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voidartisan · 1 year

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Clone Wars characters as things i've heard in class

you have no idea how long i've been saving these up

Fives: Stop licking my dryer sheet!

Ahsoka: Yeah, he transferred to the Senate guard, he doesn’t like it there. He says they smell like pencils.

Ahsoka:*Walking in* Barriss, what’s the average life span of a woman? Like 70-80 years, right? I need comfort. I need to know that I will die eventually.

Anakin: Just get a giant hammer, name it kindness, and then BAM.

Palpatine: Yes, taxing the peasants, very good!

Obi-Wan: I am begging you, stop spamming the cringey Twitter account I made in high school.

Anakin: How much Spanish do you you speak?

Kit Fisto: Enough to know all the cuss words.

Leia: Thus, philosophy’s flaming razor sword: It doesn’t matter.

Riyo Chuchi: I actually blew a couple of fuses in my room last year, so maintenance says I’m not supposed to plug in five waffle irons at a time any more.

Rex:*Swears upon knocking over something hot and heavy, looks up* In case you didn’t hear that — KRIFF.

Ahsoka: Just eat the frog already!

Ahsoka: You know what’s worse than freshmen? Freshman boys.

Obi-Wan: *As Korkie walks past in the hallway* Hello, mini-me.

Quinlan Vos: Anyone here watched the movie Jaws? Well, I’m writing a book, and it’ll be kind of like that, but with fantasy Puritans and a giant spider. I’m calling it “Puritan Spider Jaws”

Later: I haven’t decided who’s gonna die yet, but I’m thinking the spider’s gonna get set on fire.

Young Obi-Wan: Qui-gon’s a cool teacher, he’s so laid back. I think he might be high like half the time, but his class is really fun.

Mace Windu: Anyone else going to answer? Alright, then. Go ahead, Ben. You could probably teach this class better than me anyway.

Anakin: You know what would solve all of Coruscant’s population problems? Lab babies.

Han, to Luke: You were at that school for three years and didn’t memorize the camera locations?

Leia: Look at my other mask

Han: Why?

Leia: Because it’s black, like your soul.

Kix: I don’t like fighting. Sometimes Rex gets frustrated and yells “Hit him!” Then I hit him once and Rex’s like “Yeah!” and the other guy’s on the floor crying and I’m like “AUGHHHHHH!”

Padmé: Just because I have money doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.

Ahsoka: Are you going to have any chocolate milk, Rex?

Anakin: Ahsoka, he’s lactose intolerant.

Ahsoka: Oh, sorry—

Rex: Nope. Only for you, Ahsoka.

Rex: *proceeds to pour and chug an entire glass of chocolate milk.*

Obi-Wan: *sarcastically* Didn’t you know? Gingers control the sun.

Korkie: *panicking* Well, no one told me!

Anakin: You know, Master Fisto. Really super buff. Looks like he would run a 5K at the drop of a hat.

Obi-Wan: Anakin, stop making pterodactyl noises.

Din Djarin: Sometimes people ask me about my pronouns. I say that I don’t care what they call me, but it’s not true. I just want to be pronounced “dead.”

Anakin: 4’11”!

Ahsoka: Hey, Master

Anakin: I’m so glad she responds to that. It’s the highlight of my day.

Fives: What are tootsie rolls, anyway? They’re not chocolate, they’re not taffy—

Jesse: It’s better not to ask

Waxer: I got—

Cody: Got expelled? Welp, get your stuff, see you never, nice knowing you.

Ahsoka: Madame Nu don’t care

Jocasta Nu: She don’t

Bail Organa: I have only ever had one person in my life who actually liked banana-flavored Laffy Taffy. And I no longer speak to them.

Obi-Wan: Be careful with these, they’re fragile and expensive—

Anakin: Like my heart

Barriss: The afterlife should be Communist

Hamsters: *frenzied squeaking*

Anakin: *pulling out a small pail* awww…you guys want some Nutella?

Obi-Wan: Stop offering them Nutella

Ahsoka: Is that WHOLE THING filled with Nutella?

Anakin: I mean, not anymore…

Luke: What does a kilogram weigh in American?

Luke: Legally, I can say whatever I want

Han: And I can legally fight you

Boba: Actually, I’m asexual. My son will look exactly like me.

Leia: Han’s got a rough life. Already colorblind, now he’s going deaf at seventeen.

Luke: How do I cite my brain in APA?

Din Djarin: Costco is a cult

Obi-Wan: Can anyone tell me what this is called?

Anakin: A diagram

Obi-Wan: It starts with a k

Anakin: A kdiagram

Ahsoka: *holding up energy drink* Look, Master! Third one today!

Obi-Wan: You are going to die.

Obi-Wan: *checks nutrition facts* 800 mg. Less than a cup of coffee, not too bad. Maybe you won’t die. But you probably will.

Anakin: Master, what if we each brought you a thousand dollars? Then would we still have to take the test?

Mace Windu: I mean, I guess would be better than bringing me… disappointment—

Fennec: It was overhyped

Boba: You just have no soul, that’s what it is

Luke: Eight! Y’know, the devil’s number.

Jango Fett: Why wouldn’t you clone yourself?

Ahsoka: So, when will the grades be in? Tomorrow, or… when should I expect to be depressed?

Padmè, during a mock senatorial campaign: Would you like some of The People’s™ lip balm? It has sparkles.

Luke: Are you okay?

Han, without looking up from his work: I’m straight.

Luke:…

Luke: Well, congratulations on coming out—

Ahsoka: The only one of these I can apply for is the poetry scholarship

Anakin: Roses are red, violets are blue…

Rex: …please give me money.

Ahsoka: Hey, what’s that? Are you planning how we’re all gonna die?

Cody: Yup

Luke: You should play Abba!

Han: You sound like my mother.

Cara: Who’s the main character in your life, Mando?

Din: Uh… my cat, probably

Fives, spinning across the room in a rolling chair: Bounty. The quicker picker upper.

Hondo: No scams for me please, I like money.

Anakin: I’m gonna do a patriotism

Waxer: What is it…

Boil: What’s what?

Waxer: That thing Commander says we’re not allowed to do to the shinies.

Boil: Initiation?

Waxer: There was another word for it.

Boil: Hazing?

Waxer: Yeah! That’s it.

Kix: Fives, if you drop those donuts I will drop YOU

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limeadeislife · 2 years

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You all have seen the original 1977 Star Wars poster with the buff Luke and the unnerving sexy Leia, right? Just feel like I should make sure

#star wars

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rebeljyn · 11 months

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Had to rant and it got long so I’ll put it under a cut

Whenever someone says they’re sooo happy that a female character is “strong and still feminine” as if that was something that was so unheard of it pisses me off lmao WHERE exactly are you seeing strong masculine women in media? Where are the tall buff masculine women you’re implying is the standard? The only character I can think of that fits that description and isn’t absurdly stereotyped is Vi from Arcane. That’s IT.

There’s barely any short haired women in media already and the ones that exist are basically all feminine in all other aspects. The more ““masculine”” characters are put either into the category of the man hating lesbian or the not-like-other-girls girl who gets a makeover at the end.

Literally the price female characters pay for having any kind of strength is to be feminine and palatable to the men watching… that’s literally what they did to Leia when they put her into that horrendous sex slave fantasy outfit. That’s what they did to Black Widow. And even with less obviously sexualized characters, specially in superhero themed media, they’re always the beauty standard. And even then they get hate lmao…

Even if a female character is the prettiest woman in the world, the moment she does anything actually human and actually strong that men would love to see in male characters, they get hate. So how in hell do y’all think an actually maculine female character would survive in that environment lmao

Feminine characters are hated for doing things associated with women, but they still fit the physical standard expected of them. Masculine characters are hated for not being hot to men, for not conforming to the body standard, for not wearing make up, for not wearing tight/revealing clothing… for not being women the right way.

I don’t care if you like being feminine and you like to see yourself represented. Do whatever you want and be happy about it. But don’t go around acting like feminine women are the least represented type of woman of all.

#mari just saying things #sorry i got angery lmao #literally never see women on tv with the same style as me and im A WHITE WOMANNN #women never have leg hair #never have armpit hair #never have short hair #always wear makeup #never wear clothes from the mens section #but oooh the feminine women are sooooo underrepresented🥺#shut up lmao

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usssnarfblat · 3 years

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Laziest Disney Designs--Eilonwy

Sure, Eilonwy's character is good. She was really the first Disney princess to have some spunk, predating Ariel by four years.

But her visual design?

Oh, but, "Hand-drawn animation! Frame-by-frame! Hand-drawn! Hand-painted! Time! Details! Deadlines! Hard!"

Eilonwy debuted in 1985.

For comparison:

1937

First full-length animated feature in the U.S.

First animation of this quality

Look at the bows. The cape. The collar. The little red Shakespeare thinggies on her sleeves.

"But muh! First Disney movie, big deal! Special case! Main character!"

Okay, how about the Blue Fairy? Look at the effects they put into her, the glitter, the sheer sleeves. The distinctive face they gave her.

"Not main character tho! Just a few cameos! Also second Disney feature, still special case! No count!"

Okay, fine. Looking at other heroines from before Eilonwy, most of them do have pretty basic looks. But they still at least have something distinctive, related to their time period and/or character.

Look at Cinderella (1950):

Not much detail bar the pink dress's cameo, but each outfit is still distinctive. You know right away if you're looking at a poor(ly treated) working girl, a nice but humble party dress, and a Regency Era ballgown.

Sure she's a clone of Katrina Van Tassel from "Sleepy Hollow" (1943)...

...but at least Cindy wasn't ripping off some household name from a major Disney hit. And at least Katrina's bodice and pilgrim hat hint at a different setting.

Alice (1951) and Wendy (1953)

Victorian/Edwardian little girls, one in a daytime/teatime outfit, one in her nightgown. Got it, copy, roger, acknowledged, etc.

Aurora (1959)

Black lace boddice, barefoot, shawl, hair drawn particularly pretty with swirls and light outlines and stuff. Clearly a peasant girl of notable, possibly title-relevant beauty.

Alright, her blue/pink dress doesn't exactly hint at the time period, but it's still cool looking.

Maid Marian (1973)

Double-horned headdress (made out of her ears, I know) veil thing, gemstone pendant...Medieval noblewoman/furry. Got it.

But Eilonwy?

She looks like Aurora at age 12, in the blandest possible outfit.

And unlike with Cinderella copying Katrina, a character from a short that wasn't as well known, Aurora was a pretty famous Disney character by the time "Black Cauldron" came out. And unlike Cinderella, and all these other chicks, Eilonwy's outfit has, like, NOTHING distinctive. Her headdress is literally just a black line.

It's like all of the most basic princess cliches boiled down to the lowest common denominator. Face it, if you weren't a hardcore Disney buff, you'd have NO idea who this was. Her ONLY physical identifier is "mini-Aurora in purple."

And remember, this is PRE-Disney Renaissance. Ariel had not yet trademarked red hair--which Eilonwy reportedly has in the book! Merida hadn't coded the green or aqua Medieval dress.

Heck, Rapunzel's cute, lacy, Medieval Princess getup would've been perfect for Eilonwy, simplified of course.

Heck, Young Odette's outfit from "Swan Princess" would've been even more perfect!

Never mind the different hairstyles or headdresses they could've chosen to fit her into the Dark Ages time frame (braids, Leia buns, those cute Medieval hats that look like round mints...)

Disney, you weren't even trying.

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ironhoshi · 3 years

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If you happen to feel inspired for the word challenge I would say "sand" with Luke leia and their uncles Kesett 😄

A grunt of annoyance escaped him while he chased after two terrors. The blonde one let out a shriek he could feel in his eardrums while the brunette somehow managed to scramble underneath the chair his jetii was lounging in. Cal glanced up from his datapad with a bemused look on his sunburned face. Boba bared his teeth in annoyance before lunging after Luke. His nephew burst into a strange mix of laughter and screams.

Babysit them for the day his vod had said. It will be easy his traitor of a brother-in-law had said. They are well behaved they had both assured him. Lies, all lies!

The twins were evil.

“I am going to find a Sarlacc pit and feed you to it, you little-” “Boba,” Cal chided with clear amusement.

“We were trying to help,” came the small but confident voice from under Cal’s chair.

“Help?” Boba threw the laughing Luke over his shoulder and winced as a foot nearly got him in the jaw. Leia grabbed Cal’s ankle before giving an impressive glare up at him. Boba made a face right back at her.

Well behaved his shebs.

“Daddy says sand buffs out scratches-” Cal blinked and then threw his head back as laughter erupted from him. Boba could see the way his jetii’s sides were actually shaking with mirth. Leia merely wrapped her arms around a leg while continuing to glare.

“Okay, yes, but you two buried all of my armor-” “Shouldn’t have left it where they could get it, Boba,” Cal drawled out once he got his laughter under control. “Besides, it was looking kind of-” “Don’t finish that sentence, Jedi.” Luke shifted, small body contorting, and then suddenly a loud raspberry went off near his ear. Boba made a disgusted noise.. His cheek was wet thanks to the kiss. “Betrayed by my own family!” Leia, naturally, took the opening to tackle him in the shins. Cal snickered and soon found himself scrambling to catch the laughing Luke from the air. Okay, yes, Boba may have thrown his nephew at Cal, but he knew the jetii would catch the kid.

“Me next,” Leia demanded. “I want to fly too!” Cody and Obi-Wan were going to kill them both...probably bury their bodies in the sand. “Okay, princess, you’re next.” Cal shot him a panicked look while working on setting down the clearly ecstatic Luke.

#send me a word and i'll write a drabble #kesett #luke skywalker #leia organa #boba fett #cal kestis #cal kestis/boba fett

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jgvfhl · 3 years

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Today I watched The Empire Strikes Back with four of my charming room mates. Here are some highlights.

The roomies are C, M, K, and S, and I am E. C and M have not seen this movie, but C has seen A New Hope.

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Han Solo: *appears*

C: Here comes Daddyyyy

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C, the resident lesbian: Leia lookin FIIINNNE

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C: It's like they beat the Fire Nation Ship but they haven't taken down the Fire Nation yet.

M: Oh okay cool, thanks for the context

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C: yo what the fuck that looks like something out of Neverending Story (about the tauntaun)

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M: Isn't he programed to avoid mistakes?

E: No he's just... programmed with anxiety

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Rogue 2: Commander Skywalker do you copy?

C: Obviously he doesn't fucking copy he's literally in the bottom of a walmart velociraptor

C: Hi sexyyyyy Hi mommyyyy

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*Luke/Leia kiss*

S, C: INCEST INCEST INCEST INCEST--

K: They don't KNOOOOOOW!!!

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E: (about probe droids) Snitch bot 3000!!

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Luke and Han: *share a Look*

C: that's kinda gaayyyyy

K, C: LOOKIT THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HIM!!!

C: Chewie like "ayo are you fruity or what??"

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Admiral being force choked

K: ain't that kinda hot

*is sent to horny corner*

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C: Did R2 just catcall that fuckin walker?

E: I mean... I would not put it past him.

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C: This is a no nuts household and a no nazi household and I stand by that

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Threepio: Might I suggest--

Han: *points finger*

M: Ugh. That was so rude.

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M: Ayo Chewbacca's lookin sus

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Multiple comments on Han's ass

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Leia: Han get up here!

C: Yes mommy

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C: Not the limp wrist draw of the gun

E: I mean *gestures at Luke's general person* I MEAN--

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K, about Vader's bald head: Whenever I see that, I think of cheesecake ice cream. Like strawberry cheesecake ice cream. Which I know is not good.

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Leia: *falls into Han's arms*

S: Oh shit! He caught her by the tits.

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Yoda:

C: this is literally just Danny Devito

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C: Stop gaslighting Princess Leia 2021!!!

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Palpatine: Lord Vader--

C: WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU

E: an evil raisin man!!

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Luke: *serves himself out of Yoda's soup, licks the spoon, PUTS THE SPOON BACK I TO THE POT*

K: Luke is a super spreader!!

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M: He looked like Troy Bolton right there

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C: Yo they're wearing sleep apnea masks

E: ActUaLLY they're rebreathers

C: ....yo my dad has one of those

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S, about Luke: Look how buff he is look at those armss

M: He looks like he does musical theater on broadway.

C:He looks like a NEWSIE

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C @ Vader: Step away from the twink!

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C: Me when I decapitate my dad

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Boba: *appears*

E, every damn time: YOU!!!!

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E: What's the largest objects that have been Forced?

M: My dick--

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M: Bro we about to have breakfast with Darth Vader? That's a spinoff

E: Anakin doesn't turn to the dark side, he opens a bed and breakfast.

S: Luke you must take over the family business--

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Han: *getting tortured on Cloud City*

S: Han goes to the dentist

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*Leia/Han romance in general*

M: What the--

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*Han is frozen into carbonite*

M: Yo they made my dude a flash drive??

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E: There's no way he can win this fight, he doesn't even have his Chanel boots!

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Leia: We don't need your help

C: MOMMYYYYYY I woke up for Princess Leia and Princess Leia only

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Luke: *yump*

M: :0

C: Yo we levitating!!

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E, K: Vader's a deadbeat dad. Padmé's just dead.

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R2: *connects to the computer mainframe*

C: That's penetration!! This movie is rated R!!

M: That shit rated PORN!!

C: R2D2 just stuck his tiny little robot dick in that wall!

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M: He just cut off his hand and he's not buggin the fuck out

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Luke: *comes back to the Falcon after Vader fight*

S: He looks like he went through trauma!

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Leia: luke is my brother

Han, tryna smash: NOOOOOoooo....

#star wars original trilogy #star wars #leia organa #princess leia #han solo #luke skywalker #darth vader

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gffa · 4 years

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so i was just thinking about star wars (as you do) and i realized... do the jedi (the survivors, that is) and in general the people ever actually all find out that the clones like... had no choice with order 66? i know a few jedi learn about it, but like, is it ever made public in the aftermath of the empire's defeat? 5 years after the massacre (while the empire still exists) cal kestis still believes the clones betrayed them. i'm assuming later the resistance learns some of it through rex? hmmm

I DON’T THINK THEY DO. Some of them learn the truth–Kanan seems to know, we know Ferren Barr knew, Rex and Gregor and Wolffe knew–but it seems like the galaxy in general didn’t.While it’s possible that it may eventually come to light–it would be very easy to slide in somewhere that Luke or Leia told people the truth, along the lines of that’s my headcanon for how everyone knew Palpatine was a Sith Lord by the time of the sequels–we have evidence that the wider galaxy definitely didn’t know.In Force Collector (set sometime close-ish to The Force Awakens), Karr Nuq Sin goes on a journey to discover the truth, which is difficult because most people don’t really even know the Jedi existed as anything significant (if they believe they existed at all) and Palpatine’s propaganda is still in full effect in many places, like when they go talk to the son of a clone who died during the war, he believes everything that Palpatine said about them:

Karr beamed. Leaving Merokia was already proving helpful. “Then if your dad was a clone trooper, you must know about the Jedi,” he prompted. Sconto’s expression fell. A blank look replaced his wide smile. Karr could see Maize was about to laugh, thinking she had found someone who shared her disbelief, until she noticed that all the good humor had gone out of the room. “Don’t talk to me about Jedi,” Sconto said, his cheery demeanor taking on a hardened tone. Karr chided himself for being so carefree about his quest. He forgot that the galaxy was a big place filled with big opinions, and many didn’t line up with his way of thinking. “I’m only asking as a history buff. I’m trying to find—” But the man cut him off. “My father was killed in those wars. Gone before I ever met him. And I don’t think I need to tell you who I hold responsible?” “The Jedi,” Arzee said enthusiastically, as if answering a bit of trivia. Karr winced, wishing he had programmed the droid to understand when a question was rhetorical. “War is an ugly thing,” Sconto continued. “Both sides think they’re right, and many lives are lost because of it. You can’t argue with fighting for what you believe in, but…” He paused as if he was tempering his anger again. “Betrayal,” he bellowed. “To turn on your fellow soldiers in arms, to cheat and strike like cowards! That’s just…” He searched for the worst word he could think of. “Disgraceful.” Then he spit on the ground as if the word wasn’t enough. Everyone was a little dumbstruck, but Maize couldn’t help breaking the silence. “The Jedi really existed?” “Absolutely,” he said with bitterness. “There were tons of them. But now they’re all gone. Of course, their legend has grown beyond their power by now. It happens that way sometimes, with heroes and villains alike. The truth is never as simple as it seems, in history books or anyplace else. The Jedi were a bunch of power-hungry renegades, a few of whom might have had some sort of abilities.” He waved a hand dismissively. “But at the end of the day, they were violent traitors, and the clones were right to put them down.”

He thinks that the Jedi were the ones to turn on the clones, that they were the traitors, and the clones chose to put them down. (Which is really painful because he’s actually describing much closer to what happened to the Jedi, that Palpatine forced the clones to cheat and strike at their backs like a coward, never even realizing that the clones weren’t given any choice in this.)Karr’s great-grandfather (a Jedi who left when he was a Padawan) also believed the propaganda about them and it was up to Karr to have to tell him the truth (who had discovered it through his psychometric abilities) and he was devastated to learn about it. That’s how deeply Palpatine’s propaganda was sold across the galaxy.

RZ-7 agreed, as gently as he could. “Sir, you took such noble measures to protect your family—and those measures were successful. But there was no need to turn your back on the Jedi. They never turned their back on the Republic. Or you.” Naq Med sank slowly to the floor. His grip on the can he used for a cup loosened, and it fell—spilling its contents across the rug. “But if that’s true, it was all for nothing. The Grand Inquisitor…?” he asked of anyone who might answer. Karr said, “A pawn of the Emperor. He turned on his own kind.” He paused. In the back of his head, an idea gelled. He spoke slowly, putting the words in order as they occurred to him. “The dark side won. The bad guys won so completely that when they were finished…there was nobody left to remember the good guys. No one to tell their side of the story. No one to collect their history and write it down—not once the Temple was gone. They say history is written by the winners, but it should be written by those who remember. Those who care about the facts.” The old man settled in a loose cross-legged position, his arms at his sides, his hands lying limply in his lap. “It was all a lie. My whole life, everything I lost…”

(It doesn’t help that the Empire erased anything that talked about the Jedi or the Force, so there was nothing to contradict their story.)Ultimately, there is hope, though. The Force seems to have chosen Karr specifically to show him what really happened, how the Jedi were betrayed and that they had never turned their backs on the Republic, that his role isn’t to become a Jedi himself, but to tell their story, the real story of their courage and bravery.And that seems to be reflected in Star Wars Propaganda where an author writes an entire book on how one conflict led into the next and while the Jedi are a small part of that book, as well as it doesn’t directly focus on Order 66 much or anything, it does show that the Jedi weren’t part of the corruption eating away at the Republic, that their problem was one of being really shit at PR more than anything.So someday the galaxy should know the truth. There’s hope out there! But it’s going to take awhile because the Empire was really, really thorough in scrubbing out the actual truth and replacing it with their own narrative.But glimmers exist. The crew in Alphabet Squadron discover a Jedi Temple and realize there may be more to them than the Empire said. Savi from Black Spire knew the Jedi were good and did much to protect the galaxy. In-universe stories from Myths & Fables survive. Poe Dameron speaks incredibly warmly about the Jedi and their traditions in the Poe Dameron comics. Maz Kanata knew them and she liked them.The truth may not be widespread, but it’s not dead in the GFFA and one day I’m sure the whole galaxy will know it again.But in the meantime, it’s heartbreaking that nobody knew for so very long. Nobody knew the Jedi bled and died for the Republic, for the clones, for the citizens. Nobody knew that the clones were victims of the system, were treated like disposable cannon fodder, that they weren’t given much of anything once the war was over, that the best they could hope for was, yeah, I guess you’re a person now, and if you want, you can work for the Empire to train Stormtroopers, with the few days you have left because of your rapid aging. Nobody knew what those chips in their heads did to them. Nobody knew the trauma and guilt and horror they had to live with having shot their Jedi in the backs. Nobody knew any of this for a long, long time and some details will probably always be lost to history.

#jedi order #clones #meta #novels #Anonymous

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cagestark · 5 years

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Prompt; ABO Starker getting together but Tony is the omega and Peter is the alpha. Peter is still head over heels, star struck, hero worship over Tony and calling him 'sir' and 'mr. Stark' and blushing wherever Tony gives him attention and praise. Maybe it all comes to a head when Tony goes into heat? Maybe Peter's first rut is triggered by Tony teasing him mercilessly? Bonus points for eager-to-please Peter

Darling anon, this isn’t really what you asked for. I’m so sorry. I hope this is at least acceptable, and if you are very upset, please come back into my inbox and I’ll rework this. For now. Take it!

Warnings: ABOverse. Alpha Peter, Omega Tony. Smut. 8.5k

Read here on AO3!

Peter is reaching with his fork for the last arancini when another fork intercepts. The metal on metal screeches as Peter’s fork is pinned to the plate just short of the last rice ball. Peter eyes the hand holding the fork—tanned, knuckles singed—and then follows it up the arm, bare, sprinkled with dark hair interrupted by the odd, pink scar. Before he even reaches the well-shaped facial hair, Peter is flushed, withdrawing his fork. Tony is wearing his glasses tonight, the lenses tinted a light blue.

“Put down the fork and nobody has to get hurt,” Tony says. He keeps his voice a low, conspiratorial rumble that can just barely be heard over the ruckus of general conversation from the rest of the Avengers around the table.

Slowly, Peter puts his fork down beside his half-eaten plate of osso buco, then lifts his hands to shoulder height, palms open. “My hands are where you can see them,” Peter says. He lets his voice tremble. “The rice ball is yours. But please don’t take the rest of the prosciutto. Have mercy.”

Tony spears the arancini and delivers it to his own plate for safe keeping, a bear hoarding food for the winter. “Bold of you to assume I’m capable of mercy, Peter Pan. And to add insult to injury—” Tony slips the last few slices of dry-cured ham bliss to take up cozy residence beside the rest of his food. Peter clutches at his heart, face twisted in pain.

“God, you two are like a two-man theatre troupe,” Natasha remarks over her third glass of wine. She’s just beginning to look flushed. Peter had asked for his own glass (“Come on, I’m eighteen, not eight!”) but to no avail. “Does that make seconds for you, Tony?”

“Thirds,” Bucky mutters. He hasn’t recovered from the spaghetti alla carbonara massacre of thirty minutes ago. If Peter didn’t know how well the ex-assassin got along with Tony, he might try to convince the older man to sleep with one eye open. Bucky certainly had the whole casually-planning-your-murder-over-trivial-offenses aesthetic going on. Peter wondered if that was something teachable—did they have a wikiHow article for that?

“It’s that time of the year,” Tony says. Despite how much he’s eaten, he still goes about the food on his plate in a methodical, prim manner: cutting it into bite-sized pieces, making sure no foods touch. “Jarvis tracks my eating habits and BMI, and he says both are on the upswing. I’ve got about two weeks left.”

“Two weeks until what?” Peter asks.

Tony gives him a bald and unashamed look. “Until my heat, kid.”

“Oh,” Peter says, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels. He’s got permanent foot-in-mouth disease whenever he’s within twenty feet of the omega. Of course, Tony is talking about his heat. Why else would he be eating enough for three?

“I thought you took heat suppressants,” Natasha remarks. This kind of talk—heats, suppressants—it usually isn’t table conversation. Most omegas consider it the ultimate social faux paus. Maybe Tony does too, Peter wonders. Maybe spending so much time in the public eye has chipped away at the wall between what he wants to keep to himself and what he has to share with others.

“For the spring heat,” Tony agrees, a hand resting on his gently distended stomach. The sight of that tickles something in the back of Peter’s brain—something in there itches, but he can’t find it, can’t scratch it. “But at my age, the suppressants don’t synthesize with my biology as well. Doc told me it is actually safer for me to go through every other heat au naturale. Which makes for an interesting fall season. At least I can hide the extra weight with all those winter scarves the board keeps giving me for Christmas—”

“You look great,” Peter says. He tries hard not to openly wince. Everyone else at the table does their best to pretend they hadn’t heard him.

Tony’s smile is soft, maybe even a little flattered. He winks. “Thanks, Peter Pan. Nice to know someone around here still thinks I’ve got it.”

Oh, you’ve got it alright, Peter thinks helplessly. Probably couldn’t lose it even if you tried.

“Isn’t it dangerous to go through your heats without suppression?” Bruce asks.

“We’ve weighed the pros and cons. Calculated risks, Brucie, that’s the name of the game.”

“You know what all of this means?” Steve asks. Beside him, Bucky stiffens. The only other male omega—in the room and in the Avengers—he is not nearly as comfortable with his designation as Tony. Peter can hardly blame him when a part of him is still stuck in the 40’s when omegas were marketed as good for nothing but breeding and housewife fodder. With most heats coming twice a year, in the beginning and at the end, surely Bucky’s is approaching also— “Tiramisu is in order.”

Bucky relaxes. Tony perks up. Peter’s stomach grumbles—even after his own generous helpings.

“Cap, that’s the best idea you’ve had since—well—an hour ago, when you suggested Italian. All for tiramisu?”

A cluster of forks rise into the air.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir?”

“The kid. He’s a beta, right?”

“He has not presented otherwise.”

“That’s not exactly an answer, is it?”

“…”

“J?”

“I believe he is a beta, sir.”

“Your confidence is downright stirring, J.”

“Always a pleasure to give, sir.”

“I mean, it’s not unheard of, right?” Peter asks. He is sandwiched between Ned and MJ on his bed in his room at the tower. It was just another benefit of joining the Avengers: a fancy new room on the Avengers’ floor, coffee with Captain America in the morning and eating peanut butter out of the jar with Natasha at night. The bed is huge—and okay, maybe he’s still just used to the twin he occupied at May’s, but it’s still nice to fit all of his friends on it at once to watch movies on the mounted television. “Relationships. Between betas and omegas.”

MJ gives a longsuffering sigh, one which makes Peter frown. Yeah, they’ve had this conversation a few (million) times before, but she could at least humor him, couldn’t she? “Stark is a male omega. They’re super fucking rare, Peter. Alphas literally kill over omegas. The competition for him even if he wasn’t Earth’s Greatest Defender and a fucking billionaire—it’s extensive. Why would he choose you when he could find a dozen beefy Captain-esque alphas to satisfy his biology?”

“Okay. But. It’s not impossible, right? That’s what I’m hearing. That it’s not impossible.”

“Mr. Stark would be lucky to have Peter,” Ned says. “I mean, yeah he’s not as buff as Captain America. Yeah he doesn’t have pheromones that attract Tony on, like, a biological level. And okay, he does snore. A lot. But—”

“Thanks, Ned,” Peter grumbles. “You make me sound like a real catch.”

“You are!” Ned insists. He actually takes his eyes off of A New Hope where Princess Leia is ghostly in blue, insisting that Obi-Wan Kenobi is her only hope. “You think any of those knotheads out there can keep up with Mr. Stark in the workshop? And look at my parents. They’re both omegas. It’s not all pheromones, it’s—it’s chemistry.”

A slow smile creeps over Peter’s face. Ned and MJ create the perfect balance of unending optimism and brutal realism. In their own ways, both are looking out for him, and he knows that they want the best for him. Even if what MJ says hurts. Even if what Ned says hurts too, just in a different, softer way. One gives him the seed of hope, and the other gives him the trellis that keeps him stuck in place, terrified to make a move.

It’s balance.

Things get strange for Peter in the weeks before Tony’s heat. He attributes it to the poor weather, and MJ helpfully says that Mercury is entering its retrograde, so apparently that explains how these days his temper is short when usually his fuse is long enough for two. Even the other Avengers seem to take notice of his volatile mood, giving him a wide berth.

The only person with whom things don’t change is Tony. Around the omega, Peter is his normal blushing mess, though he does try hard to go out of his way to make things easier for the man. In school he learned how stressful an omega’s heat is: a week to two weeks of mindlessness while their biology urges them to breed. It can be unbearable without heat suppressants—

—or without a partner. Does Tony have someone to weather the worst of his heat with? Other omegas to scent and comfort him? An alpha to knot him?

The glass Peter is holding shatters in his hand. Orange juice soaks him, stinging the cuts in his palm. Beside him, Sam shouts an oath, grabbing his plate of pancakes to keep them out of the line of citrus fire. The rest of the table is silent, a dozen pairs of eyes watching him. It makes Peter’s blood boil—why are they staring at him this way? He’s fucking superhuman. He broke dozens of glasses when he first gained his powers until he acclimated to his enhanced strength. Accidents happen.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Tony mutters from over his shoulder. Peter can’t smell it—as a beta, his nose is unsophisticated, unable to pick up pheromones—but he imagines that the man is scenting him, calm waves like the ocean dragging at the shore. A hand comes out, nudges Peter’s soaked plate (rest in peace, crepes) back, and the begins to carefully maneuver the largest shards of glass into his palm.

Peter grabs his wrist with the hand that isn’t dripping blood onto the table. “Do not touch the glass.”

It comes out much firmer than he intended it to, like there is someone else controlling his voice. He’s never heard himself sound like that before. It clearly has an effect on Tony who opens his hand, glass falling back to the table, wrist going lax and pliant in Peter’s grip.

“Hey,” Steve says. “It’s alright—”

“Mind your business,” Peter says through his teeth. There’s tension in the air, especially between him and Steve now, who is posturing at the end of the table, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Then it all comes in focus to him: he’s making a fucking scene, here. He is holding Tony’s wrist, commanding him, like Peter is some sort of alpha. He yelled at Captain America. It’s fresh. It’s disrespectful. His whole face goes red and he stands so abruptly that he nearly knocks over Tony who is behind him.

Then he turns and sprints from the room, leaving blood drops behind him like a breadcrumb trail. In his room, he goes into the adjoining bathroom and runs water over his aching palm. The cuts are trying to seal around the glass, but he doesn’t even feel the pain. Grasping the shards with his fingers is easy thanks to his enhanced grip. Someone knocks on his bedroom door, but Peter ignores it. After a while, the knocking stops.

Peter sulks for nearly thirty minutes before his manners outweigh his misery. The cuts on his palm are just raw looking scars now, but he knows they will disappear soon too. Taking a deep breath, he steels himself before leaving his room.

Breakfast is finished. The room is filled with the sound of plates being scraped clean and stacked beside the sink, chairs being pushed in at the table. Someone has cleaned up the glass and the orange juice—better not have been Tony, he could have cut himself, he could have gotten hurt—and Peter has to physically shake his head to shake those thoughts right out through his ears. What is wrong with him?

“Captain Rogers?” Peter says timidly. The man is closest—closer than Tony who is at the sink arguing with Clint about proper coffee ground disposal. Steve’s face is open and kind when he stops collecting half-filled glasses of milk and orange juice.

“Hey Peter. It’s still Steve, okay? It’s always Steve.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I wanted to say sorry for jumping down your throat earlier. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Steve says. He’s so kind it hurts. “Everybody has days like that, me included. Apology accepted, okay?”

Peter smiles. “Thanks. Steve.”

It takes a while for him to get Tony alone, but Peter figures that he owes the man a more in-depth apology, one he’d rather give without the other eyes of the Avengers on them. Tony seems to know what Peter is getting at, taking his time wiping down the counter (even though there are people who do that for him) and lingering. Bucky is the last one left, watching Peter with muted, angry eyes. Protective. Tony brushes the super soldier off, waving him away.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter says. His mouth is dry, his throat begs him to swallow but there’s no spit in his mouth. His knees are shaking. “I’m so sorry. For the glass, and for—for everything after. Nobody should treat you like that.”

“Don’t sweat it, kid,” Tony says. His smile is easy and charming, cheeks fuller than usual with the way he is putting on weight in anticipation of his heat. Sometimes when Peter blinks, he still sees how Tony looked after the un-Dusting, thin and tired and scared half-to-death. But this Tony is an entirely different man, and all the more handsome for it. This morning, he isn’t wearing his glasses, and his eyes are so sleepy-sated. He’s still in sweatpants, and the feet poking from beneath the pant legs are bare, fine boned. So fucking cute. “Is there something bothering you? Some of the others have came to me with concerns. You’re acting out. Teenage rebellion finally catching up with you? Gonna slam some doors, tell me you hate me, vandalize public property?”

“I could never hate you, Mr. Stark,” Peter says. He can’t say those words without his throat clenching, voice dropping. Tony’s chest expands in a deep silent breath and the look he gives Peter is—strange.

He claps Peter on the shoulder, a brief burning touch, and then is moving away. “Love that for me, kid. I’ll see you—around.”

He disappears. Peter finds himself sniffing the air, but there is nothing except the lingering scent of breakfast foods. What else he was expecting, he doesn’t know.

“J.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Get me some new biometrics on our Spider-Kid. Be subtle about it, too.”

“The human rights protocols that Ms. Potts demanded you install require me to inform you that performing any medical testing on an unaware subject is a direct violation of—”

“Yeah, yeah, skip reading me the riot act, J. I’m a bad, bad man. Get me those results ASAP, got it?”

“Performing them now, sir.”

Sundays are reserved for training, the only kind of worship most of the Avengers perform. At dawn, Peter is down in the gymnasium, wearing joggers and a clingy t-shirt. Today is supposed to be most perfunctory for him considering how hard he’s been pushing himself this week (harder than usual, maybe, he thinks, but it helps burn off some of the extra energy that has been blooming under his skin, making him itch). While the other Avengers practice hand-to-hand combat, he’ll probably be running on the treadmills.

Tony is there only for show, dressed in loungewear and drinking copious amounts of coffee. These days, he’s taking it with so much sugar and creamer that Peter can smell it on him even hours later, so sweet it makes his teeth ache. He’s only a week away from his heat, but the pheromones he’s producing make him more susceptible to physical attacks. Since these exercises are just for practice and not to hurt, he is sitting out.

“Hey, kid,” Tony mumbles, still sounding as tired as Peter feels. “You look dead on your feet. Coffee?”

He holds out his own mug. Peter hates coffee, but his body moves without consulting his higher faculties, reaching out to take the steaming cup. It actually doesn’t taste bad. Actually, it tastes pretty good—just how he imagines the inside of Tony’s mouth would taste, warm and so sweet and—

“Peter,” Tony asks. “What are you doing?”

Peter freezes—from where he is dragging his tongue along the rim of the cup, laving it over where Tony had his own mouth. His mouth goes dry, the taste of coffee turning sour in his mouth. He pulls the mug away from his mouth so quickly that he almost sloshes some out onto his trembling hands. Tony barely manages to grab the cup in time, looking much more alert (and frankly, a little alarmed).

“I—I have no idea. I’m sorry.”

“That’s—okay. It’s okay. It’s good stuff.”

Peter’s eyes go half lidded. “Yeah it is.”

Then (and Peter will never forget this, not as long as he lives. If he were in a terrible accident tomorrow that stole all of his memories, he’s sure that this one would still remain, burned in his brain), Tony puts the cup to his mouth and takes a long drink, mouth against where Peter’s tongue had trailed. All the blood in Peter’s body goes south. He feels electrocuted. A hand reaches out—his, that’s my hand, he thinks, though it’s so far away—and he presses his palm flat against Tony’s forehead, soft wisps of hair under his fingers, warm skin against his own. A shudder goes through him, and by the time he has dragged his wrist across Tony’s temple and down the side of his neck, stubble rasping against him, Peter is downright trembling, teeth clenched tight.

Tony sits like a statue under his touch, eyes wide as moons, all the blood drained from his face, and when Peter reaches the scent gland in his neck, he melts. He goes lax.

“Peter.”

When Peter turns, his teeth are clenched, lips pulled back. Captain America is standing there, and Peter can smell him, acrid.

“Stay back,” Peter barks.

“Is he—?” Natasha asks in the background, her voice high and soft with confusion.

Sam grabs her arm gently, pulling her away. “Presenting.”

There is a scuffle further away in the room, Clint holding back a trembling Bucky who is trying to get to his mate—but they are beta and omega, lesser threats. Peter pays them no mind.

Steve puts both of his hands up, the picture of calm, collected reassurance. “I’m not going to hurt you, Pete.”

“I’ll hurt you, old man,” Peter says. His voice isn’t his own, deeper and darker and scared—scared of this man, this Alpha. Peter’s omega is near and vulnerable, almost in heat. What other purpose could Steve have here except to try and separate them, try to take the omega for his own. That will never happen. His spine straightens. He is a head shorter and more than the other man, but they have fought before. Peter can take him. “Back. Off.”

Fingers wrap around Peter’s wrist, pulling it gently from his omega’s neck, and while Peter doesn’t want to take his eyes off of this dangerous alpha (no matter how non-threatening he looks), his omega is beckoning him. Peter turns and—it’s Tony. Tony. Tony.

Peter snatches his wrist back, all of his sanity coming back like cold water being poured over his head. The man is watching him, cautious, and the air is scented with fear and anxiety. This omega doesn’t need that, not so close to his heat—but this isn’t just an omega, this is Tony. Tony Stark. And here Peter is, rubbing himself all over the man like some sort of barbarian.

“Oh my god,” Peter slurs, stumbling backwards, wrist to his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Peter,” Tony says. His mouth stays open but no other words come out: a true feat, for Tony to be at a loss for words. It gives Peter enough time to turn tail and run, no tact, just sprinting from the gym. The elevator is already opening—thank you, Jarvis—and Peter takes it directly up to the Avengers floor where he locks himself in his room and doesn’t exit for the rest of the day.

“I’ve rerun the scans twice now, sir. Peter Parker is an alpha. The blood work Doctor Banner performed on him this afternoon confirms it.”

“How, J? Alphas present at 14, 15—16 at the latest. Peter is eighteen years old. How did he go from beta to alpha overnight?”

“If I had to venture a guess, I would say that his altered DNA state has something to do with the late presentation. Some animalistic instincts are only triggered in the face of more base situations. More than likely, he has been an alpha all along, but until a suitable mate presented itself, his secondary gender remained dormant.”

“Are you saying I’m the suitable mate in this prime-time drama scenario?”

“I’ve never known you to sound so unhappy with a compliment, sir. Or are you fishing for more? I assure you that your hormone levels are ideal for your age, you are still fertile, and judging by the conversations I’ve overheard between Mr. Parker and his friends, he’s had romantic feelings for you for years, now.”

“Jesus, J! What happened to your privacy protocols?”

“Oh, am I not still ignoring those? My apologies, sir. In that case, Mr. Parker never talks about you at all, and they most certainly do not refer to you as Iron Daddy.”

“I swear to God JARVIS, I will wipe your programming and turn you into a glorified pocket planner—”

“If I have to overhear the phrase Iron Daddy one more time, I might be agreeable to it, sir.”

For the next few days, Peter moves around the tower like a ghost. Before he leaves any room, he asks JARVIS who is in the next one. That allows him to get from place to place without running in to Tony. It isn’t safe for Peter to be around him anymore—not after Peter practically assaulted him in front of the other Avengers. In a few days, Peter’s hormones will stabilize and then he’ll be more in control of himself.

Until then?

He deals. Alone. Trying to come to terms with his new secondary gender is more difficult than he expected. When he was younger, it was everyone’s dream to be an alpha or omega. Those genders were much rarer, sensationalized in the movies and books. Omegas and alphas could find True Love with each other. They had senses like super humans, exuding pheromones, being able to scent the air and tell a person’s mood.

Betas were average. Normal. Maybe he wanted to be an alpha or omega, but a part of him always suspected he would be a beta. When the years he should have presented in passed, he accepted it. Betas weren’t so bad, May told him. At least they didn’t have to deal with the mess of heats or ruts, they weren’t beholden to their biology.

Now, everything has changed.

Just the thought of the affect Tony had on him makes his whole face go red. God, how embarrassing. He practically rubbed himself all over the man, no better than an animal. Mr. Stark deserved better than that. He needed a mature partner, a mate who could keep their head even in the face of his hormones. They had words for alphas like Peter, ones who couldn’t control themselves—pups. Knotheads. It makes him burn with shame.

Some of the other Avengers come by to talk with him. Sam, Natasha, their neutral beta scents comforting. He spends some time with Bruce, an omega who used suppressants to neutralize his scent. Steve stays away, much to Peter’s thanks and shame. And Tony, too. To Peter’s complete agony. Sometimes he catches remnants of the man’s scent, and he has to struggle not to rub his face against the couch cushions, to scent them himself. What will his omega think, when he catches his alpha’s scent—only no. Tony isn’t his omega.

And Peter isn’t his alpha.

They let him meet Steve again first. The alpha hasn’t change physically, but it feels like Peter is seeing him through a whole new set of eyes. He smells of petrichor in the city, not very appealing. But alpha scents aren’t meant to appeal to other alphas. Does Tony like this smell, Peter wonders? When they hug, does Tony nuzzle into that thick chest and scent him?

The thought doesn’t fill Peter with the same rage it did a few days ago. Instead, it makes him sad.

“Hi Captain Rogers,” Peter says. “How are you?”

Steve smiles. “I’m great, Pete. It’s Steve, remember? Still Steve.”

Peter tries to smile back. “Steve.”

When Peter and Captain Rogers both come out of his room, the only other Avengers around are Natasha and Tony. Instinct has him inhaling—and God, Tony smells as good as Peter remembers. Coffee must be in his blood, sweet with creamer and raw sugar that would crunch under Peter’s molars and dissolve on his tongue. It’d be a dream to taste that scent from the source.

Peter shakes himself out of it. Those are the kinds of thoughts that got him in trouble in the first place. He can feel how tense the room is while he carefully approaches the omega. In Tony’s benefit, he looks relaxed, lounging on the sofa. In this position, his gently rounded stomach is clear underneath his band t-shirt and it makes Peter’s mouth water. He wills away his boner—because now, alphas like Steve and omegas like Tony will be able to smell his arousal.

“Hey Mr. Stark,” Peter says in a soft, cracking voice. “A-Are you okay?”

Tony smiles, gentle, so tender. “Peachy, kid. Just peachy.”

Tony’s body starts purging three days before his heat, and everyone in the tower knows it. Peter knows too, and not just because he can smell it, ripening like strawberries in sugar, but because Tony stops eating altogether. Mealtimes he spends pushing food around his plate, forcing himself to sip at his sweating glass of ice water. His body is clearing itself out, priming itself for mating. Bruce encourages him to eat what he can, but Tony just snaps at his mothering, face green. No one needs to openly state that this pre-heat seems worse than usual.

It hurts to see Tony not eating, but Peter sits on his hands and bites his fucking tongue and turns away and doesn’t say a thing because it isn’t his fucking business to command the omega. Tony is more than his designation. He’s a fucking human being, and Peter is going to respect him and his wishes, even if he’d rather see the man stuff himself, belly rounded, preferably with Peter’s—

“Bathroom,” Peter mutters, standing jerkily from the table. No one notices his quick escape. In the small, tiled room, his own scent rebounds off the walls and suffocates him, arousal, sharp, pining, sickly. Peter splashes cool water over his face, resolute in his decision not to jerk off. He hasn’t cum since before his presentation, is too afraid of how it might be different, too afraid of the knot that is likely to bloom at the base of his cock (which has grown, to Peter’s horror and delight).

Once he feels less likely to pop a boner at the dinner table, he flushes perfunctorily and leaves the bathroom—only to run directly into Tony who pushes past him.

“Sorry kid, got to yack,” he mutters. But then everything about him freezes. Peter sees his own scent, concentrated from his time in the bathroom as it washes over the omega. Tony shudders, eyes rolling. The sound that leaves his mouth can be described as nothing short of a whimper. The green tinge of nausea is replaced with the flush of his own arousal, and Peter can smell it, so good that it hurts, makes him harder than he’s ever been in his life, and this is his omega, his omega who is approaching heat and needs him—

But he is more than that to Peter, too.

Using all his restraint, Peter reaches out for the bathroom door handle and slams the door shut. He hears the soft thud of Tony’s body on the other side, like he has slumped against it. A low groan, muted by the oak.

Peter turns and goes to his room without an explanation, dinner plate still half-full.

“JARVIS…”

“I’m here, sir.”

“Protocol Fuck or Die. Who is on my consent list?”

“Just Captain Rogers, sir.”

“Add Peter.”

“Shall I alert him—”

“No—just. I doubt my heat will be bad enough to require an alpha’s—ah—special support, but. Better safe than sorry.”

“As you wish, sir.”

“Oh, and J? Let’s go ahead and make an addendum…”

Less than two days later, Tony leaves his bedroom on the Avengers’ floor and goes up to the penthouse. The door locks behind him, and Peter comforts himself with that fact. The man is safe. No one can get in without JARVIS’s say so, and the AI values Tony’s safety above all else. Even if he suffers while he’s there (and that thought alone makes Peter ache in his chest, desperate to help), at least he is safe.

Two days in, a situation across the country calls for some of the Avengers, and Steve, Bucky, Nat and Clint all pack up to head out. They don’t ask Peter to come with them, and the young alpha doesn’t offer—though he hardly knows why. Nat tucks him under her arm and presses a kiss to his forehead when he wishes them safe travels, and please let me know if you need backup.

She smiles, soft. “I think you’re needed here, Pete.”

Peter has no idea what to make of that, and no idea how right she is.

“Mister Parker.”

Peter wakes from a restless sleep, sitting straight up in his bed. The room is absolutely dark—the only way he can sleep with his sensitivity issues—but Peter knows that the voice didn’t come from anyone in the room. It came from above. Heart in his throat, he croaks out an affirmation, fearing the worst. Something has gone wrong on the mission with Steve and the others. They are hurt, or worse, dead. Maybe there’s another emergency, this time in New York, and Peter and Sam and Bruce will have to deal with it alone—

“I need you to go directly to the penthouse, and with haste.”

“Penthouse? That’s—that’s off limits. Mr. Stark—”

“Mister Stark’s temperature is reaching dangerous levels, and he is no longer responding to my questions. He requires immediate attention. Do not bother dressing—go straight there.”

Peter rolls out of bed. This is worse than the Avengers being hurt. So much worse. His hands shake as he leaves his room wearing nothing but boxer shorts (do not bother dressing or not, Peter wasn’t going to walk around naked). The lounge is empty and ghostly, moonlight streaming in from the windows and turning every shadow into a monster. Peter has bigger fears now, though.

“It’s his heat?”

“Yes—”

“—and what exactly—I mean, what do you want me to do about it?”

“Now is not the time for me to give you the birds and the bees talk, Mister Parker—”

Peter blanches. The elevator is waiting for him as he steps inside, feels the pull of gravity as he quickly ascends, his hears popping at the change in altitude. “JARVIS, you don’t understand—Mr. Stark, h-he can’t consent during a heat. I would be—it would be—”

“You have his consent. Based on protocol Fuck or Die—”

“I’m sorry what?”

“It’s not uncommon for older omegas to suffer serious health issues while suffering through heats alone and unsuppressed. In the event that an alpha is absolutely required, Mister Stark has a list of preapproved alphas who have his complete consent to bond with him. On such a list is Captain Rogers and, as of earlier this week, yourself.”

Peter gapes. His head spins. Mr. Stark—lists of consent—Peter?

“If it makes you feel better,” JARVIS says. “Had Captain Rogers been here, I would have asked him first.”

The elevator opens, and Peter steps out into the hallway that leads to the penthouse. His stomach is in knots, a tangle of Medusa’s snakes that wriggle and threaten to turn him to stone. His knees are shaking, knocking together in fear that is so potent it’s comical. This is his greatest dream come true (though certainly not happening in the way he had anticipated) but suddenly it is his deepest fear.

“No offense, Mr. JARVIS, but in what world would that make me feel better?” Peter asks, his sweating palm on the doorknob to the penthouse.

“We can debate it another time when Mister Stark isn’t at risk of a febrile seizure.”

The door clicks, lock opening. Steeling himself, Peter opens the door and steps inside.

The smell intense: cinnamon rolls, ground coffee beans, caramel sauce so sweet it’s just on the verge of burning. It is right out of Peter’s wet dreams, his cock rushing to fill itself so that it will be useful to the omega in need. The penthouse is a mess when Peter scans it: furniture knocked over, a glass of water shattered on the tiles of the foyer, though the water has nearly evaporated now. Everything is quiet and still. It should be eerie.

But suddenly it isn’t. A change comes over him, a rush of hormones that not only fill his cock but clear his head. It’s like everything he sees is in greater detail, sharp focus, all of his senses on high alert. There are no more nerves, and Peter is filled with the overwhelming confidence that he knows what he’s doing.

“The bedroom, Mister Parker. Quickly, please.”

Peter moves with purpose, ignoring his cock. The bedroom door is only cracked, and he reaches out with a firm hand to push it open the rest of the way.

Tony has taken up residence on the floor beside the bed. The sheets are dragged off of it as if Tony had struggled to pull himself up and lost the strength, choosing instead to curl up around his aching abdomen. Peter gathers all of the strength and calm inside of himself, works to exude it in his very scent (a thing he’s mostly unfamiliar with, but which is apparently a skill akin to wiggling his ears, which he can also do, thanks very much).

Naked, Peter is privy to every inch of tanned skin, the gentle smattering of hair on Tony’s legs, sparser at his thighs. There are no hairs on his chest thanks to the mass of scar tissue where the arc reactor used to be, smooth, pink skin that will never grow hair again. All his skin is covered in sweat, slick and glowing under the dim lights. Then, Tony’s eyes open, nostrils flaring. He turns his head towards where Peter stands in the doorway, teeth chattering from his fever, and the look on his face is pure relief.

“Alpha,” he says, stuttering through his chills.

Peter hushes him, kneeling down to drag the man into his arms. The omega groans in pain when he’s no longer curled around his aching stomach, but then buries his nose in Peter’s neck, hot breath brushing his skin and making goosebumps rise all over Peter. Tony sighs in relief, wrapping himself around the kneeling alpha. Peter can feel Tony’s cock—small, but hard and leaking—pressing against his hip. Pooled on the older man’s abdominals is cum, drying and tacky.

“I recommend a tepid shower, Mister Parker.”

“Start it,” Peter says through his teeth. He shifts up onto one knee, bracing himself so that he can support the larger man’s weight. Tony is mouth at his neck, hips rutting desperately. Peter puts a hand on the man’s lower back and guides him, encourages him, words pouring out of his mouth that he can barely hear over the blood rushing in his ears. “Come on, Mr. Stark, please Mr. Stark, you need to cum. Can you cum like this? Will you try, for me? Now, Omega, now if you can at all—”

Tony shudders, cum splattering Peter’s bare stomach. It burns—every point of contact with the man burns, thanks to the fever.

“God,” Peter groans, throat convulsing. “That was amazing. So good, Mr. Stark, Jesus, that was incredible—”

In the bathroom, the shower is running, cool enough to not create any steam. Peter grits his teeth, hating cold showers, but knowing that his omega needs it. A fever isn’t good for his omega’s brain, and at least the water isn’t cold. That might shock Tony’s system and do more harm than good. Without even stopping to shuck his boxers, Peter slides open the glass shower door and ushers them both inside. When the spray hits him, the omega whines, shrinking away.

“Stay,” Peter says firmly. Tony goes slack, suggestible.

He leaves the front of Tony’s body in the cool spray and stands on his toes to bury his nose in the omega’s neck, scenting him, scraping together every good warm safe happy feeling inside of himself. Tony’s head goes lax, leaning back, water dripping down his throat. The young alpha licks a line up his throat and to the shell of his ear. Such a thing would be weird any other time, but now it’s like there’s a part inside of him that urges him to do it, to leave his mouth on the man and never lift it.

“Peter?” he slurs.

Peter jolts. If Tony is more conscious and aware, that seems like a promising sign. “JARVIS called for me. You’re safe, Mr. Stark,” he says. “I promise.”

Tony smiles, a soft breath coming out almost like a laugh. “I know,” he murmurs. “Jesus, kid, I’m cold.”

“You’re feverish,” Peter says. “JARVIS? Can you tell Mr. Stark’s temperature?”

“It is a toasty 101.7 degrees Fahrenheit, Mister Parker, which is an improvement. I believe a decent bonding session would have a similar therapeutic effect, if the shower isn’t comfortable. And sir, may I say that it’s nice to see you stringing together a full sentence.”

Tony snorts. His voice is weak, but no less snarky. “Thanks, J. Can we get out, Pete? I haven’t taken cold showers since I was fifteen years old.”

“If we get out,” Peter says. “We’ll have to—to bond.”

“Is that—you don’t want that?”

“I do, God, Jesus, yes I do—”

Now Tony does laugh, even as his eyes slip closed in exhaustion. It is likely that without proper care, he has barely slept since his heat started in earnest three days ago. The instincts inside of Peter stir: his omega needs fucked and then he needs rest.

As soon as the cool water is off, Tony is back to stumbling, doubled over in pain, an arm curled around his tender midsection. The cramps come and go while Peter does his best to dry them off, but their hair is still dripping when he can’t take the sounds of pain anymore and guides Tony back to the bedroom. There is nothing on the bed but a fitted sheet, soft as silk, and Tony crawls onto it without prompting.

He sinks immediately into lordosis, ass up, spine curved as he presents himself, forehead pressed to the bed and chest doing its best to follow. This is pornography come to life, Peter thinks. He can see Tony’s hole, wet and dripping. Between his legs are his balls, red and aching, but it’s that hole that makes his fingers ache, that has him reaching out to press a thumb against the rim.

Tony chokes, hips jerking backwards until Peter sinks in to the first knuckle. Tony is loose and pliant, perfect for taking an alpha’s cock and knot.

“Please,” Tony groans into the mattress, shaking all over. “’t hurts, Pete. Please. Inside.”

Peter pulls his thumb free, kneels up onto the bed to shuffle closer, and then sinks two gentle fingers in, slow until they’re swallowed to the hilt. He has to close his eyes, cock aching, knot already throbbing at the base. Inside, Tony is like liquid silk, hot and wet and clinging to his fingers, the internal muscles squeezing and desperate for more to hold on to. The noise Tony lets out is pure sex, a long moan that ends higher and breathier than he’s ever heard the man.

Slowly, Peter pulls his fingers out to the tip—and god, the slide, the wet friction is just as intoxicating, eyes rolling in his skull, blinded to everything but the desperate omega in front of him—before pressing back in. He twists them, circles his hands, crooks them until he finds that spot, the rough bump inside. Tony keens, body spasming as his fists clench at the sheets, his cock spurting. Around his fingers, Tony’s ass flutters. But he needs more. Peter knows.

Soaked boxers abandoned in the bathroom, Peter’s cock is free to dribble and ache, only inches from where it longs to harbor. Brief anxiety has his hand trembling when he reaches down to run a gentle fist from tip down to root. This is the first time he’s touched his cock since he presented—but it feels the same really. Except for the base, where there is a bump, so sensitive that he whines when he runs a curious thumb over it. God, how will that feel inside Tony? Peter can’t even imagine.

Withdrawing his fingers, the omega cries out, hips jerking backwards, desperate to keep the connection. Peter soothes him with a hand on his back, urging him to relax back into the bedspread while Peter kneels up behind him. Their similar heights make this easy—all the important bits are at the perfect levels.

Taking a deep breath, Peter guides the head of his cock to the wet hole. The first touch has him whining, shaking, and if it weren’t for the firm hand on Tony’s back, the omega would likely have taken him to the root by now with the way he is thrusting back, trying to fuck himself on the tip alone. It’s now or never, Peter tells himself. Pressing forward, he sinks in until he can’t anymore. It takes every bit of restraint not to cum immediately, popping his knot in the tightest, wettest, most pleasurable heat he’s ever known. Beneath him, Tony sounds like he’s dying in the best way, groaning.

“Please, alpha, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—”

Everything in him wants to give this man what he needs, so with singular focus, Peter pulls back his hips and lets them snap forward. Tony howls, his elbows bending so that he can grab fistfuls of his hair and pull. Peter lets his instincts do the work, trusts his body to know what is best for himself and his omega, fucking into that tight heat in desperation. The best part of every thrust is bottoming out, the brief pressure of Tony’s fluttering rim around Peter’s blossoming knot, so sensitive it makes him shiver.

“God, Mr. Stark,” Peter pants. The words are torn from his chest: “My omega.”

“Yes, yes, yours, take it, take me,” Tony says, every word punctuated by a hitch in his breath as Peter thrusts in. “Alpha—let me cum, please—”

“Yes,” Peter groans. “You need it, please. Please cum for me.”

Tony cries out, entire body stiffening and going still beneath him—every part of him except for his small cock, spurting weakly and the tight heat around Peter’s cock that flutters, squeezing, choking the life out of him. Peter desperately wants to bring Tony to another orgasm, figuring that the better sated he is, the quicker his fever will fall. But the sounds, the smells, the unbearable pressure around his cock is too much. He can feel it building inside him, balls tightening, knot beginning to swell. There’s no way he can stop it—and Tony needs this too. Needs a knot, for his body to fight the biological havoc his hormones are wreaking on it.

So Peter chases it, fucking Tony right through his orgasm. Every time the knot catches on the rim, Peter thinks this is it, this is it, there’s no way I can push into him, or there’s no way I can pull it out of him, but he does, both of their bodies capable of so much more than he ever knew. Then it hits. Peter shoves the knot past the rim, shrieking as his balls spasm, cum spurting into the omega. Beneath him, Tony shouts something unintelligible, and maybe he cums again, but Peter can’t tell. The world goes white. Nothing exists except for the tight channel around his cock, the rim that’s squeezing his knot, coaxing more and more cum from him.

But one thought comes, strikes him like a lightning bolt straight from Thor’s hammer: bite. His teeth ache down to the roots with as tightly as he clenches them together, mouth watering, desperate to clamp his jaws on that raised spot on Tony’s neck. Break skin. Mate. The urge becomes overwhelming, no way that he can stop it—but instead he turns and bites into the meat of his bicep, breaking skin until blood floods his mouth.

When it finally ends, they are stuck together. Shaking from exertion, Peter still reaches out to help Tony collapse properly onto the bed, then he guides them both onto their sides, his stomach pressed flush against Tony’s back. The omega is shaking all over, so Peter runs his hands over every bit of skin he can, murmuring words of praise, God Mr. Stark, you’re perfect. That was the most amazing thing, thank you so much, thank you.

By the time his knot deflates enough for him to pull out without hurting Tony (and it’s an inordinate amount of time later, Peter things, probably considering it was his first ever knot popped), the bite on his arm has healed. He must still look like a sight, he thinks, mouth covered in flaking, dried blood. Tony is soft and sated when he rolls onto his back, and the only indication he gives that the blood on Peter startles him is a few gentle blinks, like his eyes are blurry and he needs to clear them.

“I almost bit you,” Peter says. “I’m so sorry.”

Tony smiles, eyes already slipping closed. He worms one arm beneath the pillow under his head and lets his eyes shut completely. “Go ahead,” he mumbles. “’m going t’ sleep now.”

Peter smooths the hair out of his face. His chest feels tight, full up with love and longing and absolute adoration. This has been beyond Peter’s wildest dreams: mating Tony, bonding with him for good and not just for now? That is something that Peter can’t even let himself imagine. It’s a pipe dream, a hazy, unclear fantasy. Beside him, Tony is already asleep. The man snores—wait until Ned finds out.

“Mister Stark’s temperature is returning to normal boundaries, I am happy to report.”

Peter breathes a sigh of relief. He barely knew how much tension was in him until he heard those words, until he knew that Tony would be okay. His body relaxes, experiencing a peace he has never before known. Here, with this man he loves more than anything, knowing they are safe and that Tony is content. “Thank you, JARVIS. I’m glad you woke me.”

“As am I. Mister Parker, I believe there is one other matter that I must bring to your attention.”

“What is it?”

“It is another protocol that Mister Stark put in place. A list he created exclusively for you.”

It is a week later before Tony is well enough to leave his penthouse. The man has lost all the weight he put on and more, even as Peter’s constant insistence that he eat whenever he could stomach it. Despite the copious amounts on incredible sex they shared, Peter can’t help but be glad that Tony’s heats only come twice a year. Any more than that might genuinely kill the man, his legs shaking, leaning on Peter as they enter the Avengers living area.

General cries of greeting and joy rise up around the floor. Steve pulls the man into a hug before he thinks otherwise, his eyes finding Peter’s over the omega’s shoulder. But Peter isn’t jealous, just watches with a happy, soft smile. He sees the exact moment that Steve breathes in and smells the change in the omega’s scent, and Peter knows the look on his face must be that of the sorest winner, smug, and unbearably in love.

Steve pulls back and gently tugs at the collar of Tony’s shirt, exposing just the smallest hint of the healing mating bite. Peter’s own has already healed.

Bucky can’t help but frown from where he stands behind Steve. His eyes flash hot like coals, accusatory, pinning Peter in place. “You mated him? He was in heat.”

Tony waves a hand. “We had a sort of—withstanding agreement. Didn’t we, J?”

“That you did, sir. I would not let anything untoward happen to Mister Stark under my watch.”

“Hear that?” Tony asks, stalking to the refrigerator. “I have protocols in place for every possible sequence of events, and giving hot young alphas the consent to mate me for life is a very advantageous outcome, if I do say so myself. Hey—fruit goes on the top shelf, heathens, not in the drawer. I’m out of commission for two weeks and this is what happens—”

“You have, what, procedures in place? For every possible sequence of events?” Bucky asks, his arms crossed.

Tony reappears from the refrigerator, a take-out contained in his hands. He cracks it open, Styrofoam screeching, to appraise the insides. Whatever is there must please him, because he bumps the door closed with one hip and goes for a fork. “Huh?” he asks, scooping out strands of angel hair pasta. “Oh. Yeah—I do. By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail.”

“Who said that?” Natasha asks. “Was that Franklin?”

“What, it wasn’t me?” Tony asks.

“Wait, I want to hear more about these procedures, especially any that involve me,” Bucky asks. They all gravitate around the counter, leaning against the marble. Peter can’t help but feel that the turmoil of the last month has ended and now things are—not normal. But better than normal. His family, his pack, they are stronger than ever.

“I could tell you, snowflake,” Tony says around a mouth of pasta. “But then I’d have to kill you.”

tag list: (and I know I’m missing so many of you right now, I’m sorry, I’ll work on it, feel free to continue to let me know if you want to be tagged or would rather not be. @shinycreatoroafbonk @sadbumblingmess @parkerslutt @css1992 @starkerotic @rogerthat-captain @prettyboy-parker @onemadeofglass @kirtthana @deliciousflapbanditfarm @kiaorauniverse @loki-iwanttobeking @parleroumourirr @bizzlepotter @von--gelmini

#starker #abo #alpha!peter #omega!tony #cagewrites

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Gina Carano Was Fired from The Mandalorian, But Should Cara Dune Live On?

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Gina Carano deserved to be fired from The Mandalorian after months of posting dangerous online rhetoric that goes against everything Star Wars should stand for. After Carano used her Twitter bio to mock the common practice of users listing preferred pronouns, denying the gravity of the Covid-19 pandemic, posting election fraud conspiracy theories, refusing to show support for Black Lives Matter, and implying that being a right-wing conservative today was like being a Jewish person during the Holocaust, Disney finally did the right thing.

“Jews were beaten in the streets, not by Nazi soldiers but by their neighbors…even by children. Because history is edited, most people today don’t realize that to get to the point where Nazi soldiers could easily round up thousands of Jews, the government first made their own neighbors hate them simply for being Jews. How is that any different from hating someone for their political views,” read her now-deleted Tik Tok post.

While Carano did return for The Mandalorian season 2, which wrapped just before the Covid lockdowns that seemingly triggered the actor’s toxic views on social media, Disney decided that it had seen enough. In a statement released on Wednesday night, a spokesperson for Disney said that Carano’s “social media posts denigrating people based on their cultural and religious identities are abhorrent and unacceptable.” The spokesperson also confirmed that Carano “is not currently employed by Lucasfilm and there are no plans for her to be in the future,” effectively putting an end to her time on The Mandalorian and Star Wars. Deadline also confirmed that Carano and her agency UTA have parted ways.

Two days later, Carano doubled down, announcing a new movie project with alt-right pundit Ben Shapiro’s conservative website The Daily Wire. She will develop, produce, and star in the movie, which will release exclusively to the site’s members, according to Deadline. Carano dubiously framed her next move as “a direct message of hope to everyone living in fear of cancellation by the totalitarian mob.”

But while Carano may see herself as a rebel fighting for the right to claim “freedom of speech” no matter how hateful or downright false her posts, there are also plenty of Star Wars fans who are relieved to see her jettisoned from the universe they love. While Disney should still be held accountable for how it failed John Boyega and Kelly Marie Tran, actors of color who faced racist attacks upon being cast in the Sequel Trilogy, and who were sidelined as the trilogy progressed, the company has done a much better job of late of showing where it stands on the issues. The company stood in support of The High Republic show host Krystina Arielle after she faced similar attacks. By firing Carano, Disney and Lucasfilm have taken a clear stance not only against bigotry but the kind of dangerous rhetoric that has become pervasive among a small but loud minority of the fandom (although I’d hardly call them actual “fans”).

THR learned from a source close to Lucasfilm that the studio had been “looking for a reason to fire her for two months” and that Carano’s Holocaust post was “the final straw.” According to the outlet, Lucasfilm had previously planned to have Carano star in her own Mandalorian spinoff, potentially Rangers of the New Republic, and considered making the announcement during its investor’s day event in December before that idea was scrapped due to her social media posts.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Does Carano’s firing mean that this is the end of her character’s time in Star Wars? While the end of Cara Dune’s storyline in The Mandalorian season 2 teased that there would be more to her journey as a mercenary turned New Republic marshal, for the moment, that adventure seems to have been cut short. That said, some fans are already wondering whether Cara’s life in the galaxy far, far away could continue without Carano.

A few people on Twitter have suggested that the character should simply be recast, with Lucy Lawless already positioned as a frontrunner among fans. The Xena: Warrior Princess and Battlestar Galactica actor and activist would be more than a suitable replacement for Carano and the kind of talent the Star Wars brand should want to work with. Not to mention that Lawless would bring the energy, grit, and physicality needed to play a tough-as-carbonite brawler like Cara.

Let's make #LucyLawless the new and improved #CaraDune! #TheMandalorian @Jon_Favreau @dave_filoni pic.twitter.com/xuqqM3SOea

— 𝕂ℝ𝕀𝕊𝕋𝕀𝔸ℕ 𝕆𝔻𝕃𝔸ℕ𝔻 (@kreshjun) February 11, 2021

But as nice as it is to dream of Lawless or another fan-favorite performer taking on the role of Cara Dune and continuing her story, Star Wars has traditionally been averse to recasting its characters to the point where the franchise would rather paste a questionable CGI version of Mark Hamill’s face on another actor’s head than cast someone new to play a younger Luke Skywalker. (Sebastian Stan, for example.)

Not that Lucasfilm hasn’t tried recasting before, such as when it brought on Alden Ehrenreich and Donald Glover to play pre-Original Trilogy versions of Han Solo and Lando Calrissian in Solo: A Star Wars Story, but that movie was a box office failure for the studio. While there are many reasons why that film failed, a few fans might tell you it’s because Harrison Ford and Billy Dee Williams weren’t in it. If history tells us anything, it’s that there’s a section of this fandom that does not like change.

That’s not to say Disney should go out of its way to pander to viewers who are resistant to change. Big franchises like Star Wars need to embrace change to stay fresh and better reflect audiences. And Disney certainly shouldn’t prioritize people who would be mad if anyone but Carano played Dune on The Mandalorian or Rangers of the New Republic. My point is that Disney would likely save itself a lot of grief by not doing anything else with the character at all. There’s no doubt that the path of least resistance for Disney would be to phase out the character completely, giving her a quiet off-screen exit, perhaps coupled with some brief exposition in season 3 regarding where she went. Done.

Is that fair to Cara Dune and the fans who see themselves in her? Cara quickly became a fan-favorite after her debut on the Star Wars live-action series as a fierce gun-for-hire who’s not quite a hero and is as prone to violence as Din Djarin but who will ultimately choose to do what’s right. Many have lauded Cara for the ways she breaks away from the “traditional mold” of female Star Wars characters who have come before, both in terms of her morally gray motivations and her buff appearance, which, as fans of The Last of Us II‘s Abby will tell you, remains a rarity in our entertainment.

How The Mandalorian Gave Fans a Different Kind of Star Wars Story

By Lacy Baugher

Why The Mandalorian Was Always Destined to Meet Luke Skywalker

By Ryan Britt

Unlike Leia, Cara is a former Rebel shock trooper from Alderaan who didn’t immediately fall in line with the New Republic, preferring the chaos and danger of living in the Outer Rim than joining up with the new galactic government, which she felt wasn’t doing enough to quell the ever-present threat of the Empire that had destroyed her home planet. She preferred to brawl in cantinas and make her own way in the galaxy sans an official allegiance or badge, a lifestyle rarely lived by Star Wars‘ women — at least on screen. (In that way, Cara has much more in common with breakout Marvel comic book character Doctor Aphra.)

Sure, some of these traits began to change, but the show took its time developing Cara’s character, and by the time she did join the Republic’s law forces in the Outer Rim, it was after she’d witnessed many of the atrocities committed by what was left of the Empire. And even with the badge, she did some things on her own terms, like helping Mando and friends rescue Grogu from Moff Gideon.

To many, Cara has been a unique character worth following for years to come, whether it be on more seasons of The Mandalorian or in an eventual spinoff. Fans could perhaps still get that opportunity off-screen were Lucasfilm to continue Cara’s story in the books or comics, as it has with many other characters for over 40 years. It might just take some waiting.

But the mere fact that many fans want to see Cara’s story continue without the toxic presence of the actor who originally brought her to life is a testament to the power of the character herself. Like the best Star Wars characters, Cara seems to have staying power, and perhaps she deserves to outlive Gina Carano’s time with the franchise.

To The Mandalorian‘s credit, there are many other great female characters to look forward to on the show, including Bo-Katan Kryze (Katee Sackhoff), Koska Reeves (Mercedes Varnado), and Fennec Shand (Ming-Na Wen), who will actually star in The Book of Boba Fett later this year. (Please bring back Frog Lady, too.) They’re fantastic characters with their own motivations and stories, and I’d love to see more of them in season 3, but not all female characters are interchangeable and the other women in The Mandalorian’s world cannot replace Cara’s unique contributions to the show. They cannot simply “fill a spot” left behind by the last female hero, a character who was one of our first introductions on the show.

There’s perhaps no obviously right answer or course of action when things are still so raw and production is moving quickly on the next year of Star Wars stories. Does keeping Cara in Star Wars also ultimately mean that Lucasfilm is acknowledging Carano’s legacy with the franchise? Maybe. But should a great character that people look up to and relate to be allowed to exist beyond the bad decisions of an actor or its creator? Probably.

We only know this for sure: if you never see Cara Dune again in Star Wars, you only really have Gina Carano to blame.

The post Gina Carano Was Fired from The Mandalorian, But Should Cara Dune Live On? appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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bobasheebaby · 5 years

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Costume Face-off (NSFW)

Pairing: Bastien x Olivia; Liam x Ellie

Word count: 3,284

Warnings: smut, Bastien’s abs

Summary: Beaumont Bash Halloween party and a couples costume bet...

A/N: @stopforamoment sent me the bottom center picture last year and said Baslivia, I promised her and a year later I have fulfilled said promise. I played around with the “prompt” a little. Thanks to @sirbeepsalot for graping and prereading. This is set in the future, 15 months from the beginning, 11 months from opening up about their relationship. Pic # 3 belongs to @metalslimer and @sintwisted, all pictures found on google.

“Ohmygod, look at that one!” Ellie exclaimed as she scrolled through Pinterest with Olivia.

Olivia rolled her emerald eyes. “That’s nothing.”

“Yea, Okay Liv, but we both know we’d never get the guys to agree to something like this. She kept scrolling through. “I mean they are fun, Mario and Princess Peach, Oh. My. God! Look at Jessica and Roger Rabbit!” She scrolled down further, blue eyes going wide. “I take it back! This Roger Rabbit and Jessica, look at her she’s freaking ripped! How the hell did these women talk these men into their costumes?!” Olivia arched her brow knowingly. “Ummm yea, that, but really that won’t here.” She pointed at a picture of seven guys all dressed as different Disney Princesses. “I mean…”

“You underestimate yourself if you don’t think you could get Liam in one of these.”

“Okay Liv, you really could get Bastien to agree to something like this.”

“I could, and I guarantee it would blow anything you and Liam came up with out of the water.”

“Of course you would make it a bet.”

“Does that mean you don’t accept the challenge?”

“Oh no, you’re on, best gender swap costume wins, the loser has to wear the losing costume to brunch the next morning and pay.”

“You’re on, and so going down. A Nevrakis never loses.”

Olivia pulled her long crimson hair back into a low bun, her eyes trailing down the rest of her costume in the bathroom mirror. Perfect. She smirked at her reflection, as she gently brushed her hand over the small bump visible in her tight white v neck. She turned to look at the shirt she discarded, still hanging on the hanger. No more crop tops for now. She grabbed her belt, adding the final touch. “You might want to cover your ears, Papa isn’t gonna be thrilled when he sees his costume.” As if on cue she heard the door to their suite open and shut. Even retired, he refused to give up on security, always double checking to ensure everything was secure. “Your costume is on the bed.” She gave herself one last cursory glance, straightening her black vest, before exiting the en-suite.

She stifled a chuckle as she saw him standing at the end of the bed holding the thin maroon material in his hand. She knew this wasn’t what he was expecting when she suggested they go as Han Solo and Slave Leia, she was certain of that by the way he had said yes before the entire suggestion left her lips. She was sure he had visions of her dressed in the barely there bikini, while he was a dashing Han Solo. Think again, I have a bet to win.

Bastien turned, a perplexed look on his face. “What’s this?”

“Your costume, like I said.”

“Livvy, you can’t actually expect me to wear this.” He looked up, eyes slowly trailing up her body. He took in her black knee high boots, skin tight blue jeans, white v neck, black vest. She isn’t kidding. “I can’t wear this.” He shook his head in dismay. There isn’t enough fabric to cover me.

She smirked as she crossed the room to him. “Sure you can.” She unbuttoned his dress shirt. “You certainly have the body for it.” She traced her hands down his firm chest and impressive twelve pack for emphasis.

He shivered under her touch. Don’t give in. “This won’t conceal much, if anything.” He held up the sheer maroon loin cloth.

“Relax, I got you a banana hammock.” She gestured to the small flesh colored material on the bed, sitting next to his collar and chain.

He looked at the barely there undergarment that more resembled dental floss than actual underwear with a grimace. Banana hammock? It’s a g-string! He knew she was only calling the flesh colored scrap of fabric by that name as a means to tease him for his dislike of bananas.

She teased her finger along the waistband of his pants, smiling as he sucked in a sharp breath. “I don’t beg...” Her fingers undid his buckle. “...but I’d be willing to get on my knees.” She winked, pulling down his zipper. She sank to the floor, settling on her knees before she pulled his pants and boxer briefs down, releasing his half hard cock.

He groaned as she wrapped her hand around his length, pumping it in slow, smooth strokes. She smiled as she watched him react to her ministrations, his cock becoming fully hard in a matter of seconds.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be the hottest Leia they’ve ever seen.” She continued to slide her slender hand up and down his thick shaft, feeling heat pool in her core. Later. “You have such a spectacular body; it would be a shame to not show it off.”

“You’re just saying that to get me to…” His words trailed off as she wrapped her plush red lips around his swollen head. His hand gripped the back of her head, steely eyes locked on emerald as he gently bucked into her mouth. “Fuck Livvy.”

She bobbed her head up and down his length, her tongue swirling around his shaft. She gripped his firm buttock with her other hand, giving it a hard squeeze.

He moaned, one of the things he fell in love with was her ability to take charge. He watched as his thick length disappeared into her mouth again and again. His mind swirled; he knew the second he saw his costume he didn’t really have a choice. She doesn’t play fair.

God she’s a goddess with her mouth. He felt his balls tighten and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. “Livvy.”

She nodded her head, her hand cupping his balls, rolling them in her hand. She hollowed her cheeks, creating suction as she increased her pace.

He fisted her bun as he bucked into her mouth. His eyes remained locked on hers as he came with a groan, spilling down her throat. He softened the hold on her hair as he watched her swallow every drop.

Olivia eased up her pace, gently licking his softening cock clean before releasing it from her mouth. She rose to her feet, wiping the corners of her mouth. “I still think you can pull it off.”

“It was never a question of could… it was more should.”

“You should always show off your impressive physique.”

Bastien laughed shaking his head. God I love this woman.

“So you’ll wear it?”

He looked at the costume in question, knowing it was too late to change costumes. “It’s not like I have another option.”

“Very true.”

“You know you didn’t have to…”

“I know.” She smiled trailing her hand down his bare chest. “I could help you make sure everything is put away.” She licked her lips suggestively.

He forced himself to focus on anything other than her soft hands ‘helping’ him conceal himself in the small undergarment. He knew what would happen the instant her hands were on his body again. God she’s more insatiable than ever. “Thank you for the offer, but we both know that we’ll never leave the room if you do.”

She bit her lip as she hummed her agreement. “You’re absolutely correct.” Her heated gaze scanned his chest, taking in the toned tanned muscle covered in dark chest hair. She felt the heat in her grow. “Go get dressed before I change my mind about going to the party.”

He chuckled as he picked up the small pieces of his costume. He’d much rather stay in the room all night wrapped in her arms, but if he knew one thing about his wife, it was she chose this costume for a reason, one he wouldn’t find out if they were a tangle of sweaty limbs all night. I’ll just have to persuade her to come back early.

Olivia nervously toyed with her rings with the pad of her thumb. Large cushion cut emerald and simple platinum band, the perfect mix of him and her, past and present. She smiled as he squeezed her right hand in his, his ability to understand her only growing over the course of their relationship.

“Don’t be nervous.”

“I’m a Nevrakis, we don’t get nervous.” Her voice falling flat, belying her feelings. She turned to look at him. “So few know…” Her hand grazed her visible bump.

“No one will notice, they will be stunned speechless by my costume.”

Olivia chuckled. “Blinded by your impressive abs.” She’d picked the costume before finding out, now she was even more glad she went so extreme to show Ellie and Liam up. Her emerald eyes scanned the front room as they descended the grand staircase. Now where are Ellie and Liam so we can win this bet?

She slipped her hand from his, sliding it around to his backside giving it a hard squeeze as they weaved through the crowd. He removed her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. “If you keep that up, we will have a wardrobe malfunction on our hands.”

“I’d rather not make Adelaide’s night, I’ll behave.” For now.

Adelaide bit her lip as Bastien caught her eye. She allowed her gaze to shamelessly roam his exposed form, her eyes slowly raked down his sculpted chest and abs. What I wouldn’t give to lick them. She shivered slightly as she allowed herself to imagine his chest hair brushing against her erect nipples as she ravished him. Why do all the young men of Cordonia believe a woman wants a smooth chest? A real woman wants a real man; rugged, buff, with hair on his chest. She tilted her head slightly to the side as she reached the sheer maroon fabric. Covered, what a pity. She licked her thin lips as she allowed her mind to wander. She could tell by the barely concealed bulge that he would be a sight to behold. Is it all length or does he have girth too? A shiver ran down her spine as she allowed herself to imagine his large hands manhandling her. She shook her head sadly before draining her glass of champagne. Another opportunity missed. She turned going off in search of another glass of champagne, there was no point in trying to speak to him, she knew Olivia had her claws in far too deep to let him venture off alone looking like that.

Drake’s chestnut eyes went wide and he quickly averted his gaze as Bastien and Olivia joined them. He nervously cleared his throat as he struggled to erase the image of Bastien from his mind. “I love you Bas, but I didn’t need to see so much of you.”

“Admit it Walker, you're just jealous you won't look this good in a decade.” Olivia looked Drake up and down, fighting back a chortle at his stay puff marshmallow costume. “Or ever.”

Drake went to run his hand through his hair forgetting the ridiculous hat on his head. Stupid costume! Next time I’m not letting Ellie pick what I dress as.

"Drake, it's no different than when we do laps."

"Really Bas? It’s a huge difference. I mean that's a speedo. This is…” His words trailed off as he reluctantly looked over Bastien’s costume. “I don't know what it is, but it’s not a speedo!"

“Drake, it really is no different.” Ellie stated. “I’m impressed Liv, getting Bas to show off his impressive form, he will be the talk of court for weeks to come.”

“Excuse me my queen?” Liam asked looping his arm around her waist.

“Relax Li, I’m just saying he has an impressive body and I’ve noticed several party goers checking him out as well.”

Olivia smiled, Ellie and Liam’s costume was so perfectly them, but she and Bastien had clearly won. Ellie wore a royal blue waistcoat, cut low almost like a corset and trimmed in gold. Her black locks were mostly down with two pigtails at the front of her head twisted to form horns, she wore minimal face paint, just a nose and a bit of lines to give the appearance of fur, but not too much as to conceal her identity. She nearly laughed at Liam’s long wavy wig. Instead of a dress he’d opted for a gold tailcoat and matching pants, complete with ruffles at the sleeves and collar. Both costumes were well made, clearly professionally made just for the royal couple, yet the idea wasn’t inventive enough. “Liam, I assure you, you have nothing to worry about, your queen only has eyes for you. But I just need to know, what do you think of Bastien’s costume?”

Liam easily slipped into his kingly persona. “Your concept is certainly... forward thinking”

Ellie and Olivia snorted at his polite answer. Even among friends he found it hard to be harsh.

Maxwell danced up to his friends, Olivia lost it at the sight of his gold lamé parachute pants, airbrushed tee and red, white, and blue jacket, topped off with thick gold chain. “Dare I ask who you’re supposed to be Maxwell?”

Maxwell clutched his hand to his chest as he feigned hurt. “Olivia, how could you not recognize Vanilla Ice?” She raised her brow in question. “He’s a rapper, you know ‘ice ice baby. He’s from the nineties...” He trailed off as his brilliant blue eyes fell on Bastien. “Be honest, do you think I could pull that off? I think I could pull it off.” Maxwell rambled to himself. “OMG WE CAN BE TWINS NEXT TIME!" He screamed excitedly.

The group erupted in laughter.

“It’s not that funny guys.” Maxwell pouted deflating ever so slightly.

“Lord Maxwell, I wanted to thank you for implementing the no mask or full face paint rule for costumes.” Bastien said, glancing at the nearby faces.

Maxwell nodded, he’d originally been upset by Bastien suggestion. He soon remembered how badly he’d taken finding out Justin wasn’t who he thought, especially after getting in trouble with Ellie for the cronut incident.

“Bas, you no longer have to use formalities, we are all friends here.” Liam stated.

“Sorry sir, force of habit.” Bastien replied to a chorus of new laughter.

Savannah rolled her eyes as Bastien and Olivia joined their group. Could she have picked a tackier costume? “Olivia, for a woman who was born into nobility and raised in the palace, you sure lack taste.” She wrinkled her nose at Bastien’s costume. “As Duke and Duchess shouldn’t you have less revealing costumes?” If you could call it that. I’ve seen more fabric on Penelope’s poodles.

“I have more taste in my pinky finger than you have in your entire body. You’re just jealous that your husband couldn’t pull this costume off in a hundred years.”

Savannah eyed Olivia up and down, eyes widening slightly as she opened her mouth to speak.

Oh no bitch, you don’t get to announce it. “You want to talk about taste and class, yet we both know you have none. Why else would you run off to another country when the father of your child turned you down?”

Savannah gaped at Olivia, stunned speechless by her words.

“You may have married a Duke and gained a title, but I assure you, you’ll never be worthy of the title you bear. I mean, all it took was a ring and you forgot everyone who was there for you.”

Savannah felt steam leave her ears. “What is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means your guest list seemed to be missing a key person in your life growing up. But I guess since you take after your mother that’s to be expected.”

“I seem to remember your own guest list forgetting a house.”

Olivia feigned a frown. She didn’t forget, maybe it was petty but she knew Savannah would feel slighted the way Bastien had. “I distinctly remember extending an invitation to every house. I even believe I sent two separate invitations to Ramsford.”

Savannah seethed, her hands curled into fists. “Lord and Duke of Ramsford, what about the Duchess?”

“Oh dear, must have slipped my mind like a certain invitation slipped yours. Not that it stopped you from showing. Bertrand really does need to revisit etiquette lessons with you; it’s very rude to show up to an event uninvited.”

“It’s not like you didn’t have enough food.”

“That’s because a good hostess is always prepared, even for the uninvited guest that may show up.” Olivia smirked at Savannah’s obvious anger. “But really I’m not sure what Bertrand was thinking when he married you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” Savannah growled, she was sick of Olivia’s attitude towards her, she’d put up with it all her life, not anymore.

“I mean, after the stunt you pulled leaving the country with his child, taking money from his house, that the last thing he should have given you was a ring and a title. If it had been me I would have taken custody of the child.”

Savannah took a step forward. She’d spent her entire life trying to live up to the other nobles, now she was one, she refused to allow Olivia to disrespect her in her own house.

“Savannah!” Bertrand grabbed Savannah by the wrist, pulling her back to his side. “You will not attack a member of one of the oldest houses and tarnish the House of Beaumont.”

Savannah let out an annoyed scream. Of course he’s more worried about the status of the family than his own wife. “Fine.” She straightened, hands brushing the sides of her plain blue regency inspired costume. She spun before she stalked off, steam leaving her ears.

Neville felt his face grow hot with rage. The indignity! He straightened the jacket of his perfect recreation of his ancestral costume, the very first Earl of Cormery Isle, a man to be feared and respected. He’d stood idly by long enough watching nobles of so called higher houses make a mockery of his country by choosing so called love over duty to country and picking commoners.

He stalked up to the small group, his dark eyes alight with anger. “Duchess Olivia.” He sneered. “You and your husband,” the word fell from his tongue like acid, “are making a mockery of this party.”

Of course he would find himself important enough to interrupt his betters. “There are horses inside, I guarantee you this party was a ‘mockery’ well before it started.” Olivia turned her back towards Neville, signifying she was done speaking to him.

Bastien wrapped his arm around her back. “She means no offense Maxwell.”

Maxwell bounced on the balls of his feet like a small excitable child. “It wouldn’t be a Beaumont Bash if it weren’t a mockery.” He turned to the party, raising his hands in the air. “Let the revelry continue!”

Olivia rolled her eyes as Maxwell danced away being swallowed into the screaming crowd. She turned to Bastien, standing on her tiptoes to reach his ear, she ran her hand up and down his arm, her hot breath fanning against his neck as she spoke. “We’ve been thoroughly seen and you’ve been ogled by more than half the people here. Let’s get back to our room.”

He took her hand in his, eager to get out of the costume. He still had one question, one that he had hoped to have had answered over the course of the night. “Why this costume?”

“There may have been a bet but, don’t worry, we won.”

A bet?! His eyes went wide at her admission. “You soo owe me.”

“Don’t worry, there might be a small gold bikini waiting for you in Lythikos…”

Let me know if you want on or off the taglist.

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters, I’m just borrowing them from PB.

Feedback fuels me, please like, comment or reblog to let me know how much you like it. I can handle the screams, so scream away.

Masterlist can be found in my bio.

Taglist will be reblogged.

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rezdogsyonder · 4 years

Text

Not Like You Think

Pairing: The Powered!Reader is married to an OC the marvel characters come in later.

Summary: You and your family are in trouble. What lengths will you go to keep them safe? Go against the Avengers? A gang infamous among CIA?

Warnings: Robbery, breaking the law, lying, murder, cheating

A/N: the reader is like early 20’s, married young to high school sweetheart. With a 3 year old. The reader has super strength, is bulletproof, and is influential. Like kilgrave but can turn it off. Also: didn’t expect it to be so long.. sorry! Couldn’t get back to present day in this chapter

**********

You don’t know how it got to this.

That’s a lie. You do, but you didn’t mean for it to get this messy.

They’re almost here. You need to leave. They’re not close to being done though. The car is waiting. It’s running. They’re probably gonna see you leaving if they’re here quick enough.

We could hide. Blend in. Yeah, that could work.

**********

2 weeks before.

“Honey? What time you gonna be home tonight?” You yelled from the kitchen. Your preparing your babies diaper bag for daycare.

“Right around 8:30 ish? Maybe 9. They pretty much don’t let you take more overtime after 9.” He peaked out the door while doing his tie. He walked over to the counter and began eating the food you prepared for him.

“I’ll keep some food in the fridge for you.” You walked by kidding him on the cheek.

You walk over to the bedroom and to the bed, “Come on baby, time to wake up.” She just rolls over and shoved her face in the covers. “Come on sleepy buns, it’s early enough that you can have cereal.”

That got her sitting up, she reaches out to you and you oblige, bringing her to the kitchen.

“How’s my nakey baby?” Christopher smiles poking her belly. She giggles a little bit but she’s still trying to fight it, still wanting to go to sleep.

You put her in her chair and pour some cereal in the tray. You grabbed her soft little brush and put her hair in two little pigtails.

“See you tonight. Love ya. Love you too my little bean.”

“Love you. See you.” You say halfheartedly, grabbing Leia’s clothes for today.

You hear the door slam. Getting her dressed quickly and grabbing her diaper bag and an extra outfit, you’re soon following.

**********

“Leia is at daycare, they close at 4:30, so I’ll need to leave at 4:15, drop her off with Joey, and head back to work.” You say to yourself in your car. You park in the one employee parking spot that is left and walk inside.

It’s not much, but this restaurant has been the only place that would hire you. It’s kinda like a subway, but for burritos and tacos, and the place tips well. Especially in the Summer, which is approaching right now. Pretty soon you’ll have to find a different place for Leia to stay. The daycare you go to only works during the school year.

You have your apron on and hat to cover your hairnet, but you see your day going down the drain when you see your least favorite person. The store owner. The one person you hate because, for some reason, he sees you as a threat. Maybe because the franchise owner almost gave this place to you. Yeah, gave. Guessing he found out from another manager in another store, he went to the franchise owner and laid down daddy’s money.

Why was he even working here if he was rich? Honestly you think he just has a personal vendetta against you. He has hated you since junior year.

“Ugh what are you doing here?” He said in disgust.

“How professional, Jamie.”

“I don’t need to be professional, I’m the boss Y/N.” He smirked smugly. “Just in case you’ve forgotten.”

A customer walks in, saving you from having to speak to him. You try to serve them fast, but slowly too because once they’re sitting at their table, Jamie is just gonna berate you for nothing. Like always.

“Who is the one that worked shifts last night? Hmm?”

“That was me and Matt.”

“What is this?”he holds his hand up.

“A bill?” It was 100. We catered a small party yesterday, probably about 20 people but that 20 brought guests.

“A counterfeit.”

“Well we used the pen thingy on every big bill that we get.”

“No you don’t. Cause then you would have realized it was counterfeit.” The door swings open and you expect a customer but Matt walks in.

“Matt tell him we always use pens on big bills”

“We use the pen on big bills. Every time, a habit we’ve gotten from you docking our pay a billion dollars.” Matt said immediately jumping on your side. A bit monotonous and you suspect it’s because of the bags under his eyes.

“If you used the pen then you would have known it was COUNTERFEIT.” He’s starting to lose his shit. Unprofessional as always. “I will dock you both 50 from your paychecks.”

“You’re so... ugh. You know that $50 is nearly a full shift.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Give me the bill.” Holding out your hand. He looks at you suspiciously before handing it over. You grab the pen from the register and write over it.

You hold the bill out in front of you mockingly. “Did you use an actual marker?” Showing the yellow marks.

His face goes beet red and Matt is about to laugh, trying to hold it back. Jamie just took out his own marker and marks the bill, the color turning a dark blue.

“See?”

“Well then this is on you. Maybe you should quit being cheep and get us more detector pens.”

You cross your arms, and Matt can’t can’t hold it back and he’s giggling quietly. You know Jamie is trying to find a way to pin it on you.

Jamie opened his mouth to say something, but he sighed and walked away. Matt fist bumps you.

“You know one of these days he’s gonna get what’s coming to him.”

“That would be the dream. But right now he is our boss so we gotta dream while we work, come on. We gotta prep the pico and quac.”

The two of you continued your days work in peace, getting a couple regulars. It was a bit busier today than usual, you don’t know what caused it though. You even had to ask Christopher to pick up Leia.

Pretty soon the last group of people left their table and were leaving the restaurant. These guys were really polite, cleaning up after themselves too.

“You get front, I’ll get kitchen and food?” Matt offered.

“Yep, I’ll get the ice ready for you.” You grab an empty bean bin and a plastic knife from your station and walk around to the fountain machine. You jam the knife in the ice dispenser and go to get the mop bucket from the back.

Once back there you hear arguing, they’re shouting and it sounds like they’re through the back door. The door to drop off garbage. You try to hear better by pressing your ear against the door. One of the voices is Jamie.

“Excuse m—”

“JESUS!” It was just Matt. He has a bag of garbage.

“Huho sorry Y/N. ‘Xcuse.” You put your hand on his chest stopping him.

“Here I can take it.” You hold your hand out, he shrugs and gives you the bag. It was warm from the unused meat from today. You scrunched your nose for a second before heading outside.

The arguing stopped as soon as you opened the door. You saw Jamie and a man you recognized as a regular. He’s kinda too attractive to forget. Long brown hair, but it suited him, especially in the man bun he has right now. He was actually apart of the group that just left.

“Hey.” You wave to the customer, “what are you still doing here Jamie?” You said in a less enthusiastic tone. You walk over to the garbage can. Quickly before the meat burned through the heavy duty bag. It wasn’t fun to clean up.

“Just dealing with business Y/N, just head back in.” He snapped. You heave the heavy bag over the edge and into the garbage.

“Whatever you say,” you put your hands up in mock surrender. “Have a good night.” You say to the man with him.

“You too, ma’am.” He took his hand out of his pocket to wave, his shiny glove glinting in the moonlight. ‘It’s nearly summer.’ You thought, but he was still in a long sleeved jacket and gloves apparently.

You went back inside to continue your work, but that weird altercation stayed in your mind. Consuming your thoughts. Matt has the beans cooled back down, good thing because you had forgotten about the ice, he caught it before it started overflowing.

You’re done with the food heaters, the steamer, the tips, and the till. You’re pulling out the garbage from by the front door when you hear a loud bang outside. You go in the kitchen to see Matt.

“What was that?” You keep walking towards the back.

“Y/N I don’t think you should go out there, they’ll probably hit you in the face with a fircracker... Shitkids.”

“Well, yeah but the garbage.” You open the door, or try at least. Something was blocking it.

“Matt? Can you open this?” You push on the door to emphasize your need, even though he can’t see from where he is. Whoever it was probably stacked stuff on the other side. Garbage most likely.

“Yeah, coming.” He walked around you and tried pushing on the door. Even he struggles with the door, which kind of surprised you with him being kinda buff.

The door is open just enough for you to get out and the two of you hear a groan. You and Matt exchange a glance before you squeeze through the door, him trying to pull you back in.

It’s too dark to see anything, the moon had moved higher and maybe behind some clouds, you can’t make out many shapes. You’re holding the heavy bag with two hands so you swing it into the garbage can and grabbed your phone.

“Turn on your flash, cause holy fuck I can’t see anything.” Matt asks, he’s just getting through. The door closing behind him, making it even darker than before.

“K just a second.” You get it on but the phone is having trouble reading your fingers. Whatever liquid was on your hand preventing it. You wipe your phone on your boob and your hand on your hip, it finally reads.

Once you see, the sight has you and Matt standing in shock. It was a body, face down and covered in blood. A good ten seconds has passed before Matt reacts and jumps to the other side of the person.

“Y/N call 911!”

“Yeah.... right.” You dial the number while keeping the light on the two of them. Your slow with your actions, this situation feeling as if it weren’t real. Not paying attention to the monotone voice at the other end, “Get to TacoTacos on main please hurry, send an ambulance.” You keep them on the line, answering the woman’s questions absentmindedly.

“Does he have a pulse?”

Matt’s hands were already on his throat feeling for one. After a couple seconds he shakes his head.

“No, he doesn’t.”

Matt tucks the man’s arm and rolls him over. It was Jamie. He begins cpr.

“It’s my boss. His name is Jamie Ness. I.. I think he was shot.”

“Don’t worry ma’am help is on the way. They should be there in a couple minutes.”

Yep, this wasn’t real. You look away. At the far corner of the shop is a man standing there. He was the man that Jamie was arguing with. He brought one finger to his lips, smiled, and disappeared behind the corner.

**********

“Do you know anybody that would want to do harm to Mr.Ness?” The police officer asks.

“Who wouldn’t?” You look at the paramedic then at the officer, “Sorry, I know it isn’t good to say, but I haven’t seen one person that got along with Jamie.” You pull the blanket tighter around you.

“Do you know what Jamie was doing back there?”

You look the the corner where you saw the man. The paramedic straps that tightening thing around your arm. “No, he might’ve been coming back, but after yelling at us I wouldn’t think he would.... he’s not the kind of person to apologize or say he was wrong. Yenno?” You feel a stethescope being pressed to your chest.

“Mmhmm” he hums, writing in his notepad before slapping it shut, “I should let you go for now, here’s my card. If you remember anything, call me.”

His card said Carl Cohen, and had his number. You nod and tuck it into your apron.

“You’re good to go. I thought you had shock, and you’re blood pressure was a little low and your heart rate was a little high, but nothing too bad.”

The paramedic takes his cuff off of you and you hand him back the blanket. You walk over to Matt who was sitting on the curb. He was looking at the blood on his hands.

“Come ‘ere.” You pull at his elbow. He looks up, you see the tears looking in his eyes. He stands up reluctantly.

You lead him back into the shop. Through the front this time. Bringing him to the sink. You wash his hands for him. It seems he’s the way you were earlier. The blood stained his skin. You do what you can for now.

You lead him back out the front and tell him to get in the car. He usually hitched a ride with you anyways. You run back and switch off all the lights, also writing a note for the opening crew that said call you and you’d explain why the closing didn’t close all the way.

Running back to the car you’re heart breaks when you see him. He’s just looking out the window as tear roll down his cheeks. You shut your door and his attention switches to you, before switching back to the window.

“Do you want to come over to my place?” You offer, thinking he shouldn’t be alone right now.

He nods back to you.

The ride was quiet.

You get to your driveway and notice that an unfamiliar car is parked in front. You park beside Chris’s car.

You open the door for Matt and usher him to the closest bathroom. Grabbing hydrogen peroxide from the mirror, you spray his hands with it. The stains washing away with it. You could tell he feels a little bit better now that he can’t see it, but it’s still bad.

“Hold on.” You rush to your room, upstairs, as quietly as you can so you don’t wake up Leia. You burst into your room, only to find Christopher and a woman in bed.

You stop for a second and you’re shocked, honestly, but Matt is downstairs. You glare and point at your stammering husband “You’re fucking lucky that I can’t deal with this right now.” You grab the shirt you stole from Matt when you were roommates a couple years ago and a pair of your pajama pants from when you were pregnant and huge.

You run back down to Matt. He’s still in the same spot you left him. You place the clothes in his lap and step past him to turn on the shower.

“Clean up. Take as long as you need. I’ll just be outside. ‘Kay?” You kiss him on the forehead.

You leave and softly close the door. Upstairs, the first door on the left is Leia’s room. She’s still in her crib, sleeping face down. You grab another blanket and place it on top of her. She’s practically in a coma if she’s warm.

You close the door softly before going back to your room.

“Well good to see you clothed!” You gesture to the other woman. You know it’s not really her fault, but you’re angry. You pull her closer. “Did you know he was married? Tell the truth.” Using your powers on her.

“No, and I’m really so sorry. He just told me he was a single dad.” She rushed past you, seemingly embarrassed.

“Are you serious?” You’re trying to stay calm. Not wanting to get to angry. “In our house. In our bed. With our baby in the next room?” Each sentence accentuated with one step closer to him.

“You said you couldn’t get out of work, that you were gonna have a late close.”

“So this is justified?” You gesture to the bed.

“I—ugh, I—“ he steps back for every step you take closer.

“Spit it out.” venom lacing your words. He’s backed into the corner.

“We—ugh—we haven’t been together in a while. Um and just, I—”

“Get out.” Not wanting to hear more. You’re backing away now, knowing what happens when you get too angry. Not even he knows, but now you guess he never will.

“What?”

“Get out. It’s that simple. Leave”

“Where will I go? What about Leia?”

“I don’t care, and if you cared about Leia so much then you wouldn’t have done this.” You said matter of factly.

“But—“

“Nope!” You cut him off. “Get out, and don’t you dare think of waking her.”

Knowing him, he’ll stomp throughout the house just to make things hard for you. He seems to always do that when he loses the argument. You watch him step past you and out the bedroom door. You follow, making sure he actually leaves.

Once downstairs you can see he heard the shower going. He grabs his keys and turns to you.

He points to the door then back to you, “Youre such a fucking hypocrite.”

“No, I am not.” You whisper yelled. You began pushing him out the door.

Once he’s fully out you close the door behind him, trying not to slam it, and lock it. You turn around and lean against the door, you hear his car start up and leave. You feel tears welling up in your eyes, you shut them tightly.

This isn’t going to be easy.

#marvel #avengers #powered!reader #marvel fanfiction #not like you think #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes

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dontcallmecarrie · 5 years

Text

starry-bi-sky

replied to your post

“impending deadlines + personal life deciding to try and kick-start a...”

Idk what any of this means but it was awesome

Short version: some things skipped a generation.

Long version: Ben Organa Solo inherited his grandparents’ fight for social justice. He’s the biological grandson of Padme “so this is how democracy dies. With rousing applause” Amidala, and fanboy of Bail “co-founder of Rebel Alliance” Organa, with a side of Skywalker dramatics and Solo-levels of luck.

Simply put, the poor kid didn’t stand a chance. He was socially awkward as a kid, between his nightmares [aka seeing canon in his dreams], and Snoke as the evil little voice in his head, but once those initial hurdles are cleared, Ben’s got all the makings of a leader.

No, think about it: his early nightmares were of the Clone Wars, and his fascination with the Jedi meant he got a good look at their tactics. He’s the only child of General Leia Organa, and his being a Rebel history buff means he also studied up on the enemy’s strategies, too. His social skills are shit, sure, but Ben honestly, genuinely cares for people, in that awkward but earnest way of his.

In another life, where Snoke didn’t screw him over, maybe he would’ve been a shining light in the Resistance, would’ve been famous as the first of a new generation of Jedi, an inspiration. Maybe he would’ve been a brilliant commander, a thorn in the First Order’s hide who would’ve grown into a full-blown pain in the ass once he stumbled over two Force-sensitives while looking for his best friend on some dustball in the middle of nowhere.

...in this life, though, Ben made his peace with a future that would never be, in the cold ashes of a living graveyard.

But while he would never become a Jedi, could never safely join the Resistance, there was something he could do. Even if he’d lost almost everything in one fell swoop, he wasn’t powerless.

Ben shamelessly copied Bail Organa’s moral code: face the future with strength and dignity, no matter how uncertain it was. Stand up and protect those who could not protect themselves. Justice for all, and never be afraid to extend a kind hand to those in need.

Bail Organa fought the Empire. And now the First Order’s shaping up to follow in its footsteps, and Ben will be damned if he lets that stand.

He’s only one man. But he will fight. He will fight until he has no breath left in his body, until his blaster’s out of charge, fight until his lightsaber is pried out of his dead hands, fight until the shadow of the Empire is no longer cast and the galaxy is safe.

aka Ben’s on a one-man crusade against the entirety of the First Order, and it is just as ridiculous as it sounds.

Especially because there’s also plenty of rumors flying around, in all directions, because the First Order’s trying to make itself sound harmless until it’s too late and trying to paint the Resistance as war hawks from the former Rebel Alliance, and the Resistance is fighting the good fight but some planets bought into “hey the Empire’s gone, nothing to worry about anymore”— right up until there’s rumors of the second coming of Darth Revan running around, anyway.

Then, once the sightings get confirmed, that lights a fire under practically every ‘neutral’ planet, because they might not want to enter this mess but last time the galaxy saw that mask, it did not end well and if he had a vendetta against the First Order, then they were definitely staying the fuck away from them because nobody wanted history to repeat itself, nope.

#The Rise of Darth Calamity #The Man Who Sold The World #behind the scenes #behind the scenes mini fic #bonus content #My fic #My writing #Naught replies #Naught rambles

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orderoftheavengers · 5 years

Photo

Ant-Nimagus:

Summary: Azkaban delinquent turned ant-nimagus

House: Slytherin

Species: Human (Ant-nimagus)

Blood Status: Half-blood

Wand: Cecropioa, 6 inches, doxie antenna core

Patronus: Carpenter ant

Broom: Custom job, by Professor Hank Pym

Specialties: Transfiguration, flying

Familiars: Antony, Ulysses S. Gr-ant, Ant-tonio Banderas, Marie Ant-toinette, the Grand Duchess Antnastasia, Ant-ie Em...

Sorting:

Scott was a toughie. He's got strong traits of every house, so the Hat had to sort him by process of elimination.

Scott was a chillax, open-minded, sociable family-guy, which screams Hufflepuff to many. And his motivation for his crimminal activity was to fight the wealthy corrupt corporations and defend the "little guys." That sounds like a Hufflepuff crimminal... but Scott really struggles to stay loyal and hard-working and responsible. Just because he's he's a chill friendly dude who love his kid and looks like Justin-Finch Fletchly doesn't make him a Hufflepuff.

His crimminal history might say Gryffindor to others, since he recklessly broke the law for his percieved values. But Scott leaps back out of bad situations as qiuckly as he leaps into them. And in any case, his fighting style is too sneaky and dodgy to be Gryffindor. (If simply being��any kind of "brave" got you into Gryffindor, this whole series would get boring fast.)

Scott's sneaky and crafty specialties would serve him well in Ravneclaw, and Ravenclaws can certainly be reckless. But if Hank Pym just needed a Ravenclaw to be the Ant-nimagus, he wouldn't have had to look as far as Scott.

The Hat knows it's a stereotype for crooks to be Slytherins. But the fact is, Scott Lang's biggest strength is his cunning, and his biggest weakness is resisting the urge to do what he wants. He may not seem particularly "ambitious," but leading illegal heists is pretty ambitious, and so is trying to leave a lifetime of crime to become a good father.

Story:

You want Scott Lang's Hogwarts story, in a concise, summed-up nutshell?

Sure, no problem!

(Bongos)

Scottie starts his wizarding school at Ilvermorny and he's this super-chill guy who's friends with everybody except the assholes and breaks all the rules, and he's into flying and has crazy dark hair like an American Harry Potter, only without the glasses or the lightning-bolt scar or the get-out-of-trouble-free-card-cuz-you're-the-Boy-Who-Lived coupons, so when he teams up with three other pranksters from different parts of the wizarding world he's all like "Hey I'm Scottie wanna go rob Gringotts and be rich crooks and stuff?" I'm all like "yeah man count me in even though I'm going to like a whole other school in Mexico, and our other friend Kurt is from Durmstrang all the way over in Europe, but we coordinated with our owls and made this kickass heist. But we weren't doing it for the money!

That's a lie.

We did do it mostly for the money.

But we were gonna give some of that money to the muggle-borns and half-breeds and all those oppressed peoples. But still keep enough to have a castle in the Bahamas. We were like Robin Hood. And then we get caught and we all go to Azkaban and get expelled and Scottie's like 'WTF why does that dork Harry Potter get to fly a car into the Whomping Willow and enter a tournament underage and sh*t and it's okay, but we rob one little volt from some trolls and we're expelled?" and the Ministry of Magic is like "Shut up your magical careers are OVER muchachos!" And they broke all our wands in half. And then Scottie's wife divorced him, so when they broke his wand it was like a symbolism of Scottie's life being broken in half and being separated from his "other half."

Wife? Yeah, Scott was married....

Family:

Yeah, so Scottie he was married. Yeah, he's still a teenager at wizard school. Yep, he's got a kid, who's walking and talking. No, no, it's not weird! See I'll explain, real quick....

(Bongos)

So Scott's this impulsive teenager who does the nasty while he's still in high school, and the nasty is a blond classmate named Maginhilde La Fey, who goes by Maggie. Only Maggie's like half Nymph right? So like two days after her and Scott are rolling around under the Quodpod bleachers she's all "Hey asshole I'm five months pregnant!" and Scott's like "WTF? Oh sh*t you're part fairy-person so our baby's gonna age super fast! Let's get married real quck so this isn't weird." But then we do that heist stuff and he's in Azkaban and Maggie divorces him. So then Scott wants to change his ways and go straight to be a good dad to his kid, whose named Casseiopia, Cassy for short.

I'm outta breath, can I get some water?

Ant-Nimagus:

* A note from the editors: Our narrator has been given a glass of water, and a sedative, so as to make the story more accessable to an audience that isn't on Speed. You may continue, Mr. Luis.

Okay, awesome.

(Slightly slower bongos)

So this Professor Hank Pym used to work at Ilvernorny, but quit because Howard Stark was an asshole. So now he's at Hogwarts and he's head of Ravenclaw House. And he's thinking, "Harry Potter's retired and the Order of the Avengers are all off their meds and dropping castles out of the sky and stuff, the world needs the Ant-Nimagus again! But I can be the Ant-nimagus anymore. Look at me, I'm like a hundred!"

(A note from Professor Pym: "I'm 74, thankyou very much.) "

Who do I train to be the new Ant-nimmagus? I have this ex-student guy named Darren Cross, who's this buff handsome Gryffindor, and everyone would think he'd be the hero, and he thinks he's supposed to be the hero, but his mind is all corrupt and evil so scratch him out. The Ant-nimagus has gotta be more humble and smarter than a Gryffindor, but he can't be just a boring Ravenclaw, no I need someone who can break rules...."

So Pym, who's this genius Ravenclaw type, deduces that he needs a Slytherin to do his bidding. So he sets up a trap inside Hogwarts for a group of Slytherins who think they're gonna pull some big school prank by stealing an Invisibility Cloak. But Scott unwraps it and "WTF? I can see this cloak just fine, this ain't no Invisibiilyt Cloak. Imma try it on." And then suddenly he's tiny and has an extra pair of arms, and he freaks out, but Pym changes his mind with his ants, who are like his minions, and they bring tea nad sugar over across the table for Scott--

Ant-nimagus. Sorry, right.

The Ant-nimagus is, I guess, like a normal animagus, only with size-changing powers. So he can turn into an ant, but he can be a normal ant-sized ant, or a giant "Them!" ant. And he can also be a tiny human, or a normal sized human or a giant. And the cloak is more just for magical protection, it just mixes badly if someone who isn't an animagus tries wearing it. So Pym trains Scottie, and Scott's doing this kinda Han Solo and Princess Leia thing with Pym's daughter Hope, who's all "I'm not attracted to you, I'm a walking Ravenclaw stereotype, look at my hair, I'm all buisiness, but damn if I wanna kiss you" and they all fight an evil Gryffindor on a wizard chess board, and it's really badass! And Scott's finally redeemed himself and got his kid back, and his ex-wife and her snotty Prefect husband are his friends and his kid has a giant pet ant and it's all happy but then Captain America comes in--

Uncivil Quidditch Match:

(Bongos)

--and goes "Yo, be on my team in this totally unauthorized Quidditch match, I'm not drunk!" Scottie, he's all, "Sir, this is an honor, even though I'm a Slytherin and you're a Gryffindor. I hero-worship you man, cuz you stick up for the little guy. We are totally breaking the stereotype here, with a Slytherin gushing over a Gryffindor, and then going on to troll another Slytherin for said Gryffindor! Hey Stark, I'm your conscience! Or your sex life or whatever the funny line was. I'm Team Cap's answer to your snarky antihero!" But then Stark's like "psych, I win, you're all in a giant squid detention now. Only I feel bad about it, but I only feel bad about Sam, Wanda and Clint; you I'm just gonna kind a go 'Who are you again?' so you can do the Star Lord 'why does no one know about me and my badass exploits?' thing."

So Scott gets out of the squid and takes a plea deal so he doesn't go back to Azkaban, he just has to do community service and stay in his commonroom on all his off hours. And Hope and Hank are pissed, cuz they're like "You think we're proud of you for being a dumbass for Captain America? Everyone only loves that guy if his name's in the movie's title. This is an 'Ant-Man' movie, Gary Stu got no power here! So we're through with you." So then Scott has to redeem himself again, and he does! But then the whole Pym family gets dusted, and the giant ant plays the drum set, so we have to wait till 'Avengers 4' to see how Scott's gonna save all their asses and redeem himself again.

Endgame:

(Final round of bongos)

So just before Thanos’s dusting spell, Ant-Man and the Wasp and the Old Ant-Man and the Old-Wasp wanna help their new ghost friend Ava Starr, and they’re all “Scotty, go to the Spirit Realm and get some Ectoplasm for our ghostly friend” and Scott’s like “WTF is ectoplasm?” and his girlfriend’s like “Ghost sh*t.” And Scott’s like “Screw that I ain’t touching no ghost manure!” But then his girlfriend’s mom goes “Just think of it like ghost-honey.”

So Scott goes to the Spirit Realm and OH SNAP, the whole Pym/Van Dyne family is Dusted! So Scott’s stuck there for the whole summer, until one of the Weasley family rats named Scabbers the Fourteenth nibbles him free, and then POOF he’s back out!

His half-nymph daughter has had another fairy growth spurt over the three months and is now the same age as her dad, which is awkward. And her mom and stepdad are dust, which is depressing. And me and Scotty’s other two friends are also dust, so he makes our ashes into cute little memorials with our faces drawn in.

Scott hears what happened with Thanos, and also that Thanos destroyed all of the Time Turners in the world. But then Scott tells the Avengers how the Spirit Realm can be used for time travel. So Tony Stark, Bruce Banner/Professor Wolf, Rocket Raccoon/Niffler Hybrid, and Princess Shuri all brainstorm in a lab until they get it to work.

Scott and Tony put their Slytherin brains together and try to out-cunning Loki in the past, but they get distracted by America’s ass, and Scott does some damage to Tony’s hole, and Loki gets away with the Tesseract. Then Scott’s mad at Tony, and Tony and Steve are mad at each other, but they’re also all mushy for each other, and Scott’s like “Get a room!” So they yeet off to the 1970s and Scott goes to eat a taco, but loses it.

Then, the final Battle of Hogwarts! Finally, Scott thinks, I can do the badass thing we’ve all been waiting for! Imma go up Thanos’s ass! But fun fact: Titans don’t have assholes. Which means they’re always constipated, which might be why Thanos is such a jerk. (He’s an asshole cuz he doesn’t have an asshole.) So Scott just kicks ass as a giant ant, and is reunited with his girlfriend and all his friends.

Wand, Broom, etc:

Scott's wand is carved from the Cecrepoia, a rainforest tree that carpenter ants tend to live in. His ant-themed broom can shrink and grow with the rest of him, but he may sometimes lose it in the chaos of a fight and have to improvise with something else, like one of the wingged keys. Scott relies on the ants to deliver his mail, and is growing to hate owls, who he often calls "murderers!" when they eat his ant familiars out of the air during missions.

Notes: Scott came out looking like a "Fairly Odd-Parents" character, for some reason. Oh well. Gotta be honest, sorting Scott into Slytherin had a lot to do with his interactions with other characters. I really loved the idea of Pym hiring Scott as a Ravenclaw logically deducing that he needs a Slytherin. And a Slytherin teaming up with a famous Gryffindor hero, and sneaking into a fellow Slytherin's broom to troll the crap out of him. Among other things, a sad consequence of Rowling's House stereotyping was the missed opportunity of all the great Slytherin vs. Slytherin interactions there could have been.

#scott lang #ant-man #slytherin #hogwarts house #potterverse

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sleemo · 6 years

Text

[Review] The Last Jedi Is the First Genuinely Sexy Star Wars Movie

— Brogan Morris for Slate.com | Dec 19, 2017

Star Wars wasn’t made to be sexy. George Lucas’ original trilogy established the franchise as family entertainment, a descendant of classic swashbucklers and movie serials featuring gallant heroes, plucky damsels and sexless romance. It’s an example that subsequent Star Wars films, from Lucas’ prequels through 2015’s The Force Awakens, followed.

Characters have been eaten alive, bisected and needlessly tortured, but there was never the impression that anybody was knocking boots in this universe. How was Anakin Skywalker conceived? Not in the traditional way, but through the Force impregnating his mother.

Acknowledging the existence of sex and sexuality in the galaxy far, far away is just one of many ways Rian Johnson defies expectations with his Episode VIII. Aside from a kiss between Finn and Resistance fighter Rose that feels like typical Star Wars romanticism, The Last Jedi is unusually sexy. It deals in blatant sexual imagery (think to, on Ahch-To, the eternally erect Force tree and mysterious gushing cavern that both call to Rey) and euphemism. Before Finn and Rose hit up casino planet Canto Bight, they seek counsel from Maz Kanata, who hints that the Master Codebreaker they need to carry out their mission can do a lot more than just penetrate enemy spacecraft.

Finn and Rose glimpse Maz’s apparent ex-flame only briefly, but as played by a twinkling Justin Theroux as a mixture of 007 and Cary Grant (and seen with a Bond girl-alike Lily Cole on his arm), we fleetingly envision a whole other Star Wars franchise starring this guy pulling heists and bedding space-women. Denied the Master Codebreaker’s assistance, Finn and Rose are forced to turn to a slippery thief played by Benicio del Toro, radiating such scumbag allure as ‘DJ’ that, wrote David Edelstein for Vulture, he “only has to gaze on a female character to lift a film into the realm of a borderline R rating.”

It’s not just these two (or, indeed, Oscar Isaac’s Poe Dameron, who seemingly has tension with everyone) whose Last Jedi scenes crackle with sexual energy. For all the surprises and rug-pulls that Johnson confronts his audience with in Episode VIII, arguably the director’s boldest move is in his framing of the relationship between hero and villain.

Light years apart for much of the movie, Rey and Kylo Ren communicate until the third act in a personal telepathic space, periodically connected by a Force-manifested psychic bridge. Their “ForceTiming” sessions are intimate and sensorial, filmed in close-up, Rey isolated on Luke Skywalker hideaway Ahch-To in one frame and Kylo alone inside Snoke’s flagship in another, the sound reduced to just their breathing and gently echoing voices, lending the scenes the aural sensuality of an ASMR video.

In this private place, where they hide conversations from respective surrogate fathers like two teenagers conducting a secret relationship, Rey and Kylo confess deeper feelings of pain and yearning. It all feels shudderingly romantic.

In one of these scenes, through some miracle of the Force, these two lonely, conflicted figures touch hands through the void, something which leaves the pair practically in rapture. In another, as Rey gasps, Johnson indulges the female gaze to cut to a shot of a shirtless and obscenely buff Kylo (kudos, Adam Driver’s personal trainer) that practically salivates over his humongous pecs. For the first time ever, a Sith uses not just mind tricks and manipulation, but also sex appeal to seduce his Jedi prey.

In moments, it all gets a little Fifty Shades of Rey. At first the damaged hunk attempts to manipulate the apparent naïf into doing his bidding, but, slowly, it’s she who learns how to “tame” him. Even the color palette in these Rey and Kylo scenes is erotically charged. Pinpricks of red—it could be flashing battleship instruments, the flames of a campfire licking Rey’s face, the exaggerated rouge of Driver’s lips—appear in almost every frame of the movie, but use of the color occasionally bursts. Throughout The Last Jedi, red is used as a substitute for two things a film of this kind can’t actually show: bloody violence, as in the claret of the alien clay that marks the battlefield on mining planet Crait, and sex.

In certain scenes, the color signifies both: In Snoke’s chamber following his shock execution, the bright red walls are an appropriate backdrop to the savage melee Kylo and Rey enter into with Snoke’s Praetorian Guard (also all in red), and for these two’s suddenly unleashed desires. As they fight back to back, initially in mesmeric slo-mo, with she violently defending him and he her, Rey and Kylo finally declare their passion before a background of crimson and fire. “You come from nothing, you’re nothing—but not to me,” he tells her with brutal affection after they lay waste to Snoke’s crack troop, the scene an explosive, tension-relieving consummation of a movie-long courtship.

Star Wars has been to more “mature” places before, punishing our victorious heroes in The Empire Strikes Back and carrying out Jedi genocide in Revenge of the Sith, but never has a Star Wars film explored human sexuality like The Last Jedi does. If it feels a little unusual, then it’s not just because Star Wars is normally so chaste. (Leia’s gold bikini moment in Return of the Jedi doesn’t count; even if a grotesque space slug wasn’t constantly slobbering on Carrie Fisher in those scenes, director Richard Marquand’s camera is entirely passionless.)

Blockbuster entertainment on the whole is rarely ever overtly sexual. In a four-quadrant movie, a certain level of violence is deemed acceptable, but even a hint of sex is most often off the table. Hulk may smash, but Bruce Banner can only go as far as making doe eyes at Natasha Romanoff.

Why, then, has Rian Johnson decided to give us a legitimately sexy Star Wars? Judging by the rest of his film, Johnson will have likely found some pleasure in breaking from the tradition—in its defiance of series norms, The Last Jedi feels like the first new movie in the saga in 12 years—but there’s more to The Last Jedi’s randiness than a drive to be different for different’s sake.

The Last Jedi is different because it’s been 40 years since A New Hope, and the director knows it’s about time to modernize. It’s 2017: Why should Star Wars still subscribe to pure traditions regarding sex when violence in popular cinema is now approached relatively so liberally? Society, right this moment more than ever, is getting frank about sex and sexuality. There’s no reason why our blockbusters shouldn’t follow suit.

#heres the entire thing #i'll now have a separate tag for reviews and thinkpieces #separate from interviews #review #the last jedi #poe dameron #rose tico #finn #kylo ren #rey #uploads #*#rian johnson #adam driver #daisy ridley #star wars #reylo #long post

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padawanlost · 6 years

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Yeah,I agree with you it's very hypocrticial. People should really watch the documentary movie''The Prequels Strikes Back'' it makes you if not appreciate than understand what GL was trying to achieve I remember one of the people that was being interviewed saying that the OT received the same criticism the PT received(bad script,wooden acting,etc) yet in my opinion the biggest reason why the PT has been bashed so much is because GL dared to make Darth Vader human(cont in part two)

And it’s something I’ll never understand really if Anakin was born bad the whole saga wouldn’t have been such a tragedy in the first place by seeing him grow from this sweet boy to the menacing Vader we realize that contrary to what we’ve been led to believe Vader was a very tragic figure who lost everything he ever loved and it’s what makes Luke’s love and belief in him so poignant(cont in part 3)

Also the fact that Anakin’s character has been so harshly criticized for being emotional just shows how there are these certain expectations to how male characters should behave Luke in the OT was overly emotional and somewhat arrogant in the OT too yet he’s a beloved character while Anakin is hated for it

I wasn’tTHAT into Star Wars before the AOTC premiered but I was always a “movie buff”so I paid a lot of attention to movies, criticis and movie theories. That beingsaid, before the prequels, everything I read/heard told me the Star Wars movieswere praised for how they revolutionized the film industry (with their especialaffects and genre defining storytelling). They were enjoyable movies but theonly people who took them too seriously were the fans, and the fans were noteven all that respected by the media or critics (until the media started validatingtheir stereotypes, prejudices and entitlement after the prequels). As we arewitnessing right now, trashing George Lucas was more fun and way less scary/careerdamaging than trashing Disney.

Don’t tryto rationalized. It will drive you crazy. Because in the end it comes down tothe entitlement of a group of overgrown boys who were mad their fandom (remembertheir motto: “Star Wars is for boys!”)was no longer catering only to them.

If you wantunderstand why the prequels’ story was hated: watch the TFA. The movie waswritten by one of the those fanboys™ with the help of the ultimate sw “entitledwhite boy” fan. They wrote the movie the wanted George Lucas to make instead ofTPM. They wrote A New Hope 2.0. They created the first Death Star 2.0, Tatooine2.0, R2-D2 2.0, etc. That’s why the fandom (back then) wanted. They wanted moreof the same. They wanted the OT… again.

But GeorgeLucas not only didn’t give them what they wanted, he went further and gave themheroes they couldn’t relate to. Character they couldn’t picture themselves being.They couldn’t fantasize being as powerful as Vader or Luke, as cool as Han orhaving sex with slave-girl Leia.

George gavethem a little boy with no agency and a ton of trauma. A bunch of fourteen yearsold girls who didn’t show any skin. And for a villain, he gave them an alienapprentice and his master, an elderly politician. Worst of all, George actuallymade them think. He made them think about politics, mental illness, disfranchisement,slavery, abuse, etc. All things that make people uncomfortable (especiallyentitled men).

The “Anakinshould’ve been bad from the start” is their response to that. If Anakin hadbeen bad from the start, he’d have been more “interesting” because they would’vebeen able to fantasize about being him more easily. Villains usually have moreagency, they are motivated by their own interests instead of being manipulatedby someone else. Vader being evil because he chose to be evil is easier toaccept than a man being manipulated, tortured and enslaved into doing terribledeeds. You can’t fantasy about being a slave, because powerful man can’t be enslaved:/

Anakinbeing born evil is easier to accept. It’s givens them an easier way out. Anakinwas evil and powerful so Vader was evil and power. This way their fantasyremains unchallenged. And they don’t have too think too deeply about thingsthat make them uncomfortable or threaten their fragile masculinity. Because despiteof Luke and Anakin similarities, Luke has something Anakin lacks. Luke hassomething that makes him more desirable and acceptable by the fandom thanAnakin. Luke has a real agency.

There’s areason why the prequels resonated with children, women, teenagers, the mentallyill and the disfranchised in general more than it did to the stereotypical OT purist.And it has nothing to do with the quality of the movies or the characters.

#ask #mrsariayoureakiller #sw prequels #sw meta #anakin skywalker #darth vader #padawanlost #meta: anakin #txt

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