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yandere-wishes · 2 years ago

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𝕆𝕦𝕣 ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝

Summary: You try to escape from two fearsome Sith Lords. Surprisingly they take it rather well.

Author's note: This is totally getting a part 2. Or maybe a series we'll see.

Warnings: dark, absolutely no regard for the rule of two, sorta a vent fic (venting that these two are so fine and I can't get them out of my mind), slightly fluffy.

The empire's warships have a tendency to blur reality. The interiors of their large hulking exoskeletons house endless corridors and makeshift chambers. Vast, endless arrays of space. They've been optimized for housing droids, clones, and artillery. Not for escape, not for an endless search of a freedom that has long since eroded.

Calling yourself anything but desperate would be a lie. Your feet run to the chorus of your broken heartbeat. The need for freedom, the need to escape spreads through your body like a poison. You know it'll end up killing you, either from exhaustion or by their sabars. But you have to try, you have to run. Even if you've left fragments of yourself in the warm bed the three of you sleep on. Even if you forgot your heart under Anakin's pillow and your soul still lingers in Maul's warm embrace. Maybe freedom is worth cutting off pieces of yourself, if only in the hope that someday they might grow back.

There's something wrong with the corridors you're sure of it. You've never been one for directions, instead relying on the holo screens and navigation systems to lead the way. Mirror images as far as the eye can see. Identical, plain. Nothing substantial to store in your memory. There's something ironic about this situation, a punchline that doesn't quite land. You half haphazardly tug on the skirt of your nightgown, desperate for anything familiar. You're not sure why.

You remember how Anakin called you pretty this morning, still hazy, still clinging to the sensation of slumber. Perfect blue eyes too dazed to look at you. Really look at you. The chosen one gazes at your ghost, your ethos. the perfect doll he and Maul had morphed you into. Behind you

Maul pulls you to his chest. Hand running up and down her side, trying to resurrect you into his dreams. It's only when Anakin's eyes close, seeling the shimmering blue orbs, that you crawl out of bed and into the unknown.

You're lost, abandoned in absolute desolation. The marble tiles bleed frost into the soles of your feet. Somewhere in the distance, you feel a disturbance in the force. Too far away to matter, yet leaking with a potent rage that burns. It's hope you think, albeit pathetically, maybe it's better to capitulate this pointless crusade and wait for the Sith lords to find you. The crash comes just as you're about to stop. You bump into him, falling in the process. All armor and steel. The Stormtrooper's mask is off giving you a clear view of his scarred face. His eyes flash, some dreary emotion too obscure to read, he offers you a gloved hand, something human something casual.

You stare frozen.

When exactly did you stop comprehending human idiosyncrasies?

When exactly did you start reading every interaction as a threat?

He's a monster, you think, just like the ones you've been warned about. Lectured time and time again by both Anakine and Maul. Monsters pry on little girls, especially ones who wander off on their own. Monsters lurk behind unsuspecting walls, ready to pounce when their prey approaches. You wonder if, the definitive definition of "monster" could be passed on to the two Siths who call themselves your lovers.

There's blood, too crimson to be real. Metallic aromas wafted through the air. You've only now noticed how close the disturbance in the force really is. Close enough to distinguish itself. To reveal that, in actuality, it's not a disturbance at all.

It's two...

Something cold yanks at your forearm. Pulling you to your feet. for a split second, your nerves calm. The familiarity of the cybernetic arm grants you a heavy ease. Anakin pushes you over to where Maul is standing. Golden eyes burning holes through the stormtrooper's armor. 'He didn't do anything' you long to say. But the words wisely die on your tongue as Maul grips your shoulders. Anakine's saber is lit, stabbing through the soldier's armor as if it were flesh. As if killing him where as easy as killing a rogue thought. "You're quite a foolish soldier for daring to touch that which belongs to your commanders. Even more imbecilic for so much as looking at emperor Palpatine's disciple."

Maul's grip on your shoulders tightens, eyes never once leaving the bloodshed. One of his hands instinctively roams to your belly, then slides down to your thigh. Rubbing it ever so gently as his claws pierce your soft skin. You close your eyes trying to make yourself smaller. You hate how his touch grounds you. How the familiarity plucks at your heartstrings. When he touches you like this you wish you would forever rot in his arms.

"'I'm sorry" You don't know why the words come so easily. As if they've been itching to spill from your tongue. Maybe it's easier to say 'I'm sorry' rather than 'You've broken my perception of love, of reality and now I can only find comfort in your darkness.' "Hush" Maul's anger spills with every syllable. His claws dig deeper, earning him a pained hiss from his doll.

"You're not sorry, in fact, you rather enjoyed this didn't you? Running away making us chase you down, I never thought your species would enjoy being the prey so much, little one." Anakin walks over, saber seethed at his side. His every step promised pain, retribution. He's angry, furious. They both are, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, they'll end it all today.

Maul's chambers have always been a testament to Dathomir, bathed in deep scarlets and endless ebony. You wonder if he's homesick for a place he's only visited in his worst ephialtes. After the incident in the corridors, they drag you back to the Zabrak's room. Neither bothering to say a word. Merely permitting their rage to engulf you, subduing you into submission. It's an unwelcome surprise when they begin to prep for the day. Throwing on their black cloaks, prior to choosing your outfit. An abnormal affinity settles across the room. Too unnerving to go unchecked.

They dress you each morning, a ritual you think, some attestation of love that's never been quite right. Maul drapes you in velvet dresses. Each one harbors a sui generis softness that sits erroneously across your skin. Their opulent sensation only brings forth feelings of aversion and despair. Their softness an ode to your imprisonment.

the dresses come in shades of crimson, detailed sometimes in black, sometimes in gold, and sometimes in a frigid blue that sends shivers running up your spine.

Anakin fusses over your accessories, why they feel the need to dress you so extravagantly daily is beyond you -as you've come to realize many things are- On days when Anakin's hubris reaches its apex, he bathes you in gold. Astonishing glittering collars across your neck and Kuat bangles hanging from your wrists. When he's sober from his pride he chooses black diamonds. Simple and exotic. scintillate and opaque.

Allusions to the dark side.

A hidden reference that crawls inside you.

Once, back when you'd been sure defiance was still an option. Back when callow hope still dared to flow through your veins. Back when you'd been a jejune, stubborn thing. You had refused to wear one of the dresses they'd bought. Adimant in your refusal until Maul had stuck out his hand. Summoning the Force to remind you just who held the supreme authority here.

The Force had strangled you, clawing hungrily at your neck. You felt your bones caving in on themselves, watched with exacerbating hysteria as your feet abandoned the floor. He'd only released you when he was sure you were near death's adorned door. Permitting you to molder on the floor akin to a ragdoll.

Anakin had chastised you after you'd conjured enough strength to sit up, gasping greedily for air. He'd broken two fingers that day. One still harbors a small scar.

A Promise ring.

An augury.

There are days, few and far between. When they've deemed you've been behaving adequately for long enough. That they permit you the choice of which dress you'd fancy wearing for the day. It's a rare event, reserved as a special treat. You think it's their way of proposing variety, giving you the illusion of choice. Making you feel a little less smothered.

Today is not one of those days. Today, you feel them pick you apart, only to reassemble you in their image. Drowning you in extravagance. A reminder, one whose deprecating nature weaves itself within your muscles. You, little girl, are nothing more than a doll. And dolls should know their place.

No sooner do you feel the final lace fasten across your back, that Anakin is tugging you outside the door. Metal arm clasped around your forearm.

Maul follows behind molten gaze locked on your face. The hallways bend to their will as if the walls themselves quiver with their presence. You recognize this corridor, recognize the frigid forlorn.

There's something wrong with Emperor Palpatine's throne room. It's surreal, makeshift. His real throne lays somewhere cold, somewhere even his apprentices don't dare wander off to. The ironclad throne has never felt right. Never felt like it held any real power. Just terror, just dread, just hatred. But here it is in all its glory. Left to two apprentices who'd rather treat it as a toy than a sacred place.

Anakin dramatically throws himself onto the throne. One leg thrown over the armrest as he leans against the other. His other leg planted firmly on the ground. He keeps you steady on his thigh. Torturing you with his distant, disappointed look. Maul stands in front of you. His eyes liquid gold melting into you. You see the galaxy in them. Hear it whispearing secrets meant to be forgotten. It's Anakin's voice that rattles you from your disjointed thoughts.

"You caused us so much worry angel" he's being nice. You don't trust that. There's something sinister plaguing his words.

"You know Ani, she may cease escaping if you'd cease to spoil her." Maul leans down, gripping your chin and squeezing. " The brat forgets her place, merely cause you'd rather coddle her than discipline her."

Anakin glares, a shift in his eyes, blue bleeding into gold. "Hmm, Maul, you're starting to sound an awful lot like Kenobi right now."

"Why's that? Did the old fool tend to also point out your shortcomings?"

You wonder who this Kenobi is, as you watch the Siths' exchange crude childish vitriols. Maybe he'd make a better lover than the two men you have the misfortune of being adhered to.

They never could truly see just how similar they were.

Two sides of the same coin.

One born of copper, the other, black rose petals.

Subconsciously you reach out. Grasping Anakin's robotic hand, fiddling with the panel, peeling it away to gain access to the wires and circuits. You have a bad habit of ripping things open. Anakin learned this the first time he kissed you and you tried to gnaw at his chest with your nails. Not in malice, but rather to satisfy a ravenous curiosity. A raging need to open him and see just how he ticked. You'd wished to perform an autopsy on his soul. Rip him open and devour all his secrets. Back then you'd wondered if you could kiss sunrises into Anakin's eternal night. Strip him of bleak blackened skies and introduce him to stars and a moon that shines. He'd only vaguely permitted it. Opting to pluck the stars lying within you. Swiping them for steel and lava and other mundane things that fueled his incessant rage.

Anakin's head dips, lips pressing on your jugular vein. "You're ethereal" Anakin mubbles against your skin, like the dying prayer of a collapsing star. He's so pretty when he kisses your neck. Biting away pieces of you. Stealing your light for himself.

"Princess" Maul seethes venom pelting from his words. You realize you'd been ignoring him. Something he's not too fond of. "What in the stars was going through your pretty little head?"

he looks like he'd love nothing more than to wring your pretty little neck right now. "I just..." your words feel heavy. Tiny bullets polluting your tongue. It feels so cruel to say when you know just how much they love you. "I just wanted some freedom. Just a bit of space."

"Dumb little angel" Anakin chastes. You lower your head in embarrassment watching Maul kneel in front of you. He cups your cheeks, placing a soft kiss on your head. "You can never escape us beloved".

"I love you," says Anakin. All you hear is, I'll haunt you, I'll break your ribs one by one so that I may possess your heart. Maybe they mean the same thing.

"And I'm pretty sure if Maul could feel normal emotions like everyone else, then he'd love you too." You can't help but let out a giggle as Anakin throws his head back laughing. A rare melodious sound, that causes your heart to skip a beat. Maul merely rolls his eyes before pecking you on the lips.

You trace your fingers across Maul's chest, feeling the pummelling of two hearts. A double heartbeat. Two melodies entwined, You wonder who he harbors in those hearts. One for love and one for family. You nip at his bottom lip. Ushering the blood into your mouth. He tastes of Ichor and smoke. Of sadness and rage. From behind you feel Akanin bite into the hollow of your flesh. Leaving traces of himself upon your skin.

"Our pretty little problem" Anakin mumbles.

You're a problem, a vexation draped in velvet, an unsolvable equation. Trapped between a love that seethes through your body like a toxin. Engulfing you until your mind relents. Maybe it's easier this way. Easier to say 'I love you' without the double entendre.

You do love them.

A rather arduous conclusion to reach.

Maul and Anakin.

Palpatine's apprentices.

Your lovers

Yeah, that sounds about right...

💜💜: @athanasia-day @hotpinkboots @jenn-patterson-69 @nickiiiixoxo-blog @the-chains-are-the-easy-part

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

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Dirty Minds 2

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson

Summary: You start a new job after being fired as a programmer and it’s more than you could have anticipated. (maid AU)

Note: I should stop.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your second day at the House Odinson, as you call it in your mind, brings you little optimism. You spent the night trying to bleach the images from your mind. Almost literally but the internet says Clorox is no good for your eyes. You’re no prude, you admire a nice physique, but this is strictly professional.

Just like the day before, you ring the bell, however, there is no answer. You figure that Thor would be busy. He is sort of important and well beyond this planet. As for his brother, he’ll probably want to distract himself from being stuck in the place he once tried to oppress to his will. That was a rather shady episode...

You let yourself in with the door code on the app. The house isn’t as bad as it was. Mostly, because it hasn’t been long since your last visit.

The deja vu continues to haunt you. You leave your shoes at the door and unpack your kit and folding vacuum. It should be quick work this time. You put in your earbuds and tap play on the podcast you downloaded last night. You don’t know much about Norse history but you figure you should learn some given the circumstances.

You start in the living room. It’s not too bad when you’re alone. When you have reign of the place without worrying about a nip slip or the like. Oh, what is that?

You bend to pull free the belt from under the chair and let out a screech as it moves. You throw yourself back in horror as the green snake slithers away with a flick of its tongue. A snake! Just lying on the carpet?! What in the hell? Or is it Hel?

You fix your earbuds as they move around loosely from your tumble. You catch your breath and get up. Maybe you should keep a bit of caution.

You run the vacuum through the front room and move on to the kitchen. It's a bit messier. More take out boxes, some wine glasses, and several unsealed food goods. It’s like being back with your brothers. Oh yes, the favourites.

You put it all away, on your toes as you search for the right place to put the muesli. As you reach up, the lights flicker and a tickle runs down both your sides. You squeal and drop the box, spinning to face your accoster.

Loki stands close, crowding you as he smirks down at your wide gape. You snap your mouth shut as you brace the counter behind you. You clear your dry throat and press on your earbud to pause the podcast.

“Oh, hi, I didn’t know--”

“Maid,” he proclaims as he smirks at you. “There is a mess I require assistance with.”

“Uh, okay,” you grab the cloth from the counter top. “Where?”

“My bed chamber,” he says with a tilt of his brow. You don’t like the way his eyes glimmer.

“Mhm, right, do I need a broom or mop--”

“You would be the professional. Let me show you,” he slithers.

You blink. Are you stupid or is he being cryptic? You shrug, “sure.”

He turns and struts away. You follow and twist the cloth in your hands. You watch his lithe figure as he seems to walk on air.

You stop at the threshold of his room as he passes through the door. It’s tidy despite the state you of the rest of the house when you arrived the day before. You hesitate to enter as he lingers by the door frame. According to the myths, he’s a bit of a trickster. Still, those have to have been distorted by centuries of mortal storytelling.

You look around as you inch inside, “can you show me where?”

“Certainly, just on the other side of the bed. It would likely be easier if you crawl across and have a look underneath,” he points with a careless flick. He doesn’t seem very concerned. Alright.

You do as he says and get on the bed. You move on hands and knees and bend over the far edge. You don’t see anything. Just the green and black pattern of the rug beneath.

Something winds around your ankles and you’re pulled onto your stomach. You exclaim and roll onto your back, twisting your legs as you flail and look up at Loki as he tries to constrain you. Oh Jesus, or Odin, whoever! He’s naked again.

“What’re you doing?” You squeal.

“Hm? Just a bit of fun, maid.”

“Huh? Fun?! No, I’m here to clean--”

“Yes, yes, it’ll get done but I’d prefer a bit of your other services,” he drags you across the bed as he untangles your ankles and pulls them apart.

“Other services?” You cling to the blankets as they bunch beneath you. “I’m not... not a prostitute.”

“No, I didn’t take you as one, but in Asgard, a maid is often a good candidate for a concubine--”

“Concubine!” You cry out shrilly. “This-- this isn’t Asgard, Lo—uh, sir?!”

“Don’t remind me,” he pouts and puts his knee on the bed as he pushes your legs around him.

“Don’t, er—no, I’m not done cleaning,” you protest.

He sighs as he catches your swatting hands and pushes them to the mattress. He bends over you as you focus on his face. Don’t look down. It’s just bobbing there, right at the edge of your sight.

“Please--”

“Yes, go on and beg, the maidens all do,” he purrs with a grin.

“No-- no! That’s not—I don’t--” You writhe desperately. “You can’t do this.”

He hums and tilts his head coyly, holding himself over you as his chest and shoulders flex. You gulp as you feel his... snake. You push your lip out and shudder.

“Please, stop.”

“Mm, since when do the peasantry rule the princes,” he lowers himself little by little. “You should be thanking you for prizing you with such an honour.”

#thor #loki #dark thor #dark loki #dark!thor #thor x reader #loki x reader #drabble #maid au #series #mcu #marvel #avengers #dirty minds

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obsidiannebula · 4 months ago

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How to Spot AI-Generated Reference Texts

This morning I celebrated a lovely Christmas with my family. My 3 year old was ecstatic, I made my brother tear up, it was a good time. But I received something that at first, seemed like the kind of thing I would very much like to own... until I started actually looking through it. I quickly realized that this book is unmistakably AI-generated slop and should not be used or trusted as an actual reference guide. Having not been written by an actual expert in the field or even compiled by an actual researcher citing sources and synthesizing information, these books are at best three hundred pages of reading the first couple of sentences of a search result for each topic, and at worst full of dangerous misinformation that can get people killed, as with the rise of AI-generated mushroom foraging books. These are in no way reliable reference guides for anything, but especially for anything with potential health risks like ingesting plants and their compounds.

So today I'm going to try and get some good use out of this book I now own by using it to demonstrate how to spot AI-generated scam books.

The first red flags jump out at us right from the cover. This is "The Home Apothecary Full Collection: Your In-Depth Holistic Guide with Natural Herbal Remedies for Long-Lasting Wellness and Optimal Health." Yeesh, what a mouthful. A soulless, artless mouthful, I must add. But hey, maybe this author is a very clinical or verbose type. Except a quick search for the author's name, Megan Morren, quickly makes it clear that this is not a real person. There is one bare-bones Facebook profile for a Megan Morren, and no social media beyond that. No LinkedIn or Pinterest or mentions in an article, nothing. Every other result shows her books: this one, and two others nearly identical to it, with slightly different names but the same "1500+ Remedies/Extra Content" claim in the same corner, utilizing the same fonts and each with a very similar AI-generated background.

That's right, we've got a pretty bog-standard AI-generated image for the cover of this book, showcasing a variety of vaguely herbal plants and jars as well as several nonsensical non-objects.

Okay, so the cover was definitely made by AI, but maybe this author is writing under a pseudonym and visually just not very creative. Let's open it up and took a look at...

Oooookay so that's how we're getting the "40 books in one" claim touted on the cover. What most people would call a chapter is here billed as an entire book, with each subtopic considered its own chapter. There's not more than two or three "chapters" per "book" and most of the chapters are only one or two pages long, which is some James Patterson-ass shit. At least if Patterson had written this book there'd be a little character to the narration and an attempt at wit, but as we'll soon see, the actual writing is... wanting, to say the least.

Obviously the first observation here is that formatting is for the BIRDS. No paragraph breaks or indents, and the paragraphs are all of roughly similar length. Furthermore, the writing reads like a copy/pasted Wikipedia page. Scratch that, I went ahead and typed "history of herbal healing" into a search engine and found the actual Wikipedia page for "History of herbalism," which actually does provide more detail on the topic as well as FIFTY-FOUR ACTUAL SOURCES and some recommended further reading, making it vastly superior to this slop. Because there's not a single source cited in this entire book, nor is there an author bio here or online that remotely suggests that the author might have some experience and expertise from which they are drawing to write or even fact-check this book.

On top of that, there is truly no authorial voice whatsoever. Even if you wanted to be very academic about it and avoid using first-person in your reference book, there should at least be some synthesizing of sources and information, expanding on the ideas presented and combining them to draw new conclusions or illustrate points. But everything here is incredibly surface-level, like someone copied the first sentence or three from the first Google result and stuck it there and then moved on to the next bullet point in the outline.

Seriously, this whole book is just page after page of walls of text. It's a nightmare to try to read if you have any sort of reading-impairing disorder like dyslexia or ADHD, and it's also just kind of ugly. And in a book supposedly about herbalism, there is not a single image or diagram. That's wild to me. There is nothing in here to aid with plant identification or demonstrate the tincturing or decocting processes or anything. I've never read an herbalism book without a single picture or diagram. Granted, I've only read a handful, but still, it seems very strange to me. And god did these endless blocks of text need SOMETHING to break them up.

Also these introductory paragraphs just scream "obligatory" to me. They're all a single paragraph of approximately the same length, providing a perfunctory and colorless overview of the subject matter. I mean, seriously? We're starting off "uplifting herbs for depression" with "Depression affects millions globally. It is characterized by x and y. While it is conventional treated with medication and therapy, there are also some herbs that can improve mood." It's so bland and robotic and uninformative. I think most fifth graders could write a better introductory paragraph, as long as we didn't penalize them for spelling or grammar.

I'd really like to get back to spending the holiday with family, so I'm going to leave it at that. It's just so frustrating to see books like this pushing legitimate texts written by real people with real expertise or at least personality out of bookshelves and searches, propagating useless or even dangerous information in place of sharing real knowledge and traditions. I had to rant a little bit and get it off my chest.I wish everyone a safe and happy holiday season, and all the best for 2025. Everyone, that is, except "Megan Morren." Whoever you really are, I hope you step on Legos every day for the rest of your life. It's the least you deserve for publishing trash like this.

#scam awareness #herbalism #bad books #the home apothecary full collection

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okasuka · 4 months ago

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Peter quill x brooding reader - just made this for fun tbh

The ship jolted as it touched down on a dusty, bustling planet. The marketplace buzzed with life—vendors shouting, alien species bartering, and the faint hum of music drifting from somewhere in the maze of stalls. Peter Quill, Gamora, Rocket, and Y/N descended the ramp of the Milano, each scanning the area.

“Alright,” Peter started, clapping his hands together. “Standard Guardian protocol. Split up, grab supplies, and—uh—try not to blow anything up.” His eyes flicked toward Rocket.

Rocket raised his paws defensively. “What? That was one time! And to be fair, the explosives were defective.”

Gamora rolled her eyes and slung her sword onto her back. “I’ll find food and water,” she said curtly. “Y/N, Peter, why don’t you handle clothing? Rocket can… just not cause trouble.”

Rocket snorted. “I’ll handle the tech parts. I’m not a child.” He paused. “But if you find any fancy space grenades, I call dibs.”

Gamora didn’t dignify that with a response. She disappeared into the crowd, leaving Peter and Y/N standing awkwardly by the ship.

“Well,” Peter said, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, “looks like it’s just you and me, Y/N. Gonna be fun.”

Y/N gave him a sidelong glance, her expression as unreadable as ever. “Let’s just get it over with.”

The two wandered through the stalls, dodging eager merchants and curious aliens. Y/N kept her pace steady, her Thraxan heritage lending a faint glow to her skin in the planet’s sunlight. Peter tried not to stare, but it was hard not to notice her, even when she was in full brooding mode.

“So,” Peter began, trying to break the silence, “you’re not a fan of shopping, huh? Not your thing?”

Y/N’s lips twitched—barely noticeable, but it was there. “What gave it away?”

“Oh, just your boundless enthusiasm,” he quipped, flashing her his signature grin. “Come on, it’s not so bad. Shopping can be fun. You find something cool, you try it on, you look amazing…”

“Do you always talk this much?” she interrupted, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness.

Peter smirked. “Only when I’m with someone worth talking to.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, but Peter swore he saw a flicker of amusement in her golden eyes.

After an hour of searching, they stumbled upon what could generously be called a clothing shop. The merchant, a four-armed alien with a booming laugh, gestured them toward the racks. Peter’s optimism faded the moment he saw the selection.

Skimpy dresses. Skimpy tops. Skimpy… everything.

Y/N held up a piece of fabric that looked more like a decorative napkin than a shirt. “This is a joke, right?”

Peter stifled a laugh. “Uh… maybe it’s ‘local fashion’? Could be their thing.”

Y/N shot him a withering look and put the fabric back. “I’m not wearing this.”

Peter scratched the back of his neck, trying not to think about the mental image of Y/N in one of those outfits. “Yeah, I don’t think it really suits you. Too… flashy. You’re more of a, uh, leather jacket and combat boots kind of gal.”

“Good observation,” she said dryly, though there was a faint hint of approval in her voice.

The merchant approached, babbling in an alien language. Peter attempted to charm his way out of the situation, but Y/N quickly stepped in, speaking fluent Thraxan. The merchant nodded and scurried off, leaving Peter impressed.

“Wow,” he said. “Didn’t know you were bilingual. Or, uh, quad-lingual? Whatever that was.”

Y/N shrugged. “You pick things up when you’re a bounty hunter. Survival skills.”

“Cool, cool,” Peter said, rocking on his heels. “So… no skimpy outfits. Got it. But what do we do now? You still need something, right?”

She hesitated, her stoic mask slipping just enough for Peter to notice her discomfort. “I’ll make do with what I have.”

Peter frowned. “Hey, come on. That’s no way to live. Everyone deserves to feel good in what they’re wearing.” He paused, his tone softening. “You deserve it.”

Y/N looked at him, her expression unreadable again. “You’re… really bad at being subtle, you know that?”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he admitted with a chuckle. “But I mean it.”

For a moment, Y/N seemed to weigh her options. Finally, she sighed. “Let’s check one more place. If we don’t find anything, we’re done.”

The second shop wasn’t much better, but Y/N managed to find a simple, well-fitted jacket and sturdy pants—nothing flashy, but practical and functional. As she tried them on, Peter waited outside the fitting area, tapping his foot nervously. When she emerged, he blinked.

“Wow,” he said, a little too loud. “I mean… you look great. Not that you don’t always look great, but, uh, yeah.”

Y/N gave him a rare, faint smile. “Thanks, Quill.”

“Anytime,” Peter said, fumbling with his words as they approached the counter to pay.

Peter reached for his credits while Y/N adjusted her jacket. As she pulled her hands out of her pocket, one of her knives slipped from the lining of her jacket and clattered onto the floor. “Dammit,” she muttered, crouching down to pick it up.

That’s when it happened.

A massive alien, almost seven feet tall and covered in thick, leathery skin, sidled up behind her and smirked. He gave a sharp whistle and slapped her rear with one of his oversized hands. “Nice form, sweetheart,” the alien drawled in a grating voice.

Y/N froze mid-motion, gripping the hilt of her knife tightly as her golden eyes darkened with fury.

Peter stiffened beside her, his jaw clenching as he stepped forward. “Hey, pal,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “Why don’t you back off before you regret it?”

The alien glanced at Peter and snorted, clearly unimpressed. “What’s it to you, little man? Didn’t know she needed a babysitter.”

Y/N stood up slowly, her expression deathly calm. “Touch me again,” she said coldly, “and I’ll break every bone in your body.”

Peter had seen Y/N pissed off before, but this was something else entirely. Her knuckles were white around the knife, and there was a dangerous glint in her eye that made even him a little nervous.

“Whoa, whoa, no violence in my shop!” the merchant interjected, stepping between them. He pointed a long, scaly finger at the alien. “Get out before I call security.”

The alien glared at Y/N and Peter, his smug demeanor fading slightly under Y/N’s icy stare. “Fine,” he grumbled, backing away. “Not worth my time, anyway.”

As he left, Y/N relaxed her grip on the knife, though her expression remained stormy.

“You okay?” Peter asked, his voice quieter now.

She nodded, slipping the knife back into her jacket. “I’m fine. He’s lucky the shopkeeper stepped in.”

Peter huffed, still glaring after the alien. “I don’t care how big that guy was. I was about two seconds away from teaching him a lesson.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You? Against him?”

“Hey, don’t underestimate me,” Peter shot back, though his tone was lighter now. “I’ve got moves. You know, if you ever need backup.”

Y/N looked at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, surprisingly, she gave a small chuckle. “Sure, Quill. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Y/N handed over the credits for her new clothes, slipping the items into a small bag. She slung it over her shoulder and turned toward the exit, with Peter trailing behind her.

“Alright,” she said, brushing past the merchant’s counter. “Let’s get out of here before someone else decides to test their luck.”

“Yeah, good plan,” Peter muttered, still glancing over his shoulder, half expecting the alien creep to return.

They stepped into the marketplace, and the crowd had only grown thicker since they first arrived. Aliens of all shapes and sizes pushed and jostled one another, shouting over the noise of bartering and street performers.

Peter tried to keep up with Y/N, but the press of the crowd made it nearly impossible. One particularly large alien bumped into him, sending him stumbling directly into her.

“Quill,” Y/N snapped, turning to glare at him as he bumped into her side for the third time.

“Sorry!” Peter said, hands raised defensively. “It’s the crowd, not me. I swear.”

Y/N sighed, clearly annoyed, but instead of snapping at him again, she reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Come on. I’m not dragging you through this chaos.”

Peter’s breath caught as her fingers wrapped around his wrist, firm but not harsh. “Uh, right,” he stammered, stumbling after her as she pushed her way through the throng.

Y/N moved with purpose, cutting through the crowd like a knife. Peter, meanwhile, was trying very hard not to focus on the fact that she was holding onto him. Her grip was warm and steady, and his brain kept replaying the moment she’d decided to take charge.

“Keep up, Quill,” she muttered without turning around, her tone sharp but not unkind.

“Yup, keeping up,” Peter said, his voice slightly higher-pitched than usual. He ignored the way his face felt like it was on fire.

They finally emerged from the sea of bodies into a slightly less crowded area. The rich, spicy scent of food hit them instantly. They were in what appeared to be the planet’s version of a food court—stalls lined the perimeter, each offering a dizzying array of dishes.

Y/N released Peter’s wrist and folded her arms, scanning the stalls. “Might as well grab something to eat while we’re here.”

Peter flexed his fingers, the ghost of her touch still lingering on his skin. He nodded quickly, trying to sound normal. “Yeah, good idea. All that shopping worked up an appetite.”

Y/N glanced at him sideways, clearly unimpressed. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Hey, moral support is hard work!” he shot back, grinning.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but Peter thought he caught a flicker of amusement before she turned back to the stalls.

“What do you feel like eating?” she asked, her tone more neutral now.

Peter shrugged. “Anything that won’t try to eat me back is fine. You?”

Y/N stepped toward a stall selling skewered meats sizzling over an open flame. “This looks decent,” she said, nodding to the vendor.

Peter followed, still trying to shake off the ridiculous flustered feeling she’d managed to stir up without even trying. As they placed their orders, he stole a glance at her. Stoic and brooding as ever, Y/N was a walking contradiction—a tough, no-nonsense bounty hunter who occasionally let her walls slip just enough to drive him completely crazy.

“Quill,” Y/N said sharply, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” he blinked, realizing she was holding out one of the skewers to him.

“Your food,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing!” Peter said quickly, taking the skewer. “Just… taking in the sights.”

Y/N shook her head, clearly unimpressed, but there was a faint smirk tugging at her lips as she turned back to her food.

Peter and Y/N found a small bench near the edge of the food court. It wasn’t exactly quiet, but it was better than the chaotic press of the marketplace. Y/N leaned back slightly, chewing on her skewer with casual indifference, while Peter took a more animated approach, alternating between bites and chatting about random topics.

“So,” Peter said, gesturing with his half-eaten skewer, “you think Rocket’s blown something up yet, or is he waiting for the perfect moment?”

Y/N gave him a sidelong glance. “If he hasn’t, it’s because he found something more dangerous to mess with.”

Peter chuckled. “Fair point. You know, one of these days, we’re gonna have to drag him away from a bomb before it—”

“Hello there, handsome,” a sultry voice interrupted.

Peter froze mid-bite, and Y/N’s eyes flicked up to the source of the voice. Standing in front of them was a tall, shimmering alien woman with deep blue skin and golden patterns that glowed faintly across her body. She wore what could barely be called clothing—more like strategically placed strips of fabric—and had an aura of practiced confidence.

“Well, aren’t you just a treat,” the alien woman purred, her golden eyes fixed on Peter. “What brings someone like you to this corner of the galaxy?”

Peter blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Uh… just, you know, on a… mission thing.”

The woman tilted her head, her smile widening. “A mission, huh? You must be very brave. Or very strong.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Maybe both?”

Peter opened his mouth to respond—probably to say something dumb, knowing him—but Y/N cut in, her voice icy and sharp.

“Back off.”

The alien woman turned, clearly unimpressed by Y/N’s tone. “And who are you, his bodyguard?”

Y/N stood, her golden eyes narrowing. “Something like that. And I’m telling you to leave. Now.”

The woman arched a delicate brow, but there was a flicker of unease in her golden eyes. Y/N’s stoic expression wasn’t one to be questioned lightly. After a tense moment, the alien scoffed and stepped back.

“Fine,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Enjoy your mission, hero.”

As she strutted away, Peter turned to Y/N, still half-stunned. “What the hell was that about?”

Y/N sat back down and resumed eating her skewer as if nothing had happened. “What?” she said flatly.

“You just scared off an alien supermodel,” Peter said, throwing his hands up. “What’s the deal?”

“She was a distraction,” Y/N said bluntly.

Peter frowned. “A distraction? From what?”

“From our job,” Y/N replied, her tone sharp. “We’re here to get supplies, not flirt with every local who bats their eyes at you.”

Peter squinted at her. “Really? That’s it? You weren’t, I don’t know, jealous or anything?”

Y/N gave him a withering look. “Don’t flatter yourself, Quill.”

Peter held up his hands defensively. “Okay, okay. Just saying, it seemed a little… intense, is all.”

She shook her head and stood up, tossing the empty skewer into a nearby bin. “Come on. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

Peter watched her as she strode away, her usual air of confidence and indifference firmly in place. He couldn’t quite figure her out—one moment, she was shutting him down with that stoic glare, and the next, she was scaring off someone just for talking to him.

“Definitely not jealous,” Peter muttered to himself, scrambling to catch up with her. “Right?”

The walk back to the ship was relatively uneventful, though Peter kept sneaking glances at Y/N. She was still wearing that same stoic expression, but he could tell she wasn’t as relaxed as she let on. He wanted to say something to lighten the mood, but he figured it was better to let her have her space—at least for now.

By the time they reached the Milano, the others hadn’t returned yet. Y/N immediately made her way to one of her workbenches near the cockpit, pulling out a half-finished gadget from a drawer. Peter watched her settle into her chair, her focus instantly sharpening.

He leaned against the doorway for a moment, watching her tinker. Her hands moved with practiced precision, adjusting small wires and tightening screws. After a moment of hesitation, he wandered over and leaned down over her shoulder.

“So,” Peter began, his tone curious, “what are you working on?”

Y/N didn’t look up from her work. “A signal disruptor. It scrambles short-range comms if you’re in a tight spot. Could come in handy if Rocket decides to run his mouth at the wrong time. Again.”

Peter chuckled. “Okay, that’s actually pretty cool. How does it work?”

Y/N sighed but didn’t shove him away. She held up a small component, pointing to a series of wires and circuits. “This regulates the frequency output. It has to be strong enough to jam the signal but not so strong that it fries the whole system. That’s why I’m adding a capacitor here—”

Peter leaned in closer, pretending to follow along. “Uh-huh. Capacitor. Right. Totally makes sense.”

Y/N smirked faintly, glancing at him. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Not a clue,” Peter admitted with a grin. “But I like watching you work. You’re… really good at this stuff.”

Before Y/N could respond, heavy footsteps echoed through the ship’s ramp. Peter barely had time to straighten up before Drax’s booming voice filled the cockpit.

“Ah! There you are!” Drax said, his tone loud and enthusiastic as usual. “I was looking for you, Quill!”

Peter turned just as Drax marched up behind him. Without warning, Drax clapped a massive hand on Peter’s back, shoving him forward.

“Drax, what the—” Peter yelped as he stumbled straight into Y/N.

The momentum sent her chair skidding backward, and they both toppled onto the floor. Peter landed awkwardly on top of her, his hands bracing against the floor on either side of her head. For a split second, he froze, his face mere inches from hers.

“Uh… hey,” Peter said weakly, his face burning.

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, her cheeks tinged with a faint red hue. But the surprise didn’t last long. Her expression darkened as anger replaced her embarrassment.

“Get. Off,” she growled.

Peter scrambled back instantly, raising his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean—Drax pushed me—”

Before he could finish, Y/N was already on her feet. She turned on Drax, her fury palpable.

“What is wrong with you?!” she snapped, shoving him hard in the chest.

Drax, unbothered, tilted his head. “You were both in the way. I was simply helping Quill.”

“Helping?” Y/N’s fists clenched at her sides. “You—”

She didn’t finish her sentence. Instead, she punched Drax square in the chest with enough force to send him stumbling backward into the wall. The impact made a loud thud that reverberated through the ship.

Drax looked more confused than hurt, rubbing his chest as he frowned at her. “Why are you angry? I thought that was a good bonding moment for you and Quill.”

Y/N let out a frustrated growl and turned on her heel, storming out of the cockpit. Peter watched her go, wincing as she disappeared down the ladder into the lower levels of the ship.

“Nice going, Drax,” Peter muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Drax shrugged. “I thought she would appreciate my efforts.”

Peter sighed and started after her, muttering under his breath. “Yeah, she definitely appreciated it…”

The rest of the crew returned a short while later, Rocket leading the charge with an armful of new gadgets and a smug grin. Gamora followed close behind, looking exasperated but unscathed, while Groot shuffled in with a bright yellow fruit twice his size in his arms. Drax, unfazed by Y/N’s earlier punch, immediately began boasting about his “helpful interference.”

Peter barely listened. His thoughts were on Y/N, who hadn’t reappeared since storming off earlier.

“Hey, uh, I’ll be back in a bit,” Peter said, waving off Rocket’s sarcastic remark about his “lazy shopping trip.”

He headed down to the lower levels of the ship, where he figured Y/N had retreated. Sure enough, he found her at her usual workbench, surrounded by tools and scrap parts. She was hunched over an old MP3 player, her fingers delicately working on its inner components.

Peter leaned against the doorway, folding his arms. “Didn’t peg you for a music fan,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips.

Y/N glanced up briefly, her expression neutral as usual. “What makes you think I am?”

Peter gestured to the MP3 player. “That thing. Nobody messes with ancient tech like that unless they care about what’s on it.”

She shrugged, turning back to her work. “I like fixing things. Doesn’t mean I care about the music.”

“Uh-huh.” Peter stepped closer, leaning over her shoulder. “So what’s on it?”

Y/N hesitated, her hands pausing for a split second before resuming their work. “Just some old songs.”

Peter smirked, sensing her reluctance. “Come on. You can’t leave me hanging like that. I’m the music guy, remember? Let me guess… classical? Jazz? Maybe something weird like Klingon opera?”

Y/N actually snorted at that, though she didn’t look up. “No. Nothing like that.”

Peter tilted his head, his curiosity growing. “So what is it, then?”

Y/N sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to drop it. She set the MP3 player down and turned to face him, leaning back slightly in her chair. “It’s a mix. Some Fleetwood Mac, Nirvana, Green Day… MSI.”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, Fleetwood Mac? Nirvana? Green Day? I didn’t know you had taste.”

“Funny,” Y/N said dryly. “Didn’t know you cared.”

“Are you kidding? I love Fleetwood Mac,” Peter said, sitting on the edge of the workbench. “’The Chain’? That’s a classic.”

Y/N arched a brow. “Didn’t think you’d be into anything that wasn’t pop rock from the ’70s.”

“Hey, I’m a man of many layers,” Peter said with a smirk. “What about Nirvana? You seem more like a ‘Heart-Shaped Box’ kind of person.”

“‘Drain You,’” Y/N corrected, her tone softening slightly. “It’s… raw. Simple. Gets the job done.”

Peter nodded, impressed. “Nice. And Green Day?”

“‘American Idiot.’ Obvious choice,” she said, leaning back further and crossing her arms.

Peter grinned. “Okay, I take it back. You’ve got better taste than I expected. But MSI? That’s a little, uh, intense.”

Y/N smirked faintly, the closest thing to a smile he’d seen from her all day. “You saying I can’t handle intense?”

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” Peter said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I just… didn’t think you’d go for a song like ‘Stupid MF.’”

“It’s fitting,” Y/N said, her golden eyes flicking up to meet his. There was a hint of mischief in her gaze now. “Especially when I’m stuck dealing with you.”

Peter laughed, leaning back slightly. “Alright, fair. But I’m still the music guy here. If you ever wanna swap playlists, I’m your man.”

Y/N shook her head but didn’t outright dismiss him. “I’ll think about it.”

“Progress,” Peter muttered to himself, standing up. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it. But if that MP3 player starts blasting ‘Dreams,�� you better let me know.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement on her face as he walked away.

Peter lingered just outside the doorway for a moment, glancing back to see Y/N already engrossed in the MP3 player again. There was something about seeing her like that—relaxed, almost vulnerable—that made him grin. She was still stoic, still guarded, but she’d let her walls drop just enough to share a little piece of herself. And for Peter, that was a win.

He wandered back to the main deck, where Rocket and Groot were arguing over something incomprehensible, and Gamora was cleaning her sword. Drax was sitting nearby, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Peter plopped down in the pilot’s chair, spinning it lazily. He thought about Y/N’s music taste, a mix of brooding intensity and rebellious edge. It made sense, in a way—just like her.

“You’re grinning like an idiot,” Gamora said, not looking up from her blade.

Peter snapped out of his thoughts, straightening up. “What? No, I’m not.”

“You are,” Rocket chimed in, smirking. “What, did Y/N finally smile at you? Gonna throw a party to celebrate?”

Peter glared at him, though his face betrayed him with a faint blush. “She likes Fleetwood Mac. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Congratulations,” Rocket said sarcastically. “You’ve discovered she’s not a robot. Anything else you wanna share with the class?”

“Leave him alone,” Gamora said, though her tone was only mildly disapproving. “We have more important things to worry about.”

Peter leaned back in the chair, still grinning despite himself. “You guys wouldn’t understand. It’s… character depth.”

Rocket groaned. “You’re hopeless.”

Meanwhile, Y/N stayed in the lower levels of the ship, tuning out the commotion above. She’d managed to fix the MP3 player, and now it sat in her hand, the screen glowing faintly. She scrolled through the playlist, stopping on “The Chain.”

The familiar opening notes began to play through her small headphones, and she closed her eyes for a moment. The song transported her back to simpler times—times before bounty hunting, before running with the Guardians. It wasn’t nostalgia, exactly, but it was grounding.

She didn’t realize Peter had come back until his voice broke through the quiet.

“Thought I told you to tell me if you played Fleetwood Mac,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Y/N pulled the headphones out and gave him a flat look. “Didn’t realize I was under orders.”

Peter walked over, his usual cocky grin in place. “Not orders. Just… you know, a suggestion. Sharing music’s a bonding thing. Team-building.”

Y/N turned her attention back to the MP3 player, but there was a faint smirk on her lips. “What do you want, Quill?”

Peter sat on the edge of her workbench, leaning closer to peer at the device. “Just wanted to see what else you’ve got on there. Maybe trade some song recommendations.”

Y/N hesitated, her thumb hovering over the screen. Then, with a sigh, she handed the MP3 player to him.

“Don’t break it,” she warned.

Peter took it with exaggerated care, scrolling through the playlist. He raised an eyebrow at some of the songs, chuckling when he saw “Stupid MF.”

“You weren’t kidding about this one,” he said, grinning. “Bet this is your theme song.”

Y/N shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “Better than ‘Hooked on a Feeling.’”

Peter gasped, clutching his chest. “Hey, that song’s a masterpiece.”

“Sure it is,” Y/N said dryly.

Peter laughed, handing the MP3 player back to her. “Alright, tough girl. Next time, I’m making you listen to my playlist.”

“We’ll see,” she said, slipping the headphones back on.

Peter lingered for a moment, watching her as she fiddled with the player. Then he stood, stretching his arms. “Guess I’ll let you get back to your tinkering. Try not to let ‘Drain You’ put you in too bad of a mood.”

Y/N didn’t respond, but as he walked away, he thought he caught the faintest hint of a smile.

Y/N eventually made her way up to the cockpit, her repaired MP3 player tucked safely in her jacket pocket. She wasn’t in the mood for the usual chaos of the team, but she figured avoiding them all day wouldn’t exactly help their “team cohesion.”

When she entered, the usual scene greeted her: Rocket and Groot bickering over a pile of strange tech parts, Drax laughing at something no one else found funny, Gamora calmly cleaning her sword, and Peter lounging in the pilot’s chair, spinning it idly.

Gamora glanced up as Y/N entered. “Fixed whatever you were working on?”

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, leaning against the wall near Gamora. “Just an old player. Nothing urgent.”

Gamora nodded, setting her sword aside. “You’re always working on something. Do you ever relax?”

Y/N gave her a faint smirk. “Tinkering is relaxing. You should try it sometime.”

“I think I’d be terrible at it,” Gamora said dryly.

“Probably,” Y/N teased, surprising herself.

Gamora raised an eyebrow but didn’t seem offended. Instead, she leaned back slightly, studying Y/N. “You’ve got a sharp sense of humor when you want to.”

Y/N shrugged. “Don’t get used to it.”

That earned her a soft laugh from Gamora, and to her own surprise, Y/N felt herself chuckle a little as well.

“Holy krutack,” Rocket interrupted, his eyes wide in mock shock. “Did you guys see that? Y/N laughed. I think hell just froze over.”

Y/N turned to Rocket, her face quickly reverting to its usual stoic mask. “Careful, Rocket. I can take that big mouth of yours apart as easily as one of your gadgets.”

Rocket snorted, crossing his arms. “Oh yeah? You can try, but you’d—”

Before he could finish, Y/N stepped forward, towering over the small raccoon. She leaned down slightly, her voice calm but dangerously low. “You really wanna test that theory?”

Rocket blinked, his bravado faltering for a split second. “Uh… nah. I’m good.”

Peter burst out laughing, spinning his chair around to face them. “Oh man, I never get tired of watching you humble him.”

Rocket muttered something under his breath, retreating to the other side of the cockpit as Groot patted him consolingly.

Gamora gave Y/N a knowing look. “I see you’re not afraid to keep him in line.”

“Somebody has to,” Y/N said, her lips twitching upward in a small smirk.

Peter leaned back in his chair, still grinning. “You know, for someone who acts like they don’t like any of us, you’re pretty good at keeping this family together.”

Y/N shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “Family? That’s a stretch.”

“Maybe,” Peter said with a shrug. “But it’s kind of true, isn’t it?”

Y/N didn’t respond, but her silence was telling. She glanced around the room at the mismatched group of criminals-turned-heroes and let out a quiet sigh.

“Fine,” she said at last. “But if anyone starts singing ‘We Are Family,’ I’m leaving.”

Peter grinned. “Noted.”

The Milano was quiet as the crew settled into their respective quarters for the night. Y/N had tried to sleep, but as usual, her mind refused to cooperate. After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, she gave up, pulling on a pair of baggy joggers and a sports bra before heading to the cockpit.

The faint hum of the ship’s systems filled the space as she settled into her usual spot. Tools and parts were scattered across the console, and she started tinkering with a new prototype—a compact energy blade she’d been designing for close combat. It was quiet, and for once, she appreciated the solitude.

But of course, it didn’t last.

The sound of footsteps broke the silence, and Y/N glanced up to see Peter wandering into the cockpit. He was in his usual sleepwear—an old band tee and sweatpants—but the moment his eyes landed on her, he froze.

“Uh…” Peter stammered, his gaze flicking away as if suddenly very interested in the walls.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, turning back to her work. “What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Peter said, clearing his throat as he forced himself to look at her face. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d come up here and… you know, check the stars or whatever.”

“Right,” Y/N said, not bothering to look up.

Peter hesitated, shoving his hands into his pockets. His eyes kept betraying him, darting back to her exposed shoulders and toned arms before he quickly looked away again. “You, uh… working on something?”

“What does it look like?” she asked dryly, holding up the half-finished energy blade. “Close-quarters weapon. Small enough to conceal, strong enough to cut through just about anything.”

Peter stepped closer, his curiosity overcoming his awkwardness. “That’s… actually pretty cool. Does it work yet?”

“Not yet,” Y/N admitted. “Still working on stabilizing the energy output. If I fire it up now, it’ll probably explode.”

Peter chuckled, leaning against the console. “Exploding weapons. Sounds like Rocket’s dream come true.”

Y/N smirked faintly. “Exactly why I’m keeping it to myself for now.”

The silence that followed was oddly comfortable, though Peter couldn’t quite stop himself from sneaking another glance at her. The cockpit’s dim lighting highlighted the sharp angles of her face and the way her alien features blended seamlessly with her human ones.

“You’re staring,” Y/N said without looking up, her voice tinged with annoyance.

Peter snapped out of it, his face flushing. “I’m not! I was just… admiring your work.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly unconvinced.

He shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, uh… do you ever sleep? Or are you like some kind of tinkering machine?”

Y/N let out a quiet sigh, setting her tools down. “I sleep when I need to. Tonight just… isn’t happening.”

Peter nodded, sitting down across from her. “Yeah, I get that. Nights like this, my brain just won’t shut up, you know?”

She glanced at him, her expression softening slightly. “What keeps you up?”

Peter hesitated, uncharacteristically serious. “A lot of things, I guess. The usual stuff—past mistakes, wondering if we’re gonna make it through the next mission… thinking about the people I care about.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow at that last part, but she didn’t push. “Fair enough.”

“What about you?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. “What keeps you up?”

She was quiet for a moment, her golden eyes fixed on the weapon in her hands. “Same as you, I guess. Except I don’t dwell on it. I work. Keeps my mind busy.”

Peter nodded, watching her closely. “Makes sense. You’re kind of a badass like that.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though there was a faint smirk on her lips. “Don’t start.”

“Just calling it like I see it,” Peter said, grinning.

The two of them sat in companionable silence for a while after that, the quiet hum of the ship filling the space. Peter found himself oddly at ease, even as he tried very hard not to let his gaze wander again.

Y/N, for her part, didn’t seem to mind his presence—though she’d never admit it.

The next morning, the crew gathered in the cockpit, groggy but ready for their next job. Rocket was rummaging through a bag of stolen gadgets, Groot was munching on the alien fruit he’d brought back from the market, and Drax was sharpening his knives. Gamora stood by the navigation console, while Y/N leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“So,” Peter began, spinning his chair around dramatically. “Our mystery client wants us to retrieve a package from some warehouse on Terrex-4. Easy job, big payout. Sounds like a win to me.”

Gamora frowned. “If it’s so easy, why did they hire us?”

Peter shrugged. “Maybe they like our charm.”

“Or maybe they’re setting us up,” Y/N said flatly.

Rocket snorted. “Paranoid much?”

“Not paranoia,” Y/N replied. “Experience.”

“Alright, we’ll play it safe,” Peter said, trying to defuse the tension. “But we’re not passing up a payday. Let’s move out.”

The warehouse on Terrex-4 was a rusted, crumbling structure in the middle of a barren desert. The Guardians entered cautiously, weapons drawn and senses on high alert.

“Where’s the package?” Gamora asked, scanning the dimly lit interior.

“Should be right… there,” Peter said, pointing to a metallic crate near the center of the room.

But before anyone could approach it, a familiar whistle pierced the air, and a glowing Yaka arrow shot past Peter’s head, embedding itself in the wall behind him.

“Aw, hell,” Peter muttered.

The Guardians spun around to see Yondu and his Ravagers stepping out of the shadows, weapons raised.

“Well, if it ain’t my favorite boy and his merry band of idiots,” Yondu drawled, his grin wide and dangerous.

“What the hell, Yondu?” Peter shouted. “This was supposed to be our job!”

“Funny thing about that,” Yondu said, twirling his Yaka arrow. “It was my job first. But I figured I’d let you do the heavy lifting. Now, hand over the crate and maybe I won’t kill ya.”

Rocket raised his blaster. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

The tension snapped like a rubber band, and chaos erupted.

Blaster fire lit up the warehouse as the Guardians fought their way out. Drax and Gamora took on the Ravagers in close combat, while Rocket and Groot provided covering fire. Peter and Y/N worked together to flank Yondu, who was using his arrow with deadly precision.

But the Ravagers were relentless, and even as the Guardians managed to reach the Milano, it wasn’t without cost.

Y/N covered their retreat, firing off her blaster as she backed into the ship’s ramp. A sharp pain suddenly tore through her arm, and she glanced down to see a deep gash, blood seeping through her jacket.

“Y/N!” Peter shouted, grabbing her by the uninjured arm and dragging her into the ship as the ramp closed behind them.

Rocket fired a final shot from the cockpit as the Milano blasted off, leaving the Ravagers cursing in their wake.

The ship’s medbay was a mess of supplies as Peter dug through the cabinets, his expression tense. Y/N sat on a bench, her jaw clenched as she pressed a cloth to the wound on her arm.

“Quit fussing,” she said as Peter returned with a medkit.

“You’re bleeding all over the place,” he shot back, kneeling in front of her. “This is gonna need stitches.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, letting him take her arm. Peter carefully removed the blood-soaked cloth, his brow furrowing as he examined the wound.

“This is deep,” he muttered. “How the hell did you not pass out?”

“Adrenaline,” Y/N said flatly. “Just hurry up.”

Peter grabbed a sterilized needle and thread, his hands surprisingly steady despite the situation. He worked in silence for a moment, the close proximity making him painfully aware of how warm she was, how her sharp features softened slightly when she wasn’t scowling.

Y/N, for her part, was doing her best to ignore the way Peter’s fingers brushed against her skin as he worked. She focused on the ceiling, her jaw tight.

“You okay?” Peter asked softly, glancing up at her.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, her voice sharper than intended.

Peter smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “You know, for someone who’s so tough, you’re kinda terrible at letting people help you.”

Y/N gave him a flat look. “And for someone who can’t shut up, you’re surprisingly good at stitching.”

Peter chuckled, finishing the last stitch and cutting the thread. “Alright, you’re good to go. Try not to punch anything with that arm for a while.”

“Noted,” she muttered, flexing her fingers experimentally.

Before the moment could settle, Rocket sauntered into the medbay, a sly grin on his face.

“Well, ain’t this cozy,” he said, folding his arms. “You two need a room, or is the medbay romantic enough for ya?”

Peter flushed, standing up quickly. “Oh, shut up, Rocket.”

Y/N glared at the raccoon, her eyes narrowing. “Say one more word, and I’ll use you for target practice.”

Rocket snickered but backed off, muttering something under his breath as he left.

Peter turned back to Y/N, scratching the back of his neck. “You know he’s never gonna let this go, right?”

“Let him try,” Y/N said, standing up. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

Peter grinned despite himself. “Yeah, I bet you have.”

Y/N shot him a look but didn’t bother responding as she left the medbay.

Peter watched her go, shaking his head with a small smile. “She’s gonna be the death of me.”

The Milano was unusually quiet as the crew settled back into their routines. Y/N headed to the lower levels of the ship to cool off, still irritated from the mission—and Rocket’s teasing. The gash on her arm throbbed faintly, but the stitches were holding.

Peter, meanwhile, wandered aimlessly around the cockpit, fidgeting with buttons and controls that didn’t need adjusting. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Y/N had looked at him earlier—sharp and exasperated, but not entirely dismissive. It was progress, in its own weird, complicated way.

Gamora’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Are you going to sit there brooding all night, or are you going to check on her?”

Peter spun his chair around. “What? I’m not brooding.”

“You are,” Gamora said without looking up from her blade. “She’s hurt, and you’ve been pacing like a caged animal since she walked out of the medbay.”

Peter hesitated, debating whether to argue, but Gamora’s knowing look stopped him.

“Alright, fine,” he muttered, standing up. “I’ll go… check.”

Peter found Y/N in her usual spot, a dimly lit corner of the workshop where she was fiddling with a damaged blaster. Tools and parts were spread out across the table, but her movements were slower than usual, her injured arm clearly giving her trouble.

“Should you really be doing that?” Peter asked, leaning against the doorway.

Y/N didn’t look up. “What do you want, Quill?”

“Just checking on you,” he said, stepping closer. “You know, because I’m a responsible leader and all that.”

She snorted softly. “Leader. Right.”

Peter grinned, pulling up a stool next to her. “You’re welcome, by the way. For saving your arm.”

“I don’t remember asking for your help,” she said, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

“Well, you’re welcome anyway,” he said lightly, glancing at the blaster she was working on. “You know, you could’ve just taken a break. The ship’s not gonna fall apart without you.”

Y/N finally looked up, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. “I don’t do breaks.”

Peter held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No breaks. Got it.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the hum of the ship filling the space. Peter watched as Y/N’s hands moved deftly over the blaster, even with her injured arm. He couldn’t help but admire her focus—and her stubbornness.

“You’re kind of amazing, you know that?” he said suddenly.

Y/N paused, her hands hovering over the blaster. She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “What are you talking about?”

Peter shrugged, leaning back slightly. “You’re always fixing things, keeping us alive, holding your own in every fight… It’s impressive.”

She looked at him for a moment longer, then shook her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Peter admitted, grinning. “But I’m not wrong.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Go bother someone else, Quill. I’m busy.”

“Fine, fine,” he said, standing up. “But if you need anything—”

“I won’t,” she interrupted.

“Right,” he said, chuckling. “Of course you won’t.”

As he left the workshop, Y/N watched him go, shaking her head. Peter Quill was infuriating, annoying, and entirely too charming for his own good.

And yet, she couldn’t quite bring herself to kick him out.

The Guardians hadn’t planned on spending the night on Ezeron-6, but after the chaos with Yondu and the Ravagers, the Milano needed refueling and some minor repairs. Peter found the closest available lodging—a rundown establishment with a flickering neon sign that read “Ezeron’s Finest”—and decided it was good enough for the night.

What they didn’t realize until they walked in was that “Ezeron’s Finest” wasn’t a standard inn. It was a strip club.

The group stood awkwardly near the entrance as music thumped through the air, and scantily clad alien dancers moved around the room, drawing the attention of the rowdy crowd. Rocket and Drax, of course, looked absolutely thrilled.

“This place is fantastic!” Rocket declared, hopping onto a barstool to get a better view of the stage.

“I agree,” Drax said, his tone unusually serious as he observed the dancers. “These performers are very talented.”

Gamora looked thoroughly unimpressed, her arms crossed. “We’re staying here? Seriously?”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, already regretting his decision. “Look, it was the closest place, okay? We’ll just stay the night and leave first thing in the morning.”

Y/N, as usual, was unfazed. She scanned the room, her expression flat. “I’ve seen worse.”

Gamora gave her a look. “This doesn’t bother you?”

Y/N shrugged. “Not my business.”

Peter, on the other hand, was clearly uncomfortable. His gaze darted around the room, trying (and failing) not to look at any of the dancers. “Let’s just… get our rooms and stay out of trouble, alright?”

The night passed uneventfully—for the most part. Drax and Rocket seemed to be enjoying themselves far too much, while Groot simply wandered around making friends with the staff. Gamora sat at a corner table, her arms crossed as she glared at anyone who came near her. Y/N, meanwhile, had claimed a seat at the bar, quietly sipping a drink while keeping an eye on the others.

Peter eventually found her there, his usual confidence slightly shaken by the setting. “Hey, uh… you wanna get out of here for a bit? Maybe… take a walk?”

Y/N glanced at him, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. “Why?”

“Just… you know, fresh air,” Peter said, fidgeting slightly.

She studied him for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.”

The two of them wandered through the quiet streets of Ezeron-6, the neon lights of the strip club fading behind them. The night air was cool, and the stars above were unusually bright.

For a while, they walked in silence, the only sounds coming from the distant hum of traffic and the occasional alien vendor closing up shop.

Finally, Peter cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So… I’ve been thinking.”

Y/N glanced at him. “That’s new.”

“Ha-ha,” he said, though his tone was distracted. “No, seriously. I’ve been thinking about… us.”

Y/N stopped walking, turning to face him. “What about us?”

Peter hesitated, running a hand through his hair. For once, he seemed at a loss for words. “Look, I’m not great at this kind of thing, but… I like you. A lot. More than I probably should.”

Y/N blinked, caught completely off guard. “Peter—”

“I know you’re probably gonna tell me this is a bad idea,” he said quickly, holding up his hands. “And maybe it is. But I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. You’re… incredible, Y/N. And I’d be an idiot not to tell you.”

Y/N stared at him, her usual stoic mask cracking slightly as a mix of emotions flickered across her face. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come.

Instead, she stepped forward, grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, and kissed him.

Peter froze for a moment, his eyes wide, but then he melted into the kiss, his hands coming up to rest on her waist. It was a brief, fierce moment of connection, and when she finally pulled away, they were both breathless.

Peter looked at her, his usual grin returning, though it was softer this time. “So… I’m guessing that’s a yes?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though there was a faint smirk on her lips. “Don’t push it.”

Peter chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Right. Got it.”

As they turned to head back to the inn, Peter couldn’t stop grinning. Y/N, for her part, kept her expression neutral, but her golden eyes were unusually bright.

Neither of them noticed the small figure watching them from the shadows.

“Well, ain’t this somethin’,” Rocket muttered to himself, a sly grin spreading across his face.

The Guardians were already back at the strip-club-turned-inn by the time Y/N and Peter returned from their walk. Gamora was in her room, Groot was curled up in a plant pot, and Drax had apparently decided to “help” clean up the stage area, much to the dismay of the dancers. Rocket, however, was sitting at the bar, nursing a drink—and wearing a smug grin.

As soon as Y/N and Peter walked in, Rocket’s ears twitched. He swiveled in his seat, the grin widening. “Well, well, well. Look who’s back from their little romantic stroll under the stars.”

Peter froze mid-step, glancing at Y/N. “Uh-oh.”

Y/N, on the other hand, remained completely unfazed, walking past Rocket without so much as a glance.

“Don’t pretend like I didn’t see ya,” Rocket continued, hopping off the barstool and following them. “The hand-holding, the dreamy stares, the kissing. Oh yeah, I saw it all.”

Peter groaned. “Rocket, c’mon—”

“I gotta say,” Rocket interrupted, ignoring him, “this is some quality dirt. And you know me—I’m not above sharing it with the rest of the crew. For the right price, of course.”

Y/N stopped walking. Slowly, she turned to face Rocket, her golden eyes narrowing.

“Uh, Rocket?” Peter said, backing up a step. “You might wanna rethink this—”

Rocket held up a paw, cutting him off. “Relax, Quill. I’m just having a little fun. Ain’t no harm in that, right?”

Y/N stepped forward, her movements deliberate and calm. Before Rocket could react, she grabbed him by the front of his jumpsuit and lifted him clean off the ground, slamming him against the nearest wall.

Rocket’s smug grin faltered. “H-Hey, easy now—”

Y/N leaned in, her voice low and dangerous. “You think this is funny? Trying to blackmail me?”

Rocket swallowed hard, his wide eyes darting to Peter. “Uh… it was just a joke?”

Her grip tightened. “Do I look like I’m laughing?”

“Okay, okay!” Rocket squeaked, holding up his paws in surrender. “No blackmail! I swear!”

Satisfied, Y/N released him, letting him drop to the floor with a thud. Rocket scrambled to his feet, brushing himself off and muttering something under his breath.

Peter, who had been watching the entire scene with barely concealed amusement, finally burst out laughing.

“That,” he said, pointing at Rocket, “was priceless.”

Rocket shot him a glare. “Yeah, laugh it up, Quill. You’re just lucky she likes you, or you’d be the one eating wall.”

Y/N glanced at Peter, her expression as neutral as ever. “He’s not wrong.”

Peter laughed even harder, leaning against the wall for support. “Totally worth it.”

Rocket grumbled something about “crazy humans” as he stomped off, leaving Peter and Y/N alone.

Y/N turned to Peter, raising an eyebrow. “You think that was funny?”

Peter wiped a tear from his eye, grinning. “Absolutely. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

She smirked faintly. “Good idea.”

Y/N walked off toward the front desk, Peter trailing behind her, still chuckling quietly to himself. The clerk—a tall, four-armed alien with smooth green skin and an air of boredom—barely looked up as they approached.

“We need a room for the night,” Y/N said bluntly.

The clerk raised one brow, glancing between her and Peter. “One room?”

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, sliding a credit chip across the counter.

The clerk’s bored expression shifted into a sly grin. “Ah. I see. Just one room. For the two of you. Together.”

Peter’s face turned bright red. “Oh, no, no, it’s not like that—”

The clerk ignored him, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Say no more. I know exactly what you’re looking for.”

Y/N frowned, her golden eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?”

The clerk handed her a keycard with a flourish, their grin widening. “The Lover’s Suite. Very private. Very soundproof. Perfect for… whatever it is you two crazy kids get up to.”

Peter sputtered. “That’s not—we’re not—”

Y/N grabbed the keycard without a word, her expression unreadable. She turned on her heel and started walking toward the stairs, leaving Peter to flounder behind her.

“Enjoy your night!” the clerk called after them, laughing.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Peter hurried to catch up with Y/N. “Uh, did you hear what that guy said? About the room?”

“I heard,” Y/N said flatly, not slowing down.

“And you’re just… okay with it?” Peter asked, his voice rising an octave.

She stopped at the door marked “Lover’s Suite” and slid the keycard into the lock. “What’s the problem, Quill? It’s just a room.”

Peter stared at her, his face still red. “It’s not just a room, it’s—”

The door clicked open, and Y/N pushed it wide, stepping inside. Peter followed reluctantly, his protests dying in his throat as he took in the sight before him.

The room was… exactly what the name suggested. Red silk sheets covered the circular bed in the center of the room. The walls were adorned with dim, glowing lights that gave everything a warm, romantic hue. A bottle of some alien champagne sat chilling on the nightstand, alongside two glasses.

Peter blinked. “Oh, come on.”

Y/N glanced around, unfazed. “It’s a bed. That’s all that matters.”

Peter pointed at the champagne. “That is not just a bed!”

She dropped her bag onto a chair and turned to face him, her arms crossed. “Do you want to sleep on the floor, or are you going to stop whining?”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it, deciding it was probably best not to argue.

Y/N rolled her eyes and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her boots off. Peter hesitated for a moment before doing the same, sitting on the far side of the bed and trying very hard not to think about how weird this was.

After a few moments of silence, he couldn’t help but glance at her. “So, uh… this doesn’t bother you at all?”

Y/N shrugged. “I’ve stayed in worse places. This is nothing.”

Peter shook his head, muttering under his breath. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

She smirked faintly. “You’re just figuring that out?”

Peter laughed despite himself, leaning back against the pillows. As awkward as the situation was, he couldn’t deny that he felt… oddly comfortable.

“Well,” he said, glancing around the room again, “at least Rocket’s not here to see this. I’d never hear the end of it.”

Y/N snorted softly. “If he tries, I’ll put him through a wall.”

Peter grinned. “That’s my girl.”

She shot him a sharp look, and he immediately corrected himself. “I mean—uh, not like my girl, but—”

“Goodnight, Quill,” Y/N said firmly, turning off the lights.

Peter sighed, sinking deeper into the bed. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

Despite the room’s ridiculous décor, Peter couldn’t help but smile to himself as he drifted off.

The soft hum of the ship’s systems filtered through the Lover’s Suite as Peter stirred awake. He blinked blearily, rubbing his eyes and trying to piece together where he was. The red-tinted walls, the absurdly soft bed, and the faint scent of alien champagne all came rushing back.

“Oh, right. Strip-club-turned-inn,” he muttered under his breath, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

As he glanced around the room, his eyes landed on Y/N. She was standing with her back to him, pulling a fresh shirt over her head. For a moment, she was completely shirtless, her toned back illuminated by the dim glow of the room.

Peter’s gaze caught on something he hadn’t noticed before—a massive scar running diagonally across her back. It was jagged and uneven, the kind of wound that must have been deep and brutal when it was fresh.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away. There was something strangely captivating about the way the scar curved with her muscles, a testament to her strength and resilience.

Y/N suddenly stiffened, as if sensing his gaze. She turned her head slightly, catching him staring out of the corner of her eye.

“See something you like, Quill?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.

Peter immediately sat up straighter, his face turning red. “No! I mean—uh, I wasn’t—”

She pulled her shirt the rest of the way down and turned to face him, her golden eyes narrowing. “You’ve got about five seconds to explain yourself.”

Peter held up his hands in mock surrender. “Look, I just… noticed the scar. I wasn’t trying to be a creep or anything, I swear.”

Y/N relaxed slightly, though her expression remained guarded. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It kinda is,” Peter said, his voice softer now. “What happened?”

She hesitated, crossing her arms. “It’s old. From before I joined the Guardians. Back when I was a bounty hunter.”

Peter nodded, not pushing her to elaborate. “It’s… intense. But I guess that makes sense. You’ve been through a lot.”

Y/N shrugged, her tone dismissive. “Haven’t we all?”

Peter tilted his head, his usual cocky grin slipping back into place. “Yeah, but not all of us look as badass as you do while doing it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though there was a faint smirk on her lips. “You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe,” Peter admitted, still smiling. “But I’m an honest idiot.”

She shook her head, turning to grab her gear. “Get ready. The others are probably waiting for us.”

Peter watched her for a moment longer, his grin softening. “You know, Y/N… you’re kind of amazing.”

“Stop talking before I regret not throwing you off the bed last night,” she said, but there was no real heat in her voice.

Peter chuckled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Noted.”

By the time Peter and Y/N made it to the common area of the ship, the rest of the Guardians were already there, preparing for the day ahead. Rocket was tinkering with one of his makeshift weapons, Gamora was cleaning her sword, and Drax was doing something vaguely threatening with a very large knife. Groot sat on the table, observing everything with mild interest.

“Morning, lovebirds,” Rocket called out the moment they stepped in, a sly grin spreading across his face.

Peter groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t start, Rocket.”

“Start what?” Rocket asked innocently. “I’m just saying, you two came out of that Lover’s Suite looking awfully refreshed.”

Y/N ignored him, walking over to her workstation and beginning to unpack her gear. “Say one more word, and I’ll weld your mouth shut.”

Rocket’s grin faltered slightly. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tough guy act. Real convincing.”

Peter smirked, grabbing a cup of coffee. “You’d think Rocket would learn by now.”

“I don’t learn. That’s what makes me me,” Rocket replied, puffing out his chest.

“Right,” Y/N said, pulling out a particularly nasty-looking weapon and examining it. “And it’s why you’re always two seconds away from getting your tail handed to you.”

The group snickered, and Rocket muttered something about “everyone ganging up on him” as he went back to his tinkering.

Gamora glanced at Y/N, a hint of amusement in her usually serious gaze. “So… the Lover’s Suite, huh?”

Y/N sighed, not looking up from her work. “It was a bed. That’s it.”

Peter raised a hand. “To be fair, it was a ridiculously romantic bed.”

Gamora smirked. “And yet you survived.”

“Barely,” Y/N muttered, giving Peter a sideways glance.

The banter continued for a while as the Guardians finished their preparations, but Peter couldn’t help sneaking glances at Y/N. There was something different about her this morning—maybe it was the way she held herself, or the quiet confidence in her every move.

Or maybe, Peter thought with a small smile, it was the fact that he finally felt like he was starting to see the real her.

Later, as the crew prepared to land on their next destination, Peter found himself standing beside Y/N at the cockpit.

“So,” he said casually, leaning against the console, “you’re seriously not gonna tell me more about that scar?”

She shot him a look. “Why are you so interested?”

Peter shrugged, his tone playful. “What can I say? I’m curious. You’ve got this whole mysterious, brooding thing going on—it’s kinda your brand.”

Y/N shook her head, but there was a faint smirk on her lips. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day. If you stop being annoying.”

Peter grinned. “No promises.”

As the Milano began its descent, Y/N couldn’t help but glance at Peter out of the corner of her eye. He was grinning like an idiot, as usual—but for once, she didn’t mind.

#marvel #gotg #guardians of the galaxy #peter quill #star lord #peter quill x reader #fluff

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cobaltperun · 1 year ago

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Woe out the Storm (9) - Hard Comes the Rain

Wednesday Addams x female Reader

Summary: It took some time, but eventually you came to realize only Wednesday Addams could look at the raging storm of chaos and destruction and make a home out of it. Only she could listen to the cacophony of the roaring thunder and hear a melody.

Story warnings: Wednesday Addams, violence, slow burn

Story Masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

Word count: 3k

-You pray for the storm of your life, it's over and nothing survived-

Wednesday flipped through her mother’s pictures, somewhat intrigued now that the two of them reconciled, and to keep her mind off the newest information regarding you. Well, not you, as much Addams-raiju relationships throughout generations.

And then she saw the picture that changed everything just as you approached her.

“It’s Weems, she’s the one shapeshifter,” she told you and showed you the picture she came across.

Your eyes widened and you looked at her, genuinely surprised. “Weems? I mean, I never asked dad what kind of outcast she was, and it’s not like she ever told the students, but damn, that explains how she gave us a slip,” you commented and Wednesday had to agree. For all her disagreements with Weems there was no doubt the woman was capable and intelligent.

“Why would she cover up Rowan’s murder?” she asked, hoping the years you spent at Nevermore would have given you more insight into the woman’s mind.

You frowned as you glanced toward Weems’ office window. “She cares about Nevermore’s reputation more than anything. If I had to guess, she did it to protect the school’s image. It’s not a good look if one of the students tries to kill another,” you told her and Wednesday thought back to how Weems treated you, with caution, restricting you more than other students. “Well, let’s go find out?” you grinned a bit, but her mother’s words still remained freshly carved into her mind.

“I’m going alone, I can handle Weems,” she told you and walked away, leaving you confused and speechless.

~X~

This school year was officially turning into the biggest mess you had ever experienced. Oversized Gollum-looking monster that killed a bunch of people, finding out from Wednesday that Weems was a shapeshifter who had no issues with covering up Rowan’s murder, because, while she excluded you from the chat with Weems, she did tell you you were right in your assumption, and now this ominous message burnt onto school grounds.

Fire will rain.

There had to be more to it than that. And if Wednesday was going to go off on her own, so were you.

Let it never be said Wednesday was the only one who could sneak in and out of some secure place. And your methods were more suited for what you were aiming to do.

You were sitting in a tree, close to one of the open windows of the mayor’s office. There was probably someone there, so you’d need to do this quickly. Just go in and out, and if you can’t get what you need in fifteen to twenty minutes, try again tomorrow. You stabbed a knife into the branch, one of the knives you didn’t mind losing and jumped down, using a small burst of lightning to slow down your fall. When you landed you sent some electricity through the ground, searching for electrical wires, you wouldn’t damage them, you’d just use them to cut the power at the very source.

A drop of sweat slid down your face. It was difficult to locate the wires, to recognize what was your electricity and what wasn’t. And you needed to stay in control and not fry the wires. You took several deep breaths, focusing as hard as you could and finally, after what felt like eternity, you found it, the steady current going toward the building. That was the hardest part.

With a bit of a smirk, you sent your own electricity toward the power source and disrupted it, cutting off the power in the entire building, you would have cut the power off for entire block to make it less suspicious, but you didn’t have that kind of control.

Well, more optimal solutions aside, you accomplished what you were after. You zapped to the knife in the tree and tossed another one through the open window, zapping inside. For once you allowed the beast within you to somewhat come out as your eyes turned red and your vision cleared, the darkness around you was no longer an issue. Perks of your beast being what it was.

You broke into the archive, making sure to make as little sound as possible as you did that, and powered the computer on with your electricity. Your eyes narrowed as you forcefully bypassed the security. This was why you were so focused on learning all about technology you could, with your powers and knowledge you were a human hacker, capable of breaking into any device you were familiar with, regardless of passcodes or any other protections. With full access to the PC you began searching through the files, starting with Crackstone. There wasn’t anything there, at least not anything you didn’t already know. So, you went with another tactic.

Garrett Gates, dead family, the mansion that was long abandoned but recently bought by some woman. None of this was helping you, at all. You should have brought Wednesday with you somehow, maybe she could have seen something in this mess of information.

“Come on, it’s an old family, surely someone wrote some kind of book about it?” you muttered, already anxiously searching for Garrett’s grandparents or someone even further back. Nothing, it was as if one of Jericho’s oldest families just vanished from records older than a century ago and you weren’t sure if it was them specifically or if it was just in general, and you didn’t have the time or the knowledge of old Jericho families, that would let you confirm either of those options. No books, no records, the only new information was the existence of their mansion, which you could have figured out without extra effort.

As the last ditch effort you wrote ‘Fire will rain’ and all of a sudden something strange began happening, it was as if something was disrupting you, as if there was a security in place that was specifically meant to stop a raiju or someone else capable of using lightning from getting into the system.

“Shit!” you cursed, turning the computer off and running outside, no longer caring if someone working here would catch you. You didn’t know exactly what was wrong, but just for a moment you felt as if you could sense the danger, as if you were on a timer and needed to get away as soon as possible, otherwise you’d be in way over your head. You reached the window you came in through and were about to zap to the knife in the tree when you froze and ducked. Someone was in the tree, right where your knife was.

That figure, it didn’t feel human, it didn’t feel like you were looking at some outcast, just one glimpse was enough to freeze you on the spot. It didn’t matter that staying near the window made you vulnerable, that it was the obvious entry point for you, none of that mattered. You just couldn’t move.

Your heart hammered in your chest, there was nothing you could do, to escape or protect yourself. Somehow, despite only catching the glimpse of that figure you knew not even shifting into your beast form would help. You were at the mercy of whatever was in the tree, you couldn’t even pull out your phone to apologize to your parents for being reckless, you could just sit there and wait.

And then the tension vanished, but so did your knife. And the power was back on. You dared to look outside and the moment you did that you were met with completely blue eyes staring down at you, no pupils, nothing, not even the sclera was white, everything was pale blue. Before you could even begin to understand what was going on; before you could even take in any other features of the one in front of you, you were struck by pain and slammed into a wall. There wasn’t even a sound, there was nothing, just pain, excruciating pain you couldn’t endure.

~X~

Wednesday was always a light sleeper, though she learnt how to ignore certain sounds in the middle of the night. A loud thud against the wall and a body dropping to the floor was one of those sounds, courtesy of her parents’ inability to keep their hands to one another. Thing frantically tapping her arm wasn’t something she could ignore though. Especially when he insisted on repeating your name in Morse code.

“What?” she didn’t appreciate being woken up, and it didn’t sound like you were losing control over yourself. But Thing was persistent, so she opened her eyes and sat up. Due to Enid’s excessively colorful side of the window Wednesday couldn’t see it quite clearly, but she could swear she saw a body lying there. Thing jumped from her bed and ran outside, turning around just once to make sure Wednesday was following him.

Surely it wasn’t you, right?

But it was you.

You were right there, unconscious and lying on the cold stone of the balcony. “Y/N,” she touched your neck to make sure you were alive, only to be struck by a vision. It was just flashes this time, chilling completely blue eyes, a shadowy figure in the tree, being thrown against the wall, and then nothing. Wednesday almost gasped, both due to the vision and the realization that you were alive.

What were you doing? How did you get into this situation? Wednesday didn’t know, all she knew was that she needed you to wake up, because carrying you and risking another vision wasn’t something she wanted to deal with. So, she shook you slightly, ignoring how the grunt of pain you let out didn’t sound as good as she hoped it would. Not when she wasn’t the one that caused it. No one else should have that right and whoever did this, sooner or later she’d get her revenge.

“Y/N,” she spoke again as you blinked a few times. You looked disoriented, in pain, and barely aware of where you were, and then your eyes widened and you frantically looked around, jumping to your feet, and pulling Wednesday behind you before she could even realize what was happening.

“What? Where is that?!” you were looking for whatever or whoever attacked you, and there was no doubt in Wednesday’s mind that you were instinctively making sure you were between her and whatever danger you were worried about. And she despised it, she despised that you would clearly do everything in your power to protect her, even against someone that knocked you out like this.

“Calm down, we’re alone,” she assured you, but you didn’t listen, still stuck between flight and fight response. “Y/N,” she tried with your name and that reached you as you let out a shuddering breath and calmed down enough to turn around and look at Wednesday. “Can you walk alone?” she asked and though wide-eyed you nodded slowly.

You didn’t move and Wednesday realized you were waiting for her to get inside first. With a heavy sigh she did exactly that. A thought came to her mind, entirely related to the information her mother revealed to her. About that generational bond between her family and raiju.

As far as Wednesday was concerned this, from your interaction with Wednesday to this apparent protectiveness, simply wasn’t your choice. You couldn’t help it if her being an Addams made you drawn to her. That would certainly explain your behavior toward her, your acceptance of who she was. She was different, she was stronger than some curse that brought the two of you together, she knew about it, she wasn’t influenced by it. Every experience she had with you was of her own free will, and so was this. If a raiju was meant to die for an Addams, it certainly wouldn’t be you dying for her.

No matter the consequences of that choice.

And that decision was even more definitive now that you came back from wherever you were like this. Clearly in pain, though without visible injuries, and attacked for something she was almost certain had something to do with her and/or her investigation.

Even she could see how distraught you were, but there was nothing she could do other than lead you to your part of the room, only guide you to your bed until you went through the motions and got on the bed. You were anxious, still focused on perceived danger and frantic and Wednesday had to do something about it. As you were, you wouldn’t go to sleep, and she had no patience or will to deal with that right now. So, she did the next best thing and struck a pressure point on your neck before you could react.

As Wednesday watched your unconscious form she found herself biting her lower lip, angry and frustrated at what just transpired.

~X~

You were alive.

Somehow.

When you woke up the next morning the first sight you saw was Wednesday sitting at the bottom of your bed, reading a book with Thing dutifully staying next to her.

“How bad was it? Since you are sitting here?” you couldn’t help but ask, revealing to her and Thing that you just woke up. Wednesday didn’t move, she didn’t even look at you and that made you even more worried. She was avoiding eye contact, and that wasn’t like Wednesday! “Wednesday?” you remembered how disoriented and afraid you were, how you followed her, frightened that whatever attacked you would come back and that she’d get hurt too if that happened. Was that really enough for this kind of reaction from her?

Thing jumped to your side and asked you how you were feeling.

You smiled a bit, bringing your fist up to fist bump him. “I’ll be fine, Thing,” and you would be, the pain from last night was mostly gone. Being a raiju meant you had a higher than average tolerance to pain and that you healed faster than normies and most outcasts as well.

Wednesday just stood up and went to her bed, not even looking at you in the process. You sighed softly and glanced at Thing. You thought he’d just shrug, keeping Wednesday’s secrets under lock and key, but he didn’t. He openly told you she was worried and that she spent the night watching over you, that the lack of pain had a lot to do with the medicine she injected you with and you just leaned your head back into the pillow and nodded.

You made Wednesday worried and had nothing to show for it. All you accomplished was getting caught and hurt. She probably figured you were out looking for clues, and there was no point in trying to hide it. You made her worry, while Eugene was still comatose, and she still carried that immense guilt over what happened to him.

You facepalmed and dragged your hand up to your forehead. “Damn it, I shouldn’t make her worry about me,” you muttered, glancing at Thing as he patted your shoulder to comfort you. You were actually a bit surprised with how supportive he was of this slowly developing friendship between you and Wednesday.

~X~

Two days later Enid approached you while Wednesday was tending to Eugene’s bees and the two of you were alone in your room with an idea you would have loved, if there wasn’t one tiny detail that made you refuse.

“Come on, it’s Wednesday’s birthday and there’s no better place for her!” Enid tried to persuade you.

“I agree, that’s the perfect place for Wednesday’s surprise birthday party, but, there’s a lake I need to get across and I’m not doing that,” you were absolutely never going to give in and approach that lake. Or any other bigger body of water. Not even for Wednesday.

“Y/N, come on! If you aren’t there there’s fifty percent higher chance she won’t even tolerate it!” Enid kept trying, as stubborn as she always was.

You sighed. “No, not even for Wednesday,” besides, you had a feeling Wednesday would hate the surprise either way. She barely spoke to Xavier, and you were fairly sure she never spoke with Yoko, or Ajax and whoever else Enid was going to convince to join. Frankly, you and Enid were the only ones whose presence at Wednesday’s surprise birthday party was understandable. “Besides, she is going to hate it either way,” you pointed out.

“Well, maybe she will, but I will show her that she is appreciated and accepted!” and you thought Enid’s reasons and way of thinking were perfectly reasonable and something most people would appreciate, but that was the thing about Wednesday, she didn’t need to feel like she was appreciated or accepted, she was the one in complete control.

Besides, you were still shaken by what happened at the mayor’s office building. At the end of the day you owed Wednesday for taking care of you. And you weren’t about to repay her with a surprise party, even if it was for her birthday. You’d wish her a happy birthday the morning of her birthday and you’d hand her the gift you’ve more or less had ready ever since you took Wednesday’s knife.

Frankly, you were just glad that knife remained in your possession, unlike the knife you left in that damn tree.

“I really can’t convince you?” Enid tried, hopefully, for the last time.

“You really can’t. I’m not getting close to that much water, no matter what,” you stood your ground. It wouldn’t matter what the reason was, you just, plain and simple, wouldn’t risk falling into water, no matter how safe the transportation was.

Not even for Wednesday.

Story Masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

#wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday netflix #enid sinclair #jenna ortega x reader #x reader #x female reader

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grits-galraisedinthesouth · 2 months ago

Text

Prince & Princess of Wales Signet Rings

"I try to keep it simple on my blog and let the beauty in as much as possible. Remember, bad doesn't last forever. Everything comes to an end eventually." @ladydianaphotos

Our resident Princess Diana sleuth, @ladydianaphotos has just uncovered: Charles & Diana on their honeymoon & a clear photograph of Princess Diana's left hand. This is one of two (2) photographs researched by @ladydianaphotos that shows the lovely Princess Diana wearing the gifted signet ring (on her left pinky finger) gifted to her by fiance, Charles, on the eve of their wedding.

@ladydianaphotos also shared this clipping from author Andrew Morton:

"He sent me a very nice signet ring the night before to Clarence House, with the Prince of Wales feathers on and a very nice card..."

A shout out of gratitude to @anonnnnnn who uncovered the motivation behind MeMe's pinky ring: she exchanged her blood diamond w/a signet ring to mimic (Diana) Harry's deceased mother.

Why it matters:

Beyond the obvious, (Meghan Markle is a lunatic grifter, thief, weirdo & stalker) @ladydianaphotos and I both searched for photos of Diana's signet ring and guess who religiously popped into our feed🙄: the kween of SEO. She thinks promoting herself online using all things The British Royal Family is a smart PR strategy. Little does she know it will lead to her undoing.

For example, here's one of her 2024 online PR articles (her name is 1st) linking that tacky pinky blood diamond ring to the late Princess Diana: "Style icons such as Meghan Markle🙄, Rihanna, Bella Hadid, Blake Lively, Sarah Jessica Parker, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Princess Diana have all rocked the pinky ring, find yours here."

As previously discussed, MM is unable to spoil or overshadow BRF special events but she can use them for Search Engine Optimization therefore hoping to remain inextricably LINKED to this iconic family. That's the reason she:

performs pap walks and drops "newsie" headlines on BRF birthdays and special occasions

uses copy & paste images of Princess Catherine & Princess Charlotte to advertise her latest megflop

wears ill fitting clothing to match Princess Diana & Princess Catherine

worked w/cry baby Harriman to mimic iconic UK photos of Wills ♡ Kate

is DESPERATELY forcing print media to use the prince & princess titles (along w/QE's stolen name) for their invisibles

mimics all things Princess Catherine

mimics all things Princess Diana

Meghan Markle, The cheap Knock Off Duchess

Her obsession with Tracey & Trevor Engleson is an entirely different bunny boiler matter...😬

#princess diana #princess diana signet ring #meghan markle is a thief #meghan markle is a cheap copy #SEO #prince of wales signet ring #knock off duchess #copykate #copycat #restraining order #BRF #prince charles signet ring #pap walks #bunny boiler #Catherine makes jam #Highgrove jam #Meghan's jam scam #meghan's jam scam #signet rings

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cakeinke · 22 days ago

Note

The first time RT and Heinrix are dancing

For this ask game!

Thank you so much for the ask! :D I did not forget you anon!! this took a while to answer because, when would they have danced? Not at the Magnae, Heinrix was far too concerned with the up coming 'interrogation' 🤔 so I struggled for a bit trying to figure out when they would've danced. anyway hope you like my silly not so little stream of consciousness~

Also, surprise Kibellah dance scene with a sprinkle of Iustitia self-image issues?? Listen it's been hopping around in my head so I'm subjecting y'all to it now

I exist to torment you all with my stream of consciousness non proof read ramblings also sneaky ref to this ask

-----

The first time Heinrix danced with Iustitia was at the party she threw for Kibellah. He had been slowly circling the perimeter of the officer's deck, quietly observing the unease being sown across those in attendance by Kibellah's appearance. A small band played in the far corner of the room, doing their best to encourage the officers to dance, without luck. The officers were far too nervous to fraternize in front of the Lord Captain and her assassin. A flash of movement caught his eye - Iustitia was carving a path through the officers towards the dance floor Kibellah in tow. Iustitia's eyes were alight with mischief, while Kibellah seemed confused, but excited. Heinrix turned to follow their path, remaining at the perimeter of the crowd. His path brought him to rest next to the band, who Iustitia was now conversing with quietly. The officers had formed a wall around the dance floor, everyone's eyes on the Lord Captain and her Blade. Iustitia turned from the band and held Kibellah, prepared to dance.

It was remarkable, the way she commanded attention. Of course, her commissar dress uniform helped, but beyond that the way she confidentially held herself, back straightened to her full height, shoulders rolled back - he could not keep his eyes off her. She whispered something to Kibellah, which earned a small, nervous smile from the assassin. Iustitia gave a nod to the band, and the dance began. A waltz, an optimal choice for her selected partner. Iustitia led Kibellah across the dance floor with practiced ease, her hands gentle but firm in guiding Kibellah through the movements. Kibellah was a remarkable sight whirling across the dance floor, her lithe body bending and twisting in near impossible ways. It was highly similar to how she fought on the battlefield Heinrix mused with a small smile.

As he watched the display, an annoying tightness simmered in his chest. He attempted to ignore it - this party was for Kibellah, he had no right to feel... Jealousy? Loneliness? Or whatever it was at this time. He knew he had already been shown favor by Iustitia with her humoring their regicide games, so why did he want more? The muscles in his jaw twitched as he gently reached through the crowd with his powers - a foolish and selfish action, he chided, with no justification. He felt the pride that had welled in Iustitia's chest as she dipped Kibellah. She was well aware of the spectacular display she was putting on and was reveling in it. She extended her arm, sending Kibellah twirling out from her. There - a cut under the sense of pride dominating Iustitia's being, a small well of... Envy? Heinrix searched Iustitia's features, but she maintained a perfectly neutral smile, mirth not quite reaching her eyes.

One final dip and the dance was complete, the officers erupting in applause at the performance. "Please, I implore you all to dance. Let the band earn their keep!" She called to the crowd, and the officers both complied with a mix of sheepishness and confidence. She had succeeded in filling the dance floor, which allowed her and Kibellah to slip mostly unseen back to the food tables. Heinrix remained in place, observing the pair from the corner of his eye. It appeared they were enjoying their conversation, but Kibellah was growing more restless, wishing to be gone from the crowd of people. Kibellah said something to Iustitia, which caused her to raise her head at look directly at him. Ah, he was caught; Kibellah must have felt Heinrix's sorcerous powers on the dance floor and alerted Iustitia to it. A smirk spread across her features and gave him a slight nod before turning her attention back to Kibellah. They bid their adieus and Kibellah slipped silently through the large doors while Iustitia confidentially strode towards Heinrix.

"Making sure my knees were not going to fail me, Heinrix?" Iustitia questioned as she took her place next to him along the wall, observing the dance floor. Heinrix let out a small chuckle "Apologies, Lord Captain." A beat passed as they watched the crowd of spinning officers. "You were... captivating out there. Where did you learn to dance?" A small pool of bitterness bubbled into Iustitia's chest at his question. "Officio Prefectus. We were political officers; if you were stationed on the right planet, the governor might want to rub elbows and invite you to a soirée. So, to not be an embarrassment, we were trained to dance." The band began to slow, a new dance would begin soon. Whether it was courage or foolhardiness that possessed him, he did not know. He turned to face Iustitia, extending his hand with a slight bow. "Would you grace me with a dance, Iustitia?" Joy, so quickly drowned by a tidal wave of apprehension surged through Iustitia's chest. "I... Have not been led in a dance in a very long time-"

"Then let me guide your hand."

Iustitia laughed and accepted his offer. Heinrix withdrew his biomancy from Iustitia; for here, now, he had the blessing to hold her in his hands, and that would be enough. He guided her to the dance floor - this would not be a display as when she had danced with Kibellah, no, this time they were just one of many. Of course, some officers were watching as they took the floor, but no one cleared the floor for them. The band began to play, it was a different waltz, one slower than the one Iustitia and Kibellah had danced to. Iustitia stood with just as much confidence as she had earlier, but he felt the slight hesitance in her movements whenever his hands would gently guide her through the turns. “Tell me, why have you not been led in a dance in so long?” Heinrix inquired as he dipped her gently, careful as to not hurt her spine. He watched her jaw set as she bit the inside of her lip, something she did when she was searching for the right words. “For one matter, I was only briefly stationed on a world that was peaceful enough to allow for frivolous parties.” He extended her arm, allowing her to spin outwards from him, before drawing back her back in. “For the second… you feel me in your arms now. I am not the delicate flower men want to dance with. They would talk about war, weapons, and politics with me, but dance? For that I am not so desirable.” Iustitia chuckled without mirth. How she felt in his arms? She felt like the sun, his orbit doomed to fall into her. “I-“ He started without thinking. “I think they were blind to not consider you the most desirable of all.” Iustitia’s eyes widened slightly in surprise at his words, before softening into gracious smile. The music was beginning to fade, the dance was ending. Heinrix stepped away from her and bowed before pressing his lips gently to her gloved hand. “Thank you, for this. I look forward to our next dance, Iustitia.” He said, releasing her hand and slipping away into the crowd, while Cassia took his place, requesting a dance from the Lord Captain.

#why do these keep getting longer 🧍#i am possessed #I do not write but here I am hitting 1.2k #ask game #iustitia #heinrix van calox #von valancius #heinrix x von valancius #warhammer 40k #wh40k oc #rogue trader

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queer-ragnelle · 8 months ago

Note

I hope you don't mind me asking. But how do you create PDF files that you can search through them? Your method is so unique, so I'm curious.

Hi anon!

After I scan a book and have a PDF saved, it can’t be searched. It has to be edited and made that way. So I open it up in Adobe Acrobat. There’s a tool called “Optimize PDF” which has a lot of different features you can fine tune the settings of but essentially what it does is:

Straighten out the text to be perfectly horizontal and level (I try to scan two pages at a time then crop, so raw scans can be a little wonky)

Recognizes the text on the page (which allows key word search, highlighting, commenting, everything you can do with a word document)

Reduces file size (I scan at 300 or 400 dpi, which makes a sharp image, but a huge file, so this compresses it to be easier to store and share)

I find this aspect of scanning to be very valuable, personally, as it can make researching and referring back much easier. Even though I’ve already read these books, searching through for a specific scene is vastly more efficient when you can pinpoint the exact sentence based on a remembered phrase. It’s also nice to be able to highlight those to emphasize a point. Furthermore by reducing the file size it’s much easier to share the information with others. I’m able to attach files to messages without going over limits and I can open the books right from the google drive mobile app wherever I go.

Like if I’m out and about wondering just how much Cherith Baldry loves Kay, I can crack open Exiled From Camelot and do this

2,387 mentions of Kay? Yeah. He’s kind of a big deal. ;^)

But real talk accessibility is an important aspect of my archival work. I try to provide the best version of a scan I can with my limited resources because I don’t know that the book will survive otherwise. Ruth PM Lehmann has passed away, so scanning Blessed Bastard, which only had a limited printing to begin with and now lacks a beneficiary, felt significant to me. The same goes for Peter Hanratty’s The Book of Mordred, which is an English translation of a German story and hasn’t been in print for decades. As for medlit, La Tavola Ritonda and my janky scanner tested my will to live but it ended up being so worth it to see everyone’s thoughts on it! I couldn’t find PDFs of these texts available anywhere, so I wanted to make sure they were preserved in the most accessible state possible for everyone to enjoy.

Anyway I hope that answers your question. I’ve got two books on the way I’m going to scan next and looking forward to sharing! :^) Take care.<3

#arthurian preservation project #exiled from camelot #cherith baldry #blessed bastard #ruth pm lehmann #the book of mordred #peter hanratty #la tavola ritonda #arthurian legend #ask #anonymous

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scribble-dribble-writes · 2 years ago

Text

A Lingering Past

<<<Prev(The Bargain) (Sinister plot) Next>>>

Pairing: Buggy x female mermaid reader

Word count: 2000

Warnings: none

Content: Buggy loses you and it breaks him, making him remember the first night he saw you.

Y'all asked for it, here is Buggy pining and longing 🥹😭💖💖💖

---

“I would sure love to help you guys but it’s time I exit stage left.”, Buggy ran off from the chaos of the fight feeling the thrill of finally being put back together.

He had helped the Straw hat pirates more graciously than he would have liked and all that work for nothing in return too. But now that wasn’t the core issue, he scrambled through Arlong Park dodging blows or the possibilities of being lured into a fight because he only had one goal.

He had to find you. His mind relentlessly thinking of you when he was with those bickering kids, that even his incessant sea shaties or jokes weren't giving him relief.

He rubbed the base of his neck, flexed his fingers, the image of that tank you were put in flashing across his mind. For a man having become famous and fearsome all by portraying himself as a fool, his life wasn’t so light hearted or comedic.

The dread crept in, the guilt of his plans going askew and inadvertently causing you pain. He knew his plans always had the tendency to fail and yet in the end he would always profit from it. But this plan of his had failed and as he tirelessly searched for you with a fading hope that somehow he could still be victorious, to find you and get back, it only seemed more unlikely.

But his sick prickled when another image flashed in his mind. Of you in the tank having run out of oxygen because of his delay. He placed a gloved hand over his mouth as he gagged. He hadn’t eaten anything in the last day and a half. So he stopped by the open bar to compose himself when he caught sight of the glass bowl. Somehow seeing it empty only prolonged the anxiety.

He ran to it, unable to believe the new possiblity that was beginning to creep into his mind, that he had be double crossed or cheated. Or maybe in the nugget of belief he held in optimism and everything good, there was also a possibility that you could have escaped. The rise and fall of hope and despair wasn't doing him any good, he began to feel seasick while on land.

Just as he stood there, he recognized one of the henchmen from Arlong’s crew trying to sneak away, the one who was left behind to keep an eye on you. Buggy’s patience had worn out, he needed answers and so he reached out to get them, in his style.

Before the man could run, Buggy extended his arm but let loose his hand towards him. With catapulting speed, he felt his fingers reach for the man’s throat and from where Buggy stood, he willed his hand back to him dragging the henchman along within his closed fingers.

“Where’s my girl?”, his deadly stare bore into the chocking man in his grasp.

He wasn’t willing to give an answer and so his anger flared even further. Buggy rammed the man to the ground, letting his detached hands continue to construct his airways as the fish man tried to escape his hold.

"I ask you a question, I expect an answer.", Buggy gritted his teeth.

He put one foot on the man’s chest and leaned towards his face to see his unrelenting effort at keeping his mouth shut. The veins in his eyes turned red as his throat began to expand. It was now or never, he either got the clue or this man died in the process. But Buggy held on, with what hope he didn’t know.

The henchman tapped his hand on the ground as a sign that he yielded, Buggy let go, his hands snapping back to his arm as he heard the man spit out in a coarse tone.

“Her ransom was paid.”, the man coughed and it caused Buggy to spiral..

“She was never yours.”, he laughed cynically as he looked up at Buggy.

But now Buggy’s rage couldn't be bridled further. They had sold you under some pretext, the failure of his strategy had now caused him to lose the only important person in his life.

He crouched down to level his gaze with the henchman’s.

“What nonsense are you spouting now, gills?”, he sneered knowing well that the red smile on his face didn’t look funny anymore as the man groveling at his feet shifted in fear so to enhance Buggy smiled holding up his blades against his chin.

“The island of Makara had lost its princess when a coup took place twenty five years ago. A mermaid with the same resemblance as your missus.”, the man slurred his words as he held up his hands begging for mercy.

Lost princess? How had he never known?

"She's not my....", Buggy huffed. "Never mind.", he said looking away.

It changed everything. Every time he looked into your eyes, he had a feeling you were more than just what you had settled for. More than what he could offer you.

“What I find funny is that she went willingly. Maybe all she needed was something better than you for her to leave you behind without so much of a thought.”, the man chuckled.

Buggy got up, putting all his pent up frustration into a kick to the fish man’s abdomen. “The funny thing is, I don't need your insight. Stop talking like you knew her.”

“Did you?”, the man grunted and Buggy paused, all this useless talk was working it's way into his head.

The world swirled around him, all the voices in his head coming to life. Some criticising him for having lost someone as valuable as you. His mind concocting ways in which you could have been more pivotal if you held a higher social standing, all the money and information you would have been privy to. But the one that ached the most was the subdued voice of his heart telling him that he had lost you forever. Because now your life could afford you everything he couldn’t.

What had to offer besides his pathetic self?

He knew you, the true you. Would that be enough?

Would that compare to a throne and a kingdom?

Would you have been satisfied with a useless man's love as opposed to gold?

It broke him, the self hatred taking over his body in ways that made him heart collapse. All those nights he held with fondness now ruined by thinking how your skin held an impression of him. Him! A clown of the seas while you were royalty.

With every step he took, the loneliness began to wrap around him, his heart heavy with loss and contention. He was now free to go after the One piece but why did it seem irrelevant now?

His crew, his ship, you, all lost in a matter of days when it took him years to build and find.

It was possible that wherever you were, you hated him now having learnt of what you were actually worth. Everytime you sat by next to him in his Captain’s quarters, trying to piece together the memory of the night you ended up by the cove, he would change the topic. Not because he wanted to prevent you from finding out your heritage, your true home. It was out of a more stupid selfish reason.

If he had known the truth about your past, he would have taken you back to your island himself. But the whole problem was because he could never seem to walk away from you. He balanced on a tightrope in his mind, he wanted to figure out your past but the fear from that was, if you did, you would slip away from his fingers and take with you the only comfort he had in his life, that not even his art couldn’t soothe his pain.

Everything else lost its meaning the moment he erased you from his life.

The night by the cove, as he slipped away from the loud local pub by the docks to hear of the raid that had happened in a nearby town. He had spent a fair time at sea by then, that news like these weren't as surprising. But in order to battle the numbness that he developed through the years of being part of a crew he would look out to the ocean every night, that once gave him joy.

Before he ate the devil fruit, he would frolic in the salty waters. To work off his frustration or take time for himself, to indulge in a swim. His fingers twitched even as he thought of feeling the waves brush against him, muscle memory, it was a part of him, a part of him that had died once he gained this ability of his.

So as he walked by the beach, making sure his feet didn’t touch the waves that splashed against the shore. He heard your voice then, your song, in a language he didn’t understand but his soul did, cause the pain in it was the same he carried. The dark night concealed the sharp rocks so he feared as he climbed over it carefully, afraid that one cut would cause him to turn to pieces to then be washed away.

But he persisted, the only time he worked for something because his heart craved this peace he felt as he heard your singing. All his torment seemed to vanish and that was a relief no amount of his treasures could give him.

And there you were, your long dark brown hair spread around you in the water like the wisps of black smoke that escaped from his cannon balls. Your dark eyes reflecting the clear dark sky he would wish for stars in. Your tailing catching the light as you swirled it anxiously, each scale like studded jewels he could never find in any loot. He was mesmerized as he reached his hand out to you. Not because he wanted to capture you, he wanted to know how it would be like, to touch you.

To his surprise that given his appearance, you waded closer, placing your hand softly into his when he saw your webbed fingers. He inhaled sharply, for so long he had seen ordinary people around him, his nose a hideous thing he could never get past but your fingers, the slight shimmer of scales of your skin.

You were unique and beautiful. Giving him the smallest hope that he maybe he was too, only that no one could see it.

He balanced his feet with great effort, one slip and he would drown in this lagoon. But then he saw a gnash on the side of your tail that could only be caused by a harpoon. You were driven into this rocky place in search of protection.

His heart twitched as he fear faded. You were cast aside and hunted. He held onto your hand firmly, he didn’t have a proper ship yet or a strong enough crew but he was certain of one thing. That he would protect you. He pulled you up but just as he did he watched in awe as your tail transformed into legs, your dress sticking onto your wet skin.

He held you close as he wrapped you within his coat as he let you catch your breath. You rested your head on his chest. You were a teenager just like him, your tan skin so supple he wanted to trace his finger over your cheek. But no one had sought comfort from him, ever.

So now as he watched you steady yourself with your eyes closed as you held onto him, his heart beating in sync with yours. There was nothing more precious than this in the world, his heart felt full for the first time. As his eyes traced your body he saw your wound on your calf and observed with wonder how the water sealed your scars.

The more he saw, the more he began to realize how similar you were to him. That just like him, you sealed yourself back together, over and over. He wrapped his hand around you, here in the dark hidden from every eye, he could let his defenses drop. He knew how hard it was, to always walk away as though nothing had impacted or hurt you. Although neither of your bodies retained the scars, he knew of the scars your heart always remembered.

“Let’s get you home, fishtail.”, he said softly as he carried you. Someone at the pub should know where you had to go, but until then in his arms for these few extra minutes, you were his. He had found you and so took solace in his greatest find that even the one piece could never contend with.

Now all that time he cheated himself to have with you had caught up, to take you from him forever, to forbid him from even trying to approach you. What good would it do if he stormed the gates of your kingdom?

Would you still run to his arms?

You would be queen and he, like the moniker he had chosen for himself, would be the jester.

Fate had a funny way of reminding him where he belonged and as often as he played it off to maintain his appearance as a fearsome pirate, it felt like all the forces had conspired together to play the biggest prank on him. To give him everything he wanted and then rip it away only to laugh at his face.

You had warned him against it, his foolish head stuck in the clouds, and yet he never listened. How stupid, he had let himself to believe a man like him could be blessed to have a life with a woman like you, but it wasn’t to be.

#one piece buggy #buggy thoughts #op buggy #captain buggy #buggy the clown #buggy one piece #buggy #buggy x y/n #buggy x oc #buggy x you #buggy x reader #one piece fan fiction #one piece tag #op fluff #one piece fluff #one piece fanfiction

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debonairrose · 9 months ago

Text

thermodynamics and our insanity.

A* (A-Star) Pathfinding Algorithm

i think that everything in the universe is taking the path of least resistance. well, not really- i don't believe that our consciousness is the sole product of our minds i think we're more than this. i think people have souls, they can be kind towards strangers even though for a fact in some cases we know that we're not getting any benefit back out of it. it might even cost us yet we still choose to help others.

i think our actions are highly deterministic, but not fully. we can go with the flow of life or we can be bothered about something and make a change. make a choice that doesn't make sense, put more effort than what's it worth.

even our computer algorithms are just slaves to thermodynamics, we frown upon using programs that "lag" or are slow, we find faster alternatives or we abandon the program altogether. we try to organize concepts and thoughts as efficient algorithms that run on these processors. even the processors themselves, when they get faster, they're not really "getting faster"- they're just using the same amount of electricity more efficiently.

in essence, everything is converging towards the least amount of effort, the shortest path.

human societies also converge towards the path of least resistance, in the form of: road networks, social networks, internet routing hubs, government procedures, data collection and privacy, ads, fuel economy, google search,,, etc.

we do things that are useless in terms of reproduction and thermodynamics. if we're strictly machines whose purpose is to reproduce and slow down entropy as much as possible, then most of what we do doesn't make sense and violates this assumption.

i think we're more than that. i think we can accelerate entropy and give a big middle finger to thermodynamics, a big fuck you to the laws of physics despite being completely slaves to them.

please slow down and try to open up the images and gifs and admire them one by one. some images contain "alt" description which can be viewed by hovering a mouse over the images on a computer. what's the hurry for?

i think nature is lazy and it's just following the same recipe whenever it can. it feels fractal, it's always converging to the same boring and eloquent solution. it's obsessed with the least resistance path.

what about food, and over consumption? how people choose cheap sugar filled food and drinks? social relationships? the steps you take in order to be attractive to others? the amount of exploration you need in order to pick a movie to watch? war? the forming of stars? the shape of planets? the separation in their orbits? daily traffic? the taste of ice cream? what makes you laugh at a joke? the shape of cities? language?

all these concepts are in their own fucking universes and have their "whatever-the-fuck-x-dimension" problem space.

and all these pretty patterns that we just saw are only patterns we could recognize. but our minds are too simple to recognize patterns that hide in high dimensional spaces. but they're still there, they're probably even prettier, it's lost beauty that we cannot see or even think of.

all these patterns that we're recognizing are there only because our brains are optimized to recognize things in 3d space. ok... what about higher dimensional spaces? 4? 6? 1337 dimensions? i'm not talking spacetime dimensions, i'm talking about all concepts, prices, star formation, molecular chemistry, fuel prices, the rate of foreign words infiltrating a language. they're all still canvases for "shortest pathways" to emerge, even if it doesn't look straight to your naked eye, in a higher dimension they're the shortest path.

let me demonstrate an example, suppose you wanna travel from the U.S. to Spain, the shortest path would be a line right?

well it depends, where is this line? in what dimension? can the line be "curved"? are there any obstacles on the way?

in this case, you warped and deformed a 3-dimensional sphere surface onto a 2d rectangle, do you really think you're going to maintain information without deformation? absolutely not, and that's why on the rectangular map view on the left, the shortest path isn't the red straight line, it's the blue curved path, which is counter intuitive for a person used to walking from point A to point B in a straight path.

well, the same concept applies to our reality, our perception of it is limited and deformed, it's not real. that's why things may seem chaotic, illogical or inefficient.

in our physical reality the actual shortest path would be going through the fucking earth, piercing it, but i don't think that this is the most efficient path for an airplane to take.

just like how a person chooses to abandon easy sugar and junk food even though it's more effort to eat healthily, when including more dimensions into the bigger picture, suddenly you find it's more "efficient" and more of a "lesser curved path" to just put more effort and willpower into eating more healthy, you live longer, you are happier because you have a higher quality life.

now you might ask, since this is the most efficient path, why aren't most people taking it? well, you see... you can't take a path if there's a big ass rock blocking it. we're so hardwired into consuming as many calories as we can for the sake of surviving the bad days. but nature isn't perfect on its own. it didn't set for us a "max limit", it didn't account for the imbalance that our brains would do as a consequence of efficient farming and food production. so we had to rely on our brains in order to build a bridge over that rock sitting over the most efficient path. ( you can say that i'm wrong and our brains built that bridge, we're still a part of nature- well fuck off :3 ).

there's a person who's alive right now, who's aware of the passage of time and how brief everything is. i love this person. i love this person from the entirety of my soul. my soul is not a slave to the universe, my soul will outlive it, my soul is illogical and rebellious. i don't want the shortest path, i don't want the least effort path. i want to live, and i want to suffer, and i want to experience everything with this person. i want to be present, i want to be in the moment.

sometimes i'm scared.

i'm scared of happy moments slipping away from my fingers. and in my fear, i try to save everything, write everything and record it all. i want proof that it was all real. this however, is a distraction from being in the moment, and i think there's a balance between writing everything down and letting everything pass as if i don't really care. and right now this balance is yet to be found by me.

sometimes i'm scared of forgetting.

but that's how we are. we're logarithmic creatures. our bodies are slaves to thermodynamics, our brains too. just like a CPU, they don't have infinite memory nor infinite thinking capacity. having that would be very expensive. our brains are captive to the same rules. we can't remember everything.

people who say that forgetting is a bless are just coping. they're high on copium. embracing forgetfulness is just fake existence. it's incomplete. our brains and senses are slaves to mathematical power law. we remember and forget following a power law rate.

but, there's a secretly beautiful thing about forgetting. it's remembering things again. or, at the bare minimum, being told about things you've lived through with someone else. revisiting a story from a perspective that isn't yours. seeing things from the eyes of someone else, i think that's beautiful.

the reason we can't remember everything is solely because of thermodynamics, memory costs extra neurons, extra connections, more chemical reactions. and at some point adding more becomes just extra baggage to the system and isn't really a net positive due to the limitation imposed by chemical reaction speeds in the brain. information flow within the brain is just limited by reaction speeds. just like how we can't increase a CPU's clock cycles beyond 10Ghz because of excess heat, the few extra cycles become extra baggage due to the problem of electrical resistance. the more electrical resistance in a wire there is, the more heat it generates. and the more heat is in a system the higher its resistance is.

we're simply forgetting for the exact same reason a CPU is never allowed to work faster even though it can. pure theoretical physics limitations.

showing how simple laws physics determine the "spacing", "size", or "frequency". pay attention to the graph's x and y axis spacing. 1) notice how properties of planets and electrons are following the exact same pattern. 2) on the audio spectrogram on the right; the top graph is incomprehensible because it's linear, if we just change the scaling to logarithmic, your eyes will function like your ears and you will be able to spot details. 3) notice how the CPU wirings (the gray image) exponentially grow due to electrical resistance laws 4) same with animal size vs bone thickness 5) zip's law on word usage frequency in a given language.

this logarithmic nature of the universe is repeating, it's fractal, no matter whether you look inward or outward, the fractal pattern doesn't care about which point in the scale you are. it's following the same behavior. these are entirely separate branches of physics, one of them is planetary and the other is quantum, they operate with different scales and are totally irrelevant in relation to each other in terms of their effect on one another. yet guess what, they're following the same behavior, even though they're weaving their waves on different invisible fabrics of the universe, but the universe is fractal so i guess it doesn't matter.

despite how the entirety of your sensory inputs work logarithmically (non-linearly), because of standard education, people think that the universe operates linearly, one of their mistakes is in the difference between the audio and brightness controls in Linux vs windows. on windows they behave how you expect them to behave, but on Linux, the controls are non-logarithmic (linear) making the use of them very frustrating, most of the brightness slider is just low brightness and then it suddenly exploding in brightness (or volume in the case of an audio slider) in the last portion of it, making it feel imbalanced only because the slider was linear.

the concept of phase criticality is the middle point when complex systems change from one state to the other. like when you pressure water so much and give it enough heat at the same time it becomes both liquid and gas at the same time. there is a theory that the same behavior emerges in complex systems like the brain. the neurons there also follow the same pattern, they can be too "hot"; firing chaotically all the time, people call it a seizure. or too cold; being in a coma. the optimal state is the critical phase state where your brain is at right now as you're reading this post.

and "obviously" in the video, you can see that the state in the middle (critical phase) is fractal. which is consistent for a complex system such as the brain.

that's just another way concepts and patterns are constantly repeating in the universe across different things.. and honestly saying that the universe is fractal or logarithmic becomes meaningless. because you can obviously see that everywhere, it's easy to do so, it's just that people don't use their brain.

and i think it doesn't matter at this point, since that's the default in the universe, but maybe people are obsessed with it because it gives them a sense of value, like they're not stupid or blind and can see. to me right now it feels like they're saying "liquid water can take any shape!" ok. so?

i suggest you watch this video. it's really a roller coaster of ideas and this shit is like brain candy- well, candy for the brain. :3

youtube

the 80-20 rule says 80 of things are responsible for 20 percent of things or vice versa. like… 80% of profit can come from 20% of customers. or that 80% of our misery would go away if only we solved 20% of the problems, or that you can learn 20% of a subject to be able to achieve 80% of things. or that 80% of blog interactions come from 20% of reblogs or followers.

so what? what the fuck are you looking for? why are we treating 80-20 as if it's some golden ratio shit, oh don't even get me started on the golden rashitio where people randomly fit a standard spiral png on random images on call it "wow the universe is so beautiful" bro stfu the thing doesn't even fit the image. so what about the million other beautiful things that don't follow that "rule"?

this is confirmation bias. what about all the other ratios? what about all the numbers you aren't looking for, are 80% of your words are made by 20% of your keys on the keyboard? it's really easy to actually just google "letters frequency in english" and run a calculator for 10 seconds (it's a 50-20 ratio). boohoo, the results didn't fit this silly cognitive bias.

and actually wake up. 80% isn't good enough, it's not good enough at all. are you really okay with a fleet of airplanes whose survival rate is 80%? is it okay if your heart surgeon read only 20% of the books he should've read? is it okay if your CPU did 80% of its operation correctly, the whole fucking modern world would fall apart. most things in life are not crucial, but so many things require perfection, fuck the 20% effort 80% results thing, fuck that, it's not the most we can achieve, give me a 900% effort 99% results lifestyle. give me perfection, give me awe, inspire me, give me beauty. i don't want to live in a world filled with inventions that are 80% of what could've been achieved, i want to live in a world filled with fewer things that are a testament to human perfection.

the same applies to my love. i don't want an 80% love, i want perfection, i want it to hurt, i want to suffer because of it, i wanna love for real. i wanna pay for that true love. i wanna remember more. i wanna put more effort, more effort, more more more MORE MORE MORE FUCKING EFFORT. i don't wanna be comfortable i don't wanna be comfortable, i don't need to be comfortable, i don't want comfort, i want something real. i wanna love fully, i wanna deserve that love, i want something so beautiful, and i don't wanna give up so easily, i don't wanna forget beautiful memories due to me succumbing to the fucking universe and physics and power laws and logarithmic tendencies. i want to put my maximum effort. i feel like i'm not doing enough, i am not enough. i can always do more, i can achieve more, i ought to do more, why the fuck put a limit to myself? i can do it. i can perfect my time management and i can achieve what i want i can learn how to balance things in my life.

i can love beautifully.

i'm not a machine, my body is. my soul isn't i'm not a slave to it. my body will die, my soul won't. my soul is insane, illogical and i say fuck you to the universe. even after i die, i give you a big fat middle finger because my soul will rebel against this place.

i don't want least resistance love. i don't accept forgetting even though i will forget a lot. my soul refuses to let go of all the moments we've had together. sometimes i try to cheat by recording everything. but i want to live in the moment, i want to find the balance.

i don't accept being a slave to some shitty power law. i might just be delusional, and i might forget anyway. but i know that i did not accept this and i know that i did put effort and it wasn't the shortest path.

sometimes i'm scared of getting used to things.

but i take nothing for granted, things are always moving and are always changing, i don't want things to be fake or stale. i want everything that is real, even if it's sad. i want my existence to be truthful.

written by: debonairrose.tumblr.com

as a gift to @lusi-1 (i hope you like my brain vomit darlingo)

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