#I hope this gets my vision across! it will have to come out organically in writing

[kazeofthemagun]

@8radicaldragon8 asked the summoner:

10 c: (a way that they are improving on any of the above!)

What the fuck is wrong with my character?

Haha, this is gonna sound rambley without (fresh) context.

As much as he resigns himself to acting in accordance to a higher design, that in itself does not mean he can't improve on a personal level. His own flaws and insecurities still exist separately from the duress of purpose - such as his core fear: losing Kumo, especially as a result of the damage he himself had caused.

Kumo is Kaze's everything, both as his fellow Unlimited companion on the quest to end Chaos, but also as a friend and someone he considers a charge. This possessiveness gives birth to paranoid and harmful behavior, with Kaze himself erring always on the side of caution, which has led to isolating and emotionally (or, in one scene, physically) hurting Kumo on several occasions.

However, he hates to see his "other half" suffer, even if said suffering may seem to be in his best interest. Indeed, Kaze has never been great at interpersonal relationships and has always been either far below or far above others in Windarian hierarchy. The former teaching him some toxic lessons about authority, and the latter forcing far too many burdens, far too fast for his age.

At his core, especially now that he is linked to Bahamut, Kaze struggles with perceiving others as equals. Not in the sense of combat skills; But in the capacity to make their own decisions and shoulder responsibility. The gunman's crippling fear of Kumo returning to Anarchy is an example of such.

At the start of the verse, freshly post-canon, he still views Kumo as a naïve boy and seeks to control him through fear. Throughout the verse, he will learn to better respect his other's views and decisions, even in the event they stand in opposition to his own. Meeting his equal on equal terms, and undoing the damage done to his own perception of interpersonal relationships by Silver Storm.

In doing so, he must also allow himself to be loved in turn - for a being hated by everyone and everything cannot reliably show love, either. He even went as far as to cast away his name out of fear of ruining the image of the brother beloved by Aura - and by Kumo. But a dead thing cannot be held accountable, which means he must come to accept being alive, changed as he now is.

In accepting Kumo's help, in allowing his other's purpose of Salvation to extend to his own cursed self as well, the Black Wind may yet learn that he does not have to resign himself to being a monster and nothing else, and that even beings tethered to impossible decisions can still find peace in the little inbetweens. That he can be both Rorahm and the Hunter, and Rorahm does love his Seejvariil dearly. A discovery that will in turn allow Kumo to accept his own castaway name and reconcile with his past of slaughter.

Ultimately, since Salvation cannot save himself, someone else will have to.

[pedroshotwifey]

Beg For It

Pairing: Virgin!Din Djarin x afab!reader

Word count: 3.9k

Tags/warnings: piv sex, oral (m), cock worship, virgin din, premature ejaculation, teasing, humiliation, sub din, dom reader, degradation, cockpit sex™, embarrassment, age gap (younger reader), din djarin's monster cock, helmet stays on, pet names, snarky reader, experienced reader, stuff I'm forgetting (c'mon guys, it's me.)

Summary: You make a shocking discovery about Din and decide to do something about it.

A/N: Hey babes! Sorry if you're waiting on TTF or FB rn, but my brain does not want to cooperate atm. TTF 4 should be out relatively soon, but I'm not sure about FB. I hope you like this fic, bc I have no idea where it came from 🤣 My asks are always open in the meantime!!

***

“Fuck, it’s tight in here,” you complain as you stuff yourself into the small alcove exposed by the panel that was just removed from the Crest’s wall. 

“And a fucking mess. Do you ever organize this shit, Din?” 

The exasperated sigh that comes from behind you is enough to answer your question. 

You roll your eyes as you reach for the tangled ball of wires in front of you. No wonder the lights have been flickering. You’re lucky it wasn’t anything worse than that. 

“Who would even be doing this shit if you didn’t have me? Not like your broad ass could fit in here.” 

Mando scoffs behind you. 

“We got along perfectly fine before you,” he argues. “Grogu could fit in there, I’d have him do it.” 

Now it’s your turn to laugh. 

“Yeah, that would go over well.” 

Din ignores your quip as he comes up to your side and nudges you with his boot. 

“Hey! Can you not?” You turn your head to bite out at him even though he can’t see you. 

“Scootch over,” he demands. “I need to see what you’re doing so you don’t blow the ship up or something.” 

“Wow, it’s really reassuring to know how much faith you have in me, Mando.”

You swear you hear him bite down on a laugh and you smile despite yourself. You squash yourself to the side as much as you can, allowing a small gap so Din can peek in beside you. He groans as he lowers himself to his belly. 

“Poor old man,” you can’t help but tease. “Bad knees getting to you?” 

“Shut up,” Din quips. 

You don’t actually know how old Din is, but you’re placing your bets on late thirties or early forties. Definitely older than you either way, but not quite old enough to be deserving of your quips. That’s not going to stop you, of course. 

By the time he’s looking inside, you’ve untangled the mess of wires and separated the two that need to be switched. 

“Damn it, Mando, you’re blocking my light. I can’t see shit.” 

He sighs for the umpteenth time today. 

“Really? There’s plenty of light,” he argues. 

“Yeah, maybe when you have a fucking night vision mod in your helmet. Get up and tell me what to do from there.” 

He obeys but you swear you hear him mutter something about being bossy through a groan. 

“What have you done so far?” 

“I’ve separated the red and blue wires from the rest.” 

“Okay, go ahead and pull them both from their outlets.” 

You try to pull them off, but you can’t quite reach the outlets on the back wall. 

“Damn it,” you mutter. 

You shove your knees under yourself and arch your back in attempt to push yourself further into the wall. Straining a bit, you’re able to grasp both ends and successfully tug them towards yourself. 

“Got it, what now?” 

“Put the red wire where the blue wire was, and the blue where the red was,” Mando instructs. His voice sounds much raspier than it had a second ago, making you quirk a brow. 

“You okay there?” you ask as you finish the task. 

“Yup,” he croaks. 

“Okay, I’m coming out.” 

You start to wriggle yourself back, and you hear Din make a strangled sound before biting down on it. It’s not until you feel your ass waggling with your movement that you realize what has him so worked up. A sly smirk quickly spreads across your face as you decide there’s no harm in teasing him a bit. 

You groan and arch your back further as you back out, your ass up in the air as much as you can get it. You take your sweet time sitting up once you're out, and you can almost feel the heat coming from Mando by the time you do. You turn around to face him only to find that he’s avoiding your gaze, his hands clasped together casually in front of his crotch. You honestly wonder who he thinks he’s fooling—there’s not much that could hide a tent that size. 

“What’s the matter, big boy?” you ask sweetly. “You look a bit flustered.” 

“N-nothing.” 

You have to physically bite down on your lip to avoid laughing at his voice crack. You’ve never heard him struggle so much. He clears his throat and tries again. 

“Nothing’s wrong, cyar’ika.” 

“Hm. You sure? Because I’m pretty sure you were checking my ass out a second ago.” 

Din chokes on nothing as soon as the words are out of your mouth. 

“I was not!” He bites out in a panicked tone. 

“Nothing wrong with it, I get it. I’d check out my ass, too,” you laugh and shrug. He looks down at his feet and your brows furrow. This might be the most flustered you’ve ever seen him. 

“Dude, it was just an ass, not a big deal. I’m sure you’ve seen much more than that,” you chuckle lightly. 

He slowly looks up at that, and time comes to a stop as things click into place in your head. 

“Holy shit,” you say, bewildered. “You haven’t seen more than that. You’re a virgin aren’t you?” 

You grin when he says nothing in response. No fucking way the Mandalorian hasn’t fucked or been fucked before. Hell, you’ve wanted to fuck him since you came aboard this junk pile of a ship. Damn, you’re going to take this opportunity and fucking run with it. 

“Poor baby Din, never had pussy before,” you coo at him as you stand all the way up. “What’s the matter? Is it too small? Maybe you don’t even like pussy. You want a big strong man to fuck your ass?” You know you’re just spouting anything you think might get under his skin at this point. 

“N-no,” he bites out, though there’s not much conviction behind it. You continue walking towards him, forcing him toward the cockpit’s pilot seat. 

“No? You don’t like cock, Din?” 

“I think you need some help, big guy. You clearly need someone to dominate you, since you don’t have the balls to step up yourself. You’re lucky I’m here, I can show you how good it can be.”

Din’s hands move closer to his clothed cock to hide the twitch that ensues from your words. You see the movement and it only spurs you on. He gulps again as you keep walking toward him.

“No, I-”

“Take a seat, Mando.” 

He crosses his arms and stands up straighter, leveling you with a defiant stare you can practically feel through his beskar helmet. 

“I will do no such thing.” 

“Oh,” you reply, crossing your arms and returning the look. “But you will.”

You glance down at the impressive bulge in his flight suit, smirking when you catch him shift ever so slightly under the weight of your gaze. 

“I think you want to sit down for me, Mando. And I think you’re going to be begging for my cunt by the time I’m done with you.”

You take a step toward him, and you can see the subtle way he stops himself from taking a step back in response. You stop in front of him and let your hand down to graze his covered length. There’s a sharp intake of breath barely heard throughout the hull. If you had been standing where you were a few seconds ago, you would have missed it. 

“Sounds like you already want to, actually.” 

You cup him fully now, and a strangled sound slips through his tightly sealed lips. 

“Poor little virgin Din, doesn’t even know how good he could have been feeling all this time,” you tease, giving him a light squeeze. 

“S-stop,” he grits out, uncrossing his arms to grab your wrist with one hand. Your movements come to a swift stop. 

“Ask me again, and I will,” you tell him. “But I don’t think you really want that, do you? I think you want to stick your dick inside my warm pussy and come your dumb little brains out.”

There’s a brief silence as you stare each other down, and you can almost feel the way he starts to consider his options. 

“I-”

You give him another squeeze, tighter this time, and his hips buck forward as another animalistic sound tumbles from his tongue. 

“Fuck, please,” Din whines as he gives up trying to hold back. You grin wildly at the sound. 

“Please, what, Din? What do you want?” 

“P-please fuck me!” 

Your hand flattens against him and starts to rub sensually up and down, giving him enough friction to have him shivering with each pass. 

“Okay, baby. Sit down like I told you to, and I’ll take care of you.” 

He nods as you start to lead him backwards, the back of his knees hitting the cockpit chair and forcing him to follow your instructions. 

“What a good boy,” you lean forward to coo at the side of his helmet, right where his ear would be. “Why don’t you take your cock out for me?” 

You push yourself away from him, your hands placed on either arm rest as you lean over him. Din hesitates for a moment, clearly not used to the kind of vulnerability you’re asking him to surrender. 

“Go ahead, baby. I promise I won’t make fun.” In fact, you know you won’t. Judging by the massive tent in his pants, there is absolutely no way that Din Djarin is anywhere near small. Not that you’ll tell him that, of course. 

You stare intently as he gulps and lets his hands trail down to unbuckle his belt and shakily pull his zipper down, revealing his boxers. He waits a beat before pulling himself completely out, and you have to fight to keep your jaw from dropping when he does. 

“Holy shit, Djarin,” you gawk. “Well, your dick definitely wasn’t the problem. Scared some people off if anything.” Honestly, it almost scares you. You don’t think your hand could even fully wrap around it if you grabbed it right now. 

You look back to his helmet, making what you hope is eye contact. Judging by the way he shifts in the seat, you’re pretty sure you’re spot-on. 

“You’re so pretty, Din. It’s a shame nobody’s ever told you.” 

“T-thank you,” he breathes, his head turning slightly. 

“I want you to put your hands on the armrests while I show you how pretty I think you are.” 

He hesitates, obviously still not sure about any of this. 

“Go ahead,” you prompt. “Unless you want me to cuff you to the damn chair.” 

At this, he quickly obeys your request and lets his hands go to grip the rests. His cock slaps up, hard and leaking against his covered stomach. He twists his neck all the way to the side, avoiding eye contact as much as he can manage. As much as he’s resisting giving in, you can see how his chest heaves with desire. In this case, the lust is simply stronger than the embarrassment. 

You quickly bring a hand up to grab at the bottom of his helmet, roughly jerking his head back to look at you. 

“You’re going to watch me while I suck your cock. If I see you look away, you’re not going to like what happens after.” 

Din shivers and nods, shaken slightly by your authoritative tone. 

“Say ‘yes, ma’am’.” 

You watch his throat bob as he gulps down his nervousness. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes out. 

“See, you can be such a good boy when you put your mind to it.”

You slink down to your knees and place your hands on his thick, tense thighs. With your eyes level with his cock, you’re able to watch the way a spurt of precum dribbles down from the tip. 

“Look at that, baby. Little dick is drooling already and I haven’t even touched you.” 

Din tenses and clenches his hand but makes a point not to look away. Good, at least you know he’s listening. Who knew how easy it is to tame a Mandalorian? A little humiliation and degradation can go a long way. 

You lean forward, grabbing hard onto his thighs in reminder to keep his hands where they are as you stick your tongue out to scoop up the precum leaking down his shaft. His hips jut forward, and you swear you hear a quiet whine from his helmet. You can’t help but chuckle lightly.

You decide not to waste your time with little licks, and instead lean forward to take his entire tip into your mouth. Now you definitely hear a whine. You struggle to shove more of him into your mouth and down your throat, his girth making it much more of a task than it needs to be. 

You can feel yourself getting wetter just from the thought of how deliciously he would stretch you out in other places. It really is a damn shame he’s kept this absolute monster tucked away for so long. 

His fingers twitch at the same time his head slams back into the headrest, though he keeps it angled down so he can keep watching you. You have to swallow a few times to work him all the way down, and by that time you can almost feel the way he’s tightened up to restrain himself. 

You take pity on him and pull back, resisting the urge to gag as his weight drags across your throat again. A string of spit connects you to his shiny cock as you smirk up at him. 

“Tell me how it feels, sweet boy.” 

“F-feels s-so good, c-cyare,” Din squeaks. 

“Yeah, you want more?” 

He nods furiously and you immediately flick the tip of his swollen cock, earning you a strangled yelp as his hips buck wildly. 

“What’s the matter? Finally got your dick wet and suddenly you forget how to speak?” 

He begins to shake his head before catching himself and giving you a verbal response. 

“N-no–I mean, yes, yes I want more! Please touch me,” he thrusts his hips forward again, though you're not sure if it’s voluntary or not. 

“Alright, since you asked so nicely.” 

You quickly grasp him and start to pump him furiously, leaning to him again to drool on his tip. The extra lubricant makes your hand glide more smoothly, your pace picking up to the point where you can see his balls drawing up. 

You work your mouth in tandem with your fist, worshiping his throbbing cock with open mouthed kisses and gentle nips on the exposed skin. You close your eyes for a second to savor the way he feels between your lips, and the salty flavor that graces your tongue. If you died with Din Djarin’s dick in your mouth, you would die a happy woman.

“C-cyare, I-” 

He cuts himself off as you quickly pull yourself away, leaving him with nothing but your cooling spit to focus on. 

“No, no, no–ung–I, p-please!” 

You laugh at him as he thrusts up, trying to find some kind of friction. His voice sounds wet, almost like there are tears in his eyes. 

“Aww,” you stand back to admire his writhing body. “Poor thing can’t remember anything but ‘please’. That’s cute. Not hard to get you dumb, is it, Mando?” 

You start to strip in front of him, and his hands come up from the armrests. 

“You better not be moving your fucking hands, Din,” you warn. “I know where you keep those damn binders, don’t think I won’t use them.” 

He groans but lets his wrists back down. His feet shift instead since there’s nothing else he’s able to move at the moment. He whines again as your top comes off with your bra, and then your pants with your panties. 

Fully naked and obviously soaked, you stalk toward him yet again, stopping to place your hand on his shoulder as you climb into his lap, careful not to touch his cock just yet. You settle your thighs over the tops of his and spread your legs. 

When you look up at him, he’s staring you back in your eyes, refusing to look down. You smirk once you realize why. 

“Don’t get shy on me now, baby boy,” you say. “Go ahead and look at my pussy, I know you want to.” 

You watch him slowly lower his gaze and breathe out a curse once it lands on your seam. Leaning forward, you whisper again to the side of his helmet. 

“You can move a hand, Din. Spread me open.” 

He visibly trembles at your command but lifts an arm none-the-less. You feel his fingers trail gently down to where you want him, but he stops just short. 

“T-take my glove off, please. Want to feel you, cyar’ika.” 

You smile at him and carefully bring his hand up to pull his glove off, his dick twitching as you do so. You lick your lips as a tanned and scarred hand is revealed. It’s ridiculous how attracted you are to that simple appendage. You wish you could see his entire body, but you know that’s not a likely scenario. 

Once his glove is discarded on the floor, he moves back to your cunt and sucks in a harsh breath as he feels you. 

“You’re s-so wet,” he says in a way that makes you unsure if he meant to say it out loud or not.

You laugh quietly and guide his hand so that he can prod at your hole, to which he chokes. 

“That’s all because of you, sweet boy.” 

You move your hips forward, and his fingers slip through your seam, your slick collecting on the rough pads. You grasp his wrist to bring his hand to your lips, opening your mouth to suck your tang of the digits at the same time as you let your pussy push against the underside of Din’s cock. 

Another animalistic noise accompanies the way his entire body jolts at the sudden contact. With a pop, you pull his fingers from your mouth to make room for the giggle that bubbles up from your throat. 

“Poor baby’s so sensitive!” you exclaim as you grind against him, making him groan with each pass. Both of his hands grip down hard, one on the rest and the other on your thigh. The man has a fucking grip, you’re sure there will be five little bruises littered across your skin tomorrow. You wonder how good that grip would feel on your hips as he drills himself into you from the back, and file that thought back for another day. 

You shudder as his tip bumps up against your clit, sending little shocks up your spine and making you dizzy. 

“Gonna fuck you now, baby boy,” you breathe. “You want that? Want to stick your cock inside me?” 

“I-ungh-yes, yes!” 

“Yeah?” you ask as you keep up your movements. “Beg for it.” 

“P-please,” Din asks a bit too quietly for your liking. You would bet all the credits you won that he’s blushing under that armor right now.

“Oh, come on now, you can do better than that.” 

There’s a short moment where you think Din isn’t going to do it, and a lump of disappointment gets stuck in your throat. Luckily, he doesn’t make you sit with it for too long. 

“Please, please put my d-dick in your pussy, want to feel you, please! I-I can’t–I want–”

In the middle of his babbling, you lift yourself up and line his cock with your entrance, slowly lowering yourself down. His hands fly to your hips at the same time his thoughts fly from his brain, unable to think of anything but the way your tight pussy is parting to welcome his fat tip. 

He’s never felt anything quite this pleasurable before, the sensation nearly blinding him as you work yourself down onto him. 

Your head tilts back as Din holds onto your hips for dear life. The combination of that pressure along with the burn from his cock stretching you out is almost too much. You can feel a heat bubbling at the base of your spine, and he’s not even all the way inside of you yet. 

“Oh, god, that’s so good, Din. You’re so good.” 

He whimpers in response, though part of that may be due to the fact that your hips are now flush to his. You’re both panting, a sheen of sweat coating both of your bodies. You can’t see the perspiration on Din, but you can feel the moist heat emanating from him. 

You open your eyes, not realizing they had been closed in the first place. You’ve never been this fucking full in your life. You swear you can feel him all the way up to your throat.

“M–plea–please move,” Din begs and lets his helmet rest on your forehead. His entire body is shaking with the effort of not blowing his load too quickly. 

You grant his request, starting to rock your hips as you bring a hand to settle on his neck, delighted to find a damp mess of curls peeking out from his helmet at the nape. Din gasps as you tug lightly while lifting your hips. 

You start a slow but steady rhythm, your skin slapping against each other each time you bottom out. His heavy cock drags against your walls, making your toes curl. A little whine sneaks out from Din’s concealed lips every time you sink down on him. 

A lewd moan tumbles from your lips as you feel him punch against your cervix, tucking in further than you’ve ever been able to reach before. 

“Fuck, Din! You’re so deep, baby!” 

“I’m not g-going to last l-long, Meshla,” Din strains. 

You ride him harder, taking that as a challenge. The tight thatch of hair at the base of his cock catches on your clit as you slam down on him, bringing you further to the brink. Something white hot flashes within your body, blinding you momentarily. 

You’re not even able to tell him you’re close too before you’re clamping down on him, and he’s shouting as he loses control. Your moans tangle together as you soak his dick, your legs trembling unlike you’ve ever experienced before. 

Din wraps his arms around you as he thrusts up into you, spilling himself within your heat. You’ve never in your life seen or felt anyone come as much as he does. Every time you think he’s done, you feel another spurt of his seed clinging to your walls.

By the time you’re both coming down, your ears have started ringing and your breathing has calmed down enough for you to get a word out, though you’re not sure Mando’s quite capable of that yet. 

“Y-you good?” you manage to gasp. 

You feel Din nod against you, and give yourself permission to lean against him. You’re wrung fucking dry. If this is what it feels like when you’re on top, what might it be like when Din’s in charge? The thought makes your body shudder and your pussy quiver. You sit in silence with him for a while until he finally breaks it with a voice just above a whisper. 

“C-can we do that again?”

You laugh at hearing the last thing you expected to come from his mouth after that. 

“Fucking maker, Din.”

***

Thank you for reading!! Please consider interacting if you enjoyed this!

[lets-try-some-writing]

A Brother In Need

A gift for @nova--spark and a partial continuation of this post by her (ft. my fic blurb for it).

Sometimes, when things are dire, the Matrix can tear through the very walls between worlds. It can call out to others, summoning Primes to aid a brother in need.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

Optimus grunted as another shot scorched his armor. The upgrades he’d received were doing nothing against the raging force of nature that was Megatron. A jetpack was useless against a forged flyer. The Magnus hammer, which he’d not so quietly borrowed, was doing slag all do deter his foe.

Being taken prisoner had done nothing to calm Megatron or make him less of a deadly opponent. With Ultra Magnus out of commission, all Optimus could do was try to buy time while the Autobots got themselves organized. The battle had already raged for almost five minutes, a near eternity for Optimus, who, as much as he hated to admit it, was certainly not built for war. He could only hold off for so long, and with no allies en route, he was essentially a sitting duck.

Every dodged attack slowed him down. Each hit he managed to land seemed to bounce right off of the warlord. Even with the Allspark resting within its casing around his neck, providing him with energy he sorely needed, he was still losing. Bit by bit, he was pushed back closer toward civilian regions. It had never gotten this bad, not even on Earth.

“Foolish Prime. You will learn the meaning of suffering for daring to put me in chains.” Megatron flew at him yet again, and all Optimus could do was struggle to keep his frame from overheating as he forced himself to dodge. Unfortunately, Megatron was faster, hitting his jetpack with a well timed strike and finally sending him careening toward the ground. Optimus adjusted mid-fall, slowing his descent and landing on his pedes. However, as he attempted to get back into the skies in the hopes that it would limit civilian casualties, his jetpack failed to function. It puttered uselessly against his back, reminding Optimus again of just how dire things really were.

“I’m not going down without taking you with me!” He taunted his foe, running as far away from housing districts as possible. The Allspark weighed heavily around his neck, thrumming with strange energy he did not understand. It did little to aid him, but its glow reminded Optimus of what he was fighting for. 

Megatron could not win. Not while Optimus still functioned.

“I will strip you of your armor, one plate at a time!” Megatron roared in outrage, landing with a thunderous crash that left Optimus reeling. He clutched the Magnus hammer, not letting himself focus on the faint tremor of his digits as he raised the weapon high. He checked his comms, frantically letting his optics flicker around the area in hopes that someone, anyone, would come to his aid.

He saw and heard nothing. No one was coming. He was alone.

“I’d like to see you try.” He could sense the stress warnings for his servos running across his vision, but Optimus dismissed them. He needed to keep fighting, to buy more time for Sentinel to get things in order as acting Magnus. He doubted his former friend would actually aid him, but if Optimus could do something to give the Autobots a chance, then he would gladly put his life on the line yet again.

He took a deep vent, the world slowing around him as Megatron unsheathed his blade and leapt forward. Optimus distinctly recalled wondering if there would be anything left of his frame once the battle was done as the warlord’s blade met his hammer. 

The shock rattled his entire frame, knocking his shoulder from its socket. He didn’t have time to cry out in pain before he was forced to try and block another hit, then another, and another. He tried to fight back, but every time he tried to land an attack, Megatron’s blade cut through his armor like it was made of tinfoil. He was covered in gashes, each burning as they bled. He stumbled, trying to keep his balance as Megatron smiled, stalking forward and pushing Optimus up against a wall. 

“This is what happens when you play soldier, Optimus Prime. Now, you will die like the disposable pawn you are.” Optimus spit up energon, coughing as he clutched a particularly deep wound with one servo. The Magnus hammer was held weakly up in front of him, his entire arm shaking from the effort as he prepared to block. Part of him hoped that his team would arrive and save his sorry aft. The rest of him was praying for a decently quick and honorable end, perhaps a blaster shot to the spark.

Unfortunately for him, Megatron had other plans.

The warlord swung his blade, sending the Magnus hammer flying away from Optimus’s grasp. He cursed, getting into a combat position despite how battered and tired he was. His vents were flared wide, his fans running on their highest setting as he panted and tried to play hero. Everything ached and burned, his vision flickering from energon loss. But he was not given a chance to even try to preserve his honor as the hilt of Megatron’s blade collided with his helm, knocking him to the ground.

He cried out in pain, no longer able to stifle the agony of his failing frame. He heard Megatron laugh as a kick landed on his abdomen, sending Optimus flying against the wall behind him and leaving him to purge what little he had in his tanks before coughing up energon that had to have come from something internal being ruptured. 

He shook in terror that he could no longer mask as the warlord loomed above him, his towering frame now no longer anything close to the storybook villain Optimus had come to know. He prayed for salvation as Megatron took his time, hitting him again and again and kicking him around like some sort of training dummy. Every hit broke something else, shattering plating or snapping components that were likely vital. 

Optimus tried to be brave. He tried to keep being snarky, if only to buy time. But as he lay utterly beaten amidst the rubble of their battleground, he could only cry while pulling himself into a sitting position. There was nothing he could do now except try to die with a small iota of dignity. 

“Ratchet, Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Sari… I’m sorry I won’t be coming back to all of you.” A choked sob broke through his tortured venting. As Megatron cackled, Optimus touched the container the Allspark still sat within. He prayed in silence, hoping that the phenomenon that gave him life would heed his quiet plea. 

He wasn’t religious. He had no god to worship as the humans did. But he still hoped… that maybe, somehow, the thing that made him would have mercy on his spark.

“Goodbye, Prime.” Megatron’s blaster powered on, sickening purple and flooding Optimus’s vision as he raised his helm in one final act of defiance. If he were to fall, he was going to do so, looking death in the optic. He would not cower, not even in his final moments.

He stared down the blaster barrel, uncaring of how it made his optics flicker due to the brightness. But as he watched his death come closer, he felt warmth emanate from the container around his neck. He dared not look away from Megatron, but as blue light began to drown out the purple, Optimus could only gasp in awe at what occurred mere nano-kliks later.

A shot fired, but it was not Megatron’s blaster putting Optimus six feet under. Instead, bright blue energy impacted Megatron’s armor, scorching his seemingly untouchable plating and earning a cry from the warlord. Optimus gawked, his agony momentarily forgotten as he followed the source of the shot, his optics setting on a figure that towered over even Megatron.

A faint blue figure flickered in and out of existence, becoming more solid with every passing moment. Optimus’s optics widened as the mech stepped forward, his frame setting into reality as he held his arm up, the limb having transformed into a blaster without so much as a klik of hesitation. He stood proudly, his armor battered and scarred but still strong. His shoulders were sharp, and an autobot badge stood out clearly amidst the scratches and dents. His legs were long and built for combat; his waist was thin but his torso was heavily armored. A crack ran along his windshields, but it seemed to mean nothing for the mech who stood so powerfully on the battlefield.

Optimus watched in complete awe as the mech stalked forward, a battlemask firmly in place on his face as he fired shot after shot at Megatron. With grace that Optimus had never seen in anyone before, the mech strode forward, breaking into a steady run as his arms turned from guns to blades. In an instant, the mech, who looked so much like Optimus in color and overall design, met Megatron in combat. Their blades sparked, their grunts of exertion echoed across the battlefield.

Megatron tried to push back, but the mech was swift with his blades, cutting through Megatron’s defenses and slashing his armor clean open with rapid movements. Megatron stumbled back, screaming a curse in a language Optimus did not know. The mech, his counterpart, responded in kind with a quick kick to the chassis, sending the warlord sprawling after a pitifully short fight. It seemed that despite his failure to bring down his foe, Optimus had indeed tired him enough so that his counterpart had little issue bringing him to his knees.

A smug part of his spark flared in glee at the revelation.

“Serves you right, you glitch.” He raised a middle finger in Megatron’s direction as Autobots finally appeared in the distance. His counterpart knocked Megatron upside the helm, forcing the Decepticon leader into temporary recharge. Then, without a second thought, he came to kneel before Optimus, his battlemask slipping away.

“I apologize for failing to assist you sooner, little brother. The call of the Matrix can be slow at times.” Optimus carefully reset his optics, but the scene did not change as his counterpart tenderly picked him up as if he were but a newbuild. The Allspark pulsed against his chassis in response.

“It seems your reality has different rules than mine, but you need not fear. We are one and the same, merely separated by time and a barrier between worlds.” The other mech, the other Optimus, smiled in a soft manner before holding Optimus close. He coughed weakly, the pain slowly overwhelming his senses as his counterpart held him close. He wanted to speak, to ask who this mech really was.

But he found his questions answered as the other Optimus carried him to his team, passing him off to a very worried Ratchet. He stared, still in shock, as the other Prime began to flicker and fade, his existence starting to vanish like smoke.

“Rest well, young Prime. May Primus light your path.” With those final words, the other Prime disappeared as if he’d never been there in the first place. Megatron was bound and carted off, Ratchet strapped him to a gurney and rushed to get him hooked up to an IV. All the while, Optimus stared up at the sky uselessly.

He didn’t know how or why, but through the thing that hung around his neck, Optimus had been saved by another version of himself. A mech who carried his name, his burden, and his rank.

He’d had his life preserved by a brother.

[david-talks-sw]

I got a good feeling about "The Acolyte"

Not even kidding. Like, I've spoken before about why I'm wary of it.

George Lucas' Star Wars is something that intentionally has black and white morality, rather than shades of gray. Those movies are meant for kids and projecting a "gray" morality onto them then proclaiming it was George's vision all along is doing so in bad faith.

The narrative of the Prequels doesn't frame the Prequel Jedi in as negative a light as Leslye Headland, Dave Filoni, etc etc do.

See here for more details, but bottom line: yeah, a show that has a darksider as the underdog is bound to demonize the Jedi (who are the actual underdogs in the Prequels), and obviously that rubs me the wrong way.

BUT.

The trailer looks fucking cool. It really really does.

And more importantly? I've done some research... and Leslye Headland is ticking a lot of good boxes, in my book.

1. The Acolyte won't be a 10-hour movie.

I've criticized Disney Plus shows before, explaining that a big source for most of their issues is that these series are being structured as "long movies" rather than, y'know, actual shows.

But in this interview with Collider, Headland addresses that: it'll be a series. Not a long movie that you need to watch across four weeks.

Thank God. You have no idea how much that comforts me. Finally a showrunner who's, y'know, actually running a show.

And this goes hand in hand with what she told IGN, here, about how she's going about building suspense.

Yes! Exactly! That's how it's supposed to be!

Like, compare this to Baylan Skoll's storyline in Ahsoka.

In no possible way was that emotionally-fulfilling. For 8 episodes we had no idea what he was after, and the season ended where we still don't know. What does he want? What is he after? Your guess is as good as mine, it's something Mortis-related.

So yeah. Maybe getting the Emmy-nominated trained screenwriter on board to run this was a good idea.

2. Maybe the Jedi will not be as demonized as I originally thought.

Don't get me wrong. 80% of what she says about the Jedi makes me cringe. It's the typical fan's interpretation and y'all know I disagree with that interpretation.

It's painful to see her refer to the Jedi as an institution (not how the Prequels' narrative frames them) and to see her frame "Balance" in the "oh there's so many of them and just two Sith, that means the Force is out of balance" meaning... but at least she acknowledges the Jedi are a benevolent institution.

They're not an "elitist force hiding in their ivory tower" as others have described the Jedi.

Moreover, there'll be a variety of Jedi POVs, many personalities.

Yord Fandar, is described as a strictly by-the-book Jedi Knight and guardian from the Jedi Temple, is an overachiever and a rule follower.

The question now becomes: will the narrative frame him as "your typical Jedi" or is it just this one guy? I'm hoping it's the latter.

I also like how her reasoning goes re: Jedi drawing their lightsabers.

Which explains the hand-to-hand combat seen in the trailer.

This teenager is coming at Carrie-Ann Moss with a dagger, of course the Jedi won't draw her saber.

3. She's a fan of Star Wars... but a screenwriter first.

You can tell in the interviews she's a fan. She's using words like "BBY" and "EU" casually. In the above-linked interviews she's bringing up the Nightsisters, Timothy Zahn, The Clone Wars, she mentions she has a tattoo of Ralph McQuarrie's concept art of Leia, the High Republic books, etc.

She's done her homework. She's a fan.

But the vibe I'm getting from these interviews is that she's weaving in these various lore-elements in a more organic way, rather than in the "fan-servicey" way Dave Filoni has been doing in his shows.

The references and Easter Eggs will be there, but the narrative won't bend over itself just so you can get it. Crafting a good story comes first, and Andor is a beautiful illustration of why this is true.

Which is why I was never bothered about one of the writers never having watched Star Wars before getting the job. You need those fresh eyes when you're tackling something of this scale.

That makes sense to me. Maybe it's because of my own screenwriting experience, but yeah. That out-of-the box perspective is precious.

And like, obviously, that writer watched the films eventually, but for some reason everyone who bitched about Headland omitted that detail and opted for a more bad faith interpretation.

Hm. Wonder why.

Maybe it's the same reason that months ago this clipped audio circulated socials without context, in which she debates whether Star Wars only came from George Lucas and only Lucas is the key.

The FULL context of that interview reveals that she's actually:

debating the "autheur director" myth and positing that it was achieved by a collective of excellent filmmakers and craftspeople that George was skilled and smart enough to recruit...

the studios now think it's a simple as hiring one guy and throwing money at him, because they have no idea what the fuck they're talking about. See Napoleon (2023) for example.

Yes, she also does a jab to the Prequels, which speaks to the generation of fans she's a part of... but overall she's giving Lucas props whilst also stating an ideological difference, that's it!

George is a proponent of the "autheur" theory, Leslye isn't.

However, guess what, in like half the talks George gave post-selling Star Wars? He's giving shoutouts to everyone who helped make the first film, even remembering their names.

So I'm not even sure he'd vehemently disagree with Leslye, in fact they'd prolly have a conversation about it and immediately bitch about how stupid studio executives are :D

But that's not as incendiary, is it? Again, the more I do the research, the more it feels like the reason most of these influencers are hating on her is purely sexist.

I mean, on IGN she's even acknowledging that she does plan on taking stock of fan reactions for Season 2.

It's not a guarantee that she'll incorporate the feedback, but at least that's more consideration than, say, JJ Abrams or Rian Johnson gave the fandom.

She's even bringing the moral ambiguity that the Gray Jedi-loving edge-lords love so much.

"No, she's a woke feminist! Anything she does is evil! Eww, girls!"

🙄

Needless to say... I'm gonna give it a shot.

I think it's gonna be a good show, I think it's gonna be a solid story.

I'm crossing my fingers that they won't as biased against the Jedi as it seems they'll be. Even if they are... if it's still an enjoyable experience, I'll gloss over it.

As @gffa states in this post:

Worst case? It's not a story from George. I can dismiss it from my headcanon without a moment's hesitation :D

[ma1dita]

this will be our year

this was a request! find it here

words: 2.5k

summary: james does his best to plan reader's birthday! it's not as easy as you think

warnings: james is a leader not a planner, fluff!! bestfriend!james returns mwahaha

a/n: so sorry for this being literally two weeks after your birthday anon! life was kicking my ass but i hope you enjoy! writing many characters is something im trying to learn to make more organic

(posted and edited too many times to count 11/6/23)

—

There are a few things in life that James likes to think he’s very good at: making plans, pulling pranks, playing quidditch, and doing absolutely anything he can to make you smile. At first, he would laugh it off when his friends would say you two had something special. He is a gentleman, after all. James is the type of friend any of the girls would trust with a secret, or the one to borrow hair potion from when you’re in a pinch.

He loves to join in the gossip and crash your sleepovers when the boys are being ‘dreadfully boring’ (his words, not yours). He holds your bag when you walk to class (only yours, he’ll push Marlene’s books to the ground and run off laughing), bribes Peter with an extra helping of bacon to move his butt out of ‘your seat’ (whichever one was to the right of him) at breakfast, and definitely writes to his mom asking about what to get you for your birthday (and how much he’s been wanting to ask you out for almost about three years now).

Right... James is a great friend, so when you get all excited about your birthday, gushing about how you want to celebrate this year, he takes one look at the excitement on your face and hatches the perfect plan. Or so he thinks.

“I just can’t wait to celebrate with you guys, and not have to worry about exams, or projects, or boys, or curfew…” you muse, laying across Mary and Remus’s laps as everyone’s gathered in the common room. Sirius, and Peter are chasing each other with throw pillows while Dorcas and Lily share headphones on the other sofa. James beelines towards you, crawling across the open space.

“Boys? What boys have been worrying you, dove?” he says snidely, sneaking towards the space near your belly, looking up at your relaxed figure.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Mary giggles, and Remus huffs back laughter as he pats your head. James peers up at you as you smile knowingly.

“It’s a secret.” you smile, reaching out to poke his chin.

“You keep secrets from me now? From your most good-looking, bestest friend ever that plans the coolest awesomest birthday parties for you?”

Well, he did have a point. Ever since he accidentally flung you into the Black Lake third year in a prank meant for Snape, he’s almost always waited on you hand and foot. He had to, for your immediate response to laugh and flip him into the lake ‘qualified’ you as a Marauder (plus he thought you were really pretty—he swore he stopped crushing on Lily the next day.) And every birthday since has been bigger and better. Fourth year was the movie marathon out on the quidditch pitch; Fifth year was the picnic out next to Black Lake, and now you couldn’t wait to see what he has planned.

You look at the boy thoughtfully, smiling down at him and he swears it’s his favorite sight in the world.

“You don’t always have to know everything, Prongs…”

He chases after your hand with his mouth, trying to chomp one of your fingers. Idiot.

“Of course I do, or else no birthday party for you!” he jokes, and you giggle at the notion. He wouldn’t dare. He loves to celebrate you. Maybe this will be the year he asks you out… Is that cheesy? Or lame? James sighs, fussing with a string on his sweater, suddenly silent amongst the chaos of his lively friends. He’s got a lot of work to do.

—

The next week was filled with James’ hasty preparations and all of your friends were put up to the task of making his vision come together. Remus and Peter would get the booze, Mary and Alice would bake the sweet treats, Sirius and Lily were working on decorations, and Marlene and Dorcas were busy enchanting a record player to amplify through the party space James would get ready in the Room of Requirement. He’s been a little high-strung, overcalculating his endless to-do list to impress you.

All of them have been so…busy, and it was a bit lonely. You thought they might plan something with you, or for you, but you haven’t seen much of them in the past few days. Every bump in the corridor or spotting in the common room was a flurry of hushed whispers and giggles at jokes that flew over your head. Even dinner with them has been oddly silent, like watching a film but not being able to penetrate the scene that unfolds.

Peering down at the map one day after class, you see your friends’ names flitting around the map, all of them hanging out together, but not with you. That is, until a big hand nabs the parchment from your grasp.

“Hey!” “Sorry doll, need it for something important.” Sirius grins, pulling Lily along as they walk off briskly.

“Do you guys want to study later?” You call out after them, and they keep on walking, hands in their cloaks. Weird.

Many more of your requests have been denied. It’s a fickle thing, to suddenly feel unwanted in your group of friends. As a Marauder, you’ve earned your place there. But if Remus and Peter didn’t want to sneak out for a midnight snack, and Alice and Mary went shopping already, without you… Marlene and Dorcas were nowhere to be found.

That means you only had your favorite person to badger… James. You drag him into a broom closet after Muggle Studies one day, crossing your arms and looking up at him with frustration.

“Jeez, love, you’re stronger than you look!” He says sheepishly, hands landing on your waist.

“What are you all up to? Where have you been?” The pout on your face makes his knees weak, and it’d be so easy to just tell you….

No…He thinks, hardening his resolve as his thumb reaches out to smooth the crease in your forehead.

“Prongs,” you whine, poking his chest. The dim yellow lightbulb swings overhead, almost clobbering him in the skull.

“Why, you miss me that much?” He grins, prodding at your cheek. It’s cramped in here enough, and he hunches over your frame, unable to stop his smile at the look on your face.

“Yeah. I miss all of my friends. I sound like Moaning Myrtle whining after you lot! I wanna be involved in whatever you all are doing…” Delicate hands pull at the drawstrings of his hoodie and he feels like his chest tightens too.

“Hey, we haven’t forgotten you, so don’t worry, pretty girl. Your birthday’s coming up, right? You excited for that?” James’ thumb rubs at your cheek and he really wonders if, in any other instance, this could be platonic. Surely, you must like him too, right? Everything he does is to make you smile. He feels like he’s in a one-man show trying to embellish himself for your attention, and he’s waiting for the applause. Your hand grabs his as you lean into his touch.

“Got anything special planned?” You ask teasingly, and James can feel the warmth of your smile in his palm.

“For you? Of course.” He squeezes your cheek and you rip away from him, laughing. As you walk out of the closet, your shoulders bump as he wraps an arm around you.

“Don’t worry too much, dove. It’ll all work out,” he says, glad that you’re smiling again. “Wouldn’t let you have a terrible birthday. Never in a million years.”

“Exactly. What type of best friend would you be?” You smirk, walking off to your next class.

The thing is, he hopes you won’t be best friends by the end of it though. James huffs as he puts his hands in his pockets, walking in the opposite direction. This will be the year…. And it’s unsure if it’s a promise to himself or to you.

—

Of course, it wouldn’t be a Marauder plan of action without some mayhem. James had taken it upon himself to organize his big list of to-dos, assign jobs, and make sure everything was set up for your birthday. The Room of Requirement was decked out in enchanted sparklers, a huge cake was adorned by a spotlight in the corner of the room, and all your friends were there to celebrate you. Mary’s putting the final touches on the gift pile before she looks to Sirius and Peter, who are horsing around the room running through the balloons.

“Something’s missing,” she remarks, and the others scamper around to figure out what it is. Lily double checks the sound system for your favorite songs, Marlene makes sure the drinks are flowing and at the table set up in the back. Dorcas whacks Peter and Sirius to stop popping the balloons, and Remus, the smart one, turns on his heel to stomp towards James, who is looking like he could implode from stress at any given moment.

“Prongs…” Remus muses, unsure if he should laugh, or wring his neck.

“What did I forget?” he says sheepishly, looking down at his watch. A balloon pops.

“Did you invite the birthday girl?” Oh shit.

“HAH—Moony, you’re not supposed to be the funny one here, of course I….” his eyes fall down to his scroll of to-dos, looking at the only thing unmarked on his list.

• Get her to come to the best birthday celebration ever.

“I forgot to tell her, didn’t I…”

Right. James might’ve glossed over that one. His nervous laughter shrivels at the sight of his friends’ faces of disbelief as they bombard him with questions and profanities and so, he bolts out of there, trying to find you on the map.

—

Surprisingly, James finds you in the kitchen, sitting infront of a lone cupcake and the house elves singing you the worst rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ there ever was to magical folk. What should be his plan of action? Acting nonchalant, or owning up to his flub? All of his thoughts go out the window when he sees your despondent sigh at the lit candle, thinking your friends have forgotten his absolute favorite day of the entire year.

“Pretty girl, why are you so sad?” he says, rushing to meet you at the table. You’re pulling at your sleeves and looking at the cupcake in disappointment.

“Did you all forget about me?” you ask, bottom lip trembling at the notion. James shakes his head rapidly, so much so that his glasses are skewed as he looks at you.

“How could we forget the best birthday girl?”

“I’m the only birthday girl, and I haven’t seen any of you today. You didn’t even eat dinner with me,” you pout. Your huff of a sigh blows out the sad little candle, and it almost makes you want to crumple up in embarrassment. Your finger reaches out to sample some of the icing, and you bring it to your mouth, James following the movement with his eyes.

“I’m sorry dove. I might’ve messed up for this one,” he mutters, hating to see you upset.

“If you forgot to plan anything, it’s okay…. You’re not obligated to.” Your head falls to the slope of your shoulder, looking bashful at the idea of being celebrated. But James hasn’t gone all this way to see you unhappy.

“That’s the funny thing about it, erm…. I need you to come with me.” He pulls at your arm, but you won’t budge. How mortifying to conceptualize how you feel in this moment, feeling smaller than ever. A birthday is just a day, after all. Maybe they can make it up to you tomorrow.

“I dunno Prongs, I think I should just go to bed and wake up with a better attitude, yeah? It’s really oka–HEY!” James lifts you out of your chair and throws you over his shoulder, securing you to him before he bolts out of the kitchens. Your vision is blurred and all you can see is the massive muscles rippling down his back as he runs. His bum is quite nice too.

“James Potter, what in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing? Put me down this instant or I’ll hex you into next week!” You screech, before he puts a silencing charm on you to not alert Filch of your antics. You reach out to hit his buttock as he exclaims, “Ow! Cheeky…. I promise you’ll like this, dove. You really thought we’d forget your birthday?”

There comes a point when he paces back and forth in front of the same stretch of wall and you think he’s insane, talking to himself and turning in circles. After the third lap, he sets you down, your arms crossed and quite stern at the trip he’s taken you on. James smooths your hair down before he looks you in the eyes, standing a bit closer than a friend would, but Godric is he excited to show you his work.

“Ahem. Do you really think I’d forget your big day, pretty girl? It’s my favorite day of the year!” He smiles and you shake your head with a smile. He nudges the door open to reveal all your friends, yelling “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

Still inaudible, your mouth is gaping wide in shock, silent laughter escaping your mouth. Marlene and Dorcas carry the cake over to you before they sing in all sorts of tunes, none of them on key and possibly worse than the house elves. The light of the candles caresses the warmth in your cheeks as you look at your friends in wonder. You mumble something like a ‘thank you’ but they can’t comprehend it until Remus undoes the charm, whacking James across the head.

—

Later, James sneaks behind you, throwing an arm around your waist, whispering ‘Happy birthday’ for the millionth time, but he’ll never get tired of telling you how much he cares.

“Are you happy, birthday girl?” he smiles, and you get on your tiptoes to give him a kiss that lands on the corner of his mouth. The applause is back, thundering in his ears before he realizes it’s the sound of his heart when you’re near.

Yeah, this will be the year everything changes. His plans are racking up into a list in his brain as you gaze at him all starry-eyed and smiley. Your friends are all looking at you knowingly, and he can’t wait to get to work, for there is just so much to do.

—

“In case you foolishly forget: I am never not thinking of you.” - Virginia Woolf

taglist: @jsjcue

love me some tunes! i listened to this while writing: this will be our year by lowland hum

[ladymoody]

RED LIPSTICK

mattheo riddle x fem!reader

︎warnings: flirty, alcohol, smoke, drugs, throwing up, swearing, breast cupping, possessive behavior.

word count: 1,3k

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist ; playlist ; characters list ; my website

it’s september again, a not-so-hot-month anymore, yet not cold yet. I was walking with blaise, wearing my favorite leather jacket and my hair down, a bit messy. we were heading towards draco’s manor where he was used to throwing huge parties for the slytherins and of course, he had invited us.

it was about midnight, and the streets were almost empty. blaise was walking beside me on the roadside sidewalk, protectively trying to keep an eye on passing cars.

“are you going to get high?” he asked.

“maybe. you?”

“is that even a question? malfoy hasn’t made a decent party for years, of course, I’m gonna take the opportunity.”

blaise chuckles, knowing that I will have ended up wasted like always and he will have needed to carry me to my room again.

(time skip)

the lights were flashing, enough to make you dizzy and confused. blaise and I were used to it, but the loud music tested our limits — I’ll admit that.

“grab my hand.” he said as he started to make his way into the thick crowd. I took his hand and I followed him, merging with the sweaty and dancing people. I could smell the alcohol and the smoke and I couldn’t wait to get drunk and forget.

blaise spotted draco and waved at him, draco saw us and approached us as well.

“zabini, y/l/n. welcome.” draco said.

draco and blaise chatted a bit as if I wasn't desperate to touch alcohol, and seeing them casually having a conversation with this loud music was annoying me more and more.

I started watching the crowd, checking if I could find any other friend of mine that I could leave blaise for, and there our gazes met. mine and mattheo's.

god, I hated that man.

everybody knew him, and I knew him too, maybe even too well for someone who hadn't had a proper conversation with him — but rumors spread quickly, and I knew for sure that he was a bad influence.

I saw him stop dancing, he was rubbing against a girl that I didn't know but she didn't look as if she minded, and he started walking toward me. not even a second passed without him breaking the eye contact with me and I was getting uncomfortable.

he had a drink in his hand and his usual cut across the bridge of his nose, he greeted blaise.

I didn't know why I was so disappointed but I thought he would come up to me. I knew we didn't talk much, yet somehow I had hoped for him to have a word with me instead of his usual male friends.

"what's up, zabini." they started chatting, and I couldn't help espy his eyes so lingering and magnetic.

"sorry, what was your name again?" he finally shifted his gaze on me and I felt a shiver running down my spine as his eyes laid on my lips.

"y/l/n. y/n yl/n." I said and he simply nodded, getting his attention back to blaise. this time I noticed how he stole more looks at me, maybe he didn't like my presence there.

mattheo and I met many times, yet shared so few words. the only time we talked was for a divination project — he was my deskmate and mrs. trelawney paired us. mattheo didn't really work with me and left all the work to me while was probably fucking around. I recall us organizing a meeting to work together but he never showed up.

I decided to go look for pansy, my best friend, and see how she was doing.

"excuse me." I mutter as I leave my friends to merge into the crowd. it was so hard trying to spot a brown-haired girl in a room full of flashing colored lights and people moving around everywhere, but somehow I managed to find her eventually.

"pansy!" I called her out and she turned around, immediately smiling at the sight of me approaching her.

we hugged and talked for a bit, then she led me towards the alcohol.

(skip time)

my vision was corrupted by the amount of vodka drunk and weed smoked, I couldn't stop laughing with pansy as we literally took turns throwing up in the toilet.

"how are we still fucking alive...?" pansy panted, grinning.

"I don't know, but I swear this is the last time I'm getting this wasted... it's too much and the idea of smoking joints while drinking wasn't the best, huh?"

"oh sorry for trying to indulge your urge to get completely vulnerable and plastered."

I rolled my eyes, and then the women's restroom door opened wide. I couldn't perfectly see who it was, but I could tell by the manly figure that it wasn't a girl.

"oh sorry, ladies." a familiar voice said. mattheo? as pansy started to puke in the toilet again, I stood up from the cold floor and walked to him to have a better view.

"what the fuck? this is the girl's restroom." I said, stumbling to get to him.

he chuckled and smirked at the sight of me being that drunk and goofy, but I could tell he wasn't so sober either.

"I got confused. I drank a bit and couldn't see the sign on the door." he casually said, incredibly close to me.

and there something inside of me lit up. I didn't know what it was, but the way he spoke to me, finally shifting his attention on me, looking at me with those big brown eyes of his and his innocent face — and mattheo was everything but innocent — made me feel... attracted by him.

"you're here all alone, y/n?" his voice snapped me back to reality, the way he remembered and said my name was almost electrifying.

"there's pansy-" I couldn't finish my sentence as his hand reached out to brush a strand of my hair off my face. I just looked at him confused, captivated, and needy.

I realized at that moment that I wanted him, even casually, but I did.

"why that red lipstick?" he asked, a hint of anger in his voice.

"it matched the outfit."

"it doesn't suit you." he bitterly said. I was puzzled and slightly offended until he added something more.

"I'll ruin it for you." he said before crashing his lips to mine.

what the fuck. that’s what I thought. I had always thought of him as the “womanizer” and the type of guy that will use you, leave you, and think he owns you but still not want anything serious. he was somehow famous in the school and I hated him, but maybe the alcohol made me a bit bolder, a bit less of a thinker, and I just found myself not pulling away from his lips.

he pushed me backward as he kissed me, his hands firmly gripping my hips as he pulled them towards his. I backed against a door, opening it with our weight and stepping in.

mattheo’s hands were now wrapped around my waist and my arms around his neck. he forced me against the wall and kept devouring my mouth. it wasn’t a sweet kiss, it was more an angry kiss as if he was letting all his anger out on me. I wasn’t complaining, though.

his right hand started to wander under my top, getting to my bra and cupping my breast to squeeze it hard. I let out a moan at his gesture, and he immediately broke the kiss.

“wear less makeup next time,” he said as he pulled away, opened the door, and headed towards the restroom exit. my lips were now swollen from the intensity of the kiss, and my red lipstick was almost fully gone. I stood there in confusion, looking at him with a mix of lust, anger, and disappointment.

damn.

[libraford]

An approximate conversation of what's going on in the comments section in the post about our city's pride event. Copy-pasted and summarized instead of screencapped because I don't feel like blocking out names today.

Guy: This is the second post I've seen about gay pride this month and NOTHING about Alzheimer's Month or Men's Mental Health Awareness month! Way to go- ignoring the REAL issues.

Me: If you would like to have more initiatives for those causes, there are some forms you can fill out on the City's website. The city made this post because the pride event is on their list of scheduled events, so it makes sense for them to post it.

Guy: So the city planned Pride? That's what I was asking but it seemed to have gone over your precious little head.

Me: As stated in the city's post, it was the efforts of a local nonprofit. You can advocate for your causes as well, but you do have to fill out the proper paperwork for it.

Guy: So the city isn't planning it, but they're promoting it?? Are you that thick in the head? If the city doesn't want to recognize real issues they aren't involved in why would they cherry pick another? Like I said my original comment flew right over your head

Me: have you proposed any events for either of those causes to know for certain that they've been denied involvement?

Guy: Funny you ask yes I've been part of a for non profit organization here that had booths and events even a banner hanging across state st like many others have but yet never a mention. wonder why?

Me: well, that's quite a lot of things! You should be very proud! It seems very important to you that you be recognized and I respect that. Have you asked them for social media posts? I'm trying think of ways to make your vision happen.

(Crosstalk with other people in the thread)

Guy: Nobody is phobic/ scared. love how you guys make up things. There always has been and always will be people that don't like what others do. Guess what? That's called life grow up get over yourself and stop searching for validation because nobody owes you anything.

Me: Well? You don't have to come to pride if you don't want to. I would just avoid that intersection for the afternoon on the 22nd. It's up to you, though.

Guy: I don't need to avoid anything. It's public property and nobody is scared. I'm sorry or has a phobia

Me: Okay then! I hope you enjoy all the community services that will be vending at the event!

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 98)

N was first, climbing down into a small hole in the ceiling, using night vision to make sure the room was safe.

There was flesh piled in the corner, crawling up the wall to reach nearly the ceiling, black tendrils lie dormant all across the floor like living tripwires. One wrong touch and…

Uzi's head poked from the ceiling.

“Can I come down or what?”

N scanned the rest of the room, the control room screens were still online by some miracle, though several of them were busted and several more were tangled in a web of eldritch goo however, let's hope that wouldn't be an issue.

“H-hang on, if you touch the floor we'll trigger a reaction.” He flew up to come face to face with her, “Let me carry you.”

She reached out for him, landing into his hold as her tail lit up the room in a purple glow, taking in the room.

“Damn. This place will be gone in a couple days. We better get out of here fast.” She pointed out, eyelights training on the faintly glowing console. “Bring me over yeah?”

He nodded, hovering over to where she could leap onto the control panel without touching the floor.

[SYSTEM LOCKDOWN : ENTER PASSKEY]

Read the slightly cracked, incredibly dusty monitor and Uzi sighed, mumbling under her breath. “Yeah of course it's on lockdown…”

She pressed a few buttons, getting an error noise on each touch- the entire control panel was completely unresponsive.

“I'm going to have to plug in. Make sure my body doesn't fall.” She turned back to her boyfriend, who ceased his paranoid looking around to meet her eyes; worry creased his frame.

“Uzi this computer has been out here for ages… who knows what sort of virus it has. Plus…” He gestured to the black, slimy tendrils snaking up some of the monitors. “Who knows what this stuff does to computers.”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“But the keyboards locked up, and we need the data off this old thing. What other choice do we have?”

“I-I could-”

“No.” Uzi interupted him. “If these things trigger you're the only one that can burn it away. We'd both be sitting ducks.”

He sighed heavily, the knowledge that she was right didn't help his nerves any, his core yanked painfully in protest.

No it's dangerous.

She could get hurt, the kit could be hurt.

Don’t let her go.

“Hey. I got this. You trust me?” She asked, cocking her head with a confident smirk, God, how long had it been since he'd seen that? It's been so much exhaustion and doubt lately…

“Of course I do.” He replies, hovering close just to give her a quick kiss on the lips before parting. “Just be careful, okay?”

She nods. “Duh.” And she reaches for the port above her core, forcing the hatch open, “Ow! Agh… that's not meant to come open without prep I guess.” She hissed under her breath, and fished around in her pocket for a linking cable. “There you are.”

She plugged one end into herself before hunting for an interface port on the console, taking a moment to find it.

She does, it's next to a big red button that was currently pulsing red- she made a mental note to avoid touching it.

“Wish me luck.” Was the last thing she said before she plugged herself into the control panel, body locking up as code crashed into her firewall. Her body winced. She barely felt N keep her steady as she was hit with a flood of errors.

Plugged into another drone, the experience was euphoric, you were connected to another conscious, a soul. But this computer wasn't sentient; and what little AI it possessed was broken beyond the point of functioning. So all the sensation she felt was just her own- and the faint screaming of a dying AI.

ERROR- MEMORY FAILING

ERROR- DATA BACKUP FAILED

ERROR- HARDWARE FAILURE

“Yeah, no shit.” She mumbled, feeling her mouth move as she refocused. Okay, the information had to be in here somewhere…

She began to push through the ocean of errored code, feeling the system push back hard against her firewall. N was right, this thing probably had a thousand viruses it was itching to share with her, let's just hope her firewall held up.

She felt her consciousness leave the confines of her physical body, leaving it behind as she searched through poorly organized files; some were completely corrupted, others were fine, just not useful.

Time lost meaning, the system of the console was incredibly vast, and it quickly became clear she was searching for a needle in a haystack, a dot of purple among a sea of white.

She began to worry, perhaps the information they were looking for had already been corrupted?

That is, until she ran into an encrypted wall of cascading code, denser then the scattering of loose data she'd been able to access thus far.

She pushed against it, purple meeting default white, as strings of encryption appeared on her visor, N watching over her diligently.

[ENTER PASSKEY]

She sighed- or whatever passed for an entirely digital equivalent, beginning to work through the encryption with her own hardware, the solver aiding in her speed.

1s and 0s turned to scrambled letters and white space made to make any unwanted guest have trouble finding the passkey, but a mixture of determination and robotic advantage let Uzi make quick work of it.

P-A-S-S-W

“Oh for- the password is password, I could've just guessed it!” Her body suddenly shouted, startling N and then making him laugh. “Pfft-haha!”

Refocusing, she was able to push her code through the systems firewall, it wasn't entirely painless but she got through.

There was only a single file.

Transmission- Classified [TITANUM-28]

The file was an audio recording, with a set of coordinates attached. She played it, beginning a download into her own system.

“This is Doctor Rosemont, Transmitting from Lab 18. Something… happened.” There was screaming in the background- and a colossal roar.

“The genetic experiments have been a success, modifications to our old C.R.I.S.P.R technology has allowed us a greater range of genetic wiggle room…” There's a crash, and the sound of rapid- panicked gunfire.

“U-Unfortunatly, Subject 5 has uh… escaped.”

There's the sound of shattering glass, and low, feral growling. “If you receive this message, know that Titanium-28 is compromised! I repeat! Titanium-28 is-” The transmission ends with a blood curdling scream and a roar.

The coordinates to the planet are attached labeled very clearly with [QUARANTINED]

A single image is also attached, a satellite view of a planet covered in red and green trees and a canopy so thick you couldn't even see through it from orbit, like images she'd seen of earth, a good portion of the planet was covered in water.

She felt N start to shake her, his voice muffled from the distance her code was from her body.

“UZI! WE GOTTA MOVE!”

Next ->

[danibee33]

hostage

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (goes by “Saint”)

based on a post by @call-me-doll-face! your vision for this song (“hostage” by Billie Eilish) was just too perfect😭 I couldn’t get it out of my head. I hope you love it as much as I do.

tags: angst & smut, ok it’s very angsty, did I cry? yes

word count: 5.7k (sry I got carried away)

+++

The files strewn across your desk only come back into focus at the sound of three crisp, concise knocks on your door. You blink away the dryness, eyes darting toward the open window to see its pitch dark outside now- shit.

Two more knocks resound through the room, they're a little more forceful this time, urging you to push away from the organized chaos, crossing the short span on tingling feet. You hadn’t meant to lose track of time like that, but after the debrief you needed something to distract you, get your mind off the bitter taste the meeting had left in your mouth-

“Target’s in the wind after the attack in Yemen-”

You change the map, zooming in on a tiny Bedouin village- the settlement no more than a speck in the vast desert, “But we’ve intercepted and translated some chatter from local law enforcement that are on Abaza’s payroll.” – the room goes dark for half a second before the next slide flashes on the screen- “Seems he’s following his pattern of hiding behind civilians.”

The room is silent, save for the rapid clicking of Soap’s pen against the desk- one of the restless man’s many tics, and Price’s furious scribbling. Gaz is eyeing the map studiously, his lips twitching as he muses through the routes and planning- no doubt trying to predict what the Captain will do.

Ghost is just.. Looming. Perched in his usual corner, arms crossed over his chest as he contemplates the information and intel given, eyes lazy and half-lidded even when Price stands, coming to stand at your side.

“Bloody good work, Saint.”

He pats your shoulder, taking over your spot as you settle in a seat at the table, and you try to listen intently- short-handing a few notes you might have missed as the Captain dives into the plan. The others pitch in ideas along the way, logistics and safety for the civilian population; but, it was extraction that gave you pause.

“There will be no cover- that encampment is too exposed.” You only realize you had spoken the thought out loud when you hear a soft huff from behind you,

“Very perceptive, Sec.” Ghost grumbles, his usual sarcasm somehow thicker, more exasperated.

Could you have held back your overly dramatic eye roll? Of course. But it’s fucking Ghost, and all you can hope is that he sees it- just like you know he sees your middle finger held up over your shoulder.

He knows you hated the way he ignored your call sign in favor of using the belittling, diminutive of your rank instead. It’s always been ‘Sec’ for him, short for Second Lieutenant, never one to let you, or anyone else, forget that he outranks you-

But, you’re used to it. That’s just the relationship you and him have had from the start, always this brutally competitive tension between you- which never made sense to anyone else. Especially considering your specialities are on opposite ends of the spectrum, each of you serving your own unique role to make the team function and perform like the well-oiled machine it’s been honed into.

And, to be honest, you’re not sure why you ever let him get under your skin either. You’ve worked with plenty of egotistical superiors and subordinates alike, and it’s never stopped you from reaching and surpassing every single goal you set for yourself. If anything, it’s only pushed you to work that much harder- usually at the cost of any sort of personal life, which is actually how you got your callsign-

“Saint” - ‘the only officer in the SAS who might make it to heaven’

You thought it was silly, but over the years it grew on you. And now, it just feels like what your name has always been, even if everyone knows you rarely make it far in the military by being an actual saint-

“Yes, extraction will be the most difficult part-”

Price’s voice brings you back to the present moment, head snapping up when you sense the giant presence standing next to your chair, “It’s a two-person job, then?”

Ghost’s voice has lost all its amusement and sarcasm, and his gaze feels heavier somehow as he looks over the screen. You watch him for a moment, catching all the nuances in his outward body language that are so imperceptible to others- though, you sometimes wish you weren’t so in tune with him. Wish you didn’t know exactly why you could pick up on these things when no one else could..

“That’s what I was thinkin’-” Price nods, looking between his two sergeants, “Soap, you’ll be second, running interference with some well place distractions?”

You watch Johnny practically vibrate with excitement, shooting you and Ghost a wink,

“Ka-freakin’-boom, baby. You an’ me, LT. The dream team!”

But again, you notice Ghost’s lack of snarky response, verbally and non-verbally, it unnerves you-

“Saint, you’ll be with them-”

“No.”

It takes you a second to react, not sure if you had heard it correctly- maybe you had missed something and he had barked the word over another matter entirely. But then, you hear Gaz and Soap be dismissed, and suddenly you’re standing beside Ghost, you and Price speaking the same question at the same time,

“No?”

Ghost shrugs, refusing to look down at you, “Don’t need ‘er there, Boss. Nothin’ she can’t feed us over radio.”

“First, I’m right here- and second, you don’t get to decide what I can or can’t do-”

Price looks at you, his expression only hinting at confusion as he watches you cross your arms now, mirroring your lieutenant's posture, “Captain-”

Something flashes through the stormy blue of his eyes then, something you can’t even begin to place. But it doesn’t really matter, because you don’t get to finish your protests- cut off instead by an apologetic hum,

“He’s right, Saint-”

“What!?”

You’re not in the business of challenging authority, at least not the authority of a man you genuinely respect like John, but you can’t help it- this wasn’t the first time you’ve been benched, and you know it’s not the first time it’s been Ghost the one ordering it.

Price glances at his watch before scrubbing a hand over his face, “Bloody hell-”, he rounds up the files and tucks them under one arm, holding his mug with the other, “We’ll finish this later, clear?”

Just like that- he’s gone. And you’re left with the suffocating shadow still staring at the image on the wall,

“Don’t take it personally, Sec.”

Your hands clench and unclench, nails leaving stinging little crescents in your palm before turning on your heel, “Fuck you, Ghost.”

You know who’s on the other side of your door. You always do. It’s been your routine for the last year and half- You do have to give it to the insufferable fucking prick for coming to you so soon after what he had done, though.

But, sure enough, the door swings open and there he is. Simon Riley, towering in your doorway, covered head to toe in a black hoodie and dark jeans, his face even further obscured under the hood- all you can see clearly are his eyes. And they’re intensely focused on you.

“Don’t worry, Price called.” You say, leaning against the frame-

He gives you nothing, seconds ticking by as he stands there like a statue, slowly scanning your face like he’s done a thousand times before. It used to make you uncomfortable, how he would look at you that way, like he was peeling you open, layer by layer- and it still does, like now. But, you’ve gotten used to his idiosyncrasies, at times even find them oddly endearing, if he weren’t such a dick.

“Can I come in?”

A sigh fills the air between you, followed by you glaring up at him- you want to say ‘no’, give him another big ‘fuck you’ middle finger and slam the door in his face; maybe even say fuck your arrangement all together, because now it’s becoming a pattern, him sidelining you.. But, you do none of those things. Because it’s him. Always fucking him.

So, you roll your eyes and turn back into the room, not bothering to invite him in because he knows the open door is your way of allowing it.

Instantly, your cozy abode feels ten times smaller and a hundred times warmer with him in it- it causes your skin to flush and your fingers to twitch, that restlessness you tend to feel when you were alone with him, crawling over you, burrowing itself in your chest.

“You’re mad.”

“Very perceptive, Ghost.” You throw his words from earlier back at him, crossing your arms because you honestly never knew what to do with your hands when you talked to him.

They always wanted to reach out for him- you were no better than Pavlov’s salivating dog when it comes to Simon fucking Riley. He had trained you so well without ever even having to try.

God, you hate him. And you hate yourself even more for know that’s not true in the slightest- “You can’t keep doing this.”

“Doin’ what?” He shifts on his feet, fists still shoved in the front pocket of his hoodie.

You throw your hands up, “Benching me like this! There’s no reason I shouldn’t be on the ground with you and Soap, just like I usually am.”

“There’s no reason you should be, either.”

That awful itch creeps down your spine, tickling your legs and feet. The need to move, to exert some kind of energy before you implode forcing you to pace. You’ll never understand him, no matter how much time you spend together, or how many nights you waste sweaty and clinging to each other, words never meant for the waking world spoken between you- you will never understand him.

Never understand why he can’t just be hot or cold, why he can’t just be mean to you all the time, because at least that way it would be easier to separate what is, and what isn’t.

“You said this wouldn’t change things- I’ve held up my end of the deal. But you.. We can’t do this if you’re going to jeopardize my career.” Simon watches you just as intently as before, eyes tracking your war path back and forth, “I mean, I know we’re competitive and petty, but I didn’t think you would start fucking blacklisting me-”

That seems to catch his attention, head perking up, “That’s not what I’m doin’, Sec-”

“Well then enlighten me, lieutenant.” You spit back, eyebrows furrowing when you see him reach for you.

He gently tugs you closer, gloved hand wrapped around your forearm- closer and closer until you can feel that unbearable heat he exudes, smell the spice of his cologne, the one he only ever seems to wear when he comes to your room. Like he wants to lay claim to you somehow-

“Don’t..” The command comes out without even a hint of conviction, his finger tilting your chin back,

“I don’t want to talk, Saint. Please, not right now.”

It must be comical, how wide your eyes grow at the sound of your callsign in his gruff voice, the way he breathes the small plea- something you’ve never once heard him say. You just barely catch the way his eyes crinkle at the very corners in your stupor. The audacious bastard is smiling like he knows you would melt for it.

He knows you so well.

But the smile isn’t mean, it isn’t to spite you like he does sometimes- no, this feels warmer, like you could reach out and wrap yourself in it.

“Simon.. This isn’t good for us.”

“For us?”, he leans down then, the arm around your waist pulling you close enough to feel his covered lips on your neck, “Or for you?”

Your exhale feels labored and too heavy in your lungs, cursing yourself over and over for how effortless it is for him to unravel you. How just the feeling of his big hands splayed out over your ribs, slowly traveling up and down your body, makes your legs weak- and the heat of his breath condensating on your skin has the familiar pressure steadily growing low in your belly- begging for more.

When he pulls the mask off this time, you can’t help but notice the gentility in his expression. A certain relaxed nature about it that seems so out of place for him. Most of the time, when you would find each other at the end of the day, he would be frustrated or annoyed, or he would be carrying that familiar brand of apathy written all over his face.

Not that it never cracked, you’ve gotten the privilege of seeing him show softness, even if it’s in his own way. A playful wink here and there, a genuine smirk that would reach his eyes for a fleeting moment, or when you got to see the deep dimples on either cheek- the ones that give his features an almost boyishly handsome quality.

But right now, you swear he looks.. content.

And when he kisses you, it’s languid and sweet- the softer skin of his lips contrasting to the way his five o’ clock shadow scratches your chin and mouth. He kisses you like you have all the time in the world, like there’s no place he would rather be than right here, tangling his fingers in your hair- tasting your tongue as it dances around his.

It confuses you, because this is not how it’s supposed to go. There’s rarely ever time for such thoroughness, not that Simon wasn’t incredibly adept when it comes to giving pleasure- it just tended to be like a flashfire, like throwing a lit match into gasoline, volatile and explosive. That’s what you agreed on though, agreed to use each other- use your attraction merely as a means to an end. Blowing off steam. There’s no need to be soft and languid when you could just take the emotion out of it all together.

And that’s just how you’ve always assumed it is for him. You’ve never minded, not really- you were a smart woman, reasonable and logical, but.. You were still only human. Of course you craved that connection, the physical touch; you would never admit that you wanted him to hold you until you fell asleep afterwards, that you wanted to run your fingers through his hair, or memorize every delicious curve and vein and scar on his body-

No, that would mean you thought of him beyond sex, and that was very strictly forbidden.

He walks you backward, lips and hands never straying far as you take turns undressing the other- his shirt is on the ground first, giving you not nearly long enough to revel in the sight before yours is being lazily pulled over your head.

The backs of your knees hit the bed frame, which feels like a reprieve at this point with how utterly weak you feel in his arms; so, you let yourself sink into the foamy cushion, casting your eyes upward for only a second as you quickly work at his belt.

You’re forced to stop though, leaning back when he moves, crowding your space by bending over you on the bed and propping himself up with a massive arm on either side, his face close enough to graze his nose over yours, “You in a rush tonight, baby?”

Petulantly, you lift your chin- capturing his bottom lip between your teeth, you give it just enough of a bite to hear him hiss before laving the tender spot with your tongue. But before you can kiss him again, before you can pull him down on top of you, or your hands can make their way back to his buckle- he easily lifts you up, placing you further back on the bed.

“Simon, what are you doing?”

The question comes out more harsh than you were going for, but he’s not making any fucking sense, and you feel like a top wound too tight, overly conscious of the slick staining your underwear, and the ache in your core that only he can fix-

And maybe for a second, you see a flash of anger in his eyes, standing at his full height while you stare up at him,

“What does it look like we’re doin’, Sec?”

You huff out a incredulous laugh, scooting off the mattress- eyes searching the floor for your shirt, hell, anything to cover up with,

“Oh. Back to Sec, huh?”

Scrubbing a palm over his face, he watches you purposely not look his way, “Fuckin’ hell, do you always have to have it out with me? Can never just let it be-”

“Let it be?”, shirt be damned, you turn back to face him- “Let what be, exactly, Ghost? This is how it’s been for over a year. I mean, fuck, longer than that! You hated me, I hated you- it was perfect. We could fuck each other, and it meant nothing-”

“Past tense.”

He cuts you off, and you feel like you might actually throw something until your brain finally registers what he said,

“What?”

“You’re usin’ the past tense.. ‘Hated’, ’meant’.”

You shake you head, hands coming up before plopping limp at your side, “What the fuck are you on about?”

When he takes a step forward, you take one back, “Words are important, love..” – another step closer, another step away, “‘Hated’ implies that you did, but you don’t anymore.”

“What is this? A language arts lesson?” You try to bring back that anger, that bitterness, but the way he’s looking at you, the way his voice is lower, brassy and rich- it’s hard to feel anything other than him.

A wall halts you, your bare skin protesting against the cold, smooth surface. You wish it would swallow you whole. But, he gets closer, and you’re still there, once again looking up at him,

“I don’t hate you, Saint. I’ve never hated you..” The back of his finger carves a slow path over your cheek, his head tilting to the side, “You were right though, about this not bein’ good.. But not for us- for you.”

“Ghost- I..”

“I’m not good for you. Never have been- I came into this selfishly, thinkin’ that it would be easy, that you would be like all the rest, get tired of me when I wasn’t able to give.. enough. And then it would be over.”

You’re held rapt by his admission, hanging on to every syllable- because you don’t think you’ve ever heard him say so much at once. And certainly never imagined it would have to do with the way he feels about you, bad or otherwise.

“Why did you stay?”

It’s because you’re so lost in the novelty of him in this moment, that it takes an awkwardly long few seconds to realize that you need to actually answer the question-

“I stayed..” — you blink, fighting to make your racing thoughts make sense, “Because you never tried to trick me- or be anything other than what you are, Simon. It was- is, enough. You’re enough.”

His eyelids flutter, a deep, soothing sigh blowing through his nose as he turns away- almost composing himself, in a way, if you know him as well as you think you do,

“You never wanted anythin’ more?”

“No.” You say, and it’s not a lie, you could leave it there- but there’s just something in his eyes that’s begging for more- “Not at first.”

“But now?”

“What do you want me to say, Simon? Of course, I want more. It’s kind of hard not to when you’ve had what we have, had sex with a person, and only that person, for over a year-”

His eyes widen, pupils consuming the honeyed amber that surrounds them right before his lips catch yours in that bruising sort of kiss you know so, so well. It’s full of every single thing he can’t put words to. And for a moment, he nearly gets lost in it, that finely threaded tether on his control slipping further and further- control he’s never been good at reining in when it comes to you.

***

I whisper your name, letting the taste of it linger over my tongue as I try to pull away, try to prolong every second I can get- quietly pleading with you to just slow down. Because I know what comes after-

But the way you chase after my lips, your nails clawing at me, my skin burning under your touch- fucking hell.

You shouldn’t be here, should’ve never agreed to this, with me. You’re too good for someone so broken. You have so much life to live, and I hate that you’ve wasted even a moment of it caring for me- wanting me.

Hm.. Saint. How fucking perfect- because only a saint could bring a devil to his knees.

And that you did. With every lingering touch, and every sweet smile you gave me, everytime you moaned my name, I let you in deeper and deeper. Until I started to hate when you left, hated that I only felt whole when I had you in my arms-

No, I’m no good for you.

Because if I had it my way, I would want to hold you hostage here, right where you belong. Where the world couldn’t touch you, couldn’t hurt you.

I would want you to crawl inside my veins, live in my bones- like you don’t already own the terrible void that’s been in my chest for longer than I can remember.

Might as well take it all. It’s as good as yours anyway.

I love you. I can’t say it- that wouldn’t be fair to you. My love is tainted and ruined, a blasphemous and dangerous thing- it’s only ever killed those I’ve given it to. So, I won’t curse you with those words.

But I hope you can feel it.

“Simon.. Please-” You frame my face in your hands, tugging at my hair, “I want you.”

***

Hearing his name, or maybe it’s the traitorous desperation in your voice, urges him to act. A small squeak escapes when he lifts you up, your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms looped over his neck,

“I’m yours.”

It stuns you, how fluid and thoughtless he says it, like it’s nothing, like he’s said it a hundred times before. Like he didn’t just tell you exactly what you had mindlessly dreamed of hearing from him for months now.

He doesn’t pause though, kissing you again, swallowing your thoughts in his lips- and time slows as your back sinks into the covers. The comfort of his weight settling over you, his hips nestled between your thighs. It’s all so much, too much and not enough at the same time; but you think you could stay here forever, pinned under him, be the object of his desire for as long as he wanted, have him tell you that he’s yours over and over-

The bed dips as he breaks away, working your button and zipper open with practiced movements-

“Lift up, baby.”

You lift your hips, helping him gently tug your cargo pants down before standing and stripping out of his own. And like so many times before, you can’t help but to very disrespectfully let your eyes rake over his bulky frame- your bottom lip trapped between your teeth,

“Jesus, Simon.. That’s not fair.”

“Not fair for who?” He coos, crawling over you again, pressing chaste kisses over your torso as he goes.

A sharp gasp echoes when he latches onto your nipple, his teeth grazing across the sensitive bud, the thrill of blissful pain simmering through you-

“It’s just not fair..” You whine, back arching as he does the same thing to your other, the wet skin cooling too quickly when you feel him chuckle.

“‘M sorry, lovie.”

He teases you for what feels like an eternity, having learned your body better than you know it yourself anymore- only Simon knows how to turn you into putty in his hands, make you soft and pliable, keening and whimpering, a teary eyed mess. And usually he never takes it so far, never ruins you so thoroughly before you’ve even had his cock- but tonight he does.

Tonight, he seems determined to map out every inch of you, even allowing you to do the same in small doses. He lets your fingertips trace over his scars, lets your lips kiss all the broken parts of him-

“Will you tell me about them one day?” You ask, the question muffled against his neck.

It’s an innocent inquiry, honest and genuine, but you don’t miss how he tenses above you before pulling away just enough to see your face. Maybe if you knew him better, had more time with him like this, you would be able to discern the anguish in his eyes- but you don’t see it. Even though you’ll remember it.. this particular moment, it will stick with you far beyond just tonight.

“One day.”

You aren’t sure why you don’t believe him.

All too quickly the thought is lost when you feel him readjust, leaning up on his knees- and your mouth waters at the view, how his chest heaves, already covered in a satiny sheen of sweat; how he strokes his length before looking down to watch how he sinks into you, how you take him so fucking perfectly-

Just like in everything else tonight, he moves at an achingly languid pace- thrusting forward inch by inch, and pulling out just as slow- reveling in the way your slick glistens, all for him.

“Simon..”, you reach for him, needing him close, needing more, “Mh.. Simon- please..”

He comes to you, lets you pull his face down to yours, “Please what, baby?”

When he pushes into you again, it takes your breath away, your muscles clenching as he drives right up against the fleshy wall of your cervix, “You want more?”

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut until you feel him cradle your face, “Mm-mm, I want you to look at me, Saint.. Keep your eyes on me, yeah?”

Without another thought, you open them, your brows knitting together as you search his face. You expect to see something close to his usual bravado, maybe even a devious smirk, or a wolfish gleam; but it’s none of those things. His expression is one of longing and adoration- his demand wasn’t being made out of a desire to control you, he simply wants to see you.

He wants to be seen.

“Ok, Simon..”, you place your hand over his, turning into his palm to plant a kiss to the rough skin there, “On you.”

His next thrust is harder, causing your legs to tighten around him- and even when he finally gives in, driving into you faster and deeper, each time hitting that spot that has you clenching and whimpering, he still holds your face, still keeps his eyes steady on you- entranced at the way you fight to keep your own open for him.

“That’s it.. fuck-” He grunts, crushing his lips to yours, “My good girl.”

The praises he whispers next are far sweeter than anything he’s ever said before, punctuated and interrupted by his own breathless moans. His words and each building noise he gives only drives you toward your end- dragging him right along with it until you’re both falling over the edge.

And it’s your name he says as he spills deep inside you, your name said again like an answered prayer when you hug him closer- both of you holding onto the other like if you let go for even a second, you might drift away.

“I’ve got you..” You say it without really knowing why, but knowing that it feels right. Knowing that he has you, too. At least in this moment- and that’s enough. He’s enough.

How long you stay that way, you can’t be sure- long enough for your bodies to grow limp and the sweat on your skin to dry before he finally peels himself away. And you could cry from the abrupt absence of his warmth, his weight, him.

Thankfully, he’s back just as quick, a warm cloth in hand and a tender touch to clean you up- which isn’t new, Simon’s always taken the time for aftercare, but it’s never felt so.. intimate. He goes about it just as tenderly and thoroughly as he had causing the mess in the first place, his eyes never leaving your skin, lips pressing sweet kisses nearly every place he wipes.

It pulls at you, the pesky prickling of tears stinging your eyes again. Because you know there must be a reason for his stark change tonight- but, you just can’t bring yourself to break the moment by asking why.

He stays with you. It’s not an entirely spoken agreement, he doesn’t ask and you don’t suggest, but when he slips back into the covers with you, you certainly don’t complain. You let him pull you under his arm, smiling into his chest when he kisses the top of your head,

“Good night, Simon.”

You hear him take a deep breath, the muscles under your cheek relaxing as he exhales just as deep and long, “G’ night, Saint.”

***

Watery rays of sunlight wake you, the glow behind your eyelids rousing your mind enough to realize the spot beside you is vacant, the sheets long since cooled. It doesn’t bother you, not really, it’s just Simon. The only clues he left to prove last night wasn’t just some fucked up dream being his scent, still lingering so heavily on his pillow, and the blissful ache between your legs.

And you wish you could stay here, covered in the blankets, wrapped in his smell, reliving the vivid memories as they flash through your head- his words replaying on a loop in your ears.

I’m yours.

I’m yours.

I’m yours.

But your alarm has other plans, your chosen vocation entirely undeterred by your relationships woes and break-throughs. Just another day, right? You would see him at the morning debrief, and again for range training- nothing changes externally. But everything had changed on the inside, for you anyway.

Is it wrong to hope it had for him, too?

You go about your morning routine, joyfully unaware of the decisions made without your knowledge, of the actions taken and the consequences that would follow- you hum along to your music, the faintest smile tugging at your lips.

What a lovesick fucking fool you are.

It’s only when you’re reaching for your phone and keys from the desk that you see the piece of paper, carefully ripped from your own notepad and the silver metallic glint sticking out just beyond the corner.

You don’t recall the next seconds, or minutes- not really even the next hour. It all feels like that soft whooshing of TV static, endless and without form. And you find yourself begging for it to have been a dream, silently hoping that none of it really happened, that he hadn’t knocked on your door, that you hadn’t let him in.

That you hadn’t given him everything, and you hadn’t let him convince you he was yours.

Still stuck in that awful whooshing, you grip the piece of metal so hard you think the impression of his name might just brand itself into your palm, your boots stomping against the tile as you pass by all those familiar doors-

“What is this?”

Price looks up at you, and that dreadful nausea settles in the pit of your stomach when you see the resignation in his eyes.

“Saint-”

“When did they leave?”

“0400.”

They could already be there- Price wouldn’t let him do this.. Right?

“Recall them then, there’s still time. We’ll-”

He gives a long sigh, lips set into a thin line, “This might be our only shot, Saint. It’s not perfect, but there’s still a chance.”

***

There was never a chance.

Two weeks later, you stood on the tarmac- hair whipping violently in the wind as you watch the plane land. You stay there ,silently partaking in your own morbid, self-loathing vigil, still somehow hoping it isn’t true.

But there he is.

Simon Riley. His pine coffin draped with the flag he had fought for.

You watch Soap do his best, limping alongside it, his arms shaking and his eyes stained with tears. He gives you a hug afterward, whispering that he tried, he tried to bring everyone home.

You don’t blame him. Not for a second. You knew when you found Simon’s dog tag on your desk that he never intended on coming back. You knew when you read his neatly written note that you would never see him again. You would never hear his voice or feel his lips against yours. You would never get the chance to tell him that you were his, and that you always had been.

You didn’t know then, that a part of you always would be, didn’t know that he had left more behind than either of you could have imagined.

***

When the doorbell rings, you tear your eyes away from the now framed note. Flitting through the cozy flat with a smile growing on your face,

“Saint!” Gaz sweeps you into a bruising hug, your feet coming off the floor and a giggle erupting from your chest.

“I’m glad you all could make it.” You say a bit breathlessly once you're back on solid ground.

Price gives you a hug next, his beard tickling your cheek, “Wouldn’t miss it, sweetheart.”

“Aye, are ye kiddin’?” Johnny’s kiss lands just at the corner of your lips, his hold tighter, more familiar than the rest- “Miss our big lad’s first birthday? Never, bonnie.”

On cue, you turn at the sound of excited babbling to see the birthday boy in question, looking between the four of you. His copper brown eyes wide with curiosity, and a mess of honey blonde curls on his head.

I was so lucky to have had you..

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.

Your Simon.

+++

well, I’m ruined. and I hope you enjoyed it. I’m really not good at leaving angst too angsty, I’m too much of a hoe for silver linings and happy endings and all that fluffy sh*t.

forever just a lover girl at heart 🥲

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

totally random and don't know if you've been asked this before, i've read your fics and drabbles, i absolutely love your voice in them, considering how you write Ian and Mickey so well, i'd give a penny for your thoughts about Mickey's lil bridezilla notebook. do you think it's full of collage pages? mostly text? magazine scraps? does he color code shit? ugh i love him sm 😩

oh my god i forgot the most important thing!!!!!!! did he ever let Ian have a complete sneak peek through it? cause i think he probably skimmed through it with Ian while the planning was on board, but Mickey probably stored it somewhere safe as a keepsake after the wedding....what if one day Ian just happens to find it and looks through it fondly and Mickey catches him on the act, oops, they have a talk about it, idk, Mickey having a lil notebook just does something to my fragile heart 🤧🤧

hello 😌 thank you for asking - i do actually have some thoughts on this, in the way that i think mickey's wedding notebook goes through several stages.

i think at its creation, it's more of a dump-book. mickey's at his stream-of-consciousness, hunting-and-gathering phase. there's no organization - no rhyme or reason - mickey is stressed and overwhelmed and he's just gluing shit right into that motherfucker, filling the pages as quickly as he can turn them. he doesn't really have a Vision yet - he just knows he's gotta prepare for it, especially since ian doesn't seem too interested in making decisions.

come to jesus moment. mickey slaps down a stack of pictures he's cut out and goes to start adding them, only to realize he has no blank pages left. he's filled the whole thing. that can't be right, can it? it's a big notebook, and the stuff he just cut out for it is real good shit so he's gotta make room. gotta start from page one. gotta thumb through it and pull a 'wtf' face because he doesn't even like some of this shit? why'd he put it in here? tulips??? who did that! okay, time to pump the fucking brakes.

paring down. re-evaluation. ian walks into the living room one night and mickey's cross-legged in the middle of a sea of ripped papers. like some sort of hamster. ian thinks perhaps divorce is on the table, only to come closer and realize mickey's cutting shit out and pasting it into a new notebook, the glue stick caught between his teeth like a cigar (Alternate Title: Ian's Come To Jesus Moment.)

notebook 2.0 is born. there's significantly less...everything. the Vision is starting to come together. debbie gives him these little color tab bitches that he can stick between the pages so he knows where to put things. Music. Food. Flowers. etc. mickey sits down with ian again and flips through it, getting his thoughts on different things. out comes the big red marker - circling - crossing out - starring. he can see ian trying to sneak closer looks across the table, but mickey's grown very attached. it's his hopes and dreams in here, motherfucker! ian can look at it later. after he finds the chiavaris.

That Bitch. this baby is in her final form. mickey knows what he wants and knows he's got the power to haggle, secure, or steal it all when he's got his notebook tucked under his arm. she's also good and solid when he smacks lip over the head with her after he makes a passing comment about being a groomzilla. she is everything.

when he does finally see his notebook again after many years, it's because ian is thumbing through it, this teary, fond look in his eyes as he sits in a sea of boxes. mickey doesn't know if he should be embarrassed or proud or what. a lot of their wedding day ended up shifting on its axis for a ton of fucked up reasons, so as gorgeous as she is, a lot of her didn't actually get to see the light of day.

but ian is innnn lovvvve (aaaaat laaaaast my looove has come alonnnggg). so much so that for their ten year anniversary, mickey walks into their little get-together and immediately recognizes a ton of the details. like they've jumped out of the pages of his notebook and into reality ten years later. ian is a sneaky fucker! and mickey has excellent taste.

and he's just really glad that he cut out that disgusting tulip arrangement in his first notebook purge.

[catierambles]

Back in the Saddle

Pairing: Syverson x Heather Markum (OFC)

WC 3282

Warnings: Some talk about divorce, sterilization, and childlessness

@brattymum96 , @ouroboros113 , @peaches1958 , @summersong69 , @eldarwen333 , @omgkatinka , @identity2212 , @lucypaulette , @km-ffluv , @kebabgirl67 , @squeezyvalkyrie , @rebelangel1102 , @dopegardensaladhuman

By hour two she was about ready to shotgun a bottle of wine or stab someone with a spoon. It wouldn’t be so bad if she had her phone, but the speed dating company that one of her friends had registered her with had a strict “no phones” policy, and she was given a numbered key in exchange for her things when she got to the restaurant, her bag locked securely in a locker in the back. Damnit, Beckah, she was fine. Who cares if she hasn’t dated once since her divorce? It was her choice and all the guys their age wanted something that she just wouldn’t and couldn’t give them. It would just be a repeat of history, save for the walk down the aisle and credit card debt.

The first guys that sat across from her, she couldn’t even remember their names or faces anymore, and given that they each had half an hour, that was telling how forgettable they were. One went on and on about his job in the stock market and crypto, flashing his fake Rolex whenever he could (it ticked, not swept, so it was fake) and veneered smile. Another devolved into a rant about his mother, making her chug her wine. Also not her fault she couldn't control her face when around people that bugged her.

"Okay, gentlemen!" The host said after the bell rang, "Move on to the next lucky lady!"

"Is it time already?" The guy across from her said, Dave? Or was it Tim? She didn't care. "I'll be looking for you in my stream audience, hope to see you there."

"Yep." She said and he got up, moving to the next table.

"Damn, doll." She heard as she saw the next guy sit down from the corners of her vision, "You look about as miserable as me." She couldn't help it, she laughed, and it made her look up at him. He was handsome, in a rugged kind of way, with a buzzed head of dark hair that came to a widow's peak, a full beard on his jaw, and clear blue eyes. What the hell was he doing at a speed dating event? What was wrong with him?

"That obvious, huh?" She asked.

"Just a bit." He said with a shrug. "Jake Syverson, call me Sy." He held his hand out slightly across the table and she took it, his palm rough and his hand dwarfing hers.

"Heather Markum." She said and they shook briefly. He was the first to get her full name, as the company didn't believe in name tags, wanting their introductions to be "organic".

"So," He sighed, "Well-meanin' friend set you up with this shindig?"

"Yup." She said and he nodded.

"Same." He said, “Told me I needed to get “back in the saddle”, so to speak.”

“Been a while?”

“I was in a long-term thing for the last couple of years, but I got home from deployment and found her in bed with another guy. Dumped her then and there.” Sy said, very matter-of-factly, and she gave a low whistle.

“Damn.” She said and he nodded.

“You?”

“You could say I was in prison.” She said and he arched a brow at her, “Married.”

“Oh.” He said with a snort. “Mind my askin’ what ended it?”

“Not at all. He wanted kids, I didn’t.”

“Thought he woulda found that out before he put a ring on ya.”

“Oh, he knew. He knew while we were dating, while we were engaged, and while we were married. He thought I would change my mind or I would make an exception for him. He realized I was serious about it when I got myself sterilized.” Heather said.

“That’ll do it. Fucked up policy, but don’t they ask the husband if that’s okay?”

“I lied on the paperwork and said I was single, and we have separate insurances so he didn’t come up when they ran it.” Heather said and he nodded again.

“Well, I don’t want kids either. I have enough nieces and nephews to know that yeah, I like kids, but I like’em better when I can give’em back.” Sy said and she snorted.

“You said you were deployed?”

“Army.” Sy said and she nodded.

“Still active?” She asked and he nodded.

“What about you? How do you pay the bills?”

“I have an OnlyFans.”

“Really?” He asked, his voice pitching up slightly and she snorted.

“No, not really, I’m in real estate.” She said.

“Damn, I was about to ask you for your handle.” He said, making her laugh again. The rest of the half-hour went by far too quickly for her liking. He was charming, made her laugh, and had a killer smile that made his blue eyes sparkle. Soon the five-minute warning chime went off, signaling their time together was coming to an end. “Can I give you my number?”

“You absolutely can.” She said and he gave her another smile, grabbing the supplied pad of paper and pen and scribbling it down for her to add to her phone when she got it back. The end bell rang and he sighed, pushing up from his seat and touching her shoulder lightly as he went past, Heather watching him go before turning her eyes forward again, the next guy already seated.

“Hello, gorgeous.” He said with a sleazy smile and she sighed, pouring herself another glass of wine.

The rest of the night dragged on with none of them holding a candle to Sy and soon, thankfully, it was over. Turning in the key, she got her things and stepped out into the night air.

“Heather!” She heard and turned around, seeing Sy walking over to her, weaving his way through the other people also leaving the restaurant.

“Hey.” She said, unable to stop the smile from pulling at her lips. They moved to the side as he reached her so they weren’t in the flow of traffic and now that they were both standing, she could see just how massive he really was. Tall, broad through the chest and shoulders, narrow through the waist and his slacks hugged his thighs just right.

Down, girl.

“The rest of my night was a bust.” He said, “Yours?”

“Yours is the only number I accepted.”

“Good, ‘cus you were the only one I offered it to.” He said and she felt a small blush come over her cheeks, “The rest of the ladies I talked to just…couldn’t compare.”

“You hungry?” She asked and he sighed.

“Starving.” He admitted, making her giggle slightly. “In the mood for something special? We are in the neighborhood for it.”

“A cheeseburger, with bacon and mushrooms. Greasier the better.” She said.

“Woman, if you’re tryin’ to seduce me, it’s workin’.” He said, making her laugh, “You don’t gotta be so heavy-handed with it though, damn.” He smiled at her continued laughter before holding out his hand, “Come on, doll. I eyed a burger place down the street as I was drivin’ up. Let’s get some meat in ya.” He winked at her, well tried to, and she swatted at his arm playfully.

“Cheeky bastard.” She said, taking his hand, a small thrill going through her chest as he laced their fingers. Okay, this felt nice. He was handsome, charming, funny, with a slightly naughty sense of humor. Please don’t turn out to be a serial killer.

They talked as they walked and she thanked her foresight to wear flats and not heels. The burger place was a glorified hole in the wall, so she knew the food would be fantastic. They were extremely overdressed compared to the rest of the patrons and got some looks as they were placing their orders, Sy grabbing the numbered flag that was slid forward and they found themselves a seat towards the back, Sy sitting with his back to the wall and a clear line of sight on the entrance. Must be a military thing. He had insisted on paying for her food even though she told him he didn't have to.

The conversation picked up where it left off and they shared some more things about themselves, how she had originally gone to school with an arts major but switched to business when she realized that unless she wanted to teach, an arts degree wouldn't really get her anywhere. Sy had a bachelor's in Criminal Justice, which got him into the Army Officer's Program once he graduated. He wasn't just in the Army, she found out, he was a Captain.

"So what kinda real estate do you do?" He asked, taking a sip of his soda.

"Commercial." Heather said, "Office buildings and such. Bigger price tags mean a bigger commission, and I don't have to be constantly flipping properties."

"Sounds pretty relaxed."

"It's got its challenges, like when a Fortune 500 company tries to lowball me, but I manage." She said and their food arrived, the server setting the trays down and taking the flag with her. "Goddamn." The burger was massive, covered in cheese, bacon, and mushrooms.

"Eyes bigger than your stomach?" He asked, picking up his own burger.

"Shit no." She said and dug in, letting out a low sound when she bit into it, making him cough on a piece of his burger. "Food goes in stomach, not lungs."

"I'm trying." He wheezed, taking a sip of his drink. "Shit, doll." She just smiled into her food, biting into a couple of the rough-cut fries that came with the burger. 

"Fries are good too." She said and they resumed talking in between bites, the conversation not dying even after they finished their food.

"You parked by the restaurant?" He asked, "The looks we're gettin', they probably want to close up."

"Yeah, in the lot next to it." She said and they stood, taking their trays over to the bin and dumping the garbage before setting them on top, wishing the staff a good night as they walked out.

"I'll walk you to your car, I'm parked in the same lot anyway." Sy said and offered his hand again. She took it and again he laced their fingers, that small fluttering in her chest making a comeback. They didn't talk as they walked back, but it was a comfortable, companionable silence. Her car and she guessed his truck were the only ones in the lot and he walked her to the driver's side as she dug out her keys. "I wasn't expecting much from tonight, but I’m glad it turned out the way it did."

"Me too." She said with a small smile and there was a slight hesitation on his part.

"Heather, can I…can I give you a kiss?" He asked and her smile widened.

"I'd like that." She said and he smiled back before leaning into her. His lips were soft as they brushed over hers and her eyes closed as she pressed back against him. His hands came up to hold the sides of her jaw as he seemed to fall into the kiss and her own hands found their way to his trim waist, sliding under his suit jacket that he hadn't buttoned. Okay, he was good at this and her heart pounded in her chest as he kissed her. He finally broke away, breathing heavily, and she opened her eyes, seeing his were closed still.

“Let me know you got home okay?” He asked, his eyes still closed.

“Yeah.” She said, having put his number in her phone earlier and given him hers. She wanted to ask if he wanted to come back to her place, but it was way too early for that and she didn’t want to give him the wrong impression about her. They said their goodnights and he moved away, but she noticed that he didn’t get into his truck until she got into her car and started it.

She barely remembered the drive home, her mind and heart soaring from the night and the kiss they shared, but she did remember to send him a text once she got inside and locked the door, letting him know she was home safe like he requested. She got a simple heart emoji back but it made her smile nonetheless.

Taking off her makeup and getting changed into her pajamas, she brushed her teeth and got into bed, setting her phone on the charger.  She lay there for a little bit before giving a small giggle, wiggling a little under the covers in giddy excitement. She felt like a teenager again, not a divorcee, but then a moment of doubt crossed over her mind. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if she never heard from him again? He didn’t give her the impression of someone who would ghost someone, but you never knew. Whatever happened, happened. If she never heard from him again, then so be it. She’d be a little heartbroken, but it was ultimately his choice.

Sleep came quickly after that and she drifted off.

The chime of a notification from her phone is what woke her the next morning and she opened her eyes, blinking blearily and reaching for it. Turning on the screen, she saw she had a text from him and couldn’t stop the smile from pulling at her lips. It was a picture of him still in bed, his head resting on his pillow as he laid on his side, the selfie showing that he obviously went to bed with no shirt on as she saw a bit of hairy chest that was obviously muscular.

“Morning, beautiful.” The message said and she tapped in her reply.

“Morning, handsome.” A bit lame, she knew, but she just woke up. “I look like a swamp witch first thing in the morning, so you’re not getting a selfie.”

“Lol fair enough. Plans for today?”

“Nothing really, seeing as it’s the weekend.”

“Wanna meet for coffee? There’s this great spot I like that has killer muffins.”

“Absolutely, send me the address.” It came over a moment later and she put it into her GPS app, seeing that it was about a twenty-minute drive away. “Meet in about 45?” She needed time to get herself presentable, after all.

“I’ll be there.” She hoisted herself out of bed after that, taking a quick shower and throwing on clothes after too long of a deliberation. Casual, flirty, sexy was out for just coffee. She decided on nicer jeans, a long-sleeved shirt with a V neck, and black leather flats, twisting her hair up and keeping it secure with her hair clip that looked like skeleton arms. As it was, she was late leaving and nearly walked out of the house without her keys. Can’t go anywhere without those.

The drive to the coffee place was a blur of nervous anticipation and soon she was looking for parking, having already seen him sitting at a table outside of the shop. Finally finding a spot, she got out and walked up.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” She said and he looked up, setting down his cup and standing to pull her into a hug, pressing his lips to her cheek. Damn, he smelled good.

“It’s perfectly fine, got here not too long ago myself.” He said and she sat down across from him, a server coming over to take her order a moment later.

“So I don’t know what we’re going to talk about.” She admitted with a small, nervous giggle, “We pretty much covered everything last night.”

“I’m fine with just sittin’ here enjoyin’ your company.” Sy said she felt the wide smile pull across her face.

“Son of a bitch.” She said, looking away from him and shaking her head.

“What?” He asked with a chuckle.

“You’re not real, you can’t be. You have to be a paid actor or something.” She said and he gave a laugh.

“I ain’t that, trust me. Besides, even if I was gettin’ paid, I’d give the money back.” He said, giving her a clumsy wink.

“Motherfucker no one is this charming.” That made him laugh again and he was still chuckling when her coffee came. They talked about nothing in particular as they drank their coffee, sitting there long after their cups were empty. “And that’s why I can’t stand horror movies.”

“Makes sense.” Sy said with a shrug, “You understand basic anatomy and you know someone ain’t gonna spray blood from what’s basically a papercut.”

“Also, with Jason Takes Manhattan, subway tracks are alternating current, not direct. He would have been pushed away from the tracks when he touched them, not grafted to them.”

“You sure do know a lot of random trivia.”

“I get bored and I google things.” She said and he snorted.

“Fair enough.” He said, “What’re your plans for the rest of the day?”

“Nothing really, I usually just sleep on the weekends.”

“No errands you gotta run?”

“Adulting is for the weekdays, there’s no adulting on weekends.” She said and something caught her eye, making her look over, but she looked forward quickly again, hiding the side of her face with her hand. “Oh no, please don’t see me.”

“Darlin’?” Sy asked, giving her a questioning look, and the sunlight hitting the table was blocked.

“Heather?” She heard and dropped her hand, looking up and giving him a tense smile.

“David, hi.” She said.

“What’re you doing here? Who’s this?” David asked.

“It’s a coffee shop, I’m having coffee. David, this is Sy. Sy this is my ex-husband, David.” Heather said and Sy moved his head at him.

“Hey.” He said, correctly reading the mood.

“He your new boyfriend, or something?” David asked, giving him a dismissive look.

“Too soon to tell, really.” Sy said, “I like spendin’ time with her, though. Like talkin’ to her. Wouldn’t mind takin’ her out on a proper date, if she’ll have me.”

“Oh my god, Sy.” Heather said with a smile, “Yeah I wouldn’t mind that either.”

“All right, then.” Sy said with a smile and David huffed.

“You know she isn’t going to give you kids, right?” David asked.

“Yeah, I know.” Sy said and shrugged, “And?”

“He’s the one who asked for the divorce, not me.” Heather said and Sy gave an understanding nod.

“I see.” Sy said, “Well, my guy, it’s her body, so it's her choice. She doesn’t want to have kids, then that’s that. She’d be the one carryin’em. I don’t want kids either, so that works out for me.”

“What about your legacy? Who’s going to carry that on?”

“My what?” Sy asked and Heather gave a suffering sigh.

“For the last time, David, you don’t have a legacy. Monarchs have legacies, you have a ten-year-old Corolla and student debt.” She said and Sy snorted. “Now if you don’t mind.” She turned her attention back to Sy, “Where did you want to go?”

“How do you feel about laser tag?” He asked.

“Aren’t you in the Army?”

“I’ll go easy on ya!” He said and she laughed.

“Laser tag sounds like fun.” Heather said, “But I can be bold for a moment?”

“As bold as you wanna be.” Sy said and she beckoned him with a finger, making him lean over the table to get closer to her.

“How about…” She started whispering in his ear, his facial expression ranging from shocked, to amused, to excited.

“Girl, you’re dirty! I accept those terms because either way I win.” He said sitting back again and there was a moment before he looked back up at David. “What’re you still doin’ here? Lady dismissed you.”

“Yeah.” Heather said, “Bye, David.”

[thedragonagebigbang]

Bang Creator Interview: Tumblr: @exalted-dawn  |  AO3: Exalted_Dawn

The Collaboration period has begun! In these quiet months before works are due, we want to foster a sense of excitement, camaraderie, and celebration among our participants. To that end, all participants were given the option of a formal interview by our mod, Dema, or an informal “ask-game” survey. We hope you enjoy getting to know our phenomenal creators as much as we have!

Interview with Exalted Dawn

Ed and Dema talk collaboration, developing a personal style, and a bunch of stuff Dema had to redact but is leaving in to build suspense. 

Dema: I know in the beginning you were debating whether to participate as a writer or an artist, and you went with artist. What was the main driver of that decision?

Ed: It was definitely a combination of a few things. Workload and time allotment being the main influencing factors. My attention span when it comes to writing tends to be a bit all or nothing. I can have periods where I can churn out one thousand words in an hour and then go like two weeks without writing anything at all 😂 And then on top of it, with the new game coming out I was sorta trying to factor in how that would affect my ability to stick to a schedule. Drawing is a lot easier for me to sort of one and done over a weekend so I figured it might be better to start there for my first Bang.

Dema: Oh this is your first Big Bang! I don't think I knew that 😂

Ed: YUP LOL

Dema: When you do a collaboration like this, that isn't a commission but is based on another person's work, how do you navigate that process?

Ed: Well, from a starting standpoint, I really like to have a lot of communication with the person I am partnered with. I love collaboration work and really strive to capture the energy of whatever source material I'm working from. So getting the author’s opinions on their own story beats is a huge help. But aside from that, the element of choice in this sort of project definitely played a part. I got to choose a prompt that fascinated me, and then from there, I read through the material the author currently had and chose a few scenes that really struck me with a strong mental image. Something that when I read it, I immediately thought "Oh that would be neat to see in a picture!" From there, it’s back to touching base with the author and making sure that what ideas I have sorta line up with their vision. I want to make sure its respectful of the work its being based on, while still sorta playing to my own interests as an artist and a fan :3

Dema: You're a very prolific artist, how do you keep all these ideas organized? Do they behave themselves up there in your brain?

Ed: HAH! I would like to say that there's some sort of rhyme and reason to my creative process, but if I were being honest, they mostly tumble about in my brain. When I get stuck on an idea, I tend to fixate on it and continue to develop it in my head the more I think on it. With this prompt specifically, I was immediately hit with this idea of a vibe I wanted to get across in my art from the moment I read it. And then that continued to build and build, until I was left with these pretty complete ideas,  accompanied by atmosphere and layout, that I became stuck on. After that, I just laid them out on paper. (The bounty of inspiration certainly didn't help to make the decision easy XD)

Dema: Are you drawing inspiration from anywhere besides the source material for this piece?

Ed: I AM! There were several pieces my mind immediately went to when I was reading through the source material. Lord of the Rings (specifically the cinematic scenery of the Mines of Moria) and The Song Of The Sea were both big ones that I drew immediate parallels to. The huge scale and vast landscapes as well as the beautiful pattern work and 2D story book style typical of Cartoon Saloon’s work were both things I immediately latched onto for this. But more abstractly, having just read [REDACTED], I was already in the mindset of [REDACTED] when I got assigned to this prompt. Since this one is also leaning into the [REDACTED] genre, it sorta pushed me towards these concepts of strong lighting contrast— stark shadows played against bright light. Bold silhouettes.  I was even considering playing with a black and white inked style with colored accents and a heavy focus on crosshatching to get that sort of [REDACTED] look at one point.

Dema: Mmmmmmm how much of that am I gunna have to redact 😂[narrator voice: it was a lot]

Ed: You can totally just delete the second half if that helps XD

Dema: I don't want to DELETE it I'm just gunna redact it haha. IT'S FINE. Also I love that. Sin City vibes.

Ed: YEAH!

Dema: How did you develop your personal style?

Ed: Many years of frustrated grunting at my own artwork kjdhfhjsgvfd LOL no but actually, what I consider to be most typical of 'my style' (and for this question, I'm going with the main illustrative style I typically use for projects like this, since I definitely have multiple) came about pretty much by accident for the most part. I basically stumbled upon it. I had spent many MANY years developing my skills from, like, middle school up through college, first with pencil and paper and then with a very large desk mounted display tablet, and was sort of trying to get to a point where I was satisfied with the look of my own work. It was a slow process, and I hadn't really been satisfied with my progress and where I was. In an attempt to sort of switch back to the more familiar feeling of pencil and paper, I had gotten an ipad to draw on since it was of a more similar size. I had been playing around with it, and was struggling with the pressure settings on my pen for making line art specifically, so I sorta just threw my hands up in the air and said "Y'know what?! I'm gonna try lineless cause why not!" I made this small, lineless doodle of my Dungeons & Dragons character at the time, and suddenly it all just sorta clicked into place! I've been basically drawing like that ever since, but with the aforementioned handful of stylistic exceptions XD

Dema: What do you feel like you are striving for in your body of work? Or I guess, is there a theme or a feeling or a "spirit" in your work you're hoping to convey?

Ed: HMMMMMMMMMMM THAT IS A GOOD QUESTION! I wouldn't really say I'm striving for any single theme all throughout my work (part of the reason why I have multiple distinct styles is so that I can really draw out the desired vibes I'm aiming for in each individual piece). But from a general sense, I think I tend to focus a lot on capturing emotion and atmosphere, especially in the lighting and color I use. As for the spirit I often capture— I don't think it's super intentional on my part, but for my lineless artwork specifically, I definitely get that there is this sort of adventurous, almost whimsical spirit to a lot of what I draw. Rather than dark dramatic pieces, with lots of sharp lines and dynamic movement, there's this sort of softness and quietness to a lot of my work, like capturing a peaceful moment between all the big dramatic stuff. Even for the tonally and visually 'dark' pieces. Which— honestly— I think speaks a lot more to my own personality and preferences than I maybe intend 🤣

Dema: I love that a lot. Thank you for such thoughtful answers, and for taking the time to be interviewed today! I can't wait to see the final piece.

[hard-times-paramore]

Assassin's Creed fanfic: Raw Emotion

Ao3 link

Tags: Desmond Miles x Elijah Miles' Mother | Fluff and Smut | Hurt/Comfort | Sub Drop | Aftercare

Words: 1832

Summary:

Desmond is just a boy looking to live his life. Enjoying what freedom has to offer.

And the highs and lows that come with it.

Samantha's hands were twined to her boyfriend's while they made out in the shadows of the alleyway behind the Bad Weather club.

The night was reasonably cold - just enough that they could use it as an excuse to stay glued to each other. Slowly, as they kissed, she let go of his hand to completely embrace him.

"We should get out of here." He chuckled, between breaths.

Samantha pouted. "What's wrong with here?"

"Uh, everything?" He said. "Ever ride on a motorcycle before?"

"Can't say I have." She answered. They'd been dating for almost a year, and she still hadn't gone on a ride with him - she was a bit nervous around the things.

Hence why she was hoping they could just stay in there.

"Do you wanna call it a night?" He asked, much to her disappointment. "I'm free some other t—"

"No, wait!" She interrupted.

Being honest, they could do better than a dirty alley behind a loud club.

"Alright." She sighed, with a smile. "Let's get out of here."

Her boyfriend only had one helmet - so he let her use it. He drove them across twelve blocks up to his apartment - at 2am, the streets weren't as busy. The lights and billboards of New York flashed past Samantha as she held onto Desmond's torso, clutching so hard she could feel his ribs. She'd had a few drinks before, when meeting him at his club. Her slightly blurry vision and impaired thoughts only made the city prettier to her eyes.

They were already kissing again when they got to the door. Desmond struggled to find the right key with one hand, having the other at Sam's waist. He pulled her away only long enough to locate the keyhole.

"Let me breathe!" He joked.

"You don't get to breathe." She laughed back. "It's a special occasion."

Sam had only been to his house a handful of times - but she'd always been amazed at how he managed to keep such a small, shitty apartment so clean. It was already a shabby building in a poor district. His landlord didn't give a damn about the state of the place he overcharged for. But Desmond somehow managed to fix the faulty dishwasher and get rid of the bathroom mold by himself.

Truth be told he didn't keep many belongings, and those he did were always extremely organized. He told her he used to move a lot - it was just a habit he got along the way.

Desmond couldn't tell her the real reason. It wasn't quite that he moved a lot - it's that he had to be ready to move again. Two years ago, he had escaped from his parents' home, who led a weird, alternative lifestyle in a desert community near the Black Hills. They raised him on tough love and mild neglect, and were the origins of most of his trust issues. The reason he hadn't invited Sam over that many times, or the reason they'd never had sex before, despite dating for almost a year. That he'd hardly ever have sex at all - as doing so meant letting someone as deep in your life as they did in your body.

Sam was right, it was a special occasion.

They managed to part their faces long enough to strip and were stumbling to bed when Sam stopped in her tracks.

"Uh, do you have a condom?" She asked.

"Ah shit." Desmond sighed. Since he never had sex, he didn't bother to keep them around. "It's always something. I totally forgot, Sam, I'm sorry."

"Whatever. We'll remember next time." She said, moving closer to him once again. He briefly held her back.

"Whoa, you're sure?" He said. "What if you..."

"Nah, I had my period last week." She justified. "More or less. It's just this time, Dez."

Neither of them wanted to admit it, but they were too hot and horny to stop and reschedule. Desmond, for all his planning, was still 18 and an idiot. So he nodded, and fell into bed with her.

He was the one scared now. He's never done it with her - it was only the second or third time he'd have sex at all. So many things could go wrong. What if it felt bad? What if she didn't enjoy herself?

Despite his best efforts, Sam noticed. His breath wasn't fast just from the flushed heat.

"Don't be nervous." She whispered, reassuringly, her voice sweet like chocolate. "I'll make it worth your while."

They were both young, inexperienced. It was messy, quite tiring, but Sam took the lead and managed to give them a great time.

Only... Desmond worried if it was supposed to hurt like that.

Sam seemed to be enjoying the pain. It was so easy for her - she was nearing a second orgasm and he hadn't even managed to come yet. It's not like it didn't feel good - oh, his body trembled and ached with the raw sensations, and it was getting a rise out of him - he wanted more. He wanted it to keep going forever.

But it also felt like so much more than he could handle. He was overwhelmed.

He tried to stay in the moment. He looked at his girlfriend squirming under him and kissed every inch of her he could reach. He talked to her.

"S-Sam..." he panted. "I love you."

"I love you too." She answered and locked her arms around him. "I love you too, baby."

Desmond choked up a cry when he finally came. He used the last of his wits to finish off that second orgasm for her. He heard her shout and tremble, and he hovered over her for a few more seconds until he was absolutely sure she was satisfied.

Just as soon as he pulled out he collapsed into his corner of the bed.

Sam took a deep breath, shaking her head a little. "You're totally good at this." She said, with a hoarse laugh, - even though she was the most experienced of the two, and the one to ensure their good times. She sat with her back against the headboard. "You've been hiding that from me all these months? Shame on you, Dez."

It was a genuine compliment, and would've made anyone very proud. If it weren't for... the shame.

Desmond was bundled in the sheets, feeling a knot grow bigger and tighter in his throat. He didn't even want to risk breathing.

"Dez?"

He was good at staying silent. Almost too good. It was a bit scary to Sam, when he did that. It's like he disappeared in plain sight, a ghost still warm by her side.

He didn't even want to breathe - but his exhausted, flushed body forced it out of him. He coughed, and just like that, he was sobbing.

"Oh, Dez." Samantha turned to hold him.

Desmond couldn't even make sense of his feelings. Why was he crying? It felt good. Better than any he'd had before. And he loved Sam more than any girl he'd ever met. This had been his longest relationship to date, and she understood him like no one ever had. And now... that shame.

"Dez. Talk to me." Sam whispered, holding him.

"I'm s-sorry." He mumbled the words out, still shocked at his own tears. He knew that was a bad thing, a man crying over sex. It was something to be ridiculed. He knew.

"There's nothing to be sorry for. Baby, look at me." She asked. "Turn to me, please."

Desmond shifted in bed, slowly turning to her. He couldn't meet her eyes.

"Are you okay?" She asked, concerned. "Did it feel bad...? Did... did I hurt you?"

"No. It wasn't you, Sam. It felt good. And you were amazing." He admitted. "I'm sorry. It's just me."

"Those things happen, you know." Sam held a hand against his neck. Desmond could feel his own heartbeat palpitating under her skin. "It's just a reaction. It's not a bad thing."

"I'd rather you were honest than just try to make me feel better." He sighed, bitter.

"I am. Sometimes it's just a lot. Sometimes it's a lot for me too." She assured. "Hell, I cried like a baby in my first time."

Desmond thought he could believe her, if he had a few more minutes.

"Do you want me to get us some water?""

He nodded, believing some time alone might help, and watched as she got up and made her way to the kitchen.

It did the opposite His heart was feeling a little emptier now that her side of the bed was as well. Desmond sat up and wiped his tears away.

Thankfully, Sam quickly came back with a glass. She handed it to him, and watched as he drank.

"I'm not going to leave." She assured, embracing his trembling shoulders. "You'll be okay, baby. I love you."

Desmond sensed her warmth and finally mustered a smile. The kiss he shared with her in that moment felt almost more intimate than the sex itself.

"You have people you can count on." She assured. "I want to be that person for you. I want to never leave your side."

Every once in a while he would catch glances of a deeper truth in the world. Like using all five senses at the same time. In those moments, he could barely make out silvery auras of color around people. Blue was his favorite one.

In that moment, he saw a halo of distant blue around Samantha's face. And he knew he could trust her.

They stayed embraced for hours, and he slowly stopped crying. Chatting into the daylight, Desmond finally told her about his escape from his parents' house.

-----

She said she'd never leave him.

If only she had meant it.

In the course of the next two months, Samantha started acting strange. She grew distant, visiting him less and less at Bad Weather, missing his phone calls, or ignoring his e-mails. When they saw each other, they talked about trivial things, but by the end of it, it didn't get anywhere past small talk.

When Desmond finally expressed his frustrations, she broke up with him.

Heartbroken as he was, Desmond still tried giving her space. He hoped, maybe they could stay friends. But Samantha left New York not two weeks after, to go live with her mother.

Desmond didn't blame himself. For once, he understood her. There must have been something rotten she wanted to escape. There must have been a different life she wanted to live. His only regret was that they couldn't have lived it together.

But he was already tired of looking over his shoulder - for parents or relatives that might never come, trying to track him down. He wouldn't put another person through the same thing.

Desmond drowned himself into the drinks he served. It would be alright - he still had his own life to live.

He never knew the real reason she left.

And he never would.

[ghost-runner]

He is not the only Anomaly: Pt. 1

Wrongfully bitten Spider-Man Male Reader x Gwen Stacy — Into the Spider-verse and Across the Spider-verse Male Reader insert

Information: On Earth-199999, there was a young teen around the age of 15 going by the name of Y/N Parker. Y/N Parker is the son of May Parker and is the younger cousin to one Peter Parker, also known as Spider-Man. Y/N Parker is a kid genius and the generally down-to-earth kind of guy. Y/N is a loner and does not have many friends apart from his best friend, Ned; his friend, Harry Osborne; his cousin, Peter; and Peter’s girlfriend, MJ. However unlike the many other dimensions out there, Y/N is the only one like himself out there, but like Miles Morales, Y/N ended up getting accidentally bitten by a radioactive spider that was not from his realm while on a field trip to Oscorp and he gained a lot of the powers that his cousin Peter has and some of the powers that quite a few different Spider heroes have from across the various dimensions of the Spider-Verse. This allowed him to become the Shadow Spider of Earth-199999 due to his powers allowing him to hide in plain sight and in the shadows. Peter brought his cousin before the Avengers and was made an official member after Peter, Natasha, and Tony all spoke on his behalf. When Y/N was the Shadow Spider for about 4 months, he went into some sort of portal and was teleported to Miles’s dimension after the whole Kingpin collider incident at Alchemax for the first time. While there, he met a range of different Spider-people like Gwen Stacy, Peter B. Parker, Spider-Noir, Spider-Ham, and Peni Parker as well as meeting Miles Morales. He figured out immediately about the situation involving the Spider-People and Multiverse or in this case, the Spider-Verse while everyone who wasn’t from Miles’s dimension began “glitching out” thanks to begin a kid genius. After everything went down and it was time to go home, Y/N shared a close bond between himself, Gwen, and Miles, gaining two new close friends, but they had to go home to their own dimensions. However, things have gotten intense lately when a new villain shows up in Y/N’s dimension. That villain being the Spot that appeared in Miles’s dimension.

Information on abilities and powers: All normal Spider Powers like wallcralling/running, Spider Sense, super strength, and heightened reflexes, etc; Organic webbing that comes straight from his wrist; electrical power that can be used in in both fighting and through Y/N’s webs, Venom Blast, Camouflage, Night Vision, small Healing Factor

Note: I thought of this idea while just laying around on my bed at like 2 in the morning. I liked it, but I don’t know how other people will receive this idea. Y/N will be rocking one of the three Spider-Man suits of your choice below. I’m leaving three options for a Spider-Man Stealth suit for people to choose.

#1

#2

#3

I hope these options were good for anyone reading. Personally, I would choose #2 because it seems more like something a 15 year old would be able to make on his own given enough time and effort.

— Y/N POV

I was walking home from school to my apartment that I live at with my mom and my cousin, Peter, when I saw Mysterio causing chaos around Queens. I immediately knew that I would have to cancel my plans later for joining Ned and Peter in building some Star Wars Legos. I duck down into a alleyway and swap out my hoodie, sweatpants, and sneakers for my Shadow Spider suit. As I got my Spider suit on, my suit’s AI turned on and spoke.

Suit AI: Greetings, Y/N. It’s a pleasure to see you again.

Y/N: Yeah, it’s always nice to see you too, Anna.

I had decided to call my suit’s AI “Anna” to give it a little more of a personality. Peter called his suit’s AI “Karen”

Anna: Shall I let any of the Avengers know about the current situation?

Y/N: Eh, not right now, Anna. I’m sure I can handle it.

Anna: If you say so.

Y/N: Getting snarky now, are we?

Anna: I have no idea what you mean.

Y/N in a sarcastic tone: Sure you don’t, Anna, sure you don’t.

Anna: I detect sarcasm.

I just chuckle at Anna’s remark. I then toss my backpack into the air and web it to a wall in the alleyway to ensure it doesn’t go anywhere. I started webswinging over to where Mysterio was causing mayhem when I saw my cousin webswinging over to Mysterio as well. I hit Mysterio with a web and pulled him away from harming a family that was running away.

Mysterio: Argh! What the fuck is your problem?!

Shadow Spider: Oh, sorry for stopping you from hurting innocent people, asshat!

Mysterio: Just wait until I squash you like the insect you are! You’re de—

Mysterio was cut off by Spider-Man punching him across the face.

Spider-Man: Oh save it, Mysterio.

SS: Nice to see you join the party, Spider-Man!

SM: It’s always a pleasure, Shadow Spider!

SS: Let’s beat this asshole!

After I said that, Mysterio began summoning all sorts of drones to attack the two of us.. Spider-Man and I began to destroy as many drones as we could. I saw an opening and I webbed Mysterio and pulled him towards me before sucker punching him across the face. Mysterio managed to grab me and throw me backwards into a building. I went through about three walls before I stopped. I pulled myself out of the wall that I was wedged in and I ran out and jumped through the hole I was thrown in. I webbed back to where Mysterio and Spider-Man are. Spider-Man was webbing up Mysterio and I landed on top of Mysterio, causing him to wince as I helped Spider-Man to web the villain up. After enough webbing was on Mysterio, we used the opportunity to web him to the wall and made sure that he could not move a muscle or get free from the webs. I slapped Mysterio across the face and webbed his mouth shut. I quickly stuck a note to his face after said slap with said note saying “To the Avengers and NYPD. From your your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man and Shadow Spider” on it. Spider-Man and I both began webslinging away from Mysterio and we got onto a secluded rooftop away from prying eyes. I take my mask off to reveal my face with my short (Y/H/C) (Y/H/C = your hair color) fade haircut and I see Peter remove his mask to show me his 18 year old face.

Peter: Nice job, cuz.

Y/N: Same to you, Peter. Go on ahead, I’ll meet you back home.

I see Peter put his mask back on and start swinging away back home. I duck back down into the same alleyway from before and grab my backpack just before I quickly change into my hoodie, sweats, and sneakers back on. However, when I finished changing, I saw a weird glitchy looking portal open up a few feet away from me. I was about to walk away from the portal and pretend that it was nothing, but I heard some screams and fighting coming from inside of the portal.

Y/N: Fuck. Well, like the saying goes: “Fortune favors the bold”. Fuck it.

I run to the portal and backflip into it. While going through the portal, I see all sorts of different dimensions that have all sorts of different Spider-people. One dimension having a Spider-Woman that ended up being my mother, May Parker; a dimension with sentient cars and a car spider-person, you get the idea with shit like that.

Y/N: What the fuck?

After a few more minutes of seeing the different dimensions, the portal spit me out in the same alleyway from before, but this one had two of those “influencers” from TikTok or Vine or whatever site they post to. The portal closed before they saw me and when they did, I just waved and pulled the hood of my hoodie over my head to keep my face concealed. Once I’m out of the alley, I look up to hears something on the news and see something I didn’t expect to see.

(What Y/N saw)

Y/N: What the hell? Peter’s dead? And he’s 26? He looks nothing like my cousin. Okay, it’s clear I’m not in my normal New York anymore. Fuck, alright. Y/N, calm down, figure out a plan.

However, I felt someone’s presence behind me and I turn to see an officer of the PDNY behind me. I see his badge says Officer Morales.

Jefferson Morales: Hey kid, you okay?

Y/N: Yeah….yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for asking. Hey, do you know where Brooklyn Visions Academy is by chance? I need to get there watch my cousin’s recital. I promised her I’d be there tonight.

I pray to god that my lie doesn’t make the officer suspicious of me at all. I don’t attend Visions Academy back in my dimension, but it is on the way to my high school.

Jeff: Of course I do, believe it or not, my son goes there, it’s that way. -Jeff points down the road-

Y/N: Got it, I appreciate the assistance, officer, thank you!

Jeff: No problem. Enjoy your day, kid.

I watch him walk away and I immediately start walking in the direction the guy pointed in to not make him suspicious, but I cut into a coffee shop and head into the bathroom. I lock the door and I look at myself in the mirror before taking a few deep breaths to calm down and think about what has happened. However, that was short lived by me starting to glitch.

Y/N: -lets out a few grunts of pain while glitching before he stops- Fuck! What the hell was that? I need to figure out what is going on and I need to find a way to get home. I might as well head to Visions Academy just as a cover.

I leave the coffee shop and I start making my way to the Academy when I see a kid around the age of 15 with an Afro sticking to the side of a building, looking incredibly freaked out.

Y/N: Okay, you don’t usually see that in your average New York City, but then again, when is NYC ever normal? I mean we have fucking superheroes and all sorts of different villainous bullshit going on in the universe somewhere. Fuck it, I need to find somewhere to bunker down.

I see a manhole in the street and I look around to make sure nobody is around and see that there is nobody around. I use my webs and pull the manhole out to be able to climb down to the subway tunnels beneath the city. Once I manage to make it down, I start carefully trekking through the dark, utilizing my night vision I obtained from being bitten by the spider that gave me my powers. I manage to find a small area that has a workbench, a few lockers, and a map of the underground subway system as well as a map for all of NYC. (Think of the metro tunnels fast travel location from Dead Island 2) I get to work on finding out just what the bell is going on.

Y/N: Let’s see….I know I’m not back home anymore, but just what dimension am I in.

I start looking over the map to see if there is any differences from my dimension. I see a place that catches my attention since it doesn’t exist in my dimension.

Y/N: Alchemax Chemicals….that might be a good place to start on finding out just what is happening.

I begin glitching out again like before.

Y/N: -Grunting in pain- Ahhh, GODDAMMIT!! I need to find something to help get me home. Alright, time to make my way to Alchemax.

I felt my Spider-Sense go haywire, but when I looked around, I didn’t see anything around me.

Y/N: Hmm… That was weird……I swear that there was someone around here…..Okay, something isn’t right, but I need to get to Alchemax quickly.

I quickly changed out of my clothing and put on my Shadow Spider suit before I started making my way out of the small work area and out to the subway tunnels to get to Alchemax, but I never noticed that I was being watched and followed.

— A few minutes earlier —

??? POV

I need to find a way home. I don’t know how I got here, but I’ve been trying to remain incognito ever since I landed in this version of New York. I began watching this guy that caught my attention after the incident I had encountered with Miles back at Visions Academy. I’m not sure what about him peaked my attention, but I watched him as I saw him look up, I did the same and we saw Miles sticking to wall and rolling around the wall while still sticking to it. However, I trained my attention back to the teen in front of me and I saw him look around. I quickly ducked into the alleyway near me and watched from around the corner as the guy used webs that looked like it came directly out of his wrist to lift up a manhole and throw it away.

???: So he is a Spider as well. Makes sense now that I think of why he caught my attention.

I quickly run over to the sewer entrance and climb down after the guy. I follow him until he reaches a small work area. I don’t know how he was able to navigate his way through here when it’s pitch black.

Y/N: Let’s see….I know I’m not back home anymore, but just what dimension am I in. I start looking over the map to see if there is any differences from before.

The guy checks the map.

Y/N: Alchemax Chemicals….that might be a good place to start on finding out just what is happening.

I watch as the guy starts glitching out, I don’t think I’ve seen that happen before.

Y/N: -Grunting in pain- Ahhh, GODDAMMIT!! I need to find something to help get me home. Alright, time to make my way to Alchemax.

I feel my Spider-Sense go crazy as I go closer to the teen and I see the guy has the same reaction that I did. I hide up in the rafters of the room to avoid being spotted.

Y/N: Hmm… That was weird……I swear that there was someone around here…..Okay, something isn’t right, but I need to get to Alchemax quickly.

I watch him change into his Spider-Man suit and go back out into the subway tunnels. As he left the area, I jumped down from the ceiling and took off my mask and pulled the hood of my Spider-Woman costume down. I run my hand through my blonde hair that hangs down on the left side of my head and let out a heavy breath of air. I look at a mirror that was hanging on a wall and saw my 17 year old self looking back at me. I look back to where the guy left to the tunnels.

Gwen: Looks like I’m going to be following him to Alchemax Chemicals.

— Y/N POV —

Y/N: It’s not like things can get any worse.

After heading back out to the subway tunnels, I look at the map of the subway tunnels to plan my route out of the subway. I decide on a route and I start making my way through, still having the feeling of being followed. I shrug off the feeling and continue to make my way through the tunnels. However, I soon see the last thing I wanted to see after I entered a big boiler room after going through one of the doors in the subway tunnels while being away from home. That thing or rather things is the my dimension’s goddamn villains with at least two of them. The first one being Mysterio from earlier with battling him, the bruising still evident all over his face when he took off his helmet. The second one is Vulture who should still be in prison after what happened with him trying to suit Tony Stark’s things. Fucking hell, I still remember fighting him alongside Peter on the night of Peter’s homecoming dance. To this day, that shit was just fucking bizarre, but I don’t even want to know how he managed to get his technology and suit back while being in this dimension. I activate my camouflage and start to eavesdrop on whatever the two fucks are discussing.

Vulture: Olivia wants us to meet her at Alchemax Chemicals, right?

Mysterio: That is correct, my bird themed friend.

Vulture: Don’t forget, Kingpin wants us to get those materials for the Collider.

Mysterio: Good call. I nearly did.

I watch as the two finally decide to leave the boiler room.

Y/N: Well, as it turns out, things can get worse than they already are for fuck’s sake.

I quietly followed after the villains while making sure I don’t attract more attention than necessary.

To be continued…..

That’s part 1 of this new series I’m making with the Spider-verse movies. I hope people enjoy reading it as much as I did creating this first bit. I’ll be taking time to myself for the next few days before I start in the next part.

[sleepingsun501]

Same Heart, Same Blood

Character(s): Fives, Rex, Kix, Hevy's ghost

Summary: Fives' near-death experience after getting shot.

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Character death, near-death experience, talking to dead people, coma, organ transplantation mention. (Lmk if I missed anything)

Word Count: 2k

Ao3 link

A/N: This goes along with my work Set to Stun, so if you haven't read that, I highly recommend you do!! This is all based on a late-night headcanon discussion, my being sick, and very little editing, so I hope it's not too rough. I also apologize for any medical inaccuracies. But hey, Star Wars medicine! Special thank you to @rexxdjarin for talking me through the organ transplant HC, and to @writingbylee for letting me use her bacta HCs!! You're both awesome!!

Same Heart, Same Blood

He was floating, oddly disconnected from his body but still trapped within its confines. His hearing was irritatingly muffled, and he could not tell up from down or left from right anymore. He was simply there.

Through the cottony filter, he could hear what sounded like Rex, but he could not tell what he was saying. The brash voice of General Skywalker was there, too, but it was quickly fading, replaced by another brother’s voice.

“Six… minu… nee… mo… him… ow…” said the distorted voice. “ves… kno…in…ther… Fi… ang… on.”

He barely felt a pinch in his neck before an ethereal coolness enveloped him, taking him deeper into the welcoming darkness. He let himself drift, unable to do anything to stop it, and was content that he had done all he could.

***

Fives opened his eyes but saw nothing. The inky blackness was all-consuming, but it did not cause him any alarm. There was no need for panic. The deep dark space was calm, tranquil, and welcoming in an odd way. He was no longer in any pain, and there was no danger, no war, and nothing left to fight for. Peace at last.

Was this where death had brought him?

Before he was done registering the question, he saw a wisp of the most beautiful blue glide in a ribbony trail past his vision. Another quickly followed on his other side, splitting through the dark like hyperspace trails. More and more streaked across his line of sight from all around him, and he tracked their movement until he realized they were leading him away from wherever he was.

Fives took an automatic step, not realizing he had been standing on anything at all, and joined the swirling colors in their dance to wherever they were headed. He could not tell how long he walked, for there seemed to be no concept of time at all, but the wisps soon blended and faded into a warm, misty glow. He had no name for the color of the space, but he could see movement in the distance beyond—a figure drawing closer.

“Hello?” he asked. His voice sounded like his own, but it was also more like an echo in his head.

The figure took shape and became more solid the closer it got, and Fives wondered why his heart was not beating through his chest. He knew them—the tattoo on his jaw was unmistakable.

“Hello, Vod.”

“Hevy!” Fives breathed, reaching out for his long-dead brother.

Hevy’s semi-corporeal form reached back, locking a hand around Fives’ neck and bringing their foreheads together. “You did good, Vod, but it’s not your time yet.”

“What?” Fives asked, feeling like he should have been shedding enough tears to fill Kamino’s oceans. The wisps around them started moving faster, becoming brighter, until they were whiter than Fives’ could bear to look at directly. “You’re dead. So, am… am I?”

Hevy released him and gave him a gentle, familiar smile. “There are many things you still need to do.”

“Hevy, I-I don’t u-understand,” Fives stuttered, but the hand on the back of his neck gripped him more firmly.

“You will. Just listen for the echo.” Hevy removed his hand and suddenly began to fade into the bright wisps around them.

“Echo?” It was only then that Fives felt a surge of panic. Echo was dead. But why had Hevy come to him instead? “Hevy, wait! Where’s Echo?!”

Fives felt a hard tug behind his navel, pulling him into the bright light. “Where’s Echo?!” he kept calling. “Hevy!”

***

Beep… beep… beep…

Beep… beep… beep…

Beep… beep… beep…

It was a sharp, repetitive sound ringing in his ears every few moments. It was downright annoying. It was too bright now, pain shooting through his head.

Pain.

Once part of him had registered it, he became aware of it all at once. Every muscle, every limb, every inch of him down to his toes ached. He felt like he had been hit head-on by the Resolute jumping to lightspeed. His throat was dry, his lips hurt, his bones ached, and his lungs felt raw. He squeezed his eyes shut harder against the bright light, and even that hurt.

“…aking up,” said an urgent voice somewhere in the distance. “Contac… Rex…”

Fives groaned, realizing there was some kind of obstruction in his throat. He coughed against it, and it was quickly, albeit painfully, removed. As he slowly came around, blinking his crusty eyes furiously, he realized it was Kix hovering over him.

“Welcome back, brother,” Kix nearly laughed, smiling down at him. “Hang on, this will make you feel better.” He picked up a line and injected a generous amount of myobacta into it. “Thought we lost you there for a while, Vod.”

Fives tried to form the words he wanted to say, but he ended up in a hoarse coughing fit instead. Even as the bacta spread through his body, everything still ached.

“Easy, easy,” Kix soothed, elevating him into a reclined sitting position and adjusting the overhead light so it was not directly in Fives’ eyes. “You’ve been out for a few weeks, and you’ve got a new heart. It’s gonna take some time for you to fully recover. Just try to relax for me. I promise you’ll be all right.”

A new heart? Fives wondered. He lifted a weak hand to move the medical gown aside and looked down at his chest. There was a long, new scar over his sternum and a blotchy burn scar that was still sealed under a bacta patch on his left pec. No wonder everything hurts.

His thoughts were still disconnected and sluggish, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he had known since he was a shiny that the bodies of fallen brothers were often recovered after battles, and their organs were harvested and put into stasis in case another clone needed a replacement organ. It had always made him feel like the Kaminoans had done that purposefully, just to reinforce how expendable they were. He had tried to own it all the same, recalling telling the cadets on Kamino they all had the “same heart, same blood.” It was one of his more poetically symbolic moments, and he remembered Echo saying it would make a good tattoo.

Even though the dark truth was hard to admit, and it made him angry that such a thing as harvesting organs from fallen clones would be necessary, he also knew it had probably saved hundreds, maybe thousands, of other clones’ lives over the years—now including his own.

“Hey, you listening to me?” Kix asked.

Fives nodded weakly, thankful that Kix had moved the unforgivingly bright light. He had to wonder what had happened to him, though, to warrant receiving another brother’s heart. Kix’s bedside manner was also never this good unless someone had really been through hell, but he did not have long to dwell on the thought before the door burst open.

Rex came surging through the door as if he had sprinted the length of the Military Complex parade deck at full speed without stopping. He looked a little worse for wear, sporting an expression that was somewhere between elation and relief, and a new pale scar on the side of his head.

“Fives!” he all but laughed. “You’re awake!”

Fives nodded again. Why did everyone keep saying that? He had never fallen asleep that he could remember. He was with Hevy, and before that…

It all came flooding back in a rush. He remembered the plot, warning Rex and the general, picking up his pistol and screaming in a panic, aiming it at the red-clad Corries sent to take him away. He had been shot. Commander Fox had shot him directly in the heart. He remembered the searing, burning pain as his heart had ceased to exist in his chest, reduced to carbon and ash from the plasma.

“Fives? Hey, talk to me,” Rex said, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder.

“He needs to rest up a bit. Here, drink a little of this if you can,” Kix said, bringing a straw to Fives’ chapped lips. When Fives did as he was told and made a scrunchy, disgusted face at the bitter taste, Kix chuckled. “Yeah, that’s the reaction I expected. He’ll be fine, Captain.”

***

Hours later, Rex had still not left Fives’ side, explaining at length what had happened. They had figured it out after all.

“You made me and Kix dig further into your warning, and we found out the truth about the chips in our heads,” Rex explained, pointing to the healing scar just past his right temple. “We uncovered a whole plot by the chancellor to destroy the Jedi Order, and we would’ve been his tools if you hadn’t tipped us off. The Jedi managed to remove him from power, and he was promptly executed.”

Fives had slowly regained his voice, but he still sounded like he had been screaming over blaster fire on the battlefield for too long. “Still can’t believe I got shot,” he snickered hoarsely. “Can’t say I blame Fox for doing his job, though.”

Rex’s lips pressed into a tight line and twitched at the corners into a tense smile. “It wasn’t his fault, Fives. He doesn't remember doing it.”

“What do you mean?”

“That was Palpatine, too. He’d been manipulating Fox’s chip like a test dummy for years. It caused him to have memory blackouts. Cody found records of it in a journal Palpatine kept while they were sorting through the intel after he was executed,” Rex explained.

Fives grimaced. Even fresh out of a coma, his blood boiled because of all the injustices and inhumanities every clone had endured, all for Palpatine's war. They were human, and they deserved to be treated like humans from the beginning, given rights and choices—not manipulated like programmed droids. “That’s fucked up.”

The captain nodded, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his clasped hands. “Actually, Fox said he wants to come visit you—as long as it’s all right with you. Says he wants to apologize and hopes you can forgive him. He’s been pretty beaten up over it.”

“Nothing to forgive. He can come anytime and I’ll tell him myself,” Fives said with a genuine smile. He could not help the wave of grief that swept over him, though. None of this should have happened to any of them. “I just wanted to do my duty, what was right.” Fives’ said sorrowfully. His already hoarse voice cracked. “For Tup, too. He didn’t deserve to die the way he did.”

Rex nodded solemnly in agreement. “But you saved us all, and Tup’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain. With Palpatine dead, peace talks have started all over the galaxy with fracturing Seppie worlds. The CIS is falling apart, but there are a few holdouts that keep fighting. I’m headed to Anaxes with Cody tomorrow. They are proving difficult to counter. It’s like they know our moves before we make them.”

Fives gave a cheeky smile, one that still showed all of the inner fire he still possessed. “I wish I could be there with you, sir.”

Rex squeezed Fives’ atrophied bicep reassuringly. “Don’t worry, there will be plenty of fights left for you once you’re better. Kix might actually skin me alive if I try to sneak you out.” He stood and gathered his bucket, chuckling with his vod before making for the door.

Tell him. Fives thought. He should know. “Rex?” he asked, causing the captain to pause. “I… I know this sounds crazy, but while I was out, I saw Hevy.”

“Your batchmate? The one who died on Rishi Station?”

“Yeah, him. He told me that it wasn’t my time yet, and… he told me to listen for the echo. That’s when I realized… wherever I was, wherever Hevy came from, Echo wasn’t there.”

Rex looked skeptical, furrowing his brow and eyeing Fives curiously. He had his suspicions about an afterlife, but after spending enough time around the Jedi, he had long decided nothing was too farfetched. “You think Echo may still be alive?”

“I don’t expect you to believe me. I’m not sure I entirely believe it myself,” Fives sighed, shaking his head. “But I just have a gut feeling, you know? Just do me a favor and… listen for him, I guess.”

The captain offered him a confident smirk and a nod. “I’ll keep my ears open.”

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

For the title ask game how about "Last Days"

Well, this seems right up my alley 😂 Thank you, anon! 💖

He's known it was coming for a while. Ice tried to hide it from him at first, but Mav knew him too well to buy his act. The cancer was back and this time there would be no stopping it. At first, Maverick was angry. How dare Ice try to keep this from him! After all this time, after everything they had been through together? What they meant to each other? How could you keep something like this from the person you claimed to love? But soon, he recognized the anger for what it truly was: pain. A pain so deep and consuming he just wanted to curl up next to Ice and fade away with him. But Ice would never forgive him if he did that. Especially not now that he was starting to make some progress with Bradley again. So, Mav did the toughest thing he had ever done in his life. He held his chin high, put a smile on his face, and resolved to make every single one of Ice's last days the best they could be. And he did. For the next month, they checked off every remaining item on the bucket list Ice had made when he first got sick: they had drinks with the all of the surviving members of the Top Gun class of '86, Maverick convinced Bradley to come by to see his uncle for the first time in almost five years, they flew together for the first time in the plane they had started building just weeks before Ice got diagnosed the first time, and they got married. As Ice deteriorated, it became harder and harder for Mav to stay upbeat and positive but he tried. And when it became clear it was nearing the end, Maverick drove Ice out to the beach one last time. As they sat there watching the sun setting into the sparkling blue water, Ice pulled out a notebook and pen. Though it took him longer than usual to get out what he wanted to say and his handwriting was more shakey lines than letters, Maverick always knew what he was trying to say. So, he waited patiently while Ice struggled to get his words down then took the pad when his husband offered it to him. It read: I know you hate goodbyes but I don't think we can put ours off much longer. This isn't how I pictured our story ending yet I wouldn't have had it any other way. I got to love and be loved by you and that was more than I ever hoped for. You gave life purpose outside of a cockpit and you gave me a reason to come home after every mission. So please, don't grieve my death. Instead, cherish my life-- our lives --together. And just know, where ever I end up next, I'll never stop being your wingman and I'll never stop loving you. Maverick only made it through the first line before tears began to blur his vision and by the end, he was sobbing so hard he couldn't really finish it. He gently climbed into the seat with Ice and cried into his neck as his husband rubbed his back and held him as tightly as he was able. Two days later, Ice passed away in his sleep. The second he woke up, Maverick knew. He felt it like a knife to the chest. And when he turned to look at the love of his life, there was no denying it. The funeral took a while to plan. Though Ice's death hadn't come as much of a surprise, he had been a Navy Admiral and it took a long time to organize a service fitting to his position. But the day soon came and Maverick found himself standing before his husband's casket. For a moment, he wasn't sure if he would be able to pin his wings as was expected, but a reassuring nod from Bradley gave him the strength he needed. After the ceremony, everyone else began to drift off or leave but Mav stayed behind, staring at Ice's Admiral portrait. And just as he reached out and brushed his fingers across his husband's face, a warm breeze blew through the cemetery. Smiling with tears in his eyes, Mav whispered, "There's my wingman."

send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it