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#dino isn't here because he sucks
miraclewoozi · 4 months
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DRIVE. - l.c
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DRIVE -- or, the night you realise it's actually very hard to stay mad at the guy who shows up at your house, throwing stones at your window on a Thursday night, to try and fix something that was your mistake in the first place.
pairing : chan x fem reader. content : fwb > lovers. angst, smut (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT), fluff. more or less in that order. they’re both dumb as hell. not explicitly put in any detail but this was written with a more 70s vibe in mind so feel free to bear that in mind when thinking of the car/tech/styles etc if u like. w/c : 7.8k warnings : lots of swearing. it’s all a big fuckin misunderstanding because i am a whore for that. weed & alcohol mentioned (neither party is drunk or high at the time of this taking place). mentions of past cheating (neither mc or chan are the cheater). some pov switching because i said so. let me know if i've forgotten anything. proofread exactly once so if there's a typo, no there isn't. SMUT TAGS UTC.  notes : dino. get the fuck off my ass. i’m so serious i am not strong enough to handle the very real feelings i have for you. go away.  notes 2.0 : i listened to halsey’s drive for some inspo for this & took that as the title, so feel free to give it a listen if you want!
SMUT TAGS : dom!chan. car fuckin', making out, hair pulling, grinding/dry humping, fingering, finger sucking, dick riding, marking/scratching, unprotected sex (make good choices), overstimulation, multiple orgasms. praise. chan calls reader ‘baby’ & ‘sweetheart’. he’s a BIG talker during sex (sorry).
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You’re not stupid. You heard his car pull up outside your house almost an hour ago. 
Since then, at random intervals ranging anywhere between thirty seconds and five minutes, there have been clinks of a thrown stone at your bedroom window, a piece of the gravel that lines your driveway. Each time, it makes your jaw tense, makes your fingers tighten in the bedsheets you pulled all the way up to your chin in a foul mood at 8pm. It’s been the same now for almost two weeks — you’ve been getting home from work, showering the day away, eating your dinner and retiring to your room as early as you possibly can. Your roommate tried to find out what was wrong around day three but you very promptly shut her down — she’s since learned that the best she’s getting out of you currently is a dismissive wave of your hand or some kind of a grunt. She joked one evening that it was like she’d adopted a teenager; you scowled so violently that she went to her room. 
Hardly any of your other friends have seen anything of you, either, despite the fact that several have come knocking to check if you’re all right. 
You’re very much not all right, as it happens. This is perhaps the most upset you’ve ever felt, and that’s going quite some way. The angriest, too. It’s worse than when that middle aged woman threw her entire bucket of popcorn at your head when you gave her salty instead of sweet, and you were picking kernels out of your hair for the rest of your six hour shift. It’s worse than when your nasty supervisor ‘forgot’ you were in the bathroom and ended up locking you inside the cinema overnight, because you didn’t have your own set of keys to get out and the people whose numbers you remembered weren’t answering their phones. 
It’s somehow even worse than when a summer crush from a few years ago broke things off by telling you that he already had a girlfriend back home and that you were basically just a means to pass the time and get his dick wet. God, and you thought that was the lowest you could possibly be.
Here you are, though, so far beyond all those things it would be comical, if it didn’t hurt. Chan has really done a number on you, and you’re not sure how you ended up getting so emotionally involved in your situationship with him that this is what you’ve been reduced to. For days now, you’ve been swallowing back tears of frustration (both with yourself and with Chan), rolling around in your bed night on night, unable to get to sleep because all you can think about is him.
Him, and the way he sounded genuinely horrified when his friends asked about the ‘movie girl’, and he laughed, ‘God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen’. It was impressive, how quickly your face fell, in no way aided by the squealing giggles that rang through the house as a very, very drunk girl came running out of the living room and shut herself in the toilet, drowning out a chunk of the conversation you were listening in on. Somehow, it hurt even more when he went on to say ‘besides, there’s… someone else’. 
And when you have managed to drift off after hours of staring at the walls and the ceiling, hearing those words on a loop on your fed up brain? Of course he’s been in your fucking dreams, too.
In your defence, all you were trying to do was use the mirror in the hallway outside the kitchen he and his friends were standing in, readjusting your top to cover the hickey that he had so kindly left on your collarbone just the night before. It wasn’t as though you sought him out to listen in; it was a coincidence. And okay, fine, maybe you should have walked away when the conversation turned to the topic of Chan’s love life. Maybe you should have not crept closer and held your breath to be able to hear them all better. Maybe, even, you should have stayed around long enough to ask what he meant by it then and there instead of hopping in a taxi and going home without saying goodbye to anyone. 
Hindsight really is a beautiful thing.
Never gonna happen. Well, Chan seemed quite happy to ignore the fact that it already had happened. Several times. At least four of those being in the very car currently on the street outside your home. The car he’s used on countless occasions to drive you up to lovers’ lookouts in the dead of night, letting one of his many mixtapes play through the tinny speakers, where he’d kiss you breathless and cradle your face between his palms, as his fingers would delicately explore beneath your clothes, as his broad shoulders would slot between your thighs, as his hips rol–
And maybe you aren’t stupid, but Chan seems determined to prove that he sure as hell is. He came to pick you up from work the day after the party like nothing had happened, and couldn’t figure out why you said you would rather walk home in the rain than get in with him and stormed away without any further explanation. Then, he showed up on your doorstep on the morning of your day off with your favourite coffee and a breakfast bagel, asking if you could talk. He still didn’t realise what he’d done to upset you, so you slammed the door in his face. Finally, just earlier today, he ran after you in the mall, persistent as you’ve ever known him to be, and laid a hand on your shoulder when you didn’t turn around to just the sound of his voice calling your name. 
You pushed him off so hard he almost fell over. 
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” You had barked, shrugging your shoulders to try and realign your jacket. “I don’t want to talk to you. What’s not clicking?”
His face resembled that of a scolded pet when he took a step back and frowned at you. “I just wanted to–”
“I don’t care what you want, Chan,” you spat. “Give it up. I’m done.”
You could see the desperation swimming in his eyes as he scrambled for what to say and your heart felt like it was being weighed down all the way into your stomach. You supposed that was the part of you that was causing all this ache in the first place, and further that it was to blame for your current state of misery. But you steeled yourself and stood your ground nonetheless. He wasn’t going to win you over with puppy eyes and a pout. Not this time.
In his silence, you only then noticed how hard your breaths were coming, each slow and long but still dangerously unsteady. You lowered your voice, top lip curling at him as you muttered, “You’re embarrassed of me enough to lie to your friends? Fine. I don’t give a–… but shit, next time, tell a girl that to her face instead of behind her fucking back.”
It’s been seven hours, and you keep replaying the last thing he said to you as you stormed away (how his voice got quieter when he realised you weren’t turning back; how he sounded so hoarse, so sorry). 
‘I’m sorry if I hurt you - I— I never meant to.’
If. If. If. Were you not making it completely fucking obvious that he had, most definitely, hurt you? Part of your brain is even now starting to go down the route that he’s doing this on purpose, that it’s some twisted sort of damage control, that he hopes maybe if he plays dumb for long enough, you’ll forget what you were mad about or maybe start to second guess what you heard. But if that’s what he thinks, he obviously doesn’t know you very well at all. That’s never going to happen. 
Hell, for someone you were being so careful to keep in the appropriate lane in your head, Chan really has you thinking yourself in circles. You’re sick to your back teeth of him, and his stupid voice and his stupid smile and his stupid –
Clink.
Stupid. Fucking. Stones.
A groan loud enough to definitely catch the attention of your roommate sounds from deep within your chest at this interruption to your spiral and you finally, finally concede. Whatever argument he’s so clearly longing to have at 11 o’clock on a Thursday night? Fine. He can have it. If it means he backs off for good, you’ll give him his one last ruck.
You pull the window open none too gently and lean enough through it that Chan comes into view. He isn’t even looking up, you realise, too busy sifting through the driveway trying to find his next little projectile, and you hiss his name to get his attention. It startles him so much that he drops the indiscernible bundle in his right hand. He blindly scrambles to pick it up, those big, earnest eyes gazing at you as if you’re floating in midair before him.
“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask him, trying not to raise your voice too loud but at the same time, needing to generate enough volume for him to hear. He holds the bundle in both hands, now, and they catch the light of the lamp by your front door. Flowers, you register, squinting to try and make them out, your brows furrowing so much that your forehead hurts. 
Black dahlias.
You choke back a laugh. Ah, the joys of fooling around with the son of a florist. Are they all so damn dramatic? (Or does he just know that they’re your favourites?)
Whichever it is, you tell yourself that’s not going to work. You won’t let it. Through gritted teeth, you say, “go away. I’m serious. I’ll call the cops on you.”
He shakes his head, begging as he steps just a little closer so his face is more visible in the amber light too. “Please–” he hurries, biting his bottom lip. “Please, don’t– just… tell me what I did. I want to make it right. Please.”
He never begs like this. In all the time you’ve known him, you swear Chan has said ‘please’ to you fewer times than you could count on your fingers. Which is by no means a bad thing — that’s just always been the very comfortable nature of your friendship, and later, the -with-benefits tag that you ended up sticking on the end. 
“Why are you doing this?” You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose and fighting not to shiver in the cold nighttime air. Note to self: don’t do a Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the fucking winter without layering up, first. “What does it even matter?”
“What do you mean, what does it matter?” He asks, looking down at the bunch of flowers in his hands, then back at you. “I-... you know I’d never hurt you. Not on purpose. Please, just… if I did something–”
“There’s someone else,” you echo, fed up with his pretending. He’s a fair actor, you’ll give him that – he might even have been able to convince you, if you hadn’t already heard the other half of this tale he’s doing his best to spin in his favour. 
His face screws up, thinking he’s misheard. It’s his turn not to understand now. If you’re telling him you’ve met someone else, he’s got questions, because you’d promised to be open and honest with each other if that ever happened, so that you could call things off and go back to being just friends without it becoming a big deal. That was always supposed to be a calm conversation, not… whatever this is. You talked about it, right at the start. But… those are the words you’re saying, aren’t they? And why would you be mad at him if you were the one whose circumstances had changed? 
“What?” he asks, finally. “What do you mean?”
“God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen. Besides, there’s… someone else!” You raise your voice without really meaning to, before swallowing hard and glancing back inside your room. “You said that, Chan. Don’t piss me off by coming here and pretending like you didn’t.”
Chan starts to look like he’s trying to figure out an algebraic equation in his head while only having half the required information; his eyes fall down to the gravel, his lips move without any sound coming out of them, his features tighten until there are definite lines between his eyebrows. Then, it clicks. The lightbulb moment. He slaps one hand to his face and shakes his head furiously, and you just know he’s going to wake up with an ache in his neck tomorrow because of it.
“Oh fuck,” he curses. “No, no, no, no, no – that’s not–”
“What did I just say?” You spit down at him. “Don’t piss me off–”
“Listen!” He shouts, and you gesture with your hand for him to lower his voice, interrupting his flow of thought and rendering him silent for a moment. “Fuck, please. Come down here and talk to me. That’s not what you think it is.”
You’re in every mind to slam your window shut and leave him out there in the cold. It would work if you got out your headphones to drown out the sounds of him trying to get your attention, which you have absolutely no doubt in your mind that he would do. And maybe then he’d get the hint; maybe then he would understand that you’re not just some pushover who he can just pick up and play with when it suits him. 
But he’s still holding those fucking flowers like they’re a lifeline, still looking up at you without a single lick of anger on his face. Not stress at having been discovered, which you would have expected him to be swimming in right about now. He looks… kind of beside himself, as if nothing could possibly be worse than what you’re threatening to do.
All this, for you? It just doesn’t make sense. 
“Please,” he says again, quieter, weaker. For the first time, you pick up on the hint of a shiver in his voice, and you swallow. Whether you’re gulping back your pride, or your resolve, or the last remnants of your sensibility, you don’t know. 
Does he deserve for you to hear him out? You’re not sure.
But does he deserve to be stuck out in the cold in just his stupid leather jacket and a pair of jeans? 
With regret, you think, no. He doesn’t.
All you give him is a scowl before you disappear from view entirely, pulling the window closed and drawing your curtains again. Faster than you think you ever have before, you throw on a sweatshirt over your pyjamas, grab your keys, and hurry down the stairs as silently as you possibly can. 
He’s stood in exactly the same place when you edge outside and pull the door closed behind you. Up-close, you can see the tiredness on his face: this is a man who has exhausted himself in worry, you think, and yet he still smiles a little when he sees you in full. He still holds the flowers out for you to take. He still purses his lips and blows out a stuttered cloud of air. Nervous, and not in the way you think he ought to be. So when you walk straight past him and don’t take the dahlias out of his hands, instead standing by his car and waiting for him to unlock it for you, you start to feel overwhelmingly guilty. 
Chan is many, many… many things. But he really isn’t this good of a performer, no matter what you’ve been telling yourself all week. For God’s sake, why is it so much easier to be angry at him when he’s not standing right in front you?
You slip into his passenger side as he fumbles to set the flowers down on his backseat again, and he joins you up front just a few moments later. His hands are shaking when he sets the keys into the ignition. His whole body is. When you cast a real look over at him, the tips of his fingers are pale and his lips are lacking their usual rosy, pink hue. Your own teeth are chattering despite only having been truly exposed to the cold air for a matter of seconds; you dread to think how frozen he must be.
“Are we driving?” You ask to break the silence. Since he got into the car and fiddled with the heating settings to try and warm things up a little, he hasn’t said a word. It’s awkward. It’s horrible. You already miss the comfortable way you’ve been able to sit for hours together, barely talking, just watching the lights of the city and the cars travelling through it. 
You already miss him. Which is a strange thought, seeing as he’s only about ten inches away. 
“If– if you want,” he says, stuttering through the frost in his lungs. “We can go—...”
“Drive, Chan,” you say. It’s not just because you want him to stop falling over his words – which, to be fair, you do. Chan has always been very confident, carrying himself with the air of someone who knows exactly their worth. It’s one of the things you treasure about him. So this? Is fucking weird. But a big part of it is that you know his car will heat up faster if it’s in motion, and right now, you think maybe he’s at risk of losing a finger or two if he doesn’t get some circulation back.
He steps on the gas and the car pulls away from your childhood home. It’s the first time you’ve ever been in his car without there being some sort of music playing, whether that’s historically just been the radio or a tape he put together with the help of one of his older friends. (The tapes that always had your first initial on them. The tapes that he never failed to ask your opinions on when he dropped you home – as if he’d compiled them with only you in mind.) The silence feels jarring and you can hear every rumble of the engine, every squeal of the brakes he definitely needs to get serviced. 
But the car does warm through, and you sigh out relief as the bones in your hands move a little easier, as your fingers curl and uncurl to less resistance from your taut muscles. Chan feels it, too; his body relaxes, his breaths stop coming out in fractions, his face gets some colour back. The timing feels a little less awful when you finally say, “go on, then.”
Chan glances over at you as he drives down an unlit street. Only for a second, like he’s checking you’re still there, before his eyes train back on the road. He’s going to one of your favourite spots. It isn’t a lookout – it’s somewhere completely shut off from the rest of town, hidden by the trees near the railway tracks, somewhere you’ve never had to worry about being seen or heard. Maybe he’s anticipating a screaming match. Maybe he’s expecting something else. Maybe, even, he just cares about how much you love it there. 
“I didn’t know you heard that conversation,” he starts, sheepishly. You want to roll your eyes, reach over and thump him, ask if that makes what he said okay, but you don’t. You stay looking out the front windscreen too. Waiting. “I… all right. I was out of my ass drunk.”
You click your tongue, pressing it afterwards against the inside of your cheek, but again, you stay quiet.
“I don’t think you heard what you thought you heard, though,” he goes on to say. “‘Cause– ‘cause it wasn’t…”
But you can only be quiet for so long in the face of this mess. Especially when he’s apparently working towards a doctorate in beating around the fucking bush. “I heard you tell your friends that it was never gonna happen with ‘movie girl’.”
Chan’s face brightens, and you can’t help but wonder what on Earth is wrong with this man. Why does he find that funny? Why is his chest moving like he’s trying not to laugh?
“And you… thought you were movie girl,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Okay – shit. I’m sorry.”
You look at him properly, now, as he indicates to the right and takes the turn that leads him down the lane to your spot. “What are you talking about?”
“I get it,” he says. “You work at the–... but you’re not movie girl. Not that movie girl.”
“Stop talking in riddles before I get out of this car, Chan. It’s too late for this shit.”
He holds a hand up as if to apologise and settles back against the head cushion, suddenly looking far more comfortable than he did thirty seconds ago. He clears his throat, running his tongue over his lips, before sucking in a breath and letting himself go on.
“You’re not movie girl,” he says again, successfully clarifying nothing. “There’s this chick I used to dance with — years back, before… God, when we were in school, like, forever ago. She moved away when we were sixteen.” As he talks, he reaches your destination and sets the car into park, before he unfastens his seatbelt and turns to face you. You do the same, shifting your weight to tuck one leg up beneath you, and with your undivided attention, he goes on. “I ran into her recently. She’s back in town now, I guess. It was like, two weeks—?”
“I’m gonna be all-over grey by the time you finish telling this story,” you interrupt, raising an eyebrow. “Can you please give me the short version?”
“Not if you want it to make sense,” Chan shrugs. Begrudgingly, you let him keep talking. “She said it would be cool to hang out, maybe catch a movie or do lunch or something — and look, I didn’t know she was asking me on a date, I thought she was just being nice, y’know? Trying to be friends, but… you weren’t working that day, it was when you had that… that stomach thing going on? And I brought you the soup my mom made, remember?”
You nod; of course you remember. At the time, you wondered why on Earth this grown man’s mother was making you food — you asked yourself whether he’d told her about you, or if she thought it was for someone else. In the end you decided he must have just been bringing you leftovers. But you’d been too worn out to start asking questions; instead, after you’d eaten, you let yourself fall asleep with your head in his lap as he patted your hair and hummed his favourite songs. You hadn’t let yourself think too deeply about it since. 
“Anyway. We were sat watching the movie and she, uh,” he glances down at his lap, tips of his ears burning pink. “She put her hand, sorta, on my thigh? And then I was like, shit, I didn’t read this right, like… at all. So I moved it off and she took the hint — and after it ended I said to her, you know, I was flattered, right? But I wasn’t interested. And then I went home and got that soup and—… yeah.”
He came straight to see you. To look after you. Hell, you didn’t even fool around that night; in retrospect, it was all uncharacteristically domestic. And slowly, the pieces you’ve spent days struggling to fit together start to fall into place. It makes sense. The only question that remains is do you believe him?
Well, tell a lie. 
There is one more. 
“You said there was someone else,” you add quietly. 
You’ll die before you admit it, but this is secretly the part that was hurting you the most. 
You can’t even look him in the eye, right now; your cheeks are burning with the embarrassment of even caring. As much as you want to tell yourself that the only reason you’re pissed is just because of the dishonesty, you can only stare at yourself in the mirror and point-blank lie so many times. Someone else. You hate it. 
Just the thought of him seeing somebody else, taking them out on dates, smiling at them, laughing with them, kissing them the way he kisses you, touching —
A shiver runs the length of you and you cross your arms, thrusting your sleeve-covered hands under your armpits. 
Chan takes a deep breath in and exhales it slowly, like he’s blowing smoke out of his lungs. “There is,” he admits, nodding slowly, avoiding your eyes, too. “There is someone else.”
“When were you going to tell me?” You ask. 
Chan doesn’t respond straight away. You don’t notice, but eventually his eyes do land back at you; it’s only when he clears his throat to get your attention that you look at him long enough to realise he’s quite deliberately staring. His lips are lifted on the right in a lopsided smile, his eyes soft as he reaches across the seats towards you. You stare blankly down at his hand until he wiggles his fingers, and you think briefly that this is the most fucked up ending to a situationship you’ve ever been through. 
You drop one of your hands down and let him hold it, though, staring at his face as his thumb brushes over your knuckles and you wait for him to finally say it out loud. For him to announce that he’s fallen for somebody and that he can’t see you anymore. To put the nail in the coffin. Don’t tell me their name, you think. I don’t want to know anything about them. Please, just don’t.
“For someone so frustratingly smart, you’re really fucking dumb,” Chan says, finally, swallowing around his words and squeezing your fingers. Whatever stoic expression you had forced onto your face at the start of this conversation dissolves into irritation and you snatch your hand away from him again, letting his own fall and collide with a thunk against the handbrake. 
“Oh, sorry that I didn’t realise you were sneaking around behind my back when that’s the one thing we promised we wouldn’t do,” you snap. “God. The only stupid thing I’ve done here is get involved with you in the f—”
“You’re the someone else.”
Oh. 
Oh.
“I’m—?”
“You.”
The admission hangs heavily between you, as does your nonsense, unfinished insult. Neither of you really know what to do with yourselves except sit perfectly still and try to somehow deal with your increasingly dry throats. When Chan moves, it’s only to turn down the heating dial when his cheeks burn a bit too hot; you appreciate it, in part due to the bead of sweat currently running down your back, but you don’t say so. 
“You could have started with that,” you say weakly, wrestling with all your strength to keep even some of your cards close to your chest. It’s not working though. Your attempt to conceal your elation is a bit like throwing a single leaf on top of a bison and calling it camouflage. 
Chan commits to laughing, finally, your sentiment breaking him too. Now, you do crack that smile, albeit mostly just at the sound that comes from him. It’s bright and airy, lighting his whole face up as he drops all the way back and leans against his car door, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I was trying to build to a moment! It’s not my fault you hit every branch of the anti-romantic tree on your way down.”
“I am not anti-romantic,” you scoff in protest. 
“Yes — you are.”
“Am not!”
“Are too.”
“No, you’re just an idiot.”
“Says she who didn’t realise her fuck-buddy had feelings for about six months, Jesus.”
“Chan—” You start, your voice laced with a playful warning. 
“Here I was thinking I was making it completely obvious,” he rambles on. 
“— oh my God, just shut up and kiss me.”
“Dropping hints left and r—” … “Huh?”
He stops short a fraction of a second after you finish, stumped and silent, frozen with everything but a little buffering symbol above his forehead. Kiss me, you said. Chan, […] just shut up and kiss me. All right, you’ve asked him to do that before, but not like this. Not as if you’ll wither away should you not get a taste of his lips this instant. It takes him some time to process it, but he does move in first, eventually. The way he always does, closing the distance between you like he’s been shot out of a cannon, one hand either side of your face, crashing feverishly against your mouth. 
Every now and again, he’ll be happy to let you take charge and set the pace: mostly just if he’s feeling lazy or especially generous. Tonight isn’t one of those times, however. He holds you and kisses you possessively, like you’re his, like this is how he finally gets to lay claim on you, licking between your gasp-parted lips after he moans straight into your mouth. He’s spearmint sweet, edged with that one cherry flavoured chapstick he stockpiles as he grins up against you, rolling his body fluidly with every separation for air, every changing angle. 
He pulls your sweatshirt up over your head and throws it down into the footwell on the passenger side, straight away hurrying to kiss you hungrily again, hands cupping your neck. His tongue is in your mouth once more, there’s no way you could possibly differentiate your breaths from his: you’re one, in every way you can be with your clothes still on, but it’s not enough. 
“Want you,” you whimper as he nips at your bottom lip and pleasure rushes through you from head to toe. 
“You’ve got me,” he groans with his eyes still closed. “I’m all yours.” 
“No,” you insist, whimpering when his cute little nose drags across your cheek until he’s pressing hot kisses to your jawline. “I— fuck—”  He suckles on the sweet spot below your ear and your spine tingles, head tilting to give him better access. “Chan, I want you.”
Chan settles back from you, his usually bright, sparkling eyes now darkened with desire. All he gives you is a singular glance sideways, but you know exactly what he’s suggesting. You nod, breathing deep, biting the inside of your cheek; he turns off the headlights and it’s all systems go. 
There’s a rush to scramble into the back of the car. Chan takes the keys out the ignition and climbs through the gap in the seats; you opt for the less hazardous approach of getting out of the vehicle entirely and re-entering it instead. Not that it bothers him — no sooner is the door closed behind you, Chan’s hands are on your hips and he pulls you on top of him, your leg knocking the dahlias off the leather and onto the floor in the process. You gasp and glance down but he averts your attention with two fingers under your chin, guiding you to look back at him. 
“What? You think this is the last time I’ll bring you flowers?” He asks, capturing your lips as he leans up to you; at the same time, his hands drop low and he starts to slide open the buttons down the front of your pyjama shirt. “Baby, m’gonna get you so many more.” 
You sigh at the affectionate name, at the change in its use; until now, Chan has only called you baby while he’s buried inside you, bruising you inside and out with sharp thrusts and rough-gripping fingers. But as much as you can feel him growing hard against the inside of your thigh while you try to get comfortable, one knee planted either side of his hips, you can’t help but feel as if this time, it means something different. 
(He’s had feelings for six months: it always meant what it does, now. You know that, deep down.)
Somewhere in amongst the never-ending sloppy kisses and constantly travelling hands, you manage to strip both his jacket and T-shirt off him and you’re pressed bare-chest-to-bare-chest with Chan, feeling every little hitch of his breath in his lungs, every thump of his heartbeat, every tiny increase in the temperature of his skin. Your desperate search for friction between your legs has you rolling your hips down against his hard-on, drawing grunts and making him squeeze at your tits when you rock against him the right way. His head eventually drops to your chest and he replaces one hand with his mouth, freeing his fingers to slide down the front of your pyjama bottoms. 
It’s honestly rarer for Chan to get straight to the point than it is for him to tease you a little first, so when he flattens his palm against you and brushes his fingertips over your already aching clit, you let out a squeak of surprise. He shivers, releasing your nipple from between his teeth for a moment; once he’s collected a little more arousal to ease the friction, he continues to rub at the bud, slowly building the pressure inside you.
“No panties?” He asks, struggle clear in the roughness of his voice. 
“I was in bed,” you gasp, eyes rolling back. It’s for the best that it happens out of pleasure, really, because you’re not sure you’d be able to stop yourself rolling them in exasperation at his remark otherwise. You shuffle a little, lifting yourself up on your knees more, breath hitching when he uses the newly granted space to dip his hand lower and press a finger against your hole. “Please, Chan — this can’t be comfy— just…”
“S’fine” he argues, shaking his head, despite the fact that the angle of his wrist is actually kind of painful, right now. The truth is that he can’t bring himself to care: not when he can smell your fabric softener on the shirt still hanging off your shoulders, the shampoo in your freshly washed hair, all so pretty mixed with the damp scent of your desire. Not when you clench around him as he slides his finger in and out of your cunt. Not when he could get you to soak all the way through these pretty satin pants. 
Your arms snake around his neck as he dips a second finger inside you to join the first. The way your thighs tighten around his hips could — should — be embarrassing, the fact his sturdy lap holds you open enough for your pussy to be toyed with even more so. You almost always do this too music, too — for what might be the first time ever, you can hear every single wet sound your body makes, every hitch of your own breath, every grunt he gives even though he’s not the one being pleasured. 
You don’t even realise how you’re rocking up and down against his hand until Chan licks from the base of your neck to your jaw, smirking over your pulse point and says, “gonna ride my cock this good too, baby?”
And if it was anyone else talking to you like this, you would be embarrassed. Mortified, at being so needy you’re here doing all the work for him. At the cry you give as he splits and scissors his fingers to stretch you out. But instead? You feel another rush of arousal drool out of you as you press your nails into his shoulders and nod, bouncing harder and watching how his bicep tenses up solid with the effort of keeping his arm steady for you to use. 
“Wanna,” you gasp. “Want it so bad, Chan—”
Despite your pleas for this to move further, when his hand pulls back out of the elastic of your waistband, you feel like you could throttle him. The urge ebbs away when his soaked fingers press to your lips and he quirks an eyebrow at you, though — you end up suckling them clean, licking up every trace of your own slick. You lock eyes with him as you do, slumping on your thighs so your drenched core sits right over his tweaking length, the seam of your pants giving just enough friction to your clit for it to feel good as you grind down on him again. 
“Get those off,” he instructs, trying to sound hard and dominant. Which would work, perhaps, if his voice didn’t crack in the middle of the sentence. “Now.”
Even though you’re overcome with a need to tease him, the desire you have to be split open on his length outweighs it, so you do as you’re told and hold it in for later. It’s not easy, but you manage to manipulate yourself in his lap to work the satin down your thighs and past your knees. He helps you tug them the rest of the way past your ankles and feet, shoves them onto the floor — Chan’s hands settle back on your hips and yours skim down his stomach at the same time, fingers grazing over the little hairs that trail from his bellybutton down into his jeans. 
“Can I?” You ask, playing already with his belt buckle. 
He hums assent and you slip it all the way open, tugging as he moves his hips underneath you so you can pull it free from the loops. Between you, you manage to get his jeans unfastened, to pull both them and his boxer shorts down over his ass and to his knees; finally, fucking finally, his cock sits pretty and leaking and free between your stomach and his. It’s getting cold in the car now the heating isn’t on, but you’re already burning up in anticipation for him to ruin you; the way his abs ripple as he takes his shaft into his hand and strokes himself a couple of times to prepare tells you he’s in the same boat. 
It’s like clockwork, from here. You shift into position as easily as you settle into bed after a long day. Chan rubs his tip through your folds, feels the warmth of you and hisses through his teeth with fluttering eyes. Just like always. This never changes. He can’t ever get enough of that first feeling of his cock against your pussy: it’s like the first hit of a blunt, like the first sip of a cold beer, the first full-body stretch early in the morning. He’s sure it’s what arriving at the gates of heaven must feel like. 
You sink down onto him slowly, fluttering around his tip and stilling to give you both a moment to get used to the feeling. He’s thick inside you. Thicker than his pretty, dainty fingers have ever been able to stretch you enough for. Even as wet as you are, you still need to suck a deep breath into your lungs before you can relax your hips further and let your heat swallow him all the way to his base. 
Chan’s head is tipped back in pleasure, he’s biting his lip at the sting of your nails pressing hard into the back of his neck. He loves it, though — loves how the pain shoots in waves down his spine, how it tingles in his brain, how he knows you need to anchor yourself this way or you’ll lose control. He kneads at your ass as you sit against his thighs, listening to you whimpering at how deep he is inside you.
“So fucking tight around me still,” Chan groans, focusing all his willpower into keeping his hips down on the leather beneath him. “Shit, baby — you feel so good…” His neck softens and his head drops forward again as you start to move, rising and falling over and over. He kisses your throat and down to your collarbones while you work up to a rhythm, sliding his palms up your back, hugging you close to him. 
He isn’t even the one putting in the hard work, but within minutes of this, his soft, fluffy hair clings to his forehead. A light sheen of sweat makes him radiant under the moonlight breaking through the trees. He’s breathing heavily, the top of his toned chest painted a soft pink — you don’t think he could possibly look prettier. Not until he cups your jaw with his hands and you look upwards: you land on his smiling face, those plush, swollen lips, his devilish but sweetly glittering eyes. The sight of him, looking at you like you’re some kind of Goddess, makes your pussy tighten and your tiring hips stutter. You slip your pyjama top all the way off your arms and curl your fingers into his hair, meeting him in an open-mouthed kiss, through which you’re both just beaming. 
You’ve never kissed him this much. When it all started out, you sort of had a rule against it, but now? Neither of you can stop. As he starts to fuck up into you, taking the reins and letting your burning thighs rest, he keeps your face steady with his hands and freely allows his lips to slide against yours. It’s not refined. It can’t be. Not with how hard and fast his movements quickly become, not with the onslaught of curses and moans and babbled praise coming from the both of you. One particularly sharp thrust makes you yelp out a squeak of his name and he just swallows it down, making a point to keep aiming for— and hitting— that same spot inside you. You’re a mess. 
He could do this all night. When your orgasm bubbles inside you and he starts pinching at one of your nipples, sending you over the edge, he’s nowhere near finished. Even though your cunt massages at his length, throbbing and pulsing through your climax; even though your voice is so high by now that only dogs can hear you; even though you nearly collapse on top of him with almost all your weight in his lap, and he has to work twice as hard to keep this going, he barely slows. He definitely doesn’t stop. 
“You can gimme one more, right sweetheart?” He asks, grunting into your neck. “Always feels so fucking good when you come.” You choke up an ‘mhm’, to which he responds by slipping a hand between your bodies and down to where you’re connected. His thumb presses against your clit again — not moving, just applying enough pressure to make you stutter when you say his name. 
Your thighs are still twitching when you try to lift yourself a little, try to meet his movements as he chases his orgasm too. The “problem” with Chan is that his stamina is otherworldly. You couldn’t keep up if you wanted to. 
“Relax,” he says, tensing his jaw, doing the opposite himself. “Fuck — lie down.”
It’s pretty cramped and hard to move, but you lift yourself off him and only slightly lament at the sudden emptiness between your legs. There isn’t time to get too upset, however: moments after you get comfortable on your back, Chan shoves his jeans the rest of the way down and stands with one knee planted on the seats, lifting one of your ankles up to rest it on his shoulder. He slips back inside you easily then, gripping around your calf to keep you both steady. From the word go, his pace is relentless. You scrabble around for something to hold onto but the entire car seems to melt away; you ball your hands into fists at your sides instead, your eyes squeezed tightly shut. 
“Mm-mm. Look at me,” Chan hums, tightening his grip on your leg. “Wanna see those pretty eyes.” 
You obey, opening your lids to look up at him while he pounds into you hard enough to make the car shake. Over, and over, and over, and over. Rougher. Faster. For how long? Who even knows. All you’re truly aware of is how good it feels. How the windows grow foggy with the  steam of your laboured breaths. How his sweat mingles with your own. 
When his fingers on the other hand get reacquainted with your clit, when he bites down on his bottom lip, when his thrusts start to get messier and more erratic and the veins in his arms start to bulge out, you know he’s getting close. He doesn’t need to tell you out loud. The smirk he wears speaks for itself. 
“Where d’you want it, baby?” He asks you, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle. 
“In— mmh, in-…side me—” you stammer, hips jolting as you near your second orgasm to match his first. “Please, Chan — want it all…”
“Yeah?” 
“Yeah—”
Well, he must’ve been holding himself back something spectacular, because a few thrusts later you watch all of his muscles contract as he tips over the edge, and you go hurtling with him. It’s all so much. All your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire and your vision starts to blur at the edges; it’s not long before you have to close your eyes to shut one of your overworked senses out, completely. Your muscles are sore. Your throat hurts. Even your lungs ache. 
God, he hasn’t gone that hard in so long, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can barely speak — it’s going to take you a week to recover from this, minimum. 
He stills deep inside you, feeling his cock throb with the last pumps of his release. Your leg slips off his shoulder and your foot lands down with a thud onto the car’s (thankfully clean) floor; he bends forward to kiss you, still breathing heavily against your lips. You’ve come over completely boneless and reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair again feels like running a marathon at sprint pace. You’d fall asleep right here, right now, if you could, but with sweat cooling rapidly against your skin, you know that’s probably not up there as one of your finest ideas. 
“You really think getting involved with me was stupid?” Chan asks, nudging your nose with the tip of his own. He’s never been less serious than this in his entire life, which stops you feeling too bad when you lightly slap at his rock solid chest and try to push him off you.
“Yes,” you lie, attempting to reach to the ground for your pyjama shirt while he grips your chin and attacks you with tiny little pecks all over your face. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
(Chan chuckles to himself and thinks that he’s quite happy to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, really. He can stay that way, as long as you promise never to stop.)
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thank you so much for reading. i hope you enjoyed it - likes, feedback, comments, reblogs are all so appreciated.<3
823 notes · View notes
streaminn · 10 months
Note
damn i was so happy to see wenclair wedding and then got sucker punched in the gut when i read the 
"She's not getting married to Enid.
We all know that."
BUT it's okay because like enid, i too can just imagine that enids the one wednesday is walking to instead 🥲
also, a few questions: what's the pettiest reason leo's done something to a classmate? how does the whole "bringer of the destruction of the world" thing play out for belle when she grows older? do either of them have werewolf/grimwolf traits from enid?
as for prompts... the demon siblings together as teens? or leo gossiping to wednesday? or the little family together on one of the designated family bonding days? or maybe enid at the altar with a hand gripped dangerously close to her twins neck and a whispered congratulations? (arlgqkdjspqumf wasn't sure if you wanted writing or art prompts so just do as you like with them lol)
-🦕
Mb dino, the song just came off like that I swear I have no choice
Also not us all being delusional and imagining it's Enid that Wednesday is walking too 😅
Pettiest thing leo has done? Mfka nearly broke a dude's arm for taking the cafeteria's last cake. It wasn't until Belle had to step in that he had to begrudgingly understand that harming lesser beings without proper reason is wrong
Also for belle's edgy ass title, she cringes
Like alot.
Its like looking back at an old child username
Leo actually has alot of werewolf traits, not alot of physical grimwolf signs but he is alot more aggressive. It isn't until he suddenly shifts when he's fifteen that the fam realize he's a werewolf, no wonder he sucks a Lil at making complicated magic he's just like his daddy
And here is the art prompt that came into mind, I got too lazy in drawing another character so I hope this is alright
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38 notes · View notes
wh6res · 3 years
Text
spectator | jeno
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"don't cry, little dove. i'm not even done yet." — ljn
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TW mafia au, blood, violence, mentions of prostitution and brothels, mentions of past torture, extreme power imbalance, dumbification, they used a tranquilizer
A/N first half is told in renjun's pov also this is for dino anon hehe thank u for the inspo babes!!
DISC i don't condone anything. this isn't love.
WC 1.4k
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renjun was fairly new to the mafia but it didn't take him long to realize the outrageous things they considered are the norms here. one of the first things he noticed is a cute little bunny dressed in scraps that always seemed to tail jeno wherever he went. jeno was his superior, albeit they were the same age, so it sucked that renjun had to use honorifics.
oftentimes he ignores you when jeno stands before him giving orders, or when they pass by each other in the hallways and stop to exchange pleasantries.
as renjun quickly climbed the ranks thanks to his agility and cunning mind, you, unfortunately, remained in the same position—always sitting by jeno's feet like a puppy, a body, a plaything, a whore. there were rumors that the boss gave his executives a chance to pick from the litters before they're shipped off to brothels, kind of like peace offerings in exchange for their compliance.
people said the stoic, muscular young man never really indulged himself in such temporary matters. until probably two years ago, until jeno first laid his eyes on you and decided then and there you were too pretty to become a random whore in the chain of brothels the mafia owned. the petite boy believes maybe it's a disguised blessing on your part, at least you'd only have to deal with one man every night, right?
renjun can only look at you from afar, keeping in mind not to stare too openly nor too intrusively that your owner notices. he's seen the bruises. the purple and black patches of your skin and renjun never gets used to it. his stomach turning at the idea of jeno deliberately marking your skin where the oversized shirt you wear won't be able to cover. the chinese immigrant would be stupid not to notice what that meant—it's jeno's clear sign of dominance, of the severe power imbalance, and not a single man in this building can stop him from doing whatever he wants to you.
renjun managed to piece things together thanks to his naturally observant nature. jeno never punished you for what you did, he punished you because he knows he can't touch his subordinates for something measly such as bumping or staring at his whore. the young mafia executive decides to take it out on you instead, albeit the flawed logic and unfairness of it all—proof that every person in this criminal organization is fucked up in the head.
despite jeno's maltreatment, renjun never heard a single complaint from you nor can he detect a feeling of rebellion out of you. you were so eerily compliant that the chinese can't help but think of what other horrible means jeno did for you to become so broken. renjun tried thinking about it, once, but never again. he can be cruel if he wants to be, but not without purpose. not because he gets a kick out of seeing a face twisted in terror. he wasn't like jeno, who smiled and laghed after blowing someone's brain up in the mafia's torture rooms.
this is why jeno is the only man fit for the job, the reason he became an executive at such a young age—there's no man he can't break for information. renjun doesn't know what jeno does to the poor people in the torture rooms but the piercing screams are enough to decide never to go against his superior.
renjun never thought he'll live the day to hear your screams coming from one of those rooms.
"what?" he does a double-take, eyes wide and unbelieving. "what do you mean she's in there? that's her, right now?"
haechan shrugs, wincing when he hears another scream coming from inside the room. he'll never know why these rooms aren't soundproof, maybe it was a way for jeno to keep his subordinates in line—"hear that? just be grateful that's not you."—you wouldn't want to cross a man who has no moral compass. "yeah. i heard she tried to escape."
renjun doesn't like the cool, amused smirk on haechan's face as he leaned back against the door, looking like everything is okay when it's not. "heard she got like… what, ten feet? give or take—yeah, i think ten feet out the door before jaemin's men tranqed her so much she would have slept for a week."
it was easy for renjun to detach himself, disregard his own set of beliefs and sweep them all under the pretense of "it's just work, nothing personal" but with you, it felt different. he knows you. well, knows of you. it's different, personal even, when he can match a face to those gruesome, ear-shattering screams that wracked through his bones.
he wanted to help you.
renjun wanted to help you.
but no, he didn't want to get shot in the head for insubordination.
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jeno manually props you against the wall, cringing at the trail of blood that stains the tiles and pools underneath you. your shirt—rather, jeno's—was soaked through with the crimson liquid, your hair sticking to the side of your head. it feels like you were burning from the inside with every breath you take.
maybe months, years, of compliance made you forgetful. after all, jeno is a man of his word, through and through. he can only threaten you so much until he snaps. maybe he deemed the swift punishments and his harsh words insufficient. but who were you kidding? with the stunt you pulled… fuck, why did you even think of making a run for it? you should've known you won't even make it across the street! stupid. stupid. stupid.
you swore never to make him angry enough to bring you back down here in the torture chambers—this is his domain, and you shivered in fear with every fleeting thought you have about what he does behind those cement walls.
the first time jeno took you down here had been granted by the boss himself (see, the man running the mafia has favorites). jeno's men held you by the arms and made you watch as he killed a poor guy with his bare hands. slowly, excruciatingly, bleeding out because of the wounds jeno inflicted with his fists alone.
the second time was because of your first escape attempt. ah, you had been so energetic back then. always talking back, snarling and cursing him out. after that second time, you've become more compliant and have thoroughly embodied whatever sick fantasy jeno had of you. his broken doll, unseeing, unthinking, who breathes and lives only because he wanted her to.
you've heard him countless times say how much he missed that energetic personality you had. but only because you knew at least then he'd think the cruel punishments are justified.
oftentimes, he'll say it when you two are alone, in his room at headquarters, too disgustingly intimate like lovers and not a whore and her owner. his cold lips leavees a sweet trail on your neck, blood-stained hands soiling your skin underneath the dirty shirt, before finally slotting himself next to you as the cot creaks with the extra weight. he reeked of sweat and metallic and his eyes hazy from that post-bloodlust high.
jeno's boots squelch when he steps closer. never crouching, he wanted you to feel that severe power imbalance between the two of you.
"i won't ask you to apologize. not when i know you don't mean it."
you don't bother to reply. not because you don't want to but because you can't, voice utterly hoarse and scratchy from screaming while jeno breaks and tears you down as if he doesn't whisper the words i love you at night. you're his lover only when he needs you to be. sad, that he rarely felt the need of a lover and more so needed a cunny to fuck.
finally, he crouches. slow and never breaking eye contact. he raises a hand to push a strand of hair away from your face probably. you flinch. he doesn't care. "jeno, please don't touch me." but he touches you anyway.
you feel the callouses in his palms as he caresses your face. the calm before the storm. the deep inhale before the plunge. jeno grabs your chin and tilts your head up, a serene smile ghosting his lips. he looked at peace. satisfied. and you have never been more scared of him than you ever did in the last four years.
"don't cry, little dove. i'm not even done yet."
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jenoluck (c) all rights reserved
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294 notes · View notes
luminisvii · 3 years
Text
RATING! ALL! THE CHAR CLONES!
i love char and gundam loves him too so because i am BORED i'm gonna rate all characters that the wiki tells me qualifies as a char clone!
many of these men will be rated on aesthetics and their wiki blurb alone since i have not watched all gundams
i tried to include pics but it SAID i can only use ten. WHAT? how am i supposed to rate how sexy they are?
Char Aznable
the man. the myth. the legend. i love him so much. hes super fucking hot bc of how bad he is. like an absolute madlad he goes around destroying the zabis and giving amuro hell. hes so good that despite being on team evil he regularly tops popularity polls and is widely regarded as being super attractive. im asexual but i agree. char is supreme. he and his red mobile suits cannot be topped. 20/10
Quattro Bajeena
now, char might be evil, but this guy is totally a stand up dude who is definitely not char. and the hyaku shiki? top tier. also very sexy. maybe char should take a lesson or two from this lovely man. 18/10 could not possibly be char himself
Glemy Toto
i have not watched ZZ. this dude upholds the tradition of stupid ass names in gundam. he just kinda look like hes a good person, though, which would be nice, but i prefer the evil men here. 6/10 love the idiotic name
Afranche Char
apparently a literal char clone. don't give a fuck. 1/10
Carozzo Ronah/Iron Mask
this guy really takes the mask thing seriously. i have also not watched F91. i love the just robot lookin mask and the purple color scheme. 8/10
Anavel Gato
this guy is kind of a chump. i get the feeling i'm supposed to find gato very cool, but all i could see was a total loser pushover as long as it was in the name of zeon. although to be fair, he was basically one of the most enjoyable characters in the mess that is stardust memory. 7/10 too much of a zeon apologist
Chronicle Asher
i called gato a chump but this guy looks like a tool. hes got the mask! i know nothing about victory gundam but this guy looks like, okay. 5/10
Schwarz Bruder
im ignoring the other guy listed with him on the wiki bc Herr Bruder is in fact, awesome. he isn't on team evil like some others, but he doesn't need to be. hes a JESTER NINJA. what's not to love? somehow, despite me thinking i knew the twist that was coming, he was still full of surprises. you cannot possibly predict the actual twist here. he really teaches domon how to get shit done. 15/10 absolutely sublime take on the trope
Zechs Marquise
not only is he voiced by takehito koyasu, but he chars so hard he chars three times as fast! we LOVE his dedication to being a char clone. i will never forget how treize challenged him to a fair fight and he was just like nah lmao. you go you stinky man! 10/10 for char-ing hard
Lancerow Dawell and Jamil Neate
i am fascinated by after war X and i'll watch it one day. it seems like the wiki is confused about these two and is going with very surface level details for these two being char clones. however i'll rate them both higher bc i think mr. neate's sideburns and glasses are just top tier character design. 9/10
Harry Ord
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10/10
Rau le Creuset
i think i saw him in the like three episodes of SEED i watched. he definitely looks the part. seems kinda lame though. 6/10
Athrun Zala
this kid is hilarious, and also the most likable character i met in SEED, and he even has a quattro phase as he goes by alex dino! we'll give him points for effort. 9/10 you tried
Neo Roanoke
definitely not mu la flaga. hes also voiced by takehito koyasu. his mask looks kinda dumb, but i think the long hair look upgrades my man mu. takehito koyasu makes everything sexier. 8/10 bc i also simp for dio brando
Rey Za Burrel
how many char clones does the SEEDverse have? i do appreciate rey's early 2000s brooding anime boy look, though. 5/10
Gilbert Durandal
WHY ARE THERE SO MANY SEED CHARS!!! this guy doesn't even look like a char clone, but he has the same voice actor and also apparently tries to drop shit on earth. we stan a king, honestly. 6/10 being in SEED deducts points
Hal Vizardt and Vladi Zarth
the wiki wont even give me a picture of these guys. 2/10 they get a point each
Ali Al-Saachez
i hate this guy. he sucks. normally i would find such endless villainy entertaining, but ali simply cannot work it in a way that's fun to watch or even in a way where you're like 'he's got a point.' he just sucks and i wish he could have been funny. we already have a char clone in graham anyway, so why are you here? bitch. 0/10 i was waiting for him to die
Graham Aker
he has all the tropes of being a char clone, and i loved him at first bc of his flair for drama and poetry, but alas! he got more and more sidelined for a different motherfucker. it's okay graham, i still love you! your mr. bushido phase was hilarious! 9/10 you deserved so much more
Full Frontal
hes getting points for the hilarious name but thats it. he is otherwise very boring. you cannot make me love a man just bc he is a literal char clone. 3/10
Zeheart Galette
AGE is also on my "deeply fascinated" list. eventually, eventually. i kinda dig this one's look. 7/10
Tatsuya Yuuki
initially, i hated yuuki bc i thought he was beating on middle schoolers for fun, but then i learned the dude is so goddamn passionate about gundam that he HAS to share it with others and honestly? king shit. while he's technically a char clone, i think he's actually a graham aker clone. the dude stans 00. an admirable position to be in. i love yuuki so much and hes my favorite build fighters character. 15/10 i will always respect the meijin
Captain Mask
the name is hilarious. hes got a cool mask too. i'll maybe watch recon one day bc of how ridiculous the reputation is. 8/10
Lady Kawaguchi
the rare female one, and proves that the kawaguchi name requires you to be extra as fuck. compared to yuuki's raw passion, she's cool and knows it, and doesn't need to flex. sadly doesn't get to do a lot. 10/10
McGillis Fareed
MCGILLIS MY BELOVED!!!! perhaps the only char clone that matters. this dude brings back the classic level of backstabbing, the supreme attractiveness, and in general, being an awful person. but i can't help but feel for the guy. he was trying his goddamn hardest to overturn a fucked up system. he also simply could not fathom having friends. mcgillis might only do the mask thing for a little and also wears a wig (McWiggis) but i forgive him, because the moves he does in bael are truly sexy. i adore mcgillis i have to rate him high but he cannot overtake the classic. 19/10 would let him betray me
Kyoya Kujo
even the wiki doesn't seem confident in this one. i like his look though. hes kinda got some gentle eyes, so i will assume he's the more quattro flavor of things. 6/10
Masaki Shido
BRUHHHH HE LOOKS LIKE A KNIGHT. 10/10
Honorable Mentions:
Master Asia
i didn't think he truly qualified as a char clone. he hits the villain thing and technically has some ideals aligned with char ? but he's a little too different. lacks majority of the archetype tropes. i still love him though 9/10
Vidar
hes got a mask and wants revenge. definitely not gaelio. the problem is, we already have mcgillis in IBO. i just don't register gaelio as being a char clone, because mcgillis is out here being the worst. gaelio is a wonderful character in his own right for all the opposite reasons that mcgillis is fantastic for being the worst. 10/10 i want nothing but the best for him
Ulube Ishikawa
just bc he has a mask covering half his face and is evil doesn't mean he's a char clone, wiki! and how dare you take away from schwarz just to be like "well ulube has a mask" WE HAVE ONE ALREADY!!! i also hate ulube. he is not a particularly charismatic character, but he isn't supposed to be. 2/10
and thus is my arbitrary ranking of the char clones. some people think char clones are bad. i for one, love them! i hope future entries have more masked men.
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imagine-fight-write · 3 years
Text
BANANA FISH REVIEW - Part 7, Vol. 1
Edit: Reposting because I posted this without pictures????
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I blame my internet.
Welcome to my in-depth gushing review of Banana Fish! If you want Part 1, See here:
https://imagine-fight-write.tumblr.com/post/626474762734092288/random-banana-fish-review-vol-1-part-1
Also I apologize. I thought I was going to post this last weekend but work happened. And then I was *kidnapped
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*Not actually kidnapped, that was a joke. (Maybe I shouldn't use that as a joke.) I was just helping family members.
to help load up junk and take it home & then unload it. By the time I was done I was so exhausted & dirty, I seriously didn't want to do anything else for the little rest of the day that was left.
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Supposedly it was expensive junk, but it looked old & rusted to me. Idk.
And then I got a really bad sinus infection (had to go to the doc & everything) & work has basically eaten up all my time.
And I'm bound & determined to finish writing a novel this year!
But that doesn't matter, because
I am so excited everyone!
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Today we meet Eiji & Ibe!
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#Eiji has the best fashion sense. Look at that jacket.
#I want it
There's also not a lot of singular gifs of him. Disappointment!
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And there's almost no gifs of Ibe! This is probably the best one.
#I am mad Ibe is a great character!
And maybe we'll meet Max too, depending on how far I get.
Here is my favorite gif of Max. I have no idea what's going on, but I am intrigued! Also, Ash in the nurse's outfit makes me laugh every time.
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Max & Ibe are the best partners in crime / not dad's to Ash & Eiji. I love them so much. They are just the best.
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#LOL, no. I'm going to guess Ash has to save them. They try so hard but Ash is a femme fatale Rambo with all the enemies.
#actually mostly just Dino, who is the worst
*Ash & Eiji are the best too, but they obviously get more love & attention being, you know, the main characters. So I just want to point out how amazing Max & Ibe are.
Also, I'm not sure if Ibe has kids of his own (?), but we the readers know Max does. But it doesn't matter. They are the best dads.
Slight recap: Um . . .
Ash & Mr. Merridth (the no longer a doctor guy) have a hilarious, sick burns conversation, Dino is the murdering worst #like always (and is carving a wooden duck) # I have an entire post, & the autopsy Black guy, Gordon, at the end is hillarious.
Also, maybe I mentioned Ash laying down the law with his gang & showing how great a shot he is. Which is important & will come up later. Multiple times.
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Now on to Part 7! (The lucky number.)
So, top of pg.72, the detectives, cops, inspectors, ???
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er, whatever they are ---
#i pay attention so well
are talking. The Chief mentions Jerry Watts, that politician guy waayyy back in the 1st part, who murdered his bodyguard & then slashed his own throat. Whose death will be called a suicide (even though it clearly isn't.)
The Chief also mentions the "guests coming from Japan".
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#this is one of the 1st gifs to pop up when I typed in "japan".
#imagine if everyone in this story was a lady or a girl, but otherwise be the same person - how would the story change? stay the same?
#Dino as a lady mob boss - go!
#I wrote that story
Anyway.
Charlie will go pick them up. He's also going to see Lobo. Max Lobo.
Max was sparingly mentioned way back on pg. 23, where Charlie mentions Max wrote a letter & can't come to see their Japanese guests Max invited because reasons (it's hilarious).
I'll correct myself later if I'm wrong, but Max is a work associate to Charlie & co. I think???
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They might also just be friends, but I'm not sure.
#friends for the win
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Also, am I the only one who thinks it's weird that Charlie refers to him by his last name? Just me? I mean, Max Lobo is a cool name, but still.
Anyway, we learn Max's life is sucking at the moment, since he's currently going through a divorce & custody battle for their kid.
In the 80s. Ouch.
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And finally, we have a wonderful joke at the bottom of the page.
Inspector Bronson, to Charlie, "Isn't it about time you settled down? How about that girl in the bodega? I think she's got a thing for you."
Charlie, "Inspector, that's a man."
*Bodega is a small, street corner convince store, by the way. I had to look that up.
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#it's not probably not this gif, but I don't care it's cozy
Bodega also a beautiful sounding word.
#though I'm probably pronouncing it wrong in my head
And on pg. 173 we meet Ibe & Eiji!!!!
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I loved how the translation conveyed they were speaking Japanese by a string of untranslated Japanese kanji (??? I think?) followed by a carrot symbol < > when they speak, as opposed to a regular dialogue bubble when they speak English.
And (later) Ibe's nervousness is indicated not only in his expression, actions, & sweat beads but also how he meshes Japanese and English together. I love it.
There's a great dialog exchange:
Eiji, "Look at all the tourists."
Ibe, "Well, I guess we're two more."
Charlie appears (his face, top of pg 74, is kinda scary).
To his question, Ibe verifies he's Ibe, while thinking "Am I being mugged?" while Eiji wonders, "Is everyone blonde here?" which is hilarious.
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We discover Eiji understands English really well (and probably better than Ibe) before Ibe asks the $10000 question:
"Where's Mr. Lobo?"
And Charlie's like, uh, well, Max is in jail.
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Which is hilarious to me. For some reason.
#and guess why he's in prison?
Also Ibe & Eiji's reactions are priceless & exactly what mine would be if I went to an entirely different country, only to discover my contact was in jail.
We then cut to Charlie visiting Max in jail.
#because what are chapters
#no seriously, Banana Fish doesn't have chapters
Max seems to be doing alright. Considering what happens later, I speculate it's either
A) Bravado
B) True, because he has contacts & such, or
C) He's also a Vietnam vet, & if Rambo taught me anything, it's that you don't mess with them / mess with them to your peril.
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Max has such great lines. In response to learning Inspector Jenkins having diabetes, he goes,
"Still, he's an inspiration to us all. Only man to drink the station's coffee black and live."
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He also gives this wisdom to Charlie,
"Don't ever get married, Charlie. And if you ever do get married, for God's sake, don't get divorced."
We learn Charlie's in the can because he punched a cop. And he's talking to a cop, who he's clearly friends with. I love how Banana Fish always pokes at both sides of an issue.
Anyway, Max gets down to brass tacks. He's got an article for Charlie to read, by an Army Intelligence officer, Steven Johnson.
#guess who he is
He mentions banana fish & Charlie asks about it. I love the contrast between Charlie asking about it in the middle panel of pg. 78, contrasted with Max silhouetted in all black and grim. Max quotes the article,
"It remains unclear whether banana fish signified an individual person or an organization, but in either case it is believed to refer to those involved with a particular narcotics route active throughout the Mekong Delta region."
And it gets better. Because Charlie asks why Max is interested in all this. Max reveals he was in the same unit as Griffin.
Ash's brother. Who went crazy & killed everyone except Max & the sergeant.
And Max reveals Griffin said something to him after he finished shooting.
"I saw banana fish."
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Duh duh duh!
#what is it??????
So naturally Max is curious about this "banana fish" mentioned in the article. Steven Johnson says he's going to start investigating it based on a lead he found in Los Angeles he found this year & once he gets out of jail, Max is going to chat him up.
Except Charlie looks at his profile & says,
"No, you're not going to talk to this guy."
Max, "Why the hell not, Charlie?"
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His expression is great, (bottom of pg. 81) so is the flare of light and dark in the panel with Charlie's response:
"Because I saw him dead this morning."
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Duh duh duh!
#the kitten is so cute I had to use it twice
So! We have learned so many things! Max was in the same unit Griffin was & was there when he went "crazy." Max is curious about banana fish.
And the banana fish guy Ash found in the beginning, which started this whole thing, is Steven Johnson, who'd been investigating banana fish before Dino sent Ash's (former) gang members to kill him.
But this only leads to more questions. How is Dino involved? What does he plan to use it for if all it does is make people go crazy? Why is banana fish showing up now, 12 years after the incident with Griffin?
I'm going to end here, because this post is super long. I want to point out before I go something I missed the 1st time I read this, which is Charlie became a cop specifically to counter all the awfulness brought about by drug use.
Max also has this great line, pg.79,
"It seemed like the country was drowning in dope. And a lot of it was cut with God knows what - people going to the hospital, the psych war, or just right into the body bag."
Akimi Yoshida's #the author's stance on this is clear. And intense.
Remember as always, this was written during the 80s, when this story is set. I find this snap shot fascinating.
Until next time, hope you have a marvelous day!
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#yes I like cats, why do you ask?
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liaswritesrobots · 3 years
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Brave Exkaiser review!
I've never actually watched one of the Brave Series' before, I knew about BPJD and I've seen gifs and screenshots of it but this was my first time watching one of the shows and it did not disappoint. The show is extremely cute, has some funny moments, and some very cool looking action scenes!
Pros:
As I said above, this show is cute. There's so many nice fluffy moments and I cannot fully describe how adorable it is. This show actually helped me calm down from anxiety a few times because it's just so cute and feel good and sweet.
A lot of the character designs for the bots were very unique, especially the Geisters.
The humans aren't terrible or boring, even Takumi has some depth beyond being the rich asshole.
The plot stays consistent, Dino Geist wants treasure and he doesn't pull different plot points out of his ass (Looking at you RID01 Megatron).
The animation is beautiful.
Cons:
Character design goes here too. The only complaints are 1. the girl characters don't get to be as unique as the guys, there's 2 old ladies that rarely show up who get to be unique but all the young women and girls don't get to have big chins or foreheads or be fat like some of the guys, and 2. the Kaisers also suffer from same face, especially when combined, I legit could not tell a powered up Exkaiser apart from Ultra Raker for the first few episodes, then God Max and Dragon Exkaiser ended up looking too much alike too.
There's a lot of flashing lights, and while it doesn't bother me mostly, it's a big con because that means the show isn't accessable to epileptic people or anyone else who may have a problem with lots of flashing lights on screen.
Reused animation. I know a lot of robot shows use the same transforming method but like... every single episode has a minute or more long transforming, combining, and finishing move scene. I just needed up skipping ahead when these happened because it's the exact same every time.
This one is a personal beef but... the ending... I know they have to leave eventually but it feels like EVERY robot show does the "Well the bad guy is dead we need to leave Earth now" and it SUCKS. It works here sure but it's just so overdone.
Overall this is a wonderful show and I can really recommend it!
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chojin-cu-chulain · 2 years
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My fan made Power Rangers versions of unused post Zyuranger Sentai seasons
Since I've finally gotten around to watching all of the other Sentai seasons, and I'm 32 episodes into Zenkaiger here are my Morphinverse fan ideas for how I would adapt all the post Zyuranger Sentai seasons that haven't been used yet.
First up even though it did get used I'm gonna post my version of Gokaiger which is going to be called Legendary Voyage which is a separate season from Megaforce, and I actually have two ideas one that's serious, and one that's silly.
The Serious idea is that it starts off with the previous teams fighting the Armada like in Gokaiger but instead of just losing their powers the Previous Rangers actually died, and the Armada succeeded in taking over the universe, and 20 years later some random people find the Ranger keys, become Rangers, and get sucked into a portal to just before the invasion started.
There'd also be a plot twist that the Rangers themselves are actually the children of Jason, Zack, Billy, Trini, and Kimberly, and were born a few months before the invasion.
The silly idea would be that the Rangers would just be obssesed Ranger fans who were just in the right place at the right time when the Rangers lost their powers, and maybe they would have jobs as mascots or other characters like Red works for a pirate themed fast food restaurant, etc.
Toqger is going to be Imagination Express, and I'm going to dust off an idea I had for Ryusoulger before Dino Fury which is like a westernized take on Kakuranger where five teenagers accidentally free a bunch of evil spirits, and have to become Rangers not only because they released the evil spirits but also because they're the descendants of the ones who sealed the evil spirits in the first place. I'd also want to add elements of steampunk, and American folklore.
As for Zyuohger that's going to be Wild Crusaders, and this is another idea I'm gonna dust off becuase it was originally going to be my idea for Go Onger before RPM, and then Go Buster before Beast Morphers. And the idea is that there's this stereotypical evil greedy company that want to pollute the environment that is secretly a front for race of evil aliens that thrive in pollution, and Rangers are people working on green technology that are chosen by mystical animal spirits from the Earth itself to become Rangers.
Kyuranger is going to be Universe Defenders, and I'm trying to think of a story that isn't just Kyuranger the American version. Part of me wants it to be a continuation of Wild Crusaders somehow but I'm worried that would be too much like Megaforce, and the Rangers that share animals from both shows are different colors. I do want to go with that idea everyone else has where the Rangers aren't related to previous characters but they're the same race like Blue is from Sirius, Yellow is Aquitian, Orange is the same race as Scorpina, etc.
Lupinranger vs Patoranger is going to be Night Robbers vs United Patrol, and it's either going to be my version of the Hexagon concept or it's going to be about some museum or an organization that's like a Power Rangers version of SCP that collects powerful artifacts with the United Patrol Rangers being agents who's civilian identities are security guards, and the Night Robber Rangers are people who just think that's it too dangerous to have that many powerful artifacts in the same place.
Kiramager would be Crystal Cruisers, and it would either be Kiramager the American version or it would be a throwback to my Power Rangers version of Gorenger where the Red Ranger is from Eltar, Blue is from Aquitar, Yellow is from Triforia, Pink is from Phaedos, and Green is from Edenoi.
Finally Zenkaiger would be Mighty Morphbots though I've thought of variations like Morphing Megabots, Mega Mightybots, etc. And the idea here is a teen scientist who doesn't have his own friends decides to literally make his own, and he's a Power Rangers fan so he makes himself his own Ranger, and bases his robot friends on different types of Rangers. Maybe my version of Stacey is a rival teen genius who like villains, and my version of the Tojitendo are his evil robots.
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