#you cannot convince me that they didn’t fuck before this panel
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so many of ritsu’s lines stick out to me like i feel like i cannot stress enough how much he lives in my brain rent free but the one particular line that keeps recurring in my mind a bit too fucking often is from that one specific panel of ch29.5 …… where he has his whole internal monologue about how he’s forgotten all the sad stuff and things he didn’t like about himself so it’s all okay now and i just ;__;
i actually go back and read the thoughts i wrote when i first read that chapter fairly often since i made a point to bookmark it before i lost them into the void and what broke me so much about that scene is how sad and empty his gaze is when he allows himself a brief moment to recall his experiences and his growth since the darkest episode of his life and also how he is truly trying to convince himself that he’s okay now and doing better now because he’s no longer suffering through the same intense feelings of hurt and betrayal and heartbreak that he did in the immediate aftermath of the incident ……. because it’s clear as day to me that it isn’t okay. he’s never once been okay since he was 15 and as “okay” as he seems on surface (bc he has adapted quite well and is a lot mentally stronger since then and it’s one of the reasons why i like him so much) just taking him as he has grown on surface level obscures so much of his insecurities and struggles with self-worth and trust issues and inability to love openly and fully the way he once used to and nothing will ever change about that no matter how much time passes and no matter how far ahead he’s moved on
but it also hit me again recently how it really is possible to forget about all the sad things and the things you don’t like about yourself ….. i think back to how it’s barely been a quarter of a year since things happen to me and yet i cannot bring myself to feel anything about them anymore even though they were so harrowing and intense when they were unfolding. i think about how it doesn’t even feel like it happened to me and how strange it is when it shouldn’t feel so far away, and how impossible it is that one can move on so much when in the throes of the moment you couldn’t bring yourself to move even a step. i think about how that makes you a very different person from the person you once were, and how ritsu is so different from his past self — and stronger in one sense of it — even though he still retains so much of his earnest, thoughtful and ceaselessly hardworking younger self in the person he is today
but i also think about how in another sense of it, ritsu is weaker than his past self too. and i need to express this in a very nuanced way because i think beyond doubt that he’s wayyyy stronger than he used to be. so much stronger. but it’s just that the contours of his wounds are still part of him today, even if they’ve healed up and are almost completely forgotten. even if he was able to wipe them from his memory through sheer grit and as an important coping mechanism to let go of the past and move steadily forward. because even if you let go of the past, you can’t rid yourself of what the past has left on you. the wounds that have healed and are all but forgotten still feel different on your skin when you run your fingers against them, and are reminders that even though you’ve forced yourself to forget, there’s an unconscious and unchangeable part of you that remembers. and that’s why ritsu is so much more broken and vulnerable than he was before, because even if he’s forgotten most of all that happened and even takano’s face, there’s still that part of him who’s been deeply hurt and traumatised by the “sad things” that he went through and this mobilises him to protect himself from the possibility of any similar situation in the future, even if that comes at the cost of his happiness. and of course there’s the part of him that still hates himself. who yearns for things greater than himself, and is frustrated with the limits that his self imposes on him.
but of course even with all these overthinking crytyping over ritsu’s fucked up mental state, i again still stand on how i think he’s a lot stronger now. even if he still struggles with the parts of himself that bring him grief, they also don’t weigh down on him as much as they used to. and more than anything i think there’s a quiet acceptance in him that this is who he is, and in this acceptance there’s also the determination that in that case, he’ll have to work hard to become who he wants to be. i think he’s moved on so far ahead already in regulating his emotions, in becoming a good editor, in chasing his dreams — and i think he can go so so much further. i think that there’ll be a day that he won’t be held back by anything at all and he’ll be able to accept even the hardest parts of himself to accept, and i’m really looking forward to that day from the bottom of my heart :’-)
#looking forward to burst into UNCONTROLLABLE TEARS THE DAY IT HAPPENS !!!!!1!#anyway . i was supposed to be reading this paper on the economy and shit instead of this#in fact i was reading this paper on the economy and shit when i was seized by intense ritsu feelings like no other#ok lie i’ve been seized by harder ritsu feelings before but today i really wanted to yell my feelings out ….. wah#and it was very refreshing to do so even if i be waxing nonsense poetry at some points ;w; i just love ritsu vvvvv much#i love his strength and his weakness and his duality of both and how incredible he is#i love all that he is and am really just so excited to see him grow even more !!!!!!!!! my emotional support PATHETIC MAN <3
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February 3rd, 2386
The Thread of the Idol
From the Files of the STP
In this, the final entry, we see Jon's initial vision when he took Frehorn's Blade:
Malcolm Somerset is so very sick.
Sick of being gawked at like an animal. Sick of being trapped in a small cell. Sick of being called the Mephistopheles Killer, sick to the teeth of being forced to carry the blame for so many deaths he didn’t cause and didn’t want. Sick with himself because even if he didn’t do it he is capable of it. Sick with reliving that one pivotal moment over and over again when he pushed his father down the stairs and heard the sickening crack of his skull and blood pooling on the floor, dead so his son could steal his name and escape to the stars.
But most of all, he is sick of the Caretaker.
He’s so goddamn calm about everything. Nothing matters to him except, apparently, making sure events happen as he saw them happen. He was the one who convinced him to kill his father, assured him he wouldn’t get caught.
(“You wouldn't have been caught had the Mephistopheles left that locker alone,” the Caretaker replies to that. Jon holds this information in the front of his mind.)
So here they are now, the cell where Malcolm will live the rest of his life, and the Caretaker just shows up without any sign of actually entering the room and talks about how this will be their last meeting.
Good. Because Malcolm is done with the Caretaker and his circular destiny talk
“I don’t care about you or any of your bullshit,” Malcolm tells him. “Just get me out of here and you’ll never hear from me again, I swear.”
“I very much doubt that,” the Caretaker says with the easy air of one examining their nails for dirt. “But rest assured, I am here to release you.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Just use the key and leave by the door.”
“What?” Why did he even fucking ask when he knew the answer was going to be something like that? Malcolm refrains from screaming and tries for speaking to a particularly dim child. He turns towards the door to his cell and says, “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but the lock is on the outside.”
“I’m not talking about THAT door,” the Caretaker replies.
“What are you talking about?!” he demands, whipping back around only to find the Caretaker has disappeared.
Of fucking course.
Malcolm settles in, wondering why he bothered to expect anything. If he’s being honest, nothing truly good has happened to him since he dropped out of college. Not sure why he expected that to change, especially when the one thing he tried to do for himself hinged on his crime not being discovered, a fragile assumption at best.
Then something happens that has never happened before: Malcolm receives a package in his door’s drop. He retrieves it and opens it up, and he doesn’t know what he sees.
(But Jon does.)
Malcolm stares at Frehorn’s Blade, turning it this way and that to examine the strange knife. Then he hears it, a dull pulsing in his ears. He moves back to the far wall of his cell, and he can feel it thrumming there. The wall panel is loose, and he pulls it away.
There is the door.
It is firm but still has a bit of give to the touch, unusually pale and very slightly mottled.
(“Like freckles,” Jon thinks.)
Malcolm finds what looks to be a keyhole, but it is only the shape and doesn’t actually have a hole. It’s there the pulse is at its strongest.
(Jon can feel the pulse under his fingertips.)
With no other option available to him, Malcolm plunges the knife in.
The door opens.
There is a staircase before him, and he begins his descent. The further he goes down, the clearer everything becomes. When looking at everything from the outside, there is no appreciable difference between the past and fate. You make a choice, and you write it down in action, and no matter how many times you look at it afterward it is what you were going to do. The past, the present, the future, they are all the same. You cannot divorce outcome from history any more than you can movement from dance. The step is decided and waiting for a dancer, and one always comes to take the place.
As Malcolm steps into his place, he understands everything. He guided himself the entire way. Everything was waiting for him to catch up, and now he has met destiny and the bliss of that understanding. Before he realized the truth of it, he was her slave. Now that he is free from Body and its constraints under the relentless passage of time, now that he is a being of pure Mind and Soul, he can be her lover.
He is meant to take care of things.
And he will.
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wanna know a quote from Jensen (technically Nesnej) that will forever haunt my memory?
this man is literally asking Misha which leg to lay his dick on and Misha knows it.
#cockles#jensen ackles#misha collins#misha#jensen#jenmish#jensen x misha#nesnej strikes#Jensen ackles is a menace to society#you cannot convince me that they didn’t fuck before this panel#THEY DID#YOU KNOW IT AND I KNOW IT#AND THEY DEFINITELY MADE SURE WE KNEW IT#fuckers
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Rumors, Freebies, and a Race for Last Place
Part Two of The Bet series
Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 22.5K DONT say shit alright just don’t
Warnings: Okay. There is degradation in this, some name calling and heated interactions. There is a LOT of smut, dirty talk and rough sex. If these things offend you, please do not continue reading.
***
It’s recommended to read part one first.
***
Getting into the x-wings is always fun.
It actually might be your favorite part. Granted, alarm bells ringing and thousands of jumpsuits scrambling in all directions is never typically a good thing, but there’s also an inherent rush about it, a thrill in launching up the metal paneling as quick as you can and suiting up to provide aid. It’s a side-effect of camaraderie, of being surrounded by like-minded individuals willing to do everything they can to help. You never feel like you’re going to your death, even though that’s often the grim reality for at least one of you on a good day. There’s always a roaring in your ears while you do it, adrenaline sharpening your senses and preparing yourself for conflict, not thinking anything beyond gogogogogo—
But getting out of the x-wing is… not great. At least for you. It’s sluggish. Your body is always completely drained and you never come out of it feeling the same way you went in. Even in times of victory, there’s a somberness inside you after battle. As much as you tell yourself you’re fighting for good, for prosperity against an evil machine hellbent on enslaving the galaxy, there’s only so many explosions lighting up in front of your eyes and screams cutting out through your comms you can take before winning just doesn’t really feel like winning anymore. Most pilots are able to handle it better than you are, but since you joined the Resistance, you’ve never truly felt the desire to celebrate. Not even when you serve a massive, glaring defeat to the other side. There’ll always be at least one missing x-wing, one empty seat at the table, one person not here to celebrate with you.
You came back in one piece this time. Barely.
The whole mission went sideways—literally. You’d purposefully stationed the tandem just outside the coordinates you were meant to be surveilling so that you’d be hidden from sight and dead to the scanners should the fleet arrive, but something must’ve happened. You must’ve powered down a few seconds too early after he turned the thrusters off, because apparently the ship drifted in dead space for close to eight hours without either of you noticing, having no working computers to actively read your location and correct it. You were sitting ducks right in the hyperspace drop zone by the time the First Order showed up, and by that point you had no choice but to engage.
“Gold-Ten,” a voice murmurs from behind you, and you blink, suddenly seeing the base landing platform stretching out long in front of you, hundreds of docking ships and boisterous pilots scrambling out of them to hug their comrades and congratulate them even as medics rush past with white coats and gurneys. They’re never for the pilots, but they dispatch healers anyways whenever a convoy returns in case a straggler gets picked up. There’s an unspoken understanding in space battle—pilots never get injured. They either come back unharmed, or they don’t come back at all.
Dameron.
You turn around and watch him slowly approach you with an unreadable expression, his jumpsuit still bunched halfway down his torso. The once bright white sleeveless undershirt is now greasy and damp with sweat, his dark curls sticking to his forehead. He winces with every bow-legged step—you know the feeling—before he’s standing directly in front of you and something is carefully being pulled out of your hands. You didn’t even realize you were holding onto anything.
Your helmet. You forgot to leave it in the x-wing, and you’ve been carrying it around under your arm aimlessly while mentally checking off the squadrons as they return, counting the numbers you lost today while everybody else hugs and whoops and claps each other on the back.
It’s not as bad as you were expecting it was going to be, not as bad as it seemed just an hour earlier when you were listening to Dameron bellow out evasive flight maneuvers a millisecond before he enacted them and you adjusted your firing at the TIEs accordingly. You used to think you were quick with how rapidly you could suit up and fly out, drop in to assist and engage, but on the other side, it felt like your reinforcements lollygagged for ages before arriving. You were left to defend against an entire fleet in one stupid ship, more lines of TIEs sinking like flies from launch decks every second.
“Gold-Ten,” you hear again, and you blink a few times, needing to focus your vision before you can find his gaze.
Dameron’s palm, previously hovering a few inches above your shoulder, suddenly drops to spread along the curve of it and you take a deep breath, almost wanting to shudder at the feeling of something touching you. You channel all your focus into it, feel his fingers branch out strong along the tight muscles in your neck, giving you an anchor you automatically lean into.
You and him are no strangers to touching. Before today it was mostly reserved to poking and prodding and flicking and light slapping in an effort to piss each other off, but now… you can’t even think about it right now, your body will just fucking glitch out on you. After everything that just happened, you cannot think about where else that hand has been recently, not right now.
“You did… you did really fucking good today,” he tells you quietly, slowly trailing his hand down the length of your entire arm until he catches your wrist and a few of your fingers in his loose grip. “Seriously. That was… we were…”
His touch is so present, so reassuring. Grounding, when all your mind wants is to just float away. You glance down at where his fingers are gently tangled with yours and you feel your hand tighten just slightly, the smallest squeeze while he blinks down at you.
“We almost died, like… every single second,” you barely manage to croak, not really having the words to express it right now. You always need at least an hour or two after missions like this to just sit in one place and regroup. Usually you find yourself wandering back to your room to lay on the bed and stare up at the ceiling while you consider your own mortality, but Dameron interrupted you this time before you could process it by yourself. “We…” Your voice sounds absolutely shredded. “W-We shouldn’t even be alive right now.”
“I know,” he nods in soft agreement, taking a small step closer to you. “But we are alive. Hey.” He dips his head as soon as your gaze starts to drift, catching your eyes once more and drawing your attention back to the present with a squeeze of your hand. “We’re alive, right? Be alive with me.”
You take a big breath in and close your eyes, feeling the oxygen fill your lungs once more, but this time, it’s… restorative. A wonderful, beautiful reminder of your existence. You’re alive. Usually the word just feels like a synonym for persevering. Pushing onwards despite trials and tribulations, not looking back. But the way he says it, especially with his hand in yours and a quiet invitation to tag along, it sounds… breathtaking. Full of light, and hope. It suddenly leaves the dim shadows and slides into a completely different category of feelings, feelings you’d never imagine being able to conjure so quickly after such a close brush with death. Alive—it slots right in next to words like colorful, radiant, sunshine, and butterflies. Enchanting words, ones you’d like to hear again and again.
Your eyes slowly open and there he is, the man you were sure was going to accompany you to the afterlife. You were stuck with Poe Dameron in one of the closest calls you can remember, and strangely, his presence was nothing if not… a comfort. For the first time in your life, you were grateful he was there.
You open your mouth, suddenly feeling the needy, unfounded urge to tell him that. “I’m gla—”
“Dameron!” You hear a series of voices call from somewhere to your left, and he immediately drops your hand to whip his body around and place himself directly between you and the approaching onlookers, using his large frame to hide you from their sight.
“What’s up, Briggs?” Dameron projects to one pilot in particular that seems to be leading the group, his back oddly close to you in this position. Your fingers still feel tingly from where he was holding onto them.
A chorus of congratulatory, “Nice flying, Captain!” and the like can be heard floating through the air from beyond his shoulders, before the leader speaks loudly over them. “Hey—me, Seven, Six, and Twelve were gonna grab some drinks in the mess hall with a few of the Blue girls,” he tells Dameron, slowing to a stop as soon as he sees you standing awkwardly behind him. “Oh hey, Goldie.”
You lift a hand and clear the remainder of the dissociation from your throat, not knowing him well enough beyond the squadron he and his group fly with. “Greenies.”
“Anyways, I guess they wanted to know if you’d come too. These idiots are convinced they’re never gonna give us the time of day unless you—”
“Uh—fine, whatever, just give me a few minutes alright?” Dameron quickly assures him with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ll meet up with you guys later.”
A few of them take turns giving him heavy claps on the shoulder and acclamatory words before the group eventually disperses, and he waits a few more seconds for their attention to fully scatter in another direction before turning back to you.
Shit, he’s standing really close. Why is he so close to you? You take a step back and blink up at him, the noises of the landing deck gradually amplifying back up to normal volume as you retreat back into your own space. Since when did he have that effect on you? You suddenly feel wide awake, and the chorus of happy chaos surrounding you is something you’re finally able to take in. You knew it was happening before, but it was like it just existed outside of the creeping numbness. Now, the knot of internal turmoil has untied itself a bit and you feel your surroundings start to fight for your direct attention.
Dameron continues to look at you the same exact way, though. Like you’re still the only one here.
You look down at his half-suited figure and blink at the helmet loosely held in one of his hands. Hey. Hey, that’s yours—
“Give me that,” you hiss, suddenly snatching it from his fingertips. “You have people waiting.”
The cutting words serve to snap him out of whatever spell he’s under. Dameron quickly lifts his head and looks around a few times with sharp eyes, before hooking your elbow and twisting you into a complete 180 until your back faces most of the excitement. You resist, immediately trying to push him off you and worried he’s going to confront you about… things, but he’s determined.
He doesn’t say anything to you at all, though. His fingers quickly grasp the baggy fabric of your jumpsuit even as you sputter and start to ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, and you glance down just in time to see him yanking the gaping velcro closed at your crotch.
Your cheeks instantly start burning as he tugs and smooths the fabric down until it’s seamless once more, especially when his eyes flick up to yours without moving his head. Fuck, you’re instantly hot with some wicked emotion, a mixture of embarrassment and outrage and… something else. Maker, you almost wish you were numb and disoriented again, if only so you could avoid feeling whatever the fuck this is.
You quite suddenly shove your helmet back into his stomach with an infuriated sound even as he doubles over with a shocked whoosh of air, changing your mind about returning it to the ship yourself before storming off without another word.
***
Okay, so you’ve done some thinking, and. Well. Fuck him, that’s what you’ve decided.
No—not… fuck him. But like, fuck him. You know. In the negative sense of the word. The bad fuck.
There’s a full tray of food sitting in front of you but you’ve so far been unable to touch it. Mostly you’re just wondering why the fuck you’re even here. Well, you know why you’re here—you should eat, it’s dinnertime and this is the mess hall. You’ve been known to skip out on meals after heavy missions, secluding yourself away and just wallowing for a bit, but you… strangely didn’t feel like doing that today. You don’t want to self-isolate when you feel okay enough to avoid it, not again. So you’re here, because the clock says your tummy should want food, but you can’t bring yourself to even look at it.
No, you’re looking at him. Glaring, actually.
Across the mess hall and beyond the transparisteel divider that separates the cafeteria from the bar area, Dameron is all eyebrows and smiles and side nudges and winks right now. You can’t hear him—the sound won’t travel this far, but you can see him situated in the middle of a rowdy group of pilots. He laughs in that disgustingly charming way of his, where his stupidly cute nose scrunches up all cute and stupid and you want to just ask the Maker why he’s doing this shit to you. What have you done to deserve this torture? Sure, you may have willingly agreed to it, even… conceived and propositioned the idea, and sure, absolutely nothing is stopping you from forfeiting and walking away at this exact second, but does that make it okay? No, you’ve decided. It’s not okay. He’s not allowed to… to make you feel like this, so fuck him. In the bad way.
“Just fuck him already,” a voice suddenly grumbles as someone plops down into the seat to your right, plastic trays of food clattering loudly on the table and snapping you out of your reverie. Gold-Sixteen blocks your view as he silently drops into the seat in front of you and wraps his green lekku around his neck a few times before immediately beginning to shovel food into his mouth, while Gold-Three opens her box of blue milk next to you and continues. “The Blues never fucking shut up about it, it’s getting annoying.”
“Don’t listen to her, Dime,” Gold-Eleven tells you, quickly occupying the seat on your left and biting into a crunchy piece of fruit, talking loudly over the chatter even as he chomps. “Rossi just knows her pool is up tomorrow, she doesn’t want to lose any of her precious credits.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Gold-Three immediately snaps, leaning forward and around you to point the prongs of her fork at Eleven threateningly. “Zhang’s pool starts on Sunday.”
“Oh fuck off, you guys are betting on this now?” You groan, shoving your plate away with a flick of your fingers now that you’re certain you’ve completely lost your appetite. Sixteen immediately snatches up one of your bread rolls while Zhang swipes your juice and Rossi goes for a packet of glockaw sauce.
“You’re the one who announced it in front of everybody, we’re just being active spectators,” Rossi returns, ripping the packet and pouring the sauce on her vegetables with a shrug. “How the fuck do you bet against fucking each other though, that’s my question? It’s a paradox, wouldn’t you both just lose at the same time?”
“Dameron and I aren’t going to fuck,” you tell her very slowly and clearly, starting to get a headache. Why is it impossible to avoid this conversation topic, even with an entire Resistance base to roam around in? “Ever. The bet never had anything to do with fucking each other, it’s about not fucking other people.”
“Literally what is the difference?” You hear Rossi ask with her mouth full, but Zhang speaks over her.
“Somebody should probably tell Nine that, she’s the bookie,” he tosses out carelessly, dropping the core of his piece of fruit to his tray before wiping his hands on his jumpsuit. You bury your face in your hands and let out a loud, exhausted sound into your palms, not knowing which response serves to aggravate your already emotionally overloaded ass even more. Nine is the bookie, of fucking course she is. “But hey, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think any of it actually goes outside of Gold, so.”
“I’ve heard the Blues talking about it, but that’s it,” Rossi chimes in while chewing some of her veggies. “Maybe some Reds. Point is everybody else thinks it’s already happening, honestly.”
“What the fuck,” you whisper, using your knuckles to rub at the backs of your eyes until bright spots appear. Where are stress headaches localized? Are those the ones right under your brow bone? Because stars, you feel it. “Fucking… why? Why do people think that me and Dameron are…?”
Nobody at the table immediately responds, and you drop your hands after a moment to look at each of their astounded faces in turn.
“You fucking serious, bitch?” Rossi blurts first, her voice completely deadpan, and you growl in vexation.
“Have I not been vocal enough about my severe dislik—”
“And yet you kicked Nine out of your room to let him bunk with you,” Zhang immediately suggests.
“You request mission assignments together,” Rossi adds.
“Spend your off-days together,” Zhang continues.
“You’re both really weird about how long it takes the other person to shower,” Rossi tacks onto the list Zhang is now making on his fingers and you shake your head frantically.
“No—no, that’s so that we know neither one of us is cheating,” you try to explain, and you already know it sounds unconvincing without needing the two quick, lofty and sarcastic nods on either side of you. “Showers and off-days are prime masturb—no, you know what? No. I’m tired of the assumptions, I don’t owe anyone shit. This is super fucking uncool of you guys, you know that? It’s insane that this is what counts as gossip in the Resistance nowada—”
“There’s only so much bad news people can take, Ten,” Gold-Sixteen grunts down at his almost finished plate, and all three of you snap your gazes across the table at him. The forest-tinted twi’lek doesn’t speak much, it’s uncommon to hear his voice without distortion over the comms, but you blink as his sharp teeth continue to form words without looking at you. “Quit being so sensitive. Rather bet on this shit than which system is getting demolished next.”
And with that, Sixteen excuses himself with a silent nod, having gobbled down his full plate while you, Three, and Eleven were bickering. You feel your cheeks flare with anger and shame—you didn’t deserve that, you immediately reassure yourself, but the hidden self-doubt the comment sows just further contributes to your upset. You want to call out to his back that just because the First Order exists doesn’t mean you have to put up with your own fucking squadron turning you and your mortal enemy into glorified race fathiers, but he’s already leaving the mess hall while Rossi and Zhang have moved on to other topics, both of them continuing to grab more food from your tray as they talk.
You have a tough shell. But today was… a lot. You bite your lip down at the table against the sudden wave of emotion, blinking quickly to clear the weakness watering your vision.
See, this—this right here is why you use last names. These people aren’t your friends. Betting on who you fuck for laughs, using you as a source of entertainment without your consent just because they’re in the middle of a war, and then guilting you into feeling like you’re the one acting like a stuck up bitch about it? You’re fighting in the same fucking war—you’re on the front lines just like everybody else and nobody gets to lecture you on the devastation of battle. You almost died today. You fought tooth and fucking nail to stay alive and by all accounts, you shouldn’t even be sitting here right now, much less dealing with this childish shit. This is your squadron. These people are supposed to be the ones closest to you out of everyone, the ones you’ve been flying into chaos in formation with for years, and yet not a single damn person has even mentioned your performance to you today, all anyone can ever seem to talk about is—ugh.
Unfortunately, your unobstructed view also allows you to look at the source of your bad mood once more, immediately noticing the way more people have crowded around him now, and the headache continues to throb painfully behind your eyeballs. You were in the same ship, does nobody realize that? You were gunning, he was flying—you were offense, he was defense—that’s the only fucking difference, and yet, it’s like that side of the mess hall is just completely lit up with hearty laughter and music playing from someone’s holopad and congratulatory drinks being passed around, while yours is… well.
You continue to fume inwardly, struggling somewhere between bitter and hurt, and you can see your reflection through the transparisteel giving him a death glare, wondering how many of the people surrounding him have made bets with Nine. How many of his little entourage have their money wagered on Dameron getting in your pants by a specific dat—
You stop short while staring at his handsome face, an infuriating, horrifying thought suddenly striking you. No… no, he wouldn’t…
“Does he know?” You immediately interrupt the chitchat between Three and Eleven to ask with a deadly edge in your voice, tipping your forehead at pretty boy. Ooh, you can already feel it burning. It would be so fucking typical. Oooooh, Maker, if he’s heard even a fucking whisper about this outside wagering going on amongst the pilots, you will fucking smother his ass in his sleep tonight. How could he not know? With as many friends as he has? If you’re just being made aware of it, then it’s a given that somebody has to have told him by now, which just means that it’s all the more possible—shit, even more likely—that he’s… participating, too. You do your best to keep your voice even, but you can hear the quiet fury shaking in it. “The bet about when me and him are gonna fuck, does he know about it?”
“Who—Dameron?” Zhang turns his head. “No, I don’t think s—”
“Yeah,” Rossi says at the exact same time, and your blood instantly turns ice cold as Zhang leans around you to blink at her stupidly.
“No. Yeah? What?” He says, sounding genuinely confused.
“Yeah, remember?” Rossi confirms with a shrug. “Nine was mad as all shit, came at me in the rec room a few weeks ag—fucking Maker, Eleven, you were there.”
“Oh,” Zhang suddenly exhales, “yeah, that’s right. Oh, yeah, Dime, he knows.”
You’re—fuck, you’re about to rampage. You’re burning a fucking hole through Dameron while he converses animatedly with his numerous buddies, waving an open hand and shaking his head at someone with a smile and then gesturing broadly to this side of the transparisteel. His pool is probably up soon, you figure. That’s why he came onto you so strong earlier today. He was going to get two weeks of your pay, plus whatever he must’ve offered up to Nine that says he’d get it to happen within a certain amount of time. Perfect, your old roomie and the arch nemesis you stupidly agreed to trade her for, two asshole peas in an asshole pod.
“—she thought I was the one who told him—” You know Rossi is still talking but you’re not actually hearing any of it. Nobody has any fucking idea. Nobody has any idea what he did to you today, how unbelievably close you were to… to actually… “—was all just for fun, but then he had a few choice words for her and told his squad that if any of them had made a—” You don’t know why you’re so surprised honestly, you should’ve expected…
Wait.
“Wait,” you suddenly blurt, and while she shuts up immediately, your mind starts whirling even faster. Dameron had some… what? “Wait. Explain. You’re saying he didn’t…” You slowly shake your head, furrowing your eyebrows and trying to piece it together. “He didn’t… place a bet with her, or anything?”
“What? No,” Rossi shakes her head a lot more forcefully than you, getting frustrated. “No, fucking—didn’t you hear anything I just said, Ten? He got all high and mighty for some stupid reason, totally reamed her ass out for it.”
“But…” You blink, stunned. “But… why? Why would he…?”
Rossi shrugs. “Fuck if I know. All she said was that he ordered Black not to throw in, made her lose a fuckton of money from it. Had no idea Dameron would be so touchy about his sex life, honestly.”
He… he isn’t. He isn’t touchy about his sex life—you feel like he never shuts up about it.
Rossi continues talking, but you’re not listening again. You stare stupidly at yourself in the clear transparisteel as Dameron’s voice comes back to you, repeating something you specifically remember him saying earlier today. Something you thought was just a careless jab at the time, aimed blindly at one of your comrades with nothing more than the intent to piss you off.
…I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half…
You blink beyond your own reflection to focus on him once more, still lost in his own little world, not paying a single lick of attention to you while you’re essentially having a fucking crisis over here. You didn’t think the insult had any real substance to it at all. You just naturally assumed that was the result of him wanting to lash out at anything or anyone remotely close to you, if only to get a reaction, so you never gave him one or paid it any mind.
This is why he said that about Nine? Because he knew she had organized this fucked up betting pool behind your back?
Stars, you need to get out of here, all these rumors are fucking with your head. Your assumptions and the hairpin turnarounds are giving you worse whiplash than Dameron’s… well, admittedly spectacular flying today. You were wrong about wanting to avoid isolating—in fact, that suddenly sounds like a phenomenal idea.
So, you just get up and leave right in the middle of Rossi’s sentence, needing some time alone. Neither of them call out to you as you quickly walk around the table and through the barrier towards the exit, thank the Maker, and you’re just about to retreat with no interruptions until suddenly two Greenies step in front of you and block your path.
You halt immediately, looking up at them with a furrowed brow. “What now?” You grunt, not having the patience to even wait for a response before attempting to squeeze around them.
“Hey, so you really saved our asses out there today, Goldie,” the one on the left quickly sidesteps in front of you and rushes to say, and you settle your weight back on your heels with a huff.
“What are you talking about?” You glance back and forth between them, not recalling a time you’ve ever spoken to either one, before jerking your head to gesture over your shoulder. “Go congratulate trophy boy over there, he was the one flying.”
“We did,” the one on the right tips sideways to look at Dameron behind your shoulder, likely still laughing and joking with someone about something, something super fucking dumb probably. “Well, uh. We tried.”
“What?” You let out a heavy sigh and rub your temples. “The fuck is that supposed to mean? I don’t have the time.”
“He won’t take any credit, just keeps saying that all he did was steer you around,” the other one shrugs as his companion straightens and looks down at you once more. “Wouldn’t accept any drinks we offer him, nothing. So we thought we’d buy you one instead. Unless you’re… leaving?”
It takes you a few seconds to process that, even as he allows the open invitation to hang in the air. You can’t stop the way your torso automatically twists around to study your copilot from across the mess hall in baffled silence, suddenly realizing that they’re… they’re right. Dameron has no congratulatory drinks sitting in front of him even though more and more people have made their way into the bar. He’s just sitting there grinning and nodding along to something someone else is saying, completely and blissfully unaware of the extent to which he’s fucked with you in the past twenty minutes. The past… whole day. Month and a half. Or… fuck, how long have you known him? Two years?
But then Dameron’s gaze gradually drifts this way, before suddenly locking with yours. His eyes flick behind you to look at the two Greenies blocking your exit, and then back to the way you’re staring at him, wide-eyed and startled.
He suddenly stands up and starts to take a few steps towards you, and the sheer abruptness of the movement causes you to react immediately. You stumble your way backwards through the two pilots, feeling a few hands reach out to steady you through the awkward fumbling, but you slap them away and announce loud enough for Dameron to hear beyond them that you’re taking a shower, and you don’t give a fuck how long it’s gonna be this time.
***
The knob squeaks as you turn the water on. Usually you’d step back and wait the grueling five minutes or longer it takes for it to heat up with your arms crossed over your naked chest, but this time you move directly under the freezing spray, hoping to use the ice cold to shock your system.
You're finally alone.
Technically solitude doesn’t really exist within this base. You’ve heard of others that are a little nicer, having a little more room for the ranks, but not here. Housing assignments, showers and restrooms, mess and recreation halls—they’re all communal. Everyone is given rotating shifts, so while that means there’s never any true quiet to be found, it also means that showers are spread out well throughout the day and night.
But, at least for this moment, there’s nobody else around. At least in here, in the tiled chamber with multiple shower heads stationed around you—you’re sure there are a few girls lingering in the locker room and the entry area beyond it, but for right now, you’re blissfully by yourself.
And yet, you can’t seem to enjoy it.
You know you should be basking in the isolation. You should be thrilled at the rarity of only hearing your own flipflops slap against the floor as you turn around and drench your hair with the icy spray, but the lack of an immediate distraction for your focus allows it to wander to things you don’t want it to.
Explosions, mostly. Lighting up like fireworks in front of your eyes even as they flutter closed and let water drip down them. Constant, never-ending. Some of them small—TIEs you shot down, allies drawing fire away from you and then subsequently getting overwhelmed, zipping through dense debris from deadly collisions so quick that you had trouble distinguishing friend from foe. Some of them were massive—star destroyers splitting apart, warp drives overloading, enormous casualty counts. You don’t know how many lives you took today, not directly.
The beginning was the worst—when you were still slightly disoriented, when you were panicked and screaming into the comms for assistance. Then the closest stationed tandem showed up first—Red-Two and Eight, you think it was. Doesn’t matter now. They took some heat off you before the cavalry arrived, but you remember Dameron barking out your name the second their left thruster got nicked and they started spiraling, a ferociously deep, “With me!” cutting through the white noise. It was enough to snap you back, forcing you to instantly flick your eyes away and focus dead ahead without witnessing their demise.
It wouldn’t have normally been necessary. You’ve been flying with the Resistance for years, you’ve seen way too much bloodshed by now. But you’ve never been the catalyst of it—you’ve always been able to confront threats accompanied by your squadron, right between Nine and Eleven, the flight controls rumbling steady under your palms. You’ve never faced down an entire fleet in one single ship. You’ve never had to rely so directly on the skills of another pilot in order to stay alive.
The water slowly heats to a lukewarm while you reach for the shampoo.
Surprisingly, for as much as the two of you clash in normal interactions, it was like everything eventually became… synchronized. Spectacularly so. Dameron started off the enemy confrontation by calling out his flight patterns to give you a chance to adjust your firing in real time, but then at some point, it just stopped being necessary. There was a moment where you both were able to suddenly… get it. Get each other. He didn’t have to say anything after that—you could predict each other without second guessing, react instantaneously, and work your way through the littered battlefield accordingly. You never thought it would be possible to collaborate so well with someone you’ve spent ages despising. Sure, you’d both die if you didn’t—shit, you’d probably still both die regardless—but this kind of teamwork extended beyond the need to survive. It doesn’t matter how much you want to stay alive when reading someone else’s mind is physically impossible, but for some reason… You have no idea why, but it apparently came naturally between you. It fell to pure instinct, pure reaction, and remarkably, his would somehow match yours perfectly, every single time.
You lather the shampoo in your hair, remembering how his voice changed over the course of the mission. How it gradually shifted from panicked roars and barked orders into ecstatic cheers and genuine praise after landing a difficult shot, how he just couldn’t seem to stop whooping.
You smile softly as the tepid water rinses away the dirt and sweat from your body, until the temperature is brought up to a gentle, comfortable warmth raining down you and echoing in the empty shower room.
And, your first name. Dameron kept calling you that, the whole time. The one you’re now absolutely certain you’ve never personally given to him. The one he would’ve had to have listened for specifically. Remembered, or at least asked the right person about. But why? It’s not… it makes no sense, he doesn’t give a shit. He’s notorious for not giving a shit. He can’t even be bothered to remember the names of the girls he’s actually with—so why did he go to the trouble to figure out yours? You’ve been nothing but a thorn in his side the same way he is to you, right?
Right?
Your mind starts recollecting more recent events, trying to work through and process it by yourself. He was… singing your praises today. He was openly giving you credit for the win while you pouted in the corner and assumed the absolute worst of him. As much as you’re frustrated that nobody else seemed to give voice to your contributions, you’re even more surprised that he was the one who did.
And then even earlier. Gold-Nine, holding wagers with members of your squad (and others, apparently) about when you’re going to fuck him. Dameron, tearing her a new one for it, forbidding Black Squadron from throwing in and not attempting to hide his disdain for her from you. He… he defended you. Stood up for you when your own squad was being a bunch of dicks behind your back. And nobody ever fucking mentioned it to you. What did Rossi say—a few weeks ago? He’s known all this time and only today, only after you… openly showed more interest in him than you ever have, after you worked up enough nerve to try in your own little way to flirt back this time instead of responding to his casual comments with contempt and disgust, only today is when he decided to make a real move on you.
…Your mind is completely blank and yet you still feel yourself start to heat up just a bit at even alluding to the events that took place earlier. The way his fingers felt—
Steam begins to fill the open concept chamber while you shake your head against the train of thought and reach for the soap, beginning to circle the bar along your arms and shoulders with a sigh. This is already the longest shower you’ve taken in almost two months, and your body slowly relaxes under the mist and heat as you take forever cleaning yourself, slowly and hypnotically rubbing the soap along your skin.
The second you let your eyelids dip shut at the feeling, you immediately shiver at a flash of Dameron dragging his finger out of his mouth and blinking dark eyes at you through the transparisteel.
Fuck. The soap slips from your hand and you quickly catch it against your body before it falls to the ground completely, suddenly feeling the need to breathe in the misty air a bit harder. Shower, you’re in the shower. Come on.
The dirt and grime is scrubbed from your face and you tilt your head to move the bar of soap across your neck. As it lathers, you can’t help but remember the way his lips felt against the skin right there, the scratch of his beard. You keep working the soap against that same spot for a while, not knowing if you’re trying to wash away the sensation or simulate it, until you gradually slow and make it lighter, softer—yes, that’s closer to how it felt, that’s—
Soon the water is boiling hot and you’re trying not to boil along with it, remembering everything he said against this spot, the filth he whispered to you here. Your pussy starts to throb between your legs as the memories play out in your mind, how close he got you to shattering bliss without even really working for it. If you put it all together collectively, you don’t think he actually touched you for more than a minute or two total today. Mostly he just talked to you, but stars, he hit buttons you didn’t even think you had, had you a split second away from cumming harder than Maker knows while his finger rested just above your clit and provided no stimulation whatsoever.
Fuck, you enjoyed it. You did, you’ll admit it when there’s no one else here but you. You enjoyed the fuck out of it. You wish he’d do it again. Force you to lose, force you to cum so you can at least blame him for it, remove your responsibility from the equation and allow you to put just one more thing on his shoulders, to taste ecstacy instead of expecting you to bear the weight of pretending you don’t need it any longer. He was doing you a favor, you realize that now. Your body is staging a fucking coup and you wish you could’ve called mercy before it got to this agonizing point. He turns you on, you fucking admit it. He inspires violent emotions in you—jealousy, arousal, anger, temptation—thoughts you don’t want to have and consolidating it all into various forms of hatred makes the finer details easier to ignore. Your perception of him has always been skewed by your iron will, but he all but took a fucking sledgehammer to it today, dented it beyond all recognition. You want him, you want to him to take it all away, you want him to fuck you—in the… fuck, in the good way.
You don’t have a thought beyond that. Your hand quickly falls down the length of your body to wash your private parts, biting your lip as your hips slowly start to rock into it. You’re getting clean, you’re getting clean, this is how you clean yourself, this is… yes, as long as you keep the bar of soap pressed between your palm and the top of your curls like this, you’re cleaning yourself and you can just… ease your finger down just a little bit and—
Flipflops suddenly echo from the twisting hallway leading to the tiled freshers, and you immediately snatch your hand back up again, not needing to turn around to know another girl is walking into the room. A knob somewhere to your right eventually makes a dull squeak as you quickly finish washing up and turn your showerhead off, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around yourself.
Maker, you feel like your pussy is plotting your demise. Fuck, you can’t believe you almost cheated in the fucking showers just now where literally anyone could walk in, you thought you would’ve had more self-control than that. You make your way into the changing rooms and grab your pajamas, starting to tug them on without fully drying your body and having only one thought in mind.
Dameron will probably be celebrating late tonight. You can tuck in early, scurry back to your room and cheat there.
Well, no, not cheating, because you clearly remember making a very compelling argument about wet dreams earlier today. Maker, a freebie, the word has never sounded so enticing. What you’d say amounts to a… bye-week orgasm basically, since you know he’s already lost at least one match against his own body and you’re meant to be competing on the same level. It’s only fair to let you persevere through the toughest part of the challenge if he was allowed to throw a game early on and still stay in the competition. Maybe he threw multiple games, you never got a straight answer concerning that, so it’s still under review. He could’ve thrown… three games, even. Or four.
You dress as quickly as possible and then nearly bolt through the entrance area to the restrooms with all the sinks and stalls. The balled up dirty clothes and wet towel in your arms allow you to hide the way your nipples are stiff and tender against your thin pajamas, and you can’t wait to climb into your bunk and take everything off under the covers. You’ll be able to cum, at least once. It’ll relieve so much stress, get rid of this nightmare headache, rip through your body like lightning and paralyze it until you can start over from square one and think like yourself again.
And, you’re just about to power walk your ass back to your quarters when a body nearly slams into yours as soon as you step foot outside the door, your shoulder jerking back just in time to avoid a collision.
A mechanic, you think. You’re not exactly sure, you don’t hang out with too many of them—he’s Chiss and his glowing red eyes don’t even land on you as you gasp and sidestep him at the last second, but it’s not him that catches the majority of your attention. He just exited the men’s room at the same time you left the women’s, and the door takes a moment to swing shut behind him.
You freeze. It can’t be more than a few seconds—but it feels like everything slows down and it lasts a fucking eternity.
Dameron is standing at a sink in the far corner of the room, naked except for a towel identical to the one in your arms wrapped loosely around his waist. He cradles the base of his own throat with one hand and gently drags a razor down the smooth contour of it with the other, his chin tilted up high and regal while his eyelids dip low to concentrate on his movements. He glances down and holds the foamy blade under the running faucet, tapping it twice against porcelain before the door slides him out of frame.
I can shave, a low, silky murmur slowly fills your ears, heat swelling low and hot in your tummy. Tonight, I’ll shave it off. Make it nice and smooth for you.
You feel like your body is just a collection of rigid knots all tied together, and the one between your legs is the tightest it’s ever been. Stars, on another day you’d say it feels like a bad cramp, even though you know your injection makes your period rare and like clockwork. Regardless, the split second image makes you shudder and clamp up painfully, and you just stand there and stare at the closed door for a second, trying not to shake.
Fuck, this is so fucking… presumptuous of him.
Realistically, you know it could have absolutely nothing to do with you. It’s his face—you’re not self-centered enough to have completely lost your concept of autonomy. He can do whatever he wants to his body, and that includes facial hair, full stop. You also know that he’s not being… obvious about it, no matter how much it feels that way to you. He’s using the sink and mirror at the very end of the room, not any of the ones nearest to the door—but even if he was, it’s not like he could’ve planned for you to walk out at the exact moment the metal hinge was angled wide open. He couldn’t possibly have intended for this, for you to see him doing this. He wasn’t making a show, didn’t even notice you standing there. You blame literally everything on him, or at least you always try your absolute best to—but this one…
It sends a hard shudder down your spine and you clutch the fabric in your arms tighter, trying not to drop it. Fuck. This is torture. Fuck him. Good and bad—both ways, all the ways he can be fucked, fuck him. Your head is spinning, you’re sweating fresh out of the shower, you need to cum. Maybe if you hurry, you can get that precious orgasm before he’s finished, because if Dameron is able to intercept you before you can tend to this, you’re… you’re not sure how you’re going to say no to him.
You don’t even think you want to anymore.
You feel like you’re just… holding onto it on principle now. Too stubborn and hardheaded to want change. Too stuck in your own ways to recognize how much everything already has changed.
Somehow, you end up making your way back to your room, but the whole thing is a blur. Your flipflops plap against your heels as you navigate through hallways as quick as you can, emptier than you’ve seen them in months. You know most of the pilots are probably out celebrating in either the mess hall or rec room, but the thought doesn’t really presently register. Almost nothing registers besides your continuous forward motion and the way you feel yourself throb with every step, aching for something you are going to get tonight. Fuck, you are so attached to this orgasm now, it’s not going anywhere and neither are you. You deserve this, you deserve some relief. Come hell or highwater, it’s happening tonight.
As soon as you step into your room and slap your hand blindly against the wall panel to close the door behind you, you’re carelessly dropping the bundle of fabric to the floor and then shrugging out of your pajamas in the cool pitch darkness, having exactly one mission in mind. You don’t bother with lights, with brushing your hair, with literally anything besides clamoring up the ladder to your top bunk and wiggling under the thin bedsheet, making sure to pull it up to your chin before your legs butterfly open. The tip of your finger wets itself on your tongue and then you’re dropping it down and sliding it against your poor clit, the pleasure arcing and flaring so sharp and sensitive even from your touch that you have to give it just a second.
…No, no you don’t. You don’t have to give it fucking anything. You keep moving your finger hard and quick even as your hips naturally want to jerk away from it, shoving yourself through the sensitivity with gritted teeth and a ferocious will.
Fuck, how long do you think you have? Was Dameron shaving pre or post-shower? You can’t remember, all you know is he had a towel around his waist. And that thin gold chain hanging down his neck. Was his hair wet? Fuck, why can’t you remember? His chin and jaw were smooth as silk, you know that much. Post-shower, then. Probably. Probably?
His chin and jaw were smooth as silk. You keep getting stuck on that no matter how chaotically your thoughts whirl; they fling out in different directions at different velocities but all somehow manage to go in a perfect circle and end up at the same place you started. His chin, his jaw, his mouth, his neck, his chin, his mouth, his jaw, his mouth, his mouth, his mouth—
You feel yourself start to clamp down and you speed up, chasing it. The pleasure starts burning deep inside you, the fire slowly licking down your thighs and rising up into your abdomen, and then—
And then a series of quiet beeps from the hallway practically blare like alarm bells to your frantic mind.
You immediately stop moving your finger, snapping your legs tight together and flat to the mattress as soon as the door to your room shifts open and fluorescent light spills inside, and you feel like you could actually fucking cry right now.
All this edging is just a form of self-flagellation at this point. You lay there and try not to make a sound, try not to tremble hard enough to shake the whole bunk with it, but even your breathing feels like it’s going to give you away. Dameron, shirtless with his towel draped over his shoulder, slowly steps into the room and then pauses almost immediately, making your heart stutter for a second at what so blatantly caught his attention.
One quick glance down towards his feet confirms the simultaneous hope and fear—you left everything on the floor. The towel, the dirty clothes, and your pajamas are strewn about haphazardly right where he needs to walk.
You know what it must look like to him. A trail of clothes leading directly to an occupied bed isn’t exactly subtle, even though you didn’t necessarily intend it that way. Still, what can you say? Your hand is shoved in between your legs right now and you’re in your birthday suit under this thin sheet, what the fuck can you say to him? Sorry Dameron, got too caught up with how stupid wet you get me that I left those there on accident on my way to cheat, but totally not because I lowkey want your help doing it. Convincing, that’ll go over great.
Dameron slowly lifts his head to look at you. Or, at least you think he does—the light from the open door behind him casts his body in a dark silhouette, but you know your face is perfectly illuminated for him right now. Blinking down at him from the top bunk with your brows pulled up in the middle, wide-eyed and desperate and caught red-handed. Fuck, you don’t know if he can see the way your knees are clamped tight together and your hand rests perfectly still against your pussy like this from the angle he’s at, but you know it has to be super fucking obvious either way. You’re breaking the rules, you’re touching yourself, and you both know it. You can’t lie, you can’t even sit up without confirming his very valid suspicion. He can call the game at any point, but…
You watch his head fall back down to study the mess you left for him once more. Fuck, are you positive that was an accident? Normally you wouldn’t second guess anything about your own understanding of the interactions that occur between you and him, but—you’ve never done that before. You’ve lived with roommates on this base for years, you don’t just… get naked before getting into bed, that’s bad form. How are you going to get up in the morning without having your pajamas shoved near your feet while you sleep? Wrap this thin bedsheet around yourself and scamper down the ladder until you can snatch them up from the floor, and then what? Climb all the way back up just to wiggle the clothes on underneath the blanket before going back down again? Maker, you fucked up, your pussy is plotting your fucking demise.
But then everything inside you pulls taut as Dameron suddenly decides to move. Slowly, he leans down to catch your orange jumpsuit closest to his feet with a few fingers, before he stands upright and carefully begins folding the fabric without saying a single word to you. Electricity buzzes through you as he very obviously takes his time with it, using nearly his whole armspan to lengthen and fold the sleeves while his chest and chin meet for support. When he’s eventually satisfied with it, he takes a few steps toward the empty desk on your side of the room and then sets the neat rectangle of fabric atop it where you usually keep it.
You bite your lip and you can’t help it—you start to move your finger as he goes back to sort the pajamas you wore for barely two seconds from your dirty clothes, folding and putting away whatever is clean and then tossing the rest into the shared laundry basket that gets collected every week. Somehow it makes you feel even more naked, seeing all your clothes be returned to their proper places, realizing that this is your base state now, this is what you’re going to wear tonight. Nothing. You left everything on the floor and trapped yourself up here, he’s simply shifting a pawn forward two spaces in kind now that you’ve made your first move.
You can feel yourself pulse threateningly against your own fingertip while he collects your wet towel and drapes it over your closet door to dry, and your breath comes louder through your nose while you bite back the noises you want to make, the way your movements so desperately want to speed up. Your hand working the way you want it to under the white sheets would be too much, too revealing, but you don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to care.
But then of course, the asshole has to go and put away his towel and clothes, and you endure through the whole thing while pressing back and forth against your clit so hard and slow that your toes curl and pull the sheet tucked under your chin taut. After that’s done, he makes his way over to the portshade above his desk and slowly slides it open a few inches, the light of three moons outside gradually filling the room. However, when Dameron goes back to press a button on the wall panel and close the door to the hallway, you immediately see how much softer it is in here, how the artificial fluorescents have thankfully disappeared and the room illuminates more than it blinds, glows more than it beams. He presses one more button as the lock inside the paneling slides into place.
You bite your bottom lip and try your best to hide the pleasure you’re building for yourself while he makes his way back to his desk, quietly swiping the radio off it and lowering the volume knob completely before he flips it on. The noise slowly amplifies until you’re able to catch two distinct voices conversing in Huttese—it’s the only lingua franca that still broadcasts on this old technology in this part of the galaxy, but he’s already flipping through the stations in search of something specific.
If you were thinking straight, you may have actually recognized this for what it is, but you’re having trouble even processing the details of your general surroundings right now, your mind is lagging and too slow at reading between the lines. Dameron’s doing exactly what he said he would do. He laid it all out earlier for you in the x-wing, telling you exactly what he wanted plain as day, and now he’s checking the whole list off one by one. The shade is open and the room is lit just enough to make him out, the door is locked, and he’s finding something to listen to. Something quiet, and easy.
If you were thinking straight, you’d realize that there’s a much more obvious reason why he shaved his beard—you never told him the truth about how much you liked it. You never tell him the truth. You allow—even encourage him to think the sharp things you say to him are exactly how you feel. He did it because he believed you.
Oh, but you’re not thinking straight. Your thoughts are scattered and the only thing they can agree upon is how good this feels, even as your breathing starts to grow heavier, grow louder underneath the sound of the radio. The thought stays right beneath your consciousness, tugging at your preoccupied mind. You work your finger with just a little more verve now that he’s flipping through the stations, knowing he’s distracted by spinning the dial through intermittent white noise while different voices and songs fill the room for just a second at a time.
Your bed, his voice suddenly echoes through your thoughts, originating from your subconscious but almost sounding like it’s coming from the radio in your delirious mind. I want you comfortable.
Fuck, the understanding finally clicks the second he flips to a slower song and you start to burn at the thought of what’s next. The silent promise that his actions allude to. You have the realization way too late but at least it still comes at all with the state you’re in. Your hand slows down immediately, not even needing to consciously consider the choice between achieving orgasm through your finger or his mouth. Still, it’s hard to stop touching yourself completely when it feels so fucking good to your deprived body.
Fuck, it’s barely been a few seconds since your realization and yet you immediately bristle in distress at how fucking long he’s taking.
So you open your mouth. You’re desperate and needy and on the verge of something, and it comes out without thought. You don’t think it’s loud enough for him to hear, but his head immediately lifts and looks unseeingly at the wall in front of him for a second, as if he’s questioning if he imagined it. A soft melody plays on a bluesy guitar while you hiccup and wait, but he doesn’t move.
And then you say it again, higher and tighter in your throat, pitched up to an impatient, girlish whine. “Poe…”
The radio is tossed onto the bottom bunk as soon as he spins around and walks towards the ladder, but it’s like your finger has a mind of its own the moment he disappears underneath your line of sight. Your legs spasm against the mattress and you bite your lip, not caring about the frantic way your hand begins moving under the sheet as his muted footsteps climb up the rungs.
Your eyes snap to his as soon as you can see him beyond the railing at your feet, heaving himself up until everything above his waist is above you, too. His pauses there and his lashes quickly dip to the shameless movements between your legs as you work yourself towards that approaching bliss, and then flick back to the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him so torn, wanting so badly to wait for it but not being able to right now.
Slowly, he begins to move forward, crawling his way up the mattress and over your body, noticeably careful with where he places his limbs. You’re not hard to dodge, though—you’re like a rigid stick of desperation under him, knees and ankles still clamped tight together and your arms streamlined as close to your body as possible with tension as you keep rubbing your clit. Not to mention the sheet is thin and shows your figure almost perfectly with how tight you’ve hooked it under your chin, only leaving the finest details to the imagination.
But then there starts to be a little strain against the fabric, an unspoken question he’s still bothering to ask even though you could’ve told him to fuck off ages ago. Poe could yank the sheet down and flip your shit over and destroy you right now if he wanted—fuck, like you want him to do—but his face slowly appears in front of yours instead and his dark eyes search your features for answers. The length of his chain dangles from his muscular neck and glows against his golden skin, his whole upper body stretched long and bare over you.
From the gradually increasing tightness pulling on the fabric, you expect the sheet to rip down your body as soon as you lift your chin and let that resistance go, but instead… stars, it’s slow. Why is he going so fucking slow?? The bedsheet barely flutters down to your collarbone before he’s able to stop tugging on it so hard, and then he just gently inches the hem down from that point on.
Fuck—your eyes drop to his lips as he eventually reveals your shoulders and sternum to the room, and then lower to your cleavage while you let out a hushed whimper, praying he understands the extent of how vulnerable you’re allowing yourself to be. You don’t do this often—and you definitely don’t do it with someone like him. He’s the one who said you needed this, isn't he? So why the fuck is he dragging out the anticipation? Pretending like he doesn’t see the way you’re begging for help in the middle of another warzone that’s breaking out for the second time today?
Poe’s head drops down to give the contour of your neck a long drag of his tongue, slow and hot and wet, the sheet eventually dropping beneath your nipples and exposing them to the cool air. You bite your lip and keep working yourself under the fabric even as it’s led down the length of your tummy, and you just get wetter and wetter feeling him mouth at your skin as the radio continues to play soft from the bottom bunk. He follows the skin as it’s revealed, licking down from your collarbone and working with the increasing rate of your breathing. His lips never feel like they vary in pressure, even as your chest heaves up and down and your lungs work hard for air.
His open mouth slowly drags down the curve of your breast and it makes your blood burn fire through your veins. You nearly choke when your nipple is enveloped in soft heat, his tongue quickly fluttering up under the stiff peak and giving it to you so gently, contrasting so light and vernal with how brilliant and neon bright the need between your legs is. Your hand starts to work quicker, and fuck—you can hear it now, your desperate movements audible over the shallow breaths and the sound of one song gradually fading into another below you. You’re just too fucking wet and your pussy is smushed with how tight your legs are pressed together—the noise is unavoidable, and Poe’s knees are planted too close to either side of your thighs to spread them really at all.
Fuck, you knock against the resistance regardless to let him know what you want, but he doesn’t budge and it makes you just about lose your damn mind. Does he have to make everything so fucking difficult? You couldn’t close your legs earlier and now you can’t open them, and it’s like he’s able to take perfect advantage of each opposing position to prolong your torture.
But then his tongue leaves you even as his jaw opens just slightly, and that’s the only warning you get before his teeth graze your nipple with a sudden arc of sensation and you flare up all at once.
It’s a miracle and a curse that you’re able to stop at the very last second, your hand jerking away from your pussy and flexing into a fucking death claw on your thigh at how close you were, and you don’t know why. Why did the fuck did you stop? There’s nothing standing in your way right now, you’ve consciously given yourself express permission to cum, but still. It must just be learned instinct at this point—hammered into your muscle memory for weeks on end to not allow the pleasure no matter what, especially when you’re this fucking close to it.
Nonetheless you garble out nonsense and cinch inwards on yourself to fight it off now that you’ve apparently decided against it. There’s nothing worse than a half-assed orgasm, and you have to quickly summon the conviction behind your split second reaction before it’s too late and your body takes the pleasure any way it can get it.
Poe’s mouth releases your nipple at the way your whole spine suddenly hunches in and he drops his forehead to your chest, breathing heavy down the slope of your breast as you tremble and grapple for your sanity.
“Did you just cum?” Is the first thing he says to you, his voice is so ragged and stony it’s practically gravel crunching as he speaks.
“N-n-no,” you quickly stammer at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe correctly. Inhale, exhale—fuck, which one is inhale again, which one comes first? Maker, does he need to call a fucking medic? “Huhhhhalmost?”
Poe takes a deep breath and slowly releases it with a bassy and warm mmmm rumbling against your skin, so coarse but pleased enough to sound like melted chocolate dripping down your body. The noise sends a violent shudder through you and it’s almost enough to knock you back to that edge again, even without your fingers assisting it.
His head dips and the sheet pulls down even more, just below your belly button now, and you let out a quiet gasp in anticipation, nearly on the verge of begging him to keep moving downwards. But when Poe’s eyes close and his mouth suddenly moves back up to open over your other nipple instead, your patience snaps.
Fuck him, bad way. This is your orgasm, you’re done waiting.
“I’m gonna cum,” you snarl furiously down at him, shoving your hand between your legs even as Poe’s lips quirk against your skin. It’s not a warning, it’s a threat. If he’s gonna be like this, he doesn’t get to share it with you. It’s your orgasm, you’ll give it to yourself if he doesn’t give a shit about it. “Thought you wanted it, guess not.”
You immediately feel his teeth again in response to your admittedly slightly bitchy comment and this time he lets your nipple roll just a bit between them, making you jerk at the sensation and quickly find your clit again. Oh, you’re soaking fucking wet, you’re wet everywhere. Slick and swollen and burning, and it’s not going to take much at all. The sheet sticks to your overheated body and you can’t tell the difference between your sweat, his saliva, or wetness from between your legs—it all just feels damp and slippery as you gradually lose your bearings under his mouth.
“Fuck this, I’m gonna cum,” you breathe once more, possibly nothing more than a mindless reiteration but most likely just one last veiled plea for him to give you what you both want. As if he can tell, Poe quickly lifts his mouth and suddenly the sheet is ripped the rest of the way down your naked body completely, sharp and frustrated, and then his lips brush against your elbow as it twitches, nipping the sensitive skin there.
“Brat,” he growls quietly against your forearm as he keeps dragging his lips down further, following the path it makes along your tummy. “Just likes making shit difficult.”
“You’re the one—” you hiccup, trying to sound angry but just melting into a puddle at the tip of his tongue slowly trailing down your frantically moving wrist, “—you’re the… the o-one who… who…?”
But you’re already sprinting towards that edge, feeling him drop even lower and his hot breath fan against your fingers, and at this point you’re too far gone. Poe gently kisses at your closed thighs, in perfect position and ready for you, but you can’t stop yourself anymore unless he makes you stop, and the longer he waits down there without grabbing your hand to replace it with something better the more you don’t give a shit about whether or not it’s going to happen. You can feel the orgasm rising, you can feel your toes flex and everything start to lock down for the approaching tsunami. You’re going to get it this time, you’re going to cum, you’re going to—
“This is—” you rasp, “—this is a f-free, a fffff-ffreeeeb—”
His tongue softly grazes your knuckle as it works.
And then there’s a moment. A suspended moment that seems to go on forever, where you’re launched directly over that cliff and yet you still seem to be gaining altitude. Where’s the drop? You’re already cumming—you can feel it, there’s absolutely no fucking going back now, but it’s like your sheer desperation has so much momentum that your body tricks itself into believing there’s nothing to land on, no gravity to immediately rip you straight down to your demise.
You choke out his name and your back arches with it and that must be the signal, because Poe finally pulls your hand away and lets his chin dip, and then his jaw falls open and allows you just enough time to catch the glimmer of his pink tongue before it slides wet and slow through your swollen folds.
Heat. It sears through your whole body with a wracked shudder, the slick glide over your clit as his eyes flutter closed, and within the very first second of feeling his mouth on you, you’re instantly cumming inside it.
There. There’s the drop.
The burning erupts into molten chaos, crumpling your whole body on impact like an accordion, but he sinks all his weight down on your legs and forces you to endure it with everything below your waist pinned to the mattress. It’s fucking mayhem. You feel like your voice actually rips itself in half with the ragged cry of blinding relief, so enormous and soul wrenching in power that you couldn’t even hope to muffle it. You can’t move your hips through it, you can’t stutter up to ride it out—you have to experience the whole thing with your lower body completely still while his tongue takes slow, gentle licks at your throbbing clit, only able to sit your shoulders up and slam them back down and grab his head as you endure.
You cum hard. Fucking hard. It’s daunting and explosive and utterly devastating in the havoc it wreaks, and just when you think you’ve seen the worst of it, it’s just so slow. Creeping along and obliterating everything in its path, taking an eternity to pass because of how fucking big it is.
When you’re finally able to float back down into your own body again, the first thing you notice is how tight his hold is. Poe’s arms are wrapped around your thighs to keep them pressed tight together and you can feel the wetness all the way down to your fucking knees as they tremble against each other. Stars, what did he do to you? You feel like you actually wet yourself, there’s way too much dampness on the mattress underneath you to feel anywhere close to normal for you.
His mouth eventually leaves you but his head doesn’t move, nothing else moves. Even his hot breath feels like rough stimulation to your throbbing pussy.
And then Poe shifts and adjusts his body just enough, catching the backs of your knees and slowly spreading your legs up and apart like you wanted to do ages ago. They feel like jelly, wobbly and unsteady even as his thumbs hook right under your knees and easily support most of their weight. Your pussy is soon exposed completely, and his shoulders move down just before his head drops to lick the collection of wetness right from your entrance. Fuck, he couldn’t get it from the previous angle your legs were at, just your clit at the very top—but this is deep and personal and you know he’s probably getting mouthfuls of how hard he just made you cum, using the tip of his tongue to scoop your arousal up and swallowing it quietly before going back for more.
“Poe,” you whisper, and he rumbles low in his throat in response without stopping. This isn’t for you, this isn’t for your benefit right now. Your pleasure receptors aren’t concentrated right here, just the physical evidence of them being overloaded just a few moments ago, but he stays for longer than necessary. He keeps his mouth here far longer than you need to push past the throbbing sensitivity and start to crave the sensation again, forcing you to bite your lip to stop yourself from telling him to move back up just a couple inches.
So you seek it out instead, the lower part of your body clearly not listening to a damn thing your mind tells it right now. Your hips drop and his velvet tongue catches your clit at the apex of its repetitive motion, and you gasp and rock upwards again as Poe groans and immediately rises with you to chase it. He attaches to the swollen flesh and sucks at it gently for you, following your lead, letting your wet fingers comb his hair back from his face and clutch a good fistful of it as you plant your feet and slowly grind up into his mouth.
Fuck. He was right. You needed this. Everything about it is heaven—endorphins pour off you in waves as you roll your hips against his face, and he lets you do it. He’s not just pliant, he’s willing. His tongue works diligently, his eyes close and he moans into your pussy, allowing you to tug his hair and fit to his mouth exactly how you want.
Oh, everything burns. Everything smolders and sparks, because he’s always been so withholding and now he’s just going for it. He’s reading your mind better than he did during the battle today, not necessarily submissive in his approach but… servicing. Accommodating. Finally giving in and putting real effort into helping you chase after another shot of ecstasy without being so stingy about it like before.
As soon as you feel another familiar swell of something deep down, your mouth is suddenly dropping open.
“How many—” your ragged voice comes out without thinking, and it takes so fucking long to actually attach the train of thought to its conduit of translation. You swallow thickly and flex your fingers in his hair, tugging at him to ground yourself, trying to anchor yourself to the very thing that’s about to fling you into oblivion again. “—fuck, how many times did you… how many fr-freebies do I—do I…”
Poe eases his chin back just enough to respond, and the slick sound his tongue makes leaving your clit makes you shudder and miss the wretched words at first. “Mm. Just the one.”
And then his tongue is already sliding back through your pussy by the time your eyes pop open in immediate panic, and your clit is in his mouth again as soon as yours drops to frantically contest.
But the words aren’t coming, it feels too fucking amazing. Your jaw goes slack and your fingers tighten in his hair. Maker almighty, the orgasm swells up so sharp and quick that you have to fucking kick him at the very last second to get away from it. Thankfully Poe’s mouth abruptly leaves you with his oof of shock at your audacity, lifting his head as you snap your legs together and grit your teeth through your miserable retreat from ecstasy. You don’t even notice the way your knee almost knocks into his jaw with it—you just focus on shamefully easing your way back down again from the platform overlooking bliss like you’re too afraid of the high-dive. After a second, you actually have to turn on your side and rock yourself like a child as Poe slowly sits up with a grimace, lifting his arm to rub at his ribcage where your heel slammed into him.
You peek an eye open to watch him do it and oh no, it’s not a good plan. He’s so… fucking hot. Fuck. He’s unbelievably good-looking—his hair curls and frames such handsome features, his body is lovely and warm and seeing his chest bare and up close like this makes you want to reach out and slowly drag your hand down the smooth curve of his side. But then your gaze catches on the dark sweatpants tented shamelessly between his legs and how he’s glistening with perspiration, too, and how he tugs at the fabric covering his crotch and sighs softly, blinking down at you slow and intoxicated with lust.
You have to close your eyes and bury your face into the pillow because your body is latching onto anything to keep you within inches of that edge. The mere sight of him is enough to make you worry for yourself. You take deep breaths and do your best to tune his existence out entirely. Just you, just you in your bed, trying desperately not to cum without even touching yourself. You’re naked and curled up and there's no one here to look down at you with deep brown eyes, no one else breathing and especially not equally as loud as you are. Just you, just you.
And, just when you think you might finally get to the point where you’re not teetering anymore, where you’re at least mostly certain that moving around and looking at things and just existing in general isn’t going to make you completely unravel hands-free at any moment, he has to fucking… go and be himself.
You peek up to see him staring down at you, dark and intimate and devouring, before his hand gently brushes down the curve of your hip. “Maker, you are so fucking hot right now. Was that a close one, pretty baby?”
Your hand snaps out to grab his wrist with a whimper and you don’t know if your intent is to stop him or just hang on for dear life, but your grip is weak and you shake and Poe takes the opportunity to grab a handful of your ass while you do absolutely fuck all to stop him.
“Mmmm. Open your legs,” he murmurs, releasing your flesh just to give it a soft smack. “You’re only making it worse like this.”
“What? W-What do you—” you stammer, but Poe drags his hand down your thigh to catch one of your knees and pull it up without waiting for your babbled reply. Both knees go with him, your pelvis wound too tight and frozen to do anything but rotate your whole entire body on your tailbone.
“You’re just adding more pressure by keeping them closed,” he explains, wiggling his fingers in between your knees to try and get enough of a grip to pry them apart. “C’mon—open your legs, let yourself breathe.”
“Nnnnnnstop talking,” you groan, trying to slap at him, but he’s strong enough to force the movement regardless, levering your knees apart and then pushing them tight to the mattress. And, though he would normally be right about it, you’re fighting your mind to get away from the orgasm just as much as you are your body. The sudden exposure and the positioning and the way he automatically drops his gaze down at your needy pussy with his cock still hidden in his pants like that only serves to displace the cause instead of eliminating the effect. Closing the door and opening a window, shifting the stimulation somewhere else but allowing it to throb steady and aching regardless.
“Much better,” he sighs lowly, digging his fingers into the sore muscles inside your thighs and you just keep your hands loosely attached to his wrists as he works. “Fuck me, baby’s got such a pretty pussy doesn’t she?”
“Poe,” you wheeze up at him, hearing him rumble at the sight of your cunt contracting around nothing, probably shining and glistening with your desperation for him. By this point, you’re worrying again. You have no doubt whatsoever that he could talk you into cumming just like this, with your hands trembling and clutching at his wrists. If he keeps murmuring filth while holding your legs open and staring at your pussy like this, you have no doubt you’ll find a way to get there somehow.
Thankfully, he seems to understand. He goes quiet and just keeps massaging your sore muscles while you try not to writhe underneath him. Stars, it’s like he’s genuinely doing what he can to take it easy on you and you’re still all kinds of fucked up about it, still frantic and desperate while all he’s doing is just squeezing your legs.
“Calm down,” he gruffs, but you can’t. “You’re working yourself up, don’t—”
“Stop talki—” your ragged growl is cut off by your own hiccup as you quickly find the strength to shove at his hands, knowing they’re at least mostly to blame for your prolonged tightrope walk. You can’t fucking think when he’s touching you, you become too hyper-aware of your own body, it feels too good in a way that’s hard to describe and impossible to explain. Poe’s palms immediately listen and raise in front of him in surrender, his back lifting to give you space while you hide your face from him with shaky hands and gasp. It’s pathetic and your legs are still held wide open and your fingers tremble hard enough to resemble a malfunction.
You just. You need a hard reset. You need that thirty seconds of complete idle, of figuring shit out on your own without an electric current running through you before you can start working properly again. It can’t be rushed, it’s necessary when most people just want to power down and then right back up again. The wires connecting your parts are all criss-crossed and tangled and sparks are lighting up at the slightest stimulus, you just need to experience absolutely nothing for thir—
“I’m sorry,” Poe murmurs, still staying in his own space but the gravelly voice shooting a bolt of lightning down your spine. Thirty seconds, of course he couldn’t give you thirty fucking seconds. “Fuck, you’re so hot, I’m sorry—”
“Please stop talking,” you beg him, your fingers curling against your face, “Maker, I—I don’t want to cum—”
“Fuck, I know, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucki—”
You go to kick him again and even though it collides wrong and does nothing more than get your message across, the jostle is enough to knock you back from the approaching oblivion just slightly. It serves to wake you up way more than it remotely hurts him, the equivalent of someone just smacking a piece of machinery and fixing the problem temporarily.
You heave an enormous breath and blink your eyes open behind your fingers, immediately locking with his. Poe’s teeth are digging into his bottom lip but he’s mercifully silent, even when you drop your shaky hands down to your spread thighs and stay equally silent another full minute while you make the effort to right yourself. After awhile though, you realize he must be taking cues from you, waiting for you to speak.
Only, you suddenly don’t know what to say. You’re at a complete loss, looking up at him through your eyelashes in uncertainty now. Something you’ve never been around him, even as your pussy is wide open for him to look at. He hasn’t recently, though, you don’t think. He’s just keeping his eyes on your face, watching you bite your lip and blink up at him while your mind whirls, the only sound that can be heard is the radio continuing to lull from the bottom bunk.
You wish he’d say something. How come he’s choosing right now to listen to what you tell him to do? You don’t… you don’t know what to say to him. Why can’t you figure out something? You fidget but then suddenly feel your expression lose all its struggle and just look… innocent. Needing his help.
“Do you want me to leave?” Poe eventually asks after another moment, tentative of breaking the silence, and you frantically shake your head before he’s even finished speaking. Fuck, something drops in your stomach at how desperate you’re probably coming off right now, but you’re so lost and you know that’s at least one question you know the immediate answer to.
Poe tilts his head thoughtfully, slowly reaching a hand towards your thigh without removing his eyes from yours. “Want me to make you cum again?”
You shake your head again, wide-eyed and worried. He immediately pulls his hand back and blinks slowly at you.
“You want to be edged more?” He asks lowly, and you shake your head vehemently for the third time. Poe sighs and sits back, planting his palms to his thighs and pulling at the fabric of his pants in budding frustration, clearly tired of playing twenty questions. “Well what do you want, baby? You wanna just hang out? That’s fine, I don’t care, but you gotta tell me.”
Fuck, he’s right, what do you want? The only thing that’s standing in your way of feeling better, you soon realize.
“Want you to cum first,” you mumble, cheeks warming at how childish you sound.
“Not a fucking chance,” Poe immediately scoffs, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “And pouting at me isn’t gonna help.”
“Why not?” You breathe, dipping your gaze down his body. “I can use my mouth.”
“I don’t—” he stops short, suddenly registering what you said and switching gears. “You can—?” Poe narrows his eyebrows and looks suspicious. “You’ll let me… cum in it?”
“Okay,” you whisper in breathless agreement, sitting up and reaching for him, but Poe groans and pushes you back down on the mattress with a flattened palm against your shoulder like you just aced a test he was hoping you’d fail.
“Fuck whoever’s idea this was,” he grits darkly to himself while you arch up against his hold, wanting him to grab your tits but knowing it’s not a good idea right now. “Maker, I’m so fucking hard—fuck whoever’s idea this was, making me turn that down—”
“You said,” you pant, licking your dry lips and blinking up at the ceiling, trying to control yourself, “before, you said that you’re… you’re not doing this for a bet, right? So why not?” Your voice goes softer when you flutter your gaze back at him, even though the accusation feels like it should be sharper if anything, since it comes from a very real place of distrust. “Were you just… lying to me about that?”
“Fuck, come on,” Poe groans, his voice starting to waver as he shakes his head and squints one eye at you, exasperated. “You don’t get it. You can’t think of a single fucking reason I don’t wanna blow my load just yet? Really?”
The sentence coupled with his rock solid hold on you skitters a thrill through your body and you automatically reach up to run your hand along his forearm. He looks down at the caress and then back to your face and fuck, even you feel like you’re sending mixed signals right now.
“You could… fuck me,” you whisper, and Poe’s dark eyebrows pull up as his gaze falls down your naked body, nodding and digging his teeth into his bottom lip. An agreement backed by so much unspoken desire that it looks like it almost hurts him just to hear you say it out loud. “And we can just… see who cums first.”
“Yeah?” He croaks, his eyes pinned between your open legs. “Just say fuck it all and race for last place? Okay.”
Your heart pounds, having just enough wherewithal to preemptively establish a safety net for yourself. “And—and we can’t finish at the same time or we both lose.”
“Fuck,” Poe groans, reaching down to catch the hem of his sweatpants with his thumb and lifting his hips until his cock is exposed to the dim room. “We can’t stop once we start, then, we’ll have to see it through.”
Except you don’t catch any of the last part because, uh. Well, to sum up. May the Maker have mercy on you all.
Just like that, the only thought in your mind is… you get it. Okay, you get it. He told you before that girls were only interested in him for his cock, and it actually… stars, it makes so much fucking sense now, you totally get it. You thought maybe he was just boasting as a form of overcompensation at first—or, to put it another way you’ve probably used in conversation with him before, talking big talk but walking small walk. Only now, you’re… humbled. By a fucking dick, you’re humbled.
You haven’t seen more than a few of them in this context, so you know you’re not necessarily qualified to give an informed opinion, but heavens it’s a sight. It’s thick and swollen and just a shade darker than his complexion and everything inside you rockets to attention as soon as he wraps his hand around it. It’s big. It fills his whole palm without much room to spare. Far larger than what you’re used to, and you know that no matter how he fucks you with it, you’re gonna feel it tomorrow. Next weekend, probably.
Your eyes must betray you, because Poe suddenly loosens his grip and breathes your name softly, causing you to flick your eyes back up to his. You didn’t realize you were staring so openly.
“I’ll go slow,” he reassures you quietly, voice gentle and knowing. The complete lack of sarcasm or aggression in his tone is enough to snap you back to yourself, knowing that can’t possibly be right. He’s talking to you like he did when you stumbled your ass out of the x-wing today, when you were barely responsive and lost in dumb shock. He doesn’t have to… be nice to you right now, like you’re still only moments away from losing it. It’s offensive.
“I can handle it,” you harumph, widening your legs while Poe immediately suppresses a grin.
“'Course you can,” he sighs with the slightest note of fondness creeping into his voice, dropping his hips as he lines up at your entrance. “And I’ll go slow anyways.”
You open your mouth to respond but at the first push of his head inside, you inhale sharply and your palm immediately shoots out to press against his chest on complete instinct. The stab of pain is impossible to mask from your features and Poe instantly stops with a shaky breath, watching how your jaw drops at the intrusion and your face contorts.
“Ahh. Shit…” he whispers as his head tips down, dark eyes clamping shut and his hold on you tightening. “What—shit, what the fuck…”
“Keep going,” you growl out, even though you know you’re just making it more difficult on yourself. You can take Poe’s cock, you can take it, he has absolutely nothing to brag about, it’s completely normal-sized—
His hips inch forwards and you gasp at the excruciating arc of sensation, slapping at him harder.
“Keep going,” you babble while locking your elbows and shoving him back, “fuck, keep going, keep going—”
“Baby,” Poe groans, wrenching one of your hands from his chest and bringing your wrist up to his mouth to kiss and breathe hot air on it, “baby, you gotta let me—”
He moves a little more and you cry out, jerking your hand back from his lips and knocking it hard against his chest before you even realize it. Oh shit, you can’t handle it, you haven’t been fucked in so long—
“I’m sorry,” you choke out, trying to be nicer by flattening your palm but then immediately digging your nails in, “fuck, I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s been awhile since I—”
“Shit, I can tell,” he pants brokenly, his fingers dropping back down to flex hard on your hip. “Hoooolyfuck, I can te—ah, fuck, it’s alright, it’s alright, just—nnnnnnshit, okay, just relax, don’t tense up too muuuh… much—”
His cock pushes deeper even as he keeps rambling through it and you feel yourself being rearranged to make room for the slow movement, giving way to a rich pleasure even as the discomfort increases.
Poe stops once more when your hands shove up against him, somehow simultaneously shakier and firmer than all the other times put together and a little more than half of him inside you at this point. You’re so slick and hot between your legs that there’s no resistance besides the stretch, nothing to stop him from slamming home besides your weak hands trembling at his collarbone, but everything about the way he stays completely frozen for ages says he’s controlled and patient.
Everything except his face, you soon realize.
When your body is finally able to come to terms with the sensation and you blink up at him, Poe isn’t looking at you anymore. He’s staring directly over your head at the wall, tangible regret manifesting itself in seething frustration marring his expression. His eyebrows furrow and he scowls but all of it is silent and directed at himself, as if he’s asking why the fuck he actually agreed to do this. You know then that it must be really fucking wet. You know then that you must be just blazing hot and tighter than sin and as if in rhythmic agreement, his cock jumps inside you with each pounding rush of blood through it. You can see the sweat beading at his hairline as he continues to ignore you for the moment, choosing instead to silently lament at the wall like it did something to mortally betray him.
You could… make this a sprint, something devious suddenly whispers to you. He’s struggling through the pleasure and you can outlast. From the severity of that look alone, you can put an end to it before it even starts.
Admittedly, you don’t even let the devil finish his damn sentence before you decide to take your own initiative. You clamp down around him as hard as you can and Poe whips his attention down to you and punches out a curse that sounds like you wrenched the word from his throat before he was anywhere near ready for it. It comes from somewhere high and defenseless in register and then quickly falls down into a growly pit as his hips automatically lurch forwards the rest of the way inside, hard, smacking into yours as you squeeze wickedly around him.
You keep squeezing through the sudden upward shove of bliss, you keep tightening up even though you’re making agonizing noises and your eyes clamp shut and it hurts. But stars, it feels good, why does it feel so good when it hurts so bad? It makes your throat scrape and your face twist up, but you can hear his cursing getting louder and more desperate so you still don’t relax your viselike hold around him.
“Stop it—” he snarls down at you rabidly, “—oh fuck, stop or you’ll make us both cu—”
Shit, he’s right. You know he’s never been more right about anything as soon as his hips stutter and kick up to a full blown gallop in the middle of his furious scolding, and the sudden build of ecstasy is so fast and intense that you sob his name, not being able to loosen your muscles anymore as soon as it overtakes you. But it’s like a closed circuit, you’re both recycling the same pleasure without knowing how to shut it off. The harder you bear down on him, the faster his hips work, the vicious cycle compounding and circling and manifesting in the perfect typhoon within just a few tumultuous seconds.
But then suddenly he rips himself out of you with a gasp and it’s not a moment too soon, because both of you have to scramble and grab onto things to brace yourselves through the worst of it. You choose the mattress and he chooses the railing, and through the searing discomfort and settling of the chaos that’s becoming more and more familiar to you as this exhausting day passes, you know you fucked up. You underestimate his self control, time and time again. But, exactly like earlier today, you feel a thrill skitter up your spine at how he’s going to respond to your brazen treachery in the face of a newly established truce.
“Fuck,” he jerks his head to spit the obscenity at you, sounding more pissed off than you’ve ever heard him, the shredded anger in his voice starting to burn through you. “Fuckfuckfuuuuck—you make me so mad. You make me so mad. I wish I could fuck you right now, on Maker, I’d ruin you. I’d wreck your shit until you learn and you’d deserve every single fucking second of it, you—”
He stops short and growls jagged sharp in frustration, but you can’t help yourself.
“Say it,” you whimper on a dare, feeling your heart pound. The words quiver with an inexplicable sort of excitement as you dig your fingers into the mattress, wanting to hear his voice snarl the mysterious profanity. “Say it. ‘You…’—what? Say it.”
Shock suddenly paints his previously tense expression blank, even though his pupils blow out and his chest heaves. Your voice is too breathless, it’s too needy to sound nearly as antagonistic as you want.
And then Maker, it’s as if the sheer control he’s clinging to serves to spark his vexation even more. Mad that you would ask for something so enticing at a moment like this. Your heart thunders as Poe nearly flashes up close to you and points a threatening finger at you.
“You’re not going to get what you want from me,” he snaps, quiet and furious. “Not tonight. I don’t give a shit, I told you I’d slow fuck you and now I’m gonna do it until you act right.”
“You’re an asshole—” you move to lift up onto your elbows, but his hand suddenly plants against your clavicle and shoves you back down flat on the mattress.
“Not even ten minutes after I make you cum and you’ve already got a fucking attitude problem again,” he shoots back, positioning his cock at your entrance with his other hand once more, and Maker you’re drowning between your legs. His sharp rebuttal and the firm hold on the upper part of your chest makes it that much wetter, knowing you can’t do much more than lift your legs the way you need when he eases his way back inside.
“P-Poe—” you gasp breathlessly, but it's like he doesn’t hear you.
His expression tenses and he shudders out a low growl. “Fuck. Tight little baby. Rude little baby, just wants everything her way but doesn’t know how to behave herself.”
You have to bite your lip hard to hold back a whine when he’s completely sheathed and his hips connect to yours, and… shit. You already feel it. You already feel that simmering starting to take hold deep down once more, that monstrous second orgasm you’ve been fighting now digging its claws into you and licking the base of your spine with fire. And, as if he can tell, his demeanor instantly changes.
“Uh, oh,” Poe murmurs quietly, equal parts lilting and baiting, slowly dragging his cock out and then starting up the laziest pace you’ve ever experienced with his hand still planted high on your sternum right below your collarbone. “Can you feel it coming? Fuck, I can,” he shudders. “Already. Fuck, you’re so wet, you’re so wet—wish you had let me eat you out mor—”
“You can’t c—umm,” you hiccup, grasping his wrist and writhing through the building ecstasy, and you don’t know who you’re talking to at this point. Your other palm slaps at his shoulder with increasing urgency—fuck, he’s been fucking you for barely ten seconds and you’re already struggling to hold everything back. Only, his hand quickly grabs yours and pins it to the mattress, his face dropping closer as he rolls his hips achingly slow. You feel his back working with the steady pace, you see his neck flex as his cock drags so thick inside you, and then your gaze starts to lose focus a bit. It slides up his throat as lazily as he’s augmenting your pleasure, following the contour of his smooth skin until it reaches his face.
And mercy, Poe’s tongue comes out to wet his lips and a dark curl hangs down his forehead, concentrating hard on fucking you steadily without giving into the same creeping euphoria you’re feeling, and you have to turn away and bite back a whimper at the metal railing when the image starts to burn you alive.
“No,” Poe gruffs and his hand slides up a few inches to frame your jaw, twisting until you face him directly once more. “Right here, you stay right here with me.”
Your eyebrows pull up weakly and your eyes flick across his stunning features, the way he’s so present, so focused and determined while you’re starting to drift. His skin is so smooth, so golden when his jawline used to be dark, and—
“I—” you choke, starting to lose it, “—I-I…”
“What is it, baby?” Poe growls, staring down at you with unwavering, intense concentration. “Tell me. You gonna cum?”
“I…” you whimper, blinking at him slowly, “I… liked your… b-beard…”
Poe’s eyes, previously hardened and steadfast, suddenly go a bit dumb, a bit dazed. After a second, his eyebrows lose all strain, his gaze turns warmer and he rolls his hips deeper—
But the swell begins to become the only thing you can comprehend—that and the fact that you should be fighting it. You should be revolting against it, but now he’s looking so softly down at you and you can’t remember what could possibly be so bad about letting him take away all this ache and desperation again. Let him continue to take it away, over and over and over until it’s nowhere to be found at all.
And then Poe leans down and kisses you. And it’s… nothing like you’d expect.
It’s gentle. It’s tender. It goes on forever while he rocks into your soaking wet cunt, easing his throbbing cock in and out of you with such a smooth, repetitive motion that sends sparks of ecstasy down your spine at the apex of each thrust.
You handle it silently. At first. You don’t audibly react to any of it, you force your voice to at least keep quiet if you can’t hide the pleasure from your face or body, but then true to fucking form, he has to go and ruin it all. Poe uses his knees to scoot up just the slightest bit, and then his moan breaks through the absence of the desperate sounds you’ve been holding back as his tongue slowly slides into your mouth.
Your pussy flares, contracting painfully around his cock as it hits a spot that makes your legs shake against his sides. Your eyes roll back as his soft tongue dips into your mouth and everything just gets tighter, and tighter. Poe moans again and his hips push a little bit harder into yours on the next thrust, and it’s almost like a domino effect, except that doesn’t do it justice. It doesn’t topple one by one, it doesn’t take any time at all for the beginning to reach the finish—it’s a house of cards, the whole thing collapses and crashes down in on itself all at once.
You cum.
You lose. Fair and square.
You make a long, anguished whine into his mouth as you just start spasming, clutching hard at his shoulders and drenching his cock with it, your eyes squeezing shut as you cum so slow and fucking helpless around him. Oh Maker, it’s fucking devastating, it feels even more destructive and powerful than the first one. You pull and shove and claw at him equally, mouth slack as Poe tightens his hold and keeps tasting your whimpering cries, fitting his hips snug to yours as he slowly pushes you down through the debilitating ecstasy. You sob in euphoric defeat and a low, bone-shattering groan of satisfaction rumbles through his chest in response, grinding his cock into you and holding it deep as your pussy convulses.
All those weeks of holding out, just to lose. You had a freebie, he gave you an orgasm already and it was like a massive dose of spice to your deprived system—all it did was make your body want it more. Even worse, your orgasm doesn’t immediately inspire one in Poe like a part of you hoped it would, if only so you could reasonably contest the validity of the outcome. He’s able to ride out every twitch and flex as you shudder your way through it, continuing to lazily slide his tongue into your mouth while it’s held open and slack. He tastes like you. He tastes hot and slick and everything about your body feels the same way, damp and unbearably warm from your nape to your elbows to your cunt to the backs of your knees.
You lay there for what feels like a lifetime afterwards, powerless to the way your thighs tremble violently against his hips and letting the tip of his tongue slowly trace the bottom edge of your teeth while he firmly keeps his cock buried inside you. It pulses thickly and you know he wants to cum, you can feel the tension pulling at his shoulders as he keeps perfectly still. But then Poe shuffles his arms up until they’re braced around your head, using himself to box you in completely without moving his lips from yours. His teeth close on your bottom lip as he inches his hard cock out long and aching from your sensitive channel, and then groans and goes back to the same exact dragging pace from before.
Your expression furrows, even as he keeps kissing you and the movement lights up your oversensitive nerves. Fuck, you want him to speed up, it’s all the more shattering and viseral when he takes his time. What is he doing? What is he waiting for?
“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, demanding a quicker pace. You don’t know why he isn’t just letting loose on you now, giving into his body’s need to cum. He’s aching for it, still rock hard inside of you. “Come on, I already l-lost, just fuck m—”
“Told you before,” Poe whispers back, refusing to speed up. He keeps his pace dragging and steadfast, no matter how much you work to entice him. “Never… fuck. Never gave a fuck about that stupid bet. Suffer though.”
The complete lack of harshness in his tone sears through your nerve endings even though what he said wasn’t exactly nice. You never thought hearing him tell you to suck it up could be delivered in a way that inspires so much arousal in you, but then his tongue is in your mouth again as his hips work slow and easy, and your eyes roll back at how… overwhelming it feels. So intimate. You’re completely surrounded by him, his forearms propped next to your head and his mouth on yours, and… Maker, there it is again. Your body is so deprived that it’s already gearing up to go again. He’s being lazy and you can’t fucking stand how it’s breaking you down. Gradually, with incredible stamina and a patience you never expected from him. When you first feel that pull, part of you still wants to pick up the other end and start a tug-of-war with the sensation. You’ve been fighting for so long that your body almost doesn’t know any different, its automatic reaction is to resist.
A distraction, that’s what you need. That’s what guys do to stop themselves from cumming too soon, right? Fuck, think of something, think of…
—Poe, you can't think of anything but Poe. Fuck. His cock sinking deep, the way he tastes, how his fingers thread into the damp hair at your crown so you can feel him that much more, how you can hook his biceps with both hands and swirl your tongue around his while he fucks you open. Your hips roll up with the pace and almost immediately stutter back down again, not sure if you can handle the wicked shot of oversensitivity—but then Poe groans and shifts up until his thighs are under your ass and he can curl you in more, lift your feet a bit more and make you feel smaller. And—stars, the next thrust in is enough to nearly make you bite him on complete accident, an unexpected sound ripped from your throat as he keeps that specific angle.
Poe keeps going. He keeps kissing you, keeps rocking into you. He lets you claw at him, lets you grapple helplessly while his cock shreds molten hot euphoria deep inside you, and then everything tightens up again.
“Ah, fuck,” Poe breaks away and curses a whole few seconds before you descend into mindless chaos once more, garbling out broken syllables with the absense of his mouth keeping yours occupied. Your voice crescendos and breaks at the same time you do, the pleasure arcing through you over and over and wringing you out repeatedly around his throbbing cock. Poe’s lips quickly move forward and give your whole cheek an open kiss while your expression crumples with it. Teeth drag down your skin as he moans hot air across your skin, his hips slowing to a complete stop with an obscenely slick sound.
You throb and clench around him and his lips are suddenly on yours again, his tongue sinking deep and dominating. Your mouth is slack and all you can do is squeeze him through the bliss, scrape your fingernails down his back and hope it leaves a mark.
Eventually the tremors pass and you’re dead in the aftermath, you don’t have energy. Your body is starting to acclimate to the slow orgasms and just let them steamroll you flat, fully accepting now that you can cum but still putting everything you have into it like every single one might be your last for a while. You come back to yourself enough to feel Poe’s cock solid and achingly hard inside you, and your bottom lip is being tugged between his teeth.
And then he eases out and goes back to fucking you. Same speed, same control.
Your eyes nearly fucking cross. “P-Poe—”
He immediately makes a noise of disapproval with his mouth closed, a nuh-uh but kept tight in his throat. He doesn’t want to hear it, he’s not even letting you finish your thought.
You can’t take it, though, you didn’t think he was capable of this. This is torturous in an entirely different way, overstimulating and shattering you with every thrust.
So, you think back to the one thing that got him to nearly snap earlier, the one time you really got to see that fire you love playing with. Only now, you need that fire, you need him to take everything out on you. Your floor muscles clamp down without warning and squeeze him as tight as possible, squeeze squeeze squeeze until you feel his hips stutter to a halt once more. Your breath catches—fuck, is this gonna work?—but then Poe breaks away from your lips to drop his head and sink his teeth into your neck.
You nearly squeal at how careless he is about it—an animal that bites you lazily even though it sends sharp agony rocketing through you. Again, your attempt at sabotage backfires spectacularly as a subsequent flare of pleasure swells up, and oh, that’s what you want, you want him to be mean—
“Please,” you whimper, hooking your ankles behind his back and locking down hard enough to make your toes curl. Poe groans as you grab a fistful of his hair and tug at the way your skin pinches between his teeth—you know you’re gonna have a bite mark for a few days and it thrills you. “Fuck, please, Poe—please just fuck me, please, I want you to fuck me until it hurts, fuck me the way we both nee—”
“You and me almost died today,” Poe grits into your neck, cutting off your desperate whimpers with a short growl. “Maker, it was so close, I don’t think anybody has any f-fucking…” His hips pull out and then spear deep and you choke, tightening and tightening. “But—shit, we didn’t, we lived and now—oh fuck, now baby’s finally letting me fuck her and I’m not cutting it short, no matter how pretty she sounds asking.”
His words sound slurred against your neck and you can’t tell if it’s his delivery or your perception that’s lagging. But when you feel Poe inch his cock out and start to slowly fuck you through the tightness, you let out a weak little whine and feel yourself drifting… somewhere else.
Things subtly lose their clarity, your eyelashes dip and you stop talking because words won’t come. You can’t tell if you’re staring at the ceiling or your eyelids or the back of your head, but Poe’s voice abruptly breaking through the silence makes you realize you don’t have a concept for time anymore. You couldn’t tell him how long you’ve been floating, but you almost don’t understand what he’s saying at all and it takes you a remarkable delay to fully comprehend. But judging from what he says, it sounds like it hasn’t been long.
“Shit, are you cumming again?” He suddenly gasps into the crook of your neck and grinds his hips achingly hard into yours, “O-Oh—fuck yeah, you are—baby’s cumming again—”
“P-Poe?” You stutter and smack your hand against something, him maybe, not knowing literally anything else. Not knowing what he’s talking about, not knowing where you are, not knowing your own name, “Poe—oh m-my… God—”
“Whhh—W-What—?” You hear him breathe a split second before everything compresses down tight, and then it all shoves forward at once. All of the buildup makes itself known the very moment it becomes too much to control, like a flash flood but the downpour happened miles away. You think you might actually squeak this time, helplessly cry out like it hurts because stars, it does. It hurts so fucking good, it spiders pure plasma through your entire body with rhythmic jolts and wipes your mind completely vacant. Your shoulders shoot you up and knock your chin into something and you think you might be crying? You don’t know anymore. Your spine comes back down to the mattress like the damp fitted sheet covering it is made of pure ice—your body is overheated and you keep tensing and jerking back up until Poe forcefully pins you tight against it, growling filth under his breath as he slow fucks you through it.
You feel his hand dropping down between your bodies and you sob pitifully at the ceiling when the tip of his calloused finger brushes your clit.
***
You lose count.
It’s just… constant, there isn’t a point in keeping track anymore even if there happened to be the ability—which, nope. Not even close.
He ruins you slowly. Meticulously, with nothing more than steady, unwavering determination. Every structure you built, he takes apart by hand instead of bulldozing it the way you beg him to when you find the words. You’re certain you find them—you must find them at some point, but they’re interspaced between babbled gibberish and breathy whispers of his name.
Even though it’s slow—Maker, it’s so slow—you’ve never been so fucking exhausted. He makes you give him everything and then he drains the reserves, the hidden ones you weren’t even aware existed. He never goes fast enough; in fact, you think he’s actually slowed down over the unknown amount of time it’s been since you first called out his name and asked for this. If you were in a frame of mind to notice, you’d probably realize he’s trying harder and harder to not cum, but in your wild headspace, it just feels like a prolonged punishment for you. It still feels like he’s depriving you for his own pleasure, even though he’s actually depriving himself for yours. But you always do manage to find some way to read things wrong with him.
Eventually, he begins to waver. He stops talking so much, stops chastising you when you plead with him. He hasn’t looked at you since he first kissed you—he’s either hidden his face in your neck or closed his eyes as his soft tongue slides across your bottom lip before dipping inside.
But then there comes a point where even you realize he’s struggling not to let go now, and in your faded traces of sanity, you hear your broken voice cut through the sounds of the soft radio.
“Y-Y-You—” you gasp, trembling under him, “—youneedtocum. You need to—”
“No,” Poe grits against your chin, sounding shaky and weak no matter how sharp he makes his consonants. “Fuck, not yet, I—I-I don’t want to yet.”
“Oh no,” you wheeze out, feeling the swell begin again, the familiar flicker of warning you get as his cock slowly rocks into you. Maker, the pleasure is getting raw and painful even as your pussy is drowning his cock with it, allowing him to glide slow and deep into your sensitive channel and letting the sheer tightness of it be the only resistance your body puts up.�� You can feel the wetness on your cheeks though, the tears of frustration gathering as your body prepares itself for yet another wave of attack. “Oh no, ohhhhhnononononono—”
“I don’t want—” Poe gasps, his hips stuttering just a bit and one of his hands coming down to smack the pillow next to your head as he chokes, “—don’t want this to… e-end yet, I—”
Your next orgasm suddenly slams through you and Poe immediately rips himself out of you before it’s too late. He shushes you frantically while you sob in distress and writhe side to side through the contractions solo this time, having nothing to clamp down on, not even able to grind up into him because he keeps his leaking cock elevated far beyond your reach.
Oh, that’s it. That is it.
“Fuck me!” You wail up at him, water blurring your vision and tears streaming down your cheeks, “Stop fucking around and just fuck me, you asshole! Fuck me and fuck me hard Dameron or I swear to every fucking star in the sk—”
You don’t get too far. He’s immediately scrambling over top of you and a strong hand is clamping down tight over your mouth, muffling your high-pitched cries against his palm. Your legs are shoved apart and one is caught under his arm and wedged back as far as it can go. His head drops to your neck, and then he snarls a ragged, “Brat—“ under your ear before ramming his cock back inside you.
Stars. Stars light up, it’s so much—the angle, the force, the speed, the sound his hips make as they start ruthlessly colliding with yours. Your eyes screw shut and you dig your nails into the meat of his back, but he doesn’t slow down—he speeds up—
“Fuck, you still think that throwing your little fucking fits works on me?” He hisses, drilling into your g-spot with such blinding hard precision that you can’t do anything more than just claw at his chest, gasping for air that just won’t come into your lungs. “Huh? Think you can just be a little bitch to me about it and it’s gonna change anything? You still don’t have any fucking idea, do you? Look at me—” he snarls, grabbing your face and shaking it to get you to respond, “—look at what you fucking do to me—”
But you can’t. You already came countless times and he’s lurching you up the bed with every single rabid thrust into your blindingly sensitive cunt, fucking you into the railing and then the wall behind it. You still feel his fingers grasping at your jaw, forcing you to address him, to look at him, and you can’t seem to focus your vision on his blurry features even when your eyes flutter open. You’re too dumb with grinding pleasure to see anything besides blurs and stars, to say literally anything back to him. But that’s not what he cares about.
“Oh fuck yes, there it is,” his voice whines, pitching up something vulnerable as his hips ram you into the corner hard and unyielding, “fuck, there’s those pretty eyes, that’s what I wanted, baby, that’s all I wanted—th-that’s—fuck, that’s—”
They must cross, or roll back, or something, because suddenly you can’t see him at all anymore. You don’t know what happens—but you know it’s wet. You know it bursts forth something fierce and you shriek his name with a hoarse and shredded voice like he steals the last part of your whole fucking soul with it. Fuck, you’re not even there for most of it, you might actually black out.
In your conscious moments, you can feel his whole body flexing over and over again on top of you. He empties his load deep inside you and takes a fucking eternity doing it, so many breathless praises leaving his mouth so quickly that they slur together and you can’t understand any of it even if you could hear him. All you can do is feel your cunt tighten and convulse in tandem with the throbbing of his cock, rhythmically working the cum out of him until Poe stops stuttering his hips, until he finally trails off into nothing but labored gasps and slumps down on top of you in exhaustion.
You both lay there for a while, dead weight breathing.
You want to hold him, your cum-struck mind quietly provides in the comedown. You want to feel his body now that you can finally think straight and take a moment to enjoy this blissful relief. He fucked you so good and you want to touch him, you want to run your fingers through his hair and massage the tight muscles at the base of his neck.
But then you just start giggling.
It’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid. You smack your hand over your mouth but the garbled noise easily floats beyond it, completely elated and having absolutely no explanation at all.
Poe quickly pulls his head back to look at you and you try to twist sideways under him to hide it, but you can’t stop—like a complete loon, you snort and start to laugh harder at the ridiculous sound. Oh, you don’t just float, you’re the air itself, so light with endorphins that you close your eyes and get lost in the fit until water wets the outside corners.
After a moment, a hand gently grasps your wrist and slowly pulls it down until he can see the way your mouth opens as you giggle, hear it unobstructed and let the sound bubble up at him and fill the room. And you blink your eyes open just in time to see him slowly break into the most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen him bestow a person.
And… you’ve seen him grin a million times. He’s almost always smiling, as long as you’re not right in front of him. He smiles at his squadmates, he smiles at girls, he smiles at complete strangers, and you always thought it was pretty. Always knew that he could light up a room with it, you always knew he could get anything he wanted with it, but this… this isn’t that kind of smile. That one is practiced and alluring. It wasn’t fake, necessarily, but that smile’s purpose always had more to do with making anyone who happens to witness it feel a certain way than it did about signifying his own emotional state.
This one is… goofy. Amazed, and uncoordinated. Thunderstruck in a way, except the clouds all part at the same time and let you see a rainbow. It makes you feel… alive. Colorful. Radiant. Sunshine. Butterflies.
Poe quickly drops his lips to catch yours and you moan happily, sliding your tongue into his mouth this time. You both adjust, you arch into him as he pushes your damp hair back and makes a deep noise of satisfaction, letting you explore while he wraps his arms around you and finds a way to make this atrocious position comfortable. Every part of you is smushed up against him and there’s absolutely no space to be found, and you’ve never been happier.
“We made a mess,” he groans against your lips, rocking his hips into you with a disgustingly slick sound as if to illustrate, and his cock is soft but it’s still so thick that it stays buried inside your sloppy entrance. “Shit, I—I think I might be bleeding.”
“What?” You ask breathily, and he heaves himself up with his elbows just enough to reveal his chest. You both tuck your chins unattractively to look and you don’t immediately see any blood, but your claw marks are clearly red and visible scraping down his pectorals. “Oh. Pfft. You’re fine.”
He drops back down with a huff and your head is tilted at the perfect angle catch on the tiny droplets of blood decorating the marks criss-crossing his shoulder blades. Oops.
But he’s already kissing up your neck and over the curve of your jaw and making out with you again like he can’t get enough of it, and you forget. You forget everything. You forget every disagreement, every gripe with him you’ve ever had. It’s all wiped away and replaced with giddy, childish adoration. Resetting completely and starting off on the rightest foot imaginable.
“Let’s go to my bed,” he murmurs, and you make a tight noise of disapproval. No. This is good, this is how you want to stay. The railing is digging into your lower back and he’s heavy but you’re perfect like this, this is perfect. “Baby,” Poe pants against your lips in exasperation when you quickly clutch the back of his neck and keep him glued to you, “mmph—you got everything all wet—”
This time you make a low hum of agreement and drag your hand down the bare curve of his spine to his ass to give it a squeeze. A testament to how hard and raw he fucked you. Poe shudders hard enough for you to feel his body tremble but you just kiss him harder, pulling him down onto you more.
“You’re gonna have to give me, just like—I don’t know, at least an hour or two,” he chuckles, grabbing your hands to make it easier to peel himself from your body and groaning when his cock finally slips out. “Come on, let’s hang out in my bed.”
You’re so boneless when he pulls you to sit upright, you roll a little bit and Poe has to catch you, and you laugh again. Maker, you’re a complete mess and absolutely delighted about it. Your attempts at grumbling and complaining don’t hold any sway when you’re still trying not to giggle, and Poe is able to pull you to the top of the ladder and make his way down first.
As soon as he’s out of sight and calling up to you, you weakly slide into position with a groan and feel yourself leaking at the movement. “Gah—look what you did. I’m all… gooey.”
“I know, s’the hottest fucking thing,” he says under his breath from the floor, before beckoning you by tapping on the closest rung a few times. “Come on, be careful.”
You do as he says, easing your naked body down one step at a time with wobbly legs. It’s clumsy and you whine the whole way through, wordlessly grousing and mumbling.
“Oh, I just know it,” he comments on the sound, “nice clean sheets, I’ll get the violin.”
Normally, you probably would’ve snarked something back down at him, but you’re still so loopy and shaky-legged that you just start laughing again. The fact that he’s absolutely right and you’re being ridiculous about something like moving beds suddenly strikes you as incredibly fucking funny for some reason. You don’t realize his hands are hovering inches away from your hips until your legs buckle and Poe quickly supports your weight.
“Maker,” Poe chuckles before giving you a firm yank, and then catching you before you can tumble down the ladder in your naked, teary-eyed mania, “let’s go, giggles.”
He carries you a few steps to the mattress and plops you down on top of the comforter, letting you take up the whole bed while he sits on the end and puts your feet on his lap. Poe grimaces for a second and then shuffles until the radio is pulled out from under him, and you can hear the soft sound of it playing once again. You bury your face into his pillow, inhaling the warm scent lingering there while he tosses it carelessly to the side and rubs your shins for a little bit, watching you stretch out naked on his mattress.
“I’m not giving you two weeks of pay,” you suddenly grunt, and he just grins down at you, not arguing. Not saying anything. Sitting in comfortable silence with you when you’re expecting him to bicker. So you stay like that for a long time, breathing deep and relaxing, until Poe’s hands leave you for a second…
… to pull a bag of chips out.
Maker, at the first squeaky sound of the wrapping assaulting your eardrums, you want to roll your eyes. You want to tease him about how fucking typical it is. Like clockwork, you could probably set your watch to his middle of the night cravings. You don’t know why you thought fucking him would change any of that.
You want to give him shit for it. You even open your mouth, the snark on the very tip of your tongue. But then your stomach growls as soon as he rips the thin plastic apart.
Poe’s eyes shoot to yours and neither one of you move, but apparently your tummy doesn’t get the memo. It takes forever to trail off into silence again, and he blinks. Fuck, you know you should’ve forced yourself to eat at least something earlier. Warmth floods your cheeks and you scramble for something to say, but there’s no way to play it off.
“Would you like some chips?” Poe suddenly asks with a boyish grin, raising his eyebrows and tipping the open bag freely in your direction.
The corners of your mouth pull downwards even as the inside of it waters. You wouldn’t call it stubbornness necessarily as much as it is a… a desire to stick to consistency. After the unbelievably hard time you always give him about midnight snacking, you’re hesitant to partake.
Though, the chips rustle against each other and sound absolutely fucking delicious as Poe shakes the bag and bounces his eyebrows, and you know what? Fuck it.
You snatch it without thinking, cradling the precious food to your chest as you dig your whole hand in and shove a bunch into your mouth at once. You catch him smiling again, but he doesn’t comment.
You both take turns, and by take turns you obviously mean you take turns stealing the bag from each other instead of just setting it equidistant between you and openly agreeing to share it, but it works for you. It seems appropriate. And then it’s quiet again, just munching and crinkling, except for the radio continuing to play from its place in his lap. You have to work to listen over the loud crunching vibrating through your skull, but when you finally manage to stop chewing and catch a few bars, you suddenly find yourself trying not to smile again. Fuck, it’s been years since you’ve heard this song, you love this s—
“Fuck, I love this song,” Poe promptly exclaims with his mouth full, licking the tips of his fingers before scrambling to pick the radio up and twist the volume knob without using his wet fingertips. He starts humming over the melody, loud enough to almost drown it out completely, because of course he does. The one damn time you actually want to listen to his radio and he still finds some way to mildly irritate you.
But this irritation is almost… fun. You want to laugh just as much as you want to yell at him.
“Hey, who sings this song?” You immediately ask over the sound of him clearly not knowing the lyrics, already ready with it. Oh, the round is in the chamber, your finger is on the trigger, you are ready, and Poe’s eyes sparkle as he seems to stop and think about it.
“Mm, not sure,” he eventually shrugs, just before you rush, “Let’s keep it that—”
And then he’s slapping a hand on your leg and belting out the chorus while you scoff, giggling. He ruined the punchline on purpose and is now getting chip dust all over you, but you know any complaint you make will be drowned out by his suspended notes and backing track, so you just roll your eyes and swipe the bag of chips from him while he continues to serenade you.
“My ears are bleeding,” you mutter under your breath.
He has a nice voice, you think.
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some things about bnha 302:
-endeavor literally just fucked off like “I have work I can’t watch Touya” and left Rei to deal with it herself for five years lmfao??? 1. what a fucking coward and 2. Rei showing again that even if she can’t necessarily do anything to fix it, she’s still more in tune with her children’s emotions than he is, she knows Touya wants Enji’s acknowledgment! I don’t know why people are acting like she just ignored Touya’s existence in favor of Shouto???
-when Touya looked up at Endeavor and Shouto on the balcony he just looked sad?? maybe vaguely annoyed? what is up with the “he gave an evil look to Shouto” shit? Are people just looking to demonize everything this 13 year old did? He’s a kid goddamn
-Also in the same chapter he says he was wrong for going after Shouto??? He didn’t even say anything that was incorrect he is not “manipulating” Natsuo for his evil purposes jesus christ he’s THIRTEEN and Natsuo was his ONLY confidante he’s looking for comfort and crying he’s THIRTEEN JESUS
-On that note Touya isn’t really..being necessarily misogynist by saying “the girls can’t understand”. Like from his perspective they don’t understand why he needs so desperately to gain Enji’s approval and of course he’s going to react negatively to “find something else other than being a hero” no matter what good intentions they have. This isn’t their fault and it’s not his either. (cough it’s endeavor’s cough)
-Rei says “you’re going to the hill again” which leads me to think going to the hill to train is something Touya does often. And he’s very resistant to her asking him to not go, being fairly disrespectful to her (again, not his fault he’s that way) and talking back. Again, Rei is more in tune with what he’s actually feeling, she can see he’s in pain because of his obsession, and I can only imagine what she felt if she talked to him before the LAST time he went to the hill and never came home. (But also Endeavor literally just didn’t fucking go??? He couldn’t get off his ass for five minutes to go see what Touya was up to??? How is he escaping blame for the incident? Rei is shown trying to convince him to acknowledge Touya, so it’s not at all out of character to say she probably begged him to just go. But Enji chose not to.) But still, it kind of blows my mind that people think it’s Rei’s fault that he went. Like, what do you expect her to do? Use physical force to stop him and potentially make things even worse? Instead of taking any responsibility for 1. causing the obsession in the first place, 2. ignoring Touya when he has no use to him, and 3. failing to use any of his actual professional ability to help Touya control his Quirk and prevent disaster, Endeavor just comes home and blames it all on Rei, in true abuser fashion. (He literally just abandoned Touya’s training cold turkey, he didn’t even keep up with trying to at least make sure he could control it? You can’t tell me specialized training or counseling for self destructive Quirks doesn’t exist??) Which is also what the fandom’s doing lmao. She really was out of options at this point...she couldn’t convince Touya not to go and she knew it, and I’m sure she felt like a failure of a mother for it, but Enji really was the only one with any power to sway Touya’s decisions. He could have committed to spending time with his son and taking responsibility at any point, but instead focused 100% on Shouto. Rei was in the very difficult position as a parent that many mothers are put into in real life- parenting their children in an abusive environment is made even more difficult because of both the lack of support from their spouse and their children growing resentful or disrespectful towards them because of the behavior they see modeled by the abusive partner. Enji literally, directly undercut Rei’s ability to parent at all; this is literally not the same as Rei just being “neglectful” and I’m tired of seeing people say she was “passive and complicit” in what he did. Literally this whole flashback she’s been trying to help Touya, but because she couldn’t and acknowledged that she couldn’t she’s somehow taken as this bitch who didn’t try at all. the bnha fandom really takes misunderstanding abuse victims to a whole other level. “She could have told Endeavor” literally as soon as he found out (possibly when she actually did tell him after he found the burns) he just fucking beat her and continued to do nothing about Touya. What options did she have to employ to help Touya when Enji continued to ignore and hurt him?
-This panel is...kind of interesting to me. This is another line people are bashing Touya over for supposedly being misogynist. But I really don’t take it that way? I think he’s lashing out because Rei doesn’t understand him, and yeah he may want to say something to hurt her, but I feel like that’s more of a subconscious urge? It really feels more like he’s trying to say “You’re being a hypocrite, you aren’t using your own advice; you were also used, but don’t understand me.” I don’t think he’s literally blaming her for being “bought” (even though, emotionally, he may place some blame on her for him being born in the first place, because emotions themselves don’t have to be ‘rational’). I think this is just another thing Dabi blames Endeavor for.
-in summary the whole “cancel Touya because he’s misogynist” is both stupid and batshit lmao y’all are wild do you ever go outside have you ever spoken to any 13 year old
-Both Endeavor and Rei mention that they didn’t know how to talk to Touya, but it blows my mind people are treating them the same. Rei acknowledged she didn’t know how to talk to Touya, but she still tried. The disconnect between her and her child was directly caused by her husband. Enji literally fucking ignored him on purpose??? Just because Enji feels bad about it now and wants to make an excuse, doesn’t change the fact he was really just running away all along. Rei literally calls him out on this lmao.
-Literally why are people demonizing Rei for saying the issue is all of theirs to bear? That scene doesn’t read at ALL as if she’s saying “it’s literally all our fault this happened”. She is not blaming her toddler children for past events. She’s acknowledging that they all have to deal with it now as a family, which is just, facing reality to be honest. None of them can just close their eyes and pretend Dabi doesn’t exist. She knows her kids feel guilty about Touya too and is acknowledging that running from it will only make them feel worse. Do you think Shouto would listen or feel better if his mom told him “this isn’t any of your concern, so don’t think about it”???? You know he wouldn’t and she knows that too.
-“Rei didn’t say anything about Natsuo and Fuyumi in this one single conversation when she praised Shouto and used him as an example of a hero (maybe because that’s what he’s trying to become) that means she doesn’t care about the abuse they endured” lmao this is so dumb and the weirdest take I’ve seen I’m not even gonna talk about it. Where is the reading comprehension. Do people know conversations take place off screen too do they know Rei talked to her children when they visited her in hospital. What the hell
-I cannot physically believe people are referring to this scene as a “fight.” “The kids were hiding from Enji and Rei fighting.” Lmfao what the fuck is wrong with you? This is a direct parallel to the other scene involving Enji physically abusing Rei and Shouto being present. You think a woman is cowering on the floor with her confirmed abusive spouse towering over her for fun? No, he fucking put her there. Baby Shouto even says stop bullying mom. People are so desperate to act like Rei wasn’t abused and the misogyny is so ironically clear for people complaining about one or two supposedly misogynistic comments a little boy made. The kids were hiding from Endeavor abusing their mother. They were hiding from Enji.
-In conclusion, I didn’t think the bad takes about Touya and Rei could get any worse but boy I was fucking wrong.
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Thurs 21 Jan ‘21
Welp. Today was a busy week, huh?
Let’s start with Zayn’s INZAYNLY AWESOME idea of writing a comic book based on his own album - take THAT reviews that said he had no concept behind it! The first panel of the story is a man in a white car speeding away from a man with purple eyes and white pupils (REALLY creepy btw), and it reads, “A madman has been chasing me for the past hour. When I go faster, he comes closer”. I am intrigued! I hope that this is some sort of enemies to lovers type thing, but knowing these guys, its strictly horror/suspense. This is being presented in video form, so the panels are moving figures and they are scored with songs from the album, which I assume is how the rest of the panels will also be presented. You can watch these two panels with the songs “Calamity” and “Better” over on YouTube for the full effect! Also, Zayn’s last listening party was today and he was the DJ! “DJ Malik”, he said in a sentimental throwback to his boyband days. He and his team had a great time throwing airhorns into the the listening party and then they did a “from Dusk Til Dawn '' encore, which I’m sure means Zayn wants us to be streaming NIL from Dusk Til Dawn!
To keep the party going, Paul Roberts, TPWK and longtime 1D choreographer, had a chat with the BBC about working with Harry and Phoebe (WB) on the music video. He knew right away, he said, that everyone from 1D could be a great dancer if they really wanted to be, and, ten years later, he finally got the chance to test the theory! Spoiler alert: he was RIGHT! Harry had seen Phoebe in Fleabag on the West End and got on with her from the word go, and so the idea came about. “It was about three weeks before the world started to burn”, he says about the filming of the video,“We didn’t know how lucky we were”.
Finally, let’s CHAT: it’s stunt timeeeeee!! Today is, of course, Freddie’s birthday, which meant the usual round of pictures stolen from social media from the Tomlinson sisters, silence from Louis, and birthday pics from the Clarks. Including a picture of a sonogram posted by Briana that was taken on August 3rd, 2015 (Louis confirmed the baby on the very next day on GMA). This sonogram is notable BECAUSE - drumroll pleasseeeee - it was taken at a FERTILITY CLINIC which specialized in surrogacy and IVF. So this is a clinic that only treats people who cannot have children naturally. To make matters more interesting, the clinic does not do non-client visits, and they did not do them in 2015. You simply could not go to this clinic if you had an accidental pregnancy because those are not the kinds of clients served by this clinic! I mean, if nothing else, this shows that Briana did not get accidentally pregnant by Louis, if she was pregnant at all. Likely, it was another fucked up photoshop job, where they switched Tammi’s name for hers and just forgot to change the name of the clinic. Sighhh. We knew this, of course, but WOW does this prove it concretely, huh? Anyways, I cannot BELIEVE that they are still fucking up THIS BADLY five years later, but uh. Yeah. Happy Birthday, Freddie, hope you got more than an apple this year!
But that’s not the ONLY stunt that’s becoming faker and faker: Fauxlivia is proving itself to be nothing but the cash, and the cars, and the glory...and the pretty clothes, apparently! Turns out, Olivia is a brand ambassador for La Ligne in much the same way that H works for Gucci. She’s been featured on their instagram many MANY times, and has, thus far, worn their clothes for no fewer than TWO of the Holivia pap walks. Strangely enough, though, when this whole stunt began to manifest in late October, HARRY began featuring on their Instagram page as well. Totally Organically, of course, considering that they’d never talked about him before! That AND: the pink beanie that H was wearing in their dumb af Parking Lot Pap Walk has ALSO been idenfied to be La Ligne, which I’m sure he Just Decided to begin wearing and it had NOTHING to do with Jeff being Right There and them having promoted Gucci together at Jeff’s wedding. Mhmmmmm they’ve convinced me they’re TOTALLY in love. Celebrities that promo together, stay together, after all! (Oh, is that not the saying?)
Meanwhile, Liam’s Final Act merch has been delayed, and he has asked people to “contact him when they get it” (Harry’s team could NEVER), and JC Stewart called Niall “one of the nicest guys in music”. I’m sure he agrees! And, Niall has his own little discourse today - so much for him not creating any drama, huh? There were some shirtless pics of him posted by an ~source~ where he seems to have been working out (Niall has ABS now??) and is arranging a stack of boxes that read “nude” (just like Niall, huh?). UAs battled it out whether or not these pics should have been posted because he did not know they were being taken and there’s ETHICS involved, but Niall hangs out shirtless so much ANYWAYS that I bet he doesn’t mind.
#okayyy today is a 'not putting it in the tags kind of day'#well thats fineeeee because WHAT A FUNNY DAY#also it seems more and more that La Ligne and deuxmoi are connected to the stunt#which - actually - with all this promo it might actually be run by the movie studio rather than Jeff#(or HSHQ at large)#and so what was proven today is that the industry is UH FAKE#but we KNEWW THATTTT#anyways!#song of the day!#Younger by A Great Big World#because that song always reminds me of Louis idk why
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More on the Robinpile Soulmate au
You know, babes, people and their wonderful, encouraging comments on that work in progress are fucking beautiful, so.
I’m going to put a little snippet down that’s probably going to rip at your heart strings and spoil the story a bit for you if you decide to read this small bit. So, just FYI Spoiler.
But, if you’d like a little more on how that story is going to go, welp. here you are *bows*
Note: not formatted or beta read.
After so much careful planning and preparation, Plan C is a go.
Robin is running over rooftops, scanning every shadow for a hint of Red Robin in Gotham. Nightwing and the Red Hood, Black Bat, Batgirl, and Signal are all in crucial parts of the city, on the lookout as well.
He, Jason, and Dick have spent weeks preparing for this, hoping their last-ditch effort would be enough to convince Tim his time as Robin hadn’t been in vain, that he was still, would always be a Bat.
That is the goal tonight, not to try convincing him to give them a chance as soulmates because that is likely impossible, but they could start a much more important mission, to try in their own ways to give him back something they’d all taken. To try to show they knew what they’d done to him, and perhaps could start them on the road to make it right.
(He hopes there’s still a chance.)
Fabrication didn’t take long, but the coupe de gras certainly did.
Word Red Robin would be in Gotham on the down-low gave them a chance to finally act, and Oracle promised them she would do her best to stall their soulmate until Robin could get to him.
And it’s a pang of pain, a lightning strike, when he catches up with Red on the roof of the Wallstone Apartments. The memory of the cut grapple line in the foreground of Robin’s thoughts.
“Please help,” Robin makes himself fall off his grapple to his knees, bent over, panting. “Red Robin, please.”
(Not all of it is an act, not with how hard he was running to get to Red before he vanished into the city.)
The older vigilante kneels by him, out of immediate reach.
“Where?” Is Tim’s Red Robin voice, a hand almost reaches out, clenches tight at the last second to draw back, and Robin sees the aborted move, has a flare of hope.
“Cannery Row–” and Robin rocks to the side, looks up at that closed expression, dares to let the fluttering in his chest give him strength.
Hands and arms around him, steady him, pull him up on his knees. He thinks about the grip Red Robin has on his shoulders to hold him up, how tightly Tim is able to hold on. A finger taps his mask so the whiteouts slide up, taking away some of his nightvision. He’s not concussed, is perfectly fine, but through his research, an injured (seemingly) teammate in need is one of Tim’s weaknesses.
“Robin–”
“We need you, there is too much happening in the city tonight. We are all stretched too thin,” and there is nothing but the truth in his eyes, his demeanor, the way his gloved hand tightens in the cape over Red’s shoulder.
“All right, stay here, call Hood or N to pick you up–”
But Robin staggers to his feet, “I can’t. I must get you to the safehouse. Everything we need is there.”
He keeps himself from a triumphant bellow when Red Robin paces him to the edge of the roof, grapple already in hand.
Luckily, Cannery Row is close enough they don’t have to go far, just their past hanging between them, the connection that’s agonizingly cold and silent even when they’re side-by-side.
Robin lands it this time on the roof of the familiar warehouse. He taps the comm unit on as he touches down, hopes Red won’t notice.
They climb through a service elevator shaft, the two of them prying open the doors once they hit the underground floor.
“Give me the details,” Red’s whole body tense as they lower themselves down into the darkness.
“Black Bat is in the Central Business District, Hood is by the Iceburg Lounge, Nightwing is in the Diamond District. Father is tracking down leads for a case, Batgirl is on her way to the Steel Mill. We still have no coverage for the situation in the City Hall District, but you cannot go alone.”
When they get the doors pried open, when Red Robin was close enough for his cape to brush against his, the underground is revealed in shadows, just as he, Jason, and Richard left it a few hours earlier.
(This is a newer Batman Incorporated holding. Robin is banking on the fact Tim might not know this, his heart starting to beat harder, faster when they get closer to the first stage of Plan C.)
The lights kick on as planned, and in the large expansive floor, a drop-cloth-covered something waits.
That’s all.
Red Robin is looking around for anything, searching for traps, evidence, something to give him an idea of what he’s walking into, back pressed against the elevator before he starts to step out.
His vigilante instincts aren’t going crazy, but he stays close to the shadows as he sneaks out, leaving Robin behind in the elevator shaft to stay or follow.
(Where Damian has the next step in the plan waiting, a duffle bag he’d hidden in the panel of the elevator shaft. He’s fast and silent, throwing off his gloves, gauntlets, cape, and utility belt–)
His instincts still aren’t blaring dangerdangerdanger and his wrist computer isn’t picking up any foreign tech when Red Robin finally gets to the drop-cloth with a frown, wondering if they’ve come across a piece of shady tech or something.
Which is really the only explanation for why Robin would come to him at all, everyone else busy in Gotham notwithstanding.
He grips the cloth and pulls hard, muscles tense for whatever fuckey waits for him underneath.
When he gets an eyeful, his knees go terribly weak for a long painful moment as he stares at–
The Red Bird.
“Oh...fuck,” because his eyes are instantly hot and full, making him blink rapidly behind the whiteouts.
And it gleams in the overhead lights, red and black and shiny, looks like it did the day Bruce showed it to him in the Cave, ready to tear into the night.
His chest hitches and the possibility this could be a cruel joke hits him hard enough to choke.
(It’s because he rejected them. This sick shit is because he refused to let bygones be bygones.)
“Open the door, Tim. Everything you will need tonight is ready for you.”
It’s Dami’s voice echoing behind him, not Robin’s, and Red can’t bring himself to look away, too many things churning in his brain pan around the shock and anger and regret and grief. It might be stupid for him to reach out, to make his wobbly knees work, to open the door with a bigger hand than the last time he did this.
The inside is immaculate, even after years of disuse that Red Robin has to wonder how and why and what the absolute fuck is happening here?
But on the seat, folded neatly with all the bells and whistles, the shuriken R on the red tunic gleams bright in the halogen glow. His throat gets tight when he realizes it’s his original red, gold, and green–the colors of joy.
The colors from the best years, before it all started to go horribly wrong.
A noise comes out of him, something low and pained before he can rein it in, before he can remind himself he’s already moved past the point this should still mean something.
(But it does, it always has, it’s always meant so much, especially back when he was just a kid in a silent, empty house. It meant he had a place, a purpose, a presence at his back when things got to be too much, too overwhelming.)
And it’s stupid how helpless he is, how some part of him –small and weak as it is– can’t stop himself from reaching out to touch, to grab, to try to hold the fuck on.
(Not because of the name itself, never that, but everything he’d lost the second it had all been taken away. A final nail in the coffin, back to being that boy in an empty house.)
When he reaches for the suit, he holds it in both hands like he’s seeing things, chest stuttering on a breath when the scent of new leather and Kevlar proves he hasn’t been drugged or the sleep dep severely fucking with him.
Stepping from the shadows, no longer in Robin but a black suit of some nameless ninja, Damian Wayne is holding the hood and face covering he’s going to wear for the night, waits until he sees how his soulmate will react to this possibly disastrous plan.
He takes careful, tentative steps closer, taking in the hunched shoulders, bowed head, reaching into the Bond when it is ice cold in his chest.
“Wh-what the fuck is this?” Hoarse and painful from his, their Tim. And Dami’s hands automatically reach out in desperation to comfort before he remembers himself and hesitates.
Even if the Bond on his side is closed, cold, silent, Damian breathes in and attempts to send calming, soothing feelings, tries to let his own emotions, his hope, his affection, his protectiveness, his respect, his reverence for this man be available should the Bond at any moment open even slightly.
His soulmate’s rigid control to close himself off from them comes from years of training, of trying to protect himself is such a point of pain that some part of him thinks the three of them together could crash through if they tried, could break down those walls by force.
But he’s here tonight, had worked so hard with N and Hood and Father and Batgirl and Black Bat and Oracle to plan it all, set it all up, because he’s different now, has learned what his actions had cost him, has realized he can’t go back to the old ways.
Instead, he hopes they will have this last chance, will give Tim enough reasons to open up without fear, without pain.
(“It started with taking the cape,” Dick thinks aloud once the three of them are together after a long night, finding comfort, “he thinks he was kicked out of the family, so...this shouldn’t have been about soulmates in the first place.”
“I do not understand, Beloved,” Dami yawns, buried himself deeper against Jason’s chest.
“It’s not about gettin’ him like that, Sweets,” Jay replies, stroken a hand through his hair. “Might never happen…”
“But, we could give him back some of what we took. He could finally come home again–”
Dami’s eyes open, “we...could give him back his place in the family. Or at least try to do so. Is that what you are saying?”
“Hm,” Jay grunts out, arms stealthy when he wraps them both up, rolls to put himself in the middle, “sounds like we godda last resort, now don’t it?”
“We’ll call it Plan C since it’s our last chance.”)
Plan C, indeed.
“Tim,” and he gives them only a few feet of space, no domino, no hood, no face coverings, no masks, holds up both hands in what he hopes is a peaceful gesture.
Red Robin spins with a growl, muscles tense in fight or flight, ready to throw the fuck down because why fix up the Red Bird and bring it here of all places? What game is this? Haven’t they broken him enough?
But Damian isn’t in the tunic he was wearing less than ten minutes ago, and Red Robin stops cold at the obviously planned costume change. He takes a careful step away from the very familiar suit Damian is wearing now, one that looks crazily like B’s when he was Tengu, trying to get himself back enough to take the cowl from Jean-Paul back when shit was crazy but even then he still had Nightwing at his back and–and…
What is wrong with him? He hasn’t thought about any of this in years.
But still. But still, his eyes go to the gleaming Red Bird, and those better times well up from within, a place so deep, he’d convinced himself he’d left all of it behind.
(Nightwing and Spoiler, school and the Cave, new baddies in Gotham to throw more crazy into the Rogue Gallery mix, teenage angst and sidekick wins, people at his back and front even in the worst of times. Being Red for the Titans was good, so good, but not ever the same. Not like it was when he was that Robin.)
He’s still holding the tunic in both hands, fists clenching it tight like something would have to pry his hands open to take it away (again) when what he really needs to do is throw it back in the Bird and get the absolute fuck out of here. Because this isn’t his anymore, apparently never should have been if the last few years were any kind of indication on the Tim Drake policy.
“This is cruel, even for you,” is snarly and low, is simmering anger trying to cover up old pain, pissing him off even more because he’d finally gotten to the place where he could forget for a while.
(And he’ll get there again. Even after all this.)
He makes his fingers unclench, throws the tunic back on the driver’s seat, but none of that covers up how hoarse his voice is, how tight his chest feels.
Dami just moves one hand, slowly pulls out his phone, thumbs the pass code to unlock the screen, and turns the device around to show Red what’s doing on the main screen.
His brain doesn’t process the image that’s him, one of the few existing pictures from years ago when he was still with Young Justice, the one of the core four making stupid faces, torn up from whatever space battle they’d just come back from, half-insane with sleep deprivation and injuries, only back to the planet for moments to celebrate not dying with pizza and Zestis, arms thrown around each other with rips and bruises and blood still staining the uniforms.
Why the fuck it meant something to Damian is the real question.
“I was wrong, when I came to the Tower,” Damian takes a tentative step toward him, still holding the phone out like a distraction that was really a message. “I told you I wanted to know this man you are now. The man that is one of my soulmates. However...however, I was wrong, Tim. You were my soulmate even back then. You were mine, and even if you weren’t, you were already part of the family when I came to Father, and I did not even give you a chance. I did not see how important you were, what lengths you went to make that symbol your own. I was terrified, young, foolish, but that is no excuse. What I should have been doing all this time is learning who you were back then before I attempted to approach you. Only by knowing that boy could I hope to understand this man.”
Wait, what now? How is this happening right now? All the awful things he’d secretly wanted to hear from the blood son, another chosen one. Another crux of his tangled emotions.
“I already told you I don’t need fucking soulmates. I rejected you.” He bites out, trying to breathe, trying to shove those emotions back down where they belong, trying to pretend the sight of the car, the tunic, the things he used to call his own, can’t touch him anymore.
(But it still has power, so much fucking power to break him down to this, that scared kid in an empty house.)
After all these years, he’s moved on...right?
“I know, Beloved,” Dami puts his phone away, green eyes never leaving Red Robin’s tense form. “But this? Tonight? This has nothing to do with soulmates.”
Which is absolutely not what he expects to hear.
“Tonight is about my predecessor, Beloved, not my soulmate. This is for the Robin that stood in Gotham before me,” and it’s gentle in ways Red Robin never imagined Damian could be, not with him. “This,” and Damian sweeps a hand over the car, the suit, “is for the brother we never should have driven away. The one who gave this name his own brand of honor and power, the one who carved a place for himself in the family. Not as the third Robin in line, but as the first Tim Drake.”
Red Robin’s hands fall enough to be less of a threat. Other than that, he isn’t moving, is listening even if it’s grudgingly, even if it’s with disbelief, even if it’s with skepticism, and Damian smiles softly, so softly, at this beautiful, broken man before him.
“My place?” Is hoarse, a warmer edge that isn’t blank coldness, isn’t so much control. “In case you missed it, my place hasn’t mattered in the last few fucking years–”
“Hasn’t it?” And Dami’s eyes are so green, dark jade that catches in the light, easy to pick out. “Hasn’t it mattered?”
The obvious drawback is an opening, a misstep in the detective’s assumptions that Dami takes the opportunity for what it is.
“I know how it must seem,” and he makes himself stop stepping forward when every instinct in his body screams to approach, to reach out, to take this man in his arms, to whisper endearments, to apologize until the tears dry, until Tim’s arms can unlock, until he can start with the smallest measure of belief with splashes of powerful violet.
“I know the years we’ve let you draw further away. I know there’s been disdain and cruelty until that’s all there was between us. And I did not choose to acknowledge it, my wrongdoings. It was easier to hide, Tim, just as it was for Jason and Richard and Father. We were cowards, but not once in all these years have you ever been simply forgotten.”
And here is where preparation for their detective is perfectly done when Damian whips out his utility belt computer and quietly holds it out, his hand trembling ever so slightly.
The evidence is there in clips of Todd sneaking into a familiar penthouse apartment with a bag of coffee in hand or taking a First Aid kit from under the kitchen counter to restock it, it’s there when video shows Richard in the Batsuit, in Nightwing, in Officer Grayson, in workout clothes, in jeans and t-shirt with both hands always pressed to the glass case with Tim’s first Robin suit, it’s there when Father sits on the bed in Tim’s old room over the years with a familiar shining, shuriken R flipping over the fingers of one hand. It’s there in the attempted hacks of Titan’s Tower when the Batcomputer pings with alerts of a bad fight for the Titans. It’s there in all the protocols when Ra’s starts movement against Red Robin, when their worst enemies are cataloged to the nines and contingencies from each member of the Batfamily are so obviously ready.
(With some pride in himself, Dami is the one that came up with the plan to take down Brother Blood, while Jason’s shoot-now-ask-questions-later is crucial to dealing with The Light. Grayson’s experience with the Fearsome Five, Father’s methodical touch to deal with The Insiders.)
It’s there in the smallest details they’d silently done over the years (these things happening without the need to point out how necessary and does Damian ache with the knowledge how easy it could have been to reach out so many, many times), could be enough at a glance to start the seedlings of doubt in Red Robin’s firm belief his place has simply been forgotten.
And Damian hears it in the catch of breath, a soft inward draw. He can’t see behind the whiteouts of Red Robin’s mask, but he hopes, hopes there might be a spark of indecision.
“You were never forgotten.” Gently, Damian reaches out slowly, just enough to close gloved fingers over the screen. “But, you don’t need to hear it from me, Beloved, you need real proof and that we shall provide tonight. Get changed. You’re needed.”
Conflicted as fuck, Red Robin processes as much as he can in that few minutes, muscles in his shoulders unbearably tight. “I’m not going to just patrol with the Bats, especially under your name.”
“It is not as simple as patrol, I’m afraid. We have several Arkham escapees, a possible gang war, and several other take downs lined up,” which is the absolute truth. “I did not lie when I said we needed your help with the overwhelming criminal activity in the last twelve hours.”
Carefully planned twelve hours for one night they’ve been putting into motion for months.
With the computer in hand, feeling more vulnerable than he’s felt behind the mask in years, Red Robin grits his teeth because only the Bats can do this to him. “I can still help the hell out without the bullshit emotional manipulation. Let me guess, this is Dick’s idea.”
“All of us had a hand in it, actually. The Red Bird itself was my idea. Jason and Father helped to restore it to its former glory. Dick, however, had the idea to make it authentic with the suit.”
“Do you even know how messed up this is for me?” Tumbles right out when he wants cold fury, when he wants to snarl at the obvious manipulation at play–
(while being stupidly impressed they actually seemed to know him to put all the pieces in place, make him play right into their hands with a well thought-out plan. Fuck.)
“The point of all of this, Tim, is to give you one last Robin Ride.”
Cue being at a total loss here because what multiverse did he fall into? Seriously, this can’t be his world, not when those words popped out of Damian’s mouth, and along with it, so many possibilities looming right in front of him.
At the same time, dread crawls up his throat, spills bitter into his mouth.
“Even if you never want us, we will, as you said, learn to live with it.” Damian fights to keep it neutral as just the thought of continuing on in this way as they have for weeks, always aware of the empty spot where their fourth should be, makes him cold all over. Still, this cannot be for them, not if they are serious about setting things right in the only way they can. “Even if that is the case, Tim, I...we. We still want to give you this,” his hand sweeps over the Red Bird again.
Because it’s all so much in one go, things he never thought he’d hear, never could have thought would be offered. Unconsciously, his eyes go to the gleaming fender behind the whiteouts. “None of this is– I brought the Bird back years ago so B could remake it for you.”
And Dami chances one more step closer, “but it is yours, Tim. Father made it for you, to keep you safe, and it will always be yours, Robin or not. It should have been given back to you long before tonight, and for that, I apologize.” He tries smiling just a little, “but, better late than never as they say.”
Red’s got nothing for that, for any of this, stares helplessly while Damian pulls on the hood and face covering, only his green eyes visible.
Red’s jaw is tight, clenching down because he finally gets it. He isn’t going to wake up in the Tower, asleep at his workstation, thinking this is a terribly embarrassing message from his subconscious.
“You will need this,” and Damian holds out a hand again. This time, a Batcomm rests in his palm. “The others are waiting for you, Robin.”
“I-I can’t–” because this is fucking real, this is really happening. As much as he’s sure Damian is bullshitting him about this not being a soulmate thing, his eyes are still getting hot, his chest aching, his throat tight. “I can’t do this.”
“You can,” Damian counters gently. “We...I owe you this. Dick will argue he does also. Jason as well. We cannot give you the things we have taken, not completely. As much as I wish we could change things, overcome our own insecurities to remind you that you will always have a place…” Dami sighs, “we cannot go back, either. Not really, but in order to go forward, we can give you the proof you need to see you have always had a place. So, just for tonight, Tim, be our Robin again.”
Damian doesn’t give him time to formulate a reply while he feels like he just got fucking stabbed hearing that out of the current Robin’s mouth.
“This is wrong, this isn’t–”
Damian lays the Batcomm on the top of the car and slowly backs away, melting into the shadows.
“On the contrary,” echoes around him and the lights go out in the underground, only a section of them lighting up the Red Bird. “This may be the one thing we’ve gotten right.”
The flutter of paper he hadn’t noticed is on the ground from where he’d tossed the old/new suit.
The chime on his wrist computer is a surprising upload of locations in Gotham pinging his algorithm, indicating a little vigilante action wouldn’t be amiss. Damian apparently wasn’t lying about too many fires and too few Bats. But, there’s too much happening in hot spots, and he won’t make the most crucial if he’s swinging. He needs a Ducati or–
His eyes go back to it, another symbol of his best days. Back when he could call himself a Bat, and it wouldn’t have been a lie.
Under the mask, Tim Drake breathes out, shuttering through the old pain that lights up his brain pan.
He could turn right the fuck around and walk out of this warehouse with his heart still in check, with his emotions back under control. He could reject this attempt as sure as he’s been rejected for years.
But the tiny part of him that’s always mourned the loss of his tunic is a stronger voice this time, and his hands twitch in his gloves before moving to pick up the discarded suit again, to look at those short sleeves, the green gloves, the shuriken R that was his design – not Damian’s or Jay’s or Dick’s but his.
The suit blurs and Red Robin realizes it’s because his eyes are spilling over behind the whiteouts.
#winter writes#robinpile soulmate au#just a bit more#ANGST#be aware#this is how my life is going#chippon is really patient with me#please give chip your love
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it takes two [peter parker]
➽ pairing: peter parker x fem!reader (y/n)
➽ word count: 3.0k
➽ summary: an accidental discovery leads peter and you to discuss poly-nylons, tony stark, and aunt may’s burnt meatloaf.
➽ warnings: awkward teenage feels, fluff, all that good stuff
➽ a/n: nerdy little peter melts my heart uwu. enjoy!
“Hey, Y/N. Y/N!”
I turned to see Peter fumbling with his books, and I extended my arms to catch them. “Hey, Pete,” I chuckled. I looked at one of the books in my hand and saw the official autobiography of tech giant Tony Stark, and I laughed. “We get it, man, you’re in love with Tony Stark.”
“I’m not,” Peter said quickly. “Just wanna read up on my boss.”
“Right,” I said with a click of my tongue. “The whole internship thing. That seems like a pretty sweet gig, Pete.”
“It’s…” Peter began and nodded. “It’s alright.”
“What do you actually do?” I asked, placing the biography of Peter’s one true love back on his stack of books. “Do you do paperwork? Or Mr. Stark’s laundry?”
That elicited a laugh out of Peter. Peter Parker and I had been friends for a while, since we were lab partners in eighth grade biology, and I had been one of the first people he told about the internship. As excited as he was to get it, though, he never really talked too much about it. “I do…” He began. “Um… Stuff.”
“Well, yeah, that’s what I’m asking,” I said, shouldering my backpack. “What kinda stuff?”
“This and that,” Peter shrugged. “Sorta whatever needs to be done.”
I nodded slowly. “Uh-huh,” I responded. “Well, since you’re not gonna tell me, I’ll tell you some big news.”
“Sure,” Peter said. “What is it?”
“I got an interview for MIT,” I grinned, and joy overcame Peter’s face. His arms instinctually went out to hug me, but his stack of books went tumbling to the ground around us. He paid it no mind and hugged me tightly anyway, rocking us as he embraced me. Peter gave amazing hugs; that’s one thing nearly everyone can agree on.
“That’s awesome, Y/N!” Peter exclaimed. “When is it?”
“Friday evening,” I said. “And I’m freaking out really bad. Do you think you could help me prep?”
Peter had already bent down and begun to retrieve his books. “Why me?” He asked. “A-Ask Flash, he’s on the debate team.”
“Because I don’t want to ask Flash,” I sighed. “I want to ask you. God, Pete, you got an internship with Stark Industries! Why wouldn’t I ask for your help with interviews? I mean, I assume there was an interview process…”
“Um, sorta,” Peter said. “Yeah, yep, there was.”
My eyes narrowed. “What was that turn around?” I asked. “‘Sorta’ an interview, but also yes?”
“It wasn’t a, uh, a typical interview,” Peter said. “I met Mr. Stark’s head of security before him.”
“Wait, hold on!” I cried. “You’ve met Tony Stark?”
“I told you about this!” Peter smiled. “We went on that company retreat!”
“Th-The one to Berlin?” I asked. “You met Tony freaking Stark in Berlin? How’d I not know this, Peter?”
“I remember telling you,” Peter said. “I missed those days, and I texted you asking about homework, and you told me we had a test and asked how the retreat was, and I said that it was awesome and I met Tony Stark.”
“I don’t remember that,” I said. “But come on, Petey! Please help me prep for this interview, MIT is my dream school!” I grasped his arm and pouted at him, and I said, “For me?”
Peter rolled his eyes jokingly. “Sure,” He said with a smile, as sincere as always. “Just come by tonight, I’ll get Aunt May to order a pizza or something and we’ll work it out.”
I hugged Peter tightly. “Thank you!” I giggled. “Hey, save me a seat at lunch, yeah?”
“Umm, Ned’s brought a few pieces of his Death Star,” Peter began. “It might take up a lot of space.”
“I’ll help,” I said. “If you don’t mind, that is.”
“S-Sure,” Peter said, the tips of his ears turning pink. “We could use your smaller hands for some of the more intricate parts of the build.”
“Great,” I said as the bell rang long and high for classes to start. “Crap. I’ll see ya, Pete!”
The day passed as slowly as any normal school day would. I didn’t have a math club meeting that afternoon on account of our faculty sponsor being sick, so I was able to go home before I went to Peter’s. I gathered all of my MIT stuff from my desk and shoved it into my bag, and I opened my computer for a minute before my mom inevitably made me come to the living room. Twitter was already open (I didn’t pay great attention during last period physics), and I clicked around the trending page for a moment before seeing, at the very bottom of the list of trending topics, something called the “Man-Spider”. It wasn’t being talked about too much, but it was a trending topic in my area; knowing that someone would probably ask about it at school tomorrow, I clicked on it.
It was a shaky phone video of a man in a blue and red suit on the rooftop of a building that was adjacent to the videographer. “Hey, you’re that Man-Spider from YouTube!” the videographer yelled.
“Call me Spiderman!” The suited man replied back, his voice echoing around the street.
“Okay! Do a flip, Spiderman!”
The so-called Spiderman flipped backwards, eliciting a whoop from the videographer. The video ended there, and I huffed out a quiet laugh. Peter was really into gymnastics; he would like this video. I tagged him, @pparker101, figuring that he would watch it before I got to his place.
When I finally got myself up and made my way across the borough to Peter and his Aunt May’s apartment, May answered the door. She was a tall and thin woman with long hair that she usually pulled up, and she smiled when she saw me. “Aw, hey, Miss Y/N,” May said. “What’s going on?”
“Peter’s helping me with an interview thing tonight,” I said. “Is that alright?”
“Oh, sweetheart, of course,” May said, waving her hand around. “Where are you interviewing?”
“MIT,” I replied. “The actual interview is on Friday, but, since he’s got that internship with Stark Industries, I figured he would help me prepare.”
“Oh, good job,” May said. “Yeah, Pete popped out to get a sandwich, but you’re welcome to wait for him. Are you hungry? I’m making meatloaf.”
I had known May for long enough to know that it was safest to skip out on the meatloaf. “Oh, I’m alright,” I told her. “I ate before I came.”
“If you change your mind…” May sang and scrunched her nose at me as she smiled. “Pete said that you helped him and Ned with their Death Star build today; how was that?”
“Pretty great,” I smiled. “It was a lot of pieces and we’re not finished yet, but all working together was pretty sweet.”
“I bet,” May replied. “All of you are so smart, I could never do that, even with instructions.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out to see Peter replying to me on Twitter with a simple :). “Thanks, May,” I said. “Um, I think I’m gonna go set up in Peter’s room.”
“Alright, Miss Y/N,” May said and gave me a quick hug. “Have fun.”
Peter’s room was messy as always, discarded projects all over the place, and laundry piled in the corner of his bottom bunk. I sat down on the edge of the bottom bunk and started to extract my papers and things to practice, but there was a weird sound from behind me. It was quiet and I almost missed it, but the cool breeze that hit my shoulder helped alert me to the fact that the window was open. I turned over my shoulder, expecting to see the widow accidentally unlatched and opening, but instead I saw something completely different: my best friend crawling on the ceiling.
I couldn’t form words. I wasn’t convinced that I was actually seeing what was happening. Peter was attached upside down to his ceiling, wearing a weird onesie-looking outfit with alternating red and blue panels. He was quiet as he crawled to the other side of the room, and he extended his hand, his middle two fingers and thumb folded into his palm, and a string of white shot from his wrist and attached to the corner of the door. Peter tugged the door closed with ease, as if he had done it before, then he expertly flipped from the ceiling and landed on the carpet with the grace of an Olympic gymnast. His back was to me, but, now that I saw him better, I saw that he wore the exact same outfit that the Man-Spider wore in the Twitter video.
“Holy shit, are you the Man-Spider?” I cried, and Peter flinched. He turned to me, his face stricken with panic, and I saw a black arachnid symbol in the middle of his chest. “You are! Holy shit, Peter--”
“Dude, shut up!” Peter hissed quickly. His hand came up to his chest and he pressed on the spider symbol, and the tight suit loosened and fell off of his body. “I-I’m not the Man-Spider--”
“Spiderman!” I recalled from the video. “Peter, what the actual fuck--”
“Shut up!” Peter pleaded, rushing to me and pressing his hand against my mouth. He was right on top of me, his chest nearly touching mine with each breath, and his dark eyes were wide at me. “Y/N, you… You can’t tell anyone. Please!”
I shifted my head in order to remove his hand. “Are you serious…” I began. “You’re Spiderman? Wait, how did this happen? Was it the Stark internship, did Tony Stark do this to you?”
“I’ll explain everything,” Peter whispered. “Just, you really cannot tell anyone.”
“Does May know?” I asked quickly.
“Are you kidding me?” Peter scoffed. He reached down and grabbed a shirt and began to dress himself; I had noticed that, after the suit came off, he was only in boxers, but I figured that it was better not to say anything. “If she knew, she’d go ballistic.”
I sighed heavily and sat down on the bed once more. “Make this make sense,” I groaned, pressing my head into my hands. “Did this happen to you? Did you make it happen? Is this a Bruce Banner thing?”
“No,” Peter said quickly, and he sat down next to me. “Look, it’s a really long story, but the basics are that I was bitten by a radioactive spider and now I can do weird things. Like, things I never was able to do before. I’m really strong now, Y/N, and I just… I can do that.” He said and pointed to the ceiling. “But Tony Stark found out about me somehow and he tapped me to help him in some sort of weird fight with him and Captain America. He made me that suit! It’s really cool!”
“It is!” I said quickly. “So, are you, like, an Avenger now? Is that what the Stark internship is?”
Peter paused for a moment, and his cheeks turned pink. “Yeah, I mean…” He started. “Basically, yeah, I’m an Avenger.”
“Oh my God,” I laughed. “That’s awesome, Peter! But… Why would you keep this from me?” There was no point disguising the hurt in my voice. That was it, plain and simple. “I thought we told each other everything.”
“We do,” Peter said. “I just… Mr. Stark told me to keep this a secret. He said that anyone who knew could be in danger. I didn’t want you getting hurt.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek. The secrecy hurt and it wouldn’t stop for a while, but my excitement overshadowed that. “This is super cool, Peter,” I laughed. “So, the thing you just shot, do you-- Like, does your body make that? Like a spider? Was that a web?”
“Yeah, it’s a web,” Peter smiled widely. “But my body doesn’t make them. That would be super gross.”
“Sorta, yeah,” I agreed.
“Nah, it’s, uh,” Peter began and rushed over to the forgotten suit on the floor. “It’s a poly-nylon substance that’s loaded in these web shooters that Mr. Stark made me. They’re super strong and take three hours to fully dissolve. They come out of this shooter that I wear on my wrist.” He lifted up the silver web shooter to show me, and I grinned at it.
“That’s awesome,” I chuckled. “Wait, does Ned know?”
“No,” Peter said quickly.
“MJ?”
“No.”
“Liz? Betty? Flash?”
“You’re the only one,” Peter reiterated. “Nobody else knows. Mr. Stark, Happy, Pepper, everyone at SHIELD, and you. You’re the only outsider.”
“This is…” I began. “This is really cool, don’t get me wrong, but isn’t it dangerous?”
“Yeah,” Peter nodded. “I mean… Yeah. Everytime I go on a mission, I’m not really sure if I’m coming back.”
I sighed and rubbed my neck. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Petey,” I started. “But I really don’t like this. The idea of my best friend being an Avenger is super cool, but it’s scary as shit. I can’t lose you, Pete. Nobody gets me like you do, and I don’t know what I’d do if you died and I didn’t know why.”
Peter was quiet as he came back to sit down next to me, his web shooter still in his hand. He toyed with it for a moment, then placed it in my lap. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what else to tell you. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, Pete, you didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. “You were doing what you were told was right. If anything, Tony Stark needs to apologize to me.”
Peter scoffed. “Good luck with that,” he said. “You’re cool. Ya know that?”
“Me?” I chuckled. “You’re freaking Spiderman, dude! You’re cooler than everyone at Midtown! So, is Peter Parker, like, your alter ego? Like Batman?”
“Batman isn’t real,” Peter said pointedly.
“The point stands, ass,” I said and shoved his shoulder, eliciting a laugh from him.. “By day, you’re a nerdy high school student and, by night, you’re an Avenger?”
“Sorta,” Peter shrugged sheepishly. “I guess, I mean… Not to brag, but--”
“Brag away!” I said.
“I’m supposed to be helping you with your interview,” Peter began. “I think maybe we can table this until later. Yeah?”
“Fine,” I said with a pout. “Let me get my stuff…”
I turned to retrieve my papers and everything that I had brought, and Peter’s hand returned to my lap to grab the web shooter. The fates, though, decided to throw a wrench into our casual moment, because the ajar door burst open to show May. Before I knew what was happening, Peter had shoved the web shooter down between my thighs in an attempt to quickly hide it, and he pressed his lips to mine. I caught on instantly; his hand between my legs only made sense if we were kissing. It was an easy cover up, something to get May out of the room, and-- honestly-- probably something that May had been suspecting all along.
“Oh!” She exclaimed and backed out of the room, and Peter gave me a tight grimace. I could almost hear him stuttering out an apology. “Sorry, guys! I didn’t mean to--”
“That’s about my luck, huh?” Peter said loudly and laughed. “It’s-- Ah, shit-- Sorry, May!”
“No, don’t be sorry,” May said from behind the door. Peter pulled the web shooter from between my legs and grabbed his suit, and he shoved them under the blankets behind me. “Don’t let me interrupt... Whatever that was. Peter, please remember to use a--”
“May, hush!” Peter cried, and I saw genuine embarrassment rise in his cheeks. “We’re not-- We weren’t--”
“We were just kissing, May!” I said quickly. “Nothing else!”
“Right,” May said. “Have fun. Meatloaf’s burnt, so, if you guys want something to eat, we can get Thai. Or you two can get Thai and I’ll stay here--”
“May!” Peter groaned.
“Right, I’ll leave you two alone,” May said, and Peter and I held our breath until we were sure she wasn’t at the door anymore.
“God, sorry, Y/N,” Peter mumbled, pushing his hair out of his face. “It’s the only thing I could think of--”
“No big,” I said. “But I’m sure May thinks we’re dating now.”
“She’s thought that since eighth grade,” Peter said and rolled his eyes. “Now she has ‘proof’.”
“I mean…” I started. Too late to go back now. “I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t thought of it before.”
“Us dating?” Peter asked.
“I know you like Liz and MJ, so it’s always been…” I started. “Never mind.”
“Sure, I like Liz and MJ,” Peter said. “But I like you too. Like, in a different way than I like Liz and MJ.”
“Like, in a girlfriend way?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Peter said. He was looking down at his lap, obviously abashed and not wanting to look at me. “You’re really funny and smart, and you’re super pretty… Mr. Stark thinks you’re cute too.”
“Tony Stark knows about me?” I asked. “He thinks I’m cute?”
“N-Not in a creepy way,” Peter said quickly. “When I went to Berlin, I brought a picture of you in my luggage, and Mr. Stark-- Well, Happy found it and he told Mr. Stark, and he said that you were pretty… Encouraged me to ask you out… Gave me… Ahem, pointers on how to ask you out.”
“Really?” I grinned. This was amusing to find out. Tony Stark knew who I was. That was almost as cool as finding out my best friend was an Avenger. “What’d he say?”
“Some really gross stuff, to be honest,” Peter chuckled. “Nothing I’d ever say to you, not even jokingly. But… Whatever. Anyway. MIT interview--”
I leaned in towards Peter and kissed him again, and I felt his smile against my lips. He kissed me back, his arms wrapping around me and tugging me close, and, when the kiss broke, I whispered, “So, does Spiderman have a girlfriend?”
“I’m sure he can get one if he wants to,” Peter said.
“Does he want to?” I asked.
“Duh!”
#peter parker#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#peter parker x bestfriend!reader#peter parker fluff#spiderman#spiderman x reader#tom holland#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland fluff#mcu#sm:hoco#sm:ffh#ca:cw#avengers#i miss tony stark#q
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Queen of the South 5x09 Debrief
Just like with episode 8, I'm having a hard time convincing myself to have opinions about this last one--because so much of what I think of the final third of the season will ride on what ends up getting resolved in the finale. Does that mean I have high hopes for the finale? Yes, unfortunately yes 😂 Does that mean I actually think those hopes will be met? I mean. No? 🤡
In any case, more thoughts, (obviously) spoilers if you haven't seen the episode, and speculation below the cut...
What's riding on the finale for me is whether the end ends up justifying the means. Like ok: you can tell by my 5x09 live reaction that I've sort of hit the point of just being phenomenally irritated by the extended Pote/Kelly Anne scenes. I think most of us on here are at that place (though apparently fans in other places love Kote? Idk?). Is it even possible at this point for the writers to wrap up that storyline in a way that won't make me feel upset about how much screentime they got? Maybe not. But if they just get a basic happy ending, I will probably remain eternally phenomenally annoyed by that part of this season.
You can also tell by my 5x09 live reaction post that I'm at the point of being phenomenally irritated by how few conversations we've gotten between Teresa and James (I mean honestly, between Teresa and ANY MAIN CHARACTER) that last longer than 30 seconds. Her longest conversations this season have been with side characters! I probably wouldn't be quite as irritated about Pote if he hadn't become so one-dimensional to me this season, and he wouldn't be as one-dimensional if he'd actually shared moments with Teresa. But back to the (lack of) Teresa and James conversations: I can imagine the finale revealing additional season 5 story that we haven't been seeing because it's being saved for a big plot twist.
Obviously a popular theory right now is that T and J have been planning their big escape via him fake-assassinating her all along. If this is true, we obviously will learn a lot more about conversations they've been having that we just haven't been privy to. And I can also see how, if this theory is true, it makes giving them meaningful conversations at least over the last few episodes a bit more complicated. Like we as viewers almost NEED to be in the dark about what the heck is going on between them in order for a fake death twist to be satisfyingly surprising. Earlier today I was trying to write "if they hadn't been interrupted by a phone call" extended conversation scenes for the two of them going back to earlier in the season and I found I was having trouble BECAUSE what if they were already starting to plan something as early as, say, episode 5? It seems unlikely there was any plotting of that nature that early because she was still invested in expanding her empire at that point; but definitely by episode 7? ANYWAY, there's still a lot of definition lacking in their relationship in the first half of the season, and honestly in her character overall. But it seems possible to me that with a secret-fake-death move, we could get more insight into some of their build-up and decision-making together at least in the back half of the season that COULD somewhat redeem SOME of that missing screentime.
I also wonder whether there's something more to Kelly Anne and Pote than meets the eye. I saw that flash of Kelly Anne in the finale promo wearing a baseball cap and carrying a duffel bag; could she be a double agent? That's James's CIA uniform... Hard to imagine that making sense but I probably wouldn't altogether mind that? Not sure how the pregnancy works with that story, though, so more likely to me is that Pote dies. That would at least help explain (if not exactly redeem) the drawn-out Kote scenes this season as the writers tried to get us all invested in their happy ending. I think that largely fell flat (at least with the part of the fandom I interact with!) and I would've rather they'd spent the time on Teresa and Pote's relationship than Kelly Anne and Pote's. But to me, the only ending that in any way justifies the amount of lovey-dovey Kote time this season is an ending that isn't happy for the two of them.
So I guess what I'm saying is, it's possible the finale will play out in such a way that some of the super annoying things about this season will end up feeling less annoying in hindsight. Making it hard for me to issue Opinions with a capital O. BUT I also can't count on that, and can't go into the finale full clown, so. My Opinions you shall get.
The other thing that will majorly piss me off is if James actually killed Teresa. Like that ending might just totally ruin the series for me. ***SPOILER***: I watched a panel on Saturday with Alice and Dailyn and Dailyn said she promised the ending is "super satisfying" (direct quote) and Alice qualified that with "it's sad and happy and satisfying and all of it" (that's a paraphrase because I didn't capture the full exact quote), so I cannot IMAGINE that they are that out of touch with fans that an ending in which James actually assassinates Teresa like two days after they finally confessed their love to each other and had super intimate presumably mind-blowing long-awaited tension-bursting sex would count as "super satisfying" to them. But, well, WHO THE FUCK KNOWS.
Speaking of that sex. Ummmm. If I were a decent smut writer I'd write a full-blown smut fic based around all of that, including all the bits between them passionately making out on the balcony and ending up banging in bed which were conveniently omitted from the episode. But I'm not a decent smut writer and I IMPLORE someone else to please do that because the world needs that desperately. Where are all the people who used to write on AO3? Can we bribe them to come back? I'll keep doling out my useless opinions and writing my rambly drawn-out Jeresa meta-analyses if we can get some more fanfics 😁😁😁😁😁
A few other random thoughts about the episode:
Did anyone else notice that we didn't actually get Teresa and James saying good-bye to each other before she takes off for Belize without him? Yeah, she's not dead.
I'm super confused at this point about Boaz's role in any of what's gone down. So he was basically being orchestrated by Castel and Devon to make a hit on Teresa? Try to squeeze her? But to what end, if Devon actually just wanted Teresa to take out Kostya? Couldn't he have just gone to her directly? I need to re-watch some episodes I guess to try to track it all but I'm confused right now about what Boaz is still doing and how much Devon has to do with what he's doing. And what Devon's end game is with him.
I'm really psyched to have seen that flash of Marcel in the finale promo and hope it's not going to just be some super disappointing "let's make sure to give a final bird's-eye view of all our faves before the final credits roll" moment. Like I hope we get some closure to him and Teresa!
If I were Devon, I would just want to send someone else to take out Teresa. Devon knows James is in love with her. Why would he think James would take her out? Maybe there's some subtext when Devon says "but I'm nice, and the next guy won't be as nice." The subtext being, "the next guy will just send someone who isn't you to take out your wife, so it might as well be me sending you to fake-take out your wife." Will we ever know? Or will this be one of those holes in the writing that never really gets resolved?
Guess we'll find out in a few days!
#qots spoilers#btw I was just going back and re-reading some of my episode debriefs#so I could remember what happened when#and was reminded of how confident I was after 5x05 that jeresa would be canon by the end of the season#and I mean#I wasn't wrong?#I couldn't believe they'd drop the crumbs they'd dropped#and not have it come to a lusty head at some point#so#I'm going to pretend that I have phenomenal intuition about the finale#and just going to stride into wednesday#cocky bitch that I am#with undeserved confidence#that the finale will be as satisfying as Dailyn and Alice seem to think it will be#¯\_(ツ)_/¯#queen of the south#qots#season 5#5x09#txt post#qots reaction post#qots meta
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Scottrospective: Scott Pilgrim and the Infinite Sadness
Welcome back my Scottaholics! We’re moving right along fun and fancy free just a few days later from Book 2 to 3. Which fits: As I mentioned in my review of book 1 I first encountered Scott, Ramona and Wallace in a free comic book story, and VERY intrigued, bought volumes 2 and 3 from the same comic shop after reading it in line.. or maybe I went there again later and bought them. My brain is a foggy sinkhole. Point is I was hooked from then on out, and bought the next three volumes as I came out, and through the internet because by then i’d leanred to use Amazon. Ironic given Ramona’s work for them is not only iconic to the series but plot important in volumes 1 and 2. As is Scott’s package toss in the movie. But the story of my long wait for volume 4 can wait for February. Point is it was these two and Free Scott PIlgrim are the ones I poured over again and agian, obessing over as a teen and the ones that stick in my brain the most.
But even with that last time the exaustive process of covering it exposed a LOT of volume 2′s weakness: While it has a lot of iconic scenes, including Scott accidently convincing a man to skateboard himself to death, the Ramona and Knives fight, the envy call, the flashback, and is still very enjoyable..it also feels the most like a collection of loose events out of the books. Good stuff and character and tone wise better than last time.. but not quite as narratively strong. The series was GETTING there, the art was solidfiying into it’s final form, the characters were in the right place, SCott was more likeable.. but it hadn’t quite hit it’s stride yet.
Three guesses when it did and the first two didn’t count. Infinite Sadness is one of my favorite volumes, along with 4 and 6. And while part of that is nostaliga and a personal connection.. the bulk of it is just this volume being even BETTER on the re-read. I picked up subtle bits that I didn’t notice before that only enritched the experince, the pacing is sublime, the character work is top notch and compelling, the art work is finally crystlalized into what the series is known for, and would only get even better as it goes, and the fights are some of the series best. This is one hell of a story and I warmly invite you to join me as I break it down after the break.
Previously on Scott Pilgrim: Scott defeated Lucas Lee, the second Evil Ex, met Luke Wilson, and prepared to go to his ex girlfriend’s concert despite this being a terrible idea to discuss a gig. It was there he and Ramona found out Envy’s base player Todd, the douchenozzle who she cheated on Scott with, is also the douchenozzle Ramona cheated on Lucas with.
So we open.. exactly from that moment, with Scott and Ramona starring wide eyed while the band plays in an utterly dazzling sequence that’s been brought up a notch in the color remaster. Also one of a handful of moments that was barely touched from page to screen, with only slight adaptations to make it better on screen, and the addition of Metric’s now iconic “Black Sheep”. And when reading the scene.. I couldn’t resisit turning black sheep on as it matched it perfectly.. so yeah have the Clash at the Demonhead performance from the film
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So while that worms it’s way into your head, let’s talk about the character designs for Clash Of the Demonhead, since volume 2 is the last time in the color editions O’Malley really talks about character origins and stuff. I could’ve missed something of course, we’ll see as we go won’t we. I just saved it for here as the Volume 2 review was running a bit long as is and while their shown on covers and on the back cover of the black and white edition, they don’t show up in person and in their full glory till the last panel, hence saving it for here where Envy and Todd are the main antagonists and Lynette is... plot relevant.
Envy was based on the front woman for the band Metric, Emily Haines, designed much like hanes to be a tough, confrotnational, sexy woman, his words not mine, who’d gone through a lot of change in a few years since according to him, and i’m willing to take his word for it since I don’t know the band outside of the one song he picked for the movie, a lot of the bands songs are about that. And honeslty it makes me want to check them out more, as does how awesome black sheep is I can’t belivie I took this long, and is supremely intresting as I hadn’t realized there was a good reason there wasn’t just an original song written for clash at the demonhead. I mean if you base your character on the frontwoman for a band why NOT use one of their songs.
Speaking of band, Plumtree’s drummer, Lynette Gillis, was the inspiration for Lynette Gycott, though the final version of her is more cold and robotic and less like Gillis than initially envisioned.
Finally Todd..was based on Scott, and while he evolved out from that a bit especially in powers.. the concept basically stuck as Todd is a stronger, dumber, more agressive and douchey version of Scott whose mistreatment of women is far more deliberate than Scott’s untetional douchebaggery.
So after some interview segments for some sort of documentary on the band with the crowd, we cut to our heroes after the show, all standing around and being nervous. Stephen’s first words are “Decent show eh, told you they were good”.
Admitely re-reading this one and answering a reader question, unrealted but it got me to thinking, made me realize Stephen wasn’t AS much of a dick as I thought: I didn’t think about the fact Scott and Envy’s blow up cost him their old band which was close to singing, and that Scott both as revealed in volume 3 and in bits here, was kind of a dick towards the end, intitating the breakup while drunk and belligernt and saying a facepunchingly dickish comment we’ll get to. So he wasn’t BLAMELESS and it’s understandable Stephen dosen’t hate her as much. She was friends with his horrible albatross of a girlfriend and didn’t break his heart.
However.. he’s still an asshole and deserve jeff blim’s theatrical fuck you up there. He still ignores Scott’s pain, or the fact that most of the breakup WAS Envy’s fault as we’ll see. We’ll get into it in full obviously but for the cliffs notes so I can yell at a fictional grumpy closted canadian man: She slowly drifted away from him, treated him like he had no say in a band he helped found or took his feelings into account in the record deal, and cheated on him with Todd and possibly another guy. And as seen here she used her fame to bribe her ex and friends into showing up just so, as we see, she can torture him and his new girlfriend a bit. Envy is not a good person and Stephen is ignoring that and his friends VERY obvious emtoinal turmoil. Especially dickish since by this point Scott has clearly swallowed his pride and agreed to a show with someone who really DEEPLY hurt him for Stephen and Kim’s sake.. and he’s not even remotely greatful for it clearly. The only reason he’s not the biggest asshole left in the building is because Todd, Envy and Julie, queen of bitches, is in there.
So after a save point gag that goes nowhere, Envy shows up to take the group back stage... awkward, uncomfortable and very intentional silence insues to makes Scott even more sweaty and nervous and Ramona visably and understandably annoyed. Knives tries to talk to her hero but gets ignored because Envy’s a bitch.. and so’s Julie who not only joins in the shunning of a fucking teenager who clearly loves this band, but also is clearly trying to conversationally surgically attach her lips to Envy’s ass. Her toadying is obnxoious as you’d expect and as transparent as you’d expect, trying to drudge up old nostalgia while Envy’s clearly barely intrested, and the only thing that makes it more tolerable than normal Julie is Envy clearly barely tolerates this and likely is only going with it because she could be a useful minon in the future.
Thankfully this is broken up. Unthakfully it’s by knives shouting her most iconic line:
Given Envy is shown to not be the best person.. her response is to have her cyborg goon belt knives in the face
Which leads to an even better line seconds later
Envy then to just .. complete the circle of being a bitch has NEil take knives out then mocks her when Julie explains why knives and neil were even here. And it’s VERY telling that even Julie, who was must minutes from humping envy’s leg and begging to go with her when she leaves, is visably put off by Envy’s attitude. So while Ramona is understandably fucking done with this, as even she has some shred of sympathy for the teenager who tried to stab her a day ago, Scott has to take a minute to have a flashback. We see two brief bits of Scott with Envy, at the start of their college band Kid Chamelon where they were all happy.. and shortly after the breakup where Scott is miserable, in the middle of the street, sadly saying their name while saying “I’m so alone”.. explaning that desert bit from volume 1.. and making it ten times more painful. Nicely done Brian.
So with Knives gone we get our usual character age intros and descriptoins, my favioritte being Stephen “wants a damn buritto dammit” which I can relate to and thankfully got it monday. He also does show a bit more of his noble self as, things have escalated to the point even he can see Envy has some sort of evil scheme planned and he walked right into it so he asks what her ulterior motive is. Julie pipes up with “She dosen’t NEED ulterior motives she was written up with in spin!”
So Envy grills Ramona a bit clearly trying to make her squirm..though at least when Julie TRIES to jump in she shoots her down, like some asshole pulling a yappy dog on it’s leash hard. Eventually Scott flips out and .. well I don’t want to overpanel this review but this is just.. quotes cannot do this justice.
The result.. is the reveal Todd is psychic due to being a vegan and he throwing scott through a wall with telkenisis, kyle!
It’s explained he has these powers because he’s a vegan and even was top of his class at the vegan academy. Citation... needed. Not because of his power but because Todd may be one of the stupidest beings that’s ever lived. And I once had a friend whose other friend told me, since they’d be going to diffrent high schools and he was trying to pass off his mummies curse of keeping him from destroying himself with his own stupidity, tried to run into a wall to loose weight. No I don’t get how this would’ve worked but having known the guy I guarnatee he was arrogant and dumb enough at the time to try it. Nowadays I assume he’s much better... I assume. You.. you’d have to be to have survived another decade.
Todd is also THAT kind of smug dickhead. Thankfully I haven’t met one in real life or online, as the two vegetarians I have known, one of my best friends micheal and my uncle drew, the former of whom now also eats fish and the latter of whom gave it up once he moved to places he could get meat that was raced humanely easier, but who I still respect for having that amount of self control. But Todd is a clear parody of the type of vegan and vegetarian who think their better than everyone.. by thinking he’s even BETTER than regular vegans because not every vegan can take the strain of psychic powers, with Kim naturally sniping at him.. then flipping him off when he says “don’t get snippy babe” and is very lucky he has psychic powers as otherwise he’d suddenly be wondering where his dick is and why kim’s holding a broken bottle.
Brian also pokes fun at the old 90 percent of your brain trope. You know the old one that claims you only use 10 percent..
But it’s only because your only ACTIVELY using it and the rest is simply other functions. But hey we got Deathstroke out of that claim so good enough. Todd claims it’s because the other 90 percent is curds and whey. This might be the greatest use of this outdated trope in human history. No.. no.. it is. It exactly is.
Envy brags that’s why he can’t beat him having clearly traded disappearing up her own ass for disappearing up todd’s, Julie was also crammed up there, it was getting crowded. Envy claims to have been with todd since age 11.. which.. is more.. delusion than anything and she brushes off Ramona rightfully pointing out that’d mean he cheated on her with Ramona as Rammy trying to distract her and trying to smack talk SCott more who has another flashback.
SOME YEARS AGO.. I DUNNO 5? 5 YEARS AGO?
We see Scott’s first meeting with Envy, who was rooming with Julie. Julie, it might shock you.. has not changed at all in 5 or so years. She’s seen bitching at her roomate Natalie V. Adams, the future Envy, for not wanting to get drunk and high and for hanging out in her room with all her anime posters and stuff. As you can tell, she’s a vastly diffrent person at this point, a nerdy interverted otaku and as you can probably guess now the flashbacks have started at the top, we’ll be seeing how she became the sexpot rockstar she is now and how that drove a wedge betwene her and Scott. Julie SHOCKINGLY does not take this well and as Stephen to kil lher if she ever becomes friends with her. I mean I would but If I could travel into fictional works I certainly woudln’t be wasting my time murdering Julie. I’d be asking kim out and trying to get into some cool video game ablities myself. I ain’t got time for that bitch.
Next cut Julie is ... even worse as she’s calling Scott some “jerky jerky ladykiller”, pointing out he’s hooked up with recurring background characters Sandra and Monique. Now GRANTED, Scott could’ve hurt them and Julie could be right for once.. we’ve seen he has a history of being an insenstive douche by pure accident. But.. from the sounds of it given his encounters with Sandra and Monique were both in seperate ladies rooms, as in casual hookups I assume are common in universities. As long as he used a condom and dind’t lie about being in it longterm, who the hell does it hurt. Same if he and Natlie ended up being that. He’s not a “ladykiller” if he got busy on a washroom sink. He just had casual sex in an awful location and given Scott is both horny and stupid freqently, I could buy he either inittated it clumsily and sandra and or monqiue went for it, or one of them thought he was cute and wanted a quick one with him and it just never went anywhere either due to lack of intrest or Scott being kind of a moron. I don’t buy he INTENTIONALLY hurt anyone, he MIGHT of hurt Sandra she seems kind of ditzy and might’ve not realized it wans’t serious.. but it just entirely sounds like a casual, consesual one time hookup with two seperate women. And as long as he wore a condom and repsected their needs what the fuck is it Julie’s buisness. BEcause their here freinds? I mean they told her but they weren’t expecting her to play dick sheirff with scott probably. And Natlie is not her buisness: their not really friends.. she’s just trying to ruin Scott’s day. I honestly get the sense she only hates Scott because she can’t get rid of him, Stephen won’t dump him as a friend and he fucked her friends once. Which makes me hate her MORE. Natlie/Envy however also calls bullshit and thinks Scott’s much too awkward to be a ladykiller. Accurate. I mean he’s good with women and gets dates easily, he’s just not inteitonally leaving them high and dry. He’s just not great with empathy.
Scott snaps back to the present and gets pissed.. and we get the real reason for the outburst as he shouts “You you ass! She USED to be NICE!”. It’s very clear that Scott blames Todd for Envy’s change into an cold and cruel person. But .. that’s not on him entirely. I do think Envy’s cattier, more cruel “play with prey like a cat with a mouse” personality at this point is due to Todd feeding into her worse impulses.... but the flashbacks make clear even before she saw him again she was slowly changing as a person for better, gaining a drive and passion for music.. and for worse, shutting scott out cheating on him and generally not carring about anything but her career, especially Scott. As much as he wants to belivie it she didn’t MAGICALLY change into a bitch overnight and beating todd won’t fix that. She became what she is as a choice. Todd just made what she became worse.
After the predictable result of Scott getting flung into the air and falling back down, he has another flashback and we see the next phase of their relationship: Scott, Envy and Stephen playing in a band for Stacey and Wallace (!), whose hair is certainly a... choice. And the two falling in love and julie grilling scott on if he and nat are a couple because why stop making me wish for a bus to hit you NOW Jules?
So we then get ANOTHER iconic line and another scene that was perfectly translated into the film
Comic gold no matter the medium.. Brandon Routh just nailed it and I watched the scene again before writing this just out of curoisty. Flawless stuff. Check it out
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I will say however that while Movie!Envy’s response of just quickly covering is pretty funny.. I prefer the comic’s envy’s utterly baffled and pissed off “What are you talking about Todd?”. Even she can’t fathom what the fuck just happened. But since it’s late and Todd’s brain is pretty fried, Envy calls for everyone to get some sleep and they’ll regroup tommorow at 1pm at Honest Ed’s. Honest Ed’s WAS a famous discount Store in Canada that sadly closed in 2016, making what ‘s about to happen to it here sad in hindsight. It was known for big sales, big spectacle and i’ts larger than life owner who sadly passed a few years after this volume. But god bless him for giving this series one of it’s best settings. More on that when we get there for now FLASHBACK
Back in College, we see Nat’s change into envy as she sells all her stuff for some bitching new boots and cd’s and during sex with Scott asks him to start calling her Envy. Their still somewhat happy, as the next flashback has Scott remembering their 8 month anniversary and her playfully mocking him as the girl.. before we get a much starker one of him telling her he loved her and her not responding.. and looking at him.. more.. bored than anything.
Back in the present our heroes try to wait out the rain under a bank thing, can relate to the times i’ve visted the city and came out to rain, and when that fails Kim says she’s off and will see them at practice and tells Stephen to blow her when he asks her if she’s going to Honest Ed’s, then seems genuinly confused if he pissed her off before heading home. Swing and a miss stevie, swing and a miss.
Scott is hungry and sorta drags Ramona, whose not in the mood for anything, over to Pizza Pete’s a nearbye eatery. It’s there they happen to run into Other Scott... Other Scott is another guy named Scott. He dosen’t do much in the books. But the name Other Scott is objectively funny and he is objectively nice so he’s fine in my book and I applaud the movie for using him as Wallace’s love intrest. Though I wouldn’t be REMOTELY suprised if they were fucking in the books too. And of course with him is Wallace himself, who really is just.. entering this volume in the most Wallace way possible.
A little drunk, eating some cheap but good food, with a million dollar style and in just the exact right place at the exact right time. If that’s not Wallace Wells, I don’t know what is. Wallace and Other Scott were clubbin, not a huge suprise given Wallace has his own deep and complicated social life we never see and Wallace is naturally a little bit absolutley livid when he finds out Scott went to see Envy’s show anyway despite you know, putting him in a misery coma. Who do you think has to clean you and feed you when your like that Scott? Elves? Well I mean .. Wallace MIGHT be an elf.. but he stilld soen’t want to do either of those things. He breifly gets sidetracked by the fact that Scott is wearing his shirt.. maybe. I mean he wore it the other day but given their living situation it’s honestly hard to tell. Ramona reminds him of his priorites
That’s part of the fun of rereading these again so soon after rereading them in december: I’m noticing tons of little moments like this I didn’t really before. The two explain things, including Ramona pointing out Scott’s extra stupid around Envy. I mean it’s a bit mean to point out given this is clearly a lot for him.
Wallace brushes it off and promises to help him train like a true pal before being prompted to talk about this new boy he picked up Mobile.. who we wont’ see in person for a while but Wallace is clearly head over heels for and begs Scott to let him have the apartment.. or more accuratley Ramona, whose clearly not in the best of moods with Scott, to take him. His sales pitch is immaculate
So she agrees and a friendship is forged based on mutual hatred and being someone’s dipping sauce bitch. I’ve forged longer lasting friendships on far less. Also Wallace forgot his keys but wisely banked on his Gladstone Gander esque luck to help him out.. seriously i’m convinced he has a lower yield version of that. Or God wants to bang him but can’t because his penis is so powerful it CAN SPLIT A MOUNTAIN IN TWAINNNNN. You make the call.
So they sleep it off, and Scott heads home early next morning.. and forgot he gave wallace his keys. Thankfully wallace finds him, and even got him donuts for when he came back, what a guy, makes you cry and I did. He also shows off a new trick about using your chi to dust rain off you. Turns out Mobile is psyhich which.. dosen’t come into play but for vallad reasons: Scott assumes Mobile can just.. give him psyhic powers and training but a) he and Wallace JUST met and while they’ll remain together for the rest of the series, it’s a big ask to have him help train his best friend to fight a man as dumb and chisled as a mountain, and B) “It dosen’t work that way” meaning scott’s probably not psi adept and even if he can be taught, there’s not NEARLY enough time for him to get good enough at shielding himself from Telkenisis in time given Todd’s already fighting him today and has two other oppprotunites afterwords to beat his ass to death. There’s just not enough time. So scott collapses with a donut in his mouth.. are .. are we sure this isn’t just a more attractive more sucessful canadian alternate me?
We flashback to when Wallace met Envy and since i’ts post-becoming envy, it dosen’t go well and he hates her immidetly, and expects Scott to break up with her asap.. which while bitchy.. actually woudl’ve been a good move in the long run. And “Bitchily phrased but a good move in the long run” has apparently always been Wallace’s go-to move.
In the present Wallace helps Scott , who thinks everything sucks, realize it does not, with the help of fresh bacon and perspective, helping him avoid thinking Envy is “back” when she’s just vistiing and somewhat forces him to admit it’s not happening again nor should it. And implicity your both with other people, you’ve moved on, stay moved on. ANOTHER Flashback, this time with Envy asking Scott how he and Wallace met after dinner with Scott’s parents. It’s the story we’ve been hinting at since.. uh last volume.
And indeed it is somewhat gay! Behold! The origin of a friendship to piece the heavens or .. something like that. I’m tired.
It’s a quick breezy story that honestly both explains a lot and is what you’d expect; Wallace taking an intrest, Wallace presumibly realising Scott is straight off screen but deciding fuck it I like this guy let’s be pals instead, and jjust sorta showing up at his house. But since it’s Wallace and he and Scott both love gaming.. it just stuck. And it’s easy to see why. Scott’s a bit of an introvert and Wallace is a ton of an extrovert. Wallce is nice, naturally charming and endlessly cool, and as you can see it took him probably just an afternoon to go from freaking scott out for showing up randomly, to Scott talking the guy up and clearly being the bosom buddies they are now. The two just ballance each other out well. Wallace need’s scott’s weirdness and general heart, and Scott needs Wallace to keep him from running into the brick walls of life via his own stupidity and conflict avoidance. It’s what they do, they make it a two player game.
So later that day, and some off screen training later, presumibly to the song Two Player Game despite the fact it didn’t exist yet, our heroes (Scott, Ramona and Wallace), Villians (Envy and Todd) and other not so much evil as just cretionus assholes (Stephen and Julie) arrive. It’s also clear that Envy just made up the challenge as she went and I fucking love it, just saying they’ll run to the back, try and kill each other and no psychic powers, with Scott’s own handicap being “He isn’t a surivivor” which earns a rightful you unebleiviable bitch from wallace and a just ast rightful “fair enough” from Scott.
Stephen wonders what the deal is and Julie’s answer is... I don’t.. I can’t unpack this.
Meanwhile Wallace says “I hate her so much” Which I THINK was meant for Envy, but as a teen I interpited as being for Julie. Then again it being BOTH is entirely possible given no one can stand Julie for more than five mintues other than Stephen. And that’s because he’s still in the closet and hasn’t come out as bi or gay and thus sees her as a safe option or he really sucks with his taste in partners. Or a little from collumn a , a little from collumn b.
So yeah Scott wants a Strategy and Wallace has.. nothing other than “Well he can’t use his powers so.. use that. I guess.. I dunno. I’m hungover” though Ramona warns he can’t go long without using them without freaking out. So gooood? I’m starting to think Kim is the most useful member in his crew for this fight.. and she’s the one who decided to nope out of it because she didn’t want to watch his ex pick him apart mentally and her muscly new boyfriend pick him apart with MIND BULLETS. Wallace isn’t really helping this go round, though he’s still a treasure, Ramona is trying but dosen’t have much, and Stephen thought bringing Julie was in any way shape or form a good idea. Which really sums up their entire relationship so it’s not surprising, it just makes me question why the two are friends at all.
No really, out of Scott’s three close friends.. this friendship feels the most like two guys who just used to hang out but have no real reason too other than convience. Wallace would go to bat for scott.. with an actual bat.. to Envy’s skull. He just dosen’t want to go to jail.. again. Kim pines for him, pun intended, and also does care, she just dosen’t show it because scott’s kinda a moron parade and an insenstivity brunch rolled into one. So she sticks around even though it hurts to. Stephen.. lost his big shot in part due to Scott (Though Envy’s pushness and lack of consideration for his feelings didn’t help), his shrew of a girlfriend hates him and he’s not that good at bass... and I just got it. While Tornoto’s a big city , he’s probably not sure if Kim would be doing this without Scott. He’s.. entirely still his friend because he needs a bass player and kim’s a damn fine drummer whose hard to replace. I just got it.. it makes him a self serving douchecanoe for only being someone's friend because he needs a bass player even though he doesn’t like him, but I at least GET IT now.
So the rush into Honest Ed’s begins and.. my god this whole sequence is sublimely redelcous. It feels like what would ACTUALLY happen if two guys fought for the reasons scott and todd are fighting: just two idiots dinking around in a discount store. Scott dosen’t even last a few seconds before shouting in response to Todd’s taunts “We are all dead”, tripping while looking for eyeware and well..
Meanwhile Todd starts to break down while shouting FATHEERRRRRRR like all good psychics. As for how long this beautiful nonsense has been going on....
Oh and if you thought it hadn’t gotten redicously hilarious enough... wait till you see what’s next.
No words.. should’ve.. sent a poet.. got a tubby asshole who reviews comics, disney shows and disney comics instead....
So we then get a montage in todd’s head with his SHOCKINGLY OLD dad telling him he dosen’t have the willpower to be a vegan.. Lynette telling him she’s his for the taking and Envy will never know as she opens her shirt, and
Gideon.. showing he not only consults the league but confriming what the audience and scott realized: He’s behind these assholes.. but it also shows how much. He’s actively coaching them.. and granted we KNEW the exes were in contact with one another given Lucas was having an understandable sigh about Matthew.. but this shows Gideon isn’t just some player and this isn’t some automated service. He brought them all together. The how ends up being hilarious, and we’ll get to that but while it was obvious he was the final boss this is a nice and terrifying bit of clarification. As for what happened next.. well Todd freaks out with his powers from not using them
Really sad in hindsight.. but still really funny despite the horrifying concidence. So yeah our hero declares victory but dind’t really when and things just kinda end. This segment went basically nowhere and acomplished nothing. .but was still really fun, with great lines and is one of the most memorable and awesome scenes in the series.
It also shows the series growth between volumes: Last volume had a lot of cool moments.. but no real plot structure, just a bunch of things that needed to happen to get here. With Volume 3.. things are VERY tightly plotted, and even a fun but kinda pointless diversion like this... still fits in perfectly, giving us a second Scott and Todd fight to build him up, showing off just HOW powerful Todd is, and fleshing out the tofu headed douche a bit. As we’ve seen this volume still has it’s little slice of life moments the series does well. their just well put into a very compelling and fast paced plot, one we’re fully invested in as we see Scott’s torment and Ramona’s mounting anger at envy’s bullshit. It helps that Envy and Todd are the second best big bads of a volume behind gideon himslef in the fimale, with Roxy close at their heels if you were curious. Envy just oozes ego and superiority and is fun to watch every time, while we see moments once in a while that show she’s still human underneath even if she acts like a goddes.. and is admitely one of my types but that’s enough of that. She provides a nice contrast to ramona, also being standofish and mysterious but wheras ramona is clearly mysterious out of shame for a past she’s not proud of Envy is out of a past.. she has no reason to flee from and was never that bad.The only part Envy kept was Todd which was an objectively bad decision.
Todd meanwhile like all the exes as I re-realized.. is a mirror to scott. Each one has a piece of his worse traits amplified and expanded. So far Patel has been scott’s dorkyness, expanded from
To being a giant showy hipster douche desperate to seem cool and important. Lucas is scott’s afabliity and laziness taken to just outright avoiding a fight.. not nearly as bad as the others given he still has one of Scott’s best qualities with no drawbacks.
But Todd.. is probably the ex that mirrors scott the second most. Besides both being base players with shaggy hair, both are delightfully stupid, both have a lot of charisma besides that and both are extremley good in a fight. But noticably.. Todd zigs a lot where Scott zags and the simlarites sort of stop. While both are objectively attractive, Todd is more conventinually chisled while Scott is more adorable, expertly reflected in the movie by having former Superman Brandon Routh opposite former George Micheal, Micheal Cera. Todd’s ablities are mental while Scott’s are entirely in martial arts and later swordplay. Todd has a rough relationship with his dad who never supported him and constnatly doubted him while Scott’s parents fully support him and love him uncdoitoinaly and despite his protests and annoyance with them.. it’s clear he still cares about them and loves them.
And most damingly.. Scott treats people like garbage sometimes.. but it’s because he’s oblivoius. He’s a finaical burden on Wallace, cheated on Knives, gave Kim no closure, blew up Stephen’s chances at the big time, and in general can be kind of a dick.. but NONE of that is intetnional. It dosen’t make it okay, the books make that clear.. but it’s why we can still root for him: It’s something that can be fixed. Scott hurts people a lot but he lacks gneuinely malicious intent. He leaves a lot of pain in his wake.. but it’s because he’s socially inept, and again and I say this as someone with atusitim myself, defintely on the spectrum , so he dosen’t GET he’s hurting people unless they tell him. Something that will probably not shock you but I relate to and has happened to me in the past, hence while i’ll clal him a douche or stupid, because he’s both, I do sympathize with the guy as the whilrwilnd of descrution is just him being so intent on being seen as a good person and moving past things he can’t see the wreckage in ihs wake, and the series is about him growing past that mindset.
Todd.. is just an entitled dick who KNOWS he’s probably going to hurt people but does the things anyway because he thinks as a rock star he can do whatever he wants. As a Vegan he’s superior so he’s allwoed to do WHATEVER he wants. He’s so obessed with making his dad not see him as a failure he’s developed an Ego that can only be visualized properly using well.. Ego
That’s what his ego has become. He’s so up his own ass his head is coming out of his mouth somehow. He’s so in love with himself he’s probably googled “How to make a sexy clone of yourself”. He’s scott’s oblivoiusness and selfishness, but with genuine intent. He’s scott if he KNEW what he was doing was wrong.. and said fuck it anyway i’m a rockstar baby. Todd, is EASILY what scott could’ve been at envy’s side had they not broken up.. successful.. but an utter bastard who only cares about themselves.
Anyways we cut to practice that night were Stephen is spiraling and Kim declines going to the show.. not for the obvious reasons of wanting to avoid another round of “watch Envy tourture scott before Todd beats his skull in with his psychic powers”, but because she has a date. Lucky bastard. The guys are naturally as tactful as you’d expect about this and suggest she’s doing a collage or puzzles before she shuts htem down and they awkardly recover and I laugh my ass off.
So Scott and Ramona head out, trading some talk and what have you and having some Sushi, not going there often because they can’t afford it.. but it’s cool Scott swipied Wallace’s card. When pressed on his douchebaggery Scott assures her.
We’ll get more into this next time, but needless to say Scott’s mooching is finally becoming a plot point next time. Speaking of next time on the way to the show Ramona realizes “Wait why the hell are we doing this” and convinces Scott not to go as they can relax, have a night off, cuddle and stuff, and then Scott can fight Todd tommorow at the big show. Why DO they need to sit in with two assholes who are only inviting them to fuck with their heads some more. Well okay one asshole while Todd is okay with all this he probably just mubled some “sure whatevers” while trying to solve a rubix cube while Envy outlined her plans to him before rearanging the stickers so he could win.. I Mean with his mind so it’s sitll a little impressive but still.
So they TRY making out, complete with being in their undies.. but it just dosen’t work as both of them keep picturing Envy’s face and that’s not good for either of them.
AND it was at this point fucking tumblr.. ate an hour’s worth of work I just did. Probably not something you need to know or care about but something that pisses me off greatly as I was approaching the end of the review and now have to either retype or entirely rethink what I JUST spent a while working hard on.
And this time I mean it. The only reason i’m not giving up and shelving this review for a bit.. is ithat i’m a stubborn bastard who refuses to give up that easily and who needed to vent about this to somewhere.
So Ramona finally comes clean about Todd.. and in a nice moment admits to cheating on Lucas with him “It wasn’t very nice but I wasn’t a nice person”. It’s a small thing, something I didn’t notice before.. but it’s actually a big step given how guarded Ramona is to admit to doing something this bad. Last volume, just a few days ago time wise, she lied entirely about this and probably has no idea Scott knows already. But she’s being honest, telling him the truth so he’ll be prepared for what’s coming and know the full story.
The full story is they were both little shits who raised hell together till Todd disappeared for a while. He shows up as you’d expect, dickishily interupting class before explaning Dairy Scientests kidnapped and experimented on him. He also says this
So he proves his love. in the most badass and horrifying way possible: BY MAKING ONE OF THE TWO BIG NOTICABLE CRATERS ON THE GODDAMN MOON.
One of the series best jokes. Ramona also takes a hard pass to learning about envy and asks about Kim... not for any reason.. just thinks sh’es nice. It’s not like she wants to make out with her face.. a lot. Just.. girl things. SHUT UP. She’s also unsatisfied with Scott’s piss take version of his relationship with her.
Closing out the chapter, Knives.. has somehow climbed a huge pile of billboardsi n the middle of tornoto.. which would be awesome.. if it weren’t such a beautifully sad image.
Whelp my heart just exploded with pain at this poor girl whose lost the love of her live, which is a goood thing mind you but dosen’t mean it dosen’t hurt less, her faviorte band and her highlights all in the span of a month.
Moving on as we approach the final act, we get a brief scene as Todd orders some Gelato, which is itallian icec ream, very not vegan and Envy does not relaize this. Todd however rants about being a rock star, being so above people and as for the rules
We also get this lovely bit
And then they make out and i’ts treated as a big shocker despite.. us.. finding that out several dozen pages ago. We know already.
Back at Scott and Wallace’s place, Ramona shows up with cool new blue hairdoo, which I agree with Wallace is awesome and admits she changes her hair up every couple of weeks.. someething that in the color version we do see better. We also get a gag that no longer makes sense as he asks if that’s her natural haircolor and she says yay and the caption admits this was funnier in black and white. Eh one or two jokes for some really pretty colors is a fair enough trade.
Scott however once again bitches about his hair, despite Ramona pointing out to him and Wallace that.. there’s like dozens of haircut places within walking distance. I remain unsuprised thier that oblivous. But to shut her boyfriend up she agrees to cut his hair and while they do asks what Envy’s actual name is.. scott’s response .. is pretty heartbreaking “Natalie. She stopped liking it. Then she stopped liking me.
So Scott shows up with his NEW HAIR CUT.. aka his old one just trimmed up a bit, but the one you see in modern merch and the game. A bit shaggy but not as long. Scott reassures Stephen whose spiraling with panic that it won’t be the same as last time and they’ll have fun. Kim, understandably and having not been told anything, wonders what “last time was”. After everyone chimes in Kid chamelon i’ts time for another FLASHBACK.. as you were probably expecting by now.. but this time I added some proper effects to spice it up.
So we find out more of whta drove a wedge between the two: Envy slowly but surely took a tryanical death grip on the band, adding some guy named Joel on the drums, possibly the same guy from Crash and the Boys, and bumping Scott to bass, without asking him or Stephen about this and just sorta.. demanding it. While her intetnions are understandable, she just wants the band’s best sound.. her actions are still head tiltingly obnoxious, and clearly show she had not studied rock history yet as usually taking absolute control of the band and ignoring your band mates is the easiet way to destroy a band. Sometimes it’s just envy, pun unintneded but welcome, but yeah.. it’s no wonder they didn’t last. Scott is also shown to be more and more uncomfortable with the band going from a fun thing he did with his friend and girlfriend.. to something that could make him famous.. something he’s very transparently not ready for and dosen’t want. And it makes sense: he was just a dumb college kid in love.. he didn’t start the band for fame or glory.. he just wanted to have fun. Same with his current band. And while in the PRESENT his lack of ambition can be obnoxious and will be a problem in the next volume, here.. he’s still in college and sudeenly got thrust into a career he dosen’t want with a person who no longer loves or respects him. It’s understandable that he’s a nervous , miserable wreck.
So in the present, Stephen is throwing up and asking for julie and Scott.. is a dick and ignores him. Were it anyone else and any other relationship currrently int he books I would actually give a shit. So he wonders around a bit, running into some teens who are intrested in him, word travels fast apparently, Julie, who for once displays a human emotion of concern for Stephen or the closest she can, and thankfully Wallace, Stacey and Micheal,who now has a spooky skeleton ring from the future and badly needs his own spinoff. Stacey TRIES to pump her brother up.. but it’s clear he’s in no good mental place for that and trudges off while Wallace, man of the year, worries about him.
One GOOD THING about the astronomical setback that happened is in the orignal draft of this.. I forgot to talk about Stacey. Despite promising to. So here it goes: After this Stacey.. just sorta vanishes from the series. She’s still around and while not super promient gets a decent amount of screentime in the finale, she makes cameos before then. But from this book on she’s no longer a main character like she was in the first two books. There she had several scenes, lots of focus, and her own mini arc in the first one about Wallace stealing her boyfriends. There’s. an actual reason for this as O’Malley regretted naming her after his sister and thus basically stopped writing her unless he had to, sticking her in once in a while to assure fans he hadn’t forgotten her but removing her from the main plot.
That being said while his reason is weak.. I dn’t think it’s the ONLY reason she slid into the background. The main cast already had 6 characters, and on top of that this volume heavily focuses on Envy, the next adds Lisa Miller to the mix, and every volume frmo this one on has increased focus on the ex of the week, building them up more as characters and giving them way more screen time. Stacey.. really didn’t have a unique niche or roll in the sotry the other 5 non-scott leads didn’t: Knives filled out the position as the baby of Scott’s friend group, Ramona and Wallace served as better voices of reason, Kim and Wallace had better chemistry with Ramona and thus worked better as her friends, and Stpehn. did nothing she did but still at least had a part to play as band leader and the only one of Sex Bomb-Omb with ambition. Stacey is not a bd character and DID deserve to still be way more prominent.. but her move to the back let Kim take her place and rightfully so. And not just because of the crush on kim thing, Kim’s just more compelling and tha’ts an objective fact. Still would’ve been nice to learn more about Stacey though.
Scott then frees his girlfriend from a conversatoin with Sandra and Monique, as Julie bitchily told both about Gideon which Envy told her about, because as your every couple of paragraphs reminder, Julie is a piece of shit. Scott then orders them some alchols, breaking his usual teetotling and runs into kim, hollie and joseph. with Hollie here to see the band and .. Joseph here to see todd. At least h’es honest.. for this volume. Anyways, our happy couple soon split off for a bit and while we bounce back and forth.. i’m just going to cover what hapepned with each seperately as SOMEHOW tumblr once again ate a good hour’s worth of work, this review is already a day late, and I have both abother one and a dental apointment today. So in short
Ramona and Kim: Kim fills Ramona in on her past.. via tone down, seemingly contridctary, and as we’ll find out later the true version of what happened: She was with Simon, he was a dick, Scott showed up he was also a dick, things happened. I guess. Ramona is disapointed, though Kim does provide some crucial info on her moving to tronto.. and reuniting with scott.
It honestly.. explains a LOT of why Scott is the way he is what happened with Envy. He saw Envy change entirley as a person.. and thus feels changing as a person , and smoking, is a sign of something bad.. when really it just means.. your changing. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worst but we area LWAYS changing and it took me a lont time to realize that. The two are distracted from this though by Todd sloppily making out with Lynette in front of everyone.
We’re also reintroduced to Crash and the Boys, now redubbed the boys and crash, and seemingly playing music without intsturments. The thorughly lovely and rediculous explinaton for this and their new gloves and goggles, i’ll save for in a bit.
Scott and Envy, Scott and Knives: Scott goes out to get some air.. only to find Envy, who despite menally tourturing him for a few days insits they talk like regular people.. Scott wisely counters with “Nat when did we ever talk like real people” and while saying he won’t get to call her that again, it still chips down her walls for a second and shows that a bit of who she used to be, loath as she is to admit it, is still there.
Scott then spots knives... and has a moment of truth. And a hell of a series of reaction panels
It’s a VERY good scene.. that i’ve written about TWICE now but regardless, it shows Scott.. genuinely changing. Ignoring his past actions, running away from them and trying to pretend he never fucked up once... that’s been his go to. It’s his main flaw and hte one that takes the entire series to deal with as we’ll get into. And it’s here.. he faces it for the first time. He’s scared of knives at first.. but realizes.. he genuinely hurt her, and she’s where she is, cold, alone, and huddled in an ally lost and confused, because of him. Sure Envy hurt her.. but so did he.. and what’s worse. he did it just like Envy hurt him. Not thinking of her as a persona nd throwing her away when he didn’t need her. And so after books of build up.. he finally takes some responisblity and talks to her. It’s WHY the books work: Sure scott’s a dick, and remains a bit of one throughout, but.. he means well, isn’t inteitonally a standoffish prick, and slowly grows PAST this, and tries to be better, for Ramona.. and just because it’s the right thing to do.
So Knives reflects on the past few weeks, admitting that it’s been unbearably painful.. but she can’t and won’t go back to who she used to be. She’s lost her innocnce and all that, been dumped by the “love of her life”, been punched in the face by her faviorite drummer and treated like dogshit by her faviorite artist. Todd did nothing for once but gets no credit because of who we’re dealing with here. Point is.. it was a lot and while sh’es not HAPPY.. she’s greatful for it. Scott however.. steps up, saying what Envy did was wrong, she deserved better.. and finally, after how terribly he broke up wit hher.. apologizes for how he hurt her. And while Knives takes this as hope they’l get back together, Scott continues to be very mature, especially for his usual behavior, telling her no, it won’t happen, to give neil a try as whle she is dating him because he looks like Scott he’s not all bad, and that wallce was right: she was too good for him. And while Knives isn’t ready to accept it.. Scott did the right thing. Good for you man.
So while he, and later kim and stephen seperatly, get ready, Ramona.. runs into Envy. Whose oddly nice for ahlf a second.. before bringing up Gideon and giving Ramona a barrage of insults, clearly trying ONCE AGAIN, to knock her down and wreck her. Thing is while Scott clearlya nd understandably has baggage with Envy is easy prey for her manipulative elephant dung, Ramona. isn’t. All Envy’s done is piss her off more and more with each act of high school level mean girl bullshit... and sh’es done with it.
FIGHT’S ON. This Volume.. is honestly where Ramona really comes into bloom, pun intended, as the duetragonist of the books. While the book IS about Scott getting his life together and their relationship and he’s still her hero.. the books are also about RAMONA growing as a person, her own flaws and past, and the climax of all of them.. is just as much about her as it is scott. And this book has her own flaws come into play: Just like Scott she runs from the past, from who she was, and only faces it when needed, which will become more apparent as we go. But at the same time, we get to see far more of her personality as a result as her mysterious facade continues to drop. She’s prone to getting upset, but also clever and witty and knows her limits, knowing that going to that second performance would’ve just done no good and knowing herself very well, something Scott has genuine trouble with. She’s strong, sarcastic and knows who she is and what she wants and this volume finally brings that into focus. Not only that but her fight with Envy, is just as warranted, climatic and awesome as Scott’s fight coming up, as no one has stood up to envy due to her fame.. but Ramona.. dosen’t care. Someone’s gotta stop her, and Ramona’s taking up the job. And the awesome looking hammer.
That being said taking up a giant hammer against a beloved celebrity dosen’t win you any point, so Ramona finds herself discouraged, even if Envy can very clearly handle herself. Thankfully she gets some encouragment from exactly who you’d expect.
And Wallce.. turns out to be pretty useful. At least in this one fight. His shouting not only gives Ramona her fight back.. but keeps distracting envy, leaving her wide open. The tide turns though when Wallace has to pee, and Envy uses the distraction to knock the hamme rout of Raona’s hand and prepare to flatten her. But once again.. someone save sher in the knick of time.. and this time it’s the LAST person you’d expect, as Knives gives the hammer a flying kick.. and then crashes into a wall, and when Ramona, understandably not getting this since she tried to turn her into swiss cheese earlier this week, asks why, Knives admit’s she just wants Scott to be happy. Knives has grown too, and while she’s still obessed with Scott and waiting for themt o break up.. she’s no longer going to try and wedge her way in. If Ramona is what Scott wants, tha’ts what he gets.
All three are distracted by well.. this...
State of your outfits mates. Though that line is iconic. But serously the outfits are hilaroiusly and reaslitically mismatched. Kim’s home made and overdone gothica lolita outfit that dosen’t match her AT ALL, goth yes , poofy goth no. Stephen’s johnny cash outfit he clearly had lying around and Scott’s Dad Suit.
That being said.. still the best looking one of the three. But Envy takes advantage to regrab the hammer and try and murder the two of them.. but Scott sees this.. and well... you get it by now, one more time. Bake me away toys!
So we get the final weeks or days or whatever of the relationship. In a nice parallel to Scott playing Ramona a song he does the same for Envy.. who both questions what this is for then is confused why he’d do something so sweet. Next scene is her getting a call while their cuddling in bed from some guy she idntiefies as Jason and.. barely disguises is clearly cheating on Scott with. and could possibly be todd I dunno.
After that we get to Kid Chamelon preparing to sign a deal and Envy.. trying to press Scott into sginging it, ignoring his obvious discomfort, and then casually threanting to replace him. While Scott does give us a face punchingly dickish comment about “How he started this band to meet chicks and maybe he met the wrong chick”... he’s still somehow in the right as while he’s being a manic dickhead... Envy has ceased seeing him as a person or even something she cares about and tells him to get a hair cut and leave.
We then get the breakup itself as Scott goes up to envy.. and she tells him to get out of her life. ack in the present, Scott’s grown enough to realize he has to stop her and does so.. by touching hte back of her knee which.. uhhhh.
So yeah.. he beat her with an orgasm, and that looks oddly hot. And i’m moving on before that last part of the sentence sinks in. Envy, once she recovers, orders Todd to do a murder on them, but Todd’s not there and Ramona, naturally, brags about him having cheated on her. Envy.. denis.. this.
I .. don’t have time to unpack that. This review is late, I have two other reviews to get to today. Time for ANOTHER flashback.
This time it’s Envy teling a story bok verion of her and Toddd’s relationship. It’s a real poetic and well done sequence. In a nuthsell: Envy and Todd were best friends and deeply in love as kids until todd moved away i’m guessing sometime in middle school. Deeply depressed, Envy sailed through life as sort of a ghost, TRYING to find another connection like that, but failing. Todd returned after she graduated though, and gave her a symbol of his love.. a hole on the moon. Yes another one. And they both promised to never waiver as he went off to the vegan academy. Clearly Envy did with Scott... but it paints her ambition in another light. One where she wanted to be big and bold enough for him.. but slowly carved out her old self to do so.
And as is obvious it was pointlness: not only did Envy love someone else.. but Todd never cared as much as she did. As Ramona points out, and relcutnantly because even she feels a little bad about this one, he did the moon trick with her.. and this time Envy CAN’T deny it.. becaue the evidence is right there.
And of course Todd.. makes his case even WORSE by picking that moment to come out of the bathroom, sipping up his pants, with panties on his head, and with Lynette following right after him. Envy.. tries to murder Lynette, her go to, but LYnette teleports out. Because she can do that. Though Envy does hit her cyborg arm so she looes that and the panties and Ramona offers to mount it at her place if Kim takes the panties, but kim admits she wasn’t scrapbooking, she said she was and was just making the dress. Horay, as ramona puts it “Col se can still be friends. Right.. FRIENDS.
Envy TRIES to cave Todd’s skull in, get some therapy woman, but Todd naturally tk’s it away but despite being the king of all assholes DOES care enough not to fight her. Envy... plays nice then knees him in the nuts like he fucking deserves. Todd then returns to being the once and future douchebag by TK’ing her into the crowd and bragging about it.
Scott dosen’t take this well, even after everything and the final fight begins. They have a bass fight.. but like the game i’ts redicuously one sided since Todd both is a skilled bassist compared to Scott.. and is still using his psychic powers lest you forget he’s a bastard man.
The Boys and Crash however show up to even the odds.. and their trainig is the reason they can play music without insturments as they can now manipulate pur sound. Fucking beautiful. But even they aren’t enough and Todd swats them aside.
While poorly is a bit harsh.. the vegan police show up, which is awesome, though the movie got thomas jane for one of them and had that high five so they win. But yeah.. while this is hilarous.. and the scene with them is great.. it’s also the weakest part of an otherwise near perfect book. It just feels a bit anti clmatic that after all this build up.. Todd is just.. beaten with a sloppy depower. The boys and crash would’ve still been a cop out, but it would’ve been a freaking cool cop out. The thing that saves it is afterwords Scott still gets an epic finish: after they devganize him for the gelato earlier, scott headbutts him epicly and wins. He gets money and.
A 1-up, which understandibly terrfies him but will come in hand in a few volumes. Trust me. Scot checks on everyone. Ramona’s fine, Envy is not and breifly blames scott before he points out Todd was a no good cheating dickwad, and Kim is obviously fine as nothing happend, but him asking is a nice bit of charcter growth. Kim asks about kinves but she’s okay and neil is helping her. But theshow must go on and since the headliners are dead (don’t worry he’ll respawn), in parts unknown and in emotoinal apocalypse, someone’s gotta play.
So our heroes have the show of their lives, and crowd reaction is mostly positive with Jospeh noticing htier levels were horrible, a hint for next time, and the crew interviewing everyone.. including a mysterous gentleman having a beer, who has no commenta nd walks away.
Gideon.. was here the whole time,but he’s not ready for Scott JUST yet. Still a really damn cool tease for the final boss.
So we close the next day, Scott and Envy sorta make up, with both apologizing for their behavor and while Scott gets no closure, envy promises to return.. and makes good on it. But.. that’s for the finale. For now Scott’s girlfriend and best buddy give him a moment to baste in his pathos, before heading off. And in a nice bit of metaphor, the clouds part, and our three amigos walk off into the sunset and a bright future. Three down 4 to go.
Next time: Lesbian Artist Ninjas! Side Stories! Scott Gets A Job! The Band gets a producer! Kim gets a decent apartment and a boyfriend! Lisa returns! See you in feburary.
Until then if you liked this review, spread it around andi f ther’es a comic you want me to cover, my comissions are open. Until the next rainbow, it was a pleasure.
#scott pilgrim#scott pilgrim and the infinite sadness#ramona flowers#wallace wells#kim pine#stephen stiles#neil nordgraf#envy adams#todd ingram#lynette gycott#julie powers#other scott#monique#sandra#college#comics#Brian Lee O'malley#oni press
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to taste your beating heart (3)
Ao3 Link | chapter 1 | chapter 2 |
warnings: blood, hypnosis, tragic backstories, tension, arguing
-
The oven’s beeping was what alerted him.
They’d installed a safety feature in the little panel of knobs and buttons that would chirp loudly if the oven was left on past an hour. It had been Virgil’s idea, after Patton’s forgetfulness caused one too many close calls.
“I’d like our house to stay not burned down, thanks,” he’d said in that wry tone of his. Patton had been too busy delighting in the fact that he’d referred to them all as a unit, a team, to be offended about the jab at his absentminded nature.
Logan snapped the cover of the book he was holding shut, feeling hot irritation run through him as he forced the memory away. Did Patton really think it was appropriate to burn a batch of cookies now, of all times?
Of course, when he strode into the room and found the oven empty but for a tray of cooling cookies with a sticky note atop it, he changed his tune rather abruptly.
Went to go feed V! Don’t panic, have a cookie! - Pat <3
Logan muttered profanity under his breath as he retrieved one of his crossbows from the closet and hurried down the stairs. They had to be stuck down there, Virgil— the vampire likely free of the chair but locked in the room, now with the advantage of a hostage.
He got to the bottom of the stairs and stopped dead, staring at Patton sitting in the chair casually, no vampire in sight.
Unless Patton hadn’t bothered to lock the door behind him, because of course he didn’t. Logan growled, checking once more to make sure Patton was the only one in the room before flinging the bolt free and the door open.
“Patton, you cardigan-clad clod—”
He pulled up short at the haze in his partner’s eyes. The blood splattered on the floor. Thralled.
Immediately, he stepped back, holding the crossbow in a guard position. He desperately didn't want to have to hurt Patton, but with the man’s already considerable strength enhanced by thrall magic, he’d have to use a weapon to stand a chance.
Patton didn’t move, head tilted just slightly. “It’s... okay, Lo. M— he didn’t order me to attack you guys.”
Logan carefully lowered his bow, remembering the vampire’s earlier facade, but… this was Patton. Of all of them, he was the most experienced with thralls, and the fact that he was speaking was a good sign. His mental strength was enough that if he was commanded to deceive them, he would simply stay silent instead.
He rushed over, placing a hand on Patton’s shoulder to ground him. He floundered for words for a moment, throat clogged. Logically, he knew the vampire did not have Virgil’s memories and couldn’t have known. Illogically, his body still felt the betrayal like a physical blow.
“It’s okay, Lo,” Patton offered again, leaning his head into the hand on his shoulder. “It’s a really gentle one. I still feel… all-me. Promise.”
The reassurance meant more than it would coming from any other vamp victim. When they had first met Patton, he’d been under thrall on and off for long enough that he had learned how to function almost-normally, enough that he was able to give them vital hints to the truth of the case they’d been working on.
He’d almost died for his disobedience, and it was only through severing the thrall bond that they were able to save him. Even then, the mental backlash had been severe. Patton had been dazed and blank for weeks afterwards, sometimes unable to function unless one of them was right there with him, guiding him step by step.
Virgil had been so protective of him. And now…
Logan nodded, clearing his throat once, and then again. “Can you stand?” he asked when he was sure his voice wouldn’t do anything strange.
“Mmmhm.” Patton kicked his feet out and hopped up from the chair, nearly falling over before Logan steadied him. He was still holding one hand over the other wrist tightly.
“Your artery—“ he started, alarmed.
“No veins, he only took a little bite of blood,” Patton reassured him, a pleased grin on his face at the pun. “Can’t move my hand… he said to pressurize it.”
“Ah,” Logan said, a bit taken aback. “Very good. Not the pun, that was very bad. Follow me?”
Patton paused at the threshold of the room, before stepping carefully over without any twitching or other indicators of pain. “Told me to stay first, buuut then he tried to summon me, so... it cancels out, I think.”
Such circular logic was Patton’s main tool for subverting thrall orders. If the vamp had gotten out and then called Patton… Logan felt a bit smug. “The hawthorn must have caught him unawares.”
Patton chuckled. “Silly.”
Logan paused briefly to turn off the oven before cautiously making his way to the front door, sending Patton a curious glance. He screwed his face up in concentration for a moment, and then pointed a finger up towards the ceiling slightly to their left. The roof, then.
Taking a deep breath, he strode out onto the lawn and did an about-face to scan the roof. Sure enough, he quickly spotted those eerie eyes glowing in the shadow of their chimney.
Virgil— the vampire stiffened, body coiling like a spring set to snap before stilling at the sight of Patton trailing behind Logan. He glanced between the two of them incredulously, and then focused on Patton, jerking his head to where their lawn met the road purposefully. Issuing a mental command.
Logan’s worried gaze turned on Patton immediately, but all the man did was twist to look over at the hawthorn bushes and then back at the vampire with a pleading frown. His movements weren’t even stilted, a testament to how easily he had shaken off the command.
“I don’t wanna ruin all your hard work, kiddo!” he called up, making the vampire’s face twitch into an expression Logan only saw on Virgil when he was trying to calculate the tip or a woman hit on him: bewilderment.
Attempting to distract the vampire from increasing the intensity of the order, he stepped forwards. “Get off the roof, Virgil.”
A flash of pain on the vamp’s face, gone as soon as it appeared. “Not gonna happen,” he replied, the edge of a snarl in his voice.
“Are you planning on taking up residence there, then?” Logan raised an eyebrow, glancing up at the grey sky. “I imagine that cloud cover won’t last forever.”
“I imagine you’ll have fun watching your friend’s body burn to a crisp,” the vampire shot back mockingly, his clawed hands digging into the roof’s shingles.
Before Logan could respond, the front door was slammed open with excessive force, the sound making the vampire flatten himself further against the roof.
“Logan! The vamp’s out, have you seen—“ Roman cut off at the sight of Patton behind him, lowering his katana slightly. “Oh, thank the muses.”
Logan resisted the urge to rub at his temples. Roman strode over, and then stopped dead at the sight of Patton’s half-glazed eyes, his expression instantly darkening. He gripped his sword handle, knuckles turning white as he spoke with false calm. “Where is he?”
“Roman—,” Logan tried, but he was already following Patton’s line of sight up to the blob of shadow on the roof. The vamp looked like he was attempting to merge with the tiles, though he bristled as soon as Roman met his eyes.
“How could you?” he shouted, fists clenched at his sides. “You know what he’s been through, you asshole!”
The vampire drew himself up, and Logan opened his mouth to correct Roman, but Patton reached him first, bumping him gently from the side.
“Easy, Ro,” he said, tilting his head to rest on his shoulder. “He doesn’t remember, and I’m okay. It’s a real soft one, doesn’t hurt a bite.”
“Reusing puns, really?” Logan snipped, relief flooding through him at the way some tension eased from the air. Roman was looking at Patton with unguarded shock.
Logan understood. There had been a few instances where Patton had been thralled again, seeing as he was their best close-range fighter, and each and every time he had been shaky, drained, and upset both during the thrall and after. To see him still maintaining his cheer now was surprising, to say the least. Perhaps Patton’s insistence that Virgil’s memories remained intact had some merit, if the thrall was this… ‘soft,’ as Patton put it.
He glanced up at the vampire in question, noting the way he was watching Patton with his own barely-hidden shock. It vanished as soon as Roman turned back to him, a practiced mask of indifference settling on his face.
“Release Patton from your thrall, bloodsucker,” Roman commanded, breathing deeply through his nose.
“... You’re going to shoot me off this roof if I do,” the vamp responded, which frankly was much better than another ‘not a chance’. Roman glowered harder, and Logan cleared his throat pointedly.
“Virgil—,” he started.
“It’s Anx,” the vamp and Patton corrected at the same time, in wildly different tones. They proceeded to look at each other with wildly different expressions. Roman whipped his head between them with indignation. Logan rolled his eyes.
“Anx, then. You cannot remain up there forever, and you cannot escape.” The vamp snorted derisively, and Logan remained unruffled. “I trust the security of our base greatly. Our friend was the one who reinforced it, and you’ll find there are very few more thorough than him.”
“Great, so he fucked himself over retroactively,” Anx muttered viciously. “As if I needed more reasons to hate myself.”
“Mno, fight you…,” Patton mumbled absently on reflex. Roman slung an arm around him for support.
“Perhaps we could strike a deal,” Logan offered, seeing that his other teammates were going to be no help in convincing him. “You will release the thrall on Patton, and refrain from biting any of us or attempting to escape again. In exchange—“
“How about in exchange, we won’t shoot you off our roof,” Roman snapped, glaring at everyone but Patton indiscriminately. Logan glared back.
“In exchange,” he repeated emphatically, “you will be fed and we will attempt more civil methods of negotiation rather than locking you up. Does that sound agreeable?”
“How about instead, he digs up those stupid bushes and then I leave without bleeding any of you dry? Does that sound agreeable?” Anx snapped. He flicked his gaze back to Patton sharply, making them all stiffen in unison.
However, it was the vampire who ended up clutching at his head and letting out a choked scream, not Patton. He staggered a few steps forward before collapsing bonelessly into a dead faint on the roof.
#sanders sides#vamp virge au#vampire#ts virgil#ts logan#ts patton#ts roman#writing#my writing#ttybh#to taste your beating heart#me? posting early instead of super late? its more likely than you think#me: im going to take a break for my mental health#also me: writes this in 2 hours mid-breakdown#lol#when will i write something where virgil doesnt pass out during an ominous moment...#(never)#vampire au#you guys thought wibar virgil on top of the cabinet was bad?#ttybh virgil says thats weak shit#villain virgil
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something about the rain
(a/n) i had the most fun time writing this fic for @sassatello and their amazing oc, Adrian!! thank u so so much for letting me write him and donnie!!! love u!
//
Donnie remembers seeing space for the first time, wide-eyed and curious, only sixteen and terrified. It would have almost been perfect, had it not been for the mind probing and electrocution and shit.
But in spite of it all, being in the depths of space was probably the most exhilarating, awe-inspiring, fantastical thing and there were an awful lot of perks about floating through stars literally and saving and liberating and all that.
It had its ups and downs, Donnie had to admit. And now he’s a little bit more removed from the trauma of his last intergalactic encounters. He’s not sixteen, he’s not even a teenager anymore, and so he’s sort of learning how to detangle himself from the awful shit he’s been through.
And maybe the universe has kinda given Don a reason to move forward.
Like it got very, very tired of seeing Donnie destructively bury all of his stress until it made him physically sick. So it gave him something that would kill him if he ever let that happen.
That universal gift is named Adrian. And he’s fucking insanely the greatest.
////
Going through District TZ-3 is hell. But it’s the best way to Zrt•vn.
On this edge of the galaxy it snows. Though it looks more like ash the further towards the epicenter of the planet they get.
The flakes fall slowly and some stop suspended in the air, rotating on an axis as they melt, and rocks float through them, falling down to the ground. They bounce off the shuttle and dent the sides, skipping back into the moving sea of snow and ash.
The storm lasts a while and the wind rolls the snow and ash and rocks form like waves, over the wings of the space shuttle, rocking it softly.
Inside, Adrian watches, his eyes lost in the swell of waves, fingers pressed lightly against the glass windows; something is aching in him, picking at him as a familiar kind of thing, as he looks out into the flakes that spun so slowly to the waves.
It was one of those things, he guessed- like when he saw the Guide maps with all of these galaxies and planets and worlds and he'd look real, real hard at one of the planets, green and blue and huge, and know it instantly. Donnie’s planet.
Donnie calls that place home so naturally; no uncertainty in the way he claims that world, and Adrian knows that as much as he’s tried to- he knows he doesn’t belong there fully.
That he’ll never have the contentment Donnie so easily possessed. It drove him crazy thinking about how someone could be so grounded and yet such an incredible dreamer.
And how someone who dreamed so hugely for others couldn’t even make sure he got more than three hours of sleep a night.
It’s wonderfully out of reach to Adrian. Donnie’s always been one notch above him in that way.
And as he watches Don fight sleep at the control of their ship, Adrian adds Earth, belonging- and Donatello- to the plethora of things that he can't get out of his head.
///
It takes only another half hour for Donnie to stop blinking away exhaustion and just full on pass out at the helm, his head officially connecting with the control panel and sending their teeny explore ship zooming through the sea of snow and ash.
Adrain only lets himself completely chortle over it once he knows they’re definitely not gonna crash, and that Donnie definitely didn’t hurt his forehead.
“‘M okay…. ‘m okay, really,” Donnie mumbles, blindly swatting Adrian away because that’s convincing, “Just resting... my eyes.”
“Like hell you are,” Adrian snickers, and hefts Donnie up as best he can, Don’s sleepy eyes blinking open to find his, cheeks all droopy and shit, “Don’t think Raph didn’t tell me about you pulling, like, an all-weeker.”
There’s cots in the back, a small tucked away space Adrian sorta designed himself, filled with a collection of things he’s picked up from dozens of planets he’s traveled to on his journey to come pick Don up.
They’ve known each other for a good while now, a real good while. Enough for Adrian to know that Donnie’s bound to be feeling kinda shitty this week because their little talks of late have been nothing but Don being grumpy and self-deprecating through little soft spoken jabs at his worth.
And so Adrian stopped his work and his planet-hopping and came to scoop his best friend up, finding a nice little corner of this district with just the best scrapped tech and organisms worth studying.
And a long enough travel time to catch up on some much-needed sleep.
He gets Donnie onto the cot and watches him sink instantly into it with a content sigh, a smile following it. Mission accomplished, Adrian goes to stand, only pausing when his wrist is tugged, caught in Donnie’s grip.
“This means nothing…” Donnie yawns, “You just wanna drive.”
Adrian hopes Don can’t feel his pulse, that he’s too out of it to notice the way Adrian freezes up, breath caught in his throat.
“Get sleep, dummy,” he forces out, patting the side of Donnie’s face affectionately before closing the curtains to the cots.
He settles down in Don’s spot at the controls, resting his chin in his palms and breathing out wistfully.
/////
Neither of them are the best at preparing meals, and preserving food on a space shuttle isn’t the easiest, but there’s something about eating next to the best person you know that makes bologna and colby jack cheese sandwiches taste exponentially better.
They touch down on Zrt•vn earlier than they estimated, and rising suns are a marvel.
“I cannot believe Earth has like, only one sun,” Adrian says around a mouthful of bologna and cheese, “That’s drab.”
Donnie snorts, brushing the crumbs off his thighs, “It is drab. I mean, it’s beautiful...but compared to this?”
He gestures to the horizon, a blaze of brilliant purples and oranges. Adrian loves this most of all- seeing Donnie so amazed, seeing all the things Adrian himself might feel are mundane shine so beautifully through Donnie’s eyes.
Eyes that light up, still, in spite of all the horrors he’s been through.
It’s extraordinary.
Extraordinary.
“I’d love to study the UVs- I mean that’s definitely not my field of study but geez….it’s gotta be a whole different setup here.”
Adrian nudges Donnie softly, “‘Field of study’ my ass… you have a gillion fields of study.”
He subconsciously wonders if he shoved too hard, or too softly- was it too weird? Ill-timed? Jesus, he was overthinking, spending too much time with this goof, and Adrian would be damned if he started second guessing himself around Don like this.
“I actually don’t dabble in a ton of fields. I wish I had the time anymore...there’s just so much to retain, you know?” Donnie says, every attempt at flirtation going above his head as he smiles softly and aloofly at Adrian.
“Yeah… yeah I feel ya,” is what Adrian murmurs back, unable to completely detach himself from Donnie’s stupid big ass brown eyes.
They hold a stare for what feels like an eternity, before Donnie blinks and lets out a laugh that cuts through Adrian’s thoughts.
He goes to stand, offering a hand to Adrian, “Guess we better get this exploring on, right?”
Adrian takes it, swallowing hard and getting to his feet too, offering Donnie a lopsided smile, “Early bird gets the worm!”
Donnie’s grin widens, he doesn’t let go of Adrian’s hand.
“Hey, lookit you! Picking up on lowly Earthling terms,” he teases, poking at Adrian’s plastron.
It pierces right to the heart, and Adrian can’t get a normal rhythm back the whole time they suit up, not with the way Donnie stays so close to him the entire time.
////
On this planet, it rains. Just when the suns rise and just as they make it out the ship, the clouds roll in thick and heavy and dark, and the precipitation starts.
In the darkness patrol lights from ships in search of spare parts sway across the dirt, and they hide, Adrian and Don, search goggles glowing in the heavy blackness. The sky lights up with dying stars that burst quietly from miles away, their dust falling onto them right alongside the rain, making the downpour harder.
Still, from afar, the sky is pink and purple, and even in this, there’s beauty to be found. But Donnie can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Maybe if he’d just slept back home and didn’t freaking pass out on Adrian, maybe if he got up sooner they’d-
A hand rests heavy on Donnie’s shoulder, startling him out of his racing spiral of self pity and loathing. His eyes snap up and Adrian comes into view, his lips moving before sound even registers to Donnie.
“-ood? I can go find- find the ship if you’re not feeling good, I’m so sorry, shoulda double checked the weather…”
Donnie takes a gulping breath and blinks away the heat behind his eyes.
“I’m okay…” he says, as confidently as he can, because he is, now, “And don’t be silly, Adrian, it’s a mess out here...you could get hurt or...really wet or...you know…”
As stupid as he feels, Adrian’s slowly spreading grin somehow pacifies the feeling, and Donnie finds himself rubbing the heat from his neck.
“X’vr’s forbid I get wet now,” Adrian jokes, his hand falling from Donnie’s shoulder, but it still hovers beside his arm, “But we shouldn’t split...this rock’s a pretty great cover for now.”
Donnie chuckles breathily, surveying the storm happening around them, “Yeah...yeah I guess it is. Sorry I panicked- I mean, I- I don’t know. I fucked this up...we could’ve been done scavenging if I hadn’t-”
Adrian looks a cross between hurt and confused and it’s a look powerful enough to shut Donnie up a little.
“And now I’m making shit worse by...rambling like this,” he mumbles guiltily, wringing his hands.
There’s only a few heartbeats of silence where Donnie’s sure Adrian is gonna chew him out for being so...himself. But that’s a stupid thing to think, actually. Because Adrian’s face softens into a smile.
“You didn’t make nothin’ worse, Donnie,” Adrian says, his voice quiet but firm enough that it overpowers the sound of the pouring rain, “You couldn’t have...because as shitty as this rainstorm is...it’s kinda pointless ‘cause I’m. I don’t really care, as long as I’m with you.”
At his admission, Donnie stops wringing his hands. He just stops...everything really. He blinks slowly. “You...well, I mean-” he tries searching for his words, because surely Adrian is just- “That’s...that’s really nice of you to say but-”
“Don,” Adrian says, more loudly, more certain, and holds Donnie by his shoulders this time, “I’m not… ‘being nice’ or some shit. I like being near you.”
Donnie’s eyes widen, the silly, lovely lost look in them subsiding as realization takes its place.
And without taking his eyes off Donnie, Adrian presses the release to his helmet, searching Don’s face breathlessly. “Can I kiss you?” he asks around this huge, wonderful smile.
Donnie’s only half-sure that he nods, and still unable to form words he undoes his helmet too, his lips meeting Adrian’s within seconds- half of seconds. The embrace is warm and strong and frames by overeager and overjoyed smiles.
And Donnie silently thanks the universe for this, for this wild gift he’s been given- for yet another beautiful thing to live for.
#tmnt#tmnt 2003#donnie#adrian#tmnt oc#sassatello#these boys have my heart aaaaaaaa#my writing#tmnt fic
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summary : peach doubts himself once again.
characters : kwon baekhan , han jaeyi , rest of botanica ensemble mentioned (side note ; daniel’s korean name is jiwon and elliot’s is hanryeol , which is who jaeyi is referring to)
genre : tryna be angst but once again i cannot write angst but i tried
warnings : they say shit like twice , implied mental illness ?? maybe ?? he lowkey has a mini panic attack at the start . i don’t know if you can think of a better way to put it lmk also if u have a problem w the way i’m portraying this pls dm me !!! i’m always looking to learn more and i don’t wanna offend anyone <33
words : 1.5k
[ july 2019 , 1:34 am , SMK building rooftop ]
baekhan burst through the doors from the stairwell, immediately taking a gulping breath, taking in as much fresh air into his lungs as he could. he couldn’t breathe, he felt suffocated, like the roof was caving in around him. he needed fresh air, he needed to go outside, away from everything for just a minute.
he knew jaeyi would come looking for him eventually, he just needed a break, to get away from everything around him that made him feel like he wasn’t good enough.
take a break! jaeyi would say, you’re pushing yourself too much, you’ll regret it when you get hospitalized by passing out from exhaustion. that was ridiculous, he’d know when to stop himself. we can come back tomorrow! they’d say, but by that time it already was tomorrow, so he might as well stay the rest of the night, right? he was debuting in two weeks- oh god, he wasn’t ready for that. the others didn’t have to work as hard because they were gifted, naturally talented, and good enough to debut already. they didn’t understand that baekhan didn’t belong here. he was a fraud, he shouldn’t have made it as far as he did.
a fraud, untalented, not worthy, a fraud, a fraud, a fraud.
baekhan made his way over to the ledge, gripping onto the rail as his way of keeping himself grounded. the cold midnight breeze and the view of the entire city below him was strangely comforting. he exhaled for what felt like the first time in an hour, and just stood there for a second, his elbows supporting his body as he leaned on the railing, trying to clear his mind.
he hated the fact that he just got up and left instead of trying to calm down. even when he couldn’t breathe and it felt like the panelled ceiling of the practice room was falling and caving on top of him, running away from his problems wasn’t gonna fix them. bolting out of the practice room and hiding wasn’t gonna do anything, it just made him look like a coward.
he lowered his head, trying to calm his shaky breathing and trying to take his mind off the fact that the word kept dancing around in his head. fraud, fraud, fraud.
baekhan wasn’t that hard to find. after jaeyi convinced tian to go back to the dorm and sleep after he snuck out for much longer than he was supposed to, the rooftop was one of the first places he checked. although he was deathly afraid of heights and his legs shook every time he went up there, jaeyi had to somehow convince him to come back down and go back to the dorm with him.
he breathed a sigh of relief when he carefully pushed open the door to the roof and saw baekhan standing near the edge, leaning on the rail.
“baek?” he called as he made his way over to where the older stood, trying to block out the sound of cars rushing below them that made his head spin. baekhan whipped his head around quickly, but softened seeing it was just jaeyi. his eyes looked puffy.
“shouldn’t you be back at the dorm?” he asked.
“i came to look for you, you know i wouldn’t go back without you.”
“i know my way back,” baekhan replied cooly, “or are you trying to make sure i don’t off myself.”
jaeyi hesitated, “kind of? anyway- i’m talking you back to the dorm now. you need rest.”
baekhan sighed, “can we just stay out here for a minute? i need some fresh air, i promise i’ll come back after.”
jaeyi gulped, surpressing the urge to projectile vomit down the side of the building onto an unsuspecting driver below for the sake of his friend. “yeah, we can stay for a minute. i’m staying with you to make sure you come back.”
surprisingly, baekhan nodded in compliancy. “that’s fine,” he replied, turning around to slide down to a sitting position with the rail supporting his back, “i just need a minute.”
jaeyi sat down next to him, and the two sat in silence for a few minutes. although jaeyi was worrying about the possibility of the rail somehow giving way from the weight of the two scrawny boys and sending them tumbling over the edge, to eventually land in a sad pile as a gift to some poor pedestrian that just so happened to be walking at the wrong time.
“is there anything that’s bothering you? you don’t have to tell me, i just don’t want you to keep everything from me- i guess?” jaeyi asked.
“nothing that you can really help with,” baekhan mumbled.
“well- just tell me what’s on your mind, please? i might not be able to help, but maybe having someone listen will make it better?”
baekhan sighed, “maybe. it’s kind of complicated though.”
“try me,” jaeyi replied confidently.
nervously drumming his fingers on the concrete of the ground, he quickly said, “i’m not ready to debut.”
jaeyi blinked, “you’re being serious?” when baekhan nodded quickly, he continued, “you’re more ready than all five of us combined, where’d you get that from?”
“...because i’m not ready?” baekhan looked at jaeyi like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “have you seen my dancing? daniel has tried to help me so many times, and i’m still a horrible dancer. i don’t know how he’s so patient when i want to punch myself in the face every time i mess up the choreography.”
“i think your dancing is good...” jaeyi said quietly before baekhan continued, his eyes glossy from welling tears.
“i’m not ready, i don’t want to debut yet, i don’t even deserve to be here. you and daniel try to help, straighten your back, stick this move with your arms, chest out, neck straight, and i can’t fucking get it. i don’t know why i’m here. i’d probably be working at a fast food restaurant or something if i wasn’t here. i don’t deserve it, i’m not talented enough, i’m a fraud.”
jaeyi stiffened, not sure how to respond. he felt horrible knowing that his friend was going through this right under his nose and he had no clue. this wasn’t the confident, talented baekhan jaeyi thought he knew when he joined the company a few months prior. seeing him in a weak, vulnerable state like this filled him with an intense feeling of sonder. everyone around him, although they may have appeared fine, were living their own set of problems right underneath the surface that no one, or just a select few people even know about. but one thing was for sure, if kwon baekhan was anything, a fraud was most definitely not one of those things.
“you’re not a fraud,” jaeyi replied, and quickly added, “never were, and never will be.”
“you might think so,” baekhan quickly wiped a few stray tears away that had leaked down his cheeks and lowered his head again, letting his hair obscure part of his face, “i feel like it though. don’t bother asking why. i don’t know but i also do know.”
“i see,” jaeyi nodded slowly, “sorry- i’ve never been good with stuff like this.”
“no, it’s okay, it was actually good to get that off my chest, actually. i’ve never really said any of that out loud to anyone before,” baekhan reassured the younger.
“well- if you ever need to get anything else off your chest, come to me,” jaeyi said, “or jiwon, or sangwoo- eh no maybe not sangwoo, hanryeol- eh- tian- eh? maybe? me or jiwon would probably be your best bet, actually.”
baekhan laughed, and when he saw that jaeyi was starting to yawn, he said, “should we head back now? it’s late.”
“yeah, no shit it’s late,” jaeyi laughed with him, already starting to get up, “if you’re ready to go back, then yeah. i’d love to get off of this roof.”
“right,” baekhan followed, standing up as well. he almost felt lighter, like he could stand slightly straighter now, “that was refreshing.”
“you need sleep, i swear, have you seen yourself?” baekhan touched his face at that, and although he couldn’t see himself he could practically feel the dark circles under his eyes from the lack of sleep he’d gotten that past week.
“before we go back, c’mere,” jaeyi held his arms out, and when baekhan cautiously scooted closer, he grabbed him and enveloped him in a tight hug, baekhan immediately stiffening.
“you smell like sweat,” baekhan laughed, crinkling his nose.
“so do you,” jaeyi replied, “and can you please come to me next time you’re having trouble with something?”
“i’ll try,” baekhan mumbled into the taller boy’s chest, “oh god, what would i do without you, i swear.”
“ew, enough of that sappy shit- let’s get back now, or i’ll pass out in the elevator on the way back!” jaeyi said, loosening his grip around the shorter boy’s torso.
as the two boys walked off the roof and down to the elevator, baekhan felt a strange sense of relief that he hadn’t felt in what felt like years. and the rest of the night he’d stay up thinking- what in the world did he ever do to deserve a friend like han jaeyi?
#group.botanica#botanica.scenarios#peach.dev#jaeyi.dev#koc#idol!oc#idol!au#idol!group#kpop oc#oc kpop group#kpop imagines#fake kpop group#idol oc#starmaker entertainment#made up kpop agency
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After knowing what Jaune (D Arc) did to Ironwood and his men do you think Cinder would try doing the same thing Jaune went through but it goes horribly wrong?
Jaune D’ Arc part 2
Weiss: Let me get this straight. After you were captured, they took you to Salem’s castle.
Jaune: Mm-Hmm.
Weiss: Where it was revealed to you that you are a descendants of one of Salem and Ozma’s once thought to be dead children.
Jaune: Yep.
Weiss: So because of that she tried to convince you to join her side and rule as her heir. But you said she could, and I quote-
Jaune/Weiss: “Go fuck herself and her batshit crazy ass cult!”
Jaune: Yes I did say all of that.
Qrow: But because she didn’t like that answer she had you transferred to Watts’ secured hideout laboratory.
Jaune: Ohhh yeah you should have seen the look on their faces. Especially Cindy, bitch was about to blow a gasket. But anyway, continue.
Qrow: Right...so after you were brought to the lab, where Watts tortured you behind Salem’s back and tried to pry information out of you about the rest of us.
Jaune: Damn. Right.
Ren: When all that failed, Arthur decided to do try another test which involved putting you in the tube that we found you in. Which was filled with...I’m sorry what did you call it?
Jaune: Red shit. But I’m also pretty much it was Grimm essence.
Weiss: And you survived that, how?
Jaune: I’m assuming my semblance.
Weiss/Qrow/Ren: Ah. Right.
Nora: But if you’re semblance saved you, why do you look like a scary boy Salem?
Jaune: Well while my semblance kept me alive. Didn’t really do much else to stop the effects of the red shit changing my body. Eventually my body and semblance was changed to the point where I could barely recognize myself. Also I now need to absorb the aura of others to fuel my own and my current mental health is pretty fucked if I do say so myself, but what else is new am I right?
Everyone: .....
Jaune: Ok joke didn’t work. Got it.
Ruby: Jaune.....Do you know if...this is permanent or not?
Jaune: Well. It’s supposed to be an almost exact same liquid from the pool that changed Salem to what she is now soooooo I’m gonna assume that this is not reversible.
Ruby: Oh...
Jaune: .....does it really bother you?
Ruby: What! No! Jaune, I’m happy to have you back alive! You have no idea how much everyone missed you, how I missed you. I just wanted to know if you are ok with these changes.
Jaune: .....no. But I don’t really have much choice in the matter anymore so I guess I’ll just have to live with it. But anyway that’s my story.
Qrow: Well kid, you’ve been through a helluva experience. Come on, let’s get going before anybody else gets here.
Jaune: That sounds great. How do we do that?
Ruby: We were able to get ahold of a Manta to get here. Now come on let’s get out of here. *Takes his hand but feels him not moving * Huh? Jaune?
Jaune: Actually.....I have a better idea.
He walks over to Ironwood’s unconscious body.
Jaune: Hey Jimmy how’s it going? You look great! Say I was wondering, do you mind if we borrow your ride? No you don’t mind. Great! You’re a pal! *Reaches into Ironwood’s coat and pulled out a keycard.*
Weiss: Jaune! What are you doing?!
Jaune: Getting us a new ride!
Time Skip; Elsewhere....
Salem: WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE’S GONE?!!!
Salem’s faction are all present in the War Room when Arthur had arrived to inform Salem of recent events. So naturally she was very displeased by the news.
Arthur: Uh, well...you see your grace, he didn’t actually escape rather he was.....recovered by the Rose child’s group. *Salem stood right in front of him*
Salem: Really? Very well then, for my next question I want to know as to WHY YOU LET THEM TAKE MY HEIR?!
Arthur: They caught me off guard you see! I was just doing my normal procedures-
Cinder: You mean dancing in your lab?
Arthur: My NORMAL procedures! And then suddenly the little ginger hell spawn bombed my facility.
Salem: And instead of securing my heir, ensuring that OUR ENEMIES do not get a hold of him.....what did you do?
Arthur: Um well.....you see.....I-
Mercury: Hid in his safe room like a bitch!
Emerald: MERC!
Salem: No! That’s quite alright young Sustrai, I believe that perfectly explains the behavior of our dear doctor here. *She stood up as her back faced the outside windows* So tell me Arthur, how are you going to make this up to me?
Arthur: *sweating* I can assure you my grace! I will retrieve the Arc, you see I installed a tracking device on his person after-! *Stops himself*
Salem: .....I’m sorry. What was that last part Arthur? *Side glances him*
Arthur: Well...forgive me your grace but I feel I should confess that.....I may have withheld some information about the Arc boy’s status at my facility.
Salem: Status...
Arthur: *Sweating profusely* He’s Fine! Really he’s just fine!.....for the most part. AH! *Magically pulled towards Salem, where she grabbed his shirt*
Salem: What did you do?
Arthur: N-Nothing life threatening! I think...
Salem: What did you do?
Arthur: I.....may have dabbled a little into..... Grimm Essence Research while he was at my facility.
Salem: .*Her eyes widened* ....what?
Arthur: But he’s fine! He survived the procedure perfectly. Honestly you should have seen the results, now he looks more like your descendant than ev-WAH! *Gets slammed into the front glass panel, causing multiple cracks to form*
Salem: Don’t you think that if I wanted him to be like me. I would have asked you to make so?
Arthur: You know I’m suddenly starting to realize that.
Salem: How much?
Arthur: W-What?
Salem: How much of the Grimm essence did you give him?
Arthur: uuuuuuuuuhhhh.
Salem: Arthur.....
Arthur: I put him in a tank of it.
Salem: YOU FOOL! *Throws him across the room, hitting the opposite wall*
Tyrian: Hehehehehehehe! Oh what fun we’re having today!
Emerald: Cinder, shouldn’t we try to stop her? I mean he is our only tech support.
Cinder: Shh! Not yet. I want to see how far she goes.
The negative aura surrounding the Grimm Queen seemed to emit off her person as she slowly walked towards Arthur. This caused him to scrabbles to steady himself on the wall, fear for his life very much on his mind.
Arthur: W-W-Wait! Your grace, I promise you we get him back!
Salem: It’s far too late for that Arthur. Even if you can track him down, you’ll never be able to recapture him. After all, if he’s anything like me now he’ll most likely try and succeed to kill you and anyone you send after him.
Arthur: Your Grace! I implore you, beg you to give me another chance. Have I ever failed you before!
Salem: .......You make a point. You’ve been faithful up until now, therefore I shall let you keep your life.
Arthur: *Sighs in relief* Thank you my grace...
Salem: But fail me again Arthur.....and I shall fill these very walls with your blood.
Arthur: ...I understand your grace.
Salem: Now go on then, it seems like you have some searching to do.....oh and take Tyrian and Cinder with you. Just to ensure you do not fail me again, right Arthur?
Arthur: Y-Yes your grace, we won’t fail! Come along Tyrian, Cinder.
The three followers and two subordinates of Salem make their way out of the room. Once they make it down the hall. They enter a second room where they can plan their operation.
Arthur: Alright everyone, since we all have our assignment from her Grace. I think it’s best we find out leads as to where the target is going.
Cinder: Before we do anything! Why don’t you show us exactly what you’ve been up to, do you have any record of the breakout?
Arthur: I do. But I must insist that we-
Cinder: You just claimed to have turned Jaune Arc into a replica of Salem, I think I speak for everyone here that I’m curious to know in what regard you meant.
Tyrian: I wouldn’t mind seeing for myself either of how the boy has been blessed by our goddess.~ I say role the tape!
Arthur: ‘Heavy Sigh’ Very well. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you...
Five Minutes Later....
Jaune: *in recording* What’s wrong Jimmy?! You were talking good shit a second ago! Why don’t you have one of your dead men give you a new arm?! I’m sure they gladly do it as they now have plenty to give.
Arthur at this point decided to pause the video as he’s sure everyone got the message. He turns to look at everyone and sees they have a variety of expressions. Cinder and Mercury have a pale expression of shock and fright on their faces, while Emerald had stopped watching halfway through the video to puke in the corner. Tyrian had a sickening gleeful expression as if he was watching a blockbuster movie. But that face dropped when the video ended.
Tyrian: Hey! Why did you stop it? It was getting to the good part!
Cinder: This.....is Jaune Arc?
Arthur: Unfortunately, yes.
Cinder: Watts.....BY THE GODS WHAT IN WORLD POSSESSED YOU TO CREATE THIS MONSTROSITY!!! AND WHY GIVE IT TO HIM OF ALL PEOPLE?!!!
Arthur: Look here! I don’t need anyone else here to tell me when I clearly have made a misjudgment!
Mercury: Doc this isn’t a misjudgment, this is a complete fuckin’ disaster! We already had one Salem on our backs, NOW WE GOT TWO OF EM!
Arthur: Look it’s not that bad!
Emerald: ‘Huff!’ Not that bad?! That.....THING turned a group of Atlesian specialists into burger meat! And you want US to go up against THAT! We’re going die!
Arthur: Don’t you think I’m already aware of that! I’m not even sure if sending a maiden will be enough to stop him! But I obviously cannot do this by myself!
Cinder: .....Then why don’t we even the odds.
Arthur/Mercury/Emerald: What?
Cinder: You were able to accomplish this process once. Couldn’t you do it again?
Emerald: Cinder. You’re not actually-?
Cinder: Power is power. And if I’m right that means if someone else had any similar abilities as him, they would be able to overpower him. Right?
Arthur: .....It’s possible. However I highly recommend that you don’t undergo such a procedure.
Cinder: And why not?! If you’re not confident in your own work than what’s to stop me from-
Arthur: I don’t doubt my work! It’s the person I’m concerned over.
Cinder: What?
Arthur: You see this isn’t the first time I’ve dabbled into this kind of research. It’s only the first success.
Cinder: You’ve done this before?
Arthur: Yes.....it’s been a pet project of mine for sometime. However, I rarely ever had any test subjects survive. Those that do.....well they are far from ever being human again.
Cinder: How?
Arthur: Well most that do undergo the procedure, turn out to be more Grimm-like than desirable. They become mindless beasts that slowly decay into nothing.
Everyone: .....
Mercury: Oum, how long have you been doing this for?!
Arthur: About three to four years give or take.
Cinder: If that’s the case. Why shouldn’t I undergo the procedure?
Arthur: Do you really think Salem would accept or be pleased that I turned her Fall Maiden into a mindless beast?
Cinder: If Someone by the likes of Jaune Arc could survive, then so can I!
Arthur: Absolutely not! I already have her eyes behind my back, do you want me to kill myself!
Cinder: I can take it by force if I have to! I have magic!
Arthur: You wouldn’t survive!
Cinder: AND WHY NOT?!
Arthur: Because you lack a sense of humanity!
Cinder: *confused* What?!
Arthur: This procedure isn’t just about the physical capability of the recipient but the mental as well. You think it’s only a coincidence that someone like Jaune Arc survives solely for his semblance and genealogy to Salem?
Cinder: Oh you’ve got to be kidding? You’re telling me that the reason he survived and became this way is because of his humanity!
Arthur: .....As much as I despise the notion yes. Also they have to be a virgin.
Cinder: Watts, you damn well!
Arthur: Thought but didn’t want to assume. But I’m afraid I can’t allow you to undergo the procedure. You’re too important to the mission and we both know we shouldn’t give it to Tyrian. *Both look at the crazed scorpion licking his blades*
Cinder: Point taken.
Arthur: Yes, for this procedure we require someone who is.....expendable. *Looks at the two others in the room.*
Emerald: .....Why is he looking at us like that?
Mercury: Because we’re fucked.
End of Part 2.
Had fun writing this one and I hope you guys enjoyed!
#rwby#jaune arc#ruby rose#lie ren#nora valkyrie#weiss schnee#qrow brawnwen#arthur watts#salem#cinder fall#emerald sustrai#mercury black#tyrian callows#rwby lancaster#lancaster#dracula jaune#jaune d’ arc
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start a riot | jjk
→ synopsis ; movies lie. being in a hostage situation on christmas eve as a broke college student is nothing like jungkook could’ve ever imagined.
→ word count ; 1452
→ genre ; heist!au | fluff | angst
→ pairings ; broke boi!jk x thief!y/n
→ warnings ; hostage situation, mentions of guns, general headassery
→ a/n ; this is for kwritersworld’s christmas event !! i chose prompt four, which is ‘a is robbing the bank on christmas eve and b is a hostage but a is really nice- wait what ?’ and ofc i had to pick broke!jk because what’s better than harassing my bias though fanfic ??? nothing
-
When Jungkook heard someone in a deep, soulful voice start singing Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’, he nearly sent his head through the glass panel separating him and the bank teller.
Jungkook was, unfortunately, broke. Begging his bank to give him money on Christmas Eve wasn’t the most glamorous thing he’s done, but he cannot survive on eighty-nine cent packets of ramen forever. He felt bad, having to resort to making artwork for his friends and family for the holiday, not even scraping enough money to buy something of substance to eat.
Of course, tomorrow will be another story. Jungkook will get money from his parents, feel guilty about it for a month, then try to convince them that yes, music was the thing that was going to get him somewhere.
“Mr. Jeon. I’m afraid that another loan will make your credit score plumet.” The lady spoke, the glare of the computer screen harsher than it needs to be. Jungkook wished he could be swallowed by his hoodie, never to be seen again. The singing continued, growing louder. “I wish I could help you. Would you like to take money out of your savings account instead?” She frowned at the screen.
“Not really. Is there a way I-“ A deafening gunshot pierced Jungkook’s ears, and he flinched violently, covering his ears as he ducked. The soulful singing continued, unwavering, as the security guard fell injured to the floor. “What the fuck-“ Jungkook laughed anxiously, staying low to the floor.
“Everybody on the fucking ground, now!” A voice shouted, and compliant, Jungkook sat on the ground, hands covering his head.
“Oh great. I’m broke and I’m gonna die in a fucking stick up.” Jungkook muttered to himself, hands shaking.
“Staff, alert the police and we’ll light this place up, leaving no survivors.” A voice giggled, and Jungkook cocked his head. There are three people, one girl, and two guys, assuming that the person singing is a guy. Looking up, he saw a taller man covered in all black with a santa mask on, and a shorter man and woman with elf masks on.
“Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!” The man with the santa masked laughed, AK-47 hanging loose in his fingertips. “I’ve heard you’ve all been very naughty, so we’ve come to take what you don’t deserve.” Santa hummed, walking confidently towards the bank tellers.
“Doesn’t Santa give naughty kids coal?” One person asked in a monotone voice. Jungkook nearly laughed, choking it back rather disgracefully.
“Santa will put a bullet in your foot if you keep making smart-ass comments, Mister.” Santa spoke, a clear smirk in his voice. “Besides, we don’t want to hurt anyone. We’ve just come for the money, that’s about it.” He shot out the glass that leads to the back of the bank, startling the staff.
“Hm-“ Black boots came into Jungkook’s view, and he looked up to face an elf’s mask. The woman giggled as she looked down at him, and afraid, Jungkook pressed himself against the teller’s desk. “You’re cute.” He heard the smile in her voice. “Boys!” She called, and both men faced in her direction. “You promised we wouldn’t hurt any people. Especially not this one.” She gestured to Jungkook, and he sat up, shocked.
“We don’t pick favorite hostages, asshat.” The other elf spat.
“I do as I please, dumbfuck.” She spat back, before looking back at Jungkook. “Wish I met you another way. Maybe I could’ve given you my number.” She sighed.
“Stop flirting with the hostage.” Santa barked, and Jungkook couldn’t help but blush, ducking his head. “We have shit to do, guys. Like, you know, rob this bank and get the fuck out of here?” He gestured to the safes, and both elves nodded.
“I’ll keep watch. You two bust open the safes.” She hummed, surveying the hostages. Two women, probably in their late twenties, with a young child, two men, also in their late twenties, an older couple, teenage twins with their parents, and then the cute one. Truthfully, she’s dealt with worse.
“Try not to make out with him while we’re back there.” Santa gestured to Jungkook, and he ducked his head as the elf flipped Santa off. The two men headed towards the back, leaving the woman alone with the rest of the people in the bank.
Then the toddler started crying. Hysterically.
“Can you shut your fucking child up?” One of the men growled, head low to the ground. The woman scoffed, holding her child close.
“Can you shut the fuck up? She’s a baby, of course she’s going to be afraid, asshole.” The woman spat back, and the elf chuckled, shaking her head.
“Be fucking rude again and I’ll put a bullet through your foot, sir.” The elf hummed, turning as she surveyed the ceiling. She approached the couple and their child. “I’m really good with children, would you like me to take her and calm her down?” She asked, and the women looked less than compliant, cradling their screaming child close.
The elf frowned, before turning and sending several bullets into all different directions towards the ceiling. Sparks flew, and the hostages yelped at the loud sounds. Jungkook looked up, realizing one of the security cameras he could see was destroyed by a bullet. “Sorry for the loudness-“ She pulled off her elf mask, revealing a gorgeous girl with lime green hair. “I just needed to take out the security cameras before I could do this.” She hummed.
“And if we describe you to a police sketch artist?” The old lady asked, and she shrugged.
“Good luck.” She approached the couple with the young child again. “I just want you guys to see that I can be trusted. I’m Riot.” She smiled, bending down in front of the couple. “I promise no harm will come to your child. I just want to calm her down.” Riot hummed.
Jungkook’s brain could not keep up. At this point, he thought he would’ve been dead by now. Instead, a pretty girl with lime green hair who wore an elf’s mask was flirting with him, and wanted to keep the hostages calm and safe. No movie could have prepared him for this.
Riot managed to scoop the baby girl in her arms, rocking her slowly as she paced around the hostages. “You guys can sit comfortably, if you’d like. We don’t steal from people who aren’t swimming in cash, so don’t worry about your bank accounts being touched.” She assured the hostages, and everyone shifted slowly, nervous towards the robber’s kindness.
Riot began to spark up conversation with the older couple, rocking the now quiet child in her arms. She went around, getting along surprisingly well with the rest of the group.
“Pretty boy.” Riot smiled, approaching Jungkook. “What are your plans for Christmas?” She asked, and Jungkook chuckled, shaking his head.
“This is fucking crazy. You know, you’re really nice for someone who’s robbing a bank with her friends.” Jungkook commented, and Riot smiled warmly, cocking her head. “It’s Jungkook, by the way. I’m here because I’m broke. I was going to beg the bank to give me a little more money.” He shrugged, and Riot frowned.
“College?” Jungkook nodded. “Hm. I’ve been there. Dropped out, now I do this for a living.” Riot shrugged, “It’s pretty fun, you should try it sometime.”
“It’s also illegal.” Jungkook raised his eyebrows, and Riot giggled.
“That’s only if you get caught.” She smiled, and Jungkook couldn’t help but smile with her.
“Goddammit Riot, you always fucking do this.” The other elf grumbled, two duffle bags stuffed with money hanging off of his shoulders. Riot huffed, getting up and giving the little girl back to her parents.
“Fuck off. I’m sorry I’m nice, dickhead.”
Santa chuckled, shaking his head. “Here, these are yours.” He handed Riot two duffel bags, and she slung them over her shoulders, putting the elf mask back on. “Pleasure doing business with you.” Santa waved towards the staff, and Riot nodded.
“It was nice meeting all of you!” She waved, and she dug through her duffel bag, approaching Jungkook with a stack of twenties. “Here, just a little Christmas present.” She hummed, and Jungkook took the money from her hands in awe.
“Riot, I-“
“Shh, it’s fine. As long as you don’t tell.”
They left quickly, way before any of the cops could show up on the scene. Jungkook hid the money in his large coat, lying to the cops as he didn’t want to sell out the nice, pretty robber.
When he finally got back to his dorm, there was a message from Twitter glowing on his computer screen.
@y/n ; pretty boy !! i found you !!
-
#kwritersworldnet#btswritersguild#ggukienet#bts reactions#bts imagines#bts scenarios#bts preferences#jeon jungkook#park jimin#kim taehyung#min yoongi#jung hoseok#kim namjoon#kim seokjin#bts suga#bts v#bts jungkook#bts jimin#bts jin#bts jhope#bts rm#bts#i wanna add a read more but ion have a working laptop atm#so i sorry for the long post
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Captive Pt6
TRIGGER WARNING: Some violence
Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 Pt5
When Amy opened her eyes, all she saw was darkness. Her head throbbed as she tried to remember what had happened.
Slowly, her memory came back to her, climaxing at Rheya's smiling face staring down at her. Right...she'd been drugged. She mentally kicked herself for letting Rheya get one over on her. She'd known that Rheya might try to poison her, but she never would've guessed that she'd do it the way she had.
Now she was...somewhere. It was cold and dark, quiet. Maybe the basement, or a cellar? She stood, carefully feeling her way through the darkness with her hands.
She brushed over something -- it was rough, strong. She continued to follow its path, leading to a thicker segment. Part of it poked her face as she felt along it, and something about it made her feel sick. As she reached the base, she suddenly realized what she was touching.
“Oh!” she gasped, jumping backwards into the dark. She landed hard on the cement behind her, knocking the wind out of her lungs. She couldn’t believe it. Surely, Rheya wouldn’t put her with it...would she?
Of course she would, thought Amy. She saw Amy’s reaction when she first saw the tree. She knew that this would be the perfect way to torture her, to lock her up with Gaius. She turned, her stomach rolling.
She could still feel his power emanating from the roots, the roots that bore into the very cement she was sitting on. The darkness around her was thick and inky, she felt as if she was staring into Gaius’s very soul.
“Breathe,” she reminded herself. This was good, after all. She was exactly where she needed to be, thanks to Rheya. She just needed to pull a stake from the tree, and then find a way to escape. Easy-peasy...right?
The air was thick, and Amy struggled to force it into her lungs. Her hands shaking, she began to feel around the rest of the room, trying to find something -- anything -- that could help her.
She could feel dirt beneath her hands, protruding from the cement. She found a second wall quickly, following it to make her way to a corner. On the third wall, she felt what had to be a door. After some further examination, she found a handle which, of course, was locked.
“Okay,” she said to herself. “So I need someone to let me out.”
Just then she heard a creaking sound and a small panel of light illuminated the room. She glanced around, seeing the tree in the dismal cell and...fuck. There was a lot of white, dusting the wall and floors like snow. How many vampires had been murdered in this room?
“Well, well, well,” Amy heard as footsteps approached her. Rheya came into view, with Serafine following close beside her.
“Rheya,” Amy said icily.
“It’s really a shame to see you here,” she said smiling. “When Serafine told me she was suspicious of you, I hoped her feelings were misplaced. But then you didn’t drink with me. Amy, my darling, why don’t you trust me?”
Amy shrugged. “I don’t trust anyone,” she said snarkily. “Don’t take it personally.”
Rheya’s smile was stiff and forced, her eyes blazing with rage. The anger she showed set Amy on edge. “Well,” she said, cocking her head. “Unfortunately, I can’t trust someone who cannot place their trust in me. You can stay here, for now. Hopefully we can convince you to see reason, for real this time, before the sun rises.”
Rheya’s eyes rose to a wide window at the top section of the wall.
“So that’s what happened to all of these poor vampires?” asked Amy, trying to hide the fear she was feeling. “And here I thought you were looking out for our kind.”
“Oh Amy,” said Rheya, stepping closer as Serafine watched. “I always take care of my flock. These vampires, much like yourself, intended to harm my people.”
“So, what?” Amy said, anger rising. “Fall in line or die?”
Rheya laughed. “Ah, I hope you change your mind,” she said as she turned to leave. “I’d hate to lose that fiery spirit. You’re fine to have around.”
The light began to disappear again as Rheya’s final words echoed back into the darkness.
“Think about it.”
Amy was angry and scared, a dangerous combination. The darkness swirling around her, she crept towards Gaius’s tree in the middle of the room. Once she felt the bark under her hands, she set to work punching, pulling, kicking on the tree.
“I defeated you!” she shouted at the tree. “I will defeat her too! And I’ll use you to do it, you god-damned selfish son-of-a-”
The branch gave as she yelled, sending her face-first into the floor.
“Ugh,” she groaned, reaching out for the stake she’d managed to sever. She spit on the tree, her anger getting the better of her. “Fuck you, Gaius.”
She slowly got back to her feet, looking around the dark cell. She had the stake, but she was stuck in this cell and morning was on its way. How was she supposed to stop Rheya if she was stuck here...or worse?
Amy sighed, running her hands over the stake. “There’s got to be something,” she said to herself. She thought through everything she’d seen and heard since she made it to the mansion, trying to think of something that could help.
She sat there for an hour, unsuccessful. Just when she was about to accept defeat, she heard the door creak open again.
“There is nothing you can do to make me trust you!” she shouted to Rheya in the dark. But when the footsteps stopped at the door of the cell, it wasn’t Rheya who was looking back at her.
“Serafine?” Amy asked, eyes wide.
Part 7
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#kamilah sayeed#kamilah#choices kamilah#bb kamilah#bloodbound kamilah#kamilah x mc#kamilah sayeed x mc#mc x kamilah sayeed#choices kamilah sayeed#bloodbound kamilah sayeed#bb&swrites#bb fanfic#bb fic#bb fandom#BloodBound#bloodbound fanfic#bloodbound fic#choices bloodbound#bloodbound choices#Rheya#rheya bb#rheya bloodbound#bb rheya#choices rheya#rheya apostolous#choices fanfiction#choices fic#choices fandom#choices stories you play#playchoices
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