#Honestly the chances of me actually GETTING to this comic?... pretty low | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

grapesodatozier · 3 years

Text

so close to the real thing (closer than you think)

rating: explicit

word count: 6.8k

summary: Eddie's been pining over Richie for as long as he can remember. He loves everything about Richie; especially how much Richie loves touching him. It's a little inconvenient, though. Eddie copes with his pent up sexual tension by constantly checking a porn blog he's obsessed with on tumblr. This guy has the same type of body as Richie, he talks like Richie, his name is even Richie! It makes it all too easy for Eddie to pretend it really is Richie while getting himself off to all of the blog's content.

You'll never guess what he finds out when he starts sexting this stranger named Richie from his anonymous porn blog.

tags: friends to lovers, porn with feelings, love confessions, dom/sub dynamics, bi dom top richie, gay sub bottom eddie, the most oblivious pining idiots in the world lol we love them

notes: this is one of my more ridiculous ideas but I had so much fun with it lol. also as a note you probably should not approach people on the internet the way they do in this fic, but they're just v enthusiastic and everything here is v consensual!! still tho definitely don't take this indulgent fic as a guide on how to approach real people online lmao. okay have fun!!

read on ao3 or below!!

notsfw under the cut

Eddie Kaspbrak’s friends were his entire world; time spent with them meant everything to him. But he also really valued his alone time. He’d always been the sort who needed time to just sit on a grassy hill and watch the trains go by, to catch up on comics in his room, to get lost in Netflix shows or even just his thoughts as he moseyed around his apartment—one he live in by himself, for when these moods hit. He needed time to himself to unwind. And sometimes he unwound by scrolling through some porn blogs on tumblr with his hand in his pants.

There was one blog that he was particularly fond of. There were other blogs more catered to his personal interests, namely blogs that didn’t feature women like this one did. But there was a good balance of genders represented, so Eddie figured he could just scroll past those posts. This guy was worth it. His pictures were ridiculously hot, and his dirty talk was even hotter.

Also, his name was Richie. Which Eddie refused to acknowledge as part of the draw.

It was harder to ignore tonight. He’d been out with the losers, and Richie had just been so touchy. And there was something about the way he'd been talking; his voice was lower than normal, slower in a way that made Eddie’s stomach flip. And his touches had lingered, his hand squeezing Eddie’s hip slow, then lazily brushing against his ass as he dropped it. Eddie could hardly take it. He brushed it off as Richie just being tired from work, but god, Eddie wanted it to mean more. The hardest part was hiding how much he wanted Richie to keep doing it.

There were so many things Eddie wanted Richie to do to him. He wanted Richie to touch him harder, to grab him by his hips with both hands. Richie’s hands were so big; Eddie just knew Richie could manhandle him so easily, so roughly. He wanted to know what it would feel like to have Richie’s hands all over him, grabbing at his ass and his thighs, holding his wrists down, making him feel so small. While Eddie would never admit it, huffing at every short joke Richie made, but he loved being shorter than Richie. He loved how safe he felt when Richie held him. And he was dying to know how small he would feel with Richie looming above him, or sitting in Richie’s lap, bouncing on his cock. He wanted to hear Richie talking to him in that low, slow voice, with that condescension Eddie did his best to pretend not to be affected by. He wanted Richie to whisper in his ear and call him all those pretty names he always dropped so casually, all those sweet ones and also ones that were a lot meaner. He wanted Richie to want him.

But it was easier to think about it than to ask for it. He knew Richie had way more experience than him. Well, okay, maybe not way more necessarily, but they were starting their third year of college, and he hadn’t wasted any time. Eddie, on the other hand, hadn’t done anything more than hand stuff with someone else. The guys he’d hooked up with were nice enough, and hot enough, but they just… weren’t Richie.

He supposed this guy on tumblr wasn’t Richie either, but at least he was everything else Eddie wanted. None of his hookups had been so, well, dominant, and that was this guy’s whole thing. He was dominant and a top and into guys that looked like Eddie. He even kind of talked like Richie, and he was apparently pining over his best friend, just like Eddie was. It had him completely smitten. Plus, internet-Richie’s crush had brown eyes like Eddie, and he ran track, just like Eddie did. Internet-Richie had posted once about his dick getting hard watching his friend at his track meet, and Eddie had come so hard that night, his track shorts around his ankles, imagining his Richie thinking those things about him.

Eddie was in bed now, in nothing but his boxers and one of Richie’s old shirts that had been Eddie’s for a while now. Still reeling from the way Richie had been acting that night, he logged into his porn account on his phone and scrolled through his dash for a grand total of thirty seconds before going immediately to internet-Richie’s blog. A thrill went through Eddie’s body when he saw that he had just posted. He’d written, “god my friends gonna fuckn kill me with that ass, i wanna plow him so bad” then reblogged it and added, “reminder that my asks and dms are always open if any pretty needy little subs need help getting off. please come be sluts in my messages.” Eddie’s breath caught in his throat when he saw that there was a picture, too, one of him gripping his hard cock, his boxers pulled down just enough for Eddie to see the dark hair around the base of his cock. Eddie moaned at the sight. His cock was so nice, so long and thick and pink. And fuck, his fingers. They were so long and slim, almost as nice as his-Richie’s.

Eddie scrolled a little farther down, his heart racing. There were a lot of reblogs, but some original posts here and there, things like, “what i wouldn’t do to have a pretty guy drooling all over my cock rn,” and, “in the mood to get someone dick drunk. wanna fuck a someone so hard they forget their own name.” One that made Eddie nearly choke said, “want someone i can pump my come into whenever i want, over and over again. want a sub i can keep full of my come all the fuckn time.” That post had Eddie getting out his lube.

It also had him thinking about internet-Richie’s most recent post, his post about his DMs being open.

Eddie bit his lip and thought about it. He’d sent internet-Richie some asks before from his porn blog (his blog didn’t have his name on it, just the teddy bear emoji, since he privately thought the teddy/Eddie rhyme was fun and clever, and also it was cute), and he’d seemed plenty happy enough to respond then. Still, it felt like a much bigger step to DM him, to talk to him just one on one. But the more he read his posts, the more he thought about his-Richie and how he’d touched Eddie that night, the easier it was to convince himself to shoot his shot with this stranger.

Eddie just messaged him a simple, “hi,” with a heart emoji. It was innocent enough, but his heart was still racing.

Internet-Richie responded a lot faster than Eddie was expecting. Honestly he hadn’t been expecting a response at all. But he said:

hiya cutie (; ive been hoping youd message me

Eddie flushed. He couldn’t help but hear cutie in his-Richie’s voice—especially given how often Richie used the nickname. really? he typed back.

fuck yes, ur cute little messages make me so hard. i can tell ur a pretty little thing just from the way you type

Eddie was blushing deep. Pretty little thing. That was hotter than it should’ve been. He wanted his Richie to talk to him like that, in that deep, sleepy voice.

there’s no way you can tell that from some messages :P, Eddie sent.

His heart stopped at the next messages internet-Richie sent.

oh, u dont think so?

why dont u send me some pics to prove me wrong (;

Oh my god, Eddie thought, his breath coming short. His head swam at the thought of sending this guy nudes, of showing himself off to someone who clearly wanted to see him, who would know how to take care of him and fuck him the way he liked, a guy with his crush’s fucking name and body type and hands. It had Eddie’s cock hard and leaking, and he slowly slid a finger inside of himself.

But just because the thought turned him on didn’t mean he was gonna send this stranger what he wanted so easily, even if he desperately wanted to.

you’d like that, wouldn’t you?

He fingered himself open as he waited for a response, working his way up to two fingers. It was nearly impossible to ignore his cock, but he didn’t want to come before the conversation even had a chance to start.

fuck ya i would, internet-Richie responded. Then, in a second message, whats wrong baby? you shy? ill show u mine ;)

Eddie's breath caught. God, this guy even made stupid shit sound hot, just like Eddie’s Richie. This was unreal.

i’ve seen yours, Eddie pointed out.

ya and you musta liked it if ur messaging me rn

Eddie bit his lip. ...maybe

aw thats cute sweetheart. u know i can see all the needy little tags you add when u reblog my stuff right?

Eddie blushed. He’d kind of always hoped he’d read them, but he never thought he actually did. i didn’t know you read those

oh ya, read them, jerk off to them. bit of a size queen, aren’t you? ;) it’s cute. makes me so fuckn hard when u talk abt how u want me to fill you up

Eddie whimpered out loud, sliding a third finger into himself. Fuck, he wanted that cock inside of him so bad. But right now one of his toys would have to do, once he was stretched out enough. He sped up his fingers, getting impatient. Gathering up all of his horny courage, he sent, show me.

what, no please? only good boys who use their manners get dick pics babydoll

Eddie pouted and whined to himself, making quick work of sliding his hot pink vibrator inside of himself—well, as quickly as he could without hurting himself. He moaned as it filled him up, making pleasure spread deep through his body. Slowly pumping it in and out, he reached for his phone. please, he typed, please let me see? wanna know what to picture while i fuck myself with my vibrator. He even added the wide eyed pouting emoji to really milk the whole begging thing. He knew he’d been playing a little coy, but now with the way internet-Richie was talking to him he was getting desperate.

well fuck baby since ur begging ;)

Eddie held his breath as he waited for the picture, slowly rocking his toy in and out, savoring the feeling. He wished it was Richie doing it, wished it was his cock. The lines between which Richie blurred; he wanted to get fucked by either of them, both of them.

What Eddie received when his phone lit up was not a picture, but a video. It was short, just a few seconds of Richie’s hand dragging wetly, smoothly over his cock, but it had Eddie drooling. The room was dark, so he’d used a flash, and it made the mix of what Eddie assumed was precome and spit glisten as the swollen head of Richie’s cock disappeared and reappeared from behind his fingers. Eddie must’ve played it at least five times, fucking himself a little faster, before remembering to say something back. And to take a video of his own. fuck, I want you so bad, want you to fucking ruin me, he wrote back. A part of him couldn’t believe how openly desperate he was being, but he found that he liked it; he liked the way it made him blush, he liked the way it felt to beg, to ask for what he wanted.

Richie’s response came fast: show me kitten. show me how you want me to fuck your pretty little ass.

Eddie moaned at the pet name; casual little nicknames were such a weakness for him. He was already so far gone, just picturing Richie’s cock inside of him, picturing him stroking his cock to thoughts of Eddie. The attention had his cock hard and leaking as he thrust his vibrator even deeper inside of himself, pumping it in and out a few more times before rolling over and getting on his hands and knees. It was hard to take a video from this angle, but he wanted to show off his ass and hide his face. Plus, there was something so hot about having his ass in the air and his face shoved in his pillow, looking like the perfect image of someone desperate to be fucked. He loved the way it made him feel, loved the thought of being so open for someone. For Richie.

He ended up shooting a short video as well, about ten seconds of him sliding his vibrator slowly in and out of himself, letting out soft little moans. He was pretty pleased with the way it turned out, his hole pink and smooth and wet as it stretched around his toy. The angle was a little weird, showing a lot of his room once or twice when his hand slipped a little, but overall he thought his ass looked amazing, if he did say so himself. He sent it and said, feels so good. do you want me to go faster?

As he sent it, he got settled on his back, forcing himself to go slow as he fucked himself while he waited for internet-Richie’s response. It was taking longer than before, and Eddie was getting antsy; it was so hard to drag it out, to not get ahead of himself. But whatever Richie was doing, Eddie knew it would be worth the wait. Still, he pouted as his cock ached, begging for attention.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a knock at the door.

He groaned to himself and stayed put, fucking himself even slower as he waited for whoever it was to leave. But then the knocking continued, loud and incessant and obnoxious, and Eddie knew exactly who it was. He also knew he wasn’t going to go away any time soon, which honestly made him smile and blush. Richie had terrible timing, but Eddie would never be upset to see him.

Reluctantly, he slowly slid the toy out and pulled on his shorts, leaving his shirt off. He still had a pretty obvious boner, but his horny brain did not mind the idea of Richie seeing it. So he strode lazily down the hall, shouting a performatively annoyed, “I’m coming!” Finally, he opened the door, cocking his hip to the side and giving Richie an expectant look. “Can I help you?” he asked, a small smile dancing around the corner of his lips. He had to fight off a smirk at the wide eyed look Richie gave him as he ran his eyes over Eddie’s body.

“Fuck,” he muttered lowly, his eyes trained on Eddie’s cock, which was getting even harder the more Richie stared. Eddie bit his lip and grinned a little, making doe eyes at Richie. But Richie didn’t meet his gaze—instead he brushed past Eddie, his mouth still hanging open as he made his way urgently toward Eddie’s bedroom.

“Richie?” Eddie asked, a little let down that Richie’s hands weren’t all over him right now. But hey, if he was heading to Eddie’s bedroom he figured that was at least the right direction. He closed his front door and followed Richie into his room, where he found him staring at the bright pink vibrator on the bed. As confident and horny as Eddie was feeling, that still made him blush. He was only human. Crossing his arms, he said, bashful now, “I was kind of in the middle of something.”

Richie looked over at him, his cheeks bright red under his freckles. Then he got a glimmer of that trademark shit-eating grin on his face. “Eds, you fucking slut,” he said, sounding both delighted and breathless. “You are so fucking hot.”

Eddie flushed and tried not to squirm, but he couldn’t help but press his legs together, his eyes brightening. Fuck, was this actually happening? Shit, he needed to think of something witty to say. “You gonna do anything about it?” Okay, that kinda sounded like a corny porn, but he had to give himself credit for even being able to form words just after his lifelong crush and personal wet dream had just admitted his attraction to him.

“I think I already have been,” Richie said, still grinning.

Eddie cocked an eyebrow at him. He couldn’t help but smile back. “Oh yeah? How do you figure that?”

Eddie was expecting a confession. He was expecting something along the lines of you think I don’t notice how you look at me? or did you really think those were casual touches earlier? What he was not expecting was for Richie to unlock his phone and hold it up, showing Eddie the video he had just taken, the video he’d sent to internet-Richie.

Oh. Oh. Oh fuck.

“Oh my god, that’s you?” Eddie cried in disbelief.

“You’re telling me you didn’t recognize this dick?” Richie asked, swaggering over to Eddie, clearly enjoying himself.

“How did you recognize it was me?”

Richie nodded toward the Thundercats poster on Eddie’s wall, then to the model train that sat on his dresser. “What other guy has decor like that and the ass to match?”

Eddie grinned and shook his head. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Well pardon me for not being especially eloquent when I’ve just learned that the guy I’ve been masturbating to since I learned how to and been in love with for even longer has been masturbating to me too.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide, all thoughts of getting fucked leaving for a moment. “You’re in love with me?” he asked, his voice as soft as his smile.

Richie was not a bashful person, but the little laugh he let out just then was close to it. “Have been my whole life, but thanks for finally noticing.”

Eddie shook his head and stepped closer, until he had to crane his head up to meet Richie’s gaze. “I love you too.”

Richie’s eyes widened behind his thick frames. Eddie had only seen that look in Richie’s eyes a few times before, but he never wanted to lose sight of it again. He always wanted Richie to look at him like that. But then Richie was closing his eyes and leaning down. It only took Eddie a second to get with the program, drinking in the moment just a little longer before letting his own eyes fall shut as he pressed his lips against Richie’s.

It started gentle enough, if deep and passionate and intentional. But then Richie’s hands were on Eddie’s bare waist, skin against skin, and Eddie was gasping into Richie’s mouth, his hands coming up and resting against Richie’s chest. He curled his fingers into Richie’s shirt as Richie ran his tongue over Eddie’s lips, just before pulling away. He laughed at Eddie’s indignant little whine.

“Oh, you mean you don’t want me to take off my shirt right now?” he smirked as Eddie tried to pull him closer by the offending fabric. Huffing, Eddie conceded and let go long enough to let Richie pull the shirt off over his head.

“Oh,” he said softly, his voice a little, awed moan as he drank in Richie’s chest. It wasn’t like Richie had never been shirtless in front of Eddie before, but Eddie had never felt like he was allowed to really look at Richie all those times. But now he could; now he could touch. And he did, running his fingers over Richie’s smooth, warm skin, over his acne scars and blackheads and freckles. “Fuck, Richie,” he sighed before pressing his lips to Richie’s collarbones, trailing them all over Richie’s beautiful chest.

Richie gave a breathless, almost shy laugh as he stroked Eddie’s hair. “Damn, Eds, never pegged you as a tits guy.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Eddie giggled, bringing his lips back to Richie’s. They both smiled into it, getting lost for a moment as Richie’s hands slid slowly down Eddie’s sides. His hands lingered on Eddie’s hips for a moment before he slid them further down and grabbed at Eddie’s ass, making him gasp.

“Is that any way to talk to the guy who’s about to rail you ‘til you can’t walk?”

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Eddie asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Spank me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Richie smirked. He gave Eddie’s ass a playful smack, making Eddie gasp again and fall into him, needing more. Richie’s voice was dripping with adoration as he purred, “Little brat,” and pulled Eddie against him, kissing him again. Eddie went with it easily and happily parted his lips to let Richie lick into his mouth. Richie had one hand gripping Eddie’s jaw and the other on his ass, touching him in a way that exuded a command Eddie was desperate to follow. God, Eddie knew Richie had big hands, but they felt huge on him like this. It was dizzyingly hot. And the way Richie’s tongue was teasing his had Eddie’s knees going weak. His dick was throbbing in his shorts, aching to finish what he’d started, what had been interrupted. When he thought about it all—about playing with himself for Richie, about the video Richie had sent him, about all those things Richie had said about filling Eddie up—he felt himself clench down on nothing, desperate to get fucked. Desperate to feel Richie’s cock so deep inside of him.

“Richie,” he whined into the kiss, pulling on Richie’s belt loops, “please.” He pressed himself urgently against Richie and rutted shamelessly against his thigh.

“Fuck, you’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?” His voice was cocky and teasing, but there was an apparent undercurrent of wonder there as well.

Eddie shoved his face into Richie’s neck and whined, grabbing onto Richie’s wrists without even knowing what his goal was. “Richie,” he whimpered, sounding pitiful and ruined already.

“What do you want, baby?” Richie’s voice made it clear that he was enjoying seeing Eddie this wrecked, and that just made Eddie even harder. “Come on, tell me, use your words.”

Eddie squirmed as Richie held him close, but still not touching him in any relieving way. “I need you inside,” Eddie said, his voice high and soft as he squirmed in Richie’s grip. “God, please, Richie, need you to fuck me. Fuck me so hard I can’t even think. Fuck me like I’m your little toy.”

Eddie could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth, and judging by the gasp he heard Richie let out, he’d caught Richie off guard too. But if the hard bulge in his jeans that brushed up against Eddie was any indication, he was apparently just as turned on as Eddie was. Besides, Eddie knew from his blog that Richie was really into that sort of thing too—and, apparently, really into the idea of doing those things with Eddie. The realization that Richie had been saying all those filthy things about him had him grinding against him with even more fervor, kissing his neck with a heated confidence. Richie moaned, and Eddie could feel the warmth of it spreading through him. “Yeah, sweetheart? You want to feel me inside you? You think you’re ready for me?”

“Yes,” Eddie sighed, looking up at Richie with wide, desperate eyes. He shivered at the new look in Richie’s eyes, the blue nearly entirely eclipsed by how wide his pupils were. He looked hungry for Eddie; Eddie wanted to feel it. “‘M ready, Richie, please, so open for you.” He looked to the toy on his bed pointedly, but Richie only gave a deep laugh.

“Oh honey, that’s cute that you think that little thing is gonna have you ready for my cock.” Eddie’s breath caught; that toy wasn’t small. Before he could gather his scattered brain enough to react, Richie was scooping him up and tossing him on the bed, the toy falling forgotten to the floor. Richie moved Eddie onto his back, and Eddie went happily, pliantly. Richie’s fingers were cool against Eddie’s burning skin as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Eddie’s shorts, slowly dragging them over his hips and down his legs, tossing them to the floor. Eddie’s cock was dripping with precome, his chest flushed a bright red as he squirmed under Richie’s gaze. Eddie been dreaming of Richie manhandling him like this for he didn’t even know how long; he couldn’t help the way he reacted. And he especially couldn’t help the pleased little sound he made when Richie murmured, “God, you’re gorgeous, Eds.” Then Richie was grabbing him by the ankles, gently but firmly spreading Eddie’s legs, and Eddie let out the most pathetic, genuine moan he’d ever heard. “Fuck, baby, you sound pretty. You like when I spread you open?” Richie asked. He was smirking down at Eddie, but Eddie could see how flushed he was, could see the thrilled awe in his dark, hungry eyes as Eddie nodded.

“Richie, please,” Eddie whimpered. “I need you so bad.” He sat up, reaching for Richie’s belt, but Richie easily pressed him back against the mattress with a large hand on the center of his chest. The confidence in Richie’s dominance took Eddie’s breath away, and he stayed right where he was, nice and obedient, as he watched Richie get off the bed and slowly undo his belt, then his button and zipper. He took his time dragging his jeans and boxers off, enough time to let Eddie’s eyes linger on the reveal of the dark hair under Richie’s waistband. Then Richie’s cock was bouncing up against his stomach, hard and flushed and fucking long. Eddie moaned at the sight and fisted the sheets underneath him. He wanted so badly to get his mouth on Richie, to breathe him in and be nice and good for Richie on his knees. But he was also desperate to get fucked; his hole clenched down on nothing at the thought, and then it was all he could think about again. “Richie,” he repeated, whining now as he reached for him. “Stop being such a tease.”

Richie laughed as he moved easily out of Eddie’s grip and climbed on top of him. Eddie gasped softly at the sight of Richie above him, his dark curls surrounding his face, his full, pink lips pulled into the most beautiful smile Eddie had ever seen in his life. He ran his hands over Richie’s chest and sides, marveling at the fact that this was really happening. Then, his eyes flickering down, he tentatively brought his hand to Richie’s cock.

“Oh, fuck,” they said, both at the same time, making them giggle together.

“Fuck, Eds, your pretty little hand looks so cute wrapped around my cock,” Richie teased in a low, rough voice. Eddie shivered; he couldn’t tell if Richie was praising him or degrading him, but either way it made his head fuzzy.

“‘M not that little,” Eddie grumbled out of habit. But he was clearly breathless. He’d never been good at pretending not to like Richie’s compliments, however teasing.

“Aw, but you are, baby,” Richie cooed, nuzzling his nose against Eddie’s and pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. “You’re so cute and tiny for me. I don’t even know if we’ll be able to fit my cock inside you.”

“I can,” Eddie whined, both indignant and impatient. He bucked his hips up, but Richie held him down. He gasped when he felt the warm, soft skin of Richie’s cock press against his stomach. Looking down, he saw that Richie had his cock lying on Eddie’s stomach, showing just how deep he would be once he was inside Eddie.

“You sure about that, babydoll?” While the teasing note was still there, Richie’s voice got noticeably softer as he said, “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Eddie’s chest swelled at that. Cupping Richie’s face in his hands, he insisted, “I can take it.” Then he reached down and took Richie in his hand, glowing with pride when Richie let out a low moan. “Richie, please, I want you so bad.”

“Okay, baby,” Richie agreed, turning his head to kiss Eddie’s palm. “Fuck, I want you, too.” But he stalled. “Have you ever… like, been fucked before?”

Eddie flushed. “Well, not by someone else, but I have some toys. I’m not gonna break, Richie.” He huffed, but the way Richie was looking at him soothed any ruffled feathers.

“I’m your first?” His smile was soft, and while his eyes glittered, there was nothing teasing about his tone.

“I didn’t wanna do it with anyone else,” Eddie mumbled. He tried to look away, but Richie pulled him into a kiss.

“Fuck, I never thought you’d want me,” he chuckled. “Sorry, that was depressing, I just mean I can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner, you know?”

Eddie beamed, a small, giddy giggle dancing on his lips. “Well it’ll happen sooner if you stop talking so much.” But his smile, and all of the little kisses he planted on Richie’s freckled shoulders told Richie that Eddie never wanted him to stop talking.

“Alright, alright, sheesh, I know I’m hot but you don’t gotta rush me.” Eddie was still giggling when Richie kissed him, and he could feel that Richie was smiling too. “Where’s your lube?”

Eddie stretched his hand out and patted the bed for a moment, searching. After what was probably only four seconds but felt like an eternity, he finally found the bottle and handed it eagerly to Richie. “Oh, right,” Richie smirked, “you’re already wet for me, aren’t you?” Eddie moaned as Richie swiped his fingers over Eddie’s slick hole, pressing in just a bit. His fingers went in easily, and he pumped them slowly, drawing little, breathy moans out of Eddie. Richie’s fingers were a lot longer and thicker than his own, and they felt amazing, but they weren’t what he wanted in that moment.

“Richie, fuck me,” he whined.

“Aw, no please? Again?” Richie tsked and shook his head, curling his fingers against Eddie’s prostate, making him cry out. “I told you, sweetheart, only good boys who use their manners get fucked.”

“Please,” Eddie cried. He rocked his hips and grabbed at Richie’s shoulders, at his arms, not even sure what his goal was there other than to get Richie closer, to get his attention, to show him how desperate he was. “Please fuck me, please.” He sounded pathetic begging like this, but that just made him harder. And it made Richie’s pupils even wider as he slid his fingers out of Eddie and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Good boy,” he purred. Eddie moaned and arched into Richie’s touch, but he only gave Eddie one more kiss on his cheek before pulling back and covering his cock in lube. Eddie watched, entranced, as Richie’s hand moved smoothly over his cock, glistening and slick. Then Richie was gently spreading Eddie’s legs even further and pressing the head of his cock against Eddie’s hole.

“Yes,” Eddie whimpered brokenly, grasping at the sheets beneath him. “Richie, please.” Meeting his gaze, he said softly, “I need you.”

“I’ve got you,” Richie assured him in a voice that made Eddie feel like he was glowing. Richie took Eddie’s hand in his and entwined their fingers, using his other hand to guide his cock inside of Eddie, who gasped at the feeling. God, he couldn’t believe this was happening. He couldn’t believe his first time was going to be with his favorite person. He couldn’t believe he was finally getting exactly what he wanted. Love flooded through him, warm and perfect, somehow both soothing and electrifying as he watched Richie’s face. Eddie’s mouth dropped as Richie pressed into him, deeper and deeper and still fucking deeper, until finally Richie let out a low moan and Eddie felt absolutely breathless. The stretch was intense, and he held onto Richie tightly as he caught his breath. “Are you alright?” Richie asked. His voice was strained, but the care and concern in it was clear. “You don’t have to take all of it if it’s too much.”

Eddie wanted to laugh at the remark or roll his eyes, but with how breathless and dizzied by pleasure he already was, he had to admit Richie had a point. “Just need a minute,” he gasped. Richie ran a soothing hand over Eddie’s skin, helping him even out his breathing and relax. The feeling of Richie’s cock twitching in anticipation inside of him had him letting out little moans as he adjusted, getting more and more used to the feeling until he felt comfortable enough to tell Richie he could move. Richie kissed him before he did, his lips soft against Eddie’s, a reassuring weight. Eddie breathed in sharply as Richie pulled back, grabbing at Richie’s shoulders.

Richie immediately stopped. “You okay, baby?” he asked, caressing Eddie’s face.

Eddie wanted to melt. Richie was always touching him, always jokingly flirting with him, but this unabashed concern and, well, love had previously been reserved for dire situations, like panic attacks or injuries. Eddie couldn’t help the dopey smile that bloomed on his face as he tilted his chin up and kissed Richie. “I’m okay,” he said breathlessly. “It’s just a little different from my vibrator.” They both gave a shaky laugh as Richie nuzzled his nose against Eddie’s.

“Better, I hope?” he grinned.

“Can’t tell yet,” Eddie retorted. Another snarky comment was on the tip of his tongue when Richie pulled his hips further back, effectively sucking all the air—and attitude—from Eddie’s chest. And then Richie was pushing back in, and Eddie let out a moan he couldn’t have faked if he tried, relaxing back into the mattress as his eyes fell shut. It was the best thing he’d ever felt, pleasure and relief flooding through his body. They’d been building up this tension for years; Eddie had figured it would feel good to break it, but it really felt magical, like something had just clicked into place. Feeling Richie inside of him, rocking his hips carefully, feeling Richie twitch as he tried not to lose control had Eddie’s head reeling. Eddie’s eyes fluttered open, focusing on Richie above him, on how flushed his face was. When Richie met his eye, pressing in deep, Eddie let out a small, “Fuck.”

“Yeah? Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

Richie was smirking as he said it, but there was something else sparkling in his eyes. Something giddy and awed. Something that made Eddie sigh dreamily, “I love you.”

Richie’s eyes widened for a moment before he pressed his lips firmly against Eddie’s, his hands roaming over Eddie’s body like he couldn’t choose where to put them, where to touch him. “I love you so much,” he beamed, pressing a few more kisses to Eddie’s cheeks. Eddie giggled at the feeling, but then Richie’s hips moved just a little faster, pressing him in just a little deeper, and he was back to melting under Richie’s touch, clinging to him as he rocked his hips with Richie’s. “Fuck, you’re so amazing, baby, so fucking beautiful. You look so good like this, holy shit.”

Eddie smiled almost drunkenly at Richie’s ability to ramble even when blowing Eddie’s mind. “Feels so good,” he moaned, his voice breathy and just a little bit higher than normal. He wrapped his legs around Richie’s waist. “Please, Richie, please.”

“Fuck, baby, wanna make you feel like this all the fucking time,” Richie groaned as he picked up the pace. Eddie whined in pleasure at the change, and that just spurred Richie to go faster, harder, until he was well and truly fucking Eddie, both of them moaning with every thrust.

“Oh my god,” Eddie cried, “ohmygodohmygodhmygod, oh fuck, Richie, please.” It felt so amazing, Richie fucking into him like this, but he needed that little bit more. His cock was throbbing desperately, achingly hard; he needed to feel Richie’s hand on him. “Richie, please,” he whimpered, “please, please touch me. I need you, I need you so bad, please, Richie.” Eddie was pouting now, grabbing aimlessly at Richie, his legs still wrapped tight around him.

“Fuck, you’re so hard for me,” Richie marveled, his voice sweet and condescending as he wrapped his hand around Eddie’s cock. Eddie nearly screamed at the contact, his back arching off the bed. Richie laughed a little, which just made Eddie even harder. The way Richie spread his precome over his cock, twisting his wrist just so as he stroked him had that familiar tension coiling in his lower stomach. “Aw, does that feel good? You gonna come on my cock, kitten?”

“Fuck, yes!” Eddie screamed. He gripped at the sheets as Richie stroked him, his voice washing over Eddie, mixing with the pleasure of Richie’s touch, of his thrusts. “Yes, yes, yes, please let me come, please, please, please.”

“That’s a good boy,” Richie purred, and Eddie could feel himself tipping over the edge at the words, at how low and affected Richie’s voice was. He groaned out, “Come on my cock like a good boy, princess,” and pure pleasure crashed over Eddie like a wave. He arched his back and cried out as he came, his moans filling the room as he squirmed under Richie, grabbed at him, at the sheets. It was fucking ethereal. He felt somehow so in tune with his body and yet so detached, like he was floating. He was barely cognizant of what Richie was saying, but when he put the sounds together and realized Richie had just said, panting, “Fuck, baby, gonna come,” Eddie felt like a live wire again.

“In me,” he said urgently. His mind was still a little too scattered for full sentences, but he knew what he wanted. God, he felt like he needed it. Like he needed to feel that connected to Richie. “Richie, come inside me, please.”

Richie apparently didn’t need to be told twice; he let out a moaned, “Oh, fuck,” before burying his face in Eddie’s neck, his breathy moans like music in Eddie’s ear. And then, as Eddie was coming down from his own high, he felt the holiest thing in the world: Richie’s cock, twitching inside of him, then his warm come filling Eddie up. It was unreal, being this close to him. Richie clutching at him as he came. It was even better than the little fantasies Eddie occasionally allowed himself. Richie was here, in his arms, pressing kisses to his neck as he caught his breath. Eddie was stroking his hair and rubbing his back as Richie nuzzled into him. Richie’s skin pressed against his skin, his legs wrapped around Richie’s waist, then falling to his sides, but still pressed to him. Still keeping him close. There wasn’t a single thought in his head that wasn’t about Richie.

Richie pulled him from his dreamy haze with light kisses pressed up his jaw, then over his cheeks. Eddie giggled at the onslaught of affection, still reeling from how fucking hot and euphoric what they had just done together had been. But he happily accepted Richie’s kisses, his heart bursting, then racing as Richie pulled back to look in his eyes. “Holy, fuck,” Richie beamed, his face flushed and blue eyes hooded from the weight of his orgasm, even as they sparkled.

“I know,” Eddie said, returning Richie’s grin as he basked in the surreality of having Richie on top of him, his dorky yet charming smile framed by lips that were red and swollen because of Eddie. His glasses were knocked askew, and Eddie instinctively reached up to fix them. With a sense of wonder, he realized that his touch was allowed to linger this time. He ran his fingers down Richie’s cheekbones, over his jaw, cupped his cheeks. “I love you,” he said. The words spilled out over his lips like he couldn’t stand not to say them. And while it made his heart race a little to say it out loud now that the adrenaline and tension was all worked through, it felt even better this time when Richie’s face softened and he nuzzled his nose against Eddie’s.

“I love you so fucking much.” Richie’s voice rarely got that soft, that sincere; it felt like a blanket wrapping around Eddie. It felt safe, secure. It felt like a promise. And if there was anyone in the world Eddie knew he could trust, it was Richie. That feeling of everything coming together came back to Eddie as he lay there under Richie, their lips moving together, feeling light as a feather now that everything was finally out in the open.

#reddie #notsfw #reddie smut #reddie fic

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garbagevanfleet · 3 years

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Brightest Blue (series)

PART FOURTEEN

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: mentions of sexual content, feelings, cigarettes Summary: Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place.

Notes: HI EVERYONE! I’m sorry I’m so inconsistent lately. I promise that the next chaptered fic I write, I’ll only start posting it when I’m done writing it. I hope you like this chapter - its incredibly sappy because I’m on my period lol

As always, big thanks to my beta, @lantern-inthenight <3

taglist: @valleyd0ll @satingrass-maidensfair @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @peaceisouranthem @oblvions @hansonobsessed @myownparadise96 @anditsmywholeheart @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies @bigblack-catattack @dharma-divine

MASTERPOST

“Remind me again why you want to ride separately from your brother?” You looked pointedly over at Josh, who was smiling as he ran a soapy rag over the plate you’d just finished eating off of.

“I already have to spend my whole winter break with my family, no need to rob myself of alone time with you,” he explained like it was obvious.

A huff escaped your lips. You pushed away from where you had been leaning against the counter and wrapped your arms around his neck from behind. You laid your head in between his shoulder blades, feeling him turn to nuzzle his nose against your arm as it laid on his shoulder.

“We spend so much time together - like every day - which I’m obviously grateful for,” you said, half-muffled by the material of his sweater. “But don’t you think it just makes more sense to carpool?”

You couldn’t see his hands, but the movements you could feel told you he was wiping the extra water off of them before turning around and pressing your chests together. His lips lightly brushed your temple as he spoke.

“You’re right,” he agreed, though you knew him well enough to know he wasn’t about to just relent. “It does make more sense - I just don’t want to.”

You let out a breath, frowning as you tried to figure out if you should say what you were thinking. After a moment of working up the courage, you cupped his jaw with your right hand, knowing full well that the sweet gesture would help him swallow the discomfort your words would cause.

“Josh,” Your voice was low and quiet, but as you met his eyes, you chickened out. They were so honest, looking at you like your presence was the only thing keeping him grounded - like if you left, he’d just cease to exist. You made a mental note to have a talk with him about that at some point, but you decided it would have to be after you’d returned from Christmas break.

“Hm?” You must have been contemplating too long, prompting his features into a look of concern. You couldn’t bear it.

“Jake is going to ride with us,” you said decidedly. “I already told him he could.”

That was a bit of a lie - he had mentioned it a few days ago and you had said you’d run it by Josh, but you had just made up his mind for him.

He huffed a laugh as he rolled his eyes playfully at you. “Sounds like you’re already communicating better with my family than I have in months.”

“Well,” you started, giving him a pointed look - the kind you only give when you feel confident that you’re right. “I think that would mean communicating with them at all. Honestly, Josh, I know you-”

You were abruptly silenced as he placed his forefinger across your open lips, a half-smirk on his face.

“It’s okay,” he assured simply. “He can ride with us.”

A smile spread across your face underneath his finger. “Good. Have you started packing?” Your words were muffled under his touch.

“Eh,” he replied with a noncommittal shrug, lowering his hand to brush his thumb across your chin.

“Do you want help with that?” you inquired cheekily. “Because, you know, we leave in two days.”

He appeared to consider it for a moment before nodding. “Actually, yeah, that sounds nice. You can sit on my bed and watch while I pack really inappropriate clothes for the occasion.”

You half-snorted out a laugh, rolling your eyes because you knew that’s the reaction he was aiming for. “How about I just pack for you?”

+++

For the first time since knowing him, you saw Jake Kiszka wearing a jacket. It was long and dramatic and nearly brushed the top of the snow as he made his way out to your car with a leather duffle bag in his left hand.

He opened the rear, passenger-side door and tossed his bag in next to yours and Josh’s before sliding in next to it.

You greeted him cheerily, to which he shot you back a smile as a reply.

“You’re actually wearing a coat,” you noted as he pulled the seatbelt over his form and buckled in.

He hummed amusedly, reaching into his pocket and popping a stick of gum in his mouth.

“I’ve found that he doesn’t usually dress like a slut to go home,” Josh replied instead as he turned a lighter around in his palm, absent of the task.

“And if I didn’t wear a coat home, I’d never hear the end of it.”

Josh nodded in agreement, and then you watched a shit-eating grin spread across his lips. “I’m kinda surprised Kate isn’t coming with us today, to be honest. Are you waiting until Easter just to make sure?”

You were busy pulling out onto the road, so you didn’t see it, but you could imagine Jake deeply rolling his eyes at the question.

“I would bring Kate home - it would make me truly happy to physically see Mom die a little inside when she starts trying to talk about amphibious breeding cycles at length during dinner,” he mused, voice clear of any kind of sorrow. He finished simply and with a smile, “But she isn’t my girlfriend.”

“I don’t know, it seemed a little sus when I showed up at her house in the morning and you were already there, chillin’ with her dog,” you replied in a sing-song voice.

“I wasn’t already there, I was still there.” You felt him place a hand on your shoulder, and slap his other one against Josh’s. “Not all of us have the luxury of just being able to pop down the hall.”

“Fair enough,” you relented, feeling your face flush warm.

“Or the shower. Or the kitchen that one time,” Josh added unhelpfully, making your eyes immediately pop open.

“Josh,” you scolded and quickly considered reaching over and slapping him, but decided it was unsafe to drive and strike a passenger at the same time.

“No, this is good,” Jake assured through a smirk you could hear. “Let him get it all out before we get there.”

Josh snickered back, “You’re such a prick.”

+++

The Kiszka homestead was almost impossibly cozy. There was a basket of blankets by the big sofa (much nicer and fluffier than the blankets at your apartment, which had been flattened and matted to the point of complete defeat) and the furniture was centered around a glowing, stone fireplace. Josh’s mom had hugged him for a long moment upon your arrival - a gesture that made your throat feel tight as you watched her fingers flex in the material at the back of his shirt.

She was sunny and kind to the point that you could clearly see Josh’s mannerisms reflected in hers, and the dinner she laid out on the dining room table seemed impossibly large to you, having come from a home with just three people in it.

When she asked you how you liked Midwestern cooking, you gushed about it for - what was undeniably - too long. You’d never say, but you weren’t positive that part of it wasn’t just not having had a real home-cooked meal in months.

You had come to decipher that Josh had told his family that you were just a roommate that didn’t have a place to go for winter break, but you were pretty sure you’d be able to tell the nature of your relationship if you were on the outside looking in - you seemed to be magnetically drawn to wherever Josh was these days.

Everyone cleared out of the living room pretty quickly after dinner and conversation, and you finally got the chance to ask the question that had been on your mind all day.

“Do I sleep out here?”

You were posted up on the couch, your legs crossed one over the other with Josh staying a few inches farther away from you than you were used to.

“No,” he replied. “You can take my room and I’ll sleep out here.”

You had asked mostly as a formality - you hadn’t figured that you’d actually have to sleep separately. Through a slight frown, you said, “Oh, man. It’s been a while since I’ve had to sleep alone. What if I freeze to death?”

He flashed you a smile. “I thought ahead and laid a heated blanket out on the bed for you.”

“Heated blanket? This whole time heated blankets were an option?” you whispered harshly.

“Okay, in my defense, by the time I remembered that they existed, we were already sleeping in the same bed every night.”

The suspicious way you stared at him for a few moments had him biting back a laugh - one of those unguarded ones that seemed to be reserved for people he was really comfortable around. Which seemed to just be you most of the time.

“Will you at least come get ready for bed with me?” you asked, subtly looking up at him through your lashes.

“Of course - no puppy eyes necessary,” he assured with a snicker.

This room was decidedly different than the one back in Ann Arbor. Josh’s space back in the apartment was mostly made up of Earth tones - either picked by choice or having just dulled over time. There were little pops of color scattered around the room, like the golden yellow rug that spread across almost all of the wooden floor, or the string of flags that spanned the entire wall above his bed.

This room was different. You could tell that his parents had tried to clean it up since Josh had moved out, but there was still evidence of spots where posters were hung on the maroon red walls. A stack of comics laid on the dresser - the surface of which was covered in residue and paper where he had placed stickers and then tried to peel them off.

You eyed a well-used keyboard placed along the far wall, and what appeared to be milk crates full of sheet music and the idea of him sitting in front of it and practicing for hours brought a smile to your lips.

He hauled both of your bags up onto the bed and you both picked through them for the sleep apparel you’d packed. You watched him change into a short-sleeved tee and a pair of loose flannel pants through the bathroom mirror as you brushed your teeth across the hall, and when he caught your eyes, he gave you a smirk.

You’d been half expecting him to change his mind and just crawl into bed with you, but instead, he helped you clamber under the covers and pulled the comforter up to your chest.

“Wow, full service tuck-in and everything,” you teased, but quickly shut up when his thumb brushed over your lips.

“Well,” he mused, voice low. “Not the full service.”

You gave him a sour grin as he backed up to the door and flicked the light off.

“Good night, Joshua.”

+++

The next couple of days came and went easily. You were starting to get actually acquainted with his family - chatting with his mother and sister over morning coffee, and getting pinned between his brothers on the sofa while Christmas movies played in the background.

You really hadn’t realized how much you missed being around family until it hit you at dinner one night. You watched out of the corner of your eye as Josh unscrewed the lid on the salt under the lip of the table and then asked Sam if he wanted any.

Josh was just about to slide it across the beat-up wooden surface when you snatched it out of his hand, pointedly tightened the lid, and then slid it over.

When you peeked over at him, Josh was glaring at you, but he wasn’t able to stop the mischievous smirk that his mouth took the shape of.

Sam huffed a laugh that sounded more like a scoff, having figured out the plot quickly after seeing the look on Josh’s face.

“Samuel, do me a favor and dump the whole shaker of salt on your potatoes,” Josh requested in a faux-sweet voice. “Please and thank you.”

“Piss off.” Sam’s reply came through a mouth-full of food, but somehow, he still managed to look lovely while saying it. However, that didn’t save him from his mom’s scolding look - though whether that was in response to the harsh language or speaking with a full mouth was anyone’s guess. You guessed that a person never got to grow out of being “the baby”.

It was then - that simple moment - that you realized how oddly welcomed you felt in this setting. It hadn’t been awkward or uncomfortable even once. You’d never felt out of place despite how different it was from your own home experience.

After you were settled into bed that night, you laid awake thinking about nothing and everything. You didn’t feel particularly tired, but you had decided to turn in when Josh started dozing off on the couch while you were watching the tv on low volume.

You had no clue what time it was, as your phone was charging across the room, but at some point you heard the distinct sound of a door creaking open. It was just down the hall - that you could distinguish - but you weren’t positive which room specifically. The person made their way down the hall, and then up a creaky set of steps, though you could tell that they were trying to move quietly when they got to the next floor and the cadence of their steps changed to something lighter.

You thought about it for a moment before pushing the covers off of you, crawling out of the warmth of the nest you’d made, and slipping your feet into a pair of Josh’s fuzzy slippers that were just barely peeking out under the bed frame. Trying to be as quiet as the last person had been, you crept up the stairs in the low light, having to strain to see the steps in the unfamiliar space, lest you lose your footing.

The room at the top of the steps was a study, and on the other side of it was a large, sliding glass door. And on the other side of that, was Jake, sat out on a covered patio with a cigarette in his hand.

You crossed the room, grabbing a blanket off of the worn leather sofa and wrapping it around yourself as you moved.

He barely turned his head to look at you as you slid the glass open and stepped out onto the porch. The brisk air hit you hard enough to nearly knock the breath from your lungs, so you pulled the blanket up your body until only your head was showing.

“Sorry if I scared you.” The volume of your words were just above a whisper as you bent to sit next to him on the cold wood. “Or if I’m intruding.”

He hummed around his cigarette before ashing it into a Coke can. “You didn’t, and you aren’t.” He looked you over for the first time then and frowned deeply at you. “You are going to freeze to death though. Where the hell is your coat?”

“I’m fine, I’ve got the blanket, see?” you assured, though you had to admit that the cold cut right through the thick material.

He ran his eyes up and down it, rolling them affectionately at you. “Okay,” he replied, though it sounded nothing like he believed you. After a few silent moments, he spoke again.

“How are you liking it here?”

A genuine smile spread out over your lips. “Michigan is lovely, if that’s what you mean. Cold to the point where I’m not sure why anyone would want to live here, but. Lovely, all the same.”

He smiled back at you, oddly warm in nature for him. “And what about the family? Do you find all of us lovely too?”

“Absolutely,” you agreed, pulling your knees up to your chest like you were in a cocoon. Another few long moments ticked by as you watched the snow fall. The night was so still that you swore you could hear the flakes as they settled on whatever surface they happened to land on.

“Can I ask you something?” You flicked your eyes over at him to assess his expression. You knew your brows were threaded close together in worry, which he seemed to take into account before he answered.

He nodded as he took another drag. “Sure,” he replied, smoke and steam glowing with the light of the cherry on the end of his cigarette as he exhaled.

You were silently trying to figure out how to word it for long enough that he looked over at you expectantly.

“Do you think Josh would have come home for Christmas if I...weren’t around?”

He met your eyes and huffed a humorless laugh. “I think that he would have spent a week or two anxiously deciding whether he could handle it and then, ultimately, he would feel too guilty to say no. And from there, I think it would have been a repeat of last year - he would have come home here, found it exhausting, and then screened everyone's’ calls for a couple of months again.”

You weren’t sure what to say, so you just stared at his face, your teeth pressed into your bottom lip until you could feel they’d left an indent as you ran your tongue over it.

“But it’s weird, right?” he continued, biting back a smirk that made you a little uneasy about what he was going to say next. “He seems to be almost blissfully happy this year.”

You held your breath for a moment as you tried to organize your emotions, and then exhaled in a rush once it became uncomfortable. “Look, I. He’s obviously a lot of things to me. A best friend, a room mate, a...romantic partner?”

Jake shot you a disbelieving but highly amused look at your wording.

“But I’m worried that he’s tying himself to me too tightly.” With your eyes, you tried to portray the emotions that that thought evoked in you - how compressed it made you feel.

He seemed to chew it over as he stubbed out his cigarette on the damp wood and then - near instantly - materialized another from behind his ear like a magic trick.

“I love seeing him happy, but I’m scared that I’m the only thing making him happy,” you finished, voice admittedly a little shaky. You didn’t ask first - though you should have - but you slid closer to him until your shoulders were touching, and despite not knowing him all that well yet, it still managed to make you feel more grounded. “It’s not that I expect this to end - whatever we have - but what if it does?”

Jake’s eyes flitted around your features like he was trying to map your face as you anxiously waited for him to tell you everything would be alright.

“You know,” he started, voice low. “When we moved away for school, he was the one that decided we wouldn’t room together. I mean, I didn’t blame him or anything, but I always just assumed we would. He used to be so outgoing. I mean, he never missed a party. People would trip over themselves to be next to him. He used to take his ex out any time he could - it didn’t really matter where, because he’s always had a way of making even the most monotonous task seem fun.”

You didn’t try to suppress a smile as it found your lips.

“So, his ex broke it off with him. I don’t know what happened really - only what I’ve been able to pry out of him - but it fucked him up pretty good. And then as he was just starting to get over it, his roommate had some kind of mental break and just moved out one weekend while Josh was gone. It’s not like they were best friends or anything, but they got along.”

“Fuck,” you whispered, resting your head on Jake’s shoulder and not caring whether or not it was polite to do so anymore.

“Yeah,” he agreed, simply. The tone of his voice was something very somber - the kind you’d use if you were giving a eulogy. “I tried to help. I offered to move in with him. I showed up at his apartment all the time, but he got pretty effective at dodging me. Not just me, actually, but everyone. Worried the fuck out of our mom.”

“What then?” You were not-so-secretly hoping that Jake was going to find a way to make you feel better, and the pitch of your voice reflected it. The core of your body felt like it was stuffed full of stones, weighted and heavy. “What happened?”

Jake hummed. “Well, he started to level out a bit. After a good couple months he started at least answering the door when I came to see him. Sometimes he’d text me back after a day or two. That went on like that for a while.”

He titled his head to look over at you then for the first time in a while. You felt oddly vulnerable after hearing all of that, but you tried not to duck away from his eyes.

“But then, suddenly, you were there. He didn’t tell me a thing about you, or even that he was getting a new roommate until well after you were already moved in.”

You huffed a laugh. “If it makes you feel better, he didn’t tell me anything about you either really. Imagine my surprise when I open the door and you were a twin. Uncanny valley territory.”

“I think he learned how to compartmentalize the people in his life. Seems like it’s easier to manage relationships that way when you’re an extremely guarded person like he had suddenly become.”

He took a pause to take a long drag, simultaneously running a hand through his silky hair.

“But to answer your question - I don’t think you’re the only thing making him happy,” he continued, meeting your eyes with an intensity that you understood to your core. “I think you’re just reminding him that there are things to be happy about.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say, but you were suddenly choking back tears and a tight, hot feeling in your throat.

“You’ve just got to give him time to remember what it’s like.”

When you opened your mouth to reply, you realized you’d been holding your breath for a moment too long, causing you to suck in a shaky breath. “I intend to give him all the time he needs,” you promised.

Jake offered you back a smile as he moved to stand, stretching out his muscles and then extending a hand for you to take. He helped you clamber up off the floor before tucking his lighter back into the pocket of his fleece sleep-pants.

“Good to hear.”

#brightest blue fic #Greta Van Fleet #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fic #josh kiszka #josh fic #josh kiszka fic #josh x reader #writing

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 3 years

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Psycho Analysis: Suicide Squad Team A

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS! Seriously, as soon as you click that read more, you’re gonna be smacked with SPOILERS! Don’t say I didn’t give you ample warning this time!)

The world’s in danger yet again, and Amanda Waller is in need of some expendable forces to take on some dirty jobs in the name of preserving peace. Last time she did this, it seems like she hired the wrong people. Nice guy Will Smith Deadshot? Bland, boring Killer Croc? El Diablo, who became attached to a bunch of reprobates after spending a couple hours with them? The only one who was useful in that squad was Katana. She had their backs, could cut all of them in half with one sword stroke just like mowing the lawn, and her sword traps the souls of its victims. Unfortunately, she was decidedly not expendable, so what is a girlboss like Waller to do?

Easy: Assemble a brand new squad of criminals to do the dirty work. Harley and Boomerang are the only ones she brought back, because let’s be real, they’re the only ones we give a damn about. Filling out the rest of the squad are the stoic, craggy crackshot Savant; the handsome, German spear-thrower Javelin; the alien warrior Mongal; the frothing, psychotic animal Weasel; the confident and all-powerful TDK; and Blackguard, who is literally just a guy. Together, this team gets deployed to Corto Maltese to do what no one else can do, and with skills like theirs, they are absolutely unstoppable!

They all fucking die before the opening credits.

Motivation/Goals: Considering the goal of the squad is to shave time off their prison sentences by going on the mission, it’s ostensibly the reason every single one of these goons accepted the job. Savant and Weasel are pretty well established in this regard; we get to focus on Savant for much of the opening, so we can get a sense of him, and Weasel is stated to have murdered no less than 27 children. So, yeah, they need to do this mission.

The rest, though? Who knows! Why are Mongal, Javelin, and TDK in prison? How did they even get an alien like Mongal? What did they do to land in the position they’d need to go on a suicide mission? Why doesn’t this movie have flashy, intrusive cards explaining everything to us in a throwaway gag in a montage?!

Blackguard, at least, has some other motivation. He sold out the entire squad to the military of Corto Maltese, which is why they’re ambushed. Now, there’s actually some ambiguity here: Did he do this of his own volition, and was this a complete surprise, or is it, as it is heavily implied, all part of Waller’s plan and she let this happen as a diversion for the other team to get in unnoticed?

Honestly, though, it doesn’t matter what their goals are. They’re all dead within five minutes of the movie starting, with one exception.

Performance: So, the reason these guys are even worth talking about is because, despite their minuscule screentime, all of their actors manage to cram in enough humor and characterization that they’re all pretty fun and likable. Michael Rooker is as stony and stoic as ever as Savant (until he hilariously isn’t), Flula Borg’s Javelin is really sweet and charming in his interactions with Harley, and Pete Davidson’s Blackguard is just amazingly douchey and pathetic. Special mention goes to Nathan Fillion’s TDK, who has an utterly endearing and unwavering faith in his astoundingly crappy ability to… detach his arms. It’s honestly kind of beautiful. Then there’s Weasel as portrayed by Sean Gunn, who is just a hilarious crackhead of an animal man.

Final Fate: Literally every single one of them die horribly thanks to Blackguard’s betrayal. He’s the first to go, because as soon as he walks out saying “Hey guys, it’s me, the one who contacted you!” he literally has his face blasted clean off. The rest go soon after. Mongal, in one of the most astounding moments of idiocy I’ve ever seen, leaps on a helicopter despite Rick Flag telling her specifically not to. Her weight and strength send it careening out of control, which leads to it shredding Captain Boomerang to bits before exploding, burning her alive as she painfully screams and writhes in agony. TDK gets his arms shot into Swiss cheese, leading to him bleeding out since even detached they still are part of him. Javelin is also shot, but gets a dying moment with Harley where he passes her Checkov’s Javelin. Finally, after witnessing all of this carnage, Savant completely loses his shit and tries to swim away, leading to Waller blowing his head up.

You may be wondering what happened to Weasel. He appears to drown as soon as the Squad deploys, because despite being actually smart in this movie, Waller forgot to make sure everyone on the Squad could swim. Thankfully, this lovable child-murdering crackhead rodent was just sleeping, and wakes up in the first credit scene.

Best Scene: Obviously, it’s their one and only scene. It’s a magnificent slaughter that puts the X-Force scene from Deadpool 2 to shame.

Final Thoughts & Score: I’ve gotta hand it to James Gunn. Even though these losers are only onscreen for a few minutes, they all get to cram a lot of charm and personality into that time, to the point it’s actually kind of sad seeing them all die. It’s a beautiful mix of comedy and tragedy. Since their screentime is so limited, though, I’m mostly going to be grading them on style, performance, and so on rather than on villainy like normal. They are all bad guys, as they don’t really get a chance to redeem themselves like the other Squad, so I’m still counting them as villains, which means they could potentially score above an 8 (which is the highest score I’m willing to give heel-face turn villains, because they end up being better as characters in general than as villains).

I’m also not going to talk about Boomerang (I’ll talk about him when I review the original Squad) or Harley (because she not only lives, but deserves her own solo Psycho Analysis). Now here we go, from best to worst:

TDK

If you thought anyone but TDK would get top marks, you’re sadly mistaken. Seeing Nathan Fillion proudly wield the insanely lame power to detach his arms to lightly tap soldiers on the head and gently grab their guns is a sight I never knew I needed to see until this movie. The fact he just seems so darn proud about this power that he doesn’t even bother to use in any way that would be remotely useful is honestly really endearing. Frankly, the sheer fact they adapted Arms-Fall-Off Boy in any way is enough for me to give him a 10/10.

Weasel

Weasel is just disgustingly delightful. He’s just a horrible, nasty, ugly little bastard… But he’s kind of adorable? He clearly has no idea where he is at any given time and is just so goddamn freaky that I can’t help but love him. The fact that, despite being a character who in the comics is noteworthy only for dying on his first mission with the Squad, he manages to survive the entire movie is pretty impressive. Hopefully he comes back in the future, but either way he gets an 8/10 from me.

Javelin

Honestly, aside from Boomerang, his death stung the most. He’s just so cute and charming, and he doesn’t even get to fling his javelin at anyone! Thankfully, he passes it on to Harley, and boy does she ever get to use it! He’s so cute, I have to give him an 8/10. I just wish we got more of him.

Savant

Savant is just an absolutely hilarious bait-and-switch. We follow him through the prologue, with everything seeming to point to him as our main character and the Squad leader. He’s stoic, he’s cranky, and he has impeccable aim… and then we get to the beach and he just freaks the hell out and starts screaming and crying and running away like a little bitch. Seeing Michael Rooker act like he’s shitting his pants after playing a badass like Yondu is just the sort of hilarious subversiveness that James Gunn loves to do when you let him loose. The fact that he looks like, to paraphrase the TVTropes YMMV page for the movie, a “cyberpunk Tommy Wiseau” is the icing on this 7/10 cake.

Blackguard

I was prepared to hate this guy just based on how lame Pete Davidson’s costume was, and you know what? I do hate him. But I love to hate him. He’s just an utterly pathetic scoundrel and a coward, true to his name. The fact he is the first to die, as just about everyone predicted, and is killed absolutely gruesomely makes any annoyance he could provide moot, and his freeakout over being seated next to Weasel on the plane is actually kind of funny. I was originally going to give him a 6, but you know what? He can have a low 7/10. He’s like the only member of this particular Squad to actually do anything evil, so I gotta give him props for that.

Mongal

Let me make this perfectly clear: I do not blame James Gunn or actress Mayling Ng. I’m not actually mad at either of them for what they chose to do, because it is ultimately hilarious and sad. It suited the narrative of the film, and I’m not actually, genuinely mad.

With all that out of the way, Mongal is one hell of a stupid cunt. It is one thing to cause your own death with your stupidity, it is something else entirely to cause the death of a beloved character with your poorly planned attack. The fact she didn’t take into account how her weight and strength would effect an airborne helicopter makes one wonder if she is really supposed to be based on a character who can take on Superman and live to tell about it.

Let’s compare her to two similar characters to really show how bad she is. Like Blackguard, she is directly responsible for a death on the beach, Blackguard being responsible for everyone by selling them out and leading them into an ambush (and yes, I’m including him as well), and Mongal killing Boomerang with the chopper. The difference is, Blackguard’s betrayal was deliberate, he meant to sell the team out, he was actively doing something evil there, while Mongal killed Boomerang out of sheer idiocy.

Now, let’s compare her to Zeitgeist from the similar bloody massacre that occurred during X-Force’s deployment in Deadpool 2. Like Mongal, he accidentally kills a teammate. The difference is, in the case of Zeitgeist, he only accidentally melted Peter, it was a freak accident, and ultimately it does get undone by the end. Meanwhile, Mongal made a conscious, stupid decision and ended up killing her squadmate with her own idiocy. She sucks, hardcore. I don’t do this lightly, but I’m giving her a 1/10. Villains just don’t get much stupider than her.

I will giver her this, though: the makeup work on her is good. She’s lowkey kinda hot if I’m being honest. But being hot and having good makeup does not a good villain make.

#Psycho Analysis #The Suicide Squad #Savant #Michael Rooker #Javelin #Flula Borg #TDK #Nathan Fillion #Weasel #Sean Gunn #Mongal #Mayling Ng #Blackguard #Pete Davidson

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missinghan · 3 years

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falling for the first time ⤖ bang chan

❖ genre : hogwarts au; fluff

❖ word count : 2,1k.

❖ warning : explicit language

❖ summary : your plan of putting all effort into avoiding bang chan as much as possible has been going smoothly for almost seven years until he asks you for a dance at the Yule Ball. or alternatively, your families hate each other but wait...has he always had those golden flecks in his eyes?

❖ author’s note : here’s the song they’re dancing to 🖤

one.

The once cold ballroom has waited for eons it seems, for a real heart to beat a new rhythm into the matter that made it.

Meanwhile, you too have been waiting (for two-ish hours) in the corner with your cup of root beer abandoned at a table for your dance partner. You’re currently half-clutching your dress and half-panicking because Chan wouldn’t miss an event as extravagant as the Yule Ball. He’s not the type to be sour over little things either just because he didn’t win the Triwizard Tournament. Or perhaps someone else just happened to ask him?

A blood-curdling shriek bursts your eardrums.

Jeongin gives you a nudge with his elbow from behind. “Grilled scream-cheese?” he asks with a mouthful of gluten and carbs, a plate of a sandwich with a (literally) screaming slice of cheese slapped in the middle.

“No, my appetite is ruined,” you say, pushing it away slightly and heaving an audible sigh.

The Ravenclaw boy makes an alarming noise—something similar to ‘uh-oh’ and swallows the big bite from before as fast as he can. “Where’s Chan?”

You only shrug, “Don’t know. Don’t care.” If only you could do that with the train of thoughts that have been going in and out of your ears for the past a hundred and twenty minutes.

“Y/N, you look troubled,” he purses his lips, frowning at you.

“I’m not,” you voice in denial, trying your best not to come off as snappy. No, you will not give up your facade that easily. You won’t leave Chan’s ego nor Jeongin to rest without a fight by saying that you actually want to dance with the heathen!

“Yeah right, let me-“

“Don’t. What if he’s already asked someone else?” You momentarily shudder at how sad you sound. The root beer shouldn’t have hit you this hard. “I mean look at him, he’s Bang Chan. I’m pretty sure those girls from Beauxbatons have been eyeing him up and down since the Tournament.”

Jeongin lets out a huff of laughter in disbelief. “Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

“One of you guys could have asked me. Or I should have paid Jisung to be my partner yesterday. I just, I don’t know, what am I saying? I’m confused.”

Your friend is officially done with your bullshit so he decides for himself that he will now set down his food to make your first and last Yule Ball arguably unforgettable. “Honestly? I can lie and say I would dance with you if you weren’t so full of pride. But truth is, none of us asked you to dance because we all know how badly Chan wants this opportunity. Wake the fuck up! He’s been planning this since forever. I’ll go look for him, wait here,” he points a finger at you before running off, leaving your heartbeat pause awkwardly like a broken record.

The ballroom feels significantly colder now.

“Miss Y/N?”

Ah, perfect timing. What’s another way to phrase ‘being an absolute idiot at a ball’? Oh right, it’s ‘talking to your professor five minutes before the first dance while your friends are socializing left and right’.

“Yes, Headmistress McGonagall?”

Your professor peers around when she realizes that you’re all alone. “Are you and Mister Bang ready?”

“R-ready?” Suddenly, you feel out of place.

“Well, of course. It’s only traditional that the three champions start the first dance!”

“Oh.”

two.

Only the celestial bodies above can know how melancholy you are. But you’re met with a sky without stars tonight.

With your head on your elbows, lips pressed into a straight line, your gaze falls from the endless canvas of darkness to the hustle and bustle of students leaving the Great Hall to head back to their designated dormitories. A sigh. You definitely don’t need to know what they’re going to do for the after-party. Ryujin used to show you an article on this peculiar machine called ‘a laptop’ that the more you sigh, the faster you age. If Chan keeps doing shit like this to you, you’re gonna be all old and wrinkly by the time he comes here.

If he is going to show up at all that is.

The moment you peel your eyes away from the overcrowded main gate, a broad figure is shuffling himself through his drunk Quidditch teammates, sloppy couples, and burnt out professors. He dashes through the empty hallways to reach the spiral staircase, skipping three steps at a time, risking the chances of falling on his face just to get to you.

Pulling himself to a halt at the last step, Chan sees you all curled up against the balcony railings and feels a pang of guilt wash over his innards like a wave. You’re pulling your legs toward your chest, defeated eyes gazing into the space ahead while your hair falls to your face messily. Like you’ve gone through the depths of the Fourth Dimension, struggling through dark matters and a rite of divinity at the end of the line. All for him.

You’re beautiful.

And the amount of affection that’s piling upon his rib cage? Astronomical.

Your gaze is averted away; even with a slight scowl, sloppy clothes and messed up hair, you still flare radiance. He thinks that if a meteor shower is happening right now, you can still outshine it. “You came,” you mention.

For once, Chan finds himself at a loss for words. “Y-Yeah,” he manages to swallow. Yeah? What the fuck, Chan? Is that all you’ve got to say?

“I-I’m sorry, Y/N. Yeji accidentally mistook one of Minho’s potions for her allergy medicine so I gotta take care of that before coming,” he scratches his forearm awkwardly, head hung low with guilt. “I didn’t know it would take that long…”

“Oh.” Wow, jealous stinks. This isn’t pre-school, you’d better snap out of it. “Let’s head back. I wanna check on her before passing out.”

“She’s fine now, sleeps like death. Chaeryeong is there too, you know, just in case.” Chan feels perplexed as he tries to coax anything but the ‘head back’ option from you.

You tilt your head. “And...?”

“I’m afraid you owe me something?” A slow smile begins to outstretch upon his facial muscles, deepening the dimples on either side of his cheeks that you adore the most. “A dance, I believe,” he makes a thinking face while striding toward you.

Coldly, you stand up to dust your dress. “I don’t want to.” You’re not having it, he can tell. But does Bang Chan ever give up?

“A bet is a bet, Y/N.”

Chan’s hand fishes inside the pocket of his trench coat to take out his wand. His hand delicately gives it a swift flick; once, and twice followed by a low mumble from his lips. Immediately, light pulses from the tip of the wand before shooting upward, disintegrating into a million bits as though a starry night is embracing the both of you. He does the same action again to cast a different spell. Music laces through every fiber of air without effort, like honey being poured into your ears.

“It’s just one bet,” he pouts with a hand fully extended toward you.

You should have realized how good Chan looks tonight. A black dress shirt that’s buttoned below appropriate, matching trench coat, silver accessories lining his fingers and ears with naturally tousled hair from running here. He looks so gorgeous that it almost suffocates you, that it almost makes you want to hiss ‘fucking unfair’ out loud.

Enchanted by his poise and grace, your body reacts without the consent of your mind. You seize up when you unknowingly place your hand on top of his, the touch sending electricity down your spine. A simple response has become all too complicated for your brain to process.

You grow breathless the moment he grabs you by the waist and pulls you flush against him. “Yeah, a bet so you’ll leave me alone,” you remark sarcastically to ease your nerves.

“Look, it’s not my fault that the Goblet of Fire chose me to participate in the Tournament,” Chan chuckles lowly, eyes crinkling into crescent moon shapes while he sways you to the soft melody. Dots of light continue to float around weightlessly, reflecting the golden flecks in his eyes. He’s ethereal in the worst way—the way that isn’t healthy for your heart.

But you soon slap on another scowl when you realize he just reminded you of why you’re even here in the first place. If only you weren’t so salty about Slytherin winning your team over at the final Quidditch match before the holiday occurs. Let’s just say you weren’t exactly in the best mind state after getting your ass kicked in your favorite sport.

And Chan wasted no time to slip in between the line of comical humor and your ultimate torment. Which results in—if you get to attend the Triwizard Tournament, he will leave you alone for the rest of your life; but if he is the chosen one, he gets a dance with you at the Yule Ball.

It’s really not all that bad if you think twice about it. Dancing with Bang Chan, the Slytherin’s Quidditch team captain, the student with perfect academics and conduct for six years straight, and now one of the Triwizard Tournament champions this year.

Music threads through the atmosphere and lifts away gravity. You can’t count how many times you have stepped on his toes due to nervousness because you’re too much of a coward to look him in the eye. But he’s the only thing you can seem to focus on right now.

“Besides, don’t you think this is a good opportunity to get rid of the tension between us?” Chan asks honestly, and this causes you to perk up.

“What?”

Lights are twinkling with every step as Chan spins you around gently, your dress billowing out prettily as your heels click against the cold concrete. After that, he swiftly pulls you back into his arms and you exhale in relief like you were meant to be there all this time.

“Don’t act dumb, you’re terrible at it. I know the only reason why you’ve been avoiding me since first year was because of our families’ stupid grudge. ”

Your eyes are cast downward, sadness glinting in your round pupils. “Either way, my parents wouldn’t like to see me talking to you. And look at what we’re doing. It’s going to be catastrophic if they find out.”

“Well, they can’t just magically appear now, can they?” Chan leans a little closer to lock his eyes with yours.

And you break it seconds later because you’re an absolute coward for a Gryffindor. “We’re attending a magic school. Anything is possible.”

“Did they even tell you what the actual problem was in the first place?” he huffs out in faint annoyance.

You shake your head. “I don’t think they’d even remember.”

“Then would you stop giving me that look as if I just shooed your owl way every time I said ‘hi’ on my way to class? Have you ever thought about my feelings? About us being civil for once? Like friends? Or even more so?”

“I-“

“We’re not our parents, Y/N.”

Your heart becomes all erratic at his words. It’s nothing like those fully-fledged, tear-jerking nor cheesyass confessions that you’ve gawked at one too many times, but it makes your heart flutter and stirs up those cliché butterflies inside your stomach. This can’t be compared to the Yule Ball—it’s even better than that. Because it feels as though you and Chan are the only presences that graze the surface of this land. There’s no one to judge, no fingers to point, no gossip spreading like wildfire.

It’s perfect. Almost.

“Us...it’s not- it can’t happen. It’s not supposed to happen. It’s not possible, Chan.”

Wordlessly, he stops, moves both of your hands to his shoulders, and wraps his arms around your torso. The sound of your heartbeat against his is so in sync they just drown out the music completely. Time is frozen in place, leaving you to hang on the edge with him, hanging onto this single moment as thin as the red string of fate. You’re waiting for him to do something, say something.

Just then, Chan cracks a wry smile and pulls you closer by the nape of your neck, resting his forehead comfortably on yours. “We’re attending a magic school. Anything is possible.”

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seekerquest · 2 years

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yknow, ive had so many thoughts about running an askblog-type story like this and have always been to intimidated to do it, do you have any advice at all?

(So I wasn't exactly intimidated by the concept of an askblog-turned-comic when I started, but for the longest time I was terrified of posting anything creative. That could be writing or comics or even just art. Those of you who follow my art blog, you see how rarely I update it. That's never quite left me.

There's also the intimidation of starting a long-term project. That usually comes with the fear of "I won't finish it" or "I'm not ready" or even/especially "people won't like it". Generally all three. I mean, fuck, even now I'm paralyzed with fear about the next comic in this universe. So many "what if"s and "but wait"s. It gets to the point where your brain convinces you that nothing you'll do is good enough - it has to be perfect and an amazing start and incredible art, all that, which is impossible and you know it, which only makes things worse.

To these two things is the same solution:

Just fuckin' do it, bro!

The creator of Daughter of the Lilies had a fantastic summarization of this concept. Your brain is your only enemy here, and it's easy to beat. The more you listen to it as it screeches at you to wait and prepare, the lower your chances of ever starting that comic or askblog or book. You need to give it an unamused stare, bonk it on the head for its stupidity, and walk past it to your drawing tablet/stand/desk/etc. You start, and you keep going, and you ignore your brain's screeches - which, mysteriously, get quieter and quieter the more you work, until you can hardly hear it at all.

Let me make something clear: Seeker wasn't fully planned to the letter when I started. I didn't have Pax's canon design ready until I drew him fully for the first time. I didn't know how memory sequences were going to play out when I drew the first one. Half the things in this story were added seconds before they showed up. All that and more.

And you know what? I like to think things turned out pretty okay. I enjoyed doing what I was doing, and really, that's the only part that matters. Completing every page became a reward for me, even if it wasn't particularly up to my personal standards. Reactions to plot points or character banter are special treats that I'm giddy about for hours or days. Holding secrets about how the story was going to go and end is such fun! And best of all, genuine kind words from people who have nothing to gain from being nice except telling the truth to someone who needs to hear it kicked up my confidence and has honestly made every second of this story's existence, even the difficult times where I had to take a break due to personal issues [especially those times, actually] worth it.

And funny thing? You don't get any of that until you start your story. People don't applaud vapor and spewed random ideas with no context or meat behind them. You love that story and these characters you've made? Give them what they deserve and get crackin' on that askblog. You can do it. Your brain and internal fears are lying to you. Make the blog, get a basic idea of how you want to do things - and that may change as time go on, don't worry about that, you can totally change it - and you're ready to go.

One final thing: don't be scared by low audience numbers when you start. Advertise, interact, make yourself known, and keep working. Your audience will find you, and it will be people who genuinely enjoy what you're doing. It took six years of consistent, constant work to get to 400 followers for me. At some point, the privilege of getting to tell the story you have cooking will fuel you more than anything.

Get going, my man. Nothing real is stopping you, and nothing will!)

#ooc #dragoncurl #advice

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grandinventor · 3 years

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i really like the loyalists- i find them really interesting. havelock, pendleton, martin. talk about them and your opinions and what went down, i like hearing what you have to say

Oh you are right on time because I am just replaying the first Dishonored and even though I am halfway through I know the rest and I got my memory refreshed on their personalities. I really love the Loyalists honestly, they are in a way both terrible and absolutely compelling characters. I can only talk about Low Chaos because I've never played High Chaos to analyze them there. Thank you though, for giving me the chance to ramble about them now, don't mind if I do~

Havelock - I just realized he has a name now because I was googling to make sure it's spelled with an E. Anyway, not many people do, but I like Havelock. He is a bastard but he is very much convinced what he is doing is for the greater good. They did well in portraying him being a bit older and more traditional than Corvo and the other Loyalists, which is both good and bad. He has this almost tunnel vision loyalty and dedication to his cause, he likes being in charge and since we are stationed in the Hound's Pits Pub, we are on his territory and it feels like it. No matter how much he praises you, you know he is not gonna let you or any of the others challenge his position. And I like that we do see some of his temperament, like him tossing the Audiograph in the sea might seem like a comical moment until you look back on it and realize he grew frustrated with it one too many times and did something rash. You can also see through his journal how he is slowly growing more frustrated when he realizes you won't let him control Emily and you (I say you as in Corvo) are far too dangerous to be controlled. In the end I think he confused his need for power with his loyalty to the Empire because in his mind him getting this power was the best for the Empire. And in Low Chaos he realizes that he doesn't have the hands on the wheel and he can't go against these waves and kind of surrenders, albeit after he has done a lot of damage. Havelock greets you like a serious, controlled and even warm and welcoming older man, but you learn that beneath that there is a very frustrated and paranoid person who is loyal only in words but is willing to betray everyone to achieve what he thinks is right. There isn't a lot of Havelock meta because he isn't as interesting, but he still played his role quite nicely in the story and you don't always expect characters like him to betray you, especially next to characters like Martin and Pendleton. But, then again a salt and pepper haired war veteran switching sides in the third act is a pretty common trope so eeeh I should've seen that coming. Martin - Martin was my fav when I was 16 and also one of the first times a character I liked died in anything, it was really heartbreaking. I kind of forget he dies these days because I follow like 10 Martin fans, so he is alive and well. I like that he isn't doing the whole "I'll be High Overseer because I have to, it's for the best" (cause they could've gone that route), he straight up reads Campbells gossip book and is like "Hell yeah, I am going to blackmail so many people." Also I like his intro scene because as you approach behind Jasper (the other Overseer), he sees Corvo and becomes somehow 10 times more cocky (I think the line that's something like "It isn't so bad, except I miss your wife" is so raw I've been quoting it all week). But if you play Low Chaos he feels more sidelined, he comments here and there about things here and there that show a bit of his laid back attitude and it's that High Chaos ending that really brings forward most of his personality than just his arc ending in being poisoned at a table (I do not like the Low Chaos ending, like even if they died it's a bit anticlimactic). But there is a lot of good Martin meta out there, from my 10+ Martin lover mutuals, however in general I really like the concept of a priest with a dark past because in the context of him betraying you, it feels like he never truly escaped that dark past, he never really changed, he just got better in convincing people he is a better person, including himself. And the fact that he seems so chill and laid back, yet hides something terrible makes me wonder how much of what he said was honest, and how much was him having a silver tongue and bringing your guard down. Also I don't take criticism but criminal turned priest is extremely sexy and I love that trope.

Treavor Pendleton - (gets a full name from me here), I gotta admit I didn't like him when I was 16 because I expected him to turn out evil, he looked like the "I will backstab you" trope, but now that I am older I kinda like him a lot more and even feel bad for him. I feel like Havelock was crazy and Martin was a shady dude, but Treavor just went along with them because he is both very cowardly and very envious. I know it's not disclosed but I do feel like he wasn't the mastermind behind it? Maybe High Chaos says otherwise, but I haven't played it to know. For someone who was so brutally abused by his older brothers his entire life and yet still found it in him to love and mourn them, he would absolutely go with whatever Havelock and Martin would say, either out of wanting to be part of something or out of some kind of deep seated fear of not playing along. This doesn't absolve him of what happened at all, but it is An Explanation, and paired with his excessive drinking, it does make me feel bad about him. He is also an asshole in funny ways like the whole situation with his Audiographs and also Lord Shaw and he is sort of an unintentionally (or maybe intentionally) funny character. I found that he is relieving the more tense feeling you get from Havelock and Martin with his presence which I enjoy more than I did when I was younger. Also he has a lot of typical aristocrat asshole things going on, which is funny mostly, sometimes a little infuriating.

I would like to talk about the rest of the Loyalists too (because Callista, Lydia, Cecelia, Piero and Wallace are also Loyalists even if not the main ones), but you asked for these three and it's getting late. Perhaps I will because I actually love the ladies and they don't get nearly as much love as the male characters in this game.

#i dont wanna tag this because its like 2 am ramblings i didnt put much thought behind #havelock #teague martin #admiral farley havelock #treavor pendleton #there #that's his name #i got it

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bosspigeon · 3 years

Text

not if it's you

Prompt: Day One: Cooking, Day Two: Cuddling💕 Pairing: Mason/Male Detective Words: 3293 Summary: Mason is sick. Mason's not supposed to get sick, but magic tends to not give a shit if you're a big, tough vampire man with a reputation to maintain. A prompt fill for @wayhavensummer that I wasn't sure I'd finish, but I'm glad I decided to. I combined two prompts into one, along with the inclusion of the bonus challenge, "love languages!" Juni's love language is Acts of Service~ CW for emetophobia. Nothing actually happens, but it is discussed!

“I’m not a vampire, Mason,” Juni said to him when he clicked on the lamp on his dresser and Mason growled loudly in protest. “I’m sorry, but I can’t see in the dark.”

Mason's growl became a long, low groaning noise as he dragged a pillow over his face. It helped more than he cared to admit, being immediately plunged into soothing darkness and smothered in the warm, sweet scent of the detective buried in his pillow.

Still, he feels like absolute shit.

The illness should run its course in just a few days, from what Juni’s relayed to him about Nate’s research—since he won’t leave Juni’s apartment (he’s not going to say can’t, because that implies weakness, implies that he couldn’t even if he wanted to, and he could, he just won’t, and that’s all there is to it) until he’s well, and refuses to go crawling to the Agency when he just needs to wait things out.

If he went to the Agency, he’d just be “waiting things out” the same as he is there, only he’d be doing it alone in a stiflingly empty observation room, bored out of his fucking skull until someone decided to come poke at him for science. At least here, he’s got Juni fussing over him.

It’s sort of… nice, being fussed over.

And Juni would be fussing whether Mason was here or not. He’d probably be driving himself crazy with worry, making himself sick with it, if Mason were stuck at headquarters without him, and the thought of that makes Mason feel even worse than he already does. It’s really best for the both of them that the vampire is here, buried in a metric fuckton of blankets (because even if he feels like he’s going to burn alive, the second he leaves them the sweat cools on his skin and leaves him trembling) looking into the blank, beady eyes of a patchwork plush cat.

His entire body aches, throbbing dully from the top down, but he reaches out with a heavy arm and turns it around so it’s not fucking staring at him anymore.

Juni’s been gone for a while, but Mason can hear him over the low ringing in his ears, puttering around in the kitchen. His senses are weakened by the bizarre magical illness Juni’s likened to the flu after hearing the symptoms, but he hears the detective humming quietly to himself, smells some spices and herbs he’s too exhausted to bother identifying over the low thrum of something metallic and familiar.

Mason's stomach growls at the same moment it churns. Hungry, but the very thought of consuming anything, blood included, makes him feel nauseous.

He doesn't know how Juni managed to sweet-talk Adam into handing over Mason's blood rations for the few days it would take this sickness to work its way through his body, but it makes him faintly irked he'll have to disappoint the detective when he tells him he doesn't even think his traitorous stomach can handle it, no matter how hungry he is. Juni always looks so pitiful when he can't help, soft doe eyes and pouty mouth and genuine, heartfelt distress rolling off him in waves. Mason groans into the pillow and comforts himself by drawing another detective-scented breath deep into his lungs.

And then Juni knocks on the doorframe (of his own fucking bedroom, because he's ridiculous, and Mason's chest squeezes) and calls, "Still alive in here?" softly teasing, his voice carefully lowered in deference to Mason's throbbing skull.

He makes a rough noise and tosses aside the pillow, because the only thing better than being buried in Juni-perfumed sheets is taking in the scent of him right from the source.

Juni always looks so different when he's at home. He relaxes, softens, like a bird coming to roost. His shoulders aren't so tense, his eyes stop darting like he's waiting for an attack (something Mason noticed even before Juni was actually under attack every other week) and he just, he looks settled and safe. After the shit he’s been through, he deserves to feel safe.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Mason just awkwardly squirms his way out of the blankets to free his arms enough to reach out.

"C'mere," he grunts.

Juni laughs, and the way his cheeks curve, the way they make his eyes crinkle at the corners, makes Mason hate whatever magic bullshit allowed him to get sick in the first place with a burning fury that feels like it's immolating him from the inside.

Or maybe that's the fever.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Juni teases when Mason growls. It's not as fierce as he hoped it would be, which is more than obvious when Juni only smiles indulgently at him.

He perches on the edge of the bed and smooths a hand over Mason's clammy forehead, making a soft, commiserating cooing noise. Mason wants to be annoyed, wants to growl again, complain about being coddled, but the sound that comes out of him is not a growl, or a curse, but a soft moan. He pushes up into Juni’s hand and closes his eyes.

“You’re still burning up,” Juni sighs, sinking his fingers into the vampire’s hair and scratching at his scalp. He moans again, lower and rougher. A little awkwardly, he adds, “Nate said you should, y’know, drink something.”

Mason’s stomach turns, and he grits his teeth and shakes his head.

“Mason.”

He shakes his head again, turning his face into the pillow again when it starts to make him dizzy. He wants to break something. He feels so pitiful.

“Mason, you’re not gonna get better if you don’t—”

“You ever seen someone puke blood, detective?” he snaps. Juni’s hand retracts sharply, and Mason keeps his eyes closed. He doesn’t want to see the hurt streaking across that soft, expressive face. “It’s not pretty,” he adds gruffly, and it takes all the strength in his flagging body to roll over and turn his back.

Juni’s quiet for a long moment, before soft fingers are sliding into his hair again,rubbing at the nape of his neck. “I had kind of a weird idea that might help, if you think you can stop pouting long enough to hear me out,” he says.

“You sure know how to sweet-talk a guy, huh?” Mason grumbles, but his body, an aching knot of sweaty tension, starts to slowly loosen up under the gentle petting.

Juni goes quiet again, and then, with a little laugh, he says, “Would it make you feel better if I told you you’re really cute when you’re all whiny?”

“How fucking dare you,” he snarls impotently into the pillow.

Juni laughs, and when Mason rolls over again to glower at him, he snorts trying to stifle it. “Do you want to hear my idea or not?”

“Not exactly in any position to stop you, am I?” Mason scoffs.

The detective pokes his nose. “Nope!” Mason nips at his finger, but his reflexes aren’t exactly great at the moment, and Juni just pulls it back with a smile. “I wanted to ask before I, like, ruined one of your blood rations for a weird experiment, but I’ve been doing research on different recipes that use blood—” “Why?” Mason interjects.

Juni flounders a bit, shoulders drawing up to his ears. “I… Well, I know you don’t like to eat human food, for good reasons, but sometimes I can convince Felix and Adam to try stuff I make, and Nate likes to eat sometimes, and I like… I like cooking for people? And I can’t really do that for you, because I know how overwhelming your senses can be, but you’ve said they’re kind of dull right now, so I thought maybe I could make, well… sort of a blood soup?"

Mason blinks at the detective.

Juni nervously babbles on to fill his befuddled silence. "If I thinned it out with a mild broth, I figured it would go down easier. And I know ginger is really strong on its own, but it also settles the stomach, and with the blood and the broth, it might help? I thought about adding some other things, but I tried to be picky with it, because even if your senses are dulled, I don't want to overwhelm you."

Mason chews it over, and even though he can tell his silence is making Juni nervous with every second that ticks by (fidgety, fussy, open and honest to a goddamned fault, a ball of nerves Mason wants to drag into bed and shield from the world) he can't really think of much to say, except, "Sure. Why the fuck not?"

"That's okay! I figured it was a long shot anyway, and—" Juni freezes, his knee-jerk anxious capitulation cutting off like he’s run into a brick wall. "What?"

"I'm already overwhelmed, sweetheart," Mason groans, and honestly, even talking is getting exhausting, his aching throat protesting every word he can manage to eke out. He wants Juni closer, wants to bury his face in his neck and hide like a wounded animal crawling its way home. "It honestly can't get worse at this point. If you think it'll help, I'll try it."

Juni still looks stunned, but is also clearly jangling with nervous excitement. Nate's used the term "puppyish enthusiasm" before when describing the way Juni lights up when he's actually able to help, and it's almost comically accurate.

Juni's bolted from the room before Mason's sluggish brain has a chance to even process the humor at the observation into a snort.

He's alone again, and if Juni were still here, he'd call what Mason's doing pouting, but he's scowling, damn it. Not that anyone's around to see it save for Juni's stuffed animals. He pulls the pillow to his chest, half-burying himself underneath the blankets again. He keeps his foggy focus stretched far enough to hear Juni in the kitchen again, making a game effort not to clatter around noisily and failing spectacularly. It's the thought that counts, Mason supposes.

It doesn't actually take all that long for him to come back, but it still feels like ages with how shitty Mason feels. He's painfully aware of every single ache in his body, radiating down to his bones, of the fever burning him up, the mutinous turning of his stomach even as it gnaws itself apart with hunger. He’s becoming so bogged down in the prison his ailing body has become, he almost doesn’t notice Juni pattering his way back into the room. Almost.

The second he crosses the threshold, Mason senses are honing in on everything they can about him, his smell, his warmth, the way his cozy sweater (it’s midsummer, for fuck’s sake, and sure the AC is cranked due to Mason’s fever, but it always is, because Juni’s body regulates temperature like a goddamned lizard and he hates the heat almost more than Mason does) makes him look soft and touchable. It takes him a long while to even notice the detective is carrying a tea tray with a bowl on it, as well as a glass of water, and when he does, he’s honestly not sure what to make of the smell.

Human food is overwhelming, usually. But usually, Mason’s sinuses aren’t swollen and borderline useless. Juni is walking as carefully as he can, and there is a palpable relief when he sets the tray down on his bedside table without incident. “I made the broth already, because I didn’t want it to take too long if you said yes. It actually smells, like, really good? Is that gross of me to say?”

Mason tries to push himself upright, and his muscles protest loudly enough that he can’t quite bite back a grunt of pain. Juni makes a sound like he’s been shot, and his hands are on Mason with an urgency that vibrates through his skin. Still, his touch is an instant balm to the vampire’s overwrought senses, his hands gentle as they ease him upright and fussily pile pillows behind him to support him. It fucking sucks to be so weak, but at least it’s only Juni seeing him like this. He can’t quite express why, when it feels like his head’s stuffed full of cotton, but he thinks it would suck a lot more if he were riding this out alone, or in a sterile room at HQ. He lolls his head towards Juni, his cheek smashing against one of a half-dozen goddamned pillows piled around him, and laughs weakly. “Gonna feed me too, Nurse Fenn?”

Juni blushes, and the usual rush of his blood doesn’t smack Mason in the face like usual, but it washes over him in a gentle wave of warmth, that tempting smell tickling the back of his tongue. “Do you need me to?” he asks, and it’s pretty clear he’s trying to make it sound teasing, but it comes out much more earnest than anything else.

Mason almost wants to say yes, but he also doesn’t want Juni to be in the splash zone if his stomach decides it can’t handle the detective’s little experiment. “Nah, I got it,” he grunts, reaching for the tray. It trembles dangerously when his shaking hands lift it, but Juni’s quick to steady it and guide it to his lap. He mutters a quiet thanks, and Juni mercifully doesn’t rib him for his uncharacteristic politeness. “You’d make a cute nurse, detective,” he says to cover the strangely loaded silence.

Juni laughs and sits on the edge of the bed, close but not quite touching. “I’m too squeamish,” he offers with a shrug that rubs their shoulders together.

“You just made me soup out of blood,” Mason says dully.

“I also have a borderline breakdown giving myself the same shot I’ve been giving myself every week for the last decade,” Juni retorts. “Do you really think I could do it for someone else?”

Mason snorts. “Probably not. Would kill to see you in one of those little dresses, though.”

The only thing protecting Mason from getting a hilariously ineffectual swat on the shoulder is the bowl of soup in his lap. He’s not even sure his current feeble condition would be enough to stop Juni otherwise. “Eat your soup, asshole,” Juni groans, covering his burning face with his hands. He peeks through his fingers after a moment’s hesitation, “And maybe I’ll show you the Halloween costume Tina got me as a joke a couple years ago when you’re feeling better.”

Mason’s whole body reacts to that, and he can’t be sure if the chill that rolls down his spine is due to the illness, or something else entirely. If nothing else, choking down some soup will be worth it, just for that promise.

The first spoonful goes down surprisingly easy. He doesn’t really taste much, at first, not even the coppery tang of blood. It’s thin, as Juni promised, so it doesn’t quite coat his mouth the same way fresh, raw blood would. Juni’s watching him with obvious concern, eyebrows scrunched together and plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. Either concern that Mason’s body is going to reject it fully, or he just won’t fucking like it. Probably both.

“It’s not too hot, is it?” Juni asks, touching Mason’s knee lightly through the blanket. He swallows his mouthful hard and bites down the urge to ask the human not to stop touching him.

“S’fine,” he grunts, trying to parse what exactly he makes of it at all. The warmth feels nice, soothing his raw throat. He takes another bite. He thinks he can sort of make out the individual spices underneath the taste of the blood and the broth (slightly watered down bone broth, he;d guess) but he can’t really smell them either. The ginger, at least, is obvious. He knows the smell enough to guess the taste, even with the complete lack of culinary experience. It’s, strangely enough, not horrible. It does taste mostly like thinned-out blood, which is weird, and gives him a sense of dissonance from the texture he expects blood to have. “Weird.”

Juni doesn’t seem to take offense to that. “Well, you’re not spewing it across the room like you’re possessed, at least, so weird is better than bad?” he laughs, squeezing Mason’s knee. “How’s your stomach?”

Mason takes a second to consider. “Not great, but not terrible.”

Juni almost deflates with relief. “And the taste? It’s not too much, is it? I can be kind of heavy-handed with my seasoning, so I tried to be really careful. It’s really only a pinch of salt, sage, and ginger, with a little bit of licorice root, which I know is kind of weird, but it’s good for sore throats?”

“Tastes like…” Mason screws up his face, realizing he has absolutely no context to work with. “I don’t know. I think I like it?”

Juni smiles like the goddamned sun, and it somehow makes his snarky little pet name for Mason that much funnier. “Really?”

Mason’s not sure he’d be saying the same thing if his senses weren’t dulled to near-uselessness by his traitorous body, but the way Juni looks, like he couldn’t be happier to be dealing with a sick, cranky vampire hogging his bed and sweating in his sheets, makes him bite his tongue. There’s always a brightness to the human when he brings food to the warehouse for Nate and Felix, he smiles so wide his face almost cracks when Adam crumples under the weight of those puppy eyes and takes the smallest portion of whatever concoction Juni’s brought to nibble on, and offers the most awkward compliment he can manage. Juni just likes doing things for people, providing for them any way he can. Food is his usual go-to, but if he can help at all, he’s happy.

I can’t really do that for you.

It almost makes Mason wish he could enjoy whatever the detective whips up in his cramped little kitchen, just to make him smile.

Christ, his brain must be more addled than he thought.

He manages a few more spoonfuls of soup before his stomach starts to feel uncomfortably full, but the gnawing hunger of going too long without drinking has gone away, and he doesn’t feel so much like he’s going to puke like he did earlier. He feels heavy, and tired, and honestly that’s one hell of an improvement. Juni’s quick to take the tray and spirit it off back to the kitchen, bending to press a quick kiss to Mason’s cheek before he goes, and when he returns, the vampire is slumped in his pillow nest and half-asleep, eyes shuttered to thin slits.

He feels more than he sees Juni approach, and when a gentle hand smooths over his clammy forehead, he pushes up into it with a raw, weak noise he has zero energy to be embarrassed by anymore. He reaches out blindly, tangles his fingers in the knit of his detective’s sweater, and tugs. He can’t be sure how it happens, a jumble of movement and complaining muscles, but Juni winds up in bed with him, slouched comfortably against the pillows so Mason can rest his head on the soft curve of his belly. The human plays idly, sweetly with his hair, twirling damp curls around his fingers.

“I’m sweaty,” Mason halfheartedly protests. Juni’s stomach rises and falls beneath his head. It feels like being on the ocean, like being rocked to sleep on quiet waves.

“I don’t mind,” Juni murmurs, thumb stroking the shell of his ear.

Before he can think of anything to say to that, he’s being pulled under, dozing off between one breath and the next.

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musette22 · 3 years

Text

Burning For You

Title: Burning For You Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan) Rating: Teen and up Word count: 3.1k A/N: Written for Evanstan Week day 6, a late fill for the Alternate Universe prompt. This silly piece of fluff is entirely inspired by the wonder that is the Mountain Lodge candle from the Yankee Candle Company. Yes, the one that inspired this iconic Tumblr post. The one that smells like Chris Evans.

I was lucky enough to receive one as a gift from the wonderful @howdoyousleep3 and my life hasn't been the same since I smelled it for the first time. Thank you for introducing me to such delights baby K, ilyyy 💖 Also BIG thank you to the @evanstanweek team and to my beautiful beta @rainbowsandcoconut who came up with the outline for this fic when I told her my idea! Love you, boo 😘

Summary: Evanstan AU. Sebastian gets a little carried away when raving about the Mountain Lodge candle to a friend. It leads to an unexpected, fragrant encounter.

Read on AO3

“Listen, D. You’ve gotta smell this candle.” Sebastian leans in closer, nearly knocking over his - third - glass of red. “You know I’m not usually a scented candle kinda guy, but this one…” He closes his eyes and tips back his head, an expression of pure bliss on his face. “Incredible. Glorious. Magnificent.”

“You look like you’re about to pull a Meg Ryan in When Harry met Sally over there, Seb.”

Sebastian straightens, giving Deirdre a meaningful look across the table at the low-key SoHo bar they’re having drinks at. “You kid, but I’m this close. It’s that good, not even exaggerating.”

“Sure you’re not,” Deirdre huffs, lifting her glass and taking a sizeable gulp of her Cosmopolitan.

“Fine, don’t believe me,” Sebastian shrugs. “You know, I pity you for not having experienced the delights of the Mountain Lodge candle, really. If you knew what it smelled like, you’d be singing its praises too, believe me.”

Deirdre rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Fine, I’ll bite. What does it smell like, Sebastian, pray tell.”

Sebastian sits up eagerly. “It smells…” he starts, “like an evening in that lodge in the Green Mountains we rented with the others a couple of years ago. Remember that? How it felt to relax by the fire after a long day of hiking, the scent of cedarwood and toasted marshmallows in the air?”

“Hmmm,” Deirdre agrees. “That was nice, yeah. But hardly worth busting a nut over, I’d say.”

Sebastian holds up a single finger. “I'm not done. Because this candle doesn’t just smell like the lodge, it also smells like the lumberjack living at the lodge.”

Deirdre frowns. “There was no lumberjack living at the –”

“The metaphorical lumberjack, D, god. Work with me here a little.”

“Oh right, okay. Gotcha.”

“It smells,” Sebastian continues, undeterred, “like soft, worn flannel. Like beard oil and a hint of clean sweat. It smells like a big, strong, gorgeous man who just got done hewing a ginormous tree with his massive axe and cutting it down into firewood, which he’s now using to light the very fireplace in front of which he’ll make sweet, sweet love to you, on the rug that’s actually the skin of a bear that attacked his rescue dog and which this man fought off and killed with his own bare hands.”

“Whooofffff,” Deirdre says, fanning herself with a napkin. “Fine, I’m starting to see the attraction.”

“It smells…” Sebastian goes on, pausing for dramatic effect before delivering his clincher, “like Chris Evans.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Deirdre groans loudly, sagging back in her chair. “Ughh, shoulda known this was coming. For chrissake, Sebastian, you literally cannot go even one night without bringing up Chris Evans, can you?”

“I totally can,” Sebastian protests, like the mature, professional, Times-employed literary critic he is. “But you don’t understand, D. This candle, it’s actually like they bottled the very essence of Chris Evans and then infused a candle with it. It’s life-changing.”

“Yeah, yeah, you have a permanent boner for Chris Evans, you wanna marry him and have his little bearded babies, tell me something I don’t know,” Deirdre sighs, draining the last of her drink and immediately starting to look around for the waiter to order a new one. Distantly, Sebastian notices the song playing in the background changing to The Smith’s ‘Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want'. Ah, if only.

“Listen to me,” Sebastian insists, unconsciously starting to speak louder, like he’s some small-town preacher trying to make his ignorant clergy see the light. “Deirdre, darling, you’re one of my oldest friends. I wouldn’t lie to you. I swear, when you smell this candle, you too will feel like you’re being engulfed in the embrace of the brilliant, spectacular, totally unique smokeshow that goes by the name of Chris Evans. It’s as if the man himself is wrapping those huge, muscled arms of his around you, crushing you to his wide chest as you tuck your face into the crook of his neck while his beard brushes your temple and you inhale his masculine scent of cologne, sex and clean, honest sweat, I swear to god – D, are you even listening?”

At some point during the last part of Sebastian’s homily, Deirdre’s eyes drifted to a point over his right shoulder and got stuck there.

“Did you just- zone out?” Sebastian asks indignantly, waving a hand in front of her face. She doesn’t even blink. “Hello? Earth to Deirdre.”

“Seb,” Deirdre says, still not looking at Sebastian.

“Oh, I see,” Sebastian barrels on. “Here I am, pouring my heart out, telling you I found a candle that smells exactly like the man of my dreams and you’re just… What are you doing, actually? Are you okay?”

At this point, Deirdre’s eyes have gone comically round, mouth hanging open just a little. “Sebastian,” she repeats, more urgently now – and just as he’s turning his head to find out what put that dumbfounded look on her face, someone nearby clears their throat.

Sebastian startles, looking up at the man who’s appeared next to their table.

“Hi,” the man says in a deep, rich voice.

A deep, rich voice that Sebastian knows all too well. A deep, rich voice that belongs to none other than Chris Evans, Hollywood heartthrob and actual smokeshow, himself.

Oh.

Sebastian gapes while Chris, dressed in dark wash jeans, a red flannel shirt and a brown shearling jacket, smiles at him patiently. He’s all soft-looking beard and strong nose and bulging biceps and long, lean legs, and Sebastian has died and gone to heaven.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Chris says, “but was just sitting a table over and I couldn’t help but overhear.”

And from one moment to the next, Sebastian crashes forcefully back to earth. His whole body goes cold, the blood draining from his face so quickly he feels dizzy with it.

Fuck. No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. There is no way this is actually happening.

Except it is.

Sebastian had just been extremely, loudly and publicly horny about the very guy that’s standing next to him right now. The guy who is no doubt about to give Sebastian a piece of his mind at best, and a right hook to the jaw at worst. And honestly, he’d deserve it.

Since Sebastian wouldn’t even know where to begin apologizing, he says nothing. Just keeps staring at Chris in ever-growing horror, his pulse pounding in his ears so loudly it almost drowns out the miserable sound of Morrissey still pleading in the background.

Chris clears his throat. “So,” he says, bringing up a hand to rub the back of his neck. “This candle smells like me, huh?”

Sebastian groans, hiding his face in his hands. “Shit. Fuck. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean- Oh my god, please, please, please just forget you heard any of that.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Puzzled, Sebastian chances a glance at Chris from between his fingers. He’s partly still covering his face out of embarrassment, and partly because Chris is so gorgeous in real life that Sebastian isn’t sure he could look at him directly without spontaneously combusting. It’s like staring at the fucking sun. He doesn’t seem too angry, though, thank god. In fact, there’s an amused twinkle in his blue eyes that makes Sebastian’s shoulders relax infinitesimally.

“Because it was incredibly inappropriate?” Sebastian suggests, honestly a bit confused about having to explain this to him.

“I don’t know,” Chris shrugs. “It sounded pretty great. Kinda want to smell it for myself now.”

For some unfathomable reason – probably because unexpectedly seeing his long-time celebrity crush in the flesh broke his brain, Sebastian blurts out, “Oh, I don’t have it with me. It’s back at my apartment.”

Slowly, Chris raises a single eyebrow. The look sends a shiver straight down Sebastian’s spine, from the crown of his head right down to his toes. “Is it now?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian replies breathlessly.

Chris’s gaze drops down to Sebastian’s brown leather boots before slowly travelling back up to his face. “I gotta say, normally someone would at least have to buy me dinner first, but…” He trails off, looking Sebastian straight in the eye before finishing, “I am really curious about this candle.”

“You are?” Sebastian says dumbly, and then “Ow!” when Deirdre delivers an impressively precise kick to his shin under the table. He turns to give her a betrayed look, but when he meets her eyes, with which she’s clearly trying very hard to communicate something to him, he finally catches on. “Oh!” Sebastian whips back around to Chris, staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “I- you- you mean like…” He swallows hard. “You wanna come back to my place to, uh, smell the candle?”

Although Chris’s expression remains amused, there’s a hint of trepidation there as well. “Sure,” he says, smiling crookedly. “If… that’s something you’re up for?”

Sebastian’s mind races. The way he sees it, there are two possibilities. Either Chris Evans is actually standing here in the flesh, propositioning him, or Sebastian hit his head in the bathroom earlier and is actually just lying on the dirty tile floor, hallucinating as a result of severe head trauma. The second option seems by far the most likely, but then, his shin does hurt like a sonuvabitch.

Well, fuck.

Sebastian clears his throat and sits up straighter, running a hand through his longish hair. “I mean, yeah, that’s- wow. That. That would be okay with me, uh huh. You mean like, now?”

“If that works for you?”

Without thinking, Sebastian says, “Well, I’m here with Deirdre –” before letting out another sharp yelp as said Deirdre crushes his toes under her heel. “Jesus, D!”

Deirdre ignores him. “Ohhh, would you look at the time,” she exclaims, holding up her wrist which very much doesn’t have a watch on it. “Boy, it’s much later than I thought. I really oughta get going, early start tomorrow.” She yawns theatrically, then grabs her purse and throws down two twenties on the table. “It was lovely seeing you, Sebastian, Chris… Evans,” she adds, with a wooden nod in Chris’s direction. “Hope you two have a lovely evening, bye now!”

And she’s gone.

They both stare after her for a second, and then Chris chuckles – a low sound that reverberates pleasantly in Sebastian’s chest. “Well,” Chris says, turning back towards him. “It’s nice to meet you, Sebastian.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Chris.”

Sebastian stands, taking Chris’s hand, which is warm and big and ever so slightly calloused, and exactly like Sebastian always imagined. “Yeah, I know,” he says, because he’s cool like that. And then, in a show of bravura that surprises even himself, Sebastian holds Chris’s gaze, tilts his head a fraction, and says, “So uh, my place?”

Chris smiles, casually dropping a few bills on the table, more than enough to cover their drinks, before taking a step to the side to let Sebastian pass. “Lead the way,” he says, lightly resting his hand on the small of Sebastian’s back as they make their way towards the exit.

🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥

It’s only once they’re outside and the cold February night air manages to cool down Sebastian’s overheated brain somewhat that it occurs to him to ask if Chris wasn’t at the bar with anyone.

“I met a friend for drinks but he just left,” Chris explains. “I was just waiting for the bill when I overheard you guys.”

“And you’re sure you don’t have any other plans?” Sebastian asks, because he’s nothing if not a self-sabotaging idiot.

They’re still standing outside the bar, the golden light radiating from a nearby lamppost decorated with a cluster of luminous orbs making Chris look softer, somehow. Still a Hollywood heartthrob, but also charmingly human. Unfortunately, it does absolutely nothing to make Sebastian any less infatuated. If anything, it only endears Chris to him more, which he really didn’t think was possible.

“Not really, no,” Chris replies, amusement in his tone. “I was just gonna go back to my hotel and read for a bit.”

Sebastian perks up at the mention of his area of expertise. “Oh, yeah? What’re you reading?”

“I haven’t started it yet, but it’s this history of space travel? I read a great review of it in the Times the other day, so I thought I’d give it a go.” With a self-deprecating smile, Chris adds, “I’m kind of a space nerd.”

Sebastian blinks. “Not ‘To Infinity and Beyond’, by any chance?”

“That’s the one,” Chris confirms. “You know it?”

“I wrote the review.”

Chris’s eyes go round. “You did not.”

In lieu of replying, Sebastian digs up his wallet from his pocket, takes out his Times-employee card and holds it up for Chris’s inspection.

“Huh,” Chris says, studying the card. “What are the odds.” When his eyes turn back to Sebastian’s, he suddenly breaks out into a grin, wide and boyish. “Well, I guess that explains a thing or two.”

“How do you mean?” Sebastian frowns.

“I mean, that review was brilliantly written so you clearly have a way with words.” With a sly look, Chris goes on, “which explains your colorful descriptions of that candle earlier. The masculine scent of cologne, sex and clean, honest sweat was especially vivid.”

Sebastian groans, dragging a hand down over his face. “Jesus Christ, this is so embarrassing.”

Chris eyes shine with genuine mirth as he laughs, “Hey, come on, don’t worry about it.” He takes a step closer, ducking his head to try and catch Sebastian’s eyes, which are now firmly fixed on the pavement in an attempt to conjure up a hole to swallow him. “Call me a narcissist, but I didn’t exactly hate overhearing a gorgeous guy describing me as the man of his dreams.”

“Oh god,” Sebastian mutters, feeling himself turn a fetching shade of crimson. Trying to hide his blush, he turns around abruptly and nearly walks into the lamppost.

Chris, his savior, his knight in shining armor, manages to grab him by the back of his coat just in time to avoid the imminent collision. Sebastian still stumbles, but strong, capable arms wrapping securely around his waist keep him upright.

Carefully, Sebastian turns in Chris’s embrace so they’re facing each other, though he can’t quite make himself look Chris in the eye yet. “I’m guessing you caught on to this by now,” Sebastian tells the St Christopher pendant resting on Chris’s sternum, “but I’m kind of a disaster.”

Chris just hums, lifting a hand to tilt up Sebastian’s chin with his index finger, a small smile playing on his lips. “A beautiful one, though,” he whispers into the negligible space between them, before he closes that space and presses soft, full lips to Sebastian’s own.

Sebastian can’t suppress the small sound that escapes him when their lips meet, eyes closing on instinct as he lets himself sink into the kiss. Lets Chris take charge and coax open Sebastian’s mouth by running the tip of his tongue along the seam of his lips. Sebastian doesn’t think twice about letting him in. When their tongues touch, sweet and soft and languid, he trembles, pressing closer. Chris tastes a little like beer, and while Sebastian’s never been overly fond of beer, it takes approximately two seconds of being kissed by the hottest man on the planet for it to magically turn into Sebastian’s new favorite taste. Ever.

The kiss starts off slow; a little cautious maybe, as if Chris still isn’t entirely sure it’s welcomed. But then Sebastian’s hands find their way to Chris’s waist, fingers gripping tightly, and Chris slides a hand into Sebastian’s hair, angling his head gently to the left to deepen the kiss – and suddenly, Sebastian’s entire body feels like it’s on fire. He moans, relishing the feel of Chris's soft beard scratching at his clean-shaven cheeks, and way Chris takes control of the kiss, like something right out of every embarrassing fantasy he's ever had.

When Chris hums against his lips, as if he’s enjoying this just as much as Sebastian is, Sebastian’s knees go all weak and useless. It’s a good thing that Chris is there, tightening his left arm around his waist and pulling him more securely against the hard lines of his own body – which actually doesn’t do a thing to help Sebastian’s current knee situation. He whimpers, curling his hands into the fabric of Chris’s coat to anchor himself.

When Chris finally breaks the kiss, he doesn’t go far. His breathing has deepened, warm puffs of air caressing Sebastian’s tingling, wet lips. Sebastian exhales shakily. The way his head is spinning might be partially due to the wine, but it's definitely mostly because of Chris sweeping him off his feet with his smooth, movie star ways.

Needing a moment to gain his composure before he speaks, Sebastian buries his face in the crook of Chris’s neck, taking a deep, steadying breath –

Oh.

“I fucking knew it,” he groans.

Sebastian feels rather than hears Chris’s quiet laugh; feels the vibrations of it shake his broad chest under Sebastian’s palms. “Yeah? Do I really smell like your candle?”

“Better,” Sebastian mutters. On instinct, he presses his lips against Chris’s exposed neck, eliciting a shiver from him.

“You know,” Chris rumbles into Sebastian’s ear. “I still think I need to smell this magical thing for myself. Make sure you’re not just flattering me to get into my pants, y'know?”

Christ.

“Yeah,” Sebastian nods. “Definitely, good thinking. Empirical evidence is paramount. In fact, it’s totally possible I’m just mixing things up right now because my brain’s all” – he makes a poof motion with his hands, trusting Chris will get his drift – “so I think maybe I’ll need to do some comparative research.”

Chris tilts his head in though. “Hands-on research?”

“I think that’s best, yes,” Sebastian concurs.

“Right. Well, out of the two of us, you’re definitely the higher educated one, so I’m just gonna take your word for that.” After a beat, Chris adds, “as long as I get to test a theory or two of my own.”

“Oh?” Sebastian licks his lips. “Such as?”

The wicked glint in Chris’s eyes is the only warning he gets before Chris is sliding his hand back into Sebastian’s hair and giving it a firm, experimental tug.

“Ah,” Sebastian breathes, his eyelids fluttering, the blood rushing south so fast he feels dizzy – again.

Chris grins smugly. “Such as that.”

“Okay,” Sebastian croaks. “Yeah, that seems fair.” Wasting no more time, he reaches out to grab Chris’s free hand and starts to pull him along the pavement in the direction of his apartment.

Chris, laughing as he squeezes Sebastian’s hand, follows closely behind.

🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥

Read on AO3

#evanstan week 2021 #evanstan #rpf #chris evans x sebastian stan #chris evans #sebastian stan #my fic #my writing #heeeyyyy look at that I still write!#just took a little break #sorry about that 😅#hope you enjoy!!

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dreadnotau · 3 years

Text

The Dread Not comic will, sadly, be going on hiatus for a while. For a longer explanation, open the read more.

As some of you may know, if you watched the video I posted a while ago, I’ve been planning a hiatus like this for a while now. Due to school responsibilities, college preparations, and personal life matters, I can’t focus on comic making as much as I would want to. Dread Not is still very much a passion project, and while it would be lovely to dedicate a considerable amount of time to it, it’s simply not feasible now (or ever, honestly). The “one page per week” model was a pretty sustainable schedule until recently, and I’m hoping to go back to it full swing after the end of the hiatus (but, I can’t be sure of that).

The hiatus will end around the end of November. I don’t have exact dates because I’m guesstimating most of this. Meaning that, I assume I’ll be able to go back to making the comic normally around the end of November, but the hiatus might extend to the beginning of December if I’m really unlucky with my estimate. During the hiatus, I will still be working on future pages, but I won’t be posting them. Some of you may know (if you read the tags on the tumblr posts of pages) that I usually have comic pages ready days or weeks in advance before they’re posted. This acts as a safety net for me, so that if something suddenly comes up, I won’t be short of a page I need to post. Again, this model has worked so far, but school put a wrench in that, as things are CONSTANTLY coming up and I have very little time to work on the comic. And, y’know, sometimes I feel like spending my spare time away from my accursed computer.

While the hiatus is in full swing, I might try to post some bonus content (that’s not for certain either, as most things aren’t), but it will probably be semi-low effort, and simple. Some old drawings or sketches, or some things I didn’t have a chance to establish in the actual comic, or shitposts. I’ll generally try to clarify if something is canon or not, but unless stated otherwise, assume it’s not canon. Other than the bonus content, though, the Dread Not Discord Server is up and running, if you feel like meeting other people who like the AU. Not much happens in the server, but new people are always welcome!

And, lastly, I want to say thank you. I know, I say that basically every chance I get, but really, it needs to be said. It makes me unspeakably happy that people are interested, and it keeps me motivated to keep making more! Part 1 has reached it’s halfway point, and a lot is already planned for part 2 and on. Stay tuned and, as usual, I hope you like what comes next!

#dread not #dreadnot #dreadnotau #dread not au #not comic #hiatus 1 #lord help me i am just one dickweed on the internet and i can only do so much before school crushes me to death

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why-this-kolaveri-machi · 3 years

Text

it wasn’t power i coveted; it was acceptance.

Titans 3.06

y’know, i was just thinking the other day that 1.06/1.07 and 2.06/2.07 were the best episodes of their respective seasons, so i have great hopes going in to this one. fingers crossed!

as always, typing this up as i see the episode.

SPOILERS AHEAD

1. oh! um... that was a Cold Open, all right. *nudges* get it? cold? because it’s snowing? and two people got murdered in cold blood? eh?

... oh, i’ve just started.

1.5. i wonder if “i want to be sipping pina coladas on a beach with you” is the new “i’m just one day away from retiring.” i was so on edge after that--i kept expecting that car to explode. even so, the way they died wasn’t an anticlimax: brutal, and quick.

1.75. so i’m assuming that’s the titular lady vic! this show better bring up why this doll was important or why these two cops needed to be killed, and not leave it to the ether like jericho’s little mindscape jaunt in 2.08 (i’m still dying to know what that was about???)

i love how deliberately unappealing wayne manor is.

(sorry for the pic quality. i don’t have hbo max! ssshhh.)

2.3. i love the many references to “home” and “our house” when they’ve been here for less than a week and saw one of their friends get blown into pieces. i mean, i unironically love it: home is where family is, after all!

2.5. i’d like to say that kom is playing some sort of long game here, especially given the build-up we had last season and some of the more niggling details this season: why did kom choose now to use her bond to lure kory when she’s been on earth for months? why did justin call kory now, just around the time that she started getting kom’s visions? and what about kom’s ability to exactly imitate other people? hmmm.

2.75. the reason i wrote i’d like to say is that i’ve made the mistake of assuming plot complexity where there is none; i was so invested in the jason todd orchestrated his own death theory for instance, when it turns out that oops! ra’s al ghul just happened to leave a little lazarus puddle in gotham, and oh yeah! scarecrow just happens to have a network of henchmen working for him on the outside and a fully functional laboratory and a weapons cache fit for a new supervillain in the basement of the high security psychiatric unit/prison that he’s in!

(no i’m not bitter, why do you ask)

2.8. iiiii don’t know what to say about the implications of sex slavery being a thing on tamaran, so i’m not going to say anything at all. for now.

3. gotham, six years ago... wasn’t it five years before s2 that jericho died and the titans disbanded? and when was the flashback from 1.06 where dick let zucco die? i think it was after the events of 2.08: jericho? i can’t seem to find any transcripts or reliable information online, so i’m going to have to rewatch 1.06 at some point.

(i love the old-fashioned batman music in this heist scene)

3.5. “security is a joke... it’s my way of keeping my dad on his toes”. what you’re an ethical thief now, like an ethical hacker? i don’t think that excuse is going to sell, barbara, on the day you do encounter a decent security system and your father is forced to arrest you.

(then again, gotham’s security is piss-poor. did you know that you could just walk into arkham asylum without any official clearance, ply one of its most dangerous inhabitants with contraband, and said inmate could get away with having an entire laboratory and weapons cache--NO I’M NOT GOING TO LET THIS GO)

3.8 so that flashback between dick and barbara was really cute! and also illuminating:

a) dick sounds so light, so... um. look. i have some apologies to tender to mr thwaites, because while i’ve always thought he does a fine job as dick grayson, i’ve never been terribly fond of his cadence as he delivers dialogue. it’s often monotonous, i thought, but then again, he’s usually delivering exposition or dealing with one soul-crushing crisis or the other. so i was pleasantly surprised to hear dick sound so carefree and alive in his conversation with barbara, laughing frequently, his emotions so bare and bubbling to the surface. it’s really a fantastic contrast to the traumatised and world-weary dick grayson that we see now, even more so than the costume department just bunging a backwards-baseball cap on mr thwaites’ head and hoping that will convince us of his relative youth.

b) and god, when he wakes up from that memory, all alone in his bed, bleeding from bullet holes in his shoulder (bullet holes that are--in a somewhat convoluted way--barbara’s fault)? yikes. it’s great. you have my apologies, mr thwaites!

c) can you imagine dick just... crawling back to wayne manor, trying not to be seen by anybody, shedding his suit and just... collapsing onto his bed without even tending to his wound? the sheer emotional and physical exhaustion of it?

d) it’s so interesting to see how barbara and dick approach the idea of legacy--a big theme on the show!--in this flashback. barbara is the one bucking the idea that she should follow in her father’s footsteps, while dick seems pretty content with the batman-and-robin setup, and even tries to get barbara to join their team (robin-girl. pfffft). obviously after this several traumatic things happen wherein dick ends up questioning and then resenting his role as robin, his relationship with batman or even returning as a vigilante at all. and barbara... ends up replacing her father as commissioner. it’s tragic, really.

e) the dynamic between dick and barbara in the flashback reminds me of how it was between dick and donna in 1.08 and even between kory and dick in early s1. it’s like having an older, strong-willed woman by his side means he gives over the steering wheel for a while and lets himself... unspool, a little bit. it’s kinda endearing.

also:

*pinches his cheeks*

3. you know, we talk about dick and Eldest Daughter Syndrome, and that’s definitely valid, but here gar seems to me the embodiment of it, with all the emotional gardening and firefighting that he’s expected to do. he’s kind of the guy expected to keep his shit together and take care of everyone else while they are falling completely to pieces, unable to carve out time to process his own trauma. he’s also picked up dick’s and kory’s tendencies to bottle up their struggles and shun appearing vulnerable, and he’s struggling in the shadow of both dick and kory undergoing acute crises, his best friend (and frequent confidante) on the other side of the world, and seeing hank die, utterly helpless to stop it.

i’m glad that he got a chance to tell dick even a smidgeon of what he really feels, and i hope this is at least a semblance of a wake up call for dick to actually sit down and work with the people he repeatedly calls family.

3.5. it’s heartening to see that dick immediately makes it his priority to go talk to gar. but don’t blow off kory in the process, man!

4. i’m really loving this dynamic between kom and conner--i get the idea that both of them consider each other as Unknowns, alien two times over. but conner’s only ever known the titans, who embrace being different, and kom’s only ever known... well.

anyway, kory is Really Stressed, and honestly? #relatable.

when you’re forced to bring an estranged family member to hang out with your friends...

4.5. i love that the titans are spending so much time in the kitchen. a real family!

5. jonathan crane is a creep and i absolutely cannot stand him.

5.25. how did he get a whole lab setup (in the basement of a hospital...?) with a bunch of whitecoats to work for him? how did he just waltz into the viewing room of an operation theatre when he’s one of the most wanted men in gotham right now? why is jason wandering around maskless when--presumably--as the adopted son of the most famous person in gotham he’d be a tad more recognisable than your average joe?

why do i expect this show to answer anything anymore?

5.5. that’s not necessarily a criticism, mind; i’ve said since season 1 that titans is very comics-like in this aspect, all about the Aesthetic and the splash-page splendour rather than the niggling unimportant details of how or when the characters got to said location. like. the camera gliding over the operation being set-up, lady vic bursting in and doing her murder dance (imagine the luck of the poor intern who chose this day and this surgery to assist) and jason, shocked and slack-jawed, framed by blood.

5.75. it’s a sobering reminder for jason that, though he chose this path in order to gain control over a world that seemed like it was rapidly spinning out of his grip, he’s only succeeded in handing over even more control to a man with an agenda that is very clearly not aligned with his own. he’s in too far to stop now, though.

5.9. i have a lot more thoughts about jason! saving it up for the end of this recap, though.

6. more kitchen time! i better see dick do some cooking soon...

(”our kitchen”! it still delights me! kitchens are So Important)

6.25. so much of dick’s issues have revolved around his relationship with bruce, so it’s completely understandable that in the wake of a huge crisis where bruce literally asks dick to replace him and be a “better” him, dick would default to all the worst things he learned from the man. and i’m glad kory’s having none of it, but come on, guys. the woman’s literally fetched her fratricidal sister out of a hole in the ground with no idea what said sister is going to do next and experiencing a burgeoning sense of guilt far, far beyond her history with the titans, and dick’s too far into his autocolonoscopy that he can’t see that she needs help.

6.5. “he services your urges”--well, as far as we know, kory is the last person he had sex with...

7. “i hope [gar] isn’t angry with me...” SIR! i thought you’d already spoken to him! smh, as the kids say. kory wouldn’t be needing to reassure you if you just took the effort to build two way emotional relationships with the rest of the team. @superohclair was taking about dick’s relatively low emotional intelligence? i agree.

7.5. “i got my own problems [...] you and barbara? fix it.” YOU TELL HIM, KORY

8. man i really like this weird, sad tension between dick and barbara--this sense that both of them are approaching the other based on how they remember them and are ultimately disappointed by the truth. barbara thought she could trust dick to... well, be a better batman, but dick has not only failed at that in her eyes, but repeatedly undermined her while exploiting the authority that she gave him. in dick’s eyes, this is nothing like the barbara that he knew, rebellious and ready to do whatever it takes to find something.

like. this show sometimes really hits me in the chest about the ways it shows kids grow into adults and into caretakers, and the way it’s stop-start, the ways nothing can happen at all for a long time and then it’s Crisis Central all at once and there’s no space to breathe. the weird sort of sadness that comes with nostalgia.

8.5. oracle name drop! i agree with barbara, any system that can just randomly tap into gotham phonelines is a monster.

8.7. (i don’t know if it’s my imagination, but is dick holding himself... differently in this episode? like that wound is definitely bothering him, and he’s running on fumes)

9. man, that was a really sweet scene between kom and conner. “feeling alien in your own world”... “not quite here nor there”

honestly this team runs on conner and gar’s faith in their value as a family, and it’s a sign of conner’s generous heart that he extends that opportunity to blackfire. this arc of maturation for him, where he’s now able to consciously choose which parts of himself he can use to do the thing he wants to so--save people--has been so fulfilling to recognise. this baby’s grown with the titans! and what he’s learnt is that people can get fucked up, but the titans is a place where they can be fucked up, and grow.

MY MAN CONNER

10. oh man i’m drinking in the gar-dick interaction in this episode like i’m three days into the desert and it’s the only source of water for miles around!

a) gar is absolutely not dealing with dick’s bullshit this episode and I LOVE IT. it’s such a far cry from the man who was idolising dick/robin back in s1 and expecting him to solve all their problems. dick is fallible, dick is fucked up, but he Tries His Best and that’s ok.

b) dick, huffing and puffing through that vent, unable to put any pressure on his left shoulder, trying to have a heart to heart with gar... fuck i love this asshole.

c) bruce took in a kid who was suffering... “and made him into a weapon”. well. i absolutely agree with dick that it was bruce who put these kids into these horrible situations with him and they came away with a bucketload of trauma to add to the one that they already had. but we know that bruce was really trying with jason, and at the end of s2, dick was coming to acknowledge that bruce had offered him something that wasn’t just darkness. jason’s death and bruce’s reaction to that shattered that fragile progress.

d) “gotham got to me too.” i feel more sympathetic towards dick running off on his own than most, and it’s not just because i’m an unapologetic stan. we’ve seen before that dick... devolves when overwhelmed, and he lashes out and makes ill thought out decisions and just Does Not Deal. it happened after hearing the news that deathstroke had returned in s2, and it didn’t help that everyone around him was reeling at the news, either. this time, however, he has his salvation in his family, and despite some stupid decisions like running off and kidnapping supervillains without telling his team, he’s been really on the ball this season. thinking clearly and logically, holding it together and working on a plan, thinking two steps ahead of the villains... yes.

e) gar needing to believe that jason isn’t beyond redemption... there’s a lot of blood on his hands, too, from when he was manipulated by cadmus last season. it makes sense why he’d relate to jason’s predicament, and i hope dick picked up on that.

f) my head just added a plaintive ow after dick jumped feet first into the storage room

i need, crave gifs of this scene!

11. *sits on hands* i’m going to talk more about red hood, i promise!

12. more gar and dick! is it my birthday??!!

(actually, according to the tamil calendar, it is my birthday! my “star” birthday)

12.5. excellent. dick using some implausible training that bruce taught him to solve a mystery? passing some of that knowledge onto gar? that proud smile when he sees gar perfectly execute moves that he taught him? MY HEART IS EXPLODING

13. aw, i love flashback!dick and barbara, they’re so cute <3

13.25. why does it not surprise me that the way he proposes a relationship to barbara is by saying “we make sense”? this guy can deduce exactly who was present where and what weapon they were holding from a garbled audio recording but other times he’s utterly clueless, and that’s a consistent character beat right from s1

13.5. so.... that’s why lady vic has it out for... barbara....? i don’t get it. it’s flimsy. but hey! the fun thing about titans is that i don’t have to get it. the payoff has nothing to do with the plot.

14. i can’t believe that barbara fell for that, but at least that wheelchair fight looked awesome, so.

15. oh yeah, i forgot that red hood bullied the mob into helping him and scarecrow... at least that explains the whitecoats and the elaborate set-up.

15.5. honestly i love how this dynamic between kory and kom is developing, though i wish more of the team would pay attention to it. time to call justin, i think!

16. i wonder what happened after that second flashback where barbara got hurt during that heist. did she give up on doing any more (maybe jim caught her)? was it because dick was called away by bruce and then the titans and got caught up in his own issues? maybe barbara froze him out because she wasn’t looking for the relationship that he was looking for? maybe the idea of doing that with someone turning into batman-lite was just... unappealing? scary?

whatever it is, it doesn’t look like dick ever processed the end of that relationship. it’s very intriguing to see where their dynamic goes next.

17. so.... what, did vic deliver some fear toxin to barbara? i... what?

17.5. and i TOLD YOU that they would never explain that doll or why vic attacked those two cops at the beginning! oh, titans. never change.

18. did jason just randomly have tim’s restaurant burgled? god, i’m feeling a bit nauseous... are they going to kill tim’s father?

18.25. i feel like the rest of the season is going to wrestle with jason’s culpability in the horrible stuff he’s doing and i’m already seeing that prospect divide fans. on one hand, his story is taking a lot of oxygen away from other equally interesting story arcs, and he’s done some truly awful things, like indiscriminate murder, threatening to kill children, blowing up hank, and potentially killing tim’s parents.

there’s something to be said for the kind of hold that crane has over him, and the so-called ‘anti-fear’ drug that he keeps plying jason with--he’s alone, drugged almost constantly (to the level of dependence), fresh from the trauma of being bludgeoned to death. he hasn’t conquered fear; he’s ruled by it. on the other hand, given that he’s the one character on the show given an obvious and identifiable ‘mental illness’ arc (maaaaybe dick too), one can argue that it’s irresponsible to show this progress into such violence: jason was vulnerable because he was struggling, and that left him vulnerable, but it took only a push before he became a fucking serial killer.

but that could mean we underestimate the degree of that vulnerability, and the mechanics of this universe where he fell into the clutches of the one supervillain perfectly designed to exploit that vulnerability. that helpless spiral into further and further self-destruction is all too real. it’s valuable to know that someone who has sunk that low can still seek help--actual help--and get it.

18.5. i don’t know. it’s not a question i’m going to resolve at the end of an overlong recap at 1 in the morning. i don’t believe it’s even a question that titans can resolve. but i am interested in where they’re going next with jason.

19. this episode was genuinely great! i’m pumped for the rest of the season!

#titans #titans spoilers #meta #dick grayson #koriand'r #barbara gordon #garfield logan #conner kent #komand'r #jason todd #jonathan crane #a byronic cupcake #badass strawberry truffle #manic pixie pop tart #a tragic jalebi #this is a 3k+ MONSTER yikes

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