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toloveawarlord · 3 years

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25 Days of Christmas Day 20

Characters: Aster, Jonah Clemence, Edgar Bright, Lancelot Kingsley, Zero, Kyle Ash

Prompt: “Where did you get that tree?”

Tagging: @plumpblueberry @christmaswarlock @sakura-1819 @starry-starry-night24 @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @thewitchofbooks @stardust-dreamer13 @ikemensengokufangirl @gay-noodle-clan @nad-zeta @canaria-blackwell @lordsister @hamster-damn

A/N: This was supposed to Aster and the RA but it turned into mostly Jonah and Aster. She’s closest to our lovely Queen, but she won’t admit it. He’s so soft for her.

No one would actually be brave enough to complain to the Queen of Hearts when he'd so graciously taken them out to buy a brand new dress. But Aster was not no one. She sat sideways in the plush maroon chair outside of the changing room, legs dangling over the arm. Kicking her bare feet, she groaned for the fifth time. "Jonah, this is so boring. Can we go now?"

A perfectionist to his core. He'd tried on almost every shirt in the shop, searching for the best one. "First you complain about being stuck in headquarters, then you complain when I graciously bring you along with me into town. Be grateful for my endless generosity."

Aster stuck her tongue out in his direction, not caring that he couldn't actually see her. Rolling off the chair, she moved to the full mirror, taking in her image.

"Did you settle on a dress?"

Natural white hair covered with a raven wig, to hide her identity as best they could.

The deep crimson dress was the softest material she'd ever felt. Delicate lace layered over the skirt that brushed just above her knees. The top hooked around her neck, leaving her shoulders bare.

Not something she ever imagined herself in.

"I guess so," she answered. One of the shelves caught her eye. A small potted Christmas tree sat alone on a shelf; all the bigger ones having been purchased.

Crimson irises checked for any employees. An opportunity has arisen and she took it. Plucking the plant from the shelf, she moved to stash it in her purse...

The same moment Jonah pushed the curtain open, having chosen his new shirt. "Aster, where did you get that tree?" Her silence only confirmed his suspicion. “You were going to steal it, weren’t you?”

Maybe,” the teenager muttered, tucking the small tree against her chest and turning away. It belonged with her. No one was going to buy such a small and fragile little tree. “It’s not like they’ll miss it.”

He’d begun to get used to her childish behavior. There were many occasions where items in headquarters had gone missing and later were found in her bedroom. He should reprimand her, but instead, he placed a gentle hand on her head. “I’ll purchase it for you, along with the dress. Gather your things.”

Aster snatched her purse from the floor, and slipped on her shoes. Her head swam with confusion. Jonah had a strong sense of right and wrong, but he gave no lecture. She silently trailed behind him.

With their items purchased, the pair returned to headquarters. By the time they’d reached her room, Aster was boiling with anxiety. Stealing came as easily as breathing to her, so why did she feel so bad about getting caught over this stupid little thing?

Maybe it was more guilt than sadness. Somehow, no lecture was worse than receiving one. He’d looked at her with such a kind expression, and then bought it for her.

“We’ll be leaving for the party now. Please try to behave while we’re gone,” Jonah said, finding at least three stolen items from his room alone. She was like a dragon from a fairy tale, hoarding treasures. He lingered a moment longer, but she refused to respond, tending to the little tree instead.

Aster only lifted her gaze when he’d gone, unable to voice her objection to their leaving... his leaving.

<< << <<

It bothered him the entire evening. Jonah wouldn’t say he enjoyed these kinds of events. Every year, the Red Army hosted a holiday party for the elites in Red Territory, mostly family of army members or those who made sizable donations. It lasted far too long, in his opinion.

But that was far from his mind. He couldn’t stop remembering how dejected Aster had been after she’d tried to steal that cheap tree. Perhaps all his guidance had begun to pay off. His head shook, not satisfied with that conclusion.

“You’re thinking way too hard over here. Have a drink, and maybe some fun while you’re at it!” Kyle slapped his hand on Jonah’s shoulder, utterly intoxicated himself. He awkwardly slipped into the chair at the table, nearly falling off the other side if not for Edgar’s assistance.

“He’s quite right about the sour expression. What’s bothering our dear Queen tonight?” The teasing his tone only irritating Jonah more, but Zero and King Lancelot had joined the group, all concerned about their friend.

Jonah drummed his fingers against the table. He shouldn’t be this worked up about her. “It’s nothing. Aster was not herself this evening.” Not entirely true. She almost resort to thievery.

It was Kyle who broke the silence first. “Do you think... hic... that maybe it has something to do with... hic... it being Christmas Eve? She’s probably always sad on holidays since, you know, she was hic-always alone.” He didn’t even realize what he’d said at first. His mouth moving before his brain could process whenever he had this much to drink.

And they all realized how foolish they’d been.

<< << <<

The door to her bedroom was open, an unusual occurrence as the girl tended to be guarded. Jonah paused in the doorway. Aster hummed a familiar melody, sitting on the bench seat by the window. He couldn’t remember a time in the months that she’d been here that she’d ever hummed or sang.

In her lap sat the little tree, fully decorated with tiny ornaments and garland that she’d created from various materials in her room. That mischievous smile gone, replaced with a softer, more melancholic one. The words to an old Cradle Christmas song fell from her lips, a little broken and off pitch, like she struggled to sing the happy lyrics.

It had been nearly too dark in the dimly lit room, but the closer he got, the clearer the tears spilling from her eyes became.

Had she ever experienced a Christmas without sorrow and loneliness?

How must she have felt when he asked her to accompany him to town to shop for a party that she couldn’t attend?

Jonah’s heart ached in his chest. He’d had such wonderful memories of when he and Luka were young. Without any thought, the Queen of Hearts had crossed the room and dropped to his knee, pulling the girl into a hug.

“J-Jonah? When did you get here? And why are you hugging me?” She sniffed, cover up the fact that she’d been crying. How long had he been in the room? Embarrassment flooded over her.

He’d couldn’t recall when he’d become so attached to her. The mouthy little teenager that always had a snarky comment to throw at him now so incredibly dear to him.

“I’m sorry, Aster. We... I shouldn’t have left you here alone on Christmas Eve.” Jonah expected her to fight him, like she always did. But her hands clutched the back of his jacket, face tucked into his shoulder and she began to cry harder than before.

He’d forgotten that she was still just a child.

Jonah stayed with her until she’d calmed. There was one more order of business to attend to, and the others were likely wondering what was taking so long. “Come with me,” Jonah said, offering her his hand to escort her down to the dining hall.

Edgar and Zero had conspired to throw her a proper Christmas Eve party. With the help of Lancelot, they’d gotten quite the spread of food and desserts. Kyle raised his beer when the pair entered before promptly passing out in his chair.

With her emotions still running high, Aster turned on her heel to shield herself as more tears sprang to her eyes. She’d hated the holidays. They were cold, miserable, and utterly lonely. But this year, she found herself in a warm home with people who truly cared for her.

“Aww, is Aster crying cause she’s so happy? That’s adorable,” Edgar teased, sneaking up behind her. He wrapped an arm around her waist before using his free hand to tickle her side.

Laughter bubbled up, a smile finally settling on her features. “E-Edgar- Stop!” She struggled helplessly, jaws aching from her inability to stop laughing. She finally slipped free, darting across the room to hide behind Lancelot. Her tongue stuck out at the Jack.

“Alright, that’s enough. The food is going to get cold,” Lancelot ordered, chastising his third in command like a unruly child. He was grateful that in a few moments, her mood had lifted drastically.

The remainder of the evening was spent enjoying good food, and drinking for the adult, while the girl took paint to Kyle’s sleeping face. Aster’s genuine smile worth all the strings they’d had to pull to make this evening happen. The teenage thief becoming the glue that held them all together.

#ikemen revolution #ikerev #jonah clemence #ikerev red army #lancelot kingsley #edgar bright #kyle ash #ikerev zero #aster #ikerev oc #25 days of christmas #2020 edition #i love aster so much #she finds her family

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milqo · 5 years

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i posted this on twitter but thought u guys would like to see this too!! here’s (a lot of) ellie/dina headcanons!!

dina’s taller than ellie when they first meet, but that slowly changes as they get older. ellie just strikes me as a very, very late bloomer

dina is slow to anger & ice cold when she's actually mad/upset. ellie is a lot quicker than dina to grow a real temper & doesn't need many reasons to SNAP

dina's got no fucks to give and sleeps with her feet poking out of the blanket. also, she's a snuggler.

i think dina has a family of some kind. they like ellie.

joel is a bit...... iffy about dina. he likes her. he doesn't like some of the shit she does. your typical "you're a bad influence on my kid" dad who's completely unaware how much of a bad influence their kid are by themselves.

dina really grows on him after some time, though. he cares about her a lot. he even tries to play matchmaker one time. + he invites her for dinner, checks on her before patrol, etc.

dina will shiver ONCE and ellie will already be removing her jacket to shield her from the cold

dina is the kind of girlfriend that constantly seeks physical contact & she steals so so so many kisses at the most unexpected moments.. she's smug about ellie being So Into Her

i think i mentioned this before but dina LOVES being seen by ellie. and it's extremely easy to get ellie's attention. this is good, because she'd jump off a cliff to impress her.

dina is always touching ellie. she just.. she just stands there, holding her hand or touching her back, leaning her head on her shoulder.. even before their relationship reaches that "more than friends less than lovers" line.

by the way, that drives ellie crazy. the physical closeness, her laughing at all her jokes, her staring into her soul, the times when dina turns all silent & quiet.. she has to control herself so bad to not touch, to not do anything that would scare her away

dina is a bit of a troublemaker (shes just out there doing stupid shit teenagers do) & ellie is a Very Willing participant of whatever antic she's up to

also i'm writing a little something about this but. the sight of dina playing her guitar rly does something to ellie she LOVES it

their borrow each other's clothes so often they don't know which clothes belong to who anymore

like, they wear the same size. dina will wear pretty much anything she can get her hands on, while ellie has a Style to keep and is all about hoodies & flannels.

"we're dating." "hold on... i thought you two started dating each other seven months ago?"

dina's a little bit better than ellie at cooking but not by much. they prefer joel's cooking.

ellie will eat anything dina cooks for her, even when it tastes like sand and it's burnt underneath. she jokes about dina trying to poison her or smth like that, but she's really grateful & makes sure to let her know

adding to that.. dina is a doting gf. shes like. heres a cup of cold water on a hot day. dont get caught in the rain. have u eaten smth today. n she does all that in a rly playful, joking manner. like she's not serious about it at all, but she really does care.

she brings her homemade food when ellie's on watch duty.

btw, tommy is super supportive of ellie & is the first to find out about her crush on dina !! he elbows her when dina passes by & gets this annoying grin on his face when ellie stares at her too much

llie's not very verbal when it comes to showing how much she cares for dina. she likes doing things for her. things that make her life easier, like cleaning her gun, repairing a broken door handle and bringing her some food joel made.

their love language is very different but they make it work somehow. ellie loves her in the way dina likes to be loved and vice-versa.

dina does different voices for each character when she & ellie are reading together. she's TERRIBLE at it. ellie thinks it's adorable.

dina is Really Good at hiding her anxiety and she's not as confident as she may seem. she gets into this.... extra conversational mode + nervously laughs when she's not doing well. ellie doesn't buy into her shit.

after a day of manual labor and/or when ellie gets bruises (and she bruises rly easily), dina will rub cream over her skin & massage her back.. she's spoiled.

when it gets to the point where dina spends so much time in ellie's (and joel's) house she might as well move in, chaos reigns for a time.. they're both messy people n it drives joel nuts. ellie argues she "can't find anything" when her room is organized.

dina is a big baby in the rare occasions she gets sick. she hates being stuck in her house for too long & she makes sure to remind ellie just how much she hates it by being dramatic As Fuck

when someone stares at dina too much & is clearly interested on what they see, ellie makes sure to slip a hand around her waist and bring her closer.. you know. just to make a point.

dina got into a cat fight with kat ONCE like.. years before she even got together with ellie & she's still bitter abt it.

if someone were to tell dina she's jealous she would say she's NOT, but.... mm [doubt]. she gets extra clingy & passionate when she's jealous.

one time dina & jesse fought over the amount of attention she gave to ellie and how physically affectionate she was with her (especially when she was drunk, but not necessarily so)

when ellie goes on patrol without dina she's on the lookout for anything that could serve as a gift for her,, dina's favorite outfit is a dress + stockings ellie found !!

dina brings her flannels because she knows ellie loves them. she also brings her Hideous underwear because she knows ellie hates them.

dina's just easier to please. in more ways than one.

when dina tells ellie she lost Yet Another Hairtie she borrowed from her ellie's like: just you wait till i fucking Snap

some moments where ellie flew into a gay panic: 1) when dina sat on her lap for the first (and all the subsequent times) 2) when they went swimming & dina legit wore a swimsuit 3) when they played strip poker

#ellie x dina #tlou #lua.txt

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joshslater · 5 years

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Getting Jacked

In this installment of “comprehensive rewrite” we address the somewhat more complex titled “Fuck boi-ification: Jack-Off“. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

Matthew woke up in his messy bed, as the morning sun lit his bedroom way too early. He was old enough to handle a party without getting completely hangover, but he still felt pretty raw. He needed breakfast, shower and plenty of water. As he got up memories of last nights party started to return to him. He had been invited out by his friends to a house party near campus, and Matthew immediately said no. He wasn’t fond of parties generally, even when the age and types of people matched him, but a student party at his age and size wasn't his idea of a good time. Matthew at 24, just about to turn 25, would be older than probably everyone there. He was also proudly, openly gay, currently trending towards a bear, and would stand out like a dogs dick. He had a the beginnings of a beer belly, which looked smaller than it really was on his 6'5 frame, and thick arms and legs, all covered in light brown fur. He didn’t believe in cutting and went to the gym to get strong. While he kept the hair on top of his head short, his face was covered by a dense, black beard. He was also hesitant to come because of his interests. He enjoyed looking at Video games and social politics. He was deep into Zelda and Pokemon, but also a fiery activist online, fighting misogynists and homophobes alike. All commonly mocked.

However recently he felt he had become less and less sociable doing his tedious, life consuming office work, and Jon at the office had really pushed him to come along. He was almost the right age and was friends with Sarah who threw the party. It was an open invitation to college frats and sororities, as always with house parties, but some younger people also showed up from other schools, again as always, so the place had been packed.

Memories of the night slowly came back to him as he got up and changed into cargo shorts and a plain white T-shirt. He remembered uncharacteristically having a blast at the party, where he got drunk on beer and shots with some frat bros and started flirting with some guy. It probably wasn’t going anywhere, but the mood had turned awkward as soon as a posse of shitty little fuck boys had filed in. There must have been half a dozen newly minted 18 year olds, all wearing trendy clothes and accessories. At some point he think he heard the leader of the pack, Jacob or something, call him a faggot. Perhaps he just looked like someone who would say that a lot.

Apparently he had continued drinking more jäger bombs, because all his clothes from yesterday were scattered across the bedroom floor. He slowly begun picking them up. When he picked up his jacket he could feel something shift inside one of the front pockets. He fumbled to find the opening and produced a small box. It looked like one of the cheaper jewelry boxes, like when you buy a $9 tie clip or something. He turned it around, but it had no text on it, opened the lid and a poorly folded sticky note popped out. Matthew unfolded it to read a hastily written message.

Jack,

these might look better on you

/Jacob

So this was left by that damn preppy douche, but who was Jack? Did drunken Matthew agree to hand over the box to someone or had it just been stuck in his pocket by mistake? Matthew put the note down and looked inside to find two gaudy ear studs. Even he could see that they were no where near made out of gem stones or even crystal. Cheap knock-offs that didn't differ much from wind shield shards put on a pin. No, these where magnetic, not using pins. In a way it made them even worse. Such stupid, worthless things.

As he was turning the piece of glass between his fingers, he got an impulse. No one would ever know. He removed the magnet from the cut glass piece and placed them on either side of his right ear lobe, and then repeated on his left side, without looking in a mirror. He wanted to surprise himself with how he looked.

It wasn't really a surprise though. He looked every bit as dumb in the bathroom mirror as he had expected. Oh, well. He pulled on the stud and the magnet on right ear with one hand to remove them, but it just painfully pulled his ear. He tried using both his hands to pull them apart, without success. Fuck, how strong are these things? It actually started to hurt a bit. Matthew was thinking through what he had in his tool box. This would be the most stupid and embarrassing way of getting ear piercings. Was this some sort of crude practical joke between Jack and Jacob?

He hurried back into the bedroom to dig out the toolbox from under the bed. The pain was getting worse by the second. Sharp pain was shooting from his ears into his head. By the time he entered the bedroom the pain echoed throughout his entire body. Matthew’s head started getting dizzy and his eyes got blurry as they watered up. He stumbled a few steps more before falling onto the bed and spasming as his body started aching all over. It wasn't just the piercing pain shooting through his nerves, though it was still there. There was a dull, relentless pain in his bones. All of them. He felt like he was going to explode. The skin burned like sunburn and felt taut like a sausage.

Matthew's breathing got rapid and shallow. His body was soaked in sweat. He was dying right now, that he was sure of. He had lost pretty much all control over his limbs, as he was shifting around and twitching. Not even given the decency to go out with the roar, he thought, as his attempts at calling for help or scream in agony got translated into short yelps, like a tail trodden house dog. Wasn't this how chemical warfare toxins worked? All nerve synapses randomly firing, causing loss of motor functions and unspeakable pain?

He was anticipating losing consciousness at any moment. Wishing for it was perhaps more to the point, as he thrashed around on the bed. Perhaps it was the other way around, he thought. Perhaps the skin was shrinking, wringing him out like a wet rag. He certainly sweated as much. His mind was all jumbled by pain. There was something else coming out besides sweat. A yellow tinted goo, like he had covered himself in snot.

He rolled over on his back and gasped for air. Wait! He could move again? He tentatively felt his chest through the goo. Still there, still his. He tried to shout for help, but just managed to wheeze out a toneless whisper. He tried again, and halfway through it broke into high pitched shriek, and he felt a sharp pain in his throat, like his vocal cords snapped. Before he had time to panic about it, his whole body was shot through with pain, and he arched his back as the muscles contracted. It was a searing pain, at least as bad as the first wave. Then, added to that, came a stinging pain all over his skin.

It stopped as suddenly as it started, or perhaps he had finally blacked out for a moment. He couldn't tell. He was just thankful all the pain had stopped. What the fuck had just happened? He lied completely still in the ruined bed, fearing the next assault of pain. It smelled like the intestine bin in a slaughter house. When minutes passed and the only thing happening was the muck covering him going cold, he hesitantly got up.

Even before standing up he could see and feel that his body had drastically changed. Flat belly, flat chest and markedly smaller. The now oversized, soaked cargo pants fell to the floor with a slosh. The bed looked like someone had given birth in it. Or foaled. Apparently the blurriness had left him too.

He slowly made his way to the bathroom. While he was careful to not touch anything, he left a snail trail of wet footprints and droplets. He almost fell twice, once when his foot slipped on the floor just outside the bedroom and once when his now too large underwear got unstuck from the goo on his thighs and fell to his ankles.

The mirror image in the bathroom wasn't very helpful, given his messy state. He was about a foot shorter than before, but other than that he looked like he had mud-wressled in brown, hairy jell-o. He stepped into the shower, pulled off his final piece of clothing, the now brown T-shirt, and made an attempt to swipe the muck off him, like you would clean slush off a snowboard. Seeing his slow progress he decided to just turn on the water and clean properly.

The drain water had a disgusting color, taking a surprising amount of hair with it, as well as chunky bits of god knows what. The water revealed him looking thinner than he had been since perhaps he was 14. His floppy man boobs had turned into flat, firm pecs. His beer gut had melted down into a fit torso with vague lines of abs. As the water revealed his skinny fit body, it washed away almost all his body hair, leaving just a hint of fuzz around his dick. Seeing this, he reached his chin, only to discover his beard was gone as well.

Any other day that would have been a big deal, but now it was just another detail, as he kept staring down at his pale, thin body. He ran his hand down the front of his chest and abs. His tiny, skinny twig of an arm. It surprised Matthew how good his skin felt. Soft, sensitive, smooth and without any imperfections he could see. The water felt amazing hitting his skin and running down his body. He started to get an erection.

That just got him angry. His dick was easily half the size of his old cock, perhaps even smaller. It was shorter, it was thinner, and though he had wisps of pubic hair both his new dick and marble pouch were smooth and hairless.

He shut off the water, did a 5 second rush dry with a towel and stood before the mirror for the first time. Fuck! Matthew had had sex with many different body types, jocks, bears, athletes, overweight. This right here, an anorectic muscle wannabe, was his biggest turn off. He looked in his late teens, short and thin with hints of lean muscle. His smooth, hairless skin made him look even younger. He saw nothing that reminded him of his old self. Even the belly button was different. There was nothing for him to like either. It was like someone had precision tailored every detail just the way he hated the most. His hair had grown! Even though he was just out of the shower, everything except his tightly faded sides and back stood straight up, as if he had been styled as a douche since infancy.

He hated all of it. The smug, not quite handsome face that looked unable to grow facial hair, framed by the earrings on either side that sparkled like they were taunting him.

“Ah fuck, get off me!”, Matthew shouted in a high pitched, adolescent voice, as he yanked the stud. He hated his new voice. He hated the shitty studs. He hated the body they stubbornly were attached to. Perhaps he could cut them off, and that would turn him back? Wasn't that the plan before he changed into... this.

He went back to the bedroom to look for pliers, taking care to not step in any gunk on the floor. Coming back into the bedroom it looked even worse than he recalled, leaving it just half an hour ago. It was an horror show. That gave him pause messing with the ear studs. That's when he saw the sticky note again. Of course, he should try to talk to Jack or Jacob. But he didn't know them. He hadn't even seen Jack and could barely describe Jacob. Man, it was hard to think clearly. Perhaps someone else at the party could describe Jacob? Sarah should know! It was her party, and he should have her number in the forwarded invite on his phone.

After many signals Sarah finally answered the call. She sounded tired, but upbeat. - This is Sarah! - Hi, it is Matthew. Can you describe Jacob? God, he hated his voice. It was childish and annoying. - Who? - One of the young, preppy dudes. - Look, I have no idea who most of the people were, or what they looked like. I think I got a note from one of them though. Would that help? Hang on. The line went silent for a few moments and then she came back. - I have a note for Jack. Do you know him? - No. What does it say? - It says: appointment at Manila Massage at 2pm. Shower first. - Does it say how I would get there? - Sorry. - Thanks anyway.

He found it in the map app on his phone, and not that far away. 12 minutes estimated travel time, and it was hours until that appointment. He felt relief that at least he had a plan to follow. He looked around at the damage. The sheets were probably ruined, as was the duvet and mattress. The floor was just tiles and plastic, so a mop and a squeegee would do. He could probably wash the cargo pants and underwear, but he could stand inside one of the legs now. Oh, right, he was still naked with a semi hard on.

Matthew winced at the sight of his new dick. It was the size of his thumb. No, he realized, his former thumb. He stepped over to his chest of drawers and started rummage for old stuff or tight stuff that might fit. The black speedo briefs he hadn't used in years actually fit him now, as did an old compression shirt and adidas hot pants, though loosely. Lucky he hadn't thrown that away. With a pair of flip flops, although too large, he would at least be able to walk outside.

Matthew didn't have the reach he used to, so cleaning out the bed proved to be much harder than he thought. And he didn't have the arms and height he used to, so he opted to go several rounds with the icky sheets, duvet and pillows. He felt super self conscious being outside looking like this. It didn't help that his hard on was hardening and clearly visible. He wasn't as strong as he used to be either, so the wet mattress was a bit of a struggle to keep away from his body. "Stupid fucking body", he said to himself. At least he had plenty of stamina.

Even cleaning the floors took longer than expected, as he was getting more and more distracted by his penis rubbing the inside of his speedos. Eventually he gave in, stepped into the shower and started to jack off. It felt good. Really, really good, but he was unable to climax. None of his go to fantasies worked. Instead of starting to browse his porn library, he decided to just step out of his shorts and speedos, and shower the groin in cold water. That did the trick well enough for him to clean the rest of the floors.

With an hour to kill before he needed to leave, he enjoyed another hot shower, as instructed, and then aimlessly idled in the apartment. He checked the fridge for food, and decided he wasn't hungry. He went through his clothes more thoroughly. Some of the now over sized shirts looked "cute" on him, but found few useful things. He ended up playing some silly phone game, which he used to loathe, until it was time to leave.

Again he felt self conscious and exposed next to his F150 truck. He had no problem climbing into it. But he had to climb. And after plenty of adjustments it was still a challenge for him to manage driving.

The Manila Massage was easy to find, in the basement of a residential building. There was a small waiting area with two chairs next to a cheap looking table top sized fountain just inside the door. A small Asian women appeared from one of the inner rooms. Well, actually they were pretty much the same size, save for some obviously enlarged breasts.

- Jack Hoff? - What?! - Are you Jack? - No, I'm Matthew Goodman. - Aaah. Your friend made a joke. Very funny. She made no expression showing she felt it was funny. - Well, Matthew Goodboy, follow me.

She lead him back into a larger darkened room with lots of carpets and futons on the floor, but hardly any furniture. Clusters of candles placed around the room was the only sources of light.

- Don't be nervous. Here, drink this.

She poured something from a crystal decanter into a shot glass and handed it to him. He downed it. It tasted like it contained sugar, vanilla, peach and alcohol, in that order. He found it much less revolting than he should. Different palate he guessed.

- You can get undressed and put your clothes here and then lie face down here.

She motioned first at a stool and then at a thin futon on the floor.

- All clothes? - Yes, sweetie.

She smiled and left the room. Not really sure what he was in for, but too committed to back out, Matthew stepped out of the flip flops, pulled off his shirt and froze. He sported a raging hard on. He carefully pulled down the hot pants and speedos. As he placed himself on his belly on the mattress he felt light headed as the alcohol hit. This was the gift that kept on giving. 12 hours ago he would jäger bomb anyone under the table, and now he got tipsy from a thimble of liquid candy.

After a minute or two he heard the lady enter again, and the sound of a glass bottle. Then he felt her hands starting to rub his back with oiled hands. If the shower had felt good, this was heavenly. He'd never had anything that smelled remotely like this on him before. Peach, again, and some flower. But it felt too good to care. She worked his neck, his arms, his legs and almost slipped a finger in his butt, before going back to his back.

- Now, turn over on your back.

Matthew did, and his mouth fell open. She was naked. Matthew just stared at her body. Slender and hairless, like his, but bronzed and with huge breasts that jiggled as she applied oil to his chest. His eyes were transfixed on her nipples, bouncing around in front of him. It wasn't until she had moved on to his arms, and he looked at her belly button and neatly trimmed bush, he realized his mouth was gaping open. She then moved on to his legs, and to his horror he realized his dick stood right up, next to where she rubbed his inner thigh.

She looked Matthew straight in the eyes and started to give him a hand job. It didn't take many strokes until he exploded with pump after pump of cum on his chest and abs. She smiled and started to rub the cum in the oil.

- That one didn't count.

She then straddled him, facing him, and started to ride his cock. Matthew was surprised he was still hard. He looked at her in amazement and tipsy confusion. He once had sex with a girl to see if he was gay or bi. He had only managed to get hard when he pretended she was a young boy, and felt really shitty about it after. But now, seeing this Asian woman bobbing up and down on his dick, he felt hornier than even at LumberCon last year. He loved the way her boobs moved. The way her hair moved. The way his dick felt. The tingle in his body. The smell of peach and sissy blossom. Right then and there he couldn't think of anyone he would rather be than Jack Hoff losing his virginity in a very happy finish by... did he even know her name?

Jack was super confused as he exited Manila Massage. It was like he couldn’t remember anything from before he came, pumping cum into the Asian lady. Apparently having super happy ending with her had been a birthday gift from “Jacob” and the lady refused to take his credit card. That could all be true, he couldn't remember when his birthday was, but the really confusing part was the credit card. On one side it said "Matthew Goodman", but as soon as he flipped it he had no idea what name was on it. He knew he should recognize this Matthed dude. He kept flipping the card and almost walked into someone standing in his way. He looked familiar. Was this was Jacob?

- Happy birthday! Who's a shitty little fuck boy now? - What? Who? - Don’t worry about it... Hey, what do you say we drive to the mall and buy you some new clothes? Give me back my truck key, and we’ll go in your car. He motioned towards a purple Honda Civic with a big spoiler in the back. Jack handed over the Ford key that he’d found in his pile of clothes. - Well, I... You know... I think I might have fucked my brains out. - Sweet, dude. Just what I paid for. - I’m serious. I can’t remember a thing. - Well, I guess you’ll just have to trust me until it comes back. Get in.

177 notes · View notes

whipped-for-kpop-fics · 5 years

Text

Codename; Fuck me up, daddy

Female reader x BTS story (Yoongi focus)

3k words

Mafia au that is pretty much just crack despite my original idea being serious

Read on Ao3 here

When they had been sent for your blood they never expected to be the ones with blood spilling. You were just a girl, barely 22 but as they were quick to learn you were not to be messed with. When they had been sent for your blood they never expected to be the ones with blood spilling. You were just a girl, barely 22 but as they were quick to learn you were not to be messed with.

"So this guy owes you a shit ton of money but he somehow slipped into the sea of meaningless faces and now you wanna go after his daughter?" Yoongi asked for clarification looking at the leader of Bangtan with raised eyebrows.

"Yes," Seokjin replied simply, a single nod of confirmation joining his answer.

"And just so I'm not missing anything, she has nothing to do with him and hasn't since he tried to sell her to pay off his gambling debts when she was 12?"

"Correct." Yoongi just stared at the man before him, trying to telepathically tell him how fucking dumb the situation was.

"Am I the only one that sees how fucked up that is?" Yoongi looked around at the five other men with them. Namjoon, Seokjin's second had a look on his face that screamed that he had already tried to talk Seokjin out of it but Seokjin was nothing if not a stubborn, dumb bitch- a powerful one at that but painfully dumb thank fuck for Namjoon.

"Let's just get this done with, hyung" Jungkook-retrieval expert for some fucking reason when he can't rein in his own flaming homosexuality long enough to not wanna fuck every member of the top(maybe the term "top is what really gets Jungkook's little gay heart(dick)pumping) seven (minus himself obviously, well actually he fucks himself a lot too but not the point) - whined as he tugged on Yoongi's arm. "I just wanna go home and watch my show."

"I told you not to install security cameras in your fucking shower, Tae." Namjoon groaned looking over at his younger brother, Taehyung. Taehyung just giggled like the little slut he was for fucking with Jungkook.

"Alright, we're going to fucking boner on legs," Yoongi grumbled lacing his fingers with Jungkook's to lead the younger male out.

***

Namjoon's intelligence took Yoongi, Jungkook and their small team of two men- because why would they need more than two men to pull in an innocent little 22-year-old girl...right?- to a little library in a tiny town somewhere south of someplace someone once gave a shit about.

"Wait libraries still exist?" Jungkook gasped when Yoongi parked the van around the back of the building. It was early evening so he didn't want to get caught with a suspicious vehicle out front, plus dragging a girl's body to a car is a lot easier without Debra from neighbourhood watch peeping through her Venetian blinds hunting for crime like a nosey little bitch good citizen.

"You really need to stop jerking off, I think you're losing brain cells," Yoongi commented climbing out of the van leisurely, watching the two men swoop in through the back door of the building after picking the lock easily.

"Stop being a fine piece of ass then." Jungkook retorted strutting off with his lips pouted in after the team only to run back out with an awkward grin. "So right I guess I forgot my gun so you should really go in first."

"How are you even alive?" Yoongi sighed, pulling his own handgun out from its holster on his side to lead Jungkook into the library.

It was only a small building with one main room containing the shelves of books. From the door they had just entered Yoongi could see right the way across the room where the two men were sneaking up on the girl they had come for, her back turned to them as she hummed to the radio while checking stock.

One of the two men had his gun out while the other had his hands outstretched ready to grab(or grope depending on how you viewed his stance).

Out of nowhere, the man with the gun dropped to the floor, eyes wide and blood pooling from his leg that he grasped while choking on his sobs.

"Scream and I'll make the next shot count." You spoke, looking over your shoulder at him.

"Did you just fucking shoot him?!" Jungkook shrieked from where he stood behind Yoongi. Yoongi groaned in frustration, why was he in a gang with complete fucking idiots?

You turned a little further to look at the pair revealing a gun tucked under your right arm and held with your left hand. Yoongi held his gun steady on you not willing to get shot for this stupid fucking job. Jungkook yelped and hid behind Yoongi upon spotting your weapon.

"Did you just raise your voice, in a library? In my library?" You spoke threateningly. Jungkook whimpered. You just blinked rapidly, this guy could not be a member of whatever poorly put together gang this was. "What the actual fuck?" You whispered more to yourself dragging your eyes away from the buff guy cowering behind the shorter scrawny-ish guy to look at the two men on the floor, one crying in pain as if he was dying and the other crying into his chest as if mourning his lost comrade.

"I repeat, what the actual fuck?" You deemed the entire group the furthest thing from a threat as possible and leant back against the shelves behind you, scratching your head with the tip of the barrel of the silencer on your gun.

"Trust me, I'm asking myself the same," Yoongi admitted while relaxing his stance seeing your own relax. Clearly, you were not concerned they would attack therefore you were not going to shoot any of them. Yoongi had a feeling you only acted out of self-defence. He lowered his arms and flicked the safety on his gun back on.

"You're Y/N, right?"

"Yeah. Bangtan, right?"

"How'd you know?" Yoongi titled his head confusedly- nobody had guessed so easily before, after all, they weren't all that well known.

"I saw your van, your number plate makes it fucking obvious, mate. Maybe think about not putting BTS on every vehicle Bangtan owns."

"Fuck, they still do that?" Yoongi groaned heavily, holstering his gun completely to flop down onto the table nearest him. The moment his human shield had moved Jungkook had jumped dramatically behind the reception desk.

"I told Jin months ago to stop getting those stupid fucking custom plates." Yoongi rubbed his hands over his face dramatically.

"Going to tell me what you're doing here?" You asked holstering your own gun to stride over and slide onto the table beside him. He seemed like the only sane and normal guy out of the four.

"Your dad skipped town and the boss wants you instead."

"He can fuck off."

"Yeah I don't understand his logic and I don't want to get shot for this shit so I'll tell him you're dead or some shit."

"Or I'll come with you-" Yoongi bolted upright to stare at you with wide eyes, you had literally just said you wouldn't go but were already saying different without prompting - "Help you track down the piece of shit so I can finally get my sweet satisfaction of seeing him suffer."

"Really?" You nodded. "Honestly, that would be great because faking death is more hassle than it's worth, man." Yoongi slid off of the table and straightened his jacket.

"Not that much hard work," You shrugged also getting up.

"You say as if you've done it." He scoffed following you as you wandered behind the reception desk to gather your bag and jacket, plus the extra gun you hid behind the computer tower that Jungkook happened to be curled up next to.

"You'd be surprised at what I've done." You crouched down to get to the tower but Jungkook screamed and started to flair his limbs out. "Are you fucking serious with this kid?"

"Yeah he's usually a lot better but he had a week off and I'm pretty sure he spent the whole time thirst jerking to our members. Got nothing left in his head."

"You know in any other circumstance I'd say that's impossible but looking at him, I'd have to agree with you there." You both hummed solemnly as you waited for Jungkook to stop kicking his legs like a kangaroo on crack.

"You done?" He nodded shyly. "Take off the side panel." You pointed to the tower beside him so he quickly followed your instructions, taking the old side panel off the chunky old as balls piece of tech.

"How old is that thing? Does it even work?" Yoongi snorted. "I could get you an upgrade you know, I'm kind of a tech genius."

"I know."

"What?"

"You think I know Bangtan and not the top seven members, oh honey?" You laughed reaching past Jungkook to grab the small metallic purple case from inside the tower where there should've been more technology but you had modified it long ago for your needs.

"Oh...okay..." Yoongi wasn't sure what to say, this whole ordeal was not going at all how he expected. For starters, you owned a fucking gun and seemed to be perfectly comfortable and confident with shooting it.

Once you had the case tucked into your large backpack you turned to Yoongi expectantly.

"What?" He asked.

"Unless this is suddenly Bangtan HQ I suggest you lead the fucking way, Turtle."

"Right-wait, Turtle?" He glared over his shoulder at you as he started the walk back to the van with you following directly behind and Jungkook trailing at the back.

The three of you had pretty much completely forgotten about the two men crying in the library, clearly, they were unimportant to Bangtan and just a five-minute plot device to get this show on the road.

"You look like a Turtle," Jungkook snorted somewhere behind you, proceeding to dive into a bush when you turned to look back at him in amusement. "Can we leave the kid here?" You asked pointing over your shoulder vaguely while climbing into the passenger seat of the van while Yoongi settled in the driver's seat.

"No-" the back door of the van creaked open and in slid Jungkook doing a rather impressive although entirely uncalled for forward roll to get into the vehicle only to have to army crawl across the floor to reach the door and close it. "I change my mind already," Yoongi announced having watched the whole ordeal in the rearview mirror with a dejected look.

"I do not blame you."

***

"So this is the girl who is going to pay her fathers debts with her life," Seokjin spoke dressed to the nines in a suit, Rolex on his wrist and hair parted perfectly, from where he sat behind his grand oak desk in his large leather chair-faux leather mind you because Bangtan does not condone violence to animals it was against their laws-; he much looked the part of a villain from an old movie, all he needed was a cat on his lap to stroke. Seokjin did not have a cat but he did have a Jimin who was more than happy to curl up on his hyung's lap like a trophy doll and have his head stroked like the good little boy he strived to be for his hyungies.

"Quick question, do you guys sell the crack or smoke it?" You asked looking at Yoongi who once again looked as if he regretted his decision to ever befriend Seokjin and join his gang- though back then they were only kids at school with no idea what the hell they were talking about but, Seokjin never let it go like the stubborn fuck he is.

"Honestly, both," Hoseok replied with a grin and glazed eyes that screamed that yes the guy in charge of quality control and distribution of goods really tried every fucking batch of whatever the hell they were selling that day. "Hi! I'm beautiful, you must be Hoseok."

"Part of that is correct." You hummed with a wink. He giggled and fell into the wall that he tried to lean against. You held back your snort to turn your attention back to Seokjin. Somehow in the few minutes you had turned, Jimin had gone from fully clothed in ripped jeans, boots, shirt and a bomber jacket to just the jeans and boots yet he looked as if he hadn't moved an inch.

"Am I on drugs?" You muttered to yourself, staring off into the distance as you wondered if what you had been seeing was real or not.

"Oh great, you guys are rubbing off on her already." Yoongi sighed(how many times can one guy sigh is the question here) stepping forward to nudge you out of your thoughts.

"I would like to accept that option," Seokjin spoke earning everyone's attent-wait where had Jimin's jeans got to?

How was he still wearing boots?

Was he wearing a silk thong?...Nice.

"What option?" Yoongi questioned sounding very much like he did not really want to ask but had to for clarification's sake.

"To rub off on Y/N. Y/N you may pay off your father's debts by being my sex slave." Seokjin announced.

"Stand up." You ordered and he did, moving fast enough to send Jimin tumbling to the floor, face down ass up- sometime in the future Jungkook is crying thank the lord while beating his meat to the creepshot of Jimin's position on his phone- to move around the desk and stand metres in front of you.

You circled him slowly, raking your eyes up and down his body thoughtfully until you somehow made it behind his desk where you sat down with them all facing you.

Yoongi was only staring on wondering if bringing you along was a bad idea because you seemed too fucking comfortable in the chaos Bangtan thrived in.

"It's a no to that offer." You stated. Seokjin frowned. "I mean I'll still fuck you," Then he perked right back up "But I'm not paying off his debts in any way shape or form."

"She's going to help us find him and take what he owes us," Yoongi stated.

"You know that means hurting your father, right?" Namjoon asked, looking at you carefully as if you were going to suddenly freak out and demand to be set free not having realised what helping find the sperm donor that sold you meant.

"He's not my father, I am my own daddy," You announced. Seokjin choked, whispering "daddy" with drool trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"I like her," Jimin commented where he was still on his knees and chest on the floor, cheek nuzzling against your shin like a cat craving attention.

"You can stay." You cooed reaching down to scratch his head fondly. Jimin purred happily. Your hands moved to rummage through the drawers of the desk. Seokjin didn't stop you so no-one else did. You found an xtra large bottle of lube and place it on the desk with a thunk.

"You keep that in your drawer?" Namjoon muttered looking at Seokjin who was too interested in whatever the hell you were now doing with your gun to respond.

"Yoongi, you should link your servers to mine at the library, you'll find I have a much wider reach than you where security cameras are concerned." You didn't even look at him as you talked. Yoongi opened his mouth to question you but sighed and agreed with a silent nod. "Jungkook, I need you to get the fuck out because your dick is really distracting." All eyes turned to eye Jungkook's crotch where there was a very visible, very large bulge showing that he was still caught up on Jimin. Jungkook zoomed out of the room. "Hoseok, I wanna get fucked up tonight, arrange it."

"Hell fucking yes." Hoseok practically moaned at the thought and left the room buzzing with excitement-and about twelve different narcotics that lived in his body constantly.

"Taehyung-" you glanced up at him from cleaning your gun thoroughly with extra focus on the barrel of the silencer "Strippers and booze." Taehyung squealed and clapped excitedly before dancing out of the room to join Hoseok with the party planning.

"What about me?" Jimin purred still rubbing his face against you but now it was his face all over your thighs with his body wrapped around the bottom half of your legs.

"You stay right there, kitten." He keened, eyes rolling back while hips rolled forward against your ankles. You ignore him for the moment to finish cleaning your gun.

"Am I the only one wondering why the fuck we're acting like this girl is in charge now?" Namjoon questioned looking around the room to realise Seokjin was still staring at you with drool soaking through his shirt and hands down his pants at the way your skilful hands wrapped around your gun to polish it to filth- much like the filthy polishing Jungkook was doing in the storage closet down the hall.

Yoongi was just watching everything go down carelessly. He had already come to terms with how fucked up the day was and nothing was going to phase him any further.

"Don't be rude to daddy." Came Jimin's sweet voice from behind the desk, practically shoving his face between your thighs desperately. You had one hand tight in his hair to keep him in place away from the sweetness he craved behind your jeans.

"It's okay, kitten, Namjoon is going to go and help Yoongi look through everything on my system, I'm sure there's plenty there to keep him busy especially about a certain group of rival cute boys." You hummed, smiling sweetly at Namjoon.

"Who?"

"Oh, surprises, surprises, baby." You smirked. Namjoon sighed but nodded and motioned for Yoongi to follow him.

"Are you going to behave, Y/N?" Yoongi questioned upon seeing the way your eyes glistened as you took in Seokjin's trembling form before you.

"Of course" Yoongi did not believe you one bit but you had opened the bottle of lube and he did not want to see what the fuck you were going to do next.

"Clothes off, little one so I can see if that tight little ass can handle my gun." You cooed and Yoongi froze just as he was about to finish closing the door.

"Fuck me up, daddy." Seokjin moaned in a high, needy pitch already throwing his clothes aside carelessly despite the designer labels.

Yoongi slammed the door and zoomed the fuck out of there.

AN- Do you ever just sit back and wonder what the fuck you just wrote because same

~Chee

150 notes · View notes

insane-control-room · 5 years

Text

The Concept, Chapter One

The First Thoughts

How Johan Ramirez became Joey Drew.

This is the first part of Johan’s canon. This is not a happy story. This is not a fun story. There will be warnings at every turn.

Read at your own risk of deletion.

Chapter Two

Joey opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling of his “home”.

An abandoned apartment building, half rotted and falling apart.

Despite the quality, it was much better than the Ramirez Estate.

So much better.

He was alone and it felt both terrible and wonderful. The terrible all encompassing loneliness contrasted by the wonderful, exalting, beautiful, freedom. Freedom after being trapped for so long.

Terribly poor quality of living, merely an illusion of it, but at the same time, pure, glorious freedom to be who he was, who he wanted.

Was that not the definition of life? To be free and living, to breathe without fear, to love without being hit?

Or were those basic human rights…?

He shivered, tightening his tattered shirt around himself. He was hungry. Food sounded disgusting. He hated being so indecisive. He hated everything about himself. He was wide awake and exhausted, he was too feminine, he was too tall, he was too dark, he was too jittery, too hideous and malformed, too stupid, he was gay (that in and of itself was a curse), and this blasted headache and chill!

Joey groaned, tilting his head back.

Part of him said he never should have left home.

That part of him was wrong.

He got up, prying himself off musty floorboards, dusting himself off. He went to the unfinished bathroom, smiling at himself in the mirror.

Freak.

He looked horrible, tired, gaunt, like a half starved mongrel. He scrubbed at his face in the cloudy mirror, trying to fix his lengthy hair, pushed back his short - but getting long - beard. His hair fell back over his eyes. The dark blue black seemed to swallow him up, kept people looking away from him. Kept him safe and alone. It reminded him of ink.

His father, his real father, not his step father, said it was wonderful.

His stepfather said it was abominable.

So he grew it long.

Little rebellions.

He was never going back, no matter how much he loved Night Vale.

The world outside of his little town was so confusing and convoluted, but he changed, he adapted.

Brooklyn, huh.

New York.

Swell place.

Great state.

Noisy as hell in the city.

He hated it, the sounds scared him.

Made him feel like there would never be anyone’s voice masking it, no one’s touch protecting him from it. No one’s caress gently pushing it out of sight and mind.

So he hid away from it all.

Slipping down the creaky stairs of the empty should have been home, he exited out into the cold air outside, shuddering with the blast. He rubbed his head, walking briskly to the city, entering the post office and pulling open his box, not expecting anything within, simply going for the sake of the normality of it.

A dark letter was inside, unmarked.

He stared at it, taking it out with trembling fingers.

He glanced around, and upon seeing no one, he ripped it open.

Johan, come home for dinner at least. Mommy misses you.

Liar.

She hated him, otherwise she never would have removed him from the will.

She never would have conspired against his father.

And she would have never, ever, married the man she did.

He threw away the letter on his way out, going off to work.

It was freezing in the open air. Johan had nothing to shield himself, and so he gripped his pride pin.

And he walked to work.

The cold nipped at him and the wind snapped at his nose, and he tucked his chin in against the icy January air.

He briskly got to work as fast as he could, trying to get out of the freeze.

He slammed shut the door of the newspaper building, clocking in and heading down to the lower levels of the place, sighing with relief as warm air heated his neck and hands, spreading to the whole of his body. He flicked on the lights, the fluorescent painful at first, but he quickly adapted. He always adapted. He had no other choice but to change and flow with the world.

The ones and zeroes always were in the corner of his vision, but he always ignored them, not knowing what they meant, and they had not caused him any harm yet.

The warmth of the building made his eyelids droop as he worked, stocking the papers and editorials and dating each item properly. He could hardly read them at this poin….

“RAMIREZ!”

Joey snapped awake.

Shit shit shit shit!

He was at work!

His head ached and then pounded more with the smack it received.

“There are white people who can do your job, you know!” his boss roared. “Snap to it!”

“Yes sir,” he gulped, rushing to the papers, resetting the machine he hated so much. Goddamned printing press. The amount of ink used for the thing was ridiculous. Another hit made him work faster. Insults were thrown at him. He kept his cool in check. He made sure each edition of book or editorial came out correctly, adding new paper, making adjustments and the such. His head hurt today, and the rumbling of the machine kept making it worse and worse. He put all his focus onto the work, ignoring the pain in his stomach and head. A tap on the shoulder made him spin around with a flinch. One of the other workers looked at him with worry. “Can I help you?”

“It’s your lunch break, Joey.”

“What?”

“It is. Time. For you. To take. A. Break.”

“Oh,” the Chicano flushed, swallowing down the lump in his throat, the words ‘I need help.’ The statement ‘Can I have something to eat?’ ripped at his stomach. He said a quiet, “Okay.”

He grabbed a paper and a pencil, going out to a secluded corner. He drew. He drew the character that helped him through so many different situations and different problems.

A little demon smiled at him.

The little demon was everything he was not.

He was soft and round, fluid and bouncy, such a charming and charismatic character. Lovable.

He stared at it, folding the paper over and making a motion. Another paper was added. More and more. The motion became fluid, and soon he added a background.

An animation. So smooth and lovely.

“Ramirez! Back to work!”

He was about to get back to the monotonous machinery, but he looked back at the flipbook in his hand.

“Joey! Get your ass moving!”

It was something he could do that took his skill, not his lack of it.

“No.”

Everyone in the workshop looked up. Even the machines’ hum became quiet.

“What was that?” His manager’s voice was shook and angered. “No? How dare you?”

“No, I refuse,” Joey stood up, rising to his full height, towering over everyone. “I hate this job.”

A hand whistled through the air to smack him.

It never managed, and the boss stared in shock at Johan’s hand holding back his wrist from his face, gently, delicately, like a thorny rose.

He put no effort into it.

He tilted his head, clearing having a massive headache.

He yawned, still holding him back.

“I quit. This clearly is not something that I should be doing. I should be doing art, animation, nothing of this sort,” he rolled his head. “Please give me my final paycheck and I will be taking my leave of this facility.”

An hour. It took an hour.

“Good fuckin’ luck,” his boss bid him. He shrugged in a reply. “You’ll never get a job in this economy. We’ll be waitin’ for you to come crawling back.”

He snatched a pair of scissors before leaving.

He stood in front of the mirror.

Snip snip, bitch. His hair fluttered to the floor.

His head felt so much lighter.

His hair was still a mess, but so much neater.

He trimmed his beard as well, leaving it short.

Johan ran a hand over it, walking out of could have been bathroom. One grabbed his suitcase, flipping it open, rummaging through the few things he had.

Something black caught his eye.

He carefully pulled it out.

Oh.

He did not mean to take that.

One of Rico’s suit jackets, and it felt so weighty in his thin hands.

The black glared at him.

He stared at it for a long moment before un pinning his pride button, pulling the fancy, the too fancy for him, to regal, jacket on.

He looked at himself in the mirror. The jacket made him look bigger, more confident… better.

He swallowed roughly.

Ricardo Josef Drew.

He flinched.

He looked nothing like his step brother, but he knew - he knew - that Ricky would be a much better match for this suit.

It was too big on him by the chest, too short by the sleeves, but it was unnoticeable unless one would stare at it trying to see what was off.

He looked respectable.

He went off and saw to his bank account, buying a small studio for himself, and a mattress! An actual bed!

Joey Drew Studios.

(No one knew him. No one knew Johan Ramirez. Joey Drew sounded white. Johan Ramirez was clearly a colored person.)

That was the first day the facade existed.

The day he woke up with a headache in an empty abandoned building, snapping out of the grip of overuse, and then he became Joey Drew.

Joey Drew felt like a layer of skin not sitting quite right with the rest.

That was what he called the place, despite the crawling feeling of wrongness.

Joey Drew Studios.

For many months, he was the only person working there, in the small little place, him and a light table, his piano and guitar, his highly dangerous second hand projector, a pencil and a dream.

People loved Bendy.

(He bought a goddamn refrigerator.)

Those who saw him, at least.

(A new pair of glasses, rose pink, helping him see colors despite his color deficiency.)

Ratings were high for the amount that did.

(Ignoring his scars was so much easier now that he had something to push for.)

He was minorly successful, making enough to live off of.

(Eating when he wanted and able to actually purchase food and not swipe it felt so good!)

It filled him with happiness.

(He was finally at an uneasy contentedness.)

Henry Stein came into his life, an animator after his own heart, who wanted to see the man behind the Bendy cartoon.

A knock on the studio door.

Joey swiped a hand over his head, yawning and going to receive the visitor.

“Hello?” he greeted, rubbing his eyes. He froze as he saw his guest.

Blonde hair streaked with strawberry pink.

Flashing, bright, icy, spellbinding blue eyes.

Short, with the most beautiful curves.

Radiating confidence and the knowledge that he was just as good or better than you.

Pale smirking lips and twinkling pink cheeks, and such a dazzling smile.

Johan snapped back to reality from the smile growing wider. He stuttered, flushed, holding open his door for the man to come in. “My name is Johan. May I have the pleasure of knowing the name of such a marvelous being as yourself?”

“I’m just Henry Stein,” the man, Henry, coolly replied, entering into the little studio. He rose an eyebrow at the bed and fridge, making Joey blush even more. “You live here?”

“Well, I ca-”

“I like it.”

“Excuse me?” Joey breathed, his eyes wide. “You… like the fact I live in my studio?”

“Of course,” Henry snorted, and Joey fell so hard for that little laugh, his breath hitching. He swallowed roughly, trying to keep in mind his age. He was so young. Henry had to be much older than him. “Shows your work ethic. You probably work on those toons every second you can, huh?”

“Yeah,” Joey confessed, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m not one to be afraid of commitment.”

“I like that in a man,” Henry hummed, flipping through one of Joey’s latest animations. Joey melted in his skin, for once in his life grateful for his dark color. Henry turned back to him with that alluring smirk. “Are you hiring? I’ve got two things going for me, medical school and my daughter, and a bit of extra cash would help.”

“I… I can’t pay that much,” Joey mumbled, looking off to the side. He has a daughter. Oh, Aramis…. “And I’ll have to purchase a second light table, so that may take some time. “Though I would be honored to have you working with me.”

“We can talk legalities later, eh Johan? Now, tell me…” Henry pondered for a moment. “How does one month sound? I’ll come back then if that’s how long it will take.”

“No no,” Joey shook his head, not wanting him to leave. “It’ll take me about a week to prepare. Can you come back in… let’s say five days? So we can discuss pay and the such.”

“Sounds great.”

He and Henry not only became employer-employee, but fast friends, and then business partners, and the studio was successful just between the two of them. While Henry drew Joey composed, and while Joey drew, Henry manned the projector. They made Boris together in that time. It was such a great year, 1925.

Joey was already like a second father to Linda.

Diane kept drawing Henry away from work, Henry often leaving Linda with Joey or her grandmother to be with his girlfriend.

It was a good time, more or less.

Years went by.

(Joey fell in more and more love, painful, aching, love.)

Linda called Joey Papa.

(He cried.)

Henry and Diane got “closer”, but Joey could tell she never loved him.

(He wished he warned Henry.)

The company grew into something stable, just them, but firm in the television industry.

(Joey would always freshen up the studio with various wildflowers he found as spring wore on, hoping and fearing Henry would know their symbolism.)

They were moderately successful, both comfortable in their living, both enjoying the other’s company, sharing the warmth.

(They woke up tangled together one hot day in the summer after passing out while drawing, and they laughed about it, neither uncomfortable with the situation.)

Joey, despite the weather getting colder, never felt warmer.

(Henry looked gorgeous in the crisp autumn air, his cheeks and lips an ensnaring bright red and his eyes flashing and smiling.)

Then the stock market failure.

(Good thing he did not release stock of his own.)

So many people who needed jobs.

(His old boss had asked if he could spare any money. He gave him fifty dollars.)

Not he.

(Their animations became more popular as people turned to them to assuage their pain.)

There were those in need though, and so….

(He knew what it was like to be hungry.)

He wrote out an advertisement.

(He froze at the name, again.)

Artists of all kinds, projectionists, musicians, and animators alike, apply to

Joey Drew Studios.

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spycethra · 6 years

Text

Title: Sick (Part 1/2)

Pairing: Gavin Reed x RK-900

Relationship Level: Somewhat Close Coworkers / Gavin: In-Denial-of-Attraction / RK-900: Fully-Attracted (But-Lost-On-How-To-Court-Someone-As-Stubborn-As-Gavin)

Rating: Fluff

Summary: RK-900 is trying to maintenance his sick human. Gavin doesn’t take it well. (At first.)

[Read Part 2]

“Will you cut it out?! It’ll just burn the inside of my mouth!”

Gavin, still red nosed and bleary eyed from that morning, leaned away in retreat right into the obstructing arm of his dark leather couch. It was bad enough that the android wouldn’t return to the office. But now he had Richard’s attempt at spoon feeding him to worry about.

RK-900 was an investigator unit. He was an obvious far cry from the AX-400 model, but Richard didn’t seem to mind this fact. Much less acknowledge it.

“I have already assessed the spoon’s temperature, and its fahrenheit levels are safe for oral consumption. Now, say aaaaaaah-”

RK-900 opened his own mouth (as if to demonstrate) while leaning on the couch with his knee, squeaking the leather as he did so. He loomed over Gavin with the spoonful of steaming soup like an oppressive force of motherly nature that beheld zero concept of the word ‘no.’

“Rrrgh…” Gavin’s eyes narrowed defiantly at the spoonful of chicken soup that might have actually been really tasty... if it wasn’t being force fed to him.

A family of crushed tissues leapt from his lap to the creme carpet floor as he wriggled his face away, the warm spoon now insistently poking his cheek.

RK-900’s stare hardened, pushing a little harder against his partner’s face.

“Wh-what do you think you’re doing?!” Gavin snapped through gritted teeth, refusing to allow the android an opening of any sort.

“I’m deliberating on whether or not to just force it through,” Richard mused aloud with a thoughtful look.

The detective’s eyes widened as he searched for any evidence in the android’s face that could lead to him being serious.

“Or I could just tie you up and pour the entire thing through your nose.” At the pure look of horror Gavin was sporting, Richard merely shrugged. “It would still reach your stomach. I could just shove a larger one down your esophagus, but I would have to render you unconscious. ...Now if I could just find the right sized tubing...”

The way his ice blue eyes seemed to scan around for such an awful thing left the ‘patient’ more than a little unnerved.

It had to be the worst thing about RK-900.

He had absolutely no tells.

The spoon cooled against his human’s squishy cheek, barely brushing the stubble there.Gavin felt it poke him yet again, only this time with a terrifying firmness that had the man immediately jolting up to sit upright. A family of crushed tissues leapt from his lap to the creme carpet floor from his sudden motion but were left forgotten thanks to the tension in the room.

“All right! ALL RIGHT! You win. Fuck…” He quickly put his hands up in surrender before placing his mouth over the spoon, trying hard to ignore the growing smugness in his partner’s eyes.

Gavin swallowed almost tearfully while still wondering if RK-900 would have- Nope. He didn’t want to even think about.

“How is it?” Richard asked with a slight tilt of his head, still wearing his iconic deadpan look.

If Gavin had been a brave idiot, he might have spit the soup out. But he really, really enjoyed living a full life without a traumatizing hole in his cheek or his nasal cavity being unnecessarily penetrated.

“Mmm...mm. Good stuff,” he answered feebly, despite not being able to taste shit.

But he wasn’t about to tell RK-900 that…

With a lofty ‘mm’ in return, Richard carried on spoon feeding his needlessly belligerent partner. Gavin grimaced as the RK-900 even went through the trouble of softly blowing on it while cupping just beneath to prevent any spill.

This might have gone much better if only the android didn’t insist that Gavin say ‘ahhh’ for every spoonful. It was humiliating and there was no doubt that Richard was relishing every second in tormenting the tormentor.

Eventually, they were barely halfway done with the bowl when the detective couldn’t take it any longer.

“No! No more! I’m not fucking doing it!” he protested while hugging his throw blanket closer to himself.

Richard didn’t even bat an eye.

“Detective, were you aware that the tensile strength of the human cheek is the equivalent of-”

Without missing a beat, Gavin had already regretfully reopened his mouth.

“Ah-aaaaaah...”

But he only lasted two more spoonfuls before resisting yet again. RK-900 was growing impatient. It was almost like Gavin didn’t care to get better… or was too much a fool to recognize how to. More likely the latter.

The android heaved a breath.

“Reed.”

“I said I don’t want iiiit!”

The large violet throw blanket (with the Detroit Lions logo splayed across it) was tightly wrapped around the detective’s shivering half naked form in hopes of shielding from the fussing android. Of course, Cyberlife giving the RK-900 the strength of a damn bull made the whole plan more than a little unrealistic.

Richard’s thin brow twitched as he tore the blanket down single handedly, uncovering the miserable face of his sick partner, while masterfully not dropping even a single drop from the spoon.

“I said stoooop!” Gavin yelled as his neck was leaning to near cramp levels of fatigue as RK-900 continued to lean in even further to shove the steaming spoon of chicken soup into his mouth, “This is gay as hell! Can’t you see that?!”

Richard frowned deeply at his partner’s crass comment before seizing him underneath the knee to forcefully draw him back before tightly squeezing the disoriented man’s thigh without mercy.

“Yeow!! Leggo!” Gavin yelled, quickly grasping the wrist of RK-900’s insane pincer grip, “ Leggoooo-urmf!”

The spoon was unceremoniously shoved into his mouth, clacking against his teeth slightly as he nearly choked on the damn thing. Richard’s fingers loosened as he appeared nonchalantly satisfied with this conclusion.

This fucking… Gavin’s fury swirled violently in his head but only for a few seconds as he felt a wave of nausea rise with it as he rolled to his side, rebelliously spitting out the spoon. ...Though he was still mindful not to spit the food too. The RK-900 was watching him like a hawk and it seemed even the tiniest bit of spittle found on the floor would be grounds for civil war.

“Your diagnostics conclude that you were feeling worse than what you first informed me of, Reed,” Richard accused sharply.

Gavin tensed in hearing the danger in his android’s voice.

“This isn’t just a common cold. Your condition may be viral,” he pressed.

It was then the human detective tried to make a pathetic leap off the couch but the android’s long arms were much faster as they seized his waist, embarrassingly pulling him into the other’s lap.

“If you would discontinue your impudent attempts at escape, then I can properly diagnose what is wrong,” Richard explained tersely as he struggled slightly to keep Gavin from getting away.

Eventually the short second wind the man had quickly dissipated as he was then left panting pathetically against his partner’s chest.

“Fuck you…” he gasped while trying to catch his breath.

Gavin’s body was working hard to fight the illness wracking his body, but even still the duo glared each other down, both entirely obstinate to the other’s demands. A short silence passed between them before Richard went straight to the point.

“I’m going to need a blood sample.”

“Aaaand I repeat myself. Fuck. You,” Gavin sneered while closing his eyes tight, “Fuck… Dick, why don’t you do something actually useful and turn off the lights, will ya?”

When the android made no attempt to let him go, the other man moaned in agony.

“Just turn it off! I won’t run away, dammit. I can’t… Not like this, stupid,” he panted while becoming surprised as Richard’s grip around him finally loosened.

Oddly enough, the robot’s movements were much more careful this time around as he lifted Gavin just enough to remove himself from the couch before setting him back down. He even went so far as to grab the discarded blanket so as to tuck him back in.

“Diiiick… Priorities. The fucking light… Now.” Gavin felt the other stop movement all together and winced. “...please?”

“Right away, Reed.” A soft look filled the android’s eyes yet faded quickly as he moved to his task to dim the overhead lighting to nothing.

Only Gavin’s heavy panting filled the dark along with the soft blue luminescence that emanated from Richard’s jacket. Returning to the couch, he stood just behind it while utilizing night vision to observe his sick human. It was almost too unnerving for him to watch. Why were humans so horribly frail?

“...Thanks.” Came a weak voice of gratitude.

AN: I love these two. Mostly the fact that RK-900′s version of ‘insisting’ or ‘advising’ anything will almost always include some sort of corporal punishment.

#detroit: become human #detroit become human #gavin reed #dbh gavin #dbh rk900 #reed900 #gavin900 #gavin x rk900 #rk-900 #fluff

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fatbottombucky · 6 years

Text

Well, It’s All An Adventure *Peter Parker x Reader*

Requested: since requests are open: could you possibly do a spider-man x male! reader that includes the spider-man kiss? (also I greatly appreciate the fact you write for male readers bc there’s so few out there and my gay ass heart is in love with peter parker 💖💖💖)

Pairing: Peter Parker x (M) Reader

Warnings: so much fluff

Word Count: 1676

A/N: I had so much writing this- mostly because I listened to the greatest showman soundtrack- this heavily inspired by Tightrope from that album because it gives me so many feels!!!

I kinda want to do a small series based upon every song from The Greatest Showman soundtrack, let me know if that’s something I should consider. It’ll be Peter Parker x Gender neutral reader but, I don’t know, I think it could be really cool to do a series where each part is based on a song from the soundtrack; just an idea! - Rosalie

Your mind was racing with a million thoughts. Trying to find that pivotal moment that changed your whole life, your whole existence, your whole being but you couldn’t place it so simply. Maybe it was because it wasn’t one moment, it was a million different ones that led you here. It’s exciting and different, yet terrifying and stupid at the same time.

You had allowed someone to walk in your life and show you a world so amazing, so enticing and different, so new and wonderful. It’s intoxicating how life can be when viewed so differently. How someone can make every normal day feel like an adventure, even if it’s just staying at home.

You guessed this is what it feels like to love someone.

He had shown you wonderful things, beautiful things. How he sees the world and people, he really opened your eyes and mind. The uncertainty stuck with you though, the never sure if he’ll catch you if you should fall- not physically because he could, it’s his job to save and his speciality is catching people with his webs.

Peter Parker was an enigma to you, emotion wise. He showed you breathtaking views, he helplessly stuttered around you, and shyly smile and blush around you. He just never acted on his emotions around you, it was cute at first but now you want Peter Parker to have Spider-Man’s confidence. You had seen him be so effortlessly confident as his alter-ego, but Peter was so cripplingly shy and you loved, plus hated it about him.

You were walking a tightrope with him, high in the sky. Sure he was holding your hand but there was a nagging, the slight slip that you could fall and he wouldn’t hold on, he’d let you go and it was terrifying.

All thoughts were ceased when a loud clap of thunder startled you, you looked up in time to see dark clouds had rolled over and the beginning of a thunderstorm was happening. Droplets of rain started to drip down, a few landing in your hair. You had forgotten a jacket too, you sighed as you slung your backpack over your back and began to walk faster.

The rain poured down, soaking through your white tee and jeans, your hair stuck to your forehead. Your shoes were getting ruined due to the number of puddles you stepped in, doing the only rational thing you stalked down an alleyway- a shortcut to your house. It didn’t really shield you from the rain but it would get you home quicker, and that was a good thing.

“You shouldn’t have forgotten a jacket,” a voice calls and you frown, turning to look over your shoulder but seeing an empty alley, a small tap on your shoulder made you turn back and jump in fright at the masked face in front of you.

“Fuckin’ hell!” You yell you could tell that Peter was grinning, he always had a smug grin whenever he manages to scare you. “Yeah, well, shut up!” You sighed, turning your head to the right because he was upside down and using a single web strand to hang down in front of you. “Aren’t you meant to be saving people?” You sighed slightly.

He shrugs to the best of his capabilities being upside down, “You look like you could use a little saving, to be honest.”

“I don’t think you can save me from my mind,” you say before you can think, you sighed because you can already tell he’s frowning. “It’s raining, I just want to go home.” You mutter and go to walk around but he lifts a hand, pressing it against your chest and stopping you, you don’t bother protesting because Peter wouldn’t allow you to walk off anyway. He’s silent, his small way of telling you to explain.

The rain picks up, ultimately soaking you both more and you push the hair off of your forehead, shivering at the coldness of the rain. “I like someone, a guy, and I know for a fact he likes me because he refuses to let me go home even though it’s raining,” that receives a small chuckle from him, “But I don’t want to fully fall without actually knowing if he’ll be there to catch me, it’s all an adventure till it goes wrong.” You shrugged slightly, looking away.

You listen to the rain hit the alleyway floor, creating pools of puddles and splashing against the walls. The rain hit the trash cans creating a loud, vibrating sound through the alley; despite the loudness, it was calming and the cold rain helped calm your heated skin.

Something wet grabs a hold of your wrist, you glance to see one of Peter’s gloved hands is pulling you slightly closer to him and you step silently. Your feet now standing in a puddle, you don’t care as you frown at the closeness between you and masked Peter who is still, somehow, hanging upside down.

“I don’t want to pressure him either,” you mutter, a faint whisper into the rainy air, “don’t want him to think he has to declare his undying love for me or whatever, just want to know we’re on the same page.”

He still doesn’t say anything as he drops your wrist, using the same hand that once held yours and using it to lift the mask from around his chin and to his nose. You frown for a moment, watching as he doesn’t pull the mask fully off. Before you can speak again he tugs you closer, holding the back of your neck and connecting your lips to his.

You’re shocked for a second, not thinking for a moment that this would happen. Your eyes close instinctively, smiling despite how weird of a first kiss this seems to be. Him upside down, wet hand holding the back of your neck, your own cupping his cheeks. It’s mostly your upper lip trapped between his, yet it’s perpetual bliss. Even as the rain pours over the two of you, you forget about how cold you feel and instead sink into the feeling of Peter’s lips, finally, against your own.

You hear a faint beeping from his suit, a beep that you know all too well. You can feel that Peter is trying to ignore it, trying to hold onto this moment for as long as possible, even if you are drenched from the rain but that doesn’t seem to bother him either as he continues to kiss you in it. You try to pull away, he only pulls you back in for more causing you to chuckle.

“Go!” You mutter against his mouth, he pulls away enough for you to lift the mask back up and cover his mouth, stopping him from getting carried away again. “Go, so I can finally go home.” He chuckles, nodding once and swinging himself up and away from you.

You shake your head and continue your way home in an almost dream-like state, before you know it you’re back home and rushing upstairs to find some dry clothing. Pulling on a jumper and joggers, picking up the heavy, wet clothing and placing them in the dryer. It’s only when you hear the dryer rattling that the events settle in.

Peter Parker had just kissed you, in the rain, dressed as Spider-Man and upside down. You let out a light chuckle at that, grabbing a towel and drying your now messy hair with it, sighing contently at your house now warming you up but the bubbling warmth of Peter’s kiss had helped with that too. You fall back on your bed, letting the towel lay messily on your floor as you stare at the ceiling.

You end up falling asleep, only awakening when you hear your window being opened and closed- rather loudly. You turn your head to see Peter, wearing a dark hoodie and jeans, he gives a look around your darkroom before seeing you laying on your stomach looking at him with raised eyebrows. He looks exceptionally cute with his little, shy smile and hands in the hoodie pocket.

“You didn’t answer my texts,” he whispers and holds his phone to your face, the blinding light has you squinting.

“I’m asleep,” you mutter, “I mean, I fell asleep!”

Peter rolls his eyes, “I can see that now.” He nudges you, you roll over to the other side of the twin bed that’s pressed up against a wall but you dragged the pillow with you. “Hey, that’s meant to be my pillow!” he whines.

“Do you live in this bed?” You asked raising an eyebrow, hugging that pillow and resting your head on the other pillow with a grin.

He pouts and shakes his head, “No but my boyfriend does!” He says smoothly causing you to choke on the air you breathed and cough loudly, rather attractively too.

You regain your breathing, smacking him lightly as he laughs. His head thumping down on the mattress, dramatically turning to face you and using his hands as a makeshift pillow.

“I have something to tell you,” you mumble seriously, “I kissed another guy.” He frowns, a look of utter betrayal shoots across his face. “Yeah, this weirdo Spider-Man like, totally, stopped me in an alley and wouldn’t let me leave till I kissed him. It was raining, so I had to do it!” Relief crosses his face now, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips. “You should beat him up.”

“Well, I have something to tell you I am Spider-Man,” he says dramatically and you gasp loudly, sitting up and smacking the pillow on his face, very hard. “Ow!”

He removes the pillow as you fake anger, “I cannot believe you didn’t tell me!” He laughs causing you to chuckle.

Laying back down beside him as he places the pillow behind his head, you hesitantly rest your head on his chest; despite being in this exact position thousands of times before, this time feels different, maybe it’s because he called you his boyfriend a moment ago but it feels safer somehow. You both lay in silence, you listening to his heartbeat and Peter playing with your hair.

You hear the rain had started again, pattering against your window and you smile slightly to yourself.

A small part of you wished Peter could mind read, your mind repeating the words ‘i love you’ over and over with every tap of rain against the window.

(I don’t know why I ended it the way I did, it’s kinda a rambled mess at the end. I hope people like this, I tried really hard to make it cute and fluffy, I haven’t done a request in a while /: - Rosalie)

#peter parker #peter parker x male reader #peter parker x male!reader #peter parker x male #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #spiderman one shot #spiderman imagines #spider man x reader #spiderman x reader #marvel imagines

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miron-kablam-ram · 6 years

Text

Part 7 (finale)

It looked hopeless at this point, EG was just too much for Iron but he still stood up with gripped fist and eyes gleaming with determination. He was not about to give up not after all his friends went through to revive him. EG just laughed at him

EG: Your friends have proven most impressive with their skill but their luck was eventually going to run out but you....your luck ran out the day you became impure and tainted with a demon. I can’t believe your moth-

Iron punched his in face and sent him into a fire hydrant, his eyes were glowing red

Iron: Don’t EVER speak of my family you bastard, they were the best family a boy can ask for and they protected me no matter how impure the council said I was!

EG: And Look were they are now, DEAD, face it every person who comes into your life suffers greatly. Troji, Doki, Amaris, Zemini, and your pets. They all suffered just for YOU, an impure that shouldn’t even exist

Iron had a low chuckle that turned into a laugh

Iron: They didn’t do it for me, they did it to save the innocent lives you threatened to destroy. And if THATS all you got then I can see why they beat you.

EG: WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! No, WHAT do you think you are?! An elemental? A demon? A chimera? WHAT?!

Iron presses his hand against his heart with a smile as his hair covered his eyes and a smirk came across his face

Iron: This....This is Iron, back together, and I’m never gonna go down at the hands of the likes of you because I’m so much better, and every part of me is saying go get em

They started circling around each other

Iron: the six of us ain’t gonna Follow your rules, come at me you stupid ego fool, so let’s go just me and you *EG rushes at him* lets go a round or two *EG starts throwing multiple punches and Iron just keeps dodging easily with a smirk* 🎶go ahead and try hit me if you’re able, can’t see my relationship is stable, I know you hate the way we intermingle *Iron jumper on top of EG’s fist* but I think you’re just mad cause you’re all single *he kicked him back* and you’re not gonna stop what we are together, we’re gonna stay like this forever, if you break us apart we’ll just come back newer and we’ll always be twice the man that you are *they rushed to each other and quickly exchanged blows along to the rhythm* I am made oh-oh-oh-oh-of Lo-oh-oh-oh-ove, oh-oh-oh-oh-ove Lo-oh-oh-oh-ove, lo-oh-oh-oh-ove, lo-oh-oh-oh-ove, yeaaaaaah, *he bounces back and EG fires blasts like crazy, Iron gets back on all fours and swiftly runs and dishes them with ease while humming the tune*

EG: HOLD STILL DAMN YOU.

Lightning started coming down and Iron quickly zig zags but a gigantic bolt strikes him. He blocked with an ice shield but he was still injured and now in a Crater with his shirt messed up as EG floats above him

Iron: 🎶...this is who we are...🎶

EG: Pathetic

Iron: 🎶this is who I am, and if you think you can beat me then you better think again *his aura slowly glows* because I have this feeling, and it will never end, I won’t let you touch my planter I WONT LET YOU HURT MY FRIENDS *his jacket turned completely silver as well as his eyes and hair while his aura resembles a dragon*

EG: ?!

Iron took one gigantic leap that the ground caved under a little, in a millisecond he was right there in front of EG and punches him right in the gut. The shockwave was so strong it made another crater and sent EG flying but Iron wasn’t done yet, he zipped to EG’s flying body and followed up with a blast of silver energy. EG tumbled on the ground and quickly recovers with rage in his eyes as he came at Iron with two swords. He quickly slashed multiple times but could never land a hit on Iron

Iron: 🎶go ahead and try hit me if you’re able, can’t see our relationship is stable, I know you think I’m something you’re not afraid of *he grabs the swords with two finger* cause you think you’ve seen what I’m made of *he throws EG to the side, he quickly gets up* I’m well I’m even more then the five of them, everything they stand for is what I have, I have the fury, I have the patience, I HAVE DETERMINATION *they rushed at each other and slashed furiously and at blindingly speeds, Iron never got a cut but EG was getting cut nearly to shreds. They bounced back* I am made oh-oh-oh-oh-of

Lo-oh-oh-oh-ove, oh-oh-oh-oh-ove *they rushed at each other with their swords*

And it's stronger than you🎶 *they passed through each other and landed*

Iron stood tall and slowly sheathed his sword, EG spewed blood and fell down on his knees. Iron only had a cut on his cheek....it was over.

@trojixlegion @goddess-of-the-gay-unicorns @zeminizippy @thebadasssleepyartist

#part 7 #elementale gods #elementale quirle

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cardshcrp · 6 years

Note

five times kissed but high school au

FIVE TIMES KISSED.

@xtrainee // HIGH SCHOOL GV.

The first time, it’s nothing. Sitting in the back together, talking quietly, surrounded by a group of not-quite-peers and decidedly ignoring the meeting. He’s being indulgent, honestly, and he doesn’t know why - maybe because Wade is set apart too.

Murder corner. You’re gonna start more rumors hangin’ out with me. Go homo or go home, y’know?

Wade’s laughing, watching the way the yarn keeps reshaping in Remy’s hands, and for a second Remy thinks that yeah, maybe good guys do exist still, just a few far between, and he’s found one in the back of a calculus classroom, smelling of weed and cigarette smoke. He’s more relaxed than he has been since the move, so for once he’s indulgent, gives in to the impulse.

He leans in like he’s gonna give him a secret and presses his lips to his cheek instead, wrapped in their little bubble of solitude, and the surprised gasp kind of makes it worth it.

LeBeau, that’s kinda gay!

Remy rolls his eyes, smirks, and that’s that. It doesn’t mean anything at all, so he doesn’t think about it.

II.

I really shouldn’t have done that. It’s his last thought before he goes tumbling down, feet tangled up and eyes rolling back, because he’s a fucking idiot and he’s been running for two hours now with his binder on, no breaks, pushing himself and pushing himself because he’s burning up with too much energy and pissiness, all homesick and upset and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

There’s a shout as he hits the dusty track, and if he had the presence of mind to scowl he would’ve, because who the hell stuck around on school grounds till seven at night?

He groans when somebody fucking shakes him like a complete dickhead, rasping for air, and then there’s weight on his chest and a warm mouth settling over his, breathing the oxygen in that he’s struggling for. He needs it, and he’s confused, so he lets it happen for half a minute, and then he yells and shoves, shirt slipping down and down off his shoulder and -

It’s Wade. Go figure. He glares at the taller boy, chest heaving, skin sticky - and then he’s white, every bit of fury gone in an instant because those startled eyes are on the shoulder strap of his binder and Wade’s glancing back and forth between his hands and Remy’s chest like he’s going to die on the spot.

Remy scowls and yanks his shirt off, throws it in the other boy’s face as a shield as he turns around and struggles with his binder because he can’t fucking breathe and it needs to be off, now. He can’t get it, his fingers are scrabbling and there’s panic welling up in his throat - and then warm hands are settling over his, peeling the soaked fabric off his skin, it’s okay, I got you and he’s petrified but when he looks up Wade’s eyes are screwed shut and he’s doing his damnedest not to touch Remy skin to skin.

They get it off and Remy shrugs his shirt back on like it isn’t the most awkward thing that’s ever happened in his life, and Wade folds his binder and hands it back to him. I’m sorry, he says, and he looks like he means it. For touching you - I didn’t know, and Remy just sighs. He’s exhausted, suddenly, and honestly? At least Wade doesn’t look disgusted, or like he’s going to scream and run. It’s okay. It’s fine. It’s - I was being stupid anyway.

They sit there for a long time, not saying anything, and when Remy finally stands and turns to go he mutters thanks, stoops to give him a hug from behind that has too many soft curves before he jogs away.

He catches Wade staring at him the next day in class with a look on his face like he doesn’t quite know what to say. They don’t talk about it, don’t talk at all.

III.

He swears under his breath, patting down his pockets like that’s magically going to change the fact that he’d forgotten his jacket today, his leather jacket that he wears even in the summer because it hides the way his chest isn’t quite flat enough.

His jacket that he keeps his smokes in. His lockpicks too, coincidentally, but that isn’t what he’s after right now.

Remy scowls, stomps his foot against the cold ground petulantly; his huff of irritation comes out cold and white and visible. It’s not worth going back inside when he’s already snuck out, so he leans back against the brick back of the gym.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand reaches out over his shoulder, dangling a half-empty pack of cigarettes in front of his nose. He swears, sharp and foreign, and it makes Wade laugh and jiggle the packet, coaxing.

C’mon, I saw you. You need one.

Remy turns to face him, hip cocked and arms folded over his chest, ’cause nothing comes for free. He wouldn’t put it past the senior to be that crazy, but still - What you want for it?

Wade blinks, and his face breaks into a smile, jumping right on the chance to tease. Give us a kiss, he croons, obviously not meaning it.

Sure. And Remy ducks in, curls his fingers under Wade’s chin and tugs him in, kisses him nice and slow and thorough and leaving him wide-eyed like he’s just seen a ghost, lips pink and parted.

He plucks a cigarette free and winks at him before strolling away, lazy and contented, smug as hell and twice as pleased.

IV.

Jeez, close your mouth, he says, and hands Wade the pizza box like he isn’t perched on the kitchen counter mostly naked with only lace on the remainder. It’s your favorite.

Wade closes his mouth and takes the box, opens it again like he’s going to ask who knows what, but finally he just shakes his head and grabs a slice instead, grinning like crazy.

Neither of them honestly has any idea when they became friends, but it really didn’t matter. The fact was that they were, and that in itself was enough.

(It’s kind of the closest he’s been to happy in a long time.)

They eat in silence for a while, trading off sips of Coke, Remy leaning in to clean a smudge of sauce off Wade’s cheek and maybe, just maybe he’s smiling real soft.

C’mere, c’mere, and he reaches out to snag Wade’s wrists and drag him gently forward as he backs into the living room. He’d pleased to find that Wade’s eyes never leave his face; finally, the backs of his knees hit the couch, and he laughs, half-giddy.

They topple over, legs tangled up and hands twisted up in hair and tugging at each other’s clothes, and for once Remy is the one getting kissed to hell and back, chapped lips all over his cheeks and nose and mouth.

When Remy yanks open the door at two in the morning with an angry tirade ready on his lips for whichever of his crew had forgotten their shit at his place, he blinks instead, because - uh, what?

There’s Wade Wilson on his doorstep, still in fatigues and hauling a duffel bag, and he just kinda stares for a hot minute, because he hasn’t seen the guy since graduation and it’s just - it’s two in the morning and it’s a little much, honestly, not that he isn’t glad.

Heard you stuck around in town, Wade says, and Remy just snorts, stepping aside to let him in. Uh, nah, I went home - wound up comin’ back here though. It’s comfy, y’know?

He cracks open a couple of beers, passes one to his old friend, rolls his own around between his palms; he’s at a bit of a loss, for once, and it shows. They both are, really.

There’s too much history written there, too many years of distance and unasked questions and silent glances, but at the bottom of the line they are friends and so Remy makes the guest room bed in record time, sits down next to him, and they stare at each other a long time. Stay as long as you like, he tells him. Just don’t ask me about my shitty schedule and I won’t punch ya.

Wade laughs, and Remy reaches out, lets his thumb drift over the other man’s cheek, slow and soft. They can figure things out later, stop the awkward sidestep, but now things are alright.

He leans in and presses his lips to the corner of Wade’s mouth, chaste and soft.

Welcome home, asshole. Missed ya.

#xtrainee #♠️ ANSWERED.#gv; marvel high.#♠️ DRABBLES.

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thursdays-fallen-angel · 7 years

Text

A birthday gift for @hily-shot, who put the idea of a secret admirer fic in my head forever ago, even if she probably doesn’t remember it now. Happy birthday, my smol friend. <3

(destiel, punk!Cas and jock!Dean, hs!au, 3k)

AO3

For the third day in a row, there’s a sticky note on Castiel’s locker. It’s innocuous in and of itself, but also bright pink and impossible to miss what with the way the color contrasts with the dull, grey lockers. Castiel sees it long before he reaches it, the sight both making his blood boil and sending butterflies bursting through his stomach.

He hates it.

He snatches the note off of the locker’s metal surface as quickly as he can, knowing Meg isn’t far behind him and not wanting her to see. He shields the small paper with his palms while he reads it.

Cas—

Your hair looks good today. It looks soft. I want to run my fingers through it.

Castiel rolls his eyes, even as his cheeks burn with a blush. He can’t decide if this one is better or worse than the last; it certainly isn’t as embarrassing as the first had been. But that doesn’t mean he wants anyone to know about them—he opens his locker and shoves the note into the back, stashing it behind a never-used chemistry textbook with the previous notes. He doesn’t want to see them, doesn’t want to acknowledge their existence.

He’s not sure which of his ‘friends’ is behind the stupid prank, but he’s taken a ‘guilty until proven innocent’ stance for the time being, and hates them all for it equally. He knows it’s not Meg—she’s sweet on him, she wouldn’t mess with him in this way—but it could very well be Balthazar, or Raphael, or Bart, or Uriel, or even some combination of those dicks working together. He wouldn’t be surprised.

After all, it’s not like anyone would seriously leave these kinds of messages for him (no matter how endearing the sentiment might be, or how his stomach still twists like it is real, despite his belief of the opposite). Castiel isn’t the only ‘punk’ in the school, the only one with tattoos and piercings and a unique ability to make teachers hate him—his ‘friends’ also tend to fall in that category, to various degrees, which is the only reason Castiel aligns himself with them in the first place. He is, however, the only one who’s gay. He’s not the token in the school, but he’s the token in his own clique, and that’s what brings the hellfire down on him. His friends aren’t homophobic, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other ways to harass him.

But no one on the outside of their group would ever take an interest in him, and certainly no one would have such nice things to say about him.

Castiel pulls his books for English out of his locker with jerky movements, rushed, thanks to the kinetic nervousness making itself at home in his gut. He doesn’t notice Meg coming up behind him, and he startles when she suddenly speaks, dropping his copy of Slaughterhouse-Five with a dull thump.

“You alright there, angel-face? Lookin’ a little… stressed.”

Castiel whips his head up to glare at her, a thunderous expression which only serves to earn him a raised eyebrow. He drops to pick up his book and shoves it into his bag. “It’s nothing,” he bites out, “don’t worry about it.”

“…Right.” Meg shifts to lean against the wall of lockers beside him, her hip popped out and arms folded. “So other than the fact that that’s total bullshit, should I be concerned?”

“No.” Castiel slams his locker shut, and turns on his heel, away from Meg. She makes an offended sound, but not even that stops him from storming off toward his first class.

If he doesn’t talk about it, he can go on pretending it isn’t happening. And, most importantly, he can go on pretending he doesn’t wish it was real.

The following morning, Meg is already standing beside Castiel’s locker when he arrives. He doesn’t think twice about it at first, but as he approaches, she grins and holds out her index finger. There’s a bright pink sticky note stuck to it.

Castiel’s stomach drops.

“Looks like you got a fan, Clarence,” she coos, the sweetness in her voice at-odds with her wicked grin. She holds the note out to him and recites it from memory, adopting a dreamy, love-struck tone. Even from a few feet away, he can read the neat, blocky letters that line up with what she says. “Cas, your smile lights up a room. You should do it more.” She glances slyly at Castiel. “Looks like you’ve been keeping secrets. Who’s the lucky lady?”

Castiel rips the sticky note away from her and, once he’s managed to quell his shaking hands long enough to get his locker open, shoves it in the back to join the growing collection of notes there. His cheeks burn and Meg’s amusement isn’t helping anything. He tries to ignore her. He wants to pretend she doesn't exist. He wants to pretend he doesn't exist, for god’s sake. He doesn't want any of this to be happening.

Meg’s continued teasing doesn't make his pretending easy. She's too skilled at reading him for her own good.

“Oh, dear,” she says, tone sweeping and dramatic, with no little amount of amusement, “you don't even know, do you, angel cake. A secret admirer—and here I was thinking I'd seen all of the best cliches. Gotta say, whoever this kid is, they're good. They must be pretty damn crazy about you, if they're leaving you stuff that tooth-rotting.”

Castiel slams his locker closed with a scowl. He thought his stomach was in knots before—it's only getting worse the longer Meg goes on. He doesn’t know what to do with the thought of anyone being crazy about him. Him, Castiel Novak. He considers himself lucky to have people he can call friends, what could he possibly have done to be worthy of potential romantic interest?

“Maybe this’ll be that chance you’ve been waiting for to finally get laid, huh?” Meg adds, and the last of Castiel’s resilience crumbles away to nothing. He doesn’t want to deal with this shit any more.

Fuck it. Who needs class, anyway?

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he growls, pointedly ignoring her smug grin as he turns away. He shoves past some meathead in a varsity jacket who was standing much too close to his locker, and beelines toward the exit. He doesn't give a damn who it was, and he pays them no attention. After that, everyone sees him coming and steers clear, parting before him like the Red Sea.

He doesn't look back to see the varsity jacket boy staring after him in mute shock.

He wouldn’t care, anyway. He’s just anxious to get home.

His locker is note-less the next morning. After the scuffle he had with Meg over it—a scuffle which was later continued over text, much to Castiel’s chagrin—he's grateful for the reprieve. He can tell that she still wants to make a comment when the two of them reach the blank metal door of his locker, can see the wicked glint in her eyes, but he silences her with a glare, and for once, it has the desired effect.

He resolutely tells himself that he’s not disappointed that his so-called ‘secret admirer’ looks to have been scared away—he’s just surprised, is all. A note-leaving pattern of close to two weeks has been broken. That’s all it is. Even if this is Raphael or someone, it’s odd. Obviously. There’s no other emotions, there.

God, he’s like a prepubescent girl.

He listens with half an ear while Meg talks his head off about some incident with Luc, her on-again-off-again boyfriend from the other side of town, and keeps his answers to monosyllabic grunts. His lack of enthusiasm doesn't deter her, and she continues on well through their shared first period. His second hour is a blessing of silence, as is his third, but there's a trickle of tension in his gut that inspires him to keep to himself even more than usual. Through all of his classes, he keeps a book propped open on his lap beneath his desk, and reads to escape his thoughts.

It works well, until he gets to English.

“Vonnegut, huh?” a voice to his left says, and Castiel startles so hard that the book falls closed in his lap. He’s sure he can find his place again, but logic isn’t enough to quell his burst of irritation as he turns a glare up at the speaker.

Said speaker turns out to be a boy Castiel is vaguely familiar with. Or--okay, very familiar with. Everyone in the school knows the captain of the wrestling team/varsity tight end on the football team/ASB vice president, Dean Winchester. And alright, maybe Castiel has, well, taken note of him in the past. Several times. Often. Maybe he’s caught himself staring a few times.

So he knows exactly who Dean Winchester is. Who doesn’t?

But whether he knows of him or not, this is definitely a first. They’ve never spoken, Dean and Castiel. Jock and punk don’t exactly mix well, at least in the eyes of the broader social sphere of a high school. He can’t quite understand why it’s happening now—which is why his surprise is quickly hidden behind a mask of disgruntlement.

“Vonnegut,” he confirms a beat later, eyes narrowed slightly. He doesn’t know what to do here; does he go on the defensive, or assume that Dean’s comment is good-natured? He hedges neutrally, “You’re… familiar with his works?”

For all of Castiel’s paranoia, however, Dean just seems genuinely enthusiastic about his choice in novel. His eyes (so very green; Castiel rarely allows himself the opportunity to look at them, not eager to be caught staring) are bright with excitement. “Hell yeah, I know his works! My favorite is Cat’s Cradle, but Slaughterhouse-Five is a damn close second. I’ve got a copy at home that I’ve read, like, a dozen times.”

Castiel blinks. Dean Winchester, a reader? And of pulpy sci-fi at that. Sure, they share an AP English class, but he’d always assumed…

Well. He’s not quite sure what he assumed, actually. Maybe he should feel guilty for that.

He wets his lips and searches for something to say in return. He comes up woefully short, but eventually settles on, “I’m not a huge fan of Cat’s Cradle. The ending was too bizarre for me.”

Dean laughs, loud and bright. It makes Castiel’s heart swell. “It's not for everyone,” he concedes. There's a moment of hesitation, then, and though Dean’s good mood remains in place, he starts to look a bit nervous.

When Castiel raises a pierced eyebrow, Dean’s nervousness takes on a degree of embarrassment. He bites his lower lip, and the sight definitely should not hold the entirety of Castiel’s attention like it does. He's so distracted that he nearly misses it when Dean eventually speaks.

“You weren't in class yesterday.”

“I was sick.” The lie falls from Castiel’s tongue without a second thought. It's only once he's spoken that he recognizes the implication that Dean noticed his absence. His cheeks warm. “I—”

“Do you want the notes?” Dean asks. He's already flipping back a few pages in his notebook, and rambling on as if his lines were already prepared long before Castiel even gave his answer. “I can take pictures of what I have and text them to you, if you want? Or, I mean, you can take pictures yourself, but sometimes I'm not always clear with what I write, so I could explain things, and we talked about the next project we’re doing, so—”

“Mr. Winchester,” a voice calls from the front of the room, and Dean immediately falls silent. His eyes, unfortunately, leave Castiel as he turns to the front of the room, looking cowed. Castiel would know; he can't tear his eyes away.

Mrs. Mills continues sternly, “If you and Mr. Novak can't behave yourselves and stop chatting, I will be forced to both separate you, and discipline you. This is supposed to be a quiet work time. So help me god, Dean, I will make you run lines at practice today if I have to.”

Castiel wonders if Mrs. Mills targeted Dean instead of himself because she's his coach (for which sport, he hasn't the slightest idea) or because he was clearly the instigator, but regardless, he's oddly glad for it. Dean’s blush is a beautiful sight to behold. He doesn't mind getting yelled at by his teachers, but lord, this is so much better.

“And Mr. Novak.”

Damnit.

He finally turns his attention forward, frowning to let his teacher know just how displeased he is with the development.

She isn't fazed. She never is. It's admirable, really.

“I have a task for you. Come up here, please?”

Castiel represses an eyeroll, but goes obediently to the front of the room. The ‘task’ turns out to be a trip to the library to pick up a copy of their new assigned reading book. It’s a bit obnoxious, having to go all the way across the school, but he does need the book, so he shuts his mouth and goes.

When he returns to class twenty minutes later, there’s a pink sticky note protruding from between the pages, and Dean is gone. The sight of it shocks Castiel to his core. He pointedly ignores the way his hands tremble when he reaches for the book, and flips it open to the marked page. His eyes go to the note, first.

Cas—

I should’ve worked up the courage to talk to you a long time ago.

It’s okay if you’re not interested in me. I get it. But just know… everything I said in the notes is true.

Castiel can’t breathe. His gaze slides to the illustration on the opposite page, and his heart clenches.

Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.

The following morning, he stakes out early.

It takes some careful maneuvering, admittedly—he has to make sure Meg is occupied, so that she can't blow his cover, and he has to actually beg Gabriel to drive him to school earlier than usual, since his elder brother is typically half-asleep at their normal time. But in the end, Castiel manages to pull it all off. And that’s how, at seven o’clock in the morning, Castiel finds himself the only student in the hallways, lurking in an alcove and mostly-hidden behind a bank of lockers, just down the way from his own.

At this hour, the school is almost unnaturally silent. It gives him too much space to think, to ruminate over what an idiot he’s probably being, because there’s still a good chance he’s being pranked—but it also gives him time to think about how this might possibly go down, and, more importantly, it gives him the ability to hear every set of footsteps that approaches.

He really, really hopes he understands what’s happening here, correctly.

For the first fifteen minutes of his stakeout, not much happens. A few teachers walk past him in either direction, but aside from one exchanged, “Good morning,” with Castiel’s AP Bio teacher, none of them pay him any mind. A number of students start to filter through, as well, but there’s still not much going on.

Until a telltale varsity jacket hurries past his hiding place.

Castiel’s heart just about stops in his chest, but thankfully, he isn’t seen. He holds his breath for a few seconds, remaining as still and silent as he can, and then carefully turns and peers around the edge of the lockers beside him to spy down the hallway.

Even through the heavy fabric of his jacket, the set of Dean’s shoulders looks nervous. He glances left, then right, then slides his backpack off of his shoulder and reaches into the outermost pocket. When he draws out a stack of pink sticky notes and a pen, peeling one off and starting to scribble a message across it, Castiel pushes off of the wall he’s been waiting against and closes the distance between them with silent feet.

When he reaches him, Castiel grabs Dean’s shoulder and flips him around, then boxes him in against the lockers with his arms. They’re so close that Castiel can taste Dean’s surprised exhalation, can hear the almost-whimper that he clearly tries to stifle.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, and Dean just makes that sound again.

“I…” The other boy—the most perfect boy in the entire school, probably in the entire world, if Castiel is being honest—seems at a loss for words. He swallows audibly, his eyes wide as they sweep across Castiel’s face. “I told you yesterday that I mean it, I don't know—”

“You said,” Castiel interrupts, “that it's okay if I'm not interested in you. Was that to say that you are interested in me?”

Dean’s face is bright red with embarrassment. It takes him a moment, but he nods.

Castiel’s stomach swoops in a way it never has before. A part of him wants to ask why, wants to figure out how, not just anyone, but Dean Winchester could have feelings for him—but the larger part of him is tired of drawing this out. He presses closer to the boy, and is thrilled when he doesn't so much as lean away.

“You're right,” Castiel says, “you should have talked to me sooner.”

He seals his lips against Dean’s, then, kissing him before he can talk himself out of it. Dean’s lips are soft and plush, and he eagerly kisses back, once he gets with the program.

“Fuck yeah, I should’ve,” Dean breathes when they part. He cards his fingers through Castiel’s hair, but only seems to recognize the significance of the action after he's done it. He looks overjoyed, then pushes both of his hands into Castiel’s locks, purely because he can. “Jesus Christ, I knew it’d be soft.”

Castiel can't help but laugh. “Keep saying nice things to me, and I'll let you touch it whenever you want.”

Dean’s eyes somehow light up even more at that. “How about this Friday? Can I touch it then, maybe after some burgers and a movie?”

It's a bit rash, but Castiel is helpless but to kiss him again. He needs to remind himself that this is really happening, and it's far more effective than a pinch to the arm would have been. When he pulls back a few moments later to give them both the chance to breathe, he grins. “Friday sounds great to me.”

The notes continue after they start dating, of course. They’re not always daily, but Castiel still finds them often enough, and the sight never fails to fill him with happiness. Only now, he doesn’t hide them in a crumpled pile at the back of his locker. No, the notes from Dean, so precious and loved, have a special place at home, tucked neatly away in his desk drawer.

Cas—

You're gorgeous when you talk about your passions. You shouldn't hide them as much as you do.

Cas—

You’re kinder than you let on. You’re better than you think you are.

Cas—

You outshine everyone here.

Cas—

I wish you could see how incredible you are.

Cas—

I love you.

Castiel considers himself to be very fortunate in his life. And he always makes sure to express the same sappy sentiments in return—only, he always says it to his boyfriend’s face.

Dean’s blush always makes it worth it.

#you're welcome in advance Emma #this is one of my finest works #destiel #destiel ficlet #punk!cas #jock!dean #secret admirer!au #hs!au #makenna's writing

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simonjadis · 6 years

Text

Review: The Last Jedi

I’ve been wanting to write this since I saw TLJ opening night, but I write for a living, which cuts into free-time writing. Here is my review of The Last Jedi.

Warning: The Last Jedi spoilers Also Warning: this is very long

STAR WARS: THE LAST JEDI

Before I dive into what works and what does not work for The Last Jedi, I want to say two things:

First, that my favorite installment of Star Wars canon is Star Wars: The Clone Wars and that my three favorite Star Wars films, independent of The Last Jedi, are Return Of The Jedi, Revenge Of The Sith, and Rogue One, in no particular order.

Second, that someone's opinion on The Last Jedi differing from my own does not change my opinion of them. There are some films—such as 2016's Ghostbusters—where fondness or dislike is heavily politicized in a way that makes me wary of people who dislike them (If it's any indication, my cheeks hurt from laughter when I left the theater after seeing Ghostbusters). The Last Jedi is not one of these films.

I mention my favorites from Star Wars because I believe that every reviewer should start with that. I cannot tell you how many vague reviews I saw of The Last Jedi (I avoided any detailed ones, post-embargo) that I didn't know if I could trust. I saw other takes from reviewers—that The Last Jedi was “the best Star Wars film since Empire Strikes Back.” These reviews are not helpful to me, because while that's a popular favorite, anyone using Empire as a touchstone for best Star Wars films has different priorities than my own.

And that ties into why I wanted to make that second statement. Everybody has different priorities when they see films, and there's more to that than genre. I don't just mean that some people love space battles more than others, or that different people have different favorite characters. Some people (including writers and showrunners) are more invested in story, while others are invested in continuity or worldbuilding or character consistency. And the list goes on.

So, someone who likes or dislikes the The Last Jedi isn't automatically stupid or wrong or problematic. And I have to mention that because I have seen some alarmingly bad takes—not on the film, but on people's reactions.

For example (because I've seen this a lot, though not directed at me), assuming that someone dislikes a film because their fan theories weren't correct is toxic and rude.

I should also mention that I have still not read any post-embargo reviews of The Last Jedi, including from good friends of mine (though I'll read those as soon as this is complete). Though I discussed the film with my companions for a couple of hours after we returned, as we were still processing it, I want to give my take on the movie.

So, The Last Jedi is, in my opinion, not a great Star Wars film. I struggle to think of a film aside from The Phantom Menace that I enjoy less. The Empire Strikes Back probably ranks just above it, at the bottom of the Star Wars barrel.

To quote George Lucas, The Last Jedi was “beautifully made.” I never thought that I'd be impressed by George Lucas' shade, but here we are.

Spoilers below:

THE GOOD

I'll explain why I feel that way, but I want to start by talking about positives. True spoilers abound beyond this point, folks.

The film was beautiful and beautifully made.

I have longed to see Leia use the Force since I, as a child, first saw Return of the Jedi. I was disappointed to not see it in The Force Awakens, but very glad to see her racing through space. Some people suggested that the scene was not realistic, but I would point out that Darth Vader (Leia's dad) survived being delimbed and ignited. Darth Maul survived being cut in half. Those are trained Sith, but it sets a powerful precedent for surviving the unsurvivable through the Force. Leia was not hit directly by the explosion, but sucked out into the vacuum of space. Cloaked in the Force, she survives long enough to pull herself to the airlock door. It was a powerful scene and I loved it.

I don't know that I'd die for anyone, but I would certainly kill for Billie Lourd. Or for Gary Fisher. We all mourn Carrie Fisher, but seeing how extensive Billie Lourd's role was in The Last Jedi—particularly in comparison with her small cameo in The Force Awakens—really warms the cockles of your heart. Her character is not explained, and while that might irritate me if she were played by essentially anyone else, I enjoy that she's Billie Lourd and the audience knows who she is and implicitly accepts her friendship with Poe Dameron and trusts her to be a good person.

There is a lot of good about Vice Admiral Amilyn Holdo. First of all, she has a baller first name. “Holdo” is a little close to “Hondo,” as in Hondo Ohnaka, Obi-Wan's pirate boyfriend acquaintance. But it's Star Wars and Star Wars names are bound to overlap. Some people apparently believed earlier in the film that she might be a traitor, but I only took her behavior as a typical Lawful Good performance versus Poe Dameron's Chaotic Good antics. Things turned out to be a little more complex than that. Also, she had really nice hair. Her “he's dangerous” and “I like him” lines about Poe were honestly delightful. I wish that she'd been more forthcoming (especially given how wildly informal the Rebellion, from which the Resistance seems to have been formed, has always been).

Finn's bacta outfit (what a neat idea!) and interactions with Poe early on were great. I know that it's technically queerbaiting, but if Disney won't let the canon Star Wars gays appear in films, it's at least appreciated that Poe has had zero female love interests. Unless we count some semi-flirting with Holdo, which is fine since they're both gay. It was clear that Poe being the one to find Finn was a gesture to the fact that they're almost universally shipped with each other. That may be the closest that we see to StormPilot on screen, but at least it's something.

Rey was my favorite part of The Force Awakens. I thought that a lot of her time in The Last Jedi seemed . . . wasted isn't quite the right word. She went to Porg World (whatever you call the planet where Luke has retired to satisfy his lactation kink) to learn the ways of the Force. Honestly, I feel that she might be better served if she were to go unearth forgotten secrets on Moraband, but I resigned myself pretty early on to the idea that Rey will probably avoid the Dark Side. Anyway, I still absolutely love Rey. Not only because she's a tiny Sand Lesbian from Sand Trash Planet, and not only because she's powerful. She earnest and somehow, despite being a scavenging orphan, manages to be relatable at times. Truth be told? I like her more than I ever liked Luke.

Rey's look was also amazing, though, as my friend pointed out, Rey's wearing a vest, and vests are as much a lesbian uniform as leather jackets are for bi girls.

ROSE IS SO GOOD. I don't just mean that her actress is a precious wonderful delight of a human being, though that is also true. Rose herself is really likable. As with Leia, this is a character where my adoration for the actor certainly exceeds my love for the character but the character is also great. Anyway, while “Rose” doesn't seem like a great Star Wars name (and, worse, we now have “Rose” and “Rey” as two of the, like, seven new characters who are still alive), I liked her blend of sweetness and determination.

Speaking of Rose: Finn is wonderful. I don't know what to make of that kiss (except that, it makes sense, especially if you think that you're dying), but even though I was bummed that Finn didn't wield a lightsaber in this film (what are they doing with him?), I think that he's a treasure.

In many ways, The Force Awakens was a rehash of A New Hope. I am so pleased that The Last Jedi did what appears to be a speedrun of both Empire Strikes Back and Return Of The Jedi so that we can have more, new storytelling in Episode IX.

There's that moment where Rey is on Porg World and she talks to Luke about the rise of the Empire and about Darth Sidious and it's a sign of how starved I am for references to or even acknowledgement of the prequels that this was a highlight for me, but it was. It was my favorite character from the sequels saying the name of my favorite character from all of Star Wars canon (and one of my all-time favorite characters from anything), Sheev Palpatine.

If you ask me what I liked about The Last Jedi, the first image that's going to pop into my mind is the image of the First Order's weapons firing at the Resistance ships at range, and we see . . . shield impacts. The recent-ish Star Trek films (and, sadly, Star Trek: Discovery, which I love but that's another post) have refused to show shield impacts during space battles, for reasons that I cannot fathom. It has long been part of Star Wars that we just don't see more than a flash of light when energy weapons impact standard deflector shields (we do see it with thermal shields and certain types of terrestrial ray shields, but not with ships). Anyway, I love space battles and spaceships and there's something about seeing energy weapons impact on shields like that . . . it just lights up my mind's happiness centers like a christmas tree.

Vice Admiral Holdo's big Space Kamikaze (though problematic from a worldbuilding/plot holes perspective) was really fucking cool and such a powerful moment. More on the negative aspects of that in the next section.

Rey's parentage wasn't really a let down. Like most fans, I had my own theory (Rey Palpatine), but since she clearly wasn't a Skywalker and since really the only lineage storyline in Star Wars canon is about the Skywalkers, it's nice to see an ex nihil Force-user with power like Rey's. It's hardly unprecedented. Even ignoring Anakin (who may have been created by Darth Plageuis or by the Force), neither Yoda nor Palpatine are ever suggested as having originated from Force dynasties. Sometimes, it doesn't matter who your garbage parents were, and that's a great message for Rey's backstory. (Though, truth be told, some wonder if this is a deception)

When a friend of mine got to a certain Plot Point of Dragon Age, she DMed me on Twitter, with “Flemeth you ol' bitch! Tits out and everything!” While that message warmed the cockles of my heart, it also really stuck with me, because that went through my head at Kylo Ren's topless scene. I'm not making fun of him (he looked great; even better than in The Force Awakens), but my friend's thoughts echoed through my mind. Also, she was in the theater with me.

BB8 is my beautiful precious son and I was so delighted to see him get to gleefully murder people!!! That moment really helps him fit in with other murderous Star Wars droids like R2, Kaytoo, and Chopper. But BB8 was more adorable and reminds me of a precious chihuahua I used to walk. BB8, you're doing amazing, sweetie!

That red, salty planet? Gorgeous. I've heard that it was Krayt, though we did not see one of its famous dragons. Maybe someone mentioned the planet's name during the film? I should disclose that I can't follow every word without subtitles and only take away, at best, 80% of the dialogue from a film without subtitles. I hear the noises just fine, but I have auditory integration issues that are just one of several factors that make me a nightmare to talk to. Anyway, love that gorgeous planet.

Speaking of subtitles, I've heard that someone saw The Last Jedi with subtitles and that, during that early scene with Poe negging General Hux, he referred to Hux as “Hugs.” That is amazing and beautiful and I would never in a thousand viewings have caught it.

The First Order Dreadnaught? Gorgeous. You shouldn't need a Death Star to absolutely demolish a base from orbit. And orbital bombardment is right up there with space battles among my favorite things. It just goes right to my happiness centers.

The Red Guards: like all of the aesthetic choices that Snoke inherited from Palpatine, his Red Guards were truly inspired. I love the variety in their vibro-weapons. The Soul Calibur-style weapon was particularly memorable. That whole fight scene with Kylo and Rey and the Red Guards? Absolutely stunning.

I love that the Skywalker Legacy Lightsaber is destroyed. That thing has a terrible track record with hands. I also love that Rey was the first to recover after that tug-of-war with Kylo; it reminds me of the end of Palpatine besting Yoda in the Senate. I'm excited to see what sort of lightsaber Rey crafts for herself . . . and also interested in learning where she plans to get a kyber crystal.

THE BAD

Snoke was, for me, the biggest disappointment of this film. A lot of The Last Jedi's angrier defenders have mocked fans for having the audacity to want to, you know, know who the characters are or what's going on. No one in the sequels has been as enigmatic as Supreme Leader Snoke.

Here's the set-up: in The Force Awakens, we see Snoke only via hologram as he instructs Kylo Ren. Kylo Ren, though interesting in concept, has not impressed me (I'll go into that), so I had hoped that perhaps I would at least like Snoke. As I mentioned, Palpatine is my favorite character in all of Star Wars. He lifts me up where I belong. He's also one of the most iconic characters in all of fiction, and a tough act to follow. With Hux being rude (and not Force-sensitive) and Kylo being weak, I hoped that Snoke, at least, would excite me.

We do see more of Snoke in The Last Jedi, but his is . . . profoundly rude. As my friend Rachel said as we sat processing after the film: “In my day, the Dark Side had a little class!” Snoke has a Hugh Hefner vibe to him and I mean that in the worst possible way. His golden robe was, I thought, an inspired design choice as it deviates from Dark Side Black while still allowing him some contrast from his (gorgeously) decorated throne room and Red Guards. The man wearing that robe, however, was not to my liking.

Back to the set-up: We briefly see Snoke in The Force Awakens, and he piques our curiosity. And then we begin to read the canon novels, where we learn that Palpatine—as Emperor—sensed some sort of profound Dark Sidedness beyond known space. He set up multiple observatories in order to assess that part of space, and was apparently planning an expedition before he was betrayed and murdered at the Battle of Endor. Apparently, it was his will that any Empire that could not support its Emperor was too weak to do its job, so his contingency plan, should he fall, was for only the best of the Empire to venture into unknown space and find whatever Dark Side presence he'd felt and, hopefully, find new leadership with the strength to bring order to the galaxy. In the novels, Admiral Rae Sloan goes with Brendol Hux and Brendol's young son, Armitage Hux (that's the general we see within the First Order), on this voyage into unknown space.

I can only imagine the disappointment that Palpatine's Force Ghost (or whatever the Dark Side equivalent is; we know that they exist in canon, as Darth Bane was able to manifest before Yoda on Moraband) must feel at Snoke. Palpatine was betrayed and killed by his apprentice, sure. But that apprentice was Darth Vader, one of the most powerful beings that the Galaxy Far Far Away has ever seen. And Palpatine was, at the time, a little occupied—you know, killing Luke.

In contrast, Snoke was actively reading Kylo Ren's mind when Kylo killed him. Though the words that Snoke uttered were transparently misleading (along the lines of the Delphic Oracle's famous prophesy to Croesus: “If you proceed, a great power will fall”), Snoke was actively sensing Kylo's thoughts and, well, we haven't seen anything about Kylo Ren to suggest that he's some master at the arts of deceit through the Force. Hell, Kylo didn't even sense whatever Force connection Snoke apparently forged. In contrast, while Palpatine and Vader went on an adventure together in the novel, Sith Lords, Sheev was able to sense Vader's dominicidal thoughts. At one point, Vader silently imagines grabbing his Master and lifting his frail, old body into the air, and Palpatine grins with delight at him, and Vader understands that Sheev knows exactly what's going on in his mind. Palpatine also foresaw an attack against his Star Destroyer with such clarity that he remained in “safe” zones of the ship at all times, sensing well in advance which portions of the vessel would be the first to fall.

What's more is that, not only should Snoke have seen it coming—he just died immediately when Kylo ignited the saber. A normal person might die from being cut in half, sure. That's not shameful. But a master of the Dark Side? Darth Maul was cut in half and then fell a distance that I wouldn't even care to guess. He went on to survive for many years on a planet made of garbage and fire. Maul was only Palpatine's apprentice; meanwhile, we see Snoke lose consciousness and die immediately from a (cauterized) wound to his waist. Unless his heart is stored in his waist (I know that he's an alien, but his heart definitely isn't there; it's usually useful to keep those behind ribs), that makes Snoke a lil' bitch among Dark Side “masters.”

The lack of information about Snoke also means that we don't know a lot about the First Order.

First, we don't know how to feel about the First Order's goals. Obviously, their means are immoral—abducting children and turning them into soldiers, destroying an entire solar system in an effort to destroy the New Republic government (which really shouldn't have worked, by the way, since the galaxy could just elect new senators). But is their goal to conquer the galaxy to create a safe and secure society? We don't know their goals beyond taking over the galaxy; more insight into Snoke would help us to better understand what drives the First Order.

Second, was Snoke some kind of Dark Side hermit that Rae Sloane and Brendol Hux found somewhere in the unknown reaches of space? If so, where is the First Order getting its resources? Was Snoke instead some sort of local ruler within uncharted space? If so, why is his entire army (right down to his interior décor and his personal guards, not to mention his fleet and soldiers) drawn directly from Palpatine's playbook?

And, again, what is Snoke?

For a lot of reasons, he's clearly not a Sith; that has been confirmed. He says that Kylo is “first of the Knights of Ren,” so . . . are Knights of Ren all Dark Side wielders? The simplest explanation is that “Ren” is like “Sith” or “Darth,” and another school of the Dark Side. What does that make Snoke? Is he the “Lord of Ren” or something?

We've seen exactly one thing from Snoke that's entirely new, and . . . we only see the Force Immobilization from Kylo Ren. Interestingly, and please correct me if I failed to notice an instance of it, we did not see it at all in The Last Jedi, but saw it more than once in The Force Awakens. Snoke presumably taught that to Kylo, but . . . other than that, he doesn't seem to bring anything new to the table.

Snoke Force-bullied General Hux through a hologram. This is not new. In Return of the Jedi, Vader Force-choked Admiral Kendal Ozzel after establishing visual contact via a communicator screen. We don't know Snoke's distance from Hux in that scene, but since Palpatine Force-chokes Dooku, lifting him into the air, via holo transmission over the considerable distance of Coruscant to Dooku's homeworld of Serenno, this was already established as a possible (though likely difficult) feat.

Snoke struck Kylo Ren with Force-lighting, which of course is well-established as being a power of the Dark Side, wielded by Palpatine and Dooku, but also wielded in slightly different forms by The Son (on Mortis) and by Mother Talzin, leader of the Nightsisters.

Kylo Ren uses the Force to interrogate, but this is a simple combination of Force Persuasion (Jedi Mind Tricks, used by almost every Force-user at some point or another) and sensing things through the Force. Vader duels Luke on the Death Star II and learns that Luke has a sister. Palpatine is almost always aware of the thoughts and feelings of those around him. Multiple Jedi use Force Persuade simultaneously to try to force the truth out of Cad Bane. We see the Force used for interrogation (almost precisely as Kylo Ren does) when the Seventh Sister, one of the Inquisitors who answers to Vader after the death of the Grand Inquisitor, attempts to use the Force to interrogate Ezra Bridger. It's a two-pronged effort to divine the truth while also attempting to pry secrets from the individual.

Snoke is not shown forging the bridge between Rey and Kylo, but this has precedent—once again, we look to Palpatine. He once used Dooku's connection to Yoda (remember, Yoda was once Dooku's mentor) in order to assault Yoda's mind in an effort to break him. While Yoda spends the final decades of his life as a barely-intelligible swamp-hermit who would rather literally die than tell the truth, this particular assault on his mind was not successful. Palpatine accomplished this without any proximity to Yoda, but rather through the use of Sith Sorcery. Snoke is not a Sith, but we must imagine that he accomplished this “bridge” via . . . well, I suppose that we'd call it “Ren Sorcery.”

Don't get me wrong, the “Force Pause” or whatever it is that Kylo Ren did in The Force Awakens was super cool and I love that it's a thing. But, in general, Snoke feels like a bargain basement attempt to fill Palpatine's role until Kylo could kill him and take his place as the Supreme Leader of the First Order. That might not be as bad if Kylo seemed, you know, impressive.

Finally, because I've just written the last 1,608 words about Snoke and need to move on to my second greatest disappointment with The Last Jedi, I should mention that I've been joking that Snoke has never actually killed anyone in his life and just bluffed his way into leading the First Order. He's weak and rude and the sequels could have done better, even with a temporary character meant to die in his second movie.

So, yeah, what we don't know of Snoke is a frustrating mystery and what we do know of Snoke is disappointing.

My second biggest issue was one of Luke's characterization.

Contrary to what you might assume, I am not talking about Luke's retirement to Lactation Kink island on Planet Porg.

I mean, that's an issue—since he's repeating the Cranky Old Hermit mistakes of Obi-Wan and Yoda who came before him. In fact, even Obi-Wan seemed to have a better attitude and degree of optimism than Luke, and that's after his apprentice, uh, personally purged the Jedi Temple. Luke lost his first class of students but Obi-Wan lost an entire galaxy and a Jedi order of thousands.

But, you know, sometimes Jedi just go off to do loner stuff on strange old islands that are home to whimsical characters. The Light Side is rough like that.

No, my issue comes from that, frankly, inexcusable scene in the tent. The one that “explains” why Kylo and Luke had their big falling out that resulted in Kylo murdering his fellow students.

Luke has never been one of my favorite characters in Star Wars, but I can tell you this much: the whole point of Return Of The Jedi was that he would literally rather die than kill Darth Vader, who had personally killed thousands and was an accomplice to everything that the Empire had done for, well, all of Luke's life.

So, to put it plainly, I cannot reconcile Luke Skywalker, the character, with the man Mark Hamill played in The Last Jedi. With a man whose first instinct after sneaking into his nephew's room to probe his thoughts is “gotta murder him in his sleep!” I'm not opposed to the idea of characters who are willing to murder other characters in their sleep. Again, Palpatine is my literal favorite character. But that particular deed is simply not in Luke's wheelhouse.

Now, some argue that this scene was necessary in order to bring Luke and Kylo to where they are for this trilogy.

I don't believe in adjusting a character's established behavior to suit the story. I like character-driven stories where what happens makes sense based upon the individuals involved and their environment.

But there are totally doable ways to tell that story.

How I would do it? Luke would notice warning signs about his nephew, sense that things aren't quite right (from his point of view), but appear to other students to be ignoring a problem. Meanwhile, one or two of Luke's other padawans might attempt what Luke attempted—trying to sense what's going on with their fellow student. An inexperienced pupil, sensing a darkness, might draw a weapon, causing young Kylo (before he was Kylo Ren) to awaken . . . just as Luke bursts into the room. So then we get the panic, and the tearing down of the roof. When Luke digs himself out of the rubble, Kylo has killed all of the padawans who were unwilling to join him. He might even believe that Luke was involved in the “attack.”

Luke being arguably too passive would be a totally believable and character-consistent mistake. Instead I just sat there, thinking . . . this is like telling me that, actually, Tarkin adopted all of the children who were off-world but orphaned by the destruction of Alderaan. That's just not something that this particular character would do. If you want to write a different character, do that.

As a result of this huge character difference, I've nicknamed Mark Hamill's character in The Last Jedi: “Jedi Joe.” Because, you know, he's just not consistent with Luke.

My third biggest issue with The Last Jedi is the timeline.

How long was Rey on Planet Porg? Days? Weeks?

Meanwhile, Vice Admiral Holdo and the Resistance are literally counting down the hours until they run out of fuel.

I say “meanwhile,” because Rey and Kylo's little ForceTime conversations make it emphatically clear that these are concurrent storylines.

We don't know how long the Resistance “fleet” (it's just a few big ships) spends in hyperspace before they return to normal space and the First Order shows up to attack them, but it can't be for long, because Star Wars FTL is much, much faster than, say, Star Trek's. I can't imagine them spending more than a couple of days in hyperspace, if that long.

So, how much time did Rey spend on the island with Luke? Are days just very short on Planet Porg? Running parallel to the Resistance being pursued by the First Order, this seems to be a problem.

Speaking of the Resistance fleeing from the First Order . . . what the hell was up with their “tracking.”

So, let's say that the First Order has developed the tech to track a ship through hyperspace. Or maybe they just have an infiltrator (or someone turned traitor) or got a tracking device aboard one of the ships. I'm willing to accept that . . . random technological development or whatever.

But General Hux was on a regular Star Destroyer when he established that tracking lock, right? So why is it that, later, that tracking lock—the one that they need to disable—is on Snoke's command ship? Can you just pass it back and forth like it's no big deal? They talked about it like it was some sort of delicate connection, easily foiled. One or two lines could have explained it, but if there was an explanation, I missed it.

Incidentally, I mention the idea of an infiltrator or a traitor within the Resistance because this would have really made it easier for them to explain why Vice Admiral Holdo was being tight-lipped about her plans. Though, quite frankly, Poe Dameron destroyed Starkiller Base. He should be above suspicion. The Resistance shows no signs of being a formal military. They're sort of a cobbled together grassroots thing, not unlike the Rebel Alliance, so it's not like they have this strict need-to-know command structure where no one is allowed to ask questions.

As my friend Rachel pointed out after the film, a lot of problems could have been resolved by the characters if they had simply spoken to one another and communicated like adults. This isn't necessarily a flaw in the film, but it sure is frustrating for the audience. The message that bold heroic actions aren't always the answer is an admirable one, but the circumstances make it seem to be a failure of leadership on Holdo's part.

Speaking of Holdo, I'm alarmed that these Sequels seem reluctant to give us new alien characters. We've seen Maz Kanata and Snoke, but all other aliens have been in the background or they've been Chewie. Holdo could have been an alien. She could have even retained the lavender look as a Theelin (like Asajj Ventress' bounty hunter gal pal, Latts Razzi). I totally support Rose being a human, but Holdo—particularly since she was not going to survive anyway—could have been a sorely needed alien character.

Also while we're on the subject of Holdo:

As I mentioned, Holdo's death was one of the most powerful moments of The Last Jedi. In science fiction universes such as Stargate or Babylon 5, FTL travel is entirely removed from the physical world. Flying a ship “through” a planet is fine in the same way that, on a planet, flying an aircraft far above a building does not damage the building below. In Star Wars, that is not the case, which is why they have complex hyperspace lanes and elaborate calculations (often made by specialized droids). Which is why, when she went to “lightspeed” (no more the speed of light than their “lasers” are actual lasers), her ship so effectively damaged Snoke's flagship and took some Destroyers with it. But the implications of this were obvious. Why, then, has this sort of tactic not been employed widely before? Could a few carefully placed transports in FTL have demolished the Death Star without Luke's special magic aiming? Couldn't every Star Destroyer be disabled or destroyed by, say, a garbage scow piloted by a single droid that goes to hyperspace in the direction of the ship? This kind of tactic would forever change warfare in Star Wars—even retroactively.

The only way that I can wrap my head around it is to suggest that perhaps the flagship's shields were recycling and therefore couldn't be brought back up in time to prevent Holdo's maneuver from being effective. Perhaps normal deflector shields protect ships from being impaled by other ships traveling through hyperspace. There's precedent for shields recycling (for example, thermal shields are shown to have a brief cooldown between being deactivated and reactivated), so we can accept that whatever type of Star Wars shields the First Order uses were on cooldown to conserve power while they leisurely bombarded the Resistance ships from range, and that Hux and the others on the bridge couldn't bring them up quickly enough to save the ship. Because otherwise . . . Star Wars seems to be broken.

Did they just kill Captain Phasma? Or did they seem to kill her . . . again . . . after doing basically nothing with her this whole film? I was hoping to see more of her in XIII, not less.

Maz Kanata's scene? Where she's doing vague cool stuff while also on the Space Phone? That was kind of a mess. It's fine if you liked it, but I felt like it was trying too hard.

C3PO had a red arm, taken from another droid (there's a whole backstory to it). He had it in The Force Awakens. The Last Jedi seems to begin precisely where The Force Awakens ended (just look at Luke receiving the lightsaber), so . . . when did C3PO get an arm transplant? Or did he receive it between the destruction of Starkiller Base and Rey's arrival at Planet Porg? We don't know how much time passed (though it seems silly to suggest that Finn would be comatose for for all that long; in Star Wars terms, his injuries were not that severe).

Empire Strikes Back has some of the heroes go to a gambling planet—Bespin Cloud City is effectively Space Vegas. The Last Jedi does the same, but this time it's more like Space Monaco. There were parts of that sequence that I enjoyed, but other parts I did not. I get that Rose and Finn's journey wasn't supposed to succeed for narrative reasons, but they actually harmed the Resistance. DJ didn't just fail; he betrayed them. Also, DJ is a terrible Star Wars name.

Of course, there are questions as to how DJ betrayed them. Perhaps I need to watch the film again, but as my friend Cattlin pointed out, Finn and Rose spoke to Poe, and then Poe was knocked out and woke up in the escape pod along with Leia. That's when Poe learned about the pods. How exactly did DJ learn about them in order to betray the knowledge to the First Order? (If anyone knows, or if I am missing something here, I am genuinely asking, so please let me know)

You know the scene at the beginning where, thanks to Iden Versio's intelligence-gathering, the Resistance knows where to hit to First Order Dreadnought in order to cause the most damage? Those bombers don't make sense to me because they are literally bombers. A bunch of slow-moving ships that literally drop bombs, perhaps using their own internal gravity, seem like a terrible choice. I'm not demanding that they use Y-wings again, but they could use, like, a ship that's in any way practical or good to deliver bombs. Perhaps a vessel that doesn't set off cataclysmic secondary and tertiary explosions in the form of its fellow bombers when it gets hit by enemy fire would be nice. (I know that Star Wars tech isn't based on Earth tech and therefore doesn't have to make sense in a speculative sense, but literally dropping round black bombs is not the way to win a fight).

Speaking of not winning fights: Kylo Ren.

I get that, because The Last Jedi takes place immediately after The Force Awakens, Kylo didn't have time to undergo character development that would be required to make him in any way impressive, either through his skill with the Force or through his temperament. But it was disappointing to see that not only was Snoke a weak jerk, but Kylo still has his issues. I like that he killed Snoke—like, the old guy's good at moving stuff around with the Force, but you don't get an award for that. I like that he seized power for himself. I liked that he put Hux in his place. But I'm not impressed with him as a character yet. I want to like him. I think that he has a lot of really cool potential, but I don't see him meeting that yet. I hope to see that in Episode IX. I hope to see him acting as a real leader, making smarter choices, and ideally giving orders to other Dark Side individuals (where are these other Knights?).

I also want to see Kylo showing greater strength and insight through the Force.

I don't know what the First of the Knights of Ren is, exactly, but ideally, he should notice when his creepy boss is using Space Magic to set him up with Rey. And he sure as hell shouldn't be getting tricked into a fake duel with an illusion in front of his whole army.

I'm okay with Luke having the power to project an illusion. While there's precedent in Star Wars canon (Mother Talzin does a lot of illusion work, including projecting an illusion of herself to Serenno from Dathomir while attacking Count Dooku), I do wish that he'd at some point hinted that he'd learned some things that the old Jedi Order had never managed. Maybe through meditation, maybe through old Jedi lore, or maybe through people he's met on his travels. (So far, the only Dathomir Witches that I know to be canon are the Nightsisters, and also they were all murdered by General Grievous under orders from Count Dooku; older, EU materials portrayed Nightsisters as only one faction on Dathomir, with other clans that were much friendlier to Jedi and to the Light Side of the Force—that would be an easy option)

I'm even okay, from a lore perspective, with Luke being able to deceive Kylo Ren with it. Maybe tricking Force-users is part of the ability. That scene's parallels to Obi-Wan's final duel with Vader are obvious, though Luke's death at its conclusion were more reminiscent of how his mom died.

But … the dice? The Fake Ghost Dice? That struck me as weird, after. Sure, Star Wars illusions can be powerful, but why bring your sister a fake memento? Aside, I mean, from a desire to deceive the audience. (Though seriously, shout-out to my best friend, Jeff, for predicting that Luke wasn't really there. I did not; I had assumed that his X-Wing being underwater on Lactation Kink Island was a Chekhov's Gun device to prepare us for Luke's departure. I was bewildered that Fake Ghost Luke was wielding a blue lightsaber in his duel, which only made sense after it was revealed that he was an illusion)

Weird that he died from it, though. My friend Cattlin was dreading the possibility of Luke dying, but I had accepted it. (After all, I already watched my favorite Star Wars character die, in Return of the Jedi)

Speaking of the Skywalker Legacy Lightsaber . . . the blade on it looked like it was filmed in 1980. Lightsabers looked so much better in the prequel films. Based on how Kylo Ren's lightsaber looks, lightsabers could look incredible in this film. In some scenes, they do. But that particular one tends to look washed out.

Along those same lines, they used muppet Yoda in a transparent attempt to distance themselves from the prequels. Thanks, I hate it. I don't know why dead Yoda has weather-control powers now, but even that pales beside how annoyed I am that both Sequel films seem to be scrambling to assure fans that they're not like the prequels.

Cattlin has a shirt that reads: “Shut up, nerd. The prequels are good, actually.” It warms the cockles of my heart whenever I see it.

There were a few bits that struck me as odd directing choices, but I don't know enough about cinematography to identify them.

Like everyone else, my opinion about The Last Jedi is a product of my personal interests and priorities. That's life.

#Star Wars #The Last Jedi #Star Wars The Last Jedi #The Last Jedi spoilers #TLJ #I wrote this all in one day because I am out of my got dam mind

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threeclaws · 6 years

Note

five times kissed (we v gay)

@flumenveritatis: five times kissed

They should’ve known from the instant their eyes lock. They’ve both got hard heads. Steve’s a leader. Logan is that lone wolf who can’t stand having anyone other than himself being the boss. It’s a recipe for conflict. Logan challenges him at every turn, Steve is all but red by the time the meeting is over. The mission, thankfully, goes without trouble, but then Logan is walking up to him, all snide comments slipped under his breath. It’s only them in the hall, but even if others were, only they could hear it. Logan’s sinking to a level that belongs to them, and Steve-

Well, for fuck’s sake.

Steve grabs fistfuls of Logan’s jacket, and slams him against the wall. Logan grunts, more in surprise than anything else – no way this golden boy is picking a fight with him – and he should’ve laughed. But their eyes meet, and Steve is leaning towards him, hips first. Their thighs meet, and their bodies line up, and Logan groans.

In hindsight, really, neither of them stood a chance.

Their first kiss is with heat, and isolation, like words whispered into the nothing left in the absence of handsome men.

He’s in trouble. He knows it the moment he wakes up and sees the valleys on Steve’s face, worn in over who knows how long. His eyes are dark, his stubble heavy from lack of care. He’s so hollow that Logan can see the hunger.

He can hazard a guess that he’s been in this medbay bed for too long.

There’s a cast set on the arm closer to Steve, so Logan impatiently unsheathes his claws and moves to shred it to pieces, when a voice that speaks, so quiet that even Logan has to strain.

“It was off.”

Logan blinks, and brown meets blue.

“Off?” he repeats carefully, and it hurts a lot more than he realizes it would. His throat is completely, utterly, dry, and no healing factor could help that out. Steve inhales sharply, and Jesus, Logan may as well have kicked a puppy. Instead of clarifying right away though, Steve turns to the bedside table to pick up a cup of water for Logan. The skeptical look Logan sends is quickly replaced by gratitude, as he takes in as much as he can. He hasn’t eaten, he hasn’t had a drink – what happened?

“Your arm.” Steve finally says. “Your arm was blown off.”

Logan’s slurping slows. He pulls away carefully, lips pursed as he levels with that knowledge, as he realizes he should probably care a little more about his fucking arm.

He doesn’t.

“Well, you found it, at least?”

The plastic cup crumples against the opposite wall with a very unsatisfying sound. The scrape of the chair against the floor as Steve gets to his feet is a little more fitting to the tone.

“For FUCK’S sake, Logan. Do you think this is a joke?”

“Aw, c’mon, bub,” Logan scoffs. He pushes himself up to sit, but Steve slams on his good shoulder and pushes him back down.

“Stop it.” Stop comes out all New York, and for a moment, Logan practically takes a step into the past. He can see the kid who couldn’t follow the people he gave a shit about into war. He can see the kid who couldn’t protect them.

“Steve-“ Logan starts, but he’s taken a sharp breath in and is continuing to berate before Logan can get another word in.

“You know, I’d really love it if people in my life stopped losing limbs? No, we didn’t find your fucking arm. You’ve been in here for two weeks, Logan. Two weeks, and they say it’s gonna take another two for you to finish – regrowing.”

“Steve-”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I’m not gonna let you take the brunt of an explosion.”

The words are out before Logan can process them, before he realizes that there might be a story to all of this that his consciousness hasn’t caught up to and – oh, wait, there it is. The warehouse. They managed to get everyone out, but that had been the trigger. It was a trap, and Logan only found out a millisecond before Steve. He didn’t think. He lunged to cover him, and-

And then he was sitting in a hospital room, looking at the new valleys on Steve’s face.

Steve clenches his jaw tight and exhales through his nose.

“I-”

“What?” Logan’s tone is just as short as Steve’s now. “You were gonna use the shield? You were the idiot who gave it to the kid-”

“They were escaping-”

“And I’m not gonna let you get hurt.” Logan moves to lift the cast, planning on waving it around to prove that he can heal off anything, but something solid knocks against the inside of the cast, and Logan has to take a moment to wince that one off. Steve watches him with a bemused expression.

“Doesn’t mean I wanna see this.” With an inhale, Steve restrains himself from getting angry. His hands go tight at his sides, and he looks down. “Logan, I…”

“Hey.” Logan ducks his head, and waits for Steve to look up. After a moment, he nocks his head to the other side, “C’mere.”

Obediently, Steve goes around the bed. Logan glances to the medbay door, and then takes Steve’s hand. He waits a moment, keeping eye contact, before he tugs Steve’s hand up to leave a kiss on his knuckles.

“I’m not gonna say this ain’t happenin’ again. But how ‘bout we both promise to be a little less stupid?”

Steve sighs, trying and failing to hide a smile. After a moment, he finally nods and concedes, “Alright, deal.”

As if to seal the deal, he gives Logan’s hand a kiss in return, before teasing, “I’m not gonna play nursemaid for you, by the way.”

Logan grins, and pulls on Steve’s hand to bring him down, “Uh huh. Sure.”

Christmas alights the end of the year in greens and reds and blinding snow white. It coats New York in picturesque views from the apartment window – though all through December, Logan takes special care to notice the street muck, churning dirt and shit and piss into the snow. He’s horrible at Christmas, and only takes a liking to the resurgence of public favour to Die Hard. Too many bad Christmases will turn a man’s eye to the muck at his feet. He complains all the way through decorating the apartment, and all the way through present shopping, and all the way through baking desserts for a goddamn potluck.

Steve was going to collect $20 and pass go. What else could he do? He didn’t have three ghosts handy for a sudden Christmas revamp. Logan complained, but at least he did it. He made it all the way to Christmas Eve. Small victories. Better luck next year.

Logan had his moments though.

There were garlands where they did not hang garlands, lights brightening the apartment like sunlight at a time when the sun did not shine. Steve just shakes his head, and Logan smiles knowingly, handing the first present over. Steve weighs it in his hands, running his hand over the wrapping paper, but he looks up at Logan.

“I thought you hated Christmas.”

“Uh huh,” Logan agreed. He steps forward, reaching above their heads to tug the mistletoe over the door frame right over their heads. He’s close enough to see faint freckles, and that’s when the smile blossoms into pure warmth. “But I don’t hate you.”

Steve chuckles, but it’s not snark, it’s no quick commentary, and Logan takes the chance to lean in for a kiss. It’s chaste, but possibly the sweetest Logan’s ever given. He stops, but doesn’t pull back, just to whisper.

“Merry Christmas, Steve.”

“Merry Christmas, Logan.”

It should be easier, if anything. Alkali’s made an appearance in his missions before, and Logan’s always been… more or less fine. He pushes through it, with plenty of alcohol, and secluding himself in his room away from the rest of the school. Sometimes he hits the road after missions like that. But this time he had somewhere to go to. He’d barely even bothered stopping at the school. He’d left the jet, rattled off a mission status, and grabbed the first bike he could find before driving into Brooklyn. Steve let him in, and Logan even told him what had happened to spur a sudden appearance.

Logan didn’t talk about it. Which was maybe why he rushed into dragging Steve to the bedroom, hoping for a distraction; he’d wanted something, anything, other than the rising dread in his throat.

He wanted to drown in Steve. He forgets that all that drowning does is take him back there. It’s when his shirt is thrown across the room that Logan feels like he’s made a mistake. His breath catches in his lungs when Steve’s mouth leaves marks on his neck. The man he loves leaves a feeling like fire in the absence of his hands – yes, this is exactly like his bones boiling.

“Logan?” Steve’s voice rises over the tide that’s threatening to take Logan, but it’s too late. Logan’s too far. He’s made a mistake to do this in front of Steve.

“Hot,” he manages. It rasps out like Logan hadn’t anything to drink in ages, “It’s too hot.”

He sees their bedroom, light off but illuminated by an open door leading to the bathroom, where they keep toothbrushes side by side. If he can make it in there, Steve doesn’t have to see, doesn’t have to get hurt. Logan manages to get his legs over the edge of the bed and his feet on the ground. But then that only serves as a reminder of bare feet on a concrete floor, fear in his blood and blood in his mouth. He doesn’t even know if it’s his blood. Worst of all, his claws gleam silver where the carnage doesn’t cover them.

(A big secret? The people he loved used to hold his claws like they held his hand.)

People grab him, or push him, trying to contain all the war they unleashed. He inhales, or snarls, and releases his claws as he turns to gut his assailant. But, they grab his shoulders before he can move.

Then they hug him. Arms wrap around his shoulders, over his arms so he can’t lash out. It raises his heartbeat, like his heart pushing desperately for the hand on his chest. Logan struggles, grunting – or whining. He moves to slice at the restraint but his wrist is hastily batted away, and he’s being held again.

“Logan.”

There’s a door at the end of the tunnel that keeps getting further away every time he tries to go faster. Something down the hall goes BOOM. Logan screams and weeps for his bones, and stumbles towards the door. It opens before he can get his hands on it. Outside is startling sunlight, so bright in his eyes that he can’t see. But it’s not the sun. It’s the snow. It’s so cold.

The hand on his chest is cold.

Logan opens his eyes, not realizing he’d shut them in the first place. It’s their bedroom, light off but illuminated by an open door leading to the bathroom, where they keep toothbrushes side by side. There are arms around him. It’s Steve.

“Steve.”

Steve slumps in relief, pressing his forehead to the back of Logan’s neck.

“Baby.”

Logan’s shaking. He pulls his claws back in, and finally gives in the same way Steve has, slumping his weight onto the man. Steve holds him up, metal and all, even as Logan wipes at his face.

“Baby, baby, shhh.”

Logan covers his eyes with a hand, and when he breathes in, the inhale shudders through him. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s turning and pressing his face into Steve’s shirt. His arms wrap around his torso, and he lets go of his restraint. He trembles so hard that the bed creaks. Steve doesn’t let go, just adjusts his arms to hang on tighter, and ducks his head to kiss the top of Logan’s head.

“It’s okay. I got you. You’re home.”

“Uh huh.” Steve presses his lips thin, and exhales an amused breath. Logan lets out something that might be a laugh, then shudders into silence, tightening his grip. Steve doesn’t let go.

The work was what brought them together, but unfortunately, it’s also the thing that takes them away. It’s past lunch, and Logan should be back at the school, but he’s still hovering as the team gets everything locked up. Steve’s looking at him over his shoulder as he stashes the shield away in the jet. The man’s been standing at the bottom of the ramp with his arms crossed, watching the proceedings with that perpetual look that screams how utterly unimpressed he is with everything at all times.

Steve’s not worrying about Logan.

… He’s worrying a little about Logan.

Fixing his gloves, he makes his way down the ramp.

“It won’t be long.”

“Uh huh.”

It’s so dismissive, and yet Steve sees the anxiety, the worry. It’s the same old grumpiness, and that’s where it clicks for Steve. He spots the flicker of Logan behind that wall. He sees the true expression, and his face falls into something a little amused, a little endeared.

Uh huh. Sometimes that means I love you.

Steve only smiles, and takes Logan’s hand. Logan pouts, and for a moment he thinks it’s because of the PDA. Logan’s never done well with love and work, though a little understandably. It’s never gone well for him. Steve resigns himself to it, and takes all the comfort he can from a touch.

Logan lets go.

Logan then steps into the distance between them, and pulls Steve in by the bunched up cowl around his neck. Steve manages to look surprised, wide-eyed as their lips meet. But he’s happy to roll with the punches. It doesn’t take long to sink into the kiss, grabbing Logan’s jacket in return. Logan mumbled something, and pulled away to meet Steve’s eye.

He repeated himself slowly, “Come back safe, ya hear me?”

“Love you.”

“Uh huh.”

#flumenveritatis #╳ — i have some things to take care of up north ╱ MESSAGE #╳ — the colour of his eyes is blue enough to drown in ( flumenveritatis ) ╱ STEVE && LOGAN

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