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coriphallus · 3 months ago

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DA: The Veilguard Spoiler review pt2 - The Grime

this is a hard one to tackle without strawmaning anyone because itll be a direct response to alot of defense ive seen for the games morality system so ill just start by saying, iykyk

never a genre has been better equipped to discuss ethics than the interactive medium of games and yes, bioware games have been doing it since baldurs gate and no, theyve not always been 'centrist' and 'conservative'. im not even gonna entertain that idea. do you remember the cultural landscape DA:O released to? the landscape it was developed in? dont give me that just because zevran doesnt write in his little notes -that you can conveniently read- 'gay good. not me but me bisexual'

Thedas is a flawed world and its a world thats just as desperate to hang on to its status quo as our own. every time you play an elf thats thriving, or a human thats queer, or a mage thats not institutionalised you exist in a world that doesnt want you, it is an act of defiance that you do.

im sure we can all see why these games were so popular with the audience they can only weakly try to pander to today.

derailing time again; so one of my favourite paintings of all time is saturn devouring his son. it makes me feel so uncomfortable that it gave me nightmares as a child, and i still cant look at it without feeling this knot in my throat. i hate it. i hate how it makes me feel, how that man looks at me in terror like its begging me for help while cannibalising another. weird story but i was bewitched by that painting as a little kid.

it is not a well drawn painting, the proportions are all over the place, brush strokes crude and inelegant. it doesnt even have a deeper story nor was it intended for an audience. i will never know what goya thought of when drawing it.

i thought alot about that painting later in my life when i was struggling with mental health problems, i thought about goya alot too as an adult and after learning about his life. i stared at his paintings and remembered when i told my dad that i hated [saturns] big eyes and hed jokingly said "it would be scarier if he didnt have eyes"

i know what the drawing looks like now, nearly everyone with a little access to the internet does. if somebody removed saturn from it, we'd still be left with a brutalised headless carcass of a man in a canvas too big for itself. if we removed that too all we'd be left with would be void.

i dont want to live in a world where all i know of goya is his rococo work, i dont want to stare at the painting of a void knowing what filled it before. i hated every second of germinale but i never wanted it to be anything other than itself, the story it tells could never hold credence otherwise.

DAV has done its best to paint over it, but its still on the old canvas and i cant look away from the negative space its left, i know whats under it and it unsettles me, infuriates me. it hands me a palette with baby blues and pinks and tells me to paint over it to make a prettier painting. didnt i hate the eyes? wasnt it gross before?

i am not going to write why we need some grime in art, but its absence is disheartening. and to those who say hanged people in the streets or blighted villagers is dark and mature ill say no. its a kids idea of maturity, its the aesthetic of it with no substance. it means nothing to me if rook can just drench themselves in gallons of blight as they crawl through it. the horror of blight has never been the black goo and slimy tentacles, or the monster woman with way too many tits. it is watching people you love slowly fade away, it is a woman who was forced to cannibalise the contaminated flesh of her friends because the woman she loved betrayed her, it was the sheer scale and inevitability of it.

one area we go to is overrun by it and the game begs me to feel hopeful that flowers are growing again when it never let me lose hope. people have already prevailed, they have roofs over their heads and a steady supply of food on their tables. their spirit is unwavering.

its bad, everybody says. the sky is grey and soil is blackened, as my rook turns some statues to access a haunted house whos inhabitants are long gone and the only story they could ever tell is gone with them.

if the question is do i want to see famine? plague? misery? abuse? assault? the answer is yes. yes. i want to see it all of the filth. i rather face the fucking monster head on with its big bulging eyes and misshapen limbs than stare at the abyss its absence leaves on the canvas.

and if nothing else, this bastardization is disrespectful to the people who gave the IP its fame.

Why choose to be good?

back in the bsn days ive wondered why, even in a fictional universe where your choices have no real-life repercussions what-so-ever, players had more 'good' playthroughts than 'bad'?

what happens when you start killing NPCs, when youre needlessly mean to them? the game actively closes off its own content. you get less out of the game. just as, completely incidentally, you'd get less out of your life if you just started killing everyone around you. The world would be emptier, youd be alone.

in that quote i stole from good place chidi doesnt ask "why be good?" the wording is painfully deliberate. doing good is always a choice, and often not the easy one. what makes the act matter is that you chose to do it, even when given 6 other options not to. did i stop in the middle of an important quest to help a man retrieve an heirloom from a darkspawn infested hut? did i hear what that heirloom meant to him?

i cant stop thinking about that speech ever since playing this game after knowing its predecessors.

So, why do it then? Why choose to be good, every day, if there is no guaranteed reward we can count on, now or in the afterlife? I argue that we choose to be good because of our bonds with other people and our innate desire to treat them with dignity. Simply put, we are not in this alone.

i cant stop looking at this game that spits on its own legacy and think how could they have missed what fundamentally makes us human so bad, what makes us relate and empathise with eachother. what makes us pick the option to interact with an npc who openly hates what hawke is, and allow us to see the traumatised man underneath.

these characters of fiction are written by real people. i have absolutely nothing in common with a guy from canada yet for a brief moment in time i feel a sense of camaraderie as ive felt with goya that i couldnt articulate as a kid.

Nothing too terrible

DAV says it over and over again -as its wont to do with every piece of its flimsy morality- that people can change, people can be redeemed yet it shines as the game with most static characters in its franchise. it simply says things, and since it has nothing to show for it it makes sure to say it repeatedly, in case you missed it.

so when i first played DAO i was in high school, i started with a human noble because fresh out of dark side edgy kotor fame i wanted to be a posh brat. also because, ya kno, we were poor my entire life up until that point and i wanted to have power.

i committed to it, even as the game stripped cousland of everything he had, because i thought a man like him would. i picked the racist options, the sexist options, the options a man in couslands place would. halfway point of the game as i exhausted the initial dialogues something happened; this man who got paid to kill people, who showed no remorse nor care for his victims, begged my cousland to stil his blade.

and i did. i thought maybe he would be as confused as i was, maybe he had a moment of clarity but from thereon bit by bit he was less of an asshole. the characters grew around me, and my character grew around them. i chose to be good because -textually- we were in this together, at the end of all things.

rook is not a character, theyre a mascot. and quite frankly i think they may be a very evangelical mascot because they remind me of evangelical preachings of jesus more than the man from the bible (and i say this as someone whos only exposure to christianity has been through foreign media and the bible ive read that one time). they are the epitome of do no evil and their existence hinges on the frail concept of moral purity. theyre not a person trying to do good, who wants to be good, they are 'good'

-and lemme tell you its a wild choice to have someone like that locked in a prison of 'regret'-

rook can be mean to only one person in the game, and thats someone they dont even have a personal beef with for the most part. but even then they would be shouting at a wall because the game doesnt only undermine them with its narrative, but also every npc in the game suddenly gets possessed by the ghost of wattpad rejects past for a moment to tell them everyone can be redeemed. and i believe it because i played the other games, i believe it because i know zevran and sten and morrigan, isabela and thom and iron bull and dorian. i know it because i can see the vague shapes behind the new coat of paint but i am not rook.

so no, the game fails to get people-can-change points by its own merit, and it cannot gain points from its prequels because it destroyed them. none of those characters i watched grow exist in this universe. zevran cant exist with DAV crows, fenris` story cant exist in an imperium with invisible slaves only glimpsed through empty cages and broken chains left scattered on the ground. i dont know which morrigan this NPC is, is it the woman who grew to learn kindness, who begged to sleep with her friend just to save them despite knowing it would play into the plans of a destiny she so desperately tried to break free from? or is she the clever puppet her mother groomed her to be who wanted to harness the power of a god? i dont know her, i dont know this dorian or this isabela beyond their names ipso facto this is not a sequel.

bellara asks an assassin why he is trying to save the world and his answer is "ive done some things in the past im not too proud of. nothing too terrible, but some of it was bad." and i can hear the games desperation for me to not engage with its material in that 'nothing too terrible'

lucanis never killed anyone innocent, taash never harmed an animal they could shoo of or reason with, emmrich venerates the dead and is friends with every wisp he pulls to use in menial labour, davrin joined the wardens willingly because he wanted to do good...

rook tells harding that her anger is justified when shes not even allowed anger of her own.

nothing too terrible.

aside from creating boring and nonsensical and static characters it creates a dreadful echochamber that we're forced to sustain. No taash is not valid, their gender is but their behaviour is not and for the character to grow and mature it needs to be addressed. lucanis doesnt need to be pampered in shock blankets he needs to see how repressing his problems and jeopardising his health puts people around him in danger etc etc. they are adults and they need to learn more complex ways of healing. and if rooks flaw is that theyre an enabler, then that needs to be acknowledged by the narrative in some way too, and not mindlessly endorsed because they say some buzzwords.

none of these interpersonal relationships feels real because none of these people feel real beyond some draft of themes and tropes. some interactions literally remind me of two bots in facebook comments

i look at this dialogue wheel with familiar symbols and all im reminded of is hawke telling carver he carries every death with him, of him telling his uncle that he wasnt fast enough, of him begging the person he loves to tell him that his mothers death wasnt his fault.

and they dont. they just sit there with him.

#veilguard critical #da:tv spoilers #bioware critical #personal #long post

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tobyisave · 1 month ago

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acting lessons

this is for my chapter 5 au... I tried to compose a toxic doomed yaoi saiouma essay in the tags just now but it went over the tag limit (mortifying) so I'm just going to paste it under the cut!!

////cw for suicide of course. also heads up my version of saiouma is almost completely one sided 👍🏼

#look.. in my mind there is no world where shuichi truly comes around on kokichi #but there is TOTALLY a world where he feels eternally fucked up and guilty about assisting in his suicide #and cant bring himself to hate anymore #cant bring himself to reject the casual but blatantly self-indulgent touches of the boy hes about to murder in the most excruciating way possible #just let him have his fun #let him squeeze your shoulder a little too long #its the least you can do when hes about to let his entire body be turned into an unrecognizable puddle of gore #you dont have to pretend you like it. he KNOWS you dont like it. just let it happen & soon enough itll be over and youll never have to see him again #youll never be *able* to see him again. nothing left of him to even call a body #fucking unidentifiable #god. #(to be clear i dont approve of that logic at all but i sure think shuichi would feel that way)

#its like oumota but worse because (to me) shuu has completely written him off by ch5 and doesnt even need the poison blackmailing to agree #its shuichis low point after all hes fully suicidal and thinks kokichi is the mastermind who destroyed humanity's last hope #he doesnt have time to recalculate his opinion before its too late #he agrees almost immediately #but the closer it gets the less he can justify it #like god this guy fills me with rage and we would never ever in a million years get along but hes also a warm breathing human being #and hes in love with me or something and i just agreed to kill him. EAGERLY! #to his FUCKING FACE #yes i openly hated him already. and yes he didnt even blink when i told him i could kill him #if anything he looked happy! #but god how could i just say that to someone? how did it get this bad? #and how is he still giving me finger hearts through the camera while we test out angles for his fucking DEATH VIDEO #maybe just maybe its because he really thinks this will save us. but maybe he just wants to die #and i dont even know if that makes a difference anymore #et cetera……..

#like i said im not a saiouma guy in the traditional sense but #i do like pathetic clingy kokichi x shuichi who hates himself for harboring genuine malice towards him #(justified malice) #but is too self doubting to take the reins and stop the horrible thing theyve already set in motion

#meeting the same fate as kaede because he THOUGHT he was agreeing to kill the mastermind #when in reality it was really just a cagey guy who was trying to do the EXACT same thing and made the mistake of going it alone #and now that guy who couldve been his ally is dead and he has to pretend hes ok and lie to his friends to derail this trial #for this stupid idiotic plan he let himself get blindly swept up in #that was never going to work in the first place #he knew it was full of holes he knew ouma was full of shit #he knew himself he knew he'd buckle under the pressure of the trial #but he didnt say a thing #it was so much easier to go with it. he just wanted it to be fucking over with #well its not over. the game continues and kokichi is dead and for what #didnt lift a fucking finger #fucking idiot coward bottom of the barrel piece of shit. GOD #i dont know man. it's just real kill yourself hours for shuichi after this one

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alba1221141 · 2 months ago

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Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

Y/N

"Now this one's called Mouser," Powder says, shoving the mini smoke bomb into my palms.

"Mouser?" I peer at the scrawled whiskers and ears.

"Yeah, silly, 'cause it's a mouse," she giggles, prodding one of the ears. "Ya like it?" She looks so hopeful when she asks that, like a puppy just wanting to make its owner happy.

I nod, smiling. "I love it. It's so cute. What color does it boom to?"

"Guess!" Powder singsongs, and I groan.

"Don’t make me guess. I hate guessi—"

"Just guess! Pleeeaase."

"Fine... pink?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Blue?"

"Guess again!" But before I can... BOOM.

I jolt awake in bed, panting softly. This is an infestation, relentless and vile. First, she worms her way into my daily routine, always there… looming. It’s disgusting, absolutely revolting. And now, this ridiculous fixation is ruining my sleep schedule—worse, my study schedule.

I find myself at my vanity, applying a ridiculous amount of makeup to hide the bags under my eyes. It’s fine, just a slip-up—one tiny mistake. Nobody has to know everything fell apart. Not today, not ever.

My hairbrush clatters to the floor as I throw it, frustration rising. No. No. My entire day cannot be derailed by this one tiny lapse. It was just a dream. My subconscious was simply in the mood to revisit the past, nothing more.

I take a deep breath and focus, moving with deliberate precision. When my hair is halfway secured in a perfect pink bow, I grab my uniform. The school uniform is simple—appropriate, modest, as it should be. Certain people, however, don’t wear it that way, why did my mind jump to her so instantly? There are plenty of other people who flaunt the dress code, make a mockery of it. Why her? It’s infuriating. Completely nonsensical.

I grab my bag from its designated spot by the door, double-checking its contents—binder, planner, pens in their correct case, and books for every class, organized by schedule. Satisfied, I sling it over my shoulder and head downstairs, the rhythmic click of my Mary Janes echoing throughout the otherwise empty house.

I move through the familiar routine—toast, tea, and the faint hum of the dishwasher in the background. Every detail falls into place, a perfect puzzle...

Until I step outside. The cool morning air brushes my skin, crisp and biting, and my mind drifts again. Why her? I shake the thought away, gripping the strap of my bag tighter. This is school. My space. My domain of control and focus. She can’t ruin that too. She won’t.

By the time I reach the front gates, my mental walls are firmly in place. They hold strong as i rush over to Cait and Mel waiting by our grouping of lockers. But then I catch a flash of blue in the corner of my vision—braids swaying, a grin that’s far too self-assured. My barricades shudder, and I bite down on my lip. Hard. Hard enough for those tiny droplets of blood to form.

I force my eyes forward, swallowing the sharp sting. Today will be just like any other. I won’t let her mess it up.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

School’s supposed to be a regular thing for me—well, that’s a lie. I only show up when Silco’s got that whole “I’ll cut your allowance!” thing looming over my head.

He's always 100000% bluffing, the mans a softie at heart.

Anyway, I only actually give a shit about the damn place when I’ve got a deal lined up. And hey, two days in a row?

Fucking impressive.

Todays little deal is 3g of molly, ecstasy, MDMA whatever floats ya boat.

It's a person by person basis. The pompous little Pilties will always call it Molly, like saying ecstasy would give them a fucking meltdown.

Like somehow Molly makes it sound all sweet and innocent—total bullshit to be honest.

As I march through the school parking lot, boots thudding against the cracked tarmac, I spot her. Miss Saboteur. I shove the bag of pills out of sight, just in time.

Ha, not today, toots.

She's standing there with her little Piltie entourage.

Honestly, it's pathetic. Her naivety to the class divide. And she let me tell you Y/N must be insanely thick because its very, very obvious.

You can even see it in the lovely parking lot.

On one side, you’ve got these busted-up Chevys and beat-to-hell sedans. On the other? Shiny Cadillacs and those fancy little luxury cars, the ones that scream Daddy’s money with every brrrrr of the engine.

A very diverse range if i do say so myself.

But ladies and gents, deny it all she wants, roots stick—Zaunite dirt doesn’t just brush off.

I toss the little purple baggie into locker 505 as requested, and it lands with a soft plop at the bottom. Job done.

The bell rings, but who even cares? School’s just a place to mess with people, anyway. Everyone’s all in their little cliques, walking like robots to their boring classrooms, all stiff and predictable.

So fucking boring.

I shove my way through the crowd, elbowing a few people ‘cause why the hell not? My boots clunk on the floor, and I can practically hear them wincing behind me. Good. I love that sound.

The second-floor art stairwell is, by far, the best skipping spot.

none of those nosy hall monitors or teachers lurking. Plus, it’s got this weird, artsy vibe from all the random graffiti and doodles left behind.

Honestly? It’s mostly me. Who else has the guts? Or the creativity? Maybe Ekko, when I rope him in. He always starts with "Jinx, don’t," blah, blah, blah—but give him five minutes, and he’s tagging like it’s his idea. Classic

So, I’m waiting for him now. He’s my usual skipping buddy—rebelling against authority and all that jazz.

By the time Mr Boy Saviour appears I've got a shit eating grin on my face as a doodle a certain girl on the wall, a little too focused on getting the details right.

"Look," I chuckle, "she's got horns."

"That Y/N again?" He leans in front of my masterpiece, raising an eyebrow.

"No," I giggle, lying through my teeth. "Totally not."

Liar, liar, liar.

"Gosh Ekko, get off my back, heard of artistic expression?" My grin vanishes, like, boom, gone in an instant.

Poor guy’s used to my outbursts by now. He just plops down next to me when I curl my knees to my chest, all casual-like, like I didn’t just snap at him for no damn reason.

But there is a reason, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.

"I don't even get why you still talk about her, Ekko," I mutter into the fabric of my ripped tights. "I fucking hate her."

"Right, don't lie," Ekko says, leaning back against the wall, his voice all too casual. "You’ve been drawing her nonstop for the past week."

I huff, glaring at the floor.

Typical. He always knows.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Calls me out like it’s nothing. I roll my eyes, sinking into my knees even further.

“Shut up, Ekko,” I mutter, my fingers twitching against the ripped fabric of my tights. “It’s not like that.”

It totally is, though.

"Don't lie, you've been drawing her for days," Ekko says, grinning like he knows something I don't.

I squint at him. "I’m not—" I cut myself off, glancing at the sketch again.

Shit.

He leans closer, all smug, "Oh really? Then what’s this?" He points at the doodle like it’s the evidence that’ll finally put me on trial.

"Fuck off," I mutter, tossing the pen in his direction like it's some kind of missile, damn wish it was before stomping off.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: hey this is my first fanfiction on Tumblr, hope you like it :) please like and reblog!

#arcane #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn kiramman #ekko #ekko league of legends #ekko lol #caitvi #jinx league of legends #jinx #jinx arcane #jinx smut #jinx x reader #jinx x y/n #jinx x you #jinx lol #ekko arcane #arcane lol

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ofutopia · 5 months ago

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Read my tags.

DEATH TO COPYRIGHT FOREVER, DOWNLOAD EVERYTHING, DO WHATEVER YOU WANT WITH ART ALWAYS AND FOREVER AMEN

#which btw is a complicated thing for me. i do not believe llms to be ontologically bad because i don’t #think any technology is. the threat that AI poses is to do with capitalism: a profit motive to replace people’s livelihoods (especially #that of artists and other creatives) with a machine. however i do think that if you #are genuinely as against copyright and the notion of intellectual property as you say you are; you should see no #<prev #I really want to engage in a debate #I won't go into copyright law that right now protect mainly big actors #However and this is important LLM and AI is not only AI writing or generative AI writing stuff #it's the tip of the iceberg of AI being trained on stories to do corporate work what is the crux of it #I have front seat to witness it and it's not even the worst of it #AI drained water and energy from places that need it badly / it is a social disaster for its moderators #when we talk about the social disaster this is this social disaster that we should talk about more machines equal more people killed for #the rare minerals #the debate about jobs lost should be about re training in other jobs or even better minimum salary without a job #switching to dystopian-scifi in the end we won't win against the robots as a workforce and that's why we have to fight for guaranteed l #living wage everywhere for everybody and keeping corporations at bay / I know it sounds like a fight too hard to fight but there are ways #there is hope #anyway I derailed a lot

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jetii · 11 days ago

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Warm

Pairing: Echo x fem!Reader

Words: 10,262

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! friends with benefits to lovers, fluff, slight hurt/comfort, first date cuteness, accidental love confessions, smut, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral (m recieving), fingering, dirty talk, creampie, inappropriate use of scomp, very loving soft sex actually

Summary: For the first time since the Republic fell, you and Echo find yourself on Pabu with nothing to do but relax, and you're determined to make the most of it. You just have to convince Echo.

A/N: I said this was pwp but I lied, the plot got me girl. This is some of the sweetest smut I have ever written. Echo deserves nothing less.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

"What are you doing?"

You barely pause to look up as you shove another bottle of sunscreen in your bag, casting Echo a wry smile.

"We're going to the beach, so I'm making sure we're stocked up on sunscreen." You give the bottle in your hand a little shake, as if to illustrate your point. Echo's eyes flick down to it, then back to you, and he crosses his arms over his chest, shifting his weight and making the muscles there ripple distractingly. But you're not going to let him derail you.

"And... why are we going to the beach?" he asks, his tone bemused. You frown at him.

"We're supposed to be taking a break, right?" you ask. "And it's a beautiful day. I figured that we could enjoy it."

The two of you had arrived on Pabu last night, after what had seemed like the longest journey of your life. The moment you'd finally docked, you'd immediately felt the tension in your body start to bleed away, and it only took a few more minutes for Echo to follow suit, his shoulders relaxing and his expression going soft as the two of you walked down the streets toward where the rest of the Batch had made their home.

Now, the two of you are in the kitchen, with its cramped counters and low ceiling and ancient appliances, and for the first time in weeks, neither of you have anything to do. It's a strange feeling. You've been here for less than a day, but already you can feel the weight of all the work and stress and anxiety slowly lifting off your shoulders, leaving you feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

Echo, however, does not look particularly pleased at the prospect of having some time to himself. You know he'd rather be working, or training, or just about anything else, really. It's the exact opposite of what you're hoping for.

"Come on," you coax him, "don't you want to have a little fun? You deserve it."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you see him glance out the window toward the beach.

"I don't... think that's a good idea," he says, his voice hesitant. "It's— we're here because—"

"I know why we're here," you cut in. You set down the sunscreen, crossing your arms and leveling him with a look. "And I'm not asking you to swim, or even go near the water. Just sit in the sand, maybe enjoy the sun for a few minutes. I'm sure there's a place to get a decent cup of caf nearby, or maybe one of those little pastry things you like."

He's still looking skeptical, and you know you need to change tactics, so you step closer to him and slide your arms around his neck, tilting your head back and smiling at him coyly. His gaze drops down to your mouth, then flickers back up, and the corner of his lips tugs upward.

"I mean, if you're too scared to come outside with me..."

Echo scoffs, the sound almost offended. He pulls you close, his arms wrapping around your waist, and his voice is a low rumble in your ear.

"You really think that'll work on me?"

"No, not at all," you say with a smirk. You press a kiss to the spot just below his jaw, and he shivers, his fingers flexing against your back. "But I did just get a new swimsuit, and I thought maybe you'd want to see me in it."

The reaction is immediate. You feel Echo's whole body go rigid, his grip tightening around you, and you bite back a smile, trying not to laugh. You look up to see his ears are tinged red, and his eyes are fixed firmly on a point over your shoulder.

"Really?" he says, his voice strained, and you nod.

"Mhm."

You can see him considering it, and when you tilt your head a little more, leaning closer and making sure his attention stays fixed on you, you spot the exact moment his resistance breaks.

"I think you'll like it,” you continue. You're grinning now, knowing that you've already won. "But I guess if you're not interested, I can go to the beach by myself. I'm sure plenty of people will appreciate it."

You step away from him, already starting toward the bedroom the two of you had shared the night before. Before you can get more than a couple steps, though, Echo's arm shoots out, wrapping around your waist and hauling you back against him. You turn to find him smiling down at you, his eyes dancing with amusement, and he leans in, brushing his nose against yours.

"That's not going to happen," he murmurs. He leans in and kisses you, and for a moment, all the stress and tension seems to melt out of his body. He pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours and letting out a little sigh. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to get a little fresh air. But if I get sand in my joints, I'm not going to be happy."

You smile triumphantly and lean forward to peck him on the cheek.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise," you murmur, and his ears turn bright red. You grin and duck out of his grasp before he can reply, and Echo lets out a little huff as you head for the stairs, tossing a "get your sunscreen, you're going to burn!" over your shoulder.

When you return a few minutes later, your new swimsuit snugly in place under your clothes, Echo is standing in the doorway, and you stop, staring at him. He's wearing a pair of board shorts, a navy-blue color with a white stripe along each side. They fall a couple inches above his knees, and his broad chest is bare, his skin glowing in the sunlight. You've seen him shirtless plenty of times, but there's something about him wearing these casual clothes, something about the way he looks, relaxed and at ease and not quite as tense, that makes your heart do a funny little flip in your chest.

"Is this okay?" he asks, and you realize you've been staring at him. He has a button down shirt in his hand in an obnoxious floral pattern, one you know he got from one of the boys as a joke. You hadn't expected him to actually wear it, but it makes you smile to think that he's actually embracing the beach-vacation vibe.

"You look good," you say, and your voice comes out a little bit breathy. You clear your throat and try again. "I mean, it's fine. You look fine. Great. I'm—we should go."

You can't read the expression on his face, but his lips are twitching as he tugs the shirt on over his shoulders, and you grab the bag of supplies before turning toward the door.

"Come on," you say, jerking your head for him to follow. "Let's get out of here."

He follows you out, and you can feel his eyes on you the entire time, his gaze lingering on the skin that's visible between the bottom of your cropped shirt and the top of your shorts. When you catch his eye, he grins, not even trying to hide the fact that he's ogling you.

"Shut up," you mutter, but he only grins wider.

The two of you have never done anything like this before. There'd been a couple nights, during the brief respites the two of you had gotten on different missions, where you'd both gone out and had a little fun, but that had always ended the same way, with you heading back to one of your rooms or to a secluded corner and spending the rest of the night wrapped up in each other.

But this, the two of you wandering down the streets together, stopping at a café to get something to eat, laughing and joking together like a real couple... it's nice. Really nice.

You can feel Echo relaxing the longer the two of you walk, and he doesn't hesitate before ordering a caff for the two of you, getting yours the way you like it without having to ask. He holds the door open for you and pays for both of your meals, and by the time the two of you are walking down the beach toward the spot you'd had in mind, his arm slung over your shoulders, you're practically beaming.

The spot is far enough away from the main strip of shops and restaurants to avoid most of the foot traffic, but not so far away that the two of you will have to walk for miles to get back. It's quiet, with most people including the rest of the Batch at work or school or who knows where, and the sound of the waves is soothing.

Still, Echo stays close, his arm hovering near you as if he expects you to suddenly collapse, and he tenses a little whenever someone passes. When the two of you finally reach your spot, he pulls away, turning his back to you while you lay out the blanket.

"Checking for traps?" you ask dryly, and he shrugs, not looking at you.

"Or enemies," he says, and you roll your eyes.

"Yeah, right."

"Just because we haven't seen any doesn't mean they're not out there," he argues, and you can tell he's about to launch into a full-blown speech, so you reach out and wrap your hand around his wrist, tugging him down to the blanket.

"We're fine," you say. "Really. It's the middle of the day, and I don't think any undercover Imperials are going to try and jump us in the middle of a public beach."

"You never know," he says, and the look on his face tells you he's completely serious. "It wouldn't be the first time."

You roll your eyes and settle down on the blanket, propping yourself up on your elbows.

"Well, I'm sure I'll be safe with a big, strong ARC trooper protecting me," you tease, and his expression turns sour. You wink, and his scowl deepens.

"Ha ha," he says, not looking amused.

"I'm kidding," you say, nudging him with your shoulder. You tilt your head, and Echo's eyes are drawn to the long line of your neck. "Let's just... try and forget about that, okay? Let's pretend, for just a little while, that we're normal. We're just a normal couple, and we're having a normal date. Okay?"

He's still frowning, his brow furrowed, but after a moment, he sighs, his shoulders slumping a little.

"Okay," he mutters. "I can do that."

You smile, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek, and Echo turns, his mouth finding yours. His hand comes up, his thumb brushing across your cheek, and he pulls you closer, kissing you softly.

You let yourself sink into it, the sound of the ocean and the feeling of the sun on your skin making everything feel a little bit like a dream.

When you break apart, he's smiling, and some of the tension has finally melted from his body.

"So," you say, grinning, "what do you think? About this normal-couple-on-a-date thing?"

"I think... I could get used to it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners, and the sight of him, relaxed and smiling and looking happier than you've seen him in weeks, sends a flood of warmth through your chest. "It's kind of nice, actually."

"Good," you say. "Now take off your shirt. You're going to need a little sunscreen."

Echo's eyebrows lift. “What?”

"Come on," you wheedle, shaking the bottle at him. "Don't worry, I'll help."

"That's not—" he begins, but he doesn't seem to be able to find the words to finish. Finally, he sighs and shrugs out of his shirt, folding it and placing it on the blanket. Before he can say anything else, you move behind him, squeezing a generous amount of the lotion into your hands and rubbing them together.

"I'm going to start with your back," you tell him. You smooth your hands over his shoulders, feeling the soft skin beneath your palms, and his muscles flex beneath your touch. You move your hands over his broad back, covering every inch of exposed skin, and Echo groans as you hit a knot just below his shoulder blade.

"Right there?"

"Yeah," he says. He's practically melting under your touch, and you keep working, kneading your thumbs into the spot. "Force, that feels good."

You don't answer, focusing instead on getting the last bit of sunscreen in his skin. After a moment, he seems to gather himself, and you see him glance at the bottle, his brow furrowing.

"Why do I need sunscreen?" he asks.

"To keep you from burning."

He looks confused.

"You have sensitive skin, remember? And we've been traveling a lot lately, which means you haven't gotten much time in the sun. You don't want to burn."

Echo opens his mouth to respond, but you’re already climbing into his lap, your hands skimming over his shoulders.

"I should get your front, too," you murmur, and his eyes darken. His hand finds your hip, his scomp skimming up your back, and he's looking up at you, his expression open and vulnerable. You can feel the warmth of him through your clothes, and a familiar heat starts to coil in your stomach.

"You're distracting me," he mutters, his gaze flickering down to your lips.

"Is it working?"

"Yes."

You smirk and lean in, brushing a kiss against his mouth before smearing a line of sunscreen down the bridge of his nose. He yel and you pull back, laughing as his face scrunches up in distaste.

"What—"

"That's what you get," you say, grinning. "Come on, let's get the rest of you covered."

Echo grumbles a little but settles back against the blanket. You're thorough, taking care to spread the lotion across his arms and legs, over his broad chest, and down the smooth planes of his stomach. He's warm and pliant under your touch, letting out little noises of contentment whenever you find a particularly tight spot. By the time you've covered the last inch of skin, he looks thoroughly relaxed.

"There," you say, smiling at him. You run your hand down his side, and Echo shudders. "All done."

"Thanks," he says. He opens his eyes, squinting against the sunlight, and frowns. You’re already standing up, dusting sand off your legs, and you see him tense.

"Wait, what are you doing?"

You pause, your hands on the hem of your shirt.

"What does it look like I’m doing?”

He pushes himself up onto his elbows.

"It looks like you're taking off your clothes."

"I am."

You strip off your shirt, and you toss it over his head, smiling as he pulls it away. He freezes, staring at the scrap of fabric in his hand, and his eyes drop to your chest.

"This is..."

"I told you I had a new swimsuit," you remind him as you drop your shorts and step out of them, "and now you get to see it."

He looks like his brain is short circuiting, and his gaze rakes across your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin and the tiny bits of fabric covering the parts that aren't. You grin and turn around, slowly bending over to pick up the discarded shorts. You look back over your shoulder and his eyes are wide, and he swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

"See something you like?"

"Uh huh," he says faintly. He licks his lips and tries to drag his eyes up, but they're fixed firmly on the swell of your ass, the way the fabric hugs the curve of it and leaves the skin exposed. His mouth opens, and you know he's trying to find the words, but instead, all that comes out is a faint croak.

"Good," you say. "I'm glad."

You grab the bottle of sunscreen and settle down on the blanket.

"I'm going to need a little help, though," you say. "I can't get my back."

You tilt your head back and Echo nods, the motion slow and almost hypnotized. He stands, crossing the blanket and kneeling down behind you. He waits for you to dispense some into his hand, and his fingers trail across the nape of your neck as he smooths the lotion over your skin. His touch is warm, and gentle, and the feeling sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

It’s rare for the two of you to have this much time alone together, and you can't help but let yourself enjoy it, leaning into his touch. You're not even trying to tease him, but his breath still catches every time his hands sweep lower, his fingers tracing along the waistband of your swimsuit. He takes his time, making sure that not a single inch of skin is left uncovered, and by the time he's done, the tension between the two of you is practically crackling.

He sits back, his hand still lingering on the small of your back, and the two of you are quiet. He's staring at you, and there's something different about the way he's looking at you, something almost... reverent.

You've always known he wants you, have been able to read it on his face and in his touch, but this, the way he's staring at you now, is more than that. It's desire, yes, but there's something deeper, something softer and sweeter, and it makes your heart flutter in your chest.

The two of you haven't done anything like this before. Even your previous trysts had been frantic and rushed, a matter of stolen moments in darkened rooms and shadowy corners. But here, the two of you are exposed, out in the open where anyone could see, and yet the thought doesn't fill you with dread or worry. It's thrilling, in a way, and the fact that Echo doesn't seem to care either way just adds to it.

But despite that, neither of you make a move. You sit there, both of you watching each other, and you know that if you gave the slightest indication, he'd pounce, and the two of you would be wrapped up in each other, just like all those times before. But for the first time, you don't want that. You want him to stay just like this, watching you, and for you to watch him in turn.

So, instead, you reach out and brush your thumb over his bottom lip, and he sighs, his eyelids fluttering closed. He's warm under your touch, his lips slightly chapped from the wind, and he leans into you, pressing a kiss to your palm. His scomp skims up your back, the metal warm from the sun, and he pulls you close.

You press yourself against his chest, tucking your head into the space between his neck and shoulder, and his arm comes around to wrap around your waist, holding you there.

It's peaceful, the two of you sitting together like that. It feels normal, and right, and the feeling that settles over you is warm and comfortable, like being wrapped up in a blanket. It's perfect, and you never want it to end.

But, like all good things, it eventually has to, and Echo's comm chirps. The noise seems to echo across the sand, shattering the fragile bubble of peace the two of you have found. He pulls away, digging through the pockets of his shorts, and he swears under his breath.

“Rex,” he says as he holds up the comm. You nod, and he activates it, and the captain's voice crackles through.

"Echo, I just sent over some new intel. Can you check it out? It might be a lead on the ship."

"Yeah, of course," Echo replies, though his tone is a little hesitant. He glances over at you, his brows drawing together, and you force a smile, ignoring the way your heart has plummeted into the pit of your stomach.

"Duty calls," you say, trying for levity.

Echo hesitates, glancing at the comm and back at you, and he lets out a sigh.

“Everything okay?” Rex asks.

Echo doesn't answer, not looking away from you. You give him a reassuring smile, and his expression clears, his mouth twitching a little as if he's thinking.

"Everything's fine," he says finally. “I'm a little busy right now, but I'll look over the intel and get back to you later."

There’s a moment of silence, and you hold your breath, wondering if Rex will call him out. But instead, he laughs.

"Busy, huh?"

Echo rolls his eyes.

"Yeah," he says. He shifts, pulling you closer, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Something like that."

"All right, fine," Rex says, and he sounds amused. "Glad you’re enjoying your vacation."

"I'm— yeah. Thanks, Rex."

"Bye, Rex," you add, leaning closer and raising your voice a little. Echo smirks, and he cuts the transmission.

"So," you say, "you're just going to ignore the fact that we got called in for work, huh?"

"No," Echo replies, looking defensive. He sets the comm aside, reaching out to take your hand. "We're on a break. They can handle things without us for a day or two."

You smile at him, and he brushes his thumb over your knuckles, his eyes soft.

"Who are you and what have you done with Echo?" you tease. You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head, but when Echo's grip on your hand tightens, you freeze, a jolt running down your spine.

He scowls, his mouth twisting, and his eyes flicker away from you, looking out across the water. His hand falls away from yours, and his shoulders slump, the easy happiness that had surrounded him moments ago bleeding away.

"Don't say that," he mutters.

"What? Why not?"

"I just..."

He looks frustrated, and a little lost, and you wait, giving him time to find the words. His mouth is open, but he closes it, letting out a harsh sigh through his nose. His brow furrows, and he stares down at his lap, his jaw clenched tight.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, your hand finding his. "I didn't mean it like that."

"No, I—" he stops, closing his eyes. "I know."

He takes a deep breath, his hand turning to lace his fingers through yours.

"I'm tired," he says finally, his voice small. "I'm tired of... not getting to be with you, because we're always running, or on a mission, or just never in the same place. We never get a chance to be alone, and it's..."

His brow furrows, and his lips press together, as if he's frustrated.

"It's not enough," he says, and there's a note of finality to it, like the decision has been made. "And I'm done with it. So unless the galaxy is literally ending, I'm not leaving until we've had a chance to enjoy ourselves a little."

"And what if the galaxy is ending?"

"Then I'm sure Rex and the rest of the boys will take care of it," Echo says. He grins at you, looking proud of himself, and you laugh, shaking your head. "Until then, I'm staying here with you. And," he adds, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the side of your jaw, "you can distract me from thinking about work, if you want."

You lean into him, letting him press another kiss to your neck.

"Hmm," you murmur, pretending to think. "I guess I could do that. After all, we are supposed to be on a date."

"Exactly," he says. He smiles against your skin, and the feeling makes you shiver. "Come on, we can't let the day go to waste."

"I mean, there is one thing we can do," you say, grinning mischievously.

Echo's eyes darken, and his voice is a low rumble.

"What's that?"

You smile and stand, reaching down and tugging him up.

"Swim!"

He groans, and you laugh, ducking out of his grasp and darting for the waves. He's faster, though, and he catches you easily, his arms wrapping around your waist as he lifts you off the ground.

"Echo!" you yelp. You can hear the waves lapping against the shore, and you struggle in his grip. "Don't you dare! Don't you—"

"Sorry," he says, not sounding the least bit apologetic, and you shriek as he tosses you into the surf. You land with a splash, the cool water enveloping you, and you break the surface, pushing the wet strands of hair out of your face.

Echo is watching you, looking smug, and you glare at him.

"What's the matter?" he asks, feigning innocence. "Not having fun?"

You splutter a little, wiping the water from your eyes, and you launch yourself at him. You can't actually pick him up, and he doesn't fall, but the move does throw him off balance, and he stumbles backward, almost falling into the water. You laugh and try to shove him again, but his arm comes around your waist, holding you steady.

"Is that how it's going to be?"

You grin, and the two of you wrestle, the sounds of your laughter carrying over the waves.

"Oh, no, please!" Echo yelps. He tries to fend you off, and you laugh, ducking around his arms and splashing water up at him. "Mercy!"

"Never," you declare. You grab his shoulders, and he lets you push him under the waves. He comes up sputtering, and his arm comes around your waist, dragging you down with him.

You both surface, and Echo is laughing, the sound loud and free and happier than you've ever heard him. It sends a surge of warmth through your chest, and before you can stop yourself, you're leaning in and kissing him.

Echo kisses you back, his hands finding your waist. He's warm against you, even with the cool water lapping around your bodies, and his lips are soft and gentle. It's the opposite of the way you usually kiss him, all tongue and teeth and bruising hands, and it makes your chest ache, makes the longing that's always present whenever he's around swell a little bigger.

He must feel it too, because his grip on you tightens, and he hauls you closer, the two of you clinging to each other like your life depends on it.

When you break apart, he doesn't let go, and neither do you. The two of you stand there for a long time, breathing in sync, and for a moment, everything seems to slow. There's no war, no missions, no responsibilities or tasks. There's just you and him and the feeling of the ocean around you, the two of you pressed so close together it's hard to tell where one of you ends and the other begins.

“So,” he starts, his forehead pressing against yours. “What else do normal couples do on dates, anyway?"

You grin and step back, taking his hand.

"Come on, I'll show you."

And you do. The two of you spend the afternoon walking along the beach, collecting shells and talking, and occasionally, the two of you find yourselves making out like a couple of teenagers, hands roaming over each other and mouths moving frantically together. It's not until the sun is beginning to set that the two of you finally wander back up the hill to the house, and by the time you're back in the kitchen, Echo has you pinned against the counter, his mouth hot and demanding against yours.

"We're supposed to be getting ready for dinner," you mumble, even as you tilt your head, giving him better access to your neck.

"Fuck dinner," Echo growls. He nips at the skin just below your ear, and you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I need you."

You're both still wet from the water, and you can feel him, hot and hard and pressing insistently against your hip. Your own desire surges, and suddenly the thought of a crowded restaurant or a stuffy dining room is the last thing you want.

"I've got a better idea," you murmur, and he groans against your neck.

"Tell me," he breathes, and the feeling of his breath against your skin makes you shiver.

"Shower," you manage. The word has barely left your lips before he's pulling away, tugging you after him as he heads for the stairs.

The two of you don't make it far, and neither of you seems to care. As soon as the door to the bedroom is closed behind him, he's crowding you up against it, his hands sliding under your shirt and his mouth hot on yours. You can feel him, hard and insistent against you, and he groans, grinding his hips against you.

"Gods, I missed this," he pants. He nips at your ear, his teeth scraping across the skin. "Missed you. Missed touching you and kissing you and—"

"Shower," you repeat, gasping as he bites down on your shoulder. "Now.”

"Whatever you want," he mumbles.

He pulls back, and the two of you race down the hall, stripping out of your clothes as you go. He's in the fresher before you, the water already on, and by the time you step in behind him, he's got his back pressed to the tile, his cock hard and heavy between his legs.

You step inside, the water cascading down around the two of you, and Echo's gaze drops, raking over your body. You can see him, taking in the way the water streams over your skin, and the way his eyes darken sends a thrill through you.

You don't bother teasing him. Instead, you push him up against the wall, dropping to your knees and pressing a line of kisses down his stomach. His hand drops to your hair, tangling in the wet strands, and he lets out a choked moan.

"This is a date, right?" you ask, smiling innocently up at him. He nods, his gaze fixed firmly on you, and his grip on your hair tightens. "Good. I've always wanted to give someone a blowjob on a first date."

"Oh, fuck," he moans, and his head thumps back against the wall.

You take him into your mouth, and his fingers tighten in your hair. You look up at him, watching as his expression twists, his brow furrowing and his jaw clenching, and the sight sends a thrill through you.

Echo isn't big on talking during sex. Most of the time, it's just groans and whines, with the occasional curse or muttered endearment. But now, his words seem to be spilling from his lips, the filthiest things you've ever heard pouring out as you suck and lick and take him deeper into your mouth.

"Yes, just like that," he groans, his hips jerking a little. His scomp slides up the wall, searching for purchase, and the sound of the metal scraping against the tile sends a rush of heat through you. "Your mouth is so good, sweetheart. So perfect. Fuck, I can't wait to get inside you."

His fingers are tangled in your hair, not pulling or tugging, just holding you in place. You're practically dripping, and you can feel your cunt clench, the ache in your core growing with every filthy thing that falls from his lips.

"Look at you," he mutters, his voice ragged. His eyes are fixed on the spot where his cock disappears into your mouth, and you hum, the vibrations making him shiver. "Gorgeous. Look so good on your knees for me."

You keep going, working him over until his voice is cracking, his words dissolving into incoherent moans and gasps.

"Fuck," he hisses, his hips stuttering a little. He's close, you can tell, his muscles trembling and his breathing ragged. "Stop. Need— want to—"

He tugs at your hair, trying to pull you off, and you ignore him, keeping up the pace. His words dissolve into a string of curses, and you look up at him, blinking innocently and hollowing your cheeks.

That's all it takes.

"Shit," he manages. "I'm— I'm gonna—"

His cock twitches, and his eyes squeeze shut, his face twisting as he comes, his mouth falling open. He shudders, and you swallow, keeping your eyes on him as his chest heaves, his muscles quivering.

You keep going until he's trembling, his hand pushing weakly at your head, and you let him slide from your lips, sitting back on your heels and grinning up at him. He's slumped against the wall, looking absolutely wrecked, and you smirk, reaching for the bottle of shampoo and standing up.

"Feel good?" you ask, and he nods, his eyes glazed and his lips parted.

"So good," he mumbles. "Need a minute."

"Take your time," you say, stepping around him and putting a generous amount of shampoo in your hands. You work it into your hair, feeling him watching you, and you smile to yourself, humming as you wash the salt from your skin.

"You're evil," he murmurs. He presses up behind you, his mouth dropping to the side of your neck.

"I think the term you're looking for is generous," you tease.

"That, too."

He kisses the spot just below your ear, his teeth grazing against the skin. His hand finds your waist, and his scomp slides up your arm, tugging your hand away from your hair.

"Let me," he murmurs, and you nod. He gently works the suds out, his hand running through your hair and sending pleasant shivers down your spine. His scomp slides down, brushing over the side of your breast, and his other hand joins, the water raining down on the two of you.

"You're beautiful," he says, and you turn your head, looking back at him. He's watching you, his expression open and unguarded, and there's a look in his eyes that makes your breath catch in your throat. "I'm so lucky."

"Echo," you start, but the words die on your lips as his scomp skims lower, brushing against your hip and slipping between your legs. The tip finds your clit, and you gasp, arching back against him.

"So beautiful," he repeats. He rubs tight circles over your clit, his scomp moving slowly, almost lazily, and you lean back, resting your head on his shoulder. His arm comes around your waist, and his hand slides up to cup your breast, his thumb rubbing against the nipple. "You're amazing, sweetheart. I love watching you."

You moan and turn your head to press your mouth against his. He kisses you, his hand cupping your jaw, and you gasp as his scomp moves a little faster.

"I love the noises you make," he murmurs. He nips at the corner of your jaw, his tongue darting out to soothe the sting. "Love the way you taste, the way you feel."

He's everywhere, his lips pressing against the side of your neck, his hand sliding down your stomach and between your legs, his fingers brushing against where you're aching for him. He presses them into you, and his thumb replaces his scomp, the tip tracing patterns over your thigh as his fingers curl, finding that spot inside of you that makes you shudder.

"Echo," you gasp, the sound practically a sob. You reach back, grabbing onto his neck, and he hums, his arm tightening around you.

"I love being inside you," he says, and his voice is ragged, the sound sending a pulse of heat through you. His cock is hard again, pressing insistently against your ass, and his hips grind forward, the feeling of his body against yours sending a rush of warmth through you.

"Want that," you gasp. "Want you."

"You have me," he murmurs. He adds a third finger, and you whine, your nails digging into his neck.

"Not enough."

He grins against your skin, and the motion makes something inside you snap. You're suddenly desperate for him, for the feeling of him filling you up and driving away the ache that's been building for weeks. You try and turn, but his arm keeps you in place, and he chuckles, his thumb moving a little faster.

"Wait," he says.

"Echo, please," you beg, and he groans, his teeth grazing over your skin.

"Patience," he murmurs. "You can wait a little longer."

He presses his lips to the side of your neck, and his fingers work, curling and thrusting and making your whole body go tight. His arm is solid around you, holding you in place, and the thought of him, surrounding you, pinning you to the spot and taking what he wants, sends a rush of heat through you.

"Please," you whisper, and his fingers twist, his thumb moving faster. "I'm gonna—"

"Yeah," he breathes. "That's it. Come for me, sweetheart. Let me see you."

The sound of his voice, the feeling of his fingers moving inside you and his cock pressed against you is too much. You break, coming with a loud cry, and he keeps going, working you through it. Your body goes limp, and Echo holds you, keeping his fingers buried inside you and his scomp drawing tight circles over your clit. You whimper and try to push him away, the sensations too much, but he doesn't stop, not until a second wave hits and you're writhing, clinging to him for dear life.

By the time he finally pulls away, your legs are trembling, and you're panting, slumped against him and unable to do anything but whimper as he turns the water off and steps out of the shower.

You don't register him drying you off or lifting you and carrying you down the hall, and it's not until the door to the bedroom closes behind him that your brain finally clears enough to form coherent thoughts.

"Echo," you say.

He looks down at you, smiling softly, and he kisses you, the press of his lips warm and gentle. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to. He lays you down on the bed, his eyes drinking in every inch of you, and it's so tender, so sweet that the emotion wells up, filling your chest until you're sure it will burst.

It's only been a few weeks, but it feels like a lifetime. The longing, the worry, the fear... it's been eating away at you, and being here with him, like this, makes the stress and anxiety from the past month melt away, leaving you feeling more at peace than you have in weeks.

He's always been the calm in the storm. You've lost track of the number of times you've lain awake at night, wondering if this was the last time, if this would be the one where something went wrong and neither of you came home. He's always been there, a solid presence, an unwavering support, and the thought of losing him is almost too much to bear.

But here, in this moment, there's nothing but the two of you. There's no war, or missions, or fighting or running. It's just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, safe and warm and together.

And in that moment, you're so happy, you think your heart might explode.

He lays down next to you, his hand finding your waist, and you kiss him, your hands cupping his jaw and stubble scraping across your palms. It's gentle and unhurried, the two of you taking the time to relearn each other. The feeling of his mouth against yours, his skin under your hands, his body pressed against you is almost overwhelming, and you find yourself clinging to him, holding him as close as you can and trying to commit the feeling to memory.

It's not until he rolls on top of you that the slow, lazy pace breaks.

You gasp, his mouth hot and demanding against yours, and his cock presses insistently against your thigh. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he groans, grinding his hips down.

"Want you," you manage. Your hands run over his back, sliding down and gripping his ass.

"You have me," he says, his voice rough. He kisses down your neck, nipping and biting at the soft skin.

"Inside," you gasp, and he moans, his mouth dropping lower, his lips moving over the swell of your breasts.

"Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah, I want that."

"Come on," you say, pushing at his shoulders. He sits up and kneels between your legs, and he reaches down, stroking his cock and giving it a firm squeeze. He looks massive from this angle, his broad chest and shoulders towering over you, and the sight makes something clench deep in your core.

"I don't want to rush," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to the apex of your thighs. "Want to take my time."

You sit up, and his hand finds your waist, pulling you forward and into his lap. Your arms wind around his neck, and his scomp slides up the length of your back, pressing you closer.

"We have time," you tell him, and his eyes are dark and soft and full of a tenderness that makes your heart flutter.

"Yeah," he says. "We do."

You press a kiss to his cheek, and his hand drops between the two of you, gripping his cock and lining it up with your entrance. His mouth finds yours as the thick head slides into you, and it's slow, so agonizingly slow, you're sure he's trying to drive you insane.

You don't remember him being this big.

You know that's ridiculous, that of course he's still the same size, but the thought has a whimper falling from your lips. You try and grind down, needing more, but his arm comes around, pinning you to his chest, and he shakes his head.

"You're killing me," you mutter, and his teeth flash in the fading sunlight, his eyes dancing.

"I can stop," he teases.

"Don't you dare," you say, and he chuckles, pressing another kiss to your lips.

He keeps going, the steady, agonizing pressure of his cock pushing inside making your whole body go tense. You can feel the way he's stretching you open, the way your body has to make room for him, and the thought makes your mind blank, the ache in your core growing.

By the time he's finally, finally all the way inside, the two of you are breathing heavily. He’s so deep, deeper than anyone else has ever been, and the stretch is just shy of painful. It makes your hips jerk a little, and Echo lets out a moan, his hand finding your hip and his fingers digging into the soft skin.

"You're perfect," he mumbles, and you laugh, the sound turning into a moan as he grinds his hips up, pushing a little deeper.

You cling to him, his arms coming around you and pulling you closer. His forehead drops to your shoulder, and you wrap your legs around his waist, letting him pull you closer, as close as possible. The two of you stay like that, holding each other and letting the sensation wash over you.

Eventually, the pressure becomes too much, and you start to squirm, shifting and rocking your hips. Echo takes the hint and starts to move, and the first slow, lazy thrust makes the both of you moan.

He starts a rhythm, and it's like the entire galaxy has narrowed down to just the two of you. Nothing else matters, just the feeling of his cock sliding into you, the warmth of his breath on your neck, the feeling of his heartbeat against your skin.

You know how much he loves being inside you. He's always told you, whispered it against the skin of your neck, moaned it in the dead of night, panted it while you rode him, the words falling from his lips like a prayer. He never seems to tire of it, always desperate to get as deep as possible, and sometimes, you've wondered if there's a part of him that's afraid this will be the last time.

But he's never done it like this.

He's never held you in his arms and pressed kisses to your skin, his hand and scomp running reverently over every inch of your body. He's never taken his time, his hips rocking forward in a steady, measured rhythm, his mouth finding yours again and again. He's never let himself drown in the feeling of it, his eyes half-closed and his face twisted in an expression of pure bliss.

He's never made love to you before.

You've never put a name to it, the way the two of you are together. You've always been careful not to call it anything, knowing that doing so would cross a line neither of you wanted to. It's dangerous, the sort of thing that can break hearts and destroy lives, and you'd both known it. So you'd never said it, never acknowledged it, and had kept it to yourselves, locked away where no one else could ever see.

But now, with his arms wrapped around you, his touch tender and his mouth soft against yours, there's no other word for it. It's the only explanation for the feeling, the one that's welling up inside of you and threatening to swallow you whole, and the realization sends a thrill through you, settling in the pit of your stomach and burning like a sun.

He's making love to you.

You hold him closer, your hand gripping the back of his neck, and his lips find yours, warm and soft. He doesn't say anything, his gaze fixed firmly on your face, and his brow is furrowed, his jaw clenched and his eyes burning.

"So beautiful," he mumbles. His hand runs over your waist, squeezing lightly, and he lets out a shaky breath. "I love this. Love you."

Your breath catches, and for a second, it feels like the world stops. The only sound is his breathing, the only feeling is his hand on your skin, and the only thing that exists is him.

"Echo," you whisper, and his name is a question, the only thing you can manage.

He doesn't seem to hear you, or maybe he doesn't understand.

"Love seeing you like this," he mumbles, his gaze flitting over your face. "Love touching you, love being with you. I don't—"

He breaks off, and his head drops, his nose brushing against your jaw. His breathing is ragged, and his grip on you tightens, and something tells you he didn't mean to say that, didn't mean for those words to fall from his lips.

His hips slow, and he holds you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck and taking a deep, shuddering breath. You can feel him, his entire body trembling, and you pull him closer, your fingers cradling the back of his head and holding him against you.

"It's okay," you say softly, pressing a kiss to his temple.

His scomp skims down your back, the metal still warm from the sun and the warm water. It's a tender gesture, and the fact that he's using it to hold you, instead of his hand, is a testament to how far the two of you have come.

"I love this," he murmurs, and you know what he means.

He doesn't want to leave, doesn't want to go back to the war and the fighting and the constant struggle. He wants to stay, with you, just like this, forever. And as much as you want that, the two of you both know it's not an option.

"Me too," you murmur.

"I wish..."

"Yeah," you breathe. "Me too."

"I love you," he says again.

You swallow, and there's a lump in your throat, a feeling that seems to settle over you, making your skin feel warm and your pulse thrum. You're not sure what it is, but you know that this, whatever it is, is important, that it means something, and the sudden urge to run from it, to shove it down and push it away, is strong. But Echo’s always been there for you, a steady, unwavering presence, and even though you're terrified, the knowledge that he's here, that he won't leave, settles something in you, and the feeling starts to shift.

Instead of the warmth, it's like a fire, burning away the anxiety and the fear, and the knowledge that comes with it makes you feel lighter than you have in months. You're not sure what it means, or what you'll do with it, but there's a sense of comfort in it, and the smile that stretches across your face is genuine.

"I love you, too," you say.

He makes a strangled noise, and his grip on you tightens, his fingers digging into the skin.

"I love you," he repeats, the words falling from his lips. "Force, I love you. So much. I love you."

He says it over and over, the words spilling out of him. He's still hard inside you, and the feeling sends a bolt of heat through you, your cunt clenching around him. He gasps, his hips grinding forward, and he moans, the sound muffled against your skin.

"Please," you whimper, your nails scraping against the back of his neck.

"Anything," he gasps, and his hips start to move, slow and steady.

It's not frenzied, or frantic, and it doesn't need to be. You have time, all the time in the world, and for once, neither of you are trying to race the clock. He's gentle, his movements languid and unhurried, every thrust like a wave, pulling you deeper and deeper.

He's murmuring the whole time, his voice low and rough, the words tumbling from his lips. He's talking about everything, about the way he feels about you, about the things he wants, the places he wants to take you. It's filthy, and sweet, and so perfect, and you let the words wash over you, reveling in the feeling of him inside you and the way his voice makes your stomach clench.

"Echo," you whine, your thighs tightening around his waist. "Close."

"I've got you," he murmurs. His hand slips between the two of you, his thumb finding the swollen, slippery bud of your clit, rubbing slow circles over it. "That's it, sweetheart. Come for me."

The pleasure builds, slowly and steadily, until you can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel. It's intense and intimate, Echo's eyes fixed firmly on your face, his lips parted in awe. You feel open, exposed, vulnerable, and the only thing that makes it bearable is the fact that he's right there with you, his expression twisted and his muscles trembling, his control slipping more and more with each passing second.

"Please," you beg, and his hips speed up, his rhythm faltering as he starts to lose his grip.

"Come for me," he gasps. "Let go. I'll take care of you."

And you do, his words sending a flood of warmth through you, spreading out until you can feel it everywhere, in every part of your body. Your cunt pulses, clenching around him, and Echo groans, his eyes squeezing shut and his mouth dropping open.

"Fuck," he chokes out. He doesn't slow, doesn't stop, just keeps fucking you through it, and you're shaking, clinging to him and shuddering as the pleasure keeps building. "Shit, sweetheart. You feel so good."

"Love the way you feel," you manage, your voice hoarse and strained. "So full. Love your cock, love you."

He curses, his hips jerking, and his scomp digs into the skin of your back, holding you tighter. His hand leaves your clit, and he grabs your thigh, wrapping his arm around your leg and hiking it higher. The angle changes, and he hits something inside of you that makes you sob, his hips snapping forward.

"Again," he grunts.

You nod, the feeling so intense that you can't manage words. You're practically sobbing, the sounds falling from your lips without thought, and Echo's gaze is fixed on you, his expression hungry and awestruck.

"Fuck," he growls, his thrusts getting more and more erratic. "Come on, sweetheart. Want to feel you. Wanna watch you come. Gonna fill you up. Make you mine."

It's filthy, the things he's saying, and you're lost in him, his hand gripping your waist and his scomp pressed into the small of your back. His gaze is burning, and it feels like the room is spinning, like the world is coming apart at the seams and there's nothing left but the two of you, moving together.

"I can't—"

"That's it," he encourages, his voice rough. He's shaking, and you know he's close. "One more. Come on."

You can feel the tears sliding down your cheeks, and his eyes are wide, his expression stunned.

"Please," you gasp. "Echo, please."

"Fuck," he breathes.

It's like a switch has been flipped, and the slow, steady pace falls apart, his thrusts hard and fast. He surges forward, your back hitting the bed, and his scomp slides under your back, lifting you off the mattress.

It's too much, the new angle and the way he's staring at you, and a sob breaks from your throat, your fingers twisting in the sheets.

"Gorgeous," he breathes. "You're perfect. I love you."

There's a moment, a heartbeat where it seems like everything is suspended. His eyes are wide, and he looks almost... shocked, as if he can't believe what's happening, and something tells you that it's not just about this, about the two of you. It's bigger, somehow, deeper and more profound and the feeling that washes over you is pure, unadulterated joy.

And you can see it on his face, in the way his eyes widen and his mouth drops open. He looks like he's about to burst, and it's so raw, so perfect, and the realization hits you like a blaster bolt.

He's happy.

He's the happiest you've ever seen him, and the fact that it's because of you is overwhelming.

"Love you," he murmurs, and it's the last thing either of you say before the feeling crashes over the two of you.

You cry out, and the dam breaks. The pleasure rushes through you, hot and cold, and the waves break, sweeping over the both of you and carrying you away.

You come with a choked gasp, his name on your lips and his fingers digging into the skin of your thigh. His hips snap forward, and he grinds into you, his face twisting and a loud moan falling from his mouth at the way your body pulls him in, squeezing and pulsing around him.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes.

You cling to him, your eyes fixed on his face. He's beautiful like this, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed, his expression twisted into an expression of pure ecstasy. He holds himself there, buried to the hilt inside you as he starts to come, the first pulse of heat making you whimper.

You can feel his cock twitch, and his brow furrows, a broken sob falling from his lips. His grip on your thigh tightens, and his hips start to stutter, grinding into you and filling you up, his come dripping from you. He lets out another choked noise, and he falls forward, his weight settling on top of you and his mouth finding yours.

"So perfect," he pants, his hips rocking forward a few more times, his movements lazy and slow.

You can't respond, still gasping for air, and you can feel the way he's twitching, the way his body is shaking. It feels like forever before the feeling finally fades and Echo pulls back slightly, mindful of his weight. You can feel him dripping from where the two of you are connected, and you bite your lip, looking up at him through your lashes.

"Hi," you whisper, and he laughs, the sound breathless and a little giddy.

"Hi," he replies, grinning.

Echo's chest is heaving, his muscles quivering, and he looks absolutely wrecked. He's staring at you, his lips parted and his eyes wide, and he's looking at you the way people look at the sun after they've spent too long in the dark, like he's seeing something for the first time and never wants to look away.

"I love watching you," he says, his voice raw and hoarse. "Wish you could see yourself."

"Yeah?"

He nods and reaches up, brushing a strand of damp hair out of your face.

"So gorgeous," he murmurs. "Perfect. Wish I could stay inside you forever."

You hum, and his gaze drops, watching as he finally slides out, a trickle of his release following. He swallows, and he reaches down, his thumb slipping between your folds.

"Echo," you whine, your hips jerking a little.

"Gonna miss that," he mumbles, his tone almost dreamy.

"We've got a few days," you remind him. "And I'm not done with you yet."

He grins, and it's so boyish, so genuine and unguarded, that you find yourself reaching for him. Your hands slide up his chest, over the broad expanse of his shoulders and his neck, and your fingers brush over the spot just below his ear, tracing the edge of his jaw.

Echo leans into your touch, his eyes closing, and his head turns, his lips pressing against the inside of your wrist. You shiver and lean forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. He wrinkles it, his eyes still closed, and you can't help the laugh that falls from your lips.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," you say, and he cracks one eye open, looking suspicious.

"You're laughing," he accuses.

"Because you're adorable."

His lips part, and his eyebrows rise. He doesn't say anything, but his face flushes, his cheeks going pink, and you grin.

"That's the last word I'd use to describe myself," he mutters. “Especially when I’m still inside you.”

"I think I'm the best judge of that," you point out, and he smirks, his eyes glinting.

"Well, if that's the case, I'd have to say the same about you," he teases, and he leans forward, nipping at the soft skin just below your ear. You yelp, and he chuckles, pressing another kiss to your shoulder before he pulls away, searching for his pants.

"Where are you going?" you whine.

"To order food," he says. He tugs his pants on, and the sight of him, completely naked except for the loose fitting black cargo pants, is enough to make your mouth water. "I'm starving, and if I'm going to keep this up, I'm gonna need my strength."

"You mean it?" you ask.

He raises an eyebrow.

"Did you really think I'd pass up the opportunity to have sex with the woman I love all day? In an actual bed? With an actual door that locks?"

Your heart flutters, and you grin.

"No, but I'm still glad to hear it."

"Good," he says. He walks back over, leaning down and kissing you, his lips warm and his stubble scraping against your skin.

"Order some food," you murmur, and he nods. "And maybe a bottle of wine."

"Whatever you want," he says. He steps away, and his gaze flits over you, taking in the way you're sprawled across the bed, still naked and covered in sweat and your combined release. He swallows and shakes his head, backing toward the door.

"I'll be back soon," he promises. He points a finger at you. "Don't move."

You give him a salute, and he grins, his eyes dancing.

"I love you," he says, and it's so easy, the words falling from his lips like they've always been there.

"I love you," you tell him, and the smile he gives you is enough to light up the entire room.

The door closes behind him, and you collapse back onto the pillows, closing your eyes and letting yourself revel in the feeling of the bed beneath you, the cool air drifting over your heated skin, and the lingering ache between your thighs.

This isn't how you imagined this week would go. You'd thought that it would be a brief respite, a chance to relax before heading back to the fight. You'd expected a week of stress and anxiety, of wondering if it would be the last one, and whether or not you'd get to spend any of it with the man we’re falling for despite your better judgement.

Instead, you're here, lying in a bed, in a place where there's no war and no missions and no responsibilities. For the first time in months, there's no one depending on you, no one waiting for you to save them, and no one demanding things from you that you're not sure you can give.

It's peaceful, and it's perfect, and the thought that Echo, the man who's seen and experienced more than anyone should ever have to, feels the same makes you smile.

For the first time since the war started, everything is good.

You let your eyes fall closed, and the sound of the waves is soothing, the faint noise carrying up the hill.

In the end, it's not the ocean or the house or the fact that for once, you have nothing to do.

It's him.

Echo.

He's the reason this feels like home.

And in the end, you know that's the only thing that really matters.

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @champagnejaig

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

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@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

#echo x reader #tbb echo #tbb echo x reader #arc trooper echo #the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #tbb echo x you #clone x reader #echo x you #arc trooper echo x reader #roy writes #hello and welcome to my second “echo gets sooo smiley cutesy after sex” ted talk #the grumpy just gets fucked right out of him #and i'll die on this hill actually #did not proofread this much sorry

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dailyadventureprompts · 24 days ago

Text

See You Back at the Bonfire: Checkpoint Based Resurrection in D&D

Artsource

Between doing a writeup on soulsborne inspired campaign settings and another on the oldschool/newschool disparity between challenge and story, I got to thinking about death and its place in gamified narratives. Darksouls was the obvious influence, but I couldn't help but think of Dungeon Meshi, World of Warcraft, and supergiant's Hades.

Back in the day death was common in d&d, the challenges were unforgiving and the characters were expendable as they were simple. High level might as well have meant "high scoring", as the rewards for overcoming deathtraps and monsters with save-or-die abilities were directly translated into character progression. Death in this instance amounted to a combo breaker, being sent back to square 1 in a roguelike to do it all again. Over time though we started getting attached to our avatars, especially those of us who played primarily for story, leading characters to become too emotionally or mechanically complicated to feed into the blender.

This leaves the modern DM in a bit of a lurch: death by mooks or misadventure denies a satisfying (or heartwrenching) endpoint to the story you're collectively telling with your players. Look no further than Critical Role, where there are a small number of plot-meaningful deaths ( Vexhalia in the Tomb, Mollymauk to the Iron Shepards) and then a much larger tally of obligatory moments where someone fails one too many death saves and requires the use of a spell slot. The DM is forced to play with gloves on much of the time, holding back from creating real challenges because they don't want to kill any of their characters at the wrong time.

What I’d like to propose is that when it comes to challenge vs story we can have the best of both worlds if we’re a little more freehanded when it comes to resurrection. It'll take some tinkering and it won't fit for every story, but as a baseline assumption to the d&d formula, I think it could be quite useful.

How It'd Work: If someone dies before their appointed time , their body can be brought to a local temple to have the gift of life restored to them. Temples of their own deity are thought to work best, but lifegiving deities like Pelor or Illmater are known to be quite freehanded when it comes to raising the dead, and even small countryside shrines are known to work in a pinch. The resurrection may not work if the body is damaged, desecrated, or incomplete, though sometimes the spirit is simply incapable or unwilling to return.

For adventuresome types, this means that if you bite it while exploring the wilderness or some dank ruin you best hope your companions like you enough to drag your corpse back to the nearest altar. Likewise hope that you've kept on good terms with that god. If your entire party wipes, there's a chance for a good samaritan (or enterprising corpse picker) to help you out, though they'll usually help themselves to what's in your pockets in the meantime.

Some temples also sell rare tokens or burnable offerings that can transform any mundane campfire into a one-use resurrection altar, though the expendable nature of these charms mean they are in high demand.

Behind the scenes: what we've done here is turn character death from a plot derailer into a plot generator. Whenever someone in your party dies, it's your excuse to introduce new npcs, questhooks, and worldbuilding. Hades uses this trick to soften the blow of defeat with story progression, and DunMeshi uses it to build out the setting.

We can likewise take a point of inspiration from soulsborne games which use the player's desire to find a safety granting bonfire to spur exploration; What's the first thing the party are going to when hitting a new settlement after renting a room at the inn? Check out the neighbourhood temples to see which of the local gods is sympathetic to them. Same thing with seeking out the shrine nearest to the dungeon entrance before descending lower to face greater threats, which has them engaging with the location's story while discovering a minor questhook to endear themselves to the shrine god.

This is also to say nothing of all the fun adventure-fodder surrounding the mechanics including all the delightful "came back wrong" possibilities.

Finally let's talk about some gameplay assumptions: It's a tricky art building d&d encounters, especially since 5e play tends to default towards having fewer encounters per day, meaning a greater importance on these encounters being more challenging. This is a problem that I and many other DMs have wrestled with; finding the right degree of challenge for the encounter to be meanacing and meaningful, but without going so far as to risk an unexpected character death derailing my game. There's only so many permadeaths a player (and a story) can endure, to say nothing of the narrative killing tpk, which can scrap months of investment and storytelling potential.

Videogame designers figured out this balancing act of narrative and risk a long time ago, bumping characters back to a checkpoint when the player is overwhelmed by a challenge. The Soulsborne franchise built it's reputation on this "If at first you don't succeed, die, die again" mentality, which let them build the challenging ( read: engaging) gameplay the series is known for. Games like Hades go so far as to make this reset a centeral point of furthering the plot, allowing the narrative to expand with each stumble along the player's insurmountable climb.

By allowing characters to be easily revived, we end up with the best of both worlds when it comes to narrative vs. difficulty. The encounters we build can be more challenging in the moment if we know we won't accidently end a campaign if the dice get mean. This also makes players more likely to make big swings and try for optional content knowing the campaign less likely to end if they fuck up.

While some people might take umbrage with the idea of making resurrection commonplace, D&D already allows for characters to be revived though in-game mechanics at the cost of cleric spells and diamond dust. The devs figured out pretty early that even in a game centred around frequent violent clashes, it sucks to have a character you're invested in die unexpectedly, and it's better for the health of the game/narrative to be able to get those characters back at a cost. The problem is that these resurrection mechanics are siloed off to mid/high level characters, when it's the low level adventurers who are most fragile and thus most in need of an in-game safety net.

Secondly, look at the Soulsborne series as the inspiration for this post: part of the reason players are able to "Git Gud" is because the fast respawns allow for players to get right back into the action after making a fatal error, allowing for a "die, die again" playstyle focused on persistence and adaptation. This likewise allows developers to develop gameplay scenarios that are properly intimidating:

#d&d #homebrew #ressurection #soulslike #dnd #dm advice

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holdmytesseract · 9 months ago

Note

For the sleepover my love

Yn Kenobi looks for Kylo Ren after the force ghost of Anakin advised her to stop his dark path - they end up in a fight of swords and moral and attraction ❤️

Torn Apart

Kylo Ren x fem!Reader

Warnings: uhhh Star Wars stuff? Lightsabers/fights, angst, fluff? Y/N is Obi-Wan's granddaughter.

Word Count: definitely a bit more than a drabble 👀

a/n: Well... What can I say... I love this. Thank you so much, friend. I changed it up a bit, but you know. 😉

The hangar was bustling with pilots, droids and other Resistance fighters; maintaining and repairing their ships and coordinating things. You didn't pay much attention, though. Your focus was entirely on getting your X-Wing prepared for your mission. But just as you wanted to board your star-fighter, a voice cut through the noises of heavy machinery and chatter. A voice you only knew too well.

"Y/N! Y/N wait!"

You knew you shouldn't; knowing that your friend would only try to hold you back, but you also just couldn't leave.

"Y/N!" Finn called out again; reaching you completely out of breath. "Finn. What are you doing here?" You had a guess, but asked anyway.

"Don't... Don't go." The former stormtrooper panted; looked at you with a pleading gaze. You sighed. "Finn... I have to." He violently shook his head. "No, no you don't. We'll find another way!" "There's no other way," you said; placing a hand on his shoulder. "There always is!" Your friend immediately shot back; almost desperate. "No. Not this time."

A frustrated groan left the man's lips. "Why, Y/N? Why you?! Why must you do this?! Just because you're former friends with this... traitorous snake?"

You sighed once again; memories of your youth quite a few years back flooded your mind, causing you to quickly shut your eyes and close them off again. Now was not the time to wallow in the past.

"We weren't just friends, Finn." It was all you said, before you climbed inside the X-Wing.

"Not just friends?" Finn had clearly trouble to catch up what you meant. "What is that supposed to- Hold on..." All features of your friend's face derailed. The next words he literally shouted at you fell on deaf ears. The cockpit around you was already closed. You took a deep breath, ignored Finn and started the engines. He had no other choice than to step aside and let you go.

You left the hanger and with that the main Resistance cruiser behind. But before you set course for the planet below you, you sent a last message to your General. Leia Organa.

"This is Y/N Kenobi on my way back to D'Qar. General Organa... You might not agree on this, but we both know that I have to do it. It's probably my last- no... My only chance." You paused; taking another deep breath. "I'm going to bring him back to you, Leia. Back to us. I will leave D'Qar with him... Or not at all." With those words you ended your message and addressed your droid. "BB-7?" The familiar beeping of your mechanic friend caused you to smile. "Can you send this message to General Organa as soon as we landed?" The answer came promptly. "Thanks, buddy. Now let's get this done." With that you flew off; opposed the direction of your people. While the Resistance evacuated D'Qar, you flew straight back into the danger zone; hoping that your target would come alone and not bringing any friends.

On your monitor, you saw the ships of the Resistance fleet jump to light speed and vanish on the radar.

You flew straight back to the now former base, hid away your X-Wing in the deep forests of the planet and waited. Waited for your destiny to find its way to you.

And it did.

You could already feel his presence through the force. Even though he hadn't stepped a single foot on this planet. Yet.

You hid on top of one of the tarnished mounds, right behind a massive satellite; watching his shuttle invade the sky above you. You expected him to fire everything he got at the base, but you also knew that he wasn't stupid. He landed - and when the ramp lowered and he stepped out, you felt your breath catch in your throat; heartbeat quickening.

You hadn't seen him in years. Lastly when he destroyed Luke's Jedi temple on Ossus all those years back. Once more, memories flooded your mind. Of that very night. How you tried to talk sense into Ben; screaming his name through the fire, cries and whirring sound of lightsabers. In vain. It was the moment you realised that you had lost him.

And now you were here to get him back.

Due to the mask he wore, you couldn't see his face, of course, but you knew that he must at least feel that something was off. He stood in the middle of the deserted base; looking around for a few moments. Then he made his way towards one of the entries.

That was it. The moment you had waited for; destiny finally catching up with you.

You took a deep breath and left your hiding place.

"They aren't here anymore. Nobody is. You're too late."

Kylo stopped in his movements; like frozen to the ground with his back towards you. You jumped from the mound; landing on the earthy ground right behind him. He clearly needed a moment to recover.

"Am I?" His distorted voice urged to your ears; almost causing your knees to give in. You were so weak in this very moment; knowing that your feelings for him hadn't changed. Not even in the slightest. The difficulty was to hide it from him.

"Yes," you answered as stoically as possible. "You won't find the Resistance fighters here. Neither your mother, nor your uncle."

Suddenly, he turned to face you, "That may be. But you are here." and started to slowly pace up and down. "Why?"

"Because I have to. It's where I need to be. My destiny."

"Your destiny?" Kylo spat mockingly. "This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

Yes... That clearly wasn't the man you once knew. The man you kissed at night and secretly shared a bed with; breaking the rules. But what he did was way worse than breaking some rules.

You clenched your teeth; knowing that you had to stay strong.

"Take at least that stupid mask off you're hiding behind, when you talk to the woman you once shared a bed with!" You could tell that your words hit a nerve; seeing his fists clench and unclench.

Silence settled over the base, until a mechanic hiss sounded from across you. He was taking his mask off. You didn't expect this. Not at all. And when familiar brown eyes met yours, you felt like a deer caught in the headlights. You couldn't even move a single muscle. All you did was looking in those beautiful brown eyes, which were once filled with love and gentleness. The same brown eyes you so often sought and found comfort in. Which had been your safe haven. The key element of your whole existence. The ones you had trusted with your life.

And now? Now they only held darkness, strength and raw power. This realisation ripped your heart into shreds. You wanted to be so strong and now you had to fight so hard against the upcoming tears.

Avoiding his gaze was the only salvation. So you did; let your gaze wander over his facial features instead.

He had grown; was definitely more mature. That much you could tell. The sweet, happy, sunny boy replaced by a cold, harsh, merciless man.

Nevertheless, you couldn't deny that he was the same handsome man with the beautiful long black curls you fell in love with.

Kylo didn't say a single word either; just looking at you seemingly emotionless.

You shook your head; suppressing the tears. "What happened to you, Ben?" "I've seen the truth, Y/N. I killed the past."

This shot a searing pain through your whole body. "Killed the past? Ben, this isn't your destined path! You can still turn around! It's not too late!"

The man opposite you furrowed his brows. "That's why you're here? To win me over?" "No... This isn't just about winning you over. I'm here because I want the man I love back." Now Kylo was the one shaking his head. "It's too late for that, Y/N. You can't turn me. Nothing won't change my mind. Not even love. I'm going to do what I have to do and fulfil my grandfather's legacy...," he snarled; drawing his lightsaber. With an ear-piercing hiss came its blood red blade to light, "...and nobody will stop me. Not even you." pointed straight into your direction.

You swallowed hard and drew your lightsaber as well. Unlike Kylo's blade was yours blue. "Well, that's too bad for you, because I am not going to let you walk away a second time. I already made that mistake once. I won't let it happen again."

"Foolish of you to believe this. You've got too much of your father and grandfather in you." "Yes... Just like you, Solo."

Kylo gritted his teeth and stormed forwards; his lightsaber clashing against yours.

The fight was hard, rough and unforgiving. You and Kylo threw in everything you got; not once backing up or lacking stamina. One moment Kylo had the upper hand and the next you. Your battle had led you away from the base and all the way into the woods; leaving a trail of burnt earth and destroyed trees behind.

And to make matters even worse, it had started to rain.

You stood on a hill; panting heavily. Kylo stood on the forest ground beneath you; throwing you an angry look.

"Let us stop this madness! Ben, please!" You screamed through the rain; feeling the water soaking your robes. He shook his head; waterdrops dripping from his black curls, "No! We are going to finish what we started!" and raised his lightsaber once more; ready to attack. "It's me - or you!"

You just stared at him for another moment, before you took a deep breath - and jumped. With a loud hiss met your lightsaber his. The strength of your blow caused him to stumble backwards, but he quickly recovered. Once again he stormed forwards and wanted to strike you, but you lifted both your arms; catching his wrists before he was able to hit you.

It was the first time since years, that you touched Ben again - and it almost took your breath away. It felt like time itself froze around you and him.

The force flowing through both your veins connected you; causing visions to explode in front of your eyes. Visions of the future. What was and what could be. They flew by way too fast. It was impossible for you to grasp all of them. But no matter how fast they came and went, they all had one thing in common... A different setting, but the same outcome. You and Ben. Together.

One showed you the two of you flying around the galaxy; exploring every existent planet. Another showed the two of you leading the Resistance, together with his mother. You saw love, a marriage, children - a family.

And suddenly it was all gone. Nothing but silence. Around you. In your mind. Everywhere.

Slowly, you blinked your eyes open; feeling the cold, wet forest ground underneath you. Still a bit dizzy and confused, you stood up and tried to understand what had happened.

Kylo sat on the groud as well, quite a few meters away from you.

The force... The two of you touching each other after such a long time was apparently too much.

But you knew what you saw. He must've seen it, too...

On still wobbly legs and knees, you walked over to Ben; hand outstretched. "Come with me. Please. I've seen the conflict inside you. I've seen your future. Our future. You must have seen it, too!"

Once again were those beautiful brown eyes looking up at you; reflecting the conflict you had seen. "I..." He eyed your hand; the light and darkness battling within Kylo. "I can't," he breathed; eyes filling up with tears.

There it was. The glimmer of hope.

You nodded. "Yes, yes you can! Just take my hand!"

He blinked; torn apart about what to do.

You were absolutely certain that you made it - made him see, but then Kylo acted too fast for you to react. Within the blink of an eye, he jumped to his feet and brought you down on your knees; both lightsabers flying off the ground and into his hands.

That was it. He had overpowered you. You couldn't stand a chance.

Perhaps he was right and it was really too late - but you refused to believe this and started one last desperate try.

"What are you waiting for? Do it! Kill me!" Kylo activated both lightsabers; jaw clenching. "Do it!" You screamed at him again. "I'd rather die than live my life without you; knowing that I really lost you forever!"

Your words caused the man towering above you to freeze in his movements.

"You... You would rather die than live without me?" Kylo asked in disbelief. Wind blew through his hair; rain hitting his face again. "Of course I would! You are all I ever wanted and needed! Don't you see?!"

He answered nothing; only stared at you. The gears in his head turning at lightning speed. Seconds felt like minutes, before he extinguished both blades of the weapons in his hands and threw them carelessly aside. You couldn't believe your eyes when he was dropping to his knees as well in front of you; taking both your hands in his. "I... I think I see now. Clearly, for the first time in my life."

You hesitated at first, but then you felt the conflict in him was gone. There was love, peace and light. You made it. Your love made it.

#campfire sleepover #2k follower celebration #kylo ren #kylo x reader #kylo x y/n #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x y/n #kylo fanfic #ben solo #ben solo x reader #ben solo x you #ben solo x y/n #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #kylo ren fanfic #ben solo fanfic

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morganmnemonic · 1 year ago

Text

I've been thinking a lot about the slavery undertones of what it means to own a soul in hell since episode four. It's currently the part of the lore that is eating away at my brain the most.

Because being an overlord in hell has nothing to do with territory or influence. It explicitly a title one obtains by owning people. And while we've only seen this in practice twice (with angel & Valentino and Husk & alastor) and in both cases it isn't pretty. It's a horrific and violating abuse against free will. Which, until we've seen a counter example, seems to imply that carrying out such abuses is an almost intrinsic part of being an overlord.

Which then puts husk and alastor in particular in really interesting positions, narratively. Because alastor is an overlord who rose to prominence by targeting overlords. A slaver who enslaves slavers. And husk used to be an overlord, until he had the tables turned on him. I wonder if how alastor treats husk is really that different from how husk treated the people he owned back when it was within his power to do so. I wonder if it matters.

Anyway the point is yeah wtf there is so much happening with the implications of alastor in particular appropriating the role of slave master when interacting with husk in particular.

Ok but

The inherent classism that Lucifer had with his bellhop, busboy comments towards Al? Something a mixed man from the 1930s would have immediately been alert to. And maybe that’s why he was so pressed over Husks leash comment? Or am I over thinking it?

#hazbin hotel #husk hazbin hotel #alastor #on one hand i really hope that they do end up addressing all of this properly #its so fascinating to me #on the other hand i understand that it is very difficult to adequately address slavery in a story #without derailing the story and accidentally ending up with slavery as the central focus #but with these past few episodes #the way that most people think Valentino is terrible and awful and are rooting for his immediate downfall?#i now feel that way about almost every overlord on screen #i would almost even say that alastor did nothing wrong if not for the part where he decided to keep slaves too #husk gets a pass from my overlord hatred. i feel like hes probably learned the error of his ways by now #especially in the way that he looks at angel and says “hes like me”#i dont think you can see yourself in the suffering of someone else who doesnt own himself and then go back to owning people again after that #the husk slavery redemption arc is a success. which again makes the way that alastor is treating him a major red flag

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steddieas-shegoes · 8 months ago

Text

shirts off

for @steddieholidaydrabbles warm up round 'summer'

rated m | 966 words | no cw | tags: steve harrington has a big stupid crush on eddie munson, road trip, bad luck turned into a good situation, getting together, friends to lovers, implied sexual content

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

The tire popping was really only the start of the problems on this road trip.

The overwhelming heat and humidity was another.

Steve was trying to convince himself this road trip wasn't doomed, that it was just a short series of bad luck and everything from now on would be perfect. Eddie was grumbling as he tightened the lug nuts on the spare tire.

"You sure you don't need any help?" Steve asked him for the fifth time in as many minutes.

"If you ask me again, I'm leaving you here," Eddie replied, dropping the wrench on the ground and letting out a long sigh. "I'm done anyway. Please tell me there's cold water in the cooler."

Steve opened the cooler in the trunk and grabbed the last bottle of water they had for the road. Their plan was to stock up when they got to the beach, but clearly, they'd been derailed for longer than they hoped.

He handed it to Eddie, who proceeded to dump its entirety over his head.

"That was the last one," Steve said quietly, not wanting to admit that he hadn't planned for the worst.

Eddie looked up at him from the ground before closing his eyes and letting out an unamused laugh.

"We're still three hours away," Eddie complained. "We gotta stop at a gas station or something and grab a couple more. It's too fuckin' hot to not have water."

Steve was too busy staring at the way water was dripping down Eddie's neck to process anything he was saying.

"Hello? Earth to Harrington!" Eddie's fingers were snapping in his face, bringing him back from his daydream. He absolutely planned on blaming it on the heat. "Dude, you dehydrated or something?"

"Uh, yeah. Must be, sorry." Steve picked the wrench up off the ground and threw it in the trunk before slamming it shut and turning back to Eddie, who had his brows raised and an amused smirk on his face. "What?"

"Were you distracted by somethin', Stevie?"

Oh no. He'd gone all summer without Eddie being suspicious of anything. Nearly two months had gone by of Steve hiding his stupid crush that was probably a lot closer to love than he would admit out loud.

"Nope. Just hot," he gave a small smile before turning to the passenger door to open it. It was Eddie's turn to drive.

"I'm pretty hot, too," Eddie stood in his way, arms crossed over her chest. "You know what would probably help?"

Steve shook his head, but he could tell by the way Eddie was standing, so confident and knowing, this was going somewhere he wasn't prepared for.

"Ditching our shirts. Get some air on skin, ya know?"

"Right," Steve gulped. "I think once we get the air conditioner blowing, it'll be better."

"Sure, sure. But I'm all wet, and I wouldn't wanna get your seat wet. Might as well take it off until it's dry."

Steve watched as Eddie lifted his shirt off, throwing it in the open window into the backseat.

"I don't think it'll dry if it's bunched up like that-" Steve gasped as Eddie's hands gripped his hips, chests brushing together as Eddie's breath hit Steve's neck.

"I don't think I care, do you?" Eddie's low voice rumbled against Steve's skin. His lips were right there, grazing his pulse point.

Steve leaned his head back, offering himself up on a silver platter, hoping whatever was happening wasn't some heat-fueled daydream.

"So needy," Eddie groaned before licking a stripe up Steve's neck and nipping at his jaw. "Can't believe you didn't think I'd notice you staring for the last 20 minutes."

"I-" Steve couldn't fucking breathe. Eddie's hands were running up his sides, and his leg was pushing his own legs apart. "Eds, we're on the side of the road."

"A road no one has driven down in the last 20 minutes. It's fine," Eddie still pulled his head back, taking in Steve's ruffled appearance. "I'll stop if you're uncomfortable, though. Nothing we can't do when we get to the motel."

Steve's dick was already hard in his shorts, a fact that Eddie seemed to realize at the same moment as Steve.

"You can use my thigh. Take the edge off," Eddie offered.

"How the fuck am I gonna ride for three more hours in these shorts if I do that?" Steve wasn't completely opposed, he just wanted to see how far Eddie was willing to push.

"With the promise of being able to ride me for three hours when we get there," Eddie shrugged, completely nonchalant with what he was implying.

"Three hours? You think you can last that long?"

"For you? I can last all night, big boy." Eddie pushed his leg forward until it made contact with Steve's cock. "Wanna get one for the road though."

The heat was barely even a thought anymore as Steve rutted forward, knowing he wouldn't last long at all with Eddie's lips sucking a bruise into his shoulder.

He wasn't quiet, didn't even try to hold back.

It was the best thing he'd ever done, and he was still fully clothed.

When they got back in the car, Eddie handed Steve a bottle of water from the backseat. It was room temperature, but still refreshing.

"How long you been hiding water back there?"

"How long you been hiding your crush on me?" Eddie shot back.

Steve rolled his eyes, turning his face to hide his blush. "A while."

"I know, sweetheart." Eddie's hand covered Steve's knee as he pulled back onto the deserted road. "Don't have to anymore, though. I got you."

Steve's head fell back against the seat, turning over to stare at Eddie. He had a post-orgasm glow despite not getting off with Steve.

"Yeah, you do."

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #warm up round #summer #drabble #getting together #friends to lovers

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redvdress · 4 months ago

Note

waiter! waiter! more ua hawks, please! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

PERSISTENT GUY (part 𝐈𝐈𝐈?)

A/N writing about ua Hawks is so fun, and i’m glad y’all liking it too. he’s still not giving up on you, but resisting him it’s getting harder. check part I and part II. if you like hawks, check my m.list! and tell me if you want more, requests are open!

It was one of those rare afternoons at U.A. where the heavy weight of hero training wasn’t hanging over your head. Classes had ended early, and most of your classmates were scattered around the school, some grabbing a quick meal, others lounging in the common room. You had already found your way to your usual corner near the back of the library, hoping for some quiet, undisturbed time to catch up on some readings.

But, as usual, peace wasn’t something that lasted long when he was around.

You felt the shift in the air before you heard him—the faint sound of feathers brushing lightly against the floor, the almost imperceptible flutter of wings, and then that irritatingly familiar voice.

“Hey, Shadow Queen,” Hawks drawled from somewhere behind you, his voice low and teasing. “Hiding in the library again, huh? Didn’t think you could escape me that easily.”

You didn’t bother turning around, your eyes firmly fixed on the page in front of you. Ignoring him had become second nature by now, and you weren’t about to let him derail your afternoon. Maybe if you just kept quiet, he’d get bored and leave.

But of course, this was Hawks—he was never one to give up that easily.

“Oh, c’mon,” he continued, the sound of his boots making their way around to the side of the table where you were sitting. “You’re not going to ignore me forever, are you? It’s not like I’m that bad.”

Still, you didn’t respond. You didn’t even look up. But that clearly meant a ‘yes you are that bad’.

There was a beat of silence. You could almost hear him thinking, probably debating his next move, but you refused to give him any sort of reaction. You were determined to finish your reading without interruption.

Then, without warning, you felt something soft brush against your cheek.

Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing as you realized what had just happened.

Hawks was leaning casually against the bookshelf next to you, his golden eyes sparkling with amusement, a single crimson feather from his wings hovering lazily in the air next to your face. He grinned at you, clearly enjoying the way you bristled at his touch.

“Oh, finally got your attention?” he said, his voice dripping with amusement as the feather twirled and danced in the air between you. “You know, I was starting to think you really were immune to my charms.”

You swatted the feather away, glaring at him. “What do you want, Takami?”

Hawks pretended to look hurt, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. “Ouch. Straight to the last name? Not even a ‘hello’? That’s cold, yn. Even for you.”

You let out a sigh, clearly annoyed but trying not to rise to the bait. “I’m busy.”

“Oh, I can see that,” Hawks replied, his eyes flicking to your open book. “But, you know, a little break wouldn’t hurt. I’m sure all that intense studying can wait.”

“Anything is fine as long as I can ignore you for a while” you returned to your reading, doing your best to ignore the fact that Hawks hadn’t moved an inch. He was still standing there, wings flaring slightly as if he was gearing up for something.

And then he made his move.

Another feather drifted from his wings, this time making its way over your shoulder and brushing lightly against your ear. You stiffened at the sensation, biting back the urge to snap at him, but it was becoming harder to keep your composure. The feather traced a slow, teasing line down your neck before drifting back into the air, and you could practically feel Hawks grinning behind you.

“Not interested in talking, huh?” he said, his voice playful. “That’s fine. I’m more than happy to entertain myself.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But then another feather joined the first, this one fluttering closer to your cheek. It brushed softly against your skin, almost tickling, as it swirled lazily through the air in front of you.

Hawks leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, it’s really impressive how good you are at pretending I don’t exist. Most people can’t resist me for this long.”

You swatted the feather away again, trying not to let him see the flush creeping up the back of your neck. “I’m trying to study.”

“Right, right. Studying,” Hawks said, nodding in mock seriousness. “Because nothing says ‘fun afternoon’ like quirk theory textbooks. You’re really living it up, huh?”

He circled around to the other side of the table, his wings unfurling slightly as he leaned over, watching you with that same teasing grin. His feathers, as if sensing their master’s intentions, floated gently toward you, hovering just out of reach, like they were waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“Just tell me what you want,” you muttered, eyes narrowed.

Hawks chuckled softly, clearly enjoying himself. “I just want your attention. You’ve been avoiding me all week. I mean, I get it—you’re an introvert, I’m… me. But come on, yn, don’t you think it’s time you stopped playing so hard to get?”

You glared at him. “I’m not playing anything. I’m just not interested in you.”

Hawks’ grin didn’t falter. In fact, it only seemed to grow wider. “Is that so? Because, honestly, you’re kind of fun to mess with.”

As if to prove his point, one of his feathers twirled down and lightly tapped you on the nose before darting away. You batted it aside, your patience wearing dangerously thin.

“Takami,” you warned, “if you don’t leave me alone, I swear—”

“Or what?” Hawks challenged, his eyes gleaming with playful mischief. “You gonna chase me out of the library with a textbook? You know, I wouldn’t mind seeing that. I bet you’re scrappy.”

That was it.

You snapped your book shut and stood up, your chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Fine. You win. What do you want from me?”

Hawks’ eyes lit up as he stepped back, clearly pleased that he’d finally gotten a rise out of you. “Honestly? I just wanted to hang out. You’re always so serious, yn. I figured you could use a little break from all the doom and gloom.”

You folded your arms, glaring at him. “And you thought teasing me with your feathers was the best way to do that?”

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Hawks replied, his wings folding neatly behind him as he leaned against the edge of the table. He took a step closer, his wings spreading slightly again, this time not in a teasing manner but in a more relaxed, open gesture. “Tell you what,” he said, his voice softening. “I’ll stop messing with you—for today,” he added quickly, raising a finger, “if you come grab lunch with me. Just lunch. No tricks, no teasing. Promise.”

You hesitated, your mind racing. On the one hand, you knew Hawks well enough to know that he rarely did anything without some kind of ulterior motive. But on the other hand… you were tired. Tired of his constant games, but also tired of being alone all the time. Maybe just this once, it wouldn’t hurt to take him up on his offer.

“Lunch?” you repeated, eyeing him warily. “No tricks?”

“No tricks,” Hawks confirmed, crossing his heart with his finger. “Scout’s honor.”

You let out a long sigh, finally relenting. “Fine. But if you start with your feather nonsense again, I’m leaving.”

Hawks’ grin returned, but this time it was softer, less teasing. “Deal. You won’t regret it, I promise.”

As you grabbed your things and followed him out of the library, you couldn’t help but wonder what you’d just gotten yourself into.

After lunch, Hawks decides he needs to up the ante, sensing that the your walls are still firmly in place.

But he knows he has to approach things carefully—he’s already gotten yoh to agree to lunch, and now, he needs something that’ll get you to open up a little more without scaring you off.

He suggests something unexpected: a flight.

“Alright, Shadow Queen,” Hawks says, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Lunch was nice and all, but I’ve got something more exciting planned. How about we take to the skies?”

You blink at him, caught off guard. “A flight? You mean… you want to fly me around?”

He shrugs, acting casual, though there’s a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Why not? You’ve seen what I can do, right? It’s the best way to clear your head. No distractions, no books, no teasing—just the wind and the view.”

Your instinct is to say no, of course, because who just casually agrees to something like that? But there’s a part of you—small, but there—that’s curious. Maybe it’s the promise of no tricks, or maybe it’s just the idea of doing something different, something out of your comfort zone.

You cross your arms, frowning slightly. “And you swear there won’t be any funny business? No feathers?”

Hawks grins, but it’s softer this time, less of his usual cocky demeanor. “No feathers. Promise. I’ll even let you call the shots.”

It’s a strange offer, one you’re not used to. But something in the way he’s asking makes it harder to refuse. Maybe it’s the thought of getting out of your own head for a while, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s actually giving you some control for once.

He’s really something else.

You take a breath and nod. “Alright. But if you start with your tricks, I’m walking back.”

Hawks chuckles, standing up and offering you a hand. “Deal. Come on, let’s get out of here before you change your mind.”

Before you know it, you’re outside, standing in a wide, open space near the school, the wind tugging at your hair as Hawks unfurls his wings. You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you’re making a mistake, but Hawks gives you a reassuring nod.

He steps closer, holding out his arms. “You’re gonna want to hold on tight.”

You raise an eyebrow, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you realize he’s serious. With a small, resigned sigh, you step forward and cautiously wrap your arms around his neck, feeling the strong muscles in his back beneath his jacket.

“This is a bad idea,” you mutter, your heart already racing.

Hawks just laughs softly, the sound vibrating against your chest. “It’s only a bad idea if you don’t trust me.”

And with that, he takes off.

For the first few seconds, your stomach flips as the ground falls away beneath you. But as Hawks stabilizes in the air, soaring smoothly above the school grounds, you feel a strange sense of calm settling over you. The wind rushes past your ears, and the city sprawls out below like a distant, quiet world, so far removed from everything that usually weighs you down.

As you both soar through the air, Hawks can’t resist leaning into his naturally charming self, turning what should have been a peaceful flight into a playful, non-stop conversation.

“Pretty cool up here, right?” Hawks asks, his voice casual but laced with a certain smoothness. “You know, not everyone gets to fly with the number one future hero in training. Consider yourself lucky.”

You roll your eyes, though he can’t see it from your position behind him. “Is this your idea of being humble?”

He laughs, the sound mixing with the wind whipping around you both. “Hey, I can’t help it if I’m good at what I do. But don’t worry, I won’t let all this charm distract you. Much.”

Your grip tightens instinctively as he dips slightly, just to mess with you. “Takami, I swear, if you try any of your tricks up here, I’m kicking you out of the air.”

“Whoa, whoa, relax, Shadow Queen!” he teases, his grin audible in his voice. “You don’t have to be so serious all the time. I’m a professional. Trust me, you’re in safe hands. Or, well, wings.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” you mutter under your breath.

“Aw, come on, lighten up! Admit it, you’re having fun,” Hawks says, his tone as charming as ever. He glances back over his shoulder, flashing you one of those devil-may-care smiles. “I mean, how could you not be enjoying this? You’re literally flying with the coolest guy at U.A. Not to mention the view.”

You look down at the sprawling city below, your annoyance momentarily giving way to the awe of being so high above everything. It is beautiful. But, of course, Hawks notices your brief silence and takes that as his cue to keep going.

“See? I knew I could impress you.” His voice is smug, but there’s a playful undertone that makes it hard to be mad at him. “If you ever get tired of hiding in the library, you could always join me in the sky. We could make it a regular thing. You and me, flying into the sunset—sounds pretty epic, right?”

“I think I’ll pass,” you reply dryly, but there’s a slight smile tugging at your lips despite your best efforts.

Hawks catches it immediately. “Oh, I see that smile! Don’t think I didn’t notice. Knew I’d break through eventually.” He dips again, playfully this time, making your stomach flip. “I should get extra credit for making you have fun, you know.”

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, though it’s hard to hide the laughter creeping into your voice.

“Impossible? Nah, just irresistible,” he shoots back without missing a beat. “I mean, come on, how many other guys can sweep you off your feet—literally?”

He levels out the flight, but you can feel his feathers rustling, as if he’s just waiting to pull another trick. You give him a half-hearted glare. “If you drop me, I’m never speaking to you again.”

“Who, me? Drop you? Never!” Hawks makes a dramatic sound of offense. “I’m the hero here, remember? You’re safe with me.”

He pauses for a beat, then adds, “Besides, if I dropped you, who would I tease all the time? You’re the only one who doesn’t fall for my charm immediately. It’s refreshing.”

“Glad to be of service,” you reply, deadpan.

“I knew it. You secretly like it when I mess with you,” Hawks says, his tone dripping with smugness. “Deep down, you’re a fan. It’s okay to admit it. You’re in good company—pretty much everyone likes me.”

You can’t help but snort at that. “Yeah, you and your fan club.”

“Hey, what can I say? It’s hard being this loved,” he says with a dramatic sigh. “But don’t worry, I’ll always have time for my favorite introvert.”

Your face heats up slightly, but you try to brush it off. “Please, Takami, your ego’s already overinflated.”

Hawks chuckles, his wings dipping slightly as he begins to bring you back toward the school grounds. “Fine, fine. I’ll give you a break—for now. But you gotta admit, you had a good time.”

You don’t respond right away, but Hawks knows you well enough to read between the lines. As you touch down and he lets you go, you catch the satisfied grin on his face.

“See? Told you I could be charming,” he says, folding his wings neatly behind him.

“More like annoying,” you counter, but there’s no real malice in your voice.

He flashes you a wink. “Same thing, really.”

As you walk back toward the dorms, Hawks falls into step beside you, still talking, still joking, but now with a slightly different vibe—a little less teasing, a little more genuine. Maybe he’s won a tiny bit of your trust, or maybe you’re just too tired to keep up the walls anymore.

“Soo..tomorrow same time?”

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