustainable food production practices and food waste, and stimulating local economies. Public diners have already been realised elsewhere in the world. In Poland, government-funded “milk bars” (bar mleczny) gained popularity in the communist era as a way to serve traditional home-cooked food at low prices, and remain numerous today. Singapore’s “hawker centres”, market-style community dining rooms, emerged as part of the nation’s urban redevelopment following independence, and bring an array of street sellers under one roof to ensure vendors’ access to ingredients and space, as well as food hygiene standards and choice for consumers. The call for state-subsidised dining in the UK comes amid a growing international movement for public restaurants as key infrastructure.

31 August 2024

See also I Dream of Canteens, by Rebecca May Johnson

#food #hunger #british restaurants #rationing #uk politics

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pinkanonwrites · 2 years

Note

Idea for a little angst. Leona has a nightmare about his s/o (fem or gn preferably) becoming an unfortunate victim to King’s Roar’s effect. Maybe having flashbacks to when he overblotted in a sense? Up to you!

Ohhhhhhh this is a PRIME angst prompt, thank you very much for this incredibly ouchie idea.

GN!Reader, ANGST, comfort

"Herbivore?"

In the center of Night Raven College's Spelldrive stadium, Leona stood alone. There was no grass beneath his feet crosshatched with play lines and goal marks, just cracked, dry soil. There were no cheers in the stands, no holler of food vendors or trumpet of pep bands, just a blistering, eerie silence. As the wind whistled through the empty field, little spirals of sand danced upon the breeze to land near his feet.

"Howl? Felmier?... Ruggie?"

No response.

He trod carefully across the arid dirt, moving towards the entrance of the field. Surely there he would find someone waiting, Ruggie or another Savanaclaw student or you, you had to be here somewhere. He was not afraid. he was not.

But dipping through the doorway and peering into one of the locker rooms revealed an equally eerie sight. No students, no coaches. Just heaps of dry, yellow sand. The alternate team's locker room revealed the same sight. So did the hallway out into the stadium entry, the vendor booths that lined the cobblestone path, the winding road leading back up to the school proper.

But along that road, facing away from him, finally he saw you.

"Herbivore!"

"...Why?"

Despite your distance, he could hear you perfectly. He tried to move towards you but it felt like her were wading through tar, each step a herculean effort. He tried to call for you again but found his voice dry and lifeless in his throat.

"I didn't ask to be here. I didn't know this would happen. But still... I just wanted to help. Why wouldn't you let me help?"

He was moving forward, he knew he was, so why did it seem like you were just as far away?

"This isn't even my home, but I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Is that so wrong? Why do you hate me so much?"

'I don't. I don't hate you. I never have, not really.' He tried to say, but the only noise he could make was a single choked rasp.

"Why would you do this to me? I just wanted to help."

He blinked. That's all he did, just a single blink. But suddenly he was upon you, crowding your space, a single clawed hand wrapped effortlessly around your neck. You didn't thrash, didn't scream, didn't make any attempt to pull away. Leona couldn't move either, frozen in time, watching in horror as the delicate skin around your neck began to flake and chip and dissolve to powdery sand. The tears in the corners of your eyes turned to dust before they could even roll down your cheeks.

"I JUST WANTED TO HELP!"

Leona jolted awake to blackness, the dull tick of an alarm clock sitting on his nightstand. He was coated in sweat, panting, throat dry and hoarse. He felt along the left side of his bed, palms thumping frantically over the blanket-clad shape sharing his space. The only one he'd allow to share his space.

"Hrrmph?- Ow, ow! Shit, Leona! You scared the hell out of me!" You grumbled, wrestling blindly out of your blanket to try and protect yourself from his swatting hands. You were here. Thank the seven, you were here. You were here, beside him, and he hadn't destroyed you. He hadn't ruined the one good thing that life had given him, not yet.

He hadn't, but he almost did. He almost did, some time ago.

The air was forced out of your body in a rushed whoof! as Leona bowled into you, draping himself entirely over your still sleep-addled form. Before you could protest or even question what was happening you felt the rasp of his sandy tongue against your temple, peppered kisses in between soothing licks. Was he... Grooming you? Leona never groomed you. He rarely even let himself be groomed by his own family. And yet here he was, pressing himself into you like he was afraid you were going to vanish from beneath his grasp.

"Herbivore... kitten..." He mumbled in between kisses, reverent, relieved. you let a hand come up to rest on his cheek and he stifled a sound that you could have sworn was a tiny sob.

"Hey, hey, I'm right here big cat. I'm not going anywhere. What's all this about?" You ran your thumb blindly back and forth over the curve of his cheekbone, and he melted weakly into the touch.

"...Right, right. You're not. Never go anywhere. I won't let you, not without me." Slowly the two of you sank back into the warmth of your shared mattress, Leona pressed against you like a second skin. "You're stuck with me now, aren't ya? Don't even think of... Of goin' anywhere."

As his words began to drift into exhausted mumbles you pressed yourself as close as you could into his warm side, letting him wrap an arm over your body and pull you into his embrace. You murmured a soft placation into his chest, hoping that whatever brought on this sudden influx of emotion out of your partner, it would be enough to soothe it.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twst #disney twst #twst x reader #twst imagines #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar imagines #leona kingscholar angst #my writing #angst #comfort #anon

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crosshairlovebot · 1 year

Text

building feelings / tech x gn!reader

pairing: tech x gn!reader (no y/n)

description: tech teaches you how to fix something on the marauder, and you've always admired him and his intellect.

word count: 1,819

warnings: none. tech is a sweetheart.

two fics in several days?!?! what?!? this is ANOTHER request from another lovely twitter mutual who asked for tech teaching the reader how to fix something on the marauder! i have never written for tech before but i had?? so much fun?? i loved writing his dialogue so much. i loved writing HIM. i hope you enjoy it!

disclaimer: i don't know anything about mechanics, let alone mechanics in the star wars universe. but i tried my best!

also posted this on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated.

Your feet echoed as you came down the Marauder’s gangplank. Currently situated in a Tatooine landing bay, Clone Force 99 had made a quick stop between missions for repairs after being damaged in a firefight as they left nearby Christophsis. While the other members of the squad had been ordered by Hunter to gather and replenish their supplies from whatever vendors they could find, you and Tech had been ordered to stay with the ship. You, as their official GAR liaison and medic, and unofficial cheerleader, took stock of medical supplies and caught up on filling reports as Tech tinkered with the hull.

But having finished all your tasks, and the boys still weren’t back yet, you ventured out of the stuffy and slightly odorous Marauder, and out into the Tatooine sun that bathed the landing bay.

You heard the spark of a welding tool and the clattering of rummaging through the toolbox before you saw him. Rounding the corner, you found Tech with his back to you as he faced the open belly of the Marauder. His tall lean frame reached up to tighten a valve, and you watched his body strain with the movement, and you imagined his face was screwed up, an intense furrow on his brow and his jaw clenched. You felt your face heat up.

You would be lying if your heart didn’t flutter a little around Tech. There was something so endearing about his eagerness to share his knowledge, and his conviction in whatever he did. He was kind, even if he wasn’t actively trying to be. He excelled at anything he did, and most of all, he was a good brother. He cared so much about them, but in ways you had to look for. Modifying the ship so it performed the best it could, ensuring their safety when flying. Volunteering for the first watch and staying up extra late working on a project so they could get extra sleep. Researching anything they came across, so everyone was informed and no one got hurt. And more recently, enhancing Echo’s cybernetics so they were comfortable for him, and caused less strain and increased efficiency for his cerebral interface.

You knew that to Tech, these things were just things he did. But once you noticed, it wasn’t hard to see the care and love behind them.

“Hey, Tech,” you called out to him as you approached.

Tech turned around and met your gaze. He greeted you with your name.

“How’s it going?” you asked.

“Quite well. Though more systems were damaged than the initial diagnostic detected, everything is fixable. I have even increased the efficiency of the power flux stabilisers, so there is less strain on hyperdrive priming and more output for faster ignition.”

You smiled at him and moved to sit on a crate. You only partially understood what he was saying. “That’s good to hear.”

Tech nodded and resumed his work. You watched him, fascinated. His aptitude for engineering of any kind was admirable. Though you weren’t techno-illiterate – you could work a datapad and fly a ship, you knew nothing about mechanics beyond recognising the names of things. Tech always knew exactly what parts were what and how to use them, which tool to take to them. You could stitch up wounds, but this was different. He could build things – pull together seemingly complicated and unrelated components to make something tangible and operational.

“How can you remember what part is what? And how to fix it?” you asked after a stretch of silence.

Tech stopped and looked at you. “My genetic enhancements are increased intellect and aptitude for technology.”

“I know, but how do you remember it all? How do you have space for it up there?” You tapped your temple with a curious smile.

You could see gears turning in his head as his hands stilled. “I’m not sure I understand the question…I just simply do.”

Tech put down the Harris wrench in the box and met your gaze, which must’ve been furrowed pensively at his vagueness because then he picked up a calibrator and continued talking as he turned back to the ship.

“Though increased neuron capacity and information processing factor into my abilities, I still had to learn; to form a basis of knowledge that could be built upon as my understanding of concepts grew. I wasn’t born knowing the schematics of a T1 Hyperdrive and how to wire its various transmitters.”

You tittered but listened as he turned back and placed the calibrator away.

“However, we all have our aptitudes. The same way you know all the ways a body works, and how to fix them – I know all the ways machines work, and how to fix them.”

You smiled at his words. “I suppose you’re right.”

He twirled a tool between his fingers. “I often am.”

You grinned, meeting his honey-eye gaze behind his goggles. Tech’s mouth turned up at the corners slightly before turning away again, the open hull engulfing him as he rewired something. He suddenly stopped, head lifting up and turning to you with a thoughtful look.

“What?” you frowned in concern.

“Come here.”

Your frown deepened and you pushed yourself off the crate, moving closer to him. He guided you closer with a hand to the small of your back, and you brushed up against him as he maneuvered you to stand in front of him. Your face flushed and you were very glad he couldn’t see it.

“These are the wires to the power couplings that syphon power from the auxiliary engines to the main thrusters,” he told you, his gloved fingers running along the four coloured wires in front of you slowly.

You look up at him slightly confused before nodding. “Okay?”

Tech pointed and ran the tip of his finger over one of the wires. “See how one is slightly more charred than the others?”

You swallowed and nodded.

“That wire has short-circuited, causing lag when the Marauder accelerates because three wires are doing the job of four. What do you think will happen to the other wires if we don’t fix the short?”

You looked back at him, frown increasing. “I thought you knew all about this?”

Tech raised an amused brow at you. “I do. I am teaching you.”

“Oh!” Your cheeks flamed and butterflies swooped in your stomach. Embarrassed and nervous, you cleared your throat to answer his question. “Um, well I suppose if the other wires are being overworked, then they’ll short out too?”

“That is correct,” he nodded. “If wires transmit more power than their capacity, then not only can they short, but they can also degrade the ship’s performance.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” you joked lightly.

“No, we can’t. So, you’re going to help me rewire this one.”

Tech stepped away to grab a new wire from the case next to the toolbox, and your heart sped up, hands tingling with nervous energy.

“Are you sure? What if I do something wrong?”

Tech pushed his goggles up his nose. “You won’t. I’m an excellent teacher.”

And he was. He guided you through the process clearly, showing you the parts and the tools before he watched you use a micro-welder to fix the shorted wire.

“Keep it steady,” he said, placing a hand on yours, helping you move it across the ends of the wire. Your heartbeat quickened and your face heated up. His slender and dexterous hand engulfed yours, and you could feel the grooves of his white plastoid armour against your shoulder as his body brushed against you. If you leaned back, your back would meet his chest, and those dexterous hands of his might even steady you with a hold of your hips. You pushed the thoughts from your mind, doing everything you could to focus on the tool in your hand and not how close he was, and how easy it would be to get even closer.

“There,” Tech declared, removing his hand from yours. “That should do it.”

You cradled the tool to your chest, tightening your grip on it as he took a step back. You simultaneously felt cold and hot all over as you watched Tech grab his datapad, pressing a few buttons before hovering it over the length of the wire. “The diagnostic report shows that the wire is functional.”

You blinked in surprise. “I did it?”

“Of course, you did,” Tech adjusted his goggles. “With my excellent instruction and your intellect, changing a shorted wire is quite simple.”

Your chest tightened. “You think I’m smart?”

Tech paused for a moment before he started tapping the screen again. “You’re a proficient medic, that takes high levels of understanding.”

Your face stretched into a grin, warmth pooling in your stomach as your grip on the tool loosened. “You think I’m smart.”

Tech looked up at you before the corner of his mouth lifted impishly. “Well, perhaps not as smart as me.”

“I don’t think anyone is as smart as you, Tech,” you gave a lilted laugh, placing the micro-welder in the box with the other tools, feeling light inside. Tech’s smile was sort of everything…and to earn one was a privilege.

To be a witness to Tech in his most honest, comfortable form was not something experienced by many people outside of his brothers, and now, you too. You looked at him now, so engrossed in whatever the screen was telling him, and felt your heart swell and fall for him just a little more. You wanted to know why he decided to show you how to fix a shorted wire, but you didn’t want to ruin this moment by revealing feelings that may not be returned. So instead, you settled for:

“Thanks for showing me how to do that.”

His eyes slid to you before nodding and returning his gaze to the screen. “It is a useful skill to have. I’m happy to teach you whatever else you’d like to know.”

You took in a breath. Teaching you this was just another small thing to Tech, but it still showed how much he cared, just like everything else he did. “I’d like that,” you told him after a moment, your heart beating fast, even though you were sure he was just offering to be nice.

Tech’s hand stilled over his datapad before he fully looked up at you, a wrinkle in his brow that softened at your hopeful expression. Tech smiled again, his eyes shining behind those yellow-tinted goggles. And maybe it was just the Tatooine heat, but you could’ve sworn you saw the tips of his ears go pink before he adjusted his goggles and turned back to the Marauder, letting the mechanics envelop him again.

“The landing array needs recalibrating,” he said as he tugged on a part. “Shall I show you how to do that?”

You smiled at him. “Yes, please.”

thank you for reading! i have more requests to get through so i'll likely get through those in a couple of weeks!'

banner art by @vimse

taglist: @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @moodymisty @nahoney22 @seriowan @thrawns-babygirl @freesia-writes @bobaprint @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @crosshairsnose @wreckerswife @leavingkamino @jesseeka @thegalaxys-edge @snarky-mans-gf @mylifeisactuallyamess @cloned-eyes @chopperbase @wenalena @bluebird-dreams @pb-jellybeans @a-streakofblue @rexamongthestars @r2d2staser @theawkwardartist12

please let me know if you'd like to be removed/added

i'm gonna make a taglist form one of these days trust

#larissa writes #tech x reader #tech x reader fic #tech bad batch #tech bad batch fic #tech fic #bad batch tech #bad batch tech x reader #tbb tech #tbb tech fic #the bad batch #tbb tech x you

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puttersmile · 2 months

Text

Through the Looking Glass

Chapter 1: Carnival in Critterville

Bobby Bearhug nervously sidled up to the young dog. “Dogday you know the carnival is finally opening this weekend!”

The bright orange dog’s ears perked up at the girl’s words.

“I know and I can’t wait!” His eyes brimmed with excitement. Bobby grinned at his infectious enthusiasm.

“What if both go together? I think it would be nice to go with you.” Bobby was careful to not use the term “go out” in her proposal on purpose, she didn’t want to be so forward.

Dogday nodded. “Actually I planned to invite everyone to go together. It’ll be a big day for everyone!”

“Mhm!” The enthusiasm in Bobby’s smile faltered but she carried on. “A big day for everyone. I’m sure they’ll love it!”

Finally the weekend came and excitement was the prime word in Critterville. Everyone loved the carnival. A place where friendships and spirits could shine. The atmosphere of laughter and the scent of sweet treats, provided a perfect backdrop to bond and challenge each other in fun games. The carnival was more than just a collection of rides and attractions; it was a celebration of the critter community and the happiness they found in each other's company.

“Come ooon you guys are too slow!” Hoppy Hopscotch tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the others to catch up. Her friends faithfully trotted down the path behind her but at a much slower pace.

“Give me a break,” Bobby Bearhug used a paw to sweep non existent sweat off her brow. “Hoppy, I don’t want to be exhausted before I even get there. Just go on ahead!”

“How about a race?" Dogday picked up his pace to match Hoppy’s. "Last one there buys a cotton candy bucket!”

Hoppy’s frown flipped into a smirk. “Hah, I’ll point you out to the shop guy. He’s going to need a description by the time you get there.”

“You’re on.”

“Snooze you lose!” The little green rabbit was off in a flash, leaving a dust trail for the others to follow. Dogday giving his all just to keep up.

“Wow Dogday is getting faster.” Craftycorn complimented while Bubba sighed.

“He still doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Geeze it's not like the carnival is going anywhere.” Kickin shrugged. “It’s going to be here all summer.”

The vibrant sounds of laughter and excitement filled the air as Bobby Bearhug and her friends strolled through the bustling carnival grounds. Critters from all over the island were gathered here, mingling around vendors, rides and games. Kickin motioned towards Picky who had gotten there extra early to set up her own stall to sell caramel apples.

The smell of popcorn and cotton candy wafted through the air, mingling with the distant strains of carnival music. The sky was a brilliant blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds, and the colorful tents and rides stood out like a lively patchwork quilt.

Bobby looked around with a warm smile. Her friends were just as excited as she was, each of them buzzing with anticipation for the fun activities ahead. Craftycorn, was practically bouncing on her hooves. Dogday and Hoppy were well ahead of everyone else scanning the area with eager eyes, ready for action. It seemed Dogday hadn’t bought a cotton candy bucket…yet, but Hoppy didn’t seem to care as she eyed the rides. Dogday’s glare was set squarely at the carnies, a giraffe wearing a sharp vest and hat was waving a cane at all of his prizes, daring anyone to come and try and win his game.

“Its about time you slow pokes got in here. Look at all the rides and games!” Hoppy exclaimed, she seemed ready to burst. “There’s so much to do! Even more than the last time!”

“I want the front seat on every rollercoaster!” Kickin claimed. “That is the only way to ride!”

“I’m going to test my luck at the balloon darts,” Dogday announced, rubbing his paws together with determination. “I’ve got a good feeling about today.”

“Win a big fluffy doll for me!.” Craftycorn shouted. “But I’m going straight for the Ferris wheel. I want to see the whole carnival from up high. The view would make for a great painting!”

Bubba continued to observe in silence, more reserved, then surprising everyone by showing interest in the art activity tent. He pointed his trunk in its direction. “I think I’ll check out the art tent. It seems… interesting.”

Craftycorn tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Art? Since when did you get into art, Bubba?”

Bubba shrugged, a thoughtful expression on his face before crossing his arms defiantly. “ Why wouldn’t I? It’s interesting how colors and shapes can express emotions and ideas.”

Craftycorn giggled. “Well, look at you, Bubba! Maybe some of my incredible love for creativity is rubbing off on you. Hmmm?”

The elephant’s ears turned a slight shade of pink, and he looked flustered. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he mumbled, avoiding her amused gaze.

As her friends chatted and made their plans, Bobby found herself standing a bit apart, her eyes wandering over the various attractions. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. The ferris wheel sounded nice and she could go now with Crafty, but she figured it would be best to save that for later. Maybe during the sunset. Maybe with Dogday. Ahem, but that was a distant hope. In the now, the excitement around her was contagious, but nothing seemed to call out to her.

Just as she was starting to feel a bit lost, her eyes landed on an intriguing tent at the edge of the carnival grounds. The sign above it read “Mirror Maze,” the entrance was adorned with swirling patterns and reflective surfaces that shimmered in the sunlight.

“A mirror maze? That wasn’t here the last time the carnival rolled into town.” She thought.

Curiosity tugged at her, and Bobby felt herself drawn to the tent. She took a few steps forward, her heart beating with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. The idea of navigating through a maze of mirrors sounded both challenging and fun.

When she reached the entrance, Bobby noticed there was nobody attending it. The tent seemed abandoned besides a painted sign which said “FREE ADMISSION. PLEASE ENJOY”. Bobby squinted suspiciously yet there was an inviting allure. A mysterious urge compelled her to go ahead and explore.

The cool air inside was a welcome contrast to the warmth outside, and the reflective surfaces created a dazzling, almost magical effect. She could see countless versions of herself, each one leading in a different direction.

For a moment, Bobby felt a pang of uncertainty. Should she actually be here? She quickly brushed her doubts away remembering the sign outside. With a determined smile, she decided to embrace the challenge. She started forward, her eyes scanning the maze for clues and pathways.

The mirrors played tricks on her perception, making it hard to tell which way to go. She giggled at her own reflections, tall, short, thin, wide. The maze was like a puzzle, and she was determined to solve it.

Finally, after what felt like both an eternity and a brief moment, Bobby reached the end of the maze. She found herself in a small, secluded chamber. In the center stood a large, ornate mirror. It was grander than the others, its frame decorated with intricate designs.

Next to the mirror sat a small card. Bobby picked it up and read the words written in elegant script: "Is this the worst you?"

The question confused her. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, feeling a slight chill run down her spine. “The worst me? What is that supposed to mean?”

Being alone in the maze, with this enigmatic message, unsettled her more than she cared to admit. She hugged herself, the coolness of the maze was suddenly too much.

Bobby took a deep breath. “Oh come on! Shake it off, Bobby. This is probably just some kind of riddle.” The cryptic question was honestly baffling, as she glanced around the chamber for other clues. She was about to turn away from the mirror when suddenly her reflection moved in a way she did not. Her reflection smiled and waved at her sweetly at first, as if acknowledging her presence. Bobby’s heart skipped a beat.

The smile warped. The reflection’s eyes became hollow, dark voids that pierced into Bobby’s soul. The sweet demeanor turned sinister.

Bobby screamed, her voice echoing through the empty maze. She turned to run, panic surging through her veins. But as she did, the lights in the maze went out, plunging her into complete darkness.

Bobby felt dethatched, like floating in a void, before the lights flickered back on. She blinked, disoriented, and found herself still in the maze. The mirrors reflected her confused expression as she quickly made her way back to the entrance. Her heart pounded in her chest, the unsettling experience still fresh in her mind.

As she stepped out of the maze, she realized it was now nighttime. The carnival was eerily silent, the once lively grounds now deserted. The vibrant colors of the tents and rides were muted under the dim light of the moon. Bobby’s sense of disorientation grew as she tried to make sense of what had happened.

Confused and scared, she began to run towards home, her mind racing with questions. How long had she been in the maze? Where was everyone? Why did everything feel so wrong?

“Bobby!” a familiar voice called out.

She stopped abruptly, turning to see Dogday running towards her. Relief washed over her for a moment, but it was quickly replaced by terror when she noticed his appearance. His right ear was half missing, the remaining half covered in bandages. He looked thinner and exhausted, like a shadow running though the grayed city of tents.

“Dogday, what happened to you?” Bobby asked, her voice trembling. "Your ear is-"

“You know how dangerous it is at night,” Dogday interrupted, his voice filled with ragged concern, ignoring her question. “Where have you been? I was worried.”

Bobby’s heart ached at the sight of her friend. “I was… in the mirror maze, but then… I don’t know. Everything went dark, and when I came out, it was night.”

Dogday’s eyes widened. “The mirror maze? Bobby, you’ve been missing for hours. We thought something terrible had happened.”

“Hours?” Bobby repeated dumbly. Nothing made sense. She looked around the empty carnival grounds, the eerie silence pressing in on her. Dogday reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her attention back to him with an insistent yet timid yank.

AN: Attempting an attempt at a fanfiction. Based on @sctigthesecond 's selfish critters au. I'm using them as the basis though I might add my own ideas. I've wanted to write a fic like this for a while but yeah I'm a draw person not a write person so we'll see how well this goes. It's time for me to traumatize my Bobby girl. If I make it any farther then I'll post it on A03. Yee!

“We need to get inside. Thank the stars it isn’t raining.” Was the last thing he said before he started to pull her towards the carnival entrance and back towards the path through the forest heading for their homes.

Part 2 Here

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime au #fanfiction #bobby bearhug #dogday #smiling critters au #selfish critters au

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 5 months

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Blue and Fire Engine Red, Pt 5

Special thanks to @magicalstripedhorse, who helped keep this installment on track. :)

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“Oh no,” Kara drawls the moment she steps out onto the stoop of her building eight days later. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Lena smirks, leaning casually against the side of an old beat up pick up truck. The red ball-cap on her head is just as worn, its frayed bill extending backwards from Lena’s head.

“Flannel? Really?” Kara eyes the shirt in question where it’s tied around Lena’s waist. “Can you be any more of a lesbian?”

Lena spreads her hands. “We’re going to a farmer’s market,” she says. “What did you expect? An LBD?”

“Hm,” Kara hums, bouncing down the steps to greet her girlfriend with a kiss. “Maybe for dinner later.”

She definitely wouldn’t mind seeing Lena in a little black dress. Her mind conjures up an image that very nearly makes her pull Lena back upstairs, but the call of fresh fruit and vegetables proves to be too strong.

“All right, Tegan and Sara, let’s get going.”

The drive is somewhat familiar, as Kara has been to the farmers market before, but it’s been a while and it takes longer than Kara remembers. She’s not mad about it though– it gives her time to catch up with Lena about their weeks, which are relatively tame for a week in the life of first responders.

Lena had a few oven fires, a serious case of whiplash during a fender bender, and not one, but two cats stuck in a tree. Definitely tops Kara’s days of petty larceny, jaywalking, and a single wellness check. But she knows better than to comment on the relative slowness– the moment it’s acknowledged is the moment the sky starts to fall.

Just when the city gives way to suburbs, Lena turns the truck into a graveled parking lot. Kara takes note of the cars already there, and the thin stream of people already circulating through the stalls. It’s only mid-morning, and she expects the crowd will only grow as the day progresses.

“Come on,” Kara calls as she hops out of the truck, slamming the dusty door behind her. “I need asparagus.”

She gets her asparagus, and much more. She snags an artichoke and some lettuce as well as some strawberries she makes a note to prep for the next time Lena comes over. Lena splits away for a short moment, and comes back with fava beans and a joke about a nice chianti that makes Kara laugh.

Produce leads to cuts of various meats out of coolers. Lena nudges her. “You like steak?”

Kara’s mouth waters. “Oh, yeah.”

Lena requests two prime ribs, and tucks them and a slab of bacon into her tote alongside her fava beans. By the time they get to the baked goods and crafts, Kara’s own bag is sitting heavy in the crook of her elbow. She moves it to her shoulder instead, and has just prodded Lena towards a live herbs vendor when a call splits the air.

“Hey, Sarge!”

Kara turns on instinct, and to her surprise Lena does as well. The expectant set of her features strikes Kara as odd, but she focuses her attention instead on who might have called for her. She doesn’t recognize any of the oncoming faces, which makes her frown.

“Sarge!”

The crowd parts just long enough for a man in a wheelchair to roll out from the throng of people. His face is round and creased with joy as he coasts towards them, but Kara pulls back slightly when she doesn’t recognize him.

Lena steps forward. “Hey, Gonzales.”

Kara watches stunned as she extends her hand and engages in a sort of handshake with the man– palms, backs, and a fist bump top and bottom. Clearly, Lena is more than familiar with the man. Kara’s gaze darts back and forth between them, taking in Lena’s easy smile and the man’s eager countenance, which had yet to dim even when he turned his gaze to Kara.

“Yo,” Gonzales says with a grin. “When Jess said you stopped by the bar with a new lady friend, I knew she must have been a looker, but damn, Sarge–”

“Watch your mouth, Corporal.”

Kara steps up to introduce herself. “Sergeant, huh?” she says, smirking. Lena has yet to return to the subject of her time in the service, so Kara is thrilled to have even just her rank. “Who’d’a thunk?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gonzales confirms. “The sergeant here was the best damn medic in the company. Saved our unit’s ass more than a couple times.” He rolls forward a few inches to offer a handshake. “Hector Gonzales, ma’am. Pleasure to meet one of the Sarge’s lady friends.”

“Police Sergeant Kara Danvers,” Kara returns. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Corporal.”

The man waves her off. “Please, it’s just Hector or Gonzales now. Gotta get used to the civvie life now. Right, Sarge?”

Lena rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Sure.”

“You said you’re Jess’ brother?” Kara briefly scans Gonzales and notes an above the knee amputation and a serious burn scar on his right arm that stretched from his wrist to disappear under the sleeve of his t-shirt.

Hector nods enthusiastically. “Yes, ma’am!” He shoots a bright look towards Lena. “Did she tell you she got early admission to NCU? Honors track.”

Lena beams. “No, she didn’t! That’s wonderful!”

“First choice and everything. She’ll be the first one in the family to go to college, you know.”

“What is she planning to study?” Kara asks.

Hector’s grin is infectious. “Art. Our mother wanted her to be a lawyer, because that girl argue like nothing else, but she's had her sights on art from the beginning. Sarge has seen some of her drawings, when she sent some to me overseas. Remember Sarge?”

Lena nods. “They were pretty amazing.”

Kara smiles, but a tug of sadness pulls at some of her joy for Jess. She’d almost gone to art school once. That had been the goal, before the shooting. After everything that happened… well, she hasn’t picked up a brush in a long time.

“Hey,” Hector says, pulling Kara’s attention back to the conversation. “I’m getting some friends together to watch the game next weekend. You guys should come!”

Kara has no idea what game he means, or even what sport, but Lena nods. “Yeah, shoot me the details and we’ll try to make it.”

“Wilco, Sarge. Oh! And you can invite any of your folks from the firehouse too. I can tell them how lucky they are to have you.”

Lena’s cheeks flush pink. “Gonzales, I swear to god–”

“Hector!” A young hispanic woman calls from further down the aisle. “You were supposed meet me at– oh!”

“Cecilia!” Hector waves at her, beckoning her closer. “C’mere, this is the Sarge!”

Cecilia’s go wide. “Oh! Sergeant Reilly! I’ve heard so much about you!”

Lena’s easy smile widens. “Uh oh,” she groans comedically. She reaches for Kara, drawing her forward into the conversation. “This is Kara.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Kara offers gamely. They exchange handshakes, with smiles all around. Kara revels in being included, but even more so in the sense that she’s being allowed a further glimpse into who Lena is.

Hector and Cecilia are sweet together. Hector is engaged and enthusiastic, while Cecilia is a little more reserved. But Lena converses easily, laughing and grinning, totally at ease in the presence of her fellow soldier. Eventually, Cecilia reminds Hector that they’re almost due to be somewhere else.

“Right, right,” Hector nods. He prepares to roll away, but pauses to peg Lena with a stern gaze. “Game, next weekend. You’ll tell your crew?”

Lena nods with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll let ‘em know. Good catching up, Gonzalez. Take it easy.”

“You too, Sarge! Rolling out!”

Lena watches them head off, then turns back towards Kara with a chagrined roll of her eyes. Her mouth opens, but Kara cuts her off. “Don’t you dare apologize,” she warns. “He was delightful.”

“Yeah,” Lena agrees. “He’s a good guy. Him and Jess both. They’re good eggs.”

“And besides, anyone who adores you like he does is definitely good in my book.”

This time, Lena’s roll of her eyes are directed at Kara. “Ah yes. Remind me to not let you two in a room alone. Who knows what shenanigans you’d get into–”

Suddenly a cry further down the aisle breaks through the buzz of people. Without conscious thought, or even a look between them, Kara and Lena both begin to push towards the call. Breaking through the circle already starting to form, they find a young woman seizing on the ground.

Lena immediately kneels beside her, smoothly untying her flannel and folding it as a pillow to pad the woman’s head against the pavement. “Calling a bus,” Kara says briefly, already pulling her phone out to dial.

“Hold up,” Lena calls, her voice firm with easy authority. “Got a medical alert bracelet here.” She flips the silver tag to read the inscription, then nods to herself. “No ambulance. Known condition.”

Kara nods her acknowledgement, pocketing her phone as she crouches. “What do you need?”

“Some water would be good, if you can find it.”

“On it,” Kara confirms, rising back to her feet. But the time she returns with a bottle of water from a nearby vendor, the girl’s seizing has stopped. She answers Lena’s questions with slurred, mumbling responses, but Lena doesn’t look concerned.

“Okay, Lydia, you’re doing great. Just take your time.”

Kara kneels to one knee, handing over the bottle of water. “Any chance she hit her head?”

“I’ll evaluate once she’s a little more with it. So far nothing concerning.” She glances towards the lingering crowd. “Could you get us some space?”

The remaining onlookers moved on once Kara started waving them away, assuring them the situation was handled. When the last resume their shopping, Lydia is blinking up at Lena with eyes rapidly sharpening with focus.

“Welp. That’s embarrassing,” she delivers drolly, pressing a hand to her forehead.

“There you are,” Lena says, gently giving Lydia’s shoulder a pat. “Lydia, my name is Lieutenant Riley with the National City Fire Department. Do you feel ready to sit up? I’ve some water here I’d like you to sip.”

Lydia manages to sit upright with only a little bit of an assist from Lena. She accepts the open water bottle with both hands, which tremble as they lift the water to her lips. She takes several long gulps before groaning.

“Do you mind if I check your head for bumps?” Lena asks. “We want to make sure you didn’t hit your head on the way down.”

Lydia nods her consent, and holds still as Lena begins to investigate the back of her head with expert fingers. “Anything hurt?”

“Just my pride,” Lydia quips. When she catches Kara’s sympathetic gaze, she continues. “It’s still relatively new. My doctor says it should get better with medication, but… ugh! All I wanted was some asparagus!” She sighs. “At least I felt this one coming on– managed to sit down before it hit.”

Lena pulls away, placing her hands on her knees as she gives her patient a warm smile. “Well, I didn’t find any bumps or lumps, so it looks like that did the trick. Good thinking.”

“Oh god,” Lydia groans. “You didn’t call an ambulance, did you?”

“Nope.” Lena nods towards the girl’s wrist. “Medic alert did its job.”

“Thank goodness,” Lydia sighs in relief. “I seriously can not afford another trip.”

Lena chuckles, rubbing Lydia’s back. “I can imagine. How do you feel about trying to stand? I’d feel better if we got you to some shade.”

She gives Lydia a hand up, who seems steady on her feet. Once satisfied the girl wasn’t about to keel over, Lena nods towards a small patch of trees. “How about that bench over there?”

Kara hovers, adrift without a way to help. She carries hers and Lena’s bags of goodies along with her as they all move towards the bench.

“How are you feeling?” Lena checks in once they’re seated.

Lydia pauses, taking stock. “Just tired, I think. Always feel like I got hit by a freight train, but it usually goes away.” She glances at Lena. “You guys seriously don’t have to stay.”

“I’d feel better if we did. Just until you feel well enough to finish up and get yourself home.”

“Okay.” Lydia stares at the open water bottle resting on her thigh, then looks back to Lena. “You said you were a firefighter?”

“And medic,” Kara offers, unable to keep quiet. Lena’s eyes flash at her, but in affection or irritation, Kara can’t tell.

Lydia’s eyes spark with interest. “I want to go to med school after undergrad. I don’t know what discipline yet, though.”

Kara listens to them converse for several minutes, propping herself up against the nearest tree. Closing her eyes against the sun, she breathes deep the smell of spring blossoms and fresh cut grass, letting the hum of their voices lull her to a state between waking and sleeping. Well, maybe more asleep than not, considering the bench is empty when she next blinks her eyes open. Lydia is nowhere to be found, and Lena is sitting on the ground beside her, scrolling through her phone.

“You could have woken me up,” Kara gripes half-heartedly.

“But it’s such a nice day to lean against a tree,” Lena returns, half teasing.

Kara reaches over until she finds Lena’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Neither of them move to rise.

“You were amazing just now.”

Lena merely shrugs. “Anyone in my position would have done the same.”

“We both know there aren’t many people who can do what you do.”

A hum answers her, but Lena refrains from saying anything else. Kara bites back a frown. She knows Lena doesn’t feel comfortable sharing anything about her time overseas as a combat medic– not entirely unexpected. Some of Kara’s veteran coworkers feel the same. And not all first responders respond well to positive recognition, which isn’t uncommon in the first responder community either. But Kara can’t shake the feeling in her gut that she heard a note of shame in Lena’s voice.

Whatever it is, Kara resolves to know it better, no matter how long it takes.

“Wanna get out of here?” Lena asks quietly. “I think I hear a steak dinner calling your name.”

Kara grins, but closes her eyes and leans her head against the tree behind her once more. “Just a few more minutes.”

She hears Lena smile, then a rustle as Lena leans back as well.

A good day indeed.

#supercorp #blue and fire engine red #the farmers market episode #they're lesbians harold

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freesia-writes · 2 months

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Ch 24: Unmoored

Master List ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ WC: 2.2k

Song: Staind - Outside (Lyrics) (youtube.com)

“Come on, babe!” Luciana teased, looking over her shoulder as Hunter puffed behind her, hair pulled back from his face as he jogged along the path. He’d been trying to keep his eyes on the rocky trail, although he kept getting distracted by her toned form in her sports bra and bike shorts. It was an internal battle at first – he shouldn’t be looking… or should he? She offered herself so freely, literally and metaphorically, and there was something incredibly refreshing about her unadulterated enjoyment of life and her simple authenticity that invited him to let go more and more.

“I’m coming,” he panted, wondering why he’d agreed to go on a run with her in the first place. He was also painfully aware of just how out of shape he’d become, although it had been apparent a few times before when he’d helped with drills at Echo’s training academy. So this was a good thing, he reasoned. Even with his enhancements, which allowed him to retain an above-average stamina and strength, he could feel the difference after months of neglecting his regular routines.

“Race you to the Square?” she invited, slowing to a walk beside him. The glimmer in her green eyes gave him a little spark in his chest, and he took a deep breath, stretching his back for a moment as they walked. He grinned at her, the fresh air and sunshine doing wonders for his attitude when he’d felt an inescapable weight for a while now.

“You’re on,” he said, giving her a playful push before taking off down the path.

“Cheater!” she squealed, laughing gleefully and sprinting after him. He braced his core, focusing on the terrain, and gave it all he had, reveling in the strain on his muscles and the burn in his lungs. He felt alive, the blood coursing through his veins, and regained his balance quickly after stumbling over a rock. Luciana was right behind him, her runner’s physique on prime display as she overtook him on a curve, blowing him a kiss as they rounded the final bend.

Narrowly missing a vendor cart as it wheeled across a street, they sprinted into the Town Square, collapsing against the stone wall at its edge at the same time, red faced and panting, flushed with exhilaration. Luci stood up, both hands over her head, and paced in a little circle, puffing out her cheeks as she looked at Hunter in admiration.

“Alright, you’ve got some legs on ya,” she said. “We’ll have to work out together more often. Do you lift weights? Wait, hang on,” she continued, drawing close and squeezing his bicep. “Yeah, I bet you do. Or are you more of a calisthenics type of guy?”

“I… uh…” He had regained his breath much more quickly, secretly glad that he still had the perks of his engineering. “I do it all,” he answered, with a waggle of the eyebrows that earned a delighted laugh from her.

“Oh do you? We’ll see about that!”

They walked to a nearby cafe for some smoothies, sipping them on their way down to the cliffs where they sat on the soft grass and watched the activity of the island stretching out before them. Luci pointed out the surfing currents, the way the swells were rising in certain areas and how they would break, and described what made each wave good or bad to ride. Hunter was impressed by her knowledge and experience in such a wide variety of random things above and beyond bartending and having fun, and he found himself gazing at her with a small smile on his face as she described one of her first times surfing. She finished her story, looking back at him and catching his profound look, and tilted her head, suddenly inquisitive.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Hunter said, shaking his head with an innocuous expression.

“No, your face is all soft or somethin,” she poked, scooting closer and elbowing him in the side gently. “And your face is rarely soft.”

“I mean, I feel like that’s not something a man would strive for…”

“You know what I mean,” she laughed. “But alright, keep your secrets.” She fixed him with a mockingly scrutinizing look, and the way her eyes sparkled and her cheeks curved in an adorable smile was supposed to make him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He looked down, swirling the remaining smoothie in his cup, and she leaned into his side gently with a contented sigh.

* * *

“Alright!” Wrecker exclaimed as Luci slid an extra basket of fries across the bar counter to him. She gave him a wink, then disappeared into the hustle of a busy night. Elbowing Hunter beside him, Wrecker shared his gleeful approval, “This whole girlfriend thing is workin out just fine!”

“She’s not–”

“Give it a rest,” Crosshair snapped from Hunter’s other side. “Call her whatever you want, but it’s a thing.”

“A thing?” Hunter echoed blandly.

“A relationship, no matter how well- or ill-defined,” came Tech’s explanation, helpful as always.

“Alright. Anyway. What’s the plan for Benduday?” Hunter pivoted, looking down the counter at Echo. They’d come to the tiki bar on the usual family dinner night, since Omega had just left for an internship on the island of Plata and Phee was off-world on some “solo business, but don’t worry, Brown Eyes.” It was a busy night for the rest of town, with rowdy patrons enjoying the end of the work day and gearing up for karaoke that evening.

“It’s an all-day seminar,” Echo answered, nearly yelling over the crowd. “Kind of an introduction to the whole academy training program, but also a stand-alone class for those who just want to brush up or learn the basics.”

“I think Hunter just wants to know if he’s going to be beaten up or humiliated again,” Crosshair clarified, reveling in the tiny slump in Hunter’s shoulders in response.

“We retire and you all decide I’m the blaster target, huh?” he said, rolling his eyes before brightening considerably as Luci reappeared, adjusting her apron strings below her loose black crop top. They’d been working out together regularly, and she made a silly face as she flexed her stomach at him from behind the ice machine, proud of the hint of a “two pack” below her ribcage. Hunter winked at her before catching himself and quickly glancing at the others to see if they’d caught it.

“You just make it so easy,” Echo said with a smirk.

The conversation continued, the boys relaxing on their bar stools over some food and drinks as the stars appeared in the sky above. Luci popped in every now and then with refills and playful banter with each of them, and when she had an extra minute, she’d lean over the counter to share a quick chat with Hunter, tracing her fingers along his knuckles and gazing at him with unabashed admiration.

“You gonna stay for karaoke night?” she asked, speaking to all of them but directed mostly at him.

“Only if you want everyone to leave immediately,” Crosshair deadpanned, and she lifted her chin, regarding him with an odd familiarity as she remained unphased by his snark.

“I’m sure you’d be a fantastic crooner,” she said, doing her best to keep her face serious, then relaxing into a smile when Crosshair softened the tiniest bit and smirked at the thought. Satisfied, she turned back to Hunter. “You know, I’m somewhat of a singer myself.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” she purred, making eyes at him again. “If you stick around, maybe you’ll get a little love song dedicated to you.” She snorted, inviting him into a chuckle of his own. “But really, if you want to hang for a little bit, I’m feeling a little adventurous tonight. Let’s have some fun?”

“Alright,” Hunter agreed, a hint of a smile on his face . Sometimes he felt as though he were on the outside, looking at himself as he interacted with Luci. It had only been a few weeks, but her refreshingly free-spirited take on life had coaxed out a side of him that he’d never have anticipated. She never forced, never insisted, just genuinely enjoyed living vicariously through the experience of all the island had to offer. They exercised together, ate out frequently, played in the ocean, and she’d even talked him into taking some dance lessons with her; she hadn’t mentioned until they arrived that she was actually the one teaching them. But, in keeping with much of his life of late, he’d been able to relax into it fairly quickly, as she made it easy to fall into step. After the first class, she’d raved about his natural ability, or as she put it, “I knew those hips could move!”

Luci lived her whole life “inside out”, in her own words, sharing every thought and feeling she had, which created a sense of weightlessness for Hunter in the assurance that there wasn’t a bunch of mystery brewing beneath the surface. She had an affinity for all creatures, swimming alongside the colorful fish in the bright blue waters and trying to touch the sea rays that ventured near the shore every now and then. The first time she’d met him on the beach, he’d been rendered momentarily speechless when she took off her cover-up, revealing a string bikini that cupped her perky breasts perfectly. He’d had to sit awkwardly for a while after she asked him to “oil her up” for some sunbathing, where he’d gently stroked the thick oil across her back and shoulders, down her sides and up her arms.

At times, a nasty voice within would come to the surface with accusations and disbelief, the same struggle he’d had since arriving on the island: he was living a lie. This wasn’t who he was… This was some pathetic attempt at normalcy. But it was so tinged with the regrets of the past that it was now met with strong indignation and downright denial. He had seen where the constant vigilance had gotten him – he’d been unable to protect his family and even his own heart. So now it was time to let go. To try a different strategy.

So he stayed for karaoke. He hid his chuckle at an overly-dramatic performer as Luci giggled next to him. It was all in good fun – half of the singers were thoroughly inebriated and having the time of their lives, laughter and all. He felt the familiar flush of embarrassment when Luci took the stage, riling up the crowd before dedicating a song to him, which she embellished with some dance moves that had him feeling quite a few things at once. She finished to raucous applause, taking a bow with a flourish and blowing kisses to the audience before bounding back to their table, flushed with excitement. It was infectious, and Hunter rested his arm across her shoulders, increasingly at ease.

A couple of girls approached from another table, laughing as they clumsily teetered together. One of them shook a drunken finger at Luci, grinning ear to ear.

“Look, this ishalong shot,” she slurred. “But have…werrrryou ever with a dude, s’name’s Draig?”

Luci threw her head back gleefully, shaking her curls out of her face before nodding enthusiastically.

“Oh man, we tore it up! He was awesome. You a friend of his? Or luckier?” Her red lips curved into a suggestive smirk.

“Thislilhussy banged him affew times,” the girl grinned, jostling her friend whose arm was slung heavily over her shoulders. “He neffffer let her knowwher he lived though… Neffffer lets anyone knowwher, issa secret.”

“And it’s cause of ‘a crazy red headed bartender named Luciana’!!” her friend yelled, finding her voice, which apparently solely consisted of hollering at the top of her lungs.

“Ahhh, yeah. He’s the best!” Luci giggled. “You guys live here?”

“No!! Back to Coruscant tomorrow! Just had a week on Plata! Thought we’d finish strong!! Haha!!” The deafening volume of her voice, stronger even than the cacophony all around, was too much for her friend, who flapped her hands in front of the loudmouth, making drunken shushing noises, and the two of them shuffled away.

Hunter raised an eyebrow, inviting Luci to fill him in on what seemed to be a memorable story… for this “Draig”, at least. But she just shook her head and shrugged, playing with the straw from her drink.

“Crazy times,” she laughed easily, resting her hand on his. He felt a flicker of suspicion, but she quickly put his mind at ease. “I’ll tell you the story, but it’s not very exciting. Dumb kids. First relationships. You know.”

Hunter very much did not know.

And, to his surprise, he didn’t really care.

* * *

Hunter plunged into the water again, tumbling beneath the wave as it passed by, then came up for air, the surfboard jerking back toward him on its leash. He’d nearly gotten it that time, and his muscles burned as he pulled himself back onto the board, turning to paddle back out to where Luci straddled her own, rocking gently on the waves as they rolled past.

“You’re getting the hang of it!” she encouraged, wispy red curls fluttering in the breeze where they had escaped the messy bun atop her head.

“I’m getting trashed out here,” he panted when he reached her.

“I’ll give you a massage later,” she said with a waggle of the eyebrows.

“Now you’re talking.”

“Did I tell you about my masseuse job on Pashvi? Oh man, I learned some of the wildest– Hang on!” She’d caught sight of a particularly appealing wave, turning her board and beginning to paddle as it approached. Hunter watched as she caught it effortlessly, disappearing behind its curl as it raced toward the shore. She shot out the other side as it broke, skimming to a halt before dropping back to her stomach to paddle back out. He marveled at her ridiculous skill set, which seemingly had no end. She’d traveled everywhere, tried everything, and had an authentic zest for life paired with an undaunted optimism. They sat on their boards for a while in quiet companionship, watching the waves come and go as the sun sank low on the horizon.

Hunter collapsed into his bed that evening, thoroughly exhausted from an afternoon of surfing, playing and splashing and wrestling in the waves, as well as a long, deep massage from Luci that had put him into a trance. His mind ambled pleasantly through his recent memories: laughing at her as she put two halves of large tree nuts over her bikini top, strolling through the town with a picnic lunch until they found the perfect spot along the cliffs, relaxing on the beach without a care in the world… He felt a lightness about it all that was strong enough to stave off the old doubts that had plagued him so ruthlessly before. Almost.

Previous Chapter ~ Master List ~ Next Chapter

SHOUT OUT TO @dystopicjumpsuit for coming up with a fun way to have some crossovers between our stories! You’ll be hearing more about her incredible OCs in the future, but for now check out the post about Draig (and her amazing art!!) and the rest of his family (especially Mic who I’m in love with). 🙈

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