#it's probably not fully in their control how they look at any given time. but they definitely stay stuck in star form for a while.

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Transitional phase

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A Legacies Secret |8|

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: You just wanted a happy life with your girlfriend but then Ghostface attacks, revealing long thought to be buried family secrets.

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 6.7k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Sam wiped away her tears as she left Tara’s hospital room. She jumped as the door slammed closed behind her. Tara didn’t need her, she had you now, maybe Tara never needed her. She left, she didn’t have a right to tell Tara what to do or judge the decisions she made. Sam left and her little sister grew up without her, she was an adult who had no need for her big sister anymore.

Sam once again jumped back when she turned away from the door and right into Richie. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s me,” Richie said softly, holding up his hands to show he wasn’t a threat. “It’s okay.”

“Were you listening at the door?” Sam asked, staring at Richie. It was kind of obvious he was listening at the door, just as you probably were, given how quickly you ran into the room. She needed to hear Richie confirm it himself though.

“No, no, of course not,” Richie tried to wave it off. “Okay, yeah, I was listening at the door,” he just as quickly caved, admitting he in fact was eavesdropping.

“It doesn’t freak you out, that my real father was a serial killer?”

Sam searched his face, wondering why he hadn’t run the second he learned the truth. Sam hated her birth father, she hated herself, she hated being related to him, as much as she loved her sister, she couldn’t blame Tara for hating her now as well, she fully expected the same from Richie. You already weren’t a fan of hers, learning this would probably make you officially hate her even more. Sam couldn’t see how anyone could like her, let alone love her, knowing who her father was and what he did. 

“I mean, yeah,” Richie nodded, giving her an awkward smile. “A great deal.” 

“Okay, go, I get it,” Sam shook her head, trying to keep control of her breathing and not breakdown. She had met an awesome guy, a nice guy, and now she had ruined that relationship, just like every other relationship in her life, all because of who her father was. “I just got to stay and figure it out.” Sam didn’t care if Tara hated her, she didn’t care if her sister never wanted to see her again, this was all her fault and she wasn’t leaving until she learned who attacked her sister, she wouldn’t rest until she knew her sister was safe. 

“I’m not leaving you here Sam.” He said it so simply, as if leaving her there alone never even crossed his mind. Sam couldn’t see how that was a possibility, if Richie were smart, he’d leave her, anyone else would have. 

“If you were smart, you’d get the fuck out.” 

“Well, then maybe I’m not smart,” Richie said softly, stepping forward and taking Sam’s hands in his own. “Because I’m staying.” Sam looked up at him in disbelief, she truly couldn’t believe the words she was hearing, she couldn’t fathom why any sane person would stay when all this was going on, why anyone would stay with her knowing how messed up she was. 

Richie looked down, opening a closing his mouth slightly as if he were nervous to say what he wanted to say before looking back up, looking Sam directly in the eye. “I love you,” he said, his voice shaking with each word. Sam’s eyes darted around, searching his face, she truly couldn’t believe he said that. It was the first time Richie had ever said those words to her, she wasn’t sure if him choosing this moment proved how much he loved her or proved how crazy he was for being willing to stay during this insanity. 

“You’re a dumbass,” Sam said. She wasn’t ready to say those words back yet, she wasn’t sure what was keeping her from it, she had known Richie for six months and they had gotten along right away, becoming friends long before they started dating. Sam just couldn’t bring herself to say ‘I love you’ back. 

“So, your sister won’t talk to you,” Richie caressed Sam’s face, then began running his hands through her hair. “The police aren’t going to help, what’s our next move?” 

Sam’s eyes widened slightly as she realized what Richie said was true. She knew Judy had an officer on Tara’s room and others in the hospital, but they still weren’t anywhere close to actually figuring out who Ghostface was, so they were truly on their own in trying to catch this psycho. “We go talk to an expert.” 

Sam approached the trailer of Dewey Riley, with Richie right behind her, one of the perks of living in a small town was it was pretty easy to find someone, it took her less than a minute to get Dewey’s address. She didn’t know what to do, the only thing that made sense was talking to someone who was there at the beginning, who had survived this kind of stuff before. Technically Sheriff Hicks also survived but she didn’t like Sam and she barely counted as being apart of the whole thing. Therefore, it left Dewey, he was also the only one still in town, everyone else was either dead or had some sense and got out of town. 

Dewey was still sheriff before she left town, he was sheriff during all the trouble she caused. She had remembered seeing Dewey around the station, but she had never interacted with him. It was always deputy Hicks she had the displeasure of interacting with. Sam was also never officially arrested, Judy usually brought her home, occasionally when she was feeling petty, she’d cuff Sam, throw her in the back of the cruiser, and bring her down to the station until her mom could pick her up. No, the only person Sam saw Dewey regularly interact with was you. 

“Go away!” a voice shouted from inside the trailer as soon as Sam knocked on the door. 

“Sorry to bother you Mr. Riley,” she yelled back. “We just want to ask you a few questions.” She really needed Dewey to open the door, if he didn’t talk to them, she wasn’t sure what she would do, she had no idea how to prepare for a psycho coming after her and her sister. 

“I don’t give interviews.” Dewey sounded more irritated. Sam couldn’t blame him, she couldn’t imagine what his life has been like, surviving all those attacks and being good friends with Sidney Prescott. Dewey’s life was probably filled with nonstop questions, people and reports asking him to describe what happened to himself and to his friends. It couldn’t have been easy being constantly asked to relive probably some of the worst days of your life. 

“We’re not looking for an interview.” 

Dewey’s face suddenly appeared in the little window of the door to his trailer. “Give me one good reason I should talk to you.” 

“I’m Billy Loomis’s daughter,” Sam said, staring Dewey right in the eyes. This was the first time she said she was Billy’s daughter and didn’t hesitate, she didn’t question the words leaving her mouth. 

The next thing she knew Dewey was opening the door. “That’s a terrible reason for me to talk to you.” Dewey was no longer yelling, Sam wasn’t sure if that was a plus though, he just seemed exhausted now. 

“My name is Samantha Carpenter,” Sam continued, Dewey at least opened the door, and she didn’t intend to back down now. “I was attacked last night at the hospital. The night before that my sister was stabbed seven times. I know you know what that’s like,” she said the last part softly. She might have wanted Dewey’s help, but she didn’t want to seem unsympathetic. “I’m just trying to protect my family,” Sam sighed. “Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.” 

“I’ll give you two minutes,” Dewey agreed, though he sounded firm in only giving them two minutes. Sam wished it had been more, but she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity, this could be the only chance to get some advice from someone who survived not one attack but multiple. “I’m missing a show I like.” Dewey went back into his trailer, leaving the door open for Sam and Richie to enter. 

“Gale Weathers,” Richie said as he and Sam walked into the trailer. Dewey had her morning show on but quickly turned it off as the three of them sat down. “Weren’t you two…” Sam held in a sigh; she was starting to regret bringing Richie along with her. 

“Yeah,” Dewey said in a tone that made it clear he didn’t want to talk about it. Dewey took an aggressive sip of his coffee, flicking a glare at Richie before focusing his attention on Sam. “Who’s he?” he nodded to Richie. 

“This is Richie,” Sam said. “My boyfriend.” 

Richie smiled, readjusting in his seat as if he were about to offer his hand to Dewey and introduce himself. “How long have you known him?” Dewey never gave him a chance to introduce himself, he never even looked at him again, he just got right down to business. 

Sam was a little taken aback by the question. “Six months,” she answered anyway, though she was a little confused as to why Dewey was asking. 

“Did he know who your dad was when you met? Express any interest in Woodsboro or the Ghostface killings?” 

Sam gave an awkward smile, turning to look at Richie, she wasn’t sure if Dewey was actually serious. She came to him for advice not to be questioned about her relationship. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Richie asked awkwardly. He kept glancing at Sam as if wanting her to confirm if Dewey was serious. 

“Your killer is obsessed with the Stab movies, right?” Dewey asked, leaning back in his chair. Sam nodded, hesitant but curious as to where he was going with this. “Well, there’s certain rules to surviving a Stab movie. Believe me, I know.” Dewey looked off to the side, looking out the window as if his mind went to another place for a second. “Rule number one, never trust the love interest,” he shook his head, looking right at Richie. “They seem sweet, caring, supportive, but then welcome to act three, where they’re trying to rip your head off.” 

“I was with Sam in Modesto when Tara was attacked,” Richie said, instantly defending himself. Sam was looking at Richie, nodding her head to confirm what he was saying. They were together that whole night, she didn’t even get the call about Tara until the next morning. 

“And let me guess,” Dewey continued, sounding more cynical as he went on. “You were just in the other room, conveniently unaccounted for when she was attacked at the hospital.” 

“Okay, do I have to take this from shitty Sam Elliot over here, or what?” 

“Rule number two.” Sam slowly looked from Richie back to Dewey. “The killer’s motive,” he was still glaring at Richie as he spoke. “Is always connected to something in the past.” 

“I’m related to Billy,” Sam said. She already knew Tara was most likely attacked because of her; she knew even before Ghostface said he knew her secret; she knew the moment Wes said Tara was attacked by someone in a Ghostface mask. Hearing Dewey practically confirm it though wasn’t easy, Tara was basically attacked all because Sam was the daughter of a serial killer. 

“Right,” Richie said, nodding along. “But then why kill that random Vince guy?” 

Sam nodded at that; Vince seemed like a random victim. Tara was the first victim, then she herself was attacked at the hospital but it didn’t seem like Ghostface actually wanted to kill her, more like just scare her. You and Tara’s friends were all at that bar, you worked at the bar, you had been outside seconds after Vince was attacked, meaning Ghostface wanted Vince for some reason, no one else. 

“That’s for you to figure out,” Dewey said. “And rule number three, and this is the most important rule.” Sam turned in her seat so she could give Dewey her full attention. “The first victim always has a friend group, that the killer is apart of.” Sam nodded along, she remembered that being a theme in all the movies from the one time she saw them, and hearing about the real-life stories. “Does your sister have a closeknit group of friends?” 

“Yeah,” Sam said, nodding, Tara had exactly that. “She does.” 

“Then look for the killer there.” 

She knew Dewey’s logic; she knew from his experience that this was always how it went down. Sam couldn’t imagine it though; she couldn’t picture any of Tara’s friends attacking her. Tara knew all of her friends since she was a little kid, Sam baby sat all of them, they literally grew up together, Sam watched them grow up. The only person who was new to the group, or she guessed more so, new to Tara’s life, was you. 

“If you can find out why they’re doing this,” Dewey continued. “You can figure out who’s next.” That made sense as well; despite never understanding why someone would dress up and kill all their friends, the killer always had some sort of twisted motive and that motive tended to explain who their victims were and would be. 

“So, help us,” Sam tried pleading. She knew it was a long shot. Dewey hadn’t even wanted to let them in his trailer to talk, the odds of him agreeing to get involved were zero to none. “Help us figure out who’s behind this.” 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Dewey sighed, sounding more exhausted than he had since opening the door. “I’ve been stabbed nine times, I’ve got permanent nerve damage, and a fun little limp. You think I want to do that again?” he let out a humorless chuckle. 

“You just said it always goes back to the past.” Sam still intended to try her hardest to convince Dewey to help, she didn’t think she could figure this out on her own, she needed help. “Right?” Dewey reluctantly nodded, seeming to know where she was about to go with this. “So, if I’m in danger, that means you’re in danger.” Dewey seemed to take in her words as he was suddenly unable to meet her gaze. “Come on, let’s do this, together.” 

There was a split second that it almost seemed like Dewey was going to agree to help them. “Your time’s up,” he said instead. He quickly stood up, walking to his door and holding it open for them. 

Sam rolled her eyes as she pushed herself off the couch and stomped out of the trailer, Richie following close behind her. As soon as they were out the door Dewey slammed the door closed. Sam couldn’t blame him for not wanting to get involved, it was insane for someone to willingly get involved in this mess, she had just told Richie that before coming to see Dewey. That didn’t mean she wasn’t still annoyed that Dewey wouldn’t help them. She figured out of everyone else in the world the person most likely to help would be someone who had survived what they’re going through now, Dewey knew quite literally what they were going through, and he still refused to help. 

“Okay, what’s next?” Richie asked as they made their way back to the car. 

“The friends,” Sam said, easily catching the keys as Richie tossed them to her. She didn’t want to suspect Tara’s friends, but they were the only ones that made sense. 

Before starting the car, she shot a quick text to Wes, asking him to gather the others. Wes quickly texted back saying he’d do it. Sam sat there for a few minutes when another text from Wes came through. Wes had said the others all agreed to meet at Mindy and Chad’s, since they were the niece and nephew of one of the victims of the second killings it made sense to meet at their house. Sam started the car and quickly pulled out of the trailer park, not carrying if she was speeding on her way to Mindy and Chad’s. 

Sam pulled into Mindy and Chad’s driveway, seeing a few more cars there as well. As they were walking up to the door Sam heard another car door closing. She turned around and couldn’t help but smile when she saw Dewey walking up to them. 

“You came,” she said when he was close enough. She truly thought he wasn’t going to help them, that she was completely on her own in trying to figure this out. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Dewey sighed, leading the way to the door. 

Mindy opened the door, leading them to the family room and telling them the others were already there. Sam had only been in the Meeks-Martin household a handful of times when babysitting the twins, but it hadn’t seemed to change much over the years. 

Sam stood in front of the others, she had just opened her mouth, ready to tell them that she was the daughter of Billy Loomis, when there was a knock at the door. Martha Meeks quickly ran to the door, happily greeting whoever it was. Sam glanced back and had to do a double take when she saw you walking into the room. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked. She asked them to gather everyone, she didn’t realize that meant you as well. She was honestly surprised you left Tara’s side for something like this, considering you refused to go to work until Tara basically ordered you to. 

“Tara asked me to come,” you said. Sam let out a hum, now that made sense. She wondered how much convincing it took to get you to leave Tara’s side. “You all have exactly one hour,” you pulled out your phone, quickly typing off a text to someone. “So, let’s get this over with.” You pushed past Sam and took a seat on the far end of the couch, putting yourself as far away from everyone else as you could get. 

“Why are you here?” Dewey asked. He squinted his eyes, watching you carefully even though you hadn’t so much as glanced at him. 

“Tara’s my girlfriend,” you said. “Going to arrest me for that? Sheriff,” you made sure to say that last part with all the sarcasm. 

Dewey narrowed his eyes at you. “How long have you been together?” 

You rolled your eyes, clearly not enjoying yet another person questioning your relationship. Sam would bet money that it also didn’t help that the one questioning your relationship is the cop who used to always deal with you. 

“It will be two years in December,” you sighed, obviously getting more irritated. “Can we move this along, please,” you looked up, meeting Sam’s eyes. “I would like to get back to Tara.” 

Sam nodded, she didn’t want to shift the attention back to herself but you and Dewey arguing wouldn’t get them anywhere, especially if you ended up storming out before they even got started. “Alright,” Sam said nervously. She glanced back to see Richie giving her an encouraging smile. “I’m the daughter of Billy Loomis.” 

Everyone’s mouths fell open. Sam could practically see their brains trying to process the information. Sam quickly ran to take her seat on the couch, not wanting to be the center of attention anymore. She spared a glance at you, seeing you weren’t shocked, she figured you overheard her conversation with Tara or Tara told you herself. Your jaw was clenched as you stared off across the room, your hands balled into fists, and you refused to look at Sam. 

Mindy was the first to break out of her shock by instantly jumping to her feet and running to the closet they had filled with movies. Sam furrowed her brow as she watched Mindy shuffle around the movies, until finally finding what she was looking for and popping it into the DVD player. Sam suppressed a sigh when she saw it wasn’t Stab Mindy had put on but Stab: The True Story. It was basically a documentary of the true story, though no one who actually survived what happened was involved in the making of it or was interviewed. Sam was pretty sure Gale Weathers was involved in some way, but the documentary was mostly made up of pictures and found footage, with a ‘expert’ who had done their research and talked about what happened. 

“So, you’re saying that you’re the daughter of Billy Loomis,” Chad said, being the first to break the silence. “And that, what, one of us is the killer?” he gestured at himself and his friends. 

“The killer told me he knew my secret,” Sam said. It was clear Chad didn’t appreciate him and his friends being accused of being a killer but based on the history, it was always someone in the friend group. “He attacked Tara to lure me back here.” Sam caught you clenching your fists tighter as her words, she assumed you had already figured that part out as well. 

“But then why immediately go and murder some douche-nozzle that was stalking Liv?” 

“And why does it have to be one of us?” Wes asked. “What about deputy Dewey here? Maybe he’s the killer.” Wes shrugged. “No offense.” 

“None taken,” Dewey said. “But what’s my motive?” 

“You got stabbed a billion times, got dumped by your famous wife, and crawled into a bottle,” Wes listed off. “I think it’s safe to say you’re on the suspect list.” 

Sam let out a small sigh, she had gone to Dewey for help but what Wes said made sense. As hard for her as it was to admit it still seemed one of the friends was more likely involved than Dewey. Wes’s argument was good but Dewey suddenly snapping after all these years and going after some random kids didn’t make much sense. 

“Well, maybe you’re the killer,” Dewey said. “Cause that cut deep.” 

“That douche-nozzle is connected,” Amber said. “I googled him. His mom is Leslie Macher. Stu Macher’s sister.” 

“Who’s Stu Macher?” Liv asked. 

“He’s Billy Loomis’s accomplice,” Dewey answered, leaning forward in his seat again. 

“Okay, okay,” Sam said, nodding along, everything was finally starting to make sense. “So, the first three attacks are all on people related to the original killers.” 

“Oh my god,” Mindy said, shooting up from her seat. “He’s making a requel.” 

Everyone looked at Mindy like she had grown two head. “A what?” Sam decided to be the one to ask. 

“Like a sequel, fans are confused or torn on the terminology.” 

“God,” Chad sighed. “Please speak English.” Sam couldn’t help but agree, she understood what a sequel was, but she had no idea what the hell a requel was or what the hell Mindy was talking about. 

“Okay,” Mindy sighed, sitting up straight as she got serious about this topic. “Do you remember the Stab movie that came out last year?” 

“Oh, yeah, the one the Knives Out guy directed,” Liv said, seeming to know exactly what Mindy was talking about. Sam was still lost but decided to just wait and see where they were going with this. “You know, I actually really liked that one.” 

“Of course you did, you have terrible taste.” Sam rolled her eyes as Liv and Mindy had their little argument, even when she was a kid Mindy the habit of being a bit of a movie snob. “The point is the hardcore Stab fans hated it.” 

Sam sighed, beginning to tune Mindy out as she rambled on and on about why the fans hated the movie. She didn’t really care about a shitty sequel to a relatively basic franchise. She was hoping Mindy actually had a point to all this and her random movie knowledge about Stab would actually be useful. 

“What’s wrong with elevated horror?” Amber asked, joining in on the conversation. 

Mindy then went on to rant about how elevated horror was great, but it wasn’t Stab. The only reason Sam had some semblance of an idea as to what elevated horror was because even as a kid Tara loved that stuff. As Mindy said, Stab was a typical slasher whodunit type of movie, Stab wasn’t elevated horror. 

“Come on, it’s just a movie,” Sam sighed, rolling her eyes. She had to speak up, she couldn’t stand listening to them argue about movies and their deeper meaning, they were just movies, they were in the real world where her sister was really attacked. 

“No, it’s not,” Mindy said instantly. “To some people the original is their favorite thing in the world.” Sam couldn’t wrap her head around that, she got liking movies, but not loving one so much someone would begin to blur a movie with real life. “The movie that made them love horror. The movie that mom or dad showed them when they were ten and bonded them together.” Once again, Sam got that, she understood bonding with someone over a movie and both enjoying that. “And god help anyone who fucks with that special memory, who makes a movie that disrespects it.” 

Sam could sort of understand that as well. She truly understood loving a movie growing up and then a few years later someone deciding to cash in on that love by making a sequel or spin-off or something involving those characters and that world. It rarely worked out, it was usually made as a cash grab and not for the fans, then the new fans had a habit of hating it. Being pissed about a bunch of shitty sequel movies to your childhood favorite didn’t give someone the right to go around dressed up like the killer from the movies. That’s where Mindy was losing Sam. Sam didn’t get how someone could take a simple movie so far. 

“It sounds like,” Mindy continued, getting up from her seat before Sam could even think about interrupting her again. “Our killer is writing his own version of Stab Eight but doing it as a requel.” Mindy raised her hands, nodding to herself, clearly proud of her theory. 

Sam would admit, it was a good theory, that didn’t answer her original question though. “Which is?” Dewey asked. Sam was glad he still didn’t get it; she didn’t want to ask Mindy again. 

Mindy sighed, clapping her hands together as she tried to contain her clear irritation at them not getting it. “See, you can’t just reboot a franchise from scratch anymore, the fans won’t stand for it. Black Christmas, Childs Play, Flatliners,” she began gesturing around the room at her friends. “That shit doesn’t work! But you can’t just do a straight sequel either. You got to build something new but not too new or the internet goes bug fucking nuts,” she rolled her eyes. 

“It’s got to be a part of an ongoing storyline, even if the storyline shouldn’t have been ongoing in the first place. New main characters, yes,” she gestured around the room as if all of them were the new main characters. “But supported by and related to legacy characters,” she pointed at Dewey. “Not quite a reboot, not quite a sequel. Like, the new Halloween, Saw, Terminator, Jurassic Park, Ghostbusters, fuck, even Star Wars! It always, always, goes back to the original,” she picked up the first Stab movie to help emphasize what she meant. 

Sam was beginning to fully understand what Mindy was trying to say. “Are you telling me,” Sam started. “That I’m caught in the middle of fan fucking fiction?” she couldn’t believe this, it was even more insane than she ever imagined. She figured someone was pissed because she was Billy’s daughter not because they were hurt that the sequel to their favorite movie was total garbage. 

“Not just in the middle Sam,” Mindy said, a lot calmer than she had been than when she was rambling about the movies. “You’re the star.” Sam could only stare at Mindy, her mouth slightly agape. She knew she was the reason Tara was attacked but she didn’t think she was the reason all this was happening. 

“So, not to put like to fine a point on it,” Liv said. “But according to requel rules, who’s next?” Sam looked at Liv, her eyes coasting across everyone else. She wanted to figure out who the killer was but knowing who the next victim might be was just as important. 

“Going by the pattern,” Mindy said slowly. “Whoever it is has to be connected to someone that came before.” 

They all slowly turned to look at Dewey, he was the only one connected to the original killings. “I’m starting to regret coming,” Dewey said. Sam knew she told Dewey he was probably a target as well, but she didn’t realize how true her words might have been. 

“Jesus, my mom is a character in one of them,” Wes said, sitting up a little straighter. 

“No one cares about the shitty inferior sequels Wes,” Minday said with an eyeroll. “You’re safe.” She turned her attention to her brother. “With Randy as our uncle though, you and I are probably screwed. 

“Wait, what?” Chad asked. Despite literally being Mindy’s twin, he didn’t share the same passion for horror and movies that she did. It seemed as though he didn’t realize that being the nephew of one of the only survivors of the original attacks put a target on his back. 

“Or you’re the killer,” Richie began, laughing Mindy’s theories off. “And this whole elaborate monologue is just to cover your tracks. 

“I think it’s pretty clear who the killer is at this point,” Mindy said, laughing off Richie’s accusation. 

“Who?” Sam asked.  She was staring at Mindy, she had no idea who the killer could be, she didn’t know how Mindy could figure it out so quickly. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Amber said, interrupting whatever Mindy was about to say. Everyone looked at Amber, but her glare was solely focused on you. 

You let out a humorless chuckle, shaking your head. You didn’t seem happy that you were being accused but you certainly didn’t seem surprised. “Are you serious? What’s my motive?” you shrugged. 

Amber shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re dating Tara.” 

“Never trust the love interest,” Mindy mumbled. 

You snapped your gaze from Amber to Mindy, you actually seemed hurt that she was agreeing with Amber. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” you gestured, looking around the room. Sam did the same, seeing everyone staying silent, all of them either looking at the floor or at you like you were the prime suspect, the only one who looked the slightest bit guilty was Liv, she refused to look at you, opting to keep her eyes on the floor. 

“If I can’t have her, no one will,” Amber said. “Classic motive.” 

“The thing is,” you leaned forward, glaring back at Amber just as intently. “I already have her.” Despite Sam’s feelings on you she had to side with you there, you were already dating Tara, had been for a while now. There was no reason for you to attack Tara, there was no one for you to be jealous of and this wasn’t some twisted version of unrequited love. 

“Maybe you’re threatened.” 

“By who? You?” you scoffed, literally laughing at the idea of being threatened by Amber “Please! As if.” 

“Tara knows you’re not good enough.” Amber smirked, her eyes taking on a dangerous look. Sam had no idea what happened to warrant the animosity between you and Amber, but it was very clear where Amber stood regarding you. 

“That’s not true.” You shook your head, but Sam could swear she caught a glimmer of doubt in your eye. She didn’t think you necessarily believe Amber’s words but there was probably a part of you that truly didn’t think you were good enough for Tara, that she deserved better than anything you could offer her. 

“What could you possibly offer her?” 

“You’re trying to get me to doubt my relationship,” you kept your voice low as you pointed at Amber. “I don’t know why,” you shook your head. “It won’t work though. Tara’s love is the one thing I have never doubted.” Sam hated to admit it, but she admired your devotion to Tara and your commitment to each other. 

“Why are you still here?” Amber continued to poke. “You always talk about how much you hate this place, you literally despise this town.” Amber leaned forward, staring right into your eyes. So why are you still here?” 

“For Tara!” you shot to your feet. “I stayed for her,” your voice cracked. Everyone got silent, all of them dropping their eyes to the floor, except for Amber; Sam seemed to be the only other one willing to still look at you. 

“I was actually going to say Sam was the prime suspect,” Mindy was the first to speak up. Sam’s eyes widened; her mouth dropped open as she stared at Mindy. “Daughter of the original mastermind,” Mindy looked up, meeting Sam’s eyes. “It makes sense,” she shrugged.  

“But you,” she shifted her gaze to you. “You have nothing and no one, your parents abandoned you, you were a troubled teen, hated this small town, until magically you got your shit together, turning your life around, then began dating Tara, who just happens to be Sam’s sister. You knew Sam before, no?” you only acknowledged her with a glare. “The perfect suspect, one that’s seemingly unsuspecting.” 

You let out a humorless chuckle. Sam watched as you looked around the room, seeing how no one argued with Amber’s accusation or Mindy’s logic. “Fuck you,” you spit out before storming out of the house, making sure to slam the door behind you. 

“Yeah, because that doesn’t scream guilty,” Amber mumbled under her breath. “Well, this has been fun.” Amber stood up from her seat. 

“Where are you going?” Sam asked. 

Amber rolled her eyes. “Home. Unless you want to accuse anymore of us?” Amber gestured around before making her way out of the house without a goodbye. 

Wes was the next to go but unlike Amber he actually gave a short goodbye to everyone before quickly running out the door. Last was Liv, she gave Chas a quick kiss, saying something about having to go to work and then she left as well. 

Sam sighed, figuring it was time they left as well, she didn’t want to overstay her welcome after basically accusing the entire friend group of murder and after sort of being accused by Mindy. “Well, that went well,” Sam said, as she, Richie, and Dewey stepped outside. 

Dewey gave a small shrug. “Now, what’s your plan?” Dewey asked. 

“Hopefully food,” Richie mumbled. 

Sam ran a hand through her hair. Gathering everyone together had been simultaneously useful and not. They now had a theory on what the killer was doing, they knew his victims were those related to legacy characters, but they still weren’t any closer to knowing who the killer was. 

“I need to get back to the hospital,” Sam sighed. Even if Tara didn’t want to talk to her, she needed to try. She didn’t like the idea of leaving Tara alone in the hospital too long, especially overnight, even if that meant sleeping in a chair outside her room or in the waiting room. 

“I was hoping for something besides hospital food,” Richie groaned. 

Sam sighed, she really didn’t want to waste time going to get food. “I can give you a ride to the hospital,” Dewey offered. 

“Are you sure?” Sam asked. 

Dewey nodded. “Yeah, it’ll give me the chance to ask some questions anyway.” 

Sam tossed her keys to Richie. Richie didn’t waste time, giving Sam a quick kiss on the cheek before taking off towards the car. Richie had started and pulled away before Sam and Dewey had even started walking to Dewey’s truck. 

“A text!” someone yelled, stopping Dewey in his tracks as he started to walk towards his truck. Dewey turned around and Sam peered over his shoulder seeing a woman in a colorful business suit approaching him. “You let me know in a text!” she continued, walking right up to Dewey and slapping him. 

“You were on air,” Dewey weakly defended. That’s when Sam realized who this was, Gale Weathers. 

“How do you know that?” 

Dewey opened his mouth, then suddenly paused. It seemed like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to admit he still watched his ex-wife’s morning show. Sam couldn’t fault him for that it was either really sweet or really depressing, she was starting to think maybe a bit of both. 

“How did you find me?” Dewey settled on, crossing his arms. 

“I tracked your phone,” Gale said without shame. 

“You tracked my-are you insane?” 

Gale rolled her eyes. “I needed to find you and it was the quickest way,” she shrugged. “Who’s this?” Gale turned to Sam, seeming to finally notice her for the first time. 

“Sam Carpenter,” Sam introduced herself. “My sister was attacked. 

Gale tilted her head, her eyes instantly softening with sympathy. “I’m sorry. Do we know anything yet? What about the second victim?” 

“Vince Schnieder,” Dewey said. “He’s Stu Macher’s nephew.” 

“He attacked my sister because I’m Billy Loomis’s daughter,” Sam added. Gale’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head at hearing this information. Sam hated the fact that she was getting used to revealing that information. “Somehow the killer knows and now he’s going after those related to the original killings.” 

“What did you just say?” Gale whispered, her eyes taking on what Sam could only describe as a look of fear. 

Sam couldn’t blame her for being scared, Gale probably didn’t come back to town and expect to be even more in danger. “This psycho seems to be obsessed with the original movie and so disappointed in the ones that have followed, he’s decided to make his own,” Sam rolled her eyes. She still thought it was ridiculous someone was doing all this because of a movie. 

“She’s related to Billy,” Dewey said, pointing at Sam. “So, he went after her sister. Then Stu’s nephew,” he shook his head. “He’s going after anyone related to the legacy characters, anyone related to us.” 

Sam watched curiously as Gale pulled out her phone, furrowing her brow at whoever was calling her. Sam couldn’t make out who it was before Gale declined the call. Not a second later her phone buzzing again. Gale once again declined the call, rolling her eyes. 

Gale let out a frustrated sigh when her phone vibrated again, but this time it didn’t seem to be a phone call. Gale furrowed her brow as she tapped her phone. She furrowed her brow as she stared down at the screen, then her eyes quickly widened as if she realized something. “Oh, god,” Gale whispered. 

“What is it?” Dewey asked. 

“Oh god, oh god,” Gale continued to whisper under her breath. She quickly typed on her phone, dialing a number. Sam furrowed her brow; she had a feeling she didn’t want to know who had been trying to call Gale and what they sent her. “Dammit!” Gale screamed at her phone when whoever she was calling didn’t answer. 

“What? What’s going on?” 

“We need to go.” 

“What? Where?” 

Gale ignored Dewey’s questions as she dialed 911. Sam’s eyes widened; she didn’t know what was happening but clearly it wasn’t good. Gale began speaking quickly, rattling off an address Sam didn’t recognize it seemed as soon as someone answered. “Yes, it’s an emergency!” Gale yelled into the phone. “Tell the sheriff it’s about Ghostface! The next victim is Y/N Y/L/N.” 

Sam’s eyes widened at hearing your name. “We need to go,” Gale said. “Now!” Dewey seemed just as confused as Sam felt but he didn’t question it as he took off towards his truck, Gale right behind him. Sam followed their lead, running off after them. She jumped in the backseat, just barely getting the door closed before Dewey took off, his wheels squealing against the pavement. Sam gripped the sides of the front seat, staring out the windshield, silently hoping they’d get to you in time. 

[simpjaes]

i saw ur threesome ask and ME! I AM WHO U ARE LOOKING FOR OMG IM SOOOO INTERESTED U HAVE NO IDEA HON! i was going to ask for u to do an mtl but don't you think all of them would be most likely? how about instead of that i ask

what would a ffm threesome look like between the members of hyung line and u?

oh, yes yes yes. you're so right! i have two or three other asks regarding an mtl for it but i agree, i think they'd all play with two baddies.

hyung line + ffm threesome

this one is for my fellow lgbtq+ babes!

★ heeseung: oh man, put heeseung between two girls and he's not only gonna be rock hard but probably struggling to figure out what he wants to do first. not at any point would he just be sitting off to the side and watching, oh no no. probably the type to have you and the other girl making out and bumping clits with his cock between you :( would absolutely pussy swap back and forth, as in, fucking you deep before pulling out and stuffing the other girl full just to feel the difference in grip and need. he'd also do a lot of guiding, probably while you're busy taking his cock deep down your throat he'd have the other girl by the hair and pushing her tongue into you. would fucking be in lovvvvvvvvve with having two hotties to ride him at the same time. his fave position would definitely be you bouncing on his cock and her sitting on his face. mostly because if he's gonna be cumming in anyone, it's gonna be you.

☆ sunghoon: i think sunghoon would be more inclined to pay attention to you over anyone else at first, and would always need confirmation to do more, more, more. eventually though, he'd understand the circumstances and something in his brain would just...break. a full on fucking porn star he'd become. never leaving anyone out, always offering pleasure to the both of you, with his mouth, cock, hands, whatever. i'm talking the type to have you under one arm, and the other under his other arm, with both of his hands finger fucking deeeeeeeeeeeep just to feel two mouths sucking on his neck at the same time. he'd also love fucking one of you on your back (with your/her legs wrapped around him), while the other props herself up in front of his face, spreading her legs wide just so he can lick and suck however and whenever he pleases. everyone leaves satisfied when sunghoon is involved.

★ jake: throw back to the original ask about this but like I said before, jake would go fucking insane having two girls make out while he pushes his cock between their mouths and mess of tongues. all three of you guys would be fucking feral. not a single person would be left unfucked or not covered in cum. you'd be all over her, you'd be all over him, and likewise for jake. likewise for the third girl as well. there would be so many instances of jake + her pleasuring you with their tongues, and vice versa. hell, jake would probably get down on his knees just to eat both of you out at some point too, always swapping his mouth to his fingers just to mix the flavor of both cunts in his mouth. would be soooooooo hungry for it too. there would be a lot of oral and oral fixation in this situation. just a lot of...tasting each other before the eventual fucking takes place. and mannnn, would jake be in heaven at that point. having two girls fight to sink down on his cock is one thing, but having two girls agree how much of him they get is somehow even better? Opting to pay more attention to the one not riding him into oblivion at any given moment just to make damn sure that everyone is moaning and feeling just as good as he does.

☆ jay: probably a little bit of stage freight at first, seeing you and your best friend grinding on each other fully clothed, patting the bed as if to invite him to join. Which, i mean, of course he would need to join, you did this for his birthday lol. jay would become the ultimate service top, which for you can be a bit jarring considering how well he manages control when it's just the two of you. in this circumstance, he lends most of the control to you. he's also definitely the type to make small comments like, "can i watch you eat her out first?" just so he can lay back and reeeeeeeealllly enjoy the show before joining himself. and he would enjoy it, honestly, like his cock would be fucking weeping by the point you lunge for it with your best friend in tow. much like jake, jay would also go insane seeing two pretty girls with their sparkling eyes blinking up at him as they both work their tongues against his cock :/ like i'm talking his eyes would be fucking crossed at how good it feels. and, well, by the end of the night (which arguably, this would take place for hours because his stamina is....intense), he'd have already fucked you both with his tongue, cock, and hands well past the point of satisfaction.

[uglypastels]

Your Logan fics have been great. I enjoy your style and how you write him. It’s so so good.

I had an idea while reading the brainwashed reader one:

Logan is on a mission to a bunker or lab or something for the X-men. Charles requested told him he had to go and help Scott. They go to this bunker and it ends up being a rescue for some mutants that were being experimented on and one of them once back at the mansion is having issues with controlling their power, and Charles asks Logan to help them. I picture the power being very volatile so Logan is there to help because he can take a hit and heal from it. Cause the reader is too scared to use the power on anyone and Charles told them he had the perfect teacher.

thank you so much!!

shoutout to @deceptive-daydreams for helping me come up with the details of this thing. had a lot of fun, as always, writing this request, so please keep em coming yall.

warnings: implied PTSD. platonic teacher/student dynamic. fire. explosions. swearing. anxiety. lots of banter and fluff.

Masterlist ~ X-Men Requests are Open

It had been two weeks since you had moved into the Mansion. Moved in. That’s all that you could bring yourself to call it, doing your best to not think about anything up to the moment that you had been ushered inside the large building and given a room to stay in for as long as you pleased. It had taken at least three days for you to actually get out of there, to let yourself roam the halls freely, reminding yourself that it was safe. 

For you, at least. No one would harm you here.

But not the same could be said about the rest.  

You had never been fully capable of controlling your powers, feeling more like they controlled you instead. When you were held captive, it was them who held power over both. But now that you were free, it was time for things to change. That much had been clear from the second you set foot in the mansion.

Professor Xavier had given you permission to make use of the Danger Room to train as long as you were under the supervision of one of the faculty members—something that should have given you comfort but instead only formed more anxieties.

‘I don’t want to hurt anyone,’ you confessed.

‘You can’t do this on your own,’ the Professor smiled softly. ‘As with any skill, a fine mentor is the first step to succeeding.’

You weren’t sure about that, but also knew that alone, you wouldn’t be able to get anywhere anyway. 

‘Don’t worry,’ the Professor read your mind. ‘I have just the teacher for you.’

⮿

You had recognised Logan as the man who had helped you escape. Who held your hand and hadn’t let go until you stopped shaking. Who gave you soft reassuring smiles whenever you saw eachother across the corridors, reminding you that were alright here.

You knew he was a skilled fighter, but, truthfully, you had not expected him to be the one Professor Xavier assigned as your supervisor in this training endeavour.

‘Show me what you got, kid.’ He said as he took off his leather jacket, and you immediately wish he hadn’t.

‘It’s probably better to keep it on.’ You stated, wincing at his exposed skin. He looked up at you, taking a moment to comprehend what you meant until the nickel fell with recognition.

‘Right.’ He put the jacket back on and leaned against the wall as you watched him expectantly for further instructions. ‘So, what do you do?’

‘You know what I do.’ You couldn’t help but laugh at the question.

‘Explain it to me again.’ He shrugged.

‘Well… I set things on fire.’ The words came out apprehensively.

‘No. I said, explain it to me. Dumb it down like I was a five year old.’ This felt ironically hard to do as you felt like he knew more about your power at this moment than you ever had.

‘I don’t understand—’

‘To be able to control your abilities, you got to understand it.’ Logan clarified. ‘Know what it is that you’re actually doing and you’ll know what to do to keep it contained.’

Yeah, if put like that, it made sense. It also sounded far easier than it was. Understand it, and you’ll be able to control it. Sure. You thought for a moment, back to school and the damn chemistry classes you hated, but now suddenly started to feel rather useful. ‘I uhh… manipulate atoms, rearranging them with the air and heat around them to cause objects to catch a flame.’

‘That’s more like it.’ He praised, and even though it barely meant anything, you felt yourself smile at the kind words. ‘How much have you got it under control?’ But then the question and his inquisitive glare down at you made you feel very aware of your body and your mind.

‘With uhm— with enough concentration I mostly I target the right object, but once the fire is up, I can’t contain it.’ Which was the most important part. If uncontained, the fire would just spread, destroying everything in its way. That much you already knew. You still woke up screaming from the memories of the radiant flames and screaming all around you.

‘And, nothing personal, but I gotta ask, controlling the fire also falls under your division?’ He had crossed his arms.

‘Uhm…’ you didn’t know how to respond to that. 

‘Only asking because we had this kid Jonny who could control fire, but he needed a spark to start it. Maybe you two are two sides of the same coin?’

‘No, I have managed it before. But never long. It would go up and down and up again, the way I wanted it to, but it was exhausting and then I couldn’t handle it and it would all go  to shit.’ You started rambling, and just like the fires, you couldn’t get yourself to stop.

‘Alright, alright.’ Logan spoke calmly. ‘First thing we gotta do is work on you.’

You blinked slowly.

‘It’s all the same with you elemental kind. It’s all in your head. If you can’t get your emotions under control, then the fire will never go out.’

‘That… makes sense.’ You took a deep breath and thought of all things sweet and soft and calm.

‘Alright, I haven’t got all day.’ He clapped his hands, and you tried to not let the loud sound get to you. 

Let the games begin. 

⮿

A few weeks went by, and you wish you could have said you were making progress. 

No, you had to be kinder to yourself. There was progress. It just wasn’t at the pace you had hoped to reach at this point. Logan had helped you with your targeting, and you could proudly say that you had reached an estimated 98% accuracy score. The larger objects you had no problem with, but the smaller and the further away things were, the more you seemed to struggle. Which was perfectly fine, Logan reminded you.

‘You expect to be able to hit a bullseye in the dark from a hundred yards away?’ 

‘I’m sure some people could,’ you mumbled, frustrated as you watched the wrong matchbox in the near line of 4 burn to a pile of ashes.

‘Beating yourself up about it is not gonna help you, kid.’ Logan said, already replacing the box with a new one. ‘Again.’

Knowing that complaining about his training methods would not help either, you simply squinted and focused on the third matchbox, doing your best to ignore the other ones lying around. They simply did not exist. All there was, was this one stupid matchbox— whoosh, and suddenly, the box was no more, just a pilar of blue flames. In your excitement at having finally hit your target, you had completely forgotten to keep the fire down. 

‘Shit, shit, sorry.’ You did your best to suppress it, but it seemed like the fire was in a funny mood today and decided to do the exact opposite of your demands as it grew by the second until Logan had no choice but to drench it with a bucket of water. 

⮿

‘Have you gone mad?’ You stared blankly up at Logan, who–much too confidently, in your opinion– positioned himself a few paces ahead of you. A cigar in hand. 

‘It’s clear that you need some incentive.’

‘I don’t think your death wish can be called that.’ You protested. ‘I’m not doing it.’ ‘Yeah you are.’ He simply said. ‘I’m the teacher. I’m telling you to light the damn thing, so get on with it,’ he growled as he put the cigar between his teeth.

‘Actually insane.’ You said to yourself. ‘There is no way this is going to end well.’

‘Focus sweetheart.’ He did his best to look calm and composed, but you saw how his shoulders tensed as you prepared to do the task. There was so much more you wanted to say to him, but you just had to block it out. All of him had to cease to exist. All you saw was the tip of the cigar. The tiniest layer of tobacco, the–

You shrieked as Logan’s face disappeared behind a cloud of black smoke as the cylinder in his mouth exploded. 

‘Oh my god, Logan!’ You ran to him, relieved as you heard him cough. With the smoke gone, you were happy to realise that it had only been the cigar that had exploded, leaving behind the tiniest but right where Logan had held it in his mouth. The rest of it combusted all around him. ‘Are you alright?’ 

His entire face was black with soot. You watched him wipe it off his eyes, blinking sporadically, clearly dazed from the explosion. You edged to repeat your question of concern, but before you had the chance to, Logan held a thumb up, spit the bud of the cigar out, and coughed out another thick cloud of smoke. 

‘All’s good, bub.’ And you would have believed him if not for the fact he sounded like a cat that had just been suffocated, his burnt throat squeaking out the vibrations of his voice. ‘Let’s try—’ he was about to suggest another exorcise before he erupted in another coughing fit. 

Easy to say you had called it a day after that.

⮿

‘Alright, easy now.’ Logan directed you. 

‘I know what I’m doing, Lo.’ You retorted. All day long, he had been just non-stop talking, making it very hard for you to focus on the job at hand.

‘Do you?’ He quipped, making you glare back at him just long enough for the fire to double in size. You cursed as you held it back down—at least, that’s something you were able to do now. 

‘You got to focus.’ He came over to you as you put the fire out completely.

‘Well, stop distracting me.’ 

‘That’s easy enough here, but what do you think out there’s gonna be like?’ He cocked his head at the walls, indicating the outside world, where indeed, there were distractions aplenty. ‘No one’s gonna give you time to do your breathing exercises in the real world, kid.’

‘Then why give them to me in the first place?’

‘I’m not the one you want to fight,’ was all he said in response. It had been months, and by now, he knew all there was to know about you in the learning environment. He knew how to push your buttons, fire you up and hose you back down. He could tell what you were thinking and it was infuriating that you could not figure out the same about him.

But, suppose that’s what made him the teacher and you the student.

‘Sorry,’ you sighed, letting yourself fall onto the ground, pulling your knees up to your chin. ‘It’s just so frustrating. We’ve been here for months and—’

‘And we’ll stay here for months more if that’s what you need to improve yourself.’ He squatted beside you. ‘You got this. No need to give up now. Or else my time here’s really been a waste, and I don’t take to that too kindly.’ He gave you that smile that once had only been reserved for quick passes in the hallway but now had become the favourite part of your nearly daily training sessions.

‘Sorry,’ you laughed. 

‘Don’t be.’ He got up, extending his hand as leverage as you got back onto your feet as well. ‘Think you got one more in you for today?’

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

if you enjoyed the fic, please consider reblogging and leaving a comment. or send a message via my inbox. requests are also more than welcome. 💗

[strwbmei]

i can't get kafka off the brain, she's so attractive 😭 she'd be such a huge brat, testing your patience all the time with that smug grin. she deserves to get tied up, gagged, spanked, humiliated and fucked until she's crying and promising to be good 💞 she's 100% a masochist

-🌧️

I am so sorry. This was only supposed to be a short, 2-4 paragraph thirst, but then it turned into pure filth 😭😭😭 Also a bit extreme compared to other things I've written, so it might not be to most people's tastes

nsfw utc (fem reader with strap on, bondage, dom/sub dynamics, use of toys, spanking, dacriphilia, not proofread)

She'd probably rile you up on purpose just for that. There's nothing she wants more than to just lay there and get fucked senselessly until she inevitably ruins the sheets, and she knows you're perfectly willing to accommodate her. Still, getting what she wants so easily would be so boring, wouldn't it? It's not fun if you aren't seething with a kind of irritation only Kafka could make you feel and if she still has some form of control of her body.

It'd start with you tying Kafka up, a bullet vibrator pressed onto her clit. The way her moans sound through the gag is delightful; they show how much of a whore she is for you. You watch her with disinterest and indifference in her eyes, fully clothed as opposed to how the only things Kafka is wearing are a ball gag and fancy ropes of silk the color of your eyes (something she insisted on) digging into her curves and currently unblemished skin.

It's humiliating, really, being forced to feel all vulnerable and owned—but both of you know just how much she loves that. Maybe if you're in a good mood, you'll even let her cum once or twice tonight. Kafka doubts that, though, especially with how bratty she's been acting. Your patience has its limits, and Kafka wants nothing more than to push you over the very brink of it. She starts begging, vulgar and wanton; almost mocking in its tone.

Kafka thinks you've finally given in when you remove the vibrator from her puffy clit. She prides herself in her beauty, after all. No one would be able to resist her "charms" for long... right? Wrong. Instead, you push her down, knees bent so her face is pressed into the mattress while her hips are up in the air. When you start spanking her ass, she begs for the bullet vibrator again. Her abused cunt just feels so empty, fluttering around nothing as your hand leaves yet another mark on her ass. She's already so overstimulated, and you've barely even started.

The woman endures, locks of hair the color of her most favored wine cascading along her back as each moan becomes more strained than the last. Anticipation fills her lust-addled head as she feels the tip of your length rubbing against her folds. You relish in the way her back arches as you finally insert the strap-on inside her neglected cunt, not to mention the drawn-out moan she lets out. God, you're sure her facial expression right now is downright sinful—you can tell by how she's clawing at the bedsheets and eagerly moving her hips to chase yours.

But you don't move.

Why would you? Did Kafka think you'd be nice to her after all that she's done? Her whines are barely audible through the ball gag, but you hear her mention something about "how mean you always are to her." Funny. You've been patient with all of her bullshit for as long as you've remembered, yet now you're the mean one. You were planning to be a bit lenient since you felt bad for her, but she can wave goodbye to any chance of being able to use either her voice or her legs for the next few days.

"Move," you command her. "Don't you think it's time you stopped relying on me to get you off?" Kafka whimpers at your words, looking back at you with glossy eyes. You can't help but snicker in response. It's rare to see her so desperate and needy to be filled. Maybe you should do this more often? She never really learns her lesson, after all. Realizing you weren't gonna budge on your decision, she rocks her hips as much as she can with her limited range of movement. She can feel each vein and bump of the fake toy rubbing against her walls, but it just isn't enough.

It's not rough enough. Not fast enough. Not deep enough. Nowhere close to being enough, but Kafka submits to the humiliation nonetheless. She can't bring herself to care anymore, too focused on making sure to savor each and every bit of pleasure she's feeling. You look at how fervently she's fucking herself on the fake cock, and think of how you've each turned the other into fully fledged perverts. Kafka wasn't this much of a masochist before she ended up in your bed. Or was it hers? You don't remember.

She never understood the people who liked getting hurt. Kafka used to find the marks that ropes left on her skin itchy and unbearable, but now she loves reliving the memories of lust and passion whenever she sees them. She wears them with pride. You, on the other hand—have never felt like more of a degenerate. You catch yourself wanting to break her; to ruin her for anybody else. You desire to know her body in a way completely exclusive to you. You want to own her; mind, body, and soul.

The past few minutes are a blur. Without realizing, you've been fucking Kafka senseless as she sobs from the overstimulation. The smell of sex fills the air as does the sound of your hips colliding with the fat of her ass. You thrust as quickly as you can, much to the other woman's pleasure, but the tightness of her pussy makes it more difficult than it usually is. You've been holding her over the brink for a while now—you're not sure how long exactly, but enough for her legs to be shaking and for her knees to give out. If not for your hands settling themselves on her waist, she would've toppled over. Kafka is powerless, and she loves it.

When you see her cum form a white ring on the base of your strap, you know you've found another excuse to fuck her dumb, and you plan on making full use of it.

[animeyanderelover]

Hey! I love your writing!

Could i request headcanons of Yandere Douma with a member of the eternal paradise cult that has never asked him for anything despite the fact he's essentially their god. They assume hes probably stressed hearing and trying to fix other people's problems all the time so they never ask him to fix their life but theyre a diligent worshipper and helper around the cult.

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, clinginess, manipulation, sadism, isolation

Tags: @leveyani @kanaosprotector

It must be tough to be a god

❄️​What others may only see as utter terror if they would know what is going on behind closed shoji doors is viewed as an act of kindness by Douma. The consumption of his followers is a sign of mercy and kindness as he frees them from their pitiful and pathetic human lives by devouring them. How can those creatures not be tormented by their own existence after all? Their bodies age and decay, their beauty vanishes and in the greater order of things they are flies just waiting to be swatted away and to be forgotten. Needless to say, he looks at your kind with rather condescending opinions yet such thoughts only convince him further of his good deeds. He lends them an ear when they seek him out, desperate and in agony, their heart shackled with chains only he can take off. He has always listened and given words of comfort and as empty as they may be, they latch on them like a leech does on human skin.

❄️​You are one of many faces in his cult, one that should be meant to be forgotten when your time eventually comes. Through hard word and sheer dedication though, you have earned yourself a position where you spend more time with Douma than the average follower. It is a honor you humbly accept as you work earnestly to do your assigned duty and the expectations of everyone justice. You gladly accept all compliments given to you by other worshipper in the cult yet Douma's words of gratitude are the ones that make your heart race the most, although you never let those sweet words get to your head. You believe that one shouldn't slack off because of kind words and compliments and that one should work hard and do their best every day to achieve self-control and inner peace. You fulfill your duties remarkably well and always look out if Douma should need something which you will then promptly arrange for him.

❄️​He praises you for your diligent performance and your hard work yet those words do not match his low thoughts. Douma is quite used to seeing little things like you who would do everything for him in hopes of gaining his attention and his affection. Surely you must be the same. A desperate, little thing who is prying for his love by working so exceptionally hard. He has always entertained such pathetic feelings as it is his duty to cater to the worries of his followers and he thinks that it is time for him to reward you too. What is it that your heart desires most right now? Tell him and he'll see it through to fulfill that little wish of yours. He expects you to utter the common wish of wanting his affection and attention, of the forbidden desire to be claimed by him, even if just for one night. Yet you don't fall for his seductive tone and the temptation of his body so close to yours as you express to him that you have no other wish than continuing to serve him loyally as you have done all this time before.

❄️​Your response puzzles the demon as he has never received such an answer to his offer. He makes no attempt to stop you though as you distance yourself from his body and excuse yourself before heading out, though he tilts his head curiously as his colorful eyes move with you until you are out of his sight. It is only after you have left that Douma fully recognises what has happened and as soon as he has realised, he can't help but let out a rather excited giggle. You denied his offer. You rejected him! Maybe if any of his other followers would have known about your behavior they would have ganged up on you to punish you for your rude and dismissive behavior. Yet the emotions rushing through Douma's veins are far from displeased in that moment as he finds himself rather curious and thrilled all of a sudden as he has never had someone treat him the way you just treated him. It is only the start of his obsession.

❄️​Suddenly you find yourself as the unfortunate target of almost all of his obsession as his attention is solely fixed on you. Boredom has been his only true companion that has always been with him even during his human years yet for the first time in his life he is experiencing something that isn't just a shallow and fleeting emotion. For the first time he sees a bit more worth in a human than what he normally thinks of them and it is rather thrilling to feel. Douma always appears in the places where he knows you are at the moment and successfully distracts you from your duties, quite displeased when you don't give all of your attention to him. You can feel his eyes on you even if you don't face him though and even if you are a dutiful worshipper, you tend to feel a bit creeped out by his behavior. He can't seem to hold out even a minute without asking you something or interrupting you otherwise as the feeling of boredom returns as soon as you don't pay attention to him.

❄️​Despite the rather childish and clingy attitude he suddenly expresses when he is around you, Douma is still quite observant. The demon is aware that you only tolerate this behavior of his because he is the leader of this cult. If it would have been anyone else, you would have given them already an earful. He wonders how far he can take this? If he would have been an honorable man, he would have felt guilty for suddenly abusing his power over you to invade your privacy, to touch you and to downright molest you at times. He isn't though and he will never be. He takes delight in listening how your heartbeat always picks up when he touches you, his hands lingering as they slowly rub up and down your body and watching how you can only uncomfortably squirm whilst his hands linger. You are normally always rather composed and calm so it is quite fun to be the reason for you to lose your facade. Perhaps he can coax you into requesting something special of him if he shows you his interest so boldly.

❄️​You remain unwilling to ask anything of him even as he continues expressing his interest in you through caresses and touches which soon has Douma wondering if you keep something from him. All of his followers have worries and wishes they confess to him yet only you have never made use of his services. Do you not trust him? Is that it? As fun and exciting your different attitude is, if you don't trust him that is a little bit of an issue that bothers Douma the more he thinks about it. He finds himself being rather straightforward this time without playing around as he asks you this question as soon as you have appeared before him due to him having sent for you. It is quite hard to decipher his true feelings as he still keeps a grin on his face, although his eyes are sharp and intense as he expects an answer from you. You see yourself pressured to answer his question, watching nervously as he tilts his head before he suddenly lets out an amused chuckle.

❄️​Your answer is just as adorable as you, you know? It is quite interesting that you have such silly worries, although he does feel quite flattered to know that you care that much about him. Though you should know that it is quite frustrating for him as you don't open up to him as much as all other followers yet it is you he has the most interest in. Be assured that it would sadden him more if you were to keep secrets and thoughts away from him. Those friendly words of his still hold a silent demand for you to open up all of your thoughts for him because Douma finds himself slowly feeling impatient that you keep such a wonderful mind away from him. If you still dare to hold on to your unwanted worries and deny him, you'll have to live with the punishment he as your god will give you. If you do not give him what he desires, he'll get it himself. There is a lot you don't know about each other after all but he'll be happy to share all of his secrets with you and find out all of yours in return.

[zeroslashsix]

Following my Gambit post, I love love love the way Rogue's powers are handled in X-Men Evolution. Like Gambit, Rogue tends to have a certain set of 'roles' when she's in a show/movie: she's focused on inner torment about her powers, on being a Spicy Southern Belle, or her romantic connections. Which is to say, her stories are usually about emotions and relationships, which is fine, I love those parts of her as much the rest. But if she's not fighting, her powers are only really viewed through a lens of how she feels about them, and how they impact her ability to connect with others.

And here's X-Men Evolution, fully leaning into the fact that Rogue’s power is one of the most dangerous in the entire show. I love the s3 ep "Self-Possessed" so much because it takes the brakes off her, and really commits to the idea that stacking powers is catastrophic when you consider she can wield multiple omega-level powersets at the same time. Her main limitation is that she doesn't want other personalities in her head, she limits her power usage because she just doesn't like it, and yeah, totally fair, but Rogue could absolutely wake up one day, go through the mansion and decide to be an omega squared. X-Men Evolution is about teenagers who are still figuring out their abilities, even at the end of the series when they're a year (two years?) older. By the finale, they have more control and training, but they are absolutely still growing into adulthood and have not reached full potential.

Which is why I think "Self-Possessed" is such a fascinating look at Rogue's powers. Every iteration of Rogue imposes a time limit on her absorption, meaning that any powers she absorbs will only stay with her for a short time. But in that episode, when she's succumbing to all those personalities in her head, her time limit stops existing. She can access powers for months, maybe even years after the initial absorption. Mystique's powers couldn't have given Rogue that ability; the only way Rogue could do such a thing is if that potential already exists inside of her. This implies that when she absorbs a power, that power stays inside her as long as the personality does, and her "time limit" is just a matter of control, or lack thereof.

This seems to be backed up by the s3 finale, where Mesmero and Mystique mind control Rogue to gather powers, and Rogue proceeds to SWEEP the X-Men, Brotherhood, Acolytes, and Magneto in less than 24 hours. By the end of it, she seems fully capable of using any and all their powers at will, ignoring any sort of time limit. Mesmero can mind control others, but he can't enhance them. He cannot give someone powers they don't already possess. The only reason Rogue could do all that is because she was already capable of it, and the fact Mesmero could mind control this out of her seems to imply that Rogue's limitations are entirely self-imposed, mostly mental/emotional, or maybe a lack of experience. (Similar to the season four finale where Rogue seems to use Leech’s power better than he does, probably just because he’s a little kid and she’s an adolescent so has a better grasp on powers in general)

Like, no wonder Mystique and Destiny wanted her powers. No wonder Magneto was so thrilled to have her in the ranks in the first season. No wonder so many people in the world want to use her; she is the all-mutant, the living multi tool that can gather multitudes of power in one place and then combine them. The only reason she isn't considered omega-level is pure technicality; in terms of destruction she could actually lay down, Rogue is absolutely as dangerous as plenty of omegas. The requirements for an omega are 1) infinite power, and 2) limitless power. Rogue has the first one; she can stack an infinite number of powers. But she lacks the second; all her powers must come from the outside, and she cannot generate them herself. But if she has access to multiple omega powersets like she does in Self-Possessed, that technicality kind of stops mattering once the punches actually start flying.

Which all leads into Rogue's main emotional journey through X-Men Evolution, which is perhaps my favorite she's ever had: being used. That's why she was adopted. That's why she was raised being unable to touch, being lied to by both her moms. That's why she was taken into the Brotherhood, and it's why Mystique will never leave her alone. Extra fascinating because after the reveal in season one that Mystique is Kurt's mother, Mystique leaves Kurt completely alone for the rest of the series, while simultaneously stalking and manipulating Rogue. Why the difference? Because Kurt is not a useful tool. Not compared to Rogue. And I think Rogue sees that difference, which makes for such a juicy dynamic when Kurt is so interested in actually loving Mystique, for insisting that Rogue should forgive their mother and 'let hatred go,' because he genuinely thinks that anyone can be saved with enough love. Whereas Rogue, who has seen Mystique's 'love' up close for her whole life, is desperately trying to get away from that, with good reason.

One of the reasons I wish we’d had more seasons, or at least more episodes in the last season, is how seamlessly Rogue’s feelings about her powers flowed into her feelings around being used, her feelings around family, and being dehumanized to the point of mind-wipe by her own mother. Yes she’s sad about the no-touching thing, but that’s nothing compared to being seen as a literal object in the eyes of others, because her powers are utterly perfect—for someone else to use. Which flows into questions of bodily autonomy, of who her powers “belong to” vs. who they “should belong to.” Especially considering that Rogue is only at full power when she loses control/is under someone else’s control, which could lead someone to conclude, “Well of course Rogue should be under someone’s control, preferably mine. She’s so powerful when someone else is controlling her, and so weak when she controls herself. It’s honestly such a waste for Rogue to be her own person when she could be so much more. She needs to be used to reach her full potential.”

In a perfect world, we’d have way more X-Men Evo than we got. More seasons, more episodes, more time to explore whatever the hell Rogue had going on. And if I was allowed to pick, I would have loved to see Rogue with a character arc of self-ownership. In particular, it would be so cool to see her powers develop to the point she can have a “Self-Possessed” crisis and control it, fully aware of herself and all the powers she holds. I’d love to see her use those powers for her own benefit, on purpose, independent of both her mother and the X-Men. I’d love to see a self-serving Rogue in the XMenEvo. Not necessarily evil (though it would be a fascinating villain arc) but a Rogue who chooses selfishness as an act of rebellion. Who can use all those powers simultaneously, consciously, and disobediently. Vengeance, maybe? Or something that heightens humans’ fear of mutants? I’d love to see Rogue become inconvenient to the X-Men, at the very least, either physically or philosophically. Certainly nothing so dire as the Phoenix saga, but something that uses her powers to their fullest extent. (Damn could you imagine Rogue as the Horseman of Death if this went in the opposite direction. How fucking overpowered would Death!Rogue be, how the hell would the X-Men deal with that)

Anyways. Fanfiction is the folklore of the now or whatever. And XMenEvo was already a crazy high school AU anyway.

[triptychgardener]

Hello sorry if this is a bother but I am asking in good faith where is the reading for transmasc nepeta. I’m asking this cuz of your last ask (the June one) and I see aradia Dirk and Jane. Thoes all I have seen post and analysis about. But I have not really seen anything about nepeta.

Okay so first thing you gotta understand is that gender in Homestuck, for lack of a better way to say it, can be understood in how characters reflect and relate to each other. That being said to understand Nepeta's gender, we gotta understand the gender of at the very least one other person.

Dave.

And more specifically.

Davepeta, Homestuck's very own first(ish) trans character.

Davepeta is noted to be a sort of platonic ideal of existence for both Dave and Nepeta. Somehow, through a strange series of cosmic coincidences, these two end up making an odd sort of parallel. Both having a strange relationship to a man who loves him some goddamn horses. The whole Akwete Purrmusk thing. I mean, Dave canonically engaged in semi-nonironic furry roleplay with Nepeta offscreen, and given what we know about what becoming a furry in Homestuck means, it's not a leap to describe this as their ideal form.

But, although we don't see a lot of Nepeta's character arc, we do see a lot of Dave's. He struggles his whole life under an incredibly oppressive masculine force (both of Bro and, indirectly, Lord English), and once the game is over ends up deconstructing and largely rejecting that.

So when Davesprite, who's also probably been thinking about this for even longer, bereft of purpose or identity, finds a kindred soul in a spunky catgirl... well the rest is Davepeta.

And similarly, there are points in the story where Nepeta acts kind of uncomfortable with how others see her as exclusively something to be protected. The whole "Dear, sweet, precious Nepeta" grates on her early on, as Equius uses it as an excuse to control her actions. The whole of moiraillegience as it is originally explained (i.e. one party helps to calm down an especially brutal and violent person from outbursts of anger, and in turn that person will protect the more docile, even-tempered soul from external harm) even kind of FEELS like the way heterosexual relationships are portrayed in a lot of conservative spaces, where women are nuturers and caretakers while men are protectors. And Nepeta is supposed to, in this situation, be the person who helps Equius manage his emotions, which she feels some consternation at!

Now, over the course of Hivebent, their relationship appears to evolve and get a bit more balanced, but it still carries these overtones of "I will protect you, and you will handle my outbursts." Notably, when Equius goes to seek the Highb100d, and leaves Nepeta behind.

And of course not after roleplaying as each other.

Which. I mean come on.

But notably, Nepeta doesn't just stay put! She doesn't really want to be protected all the time! And when push comes to shove, she leaps out to defend, or at the very least avenge, her best friend.

And then, we don't really see Nepeta for a while!

Until we get to the end of the comic.

During their whole "date", Nepeta seems a little uncomfortable with Jasprose's affections. She may be a bit flattered, but Jasprose also fully admits later that she was frankly looking for any girl she could fall in love with after the tragic death of her girlfriend and possible more tragic untimely resurrection.

But then the pivotal handshake happens, and we get to see who is perhaps the most happy being in all of Homestuck.

Then we get into some of the only actual discussion of gender in Homestuck. We don't get much besides that, for both of their lives, Dave and Nepeta both felt something was missing. Something felt wrong that they couldn't quite place that made them both miserable. I don't think it's a massive stretch to say this could be gender dysphoria.

And when they combine, they feel the fullness of the gendered experience they were missing, melded together like a two-piece puzzle.

Now while the abovementioned "strong identities as a boy and a girl" might throw you off, I would point to what Victoria Lacroix said about this passage: note the lack of the word "respectively." I rest my case.

Now full disclosure, my personal headcanon for Nepeta is genderfluid transmasc. The whole affinity for roleplaying lends itself to a more shifting identity and I just think Nepeta, given more time, would love exploring the little nooks and crannies of gender.

This isn't going into the more complicated shit with Gender when it comes to Equius and Dirk and all that other stuff. Here's a quick summary so you can see exactly how my brain is broken.

Anyways, thanks for the question! I hope I answered my thoughts on the topic adequately! If other people have more to say about this, please feel free to add on!

[liesmyth]

did john decide which of his friends would be the necromancer and which would be the cavs when he brought them back from the dead, or was that random?

I wish we knew for sure! John's friends ending up 50/50 adepts vs. non-necromancers is obviously one of TM's premises and was done for doylistic reasons first and foremost, but I don't think we have enough elements to conclusively interpret it as intentional in-universe.

Putting aside any kind of authorial intentions, this is what we know:

» The rate of necromancers as part of the population hovers around 30%. John's core group being 50% adepts is way off from that, and could point to manipulation, but also we're working with a very small sample size. Think about how it's very possible to get head five times in a row when flipping coins; probabilities are much less accurate on a smaller scale. I don't believe it's out of the realm of possibilities that a group of 10 people had exactly 5 necromancers in it.

» Harrow's birth. The Reverend Parents made sure she would be a necromancer by manipulating the embryo with thanergy. It's clearly not a known practice among the Houses at large, and John calls it "a sort of Resurrection" — implying that he could be able to do the same with thalergy. However, this doesn't confirm that he actually DID.

In the same conversation, John says, "This was all different before we discovered the scientific principles," which I think is also worth noting. The fact that he understands NOW how you could get an embryo to grow into a necromancer doesn't mean that he had that knowledge at the time of the Resurrection. It also doesn't mean that the same identical process would apply to making formerly-dead-people into necromancers as they got brought back to life.

It could very well be that necromancy was a generalised side-effect of the Resurrection that affected some people more than others; or it could be that John DID do something different when bringing back some people that conferred them necromantic aptitude. Even if it's the latter, I don't think we can take for granted that 1) it was intentional and 2) he fully knew what the side effects would be.

» Ulysses and Titania. Counterpoint! It's also worth noting that John's "test cases" turned out to be one (1) adept and one (1) non-adept. Like I said above, this could still be a random bi-product of the Resurrection... but given Ulysses and Titania's whole everything, their dichotomy reeks of control group. They are a big point in favour of the "John did it on purpose" column.

Still: I still don't think we can tell for sure that John knew from the moment of Resurrection that he was giving some people death powers, and how that'd turn out in the long run. Like I said above, he could have done something different when resurrecting Ulysses vs. Titania, but it doesn't mean that he knew what would happen.

(Obviously, this argument only makes sense if we assume that Ulysses and Titania were among the very first batch of resurrected. I personally think they were, but obviously it's not confirmed)

» The inner circle. From NtN

I could only trust the inner circle. My scientists, my engineer, my detective, my lawyer, my artist, my nun, my hedge fund manager. My diehards. The ones keeping the lights on.

Putting aside the fact that Lyctors exist the way they are because Tamsyn needed them to exist, and looking at the Canaan House necro/cav pairings from John's point of view: why not give ALL his friends magical powers? That's something I struggle to wrap my head around, for about half a dozen different reasons.

Mind, I don't think John picking and choosing who gets to be a necromancer is that far-fetched, but from a #character point I find it less likely than the alternative (he didn't do it on purpose but turned it to his own advantage). IF it turns out to be canon, I'd be really curious about what the watsonian reasoning for it, beyond "this needed to happen."

Most meta posts I've seen that take for granted John picked and chose his future necromancers ascribe him a level of foresight, knowledge, and long-term planning that I simply don't think he'd have had at the time (not to mention the mental lucidity). To quote HtN John again, "[he] had never been God" before. I truly think he was winging it at least 60% of the time.

[hell-drabbles]

Lucifer and Ra-on 2

Summary: Lucifer storms into the room, demanding you take out the thing that crawled into his wing wounds. Ra-on, after Lucifer warned him never to touch his wings, had to watch because he had a hard time believing how much this devil trusts you.

(More of Ra-on not getting what he wants and the Embittered Companion just having a life outside of Ra-on, and him being shocked when he sees that. I really like exploring that insidious feeling of someone else getting what he wants, and how much more enticing that other thing becomes because he's not getting it. It's also heavy handed symbolism that Ra-on is getting all the other devils but hasn't gotten close to a single healer class devil, because Ra-on refuses to travel the road of self-healing in favor of over-indulgence. It's not clever but oh well! Meanwhile, Embittered Companion gets along with these healers really well. Actually likes them a whole lot, shockingly enough.)

The first time Ra-on brushed over the stained feathers of Lucifer's missing wings, he was very sure that his head was seconds from being ripped off had he not retracted his hand. That voice, that warning, Lucifer spoke in a hiss to him. It was a line that Ra-on had crossed and, for his sake, Ra-on promised him he won't do that again. He never wants to make any of his lovers uncomfortable if he can't help it. They deserve that happiness, because the devils all make Ra-on feel so happy and loved with the way they all worshiped his body.

But, he will admit, Ra-on felt a little disappointed that he couldn't explore the constantly bleeding wound. That light touch was enough to leave a memory of silky smooth feathers and cute downy fluff. It was strange that anyone would have limits here in Hell. At most, devils would raise an eyebrow and probably cringe a bit but they usually go along with Ra-on with a bit of insistence. But, well, from what he gathered, Lucifer was raised an angel, so he supposed there would be many differences, despite his current status as a demon.

And, well, Ra-on was given a strict and hard no. Perhaps, in the future when they get to know one another better, when he fully integrates into Hell and the war has finally been put to a stop, Ra-on will get to feel those feathers again. Perhaps he'll be the only one to be able to touch them. That sounds nice, to have Lucifer eventually trust him like that.

But first Ra-on has to learn to control his fear towards him. Become more confident and have patience with Lucifer, so that he may eventually open up to him fully, as everyone else does.

"Hmm, you need something?" You asked as you turned from your seat, Ra-on nearly sucking the coffee into his lungs at Lucifer's appearance.

The dark sclera threatened to consume his iris, his jaw stiff and lips nearly bleeding. The sigh that escaped him made Ra-on's legs lock up, but his eyes can't help but wrack over the disheveled wear of Lucifer's clothes. The sleeves slid down his arms, exposing his wide shoulders, pants exposing the deep v of his hips, and he wasn't wearing any shoes.

Ra-on couldn't breathe, seized by this fearsome yet tantalizing sight.

But you... You always held yourself together no matter how beautiful the devil or angel may be, no matter how terrifying. Because Ra-on was there. Because you always felt you had to be the stronger one for the sake of him and Minhyeok.

"What's up?" You got up, instinctively walking into Ra-on's line of sight. He tried to look around you, but he didn't want to risk squeaking his chair. "You're not looking right. Something bothering you again?"

Right, right you've been talking to Lucifer more and more. You like your space and so does he. And when the noises become too much, you both drift off into the distance, until the both of you end up going to the same place.

You'd know what's wrong with him better than Ra-on could. He's still too scared of him.

Lucifer breathed in then hissed, "Something is in my wings. Wriggling. Moving. Get it out of me, please."

And the hiss ends with a plea. Only then did Ra-on remember to breath. It wasn't something he or you did, Lucifer just had something in his wings that was probably giving him pain. Or discomfort? Because he's seen him nap on his back and that didn't seem to bother him.

"Told you not to nap in the garden," you finally moved away to make room for Lucifer to move in, looking tired as though this wasn't the first time. Wait... It wasn't, was it? "Alright, get over here. Get on the bed. I'll get the tweezers."

As soon as Lucifer flopped over on your bed, Ra-on shot up to his feet and followed you to the bathroom attached to the side.

"Wait," he grabbed your elbow, "are going to be touching his wings?"

"Hmm? Yeah, he asked." You plucked his hand off and shifted through the drawers to find those tweezers. You found them and squeezed then together with little clicks. "He gets stuff stuck in there all the time. He really should wrap those up if he wants them to stay clean. Why?"

Wait.

"You touched them already?" When? How? If Lucifer was this close to to taking his head off, how come you're not injured? "And he didn't hurt you?"

"If he did, I would've slammed the door in his face," you quickly washed the tweezers, "He was pretty close though, that first time, but that's because he wasn't prepared. Even though he was the one that asked."

You're saying that you've touched them but, somehow, Ra-on has a hard time believing it. A simple brush against his feather was enough to anger Lucifer, and now you're going to be digging into the wounds as though you won't be ripped to shreds? Just, how?

Sure, you've been spending more time with Lucifer by sheer coincidence, but wouldn't it make more sense for Ra-on to be able to be close to his wings by now? Lucifer has been asking for him to visit. So, so...

Ra-on doesn't get it. So he had to watch.

He watched you brush past him, he followed you and stood in the middle of the room. He watched as you flicked on the table lamp and aimed it at Lucifer's bleeding stumps. You opened another drawer and pulled out a pair of disposable gloves, as though this happens to often, you have to keep the box close. Ra-on watched as you sat on your bed.

Lucifer didn't flinch, but he saw the tightening of his shoulder muscles, watched the way they flexed and tightened under his skin. Ra-on wished he was close enough to lick it, wished he could sooth his hands over his back, but he can't, because that isn't what he should be focusing on.

He has to see if what you say is true, if Lucifer has truly been asking you to get deep into wings to clean them out when Ra-on can't even get close to them.

"Alright, which stump is it this time? Or is it both?" You asked as you tugged his shirt lower, exposing his wings further.

Lucifer lifted his head from your pillow he was stuffing his face in. Was he taking in your smell? No, that can't be it. That's just silly. He was just getting comfy and the pillow is the closest thing. "The right one. Get it out."

"Hold still a moment," you adjusted the light and finally got to work. You placed your tweezers on his lower back and started your search. You moved the feathers away and Lucifer clenched his whole body, but otherwise did nothing. You pushed lightly against the bone to look further into the wound and all he did was push his face into your pillow.

And when your fingers dug in deep and stretched the wound open, when your hands brushed against an open artery and gushed out blood, Ra-on heard the sound of Lucifer tearing fabric with his teeth with a pain filled hiss.

"There it is," you said, voice a little dull, as though this wound was something you're used to seeing, "A big sucker too. Alright hold still."

You got your tweezer and dove right in. After a few twists, your hand popped out and revealed what looked to be a huge fly. Bigger than any other housefly Ra-on has ever seen. It buzzed and squirmed around, using it hairy limbs to try and pry itself from your tweezers.

Ra-on gagged and couldn't stand to look at it. He closed his eyes.

"You want to crush it?" You asked.

Ra-on didn't hear a response, he only heard a muffled crunch.

"Gross."

"...thank you. I couldn't get it out on my own," Lucifer's voice soothed over his ears, colored in the peace of relief.

"No problem, buddy. Just, put a blanket on or something, it's the third time this week."

"Hmm," Ra-on opened his eyes to catch his smile. A smile aimed at you. A smile from your bed as he continued to lay there, "I could nap here. Then all bugs have no choice but to stay away, right?"

"Yeah that's how rooms work," you chuckled and smacked his arm, marking his skin with his own blood, "Sleep in your own bed, man. I only have one."

...you really gotten closer to him. You can touch what he can't. And Lucifer... He can talk to you in the way he can't.

On the back of his tongue, Ra-on tasted bitterness.

[phoenixyfriend]

If you still do the ask meme: nr.1 for a timetravel Jangosoka?

26 Family Prompts Ask Meme

Accidental Baby Acquisition

This contains both intentional and accidental acquisition. (They'll give it back! Probably.)

------------------

"He's mine."

Jango looks at the woman he has, somehow, managed to fall for.

He looks at the baby.

He looks at her again.

"You adopted? Without asking me?"

"No, birthed him myself."

That baby is human. Fully human. There is no chance, in any way, that Ahsoka managed to have a fully human child. There's some shit about placentas or whatever. A tog can't surrogate a human and vice versa.

"Jetii--"

"Oh, I'm in trouble," she giggles, entirely too enthused about his annoyance.

"Jetii," he tries again, "please tell me you didn't steal a child."

"I did not steal a child," she confirms. "I just... acquired one."

"Acquired one."

"Yeah."

He waits in vain. He breaks and asks, "Ahsoka, how did you acquire this child?"

She smiles at him.

--

The child's name is Ferus Olin. He was not stolen, but given willingly by his parents for Ahsoka to take to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.

"You could have just said so," Jango gripes as he fires up the engines. She laughs at him, and hikes the tot higher on her hip. "Don't act like it's not within the realm of possibility that you'd randomly pick up a kid and forget to warn me about it."

"Sure," she says, "but consider this: it was funny."

"You are not nearly as funny as you think you are."

Ahsoka rolls her eyes and addresses the kid instead. "What do you think, Ferus? Am I funny?"

The toddler--baby, really--stares up at her silently. There is something up with that kid, but Jango figures that's par for the course with Force Sensitives.

A slightly wet, very chubby hand lands on a lekku.

"That is saliva," Jango notes aloud, mostly because Ahsoka looks a little disgusted, and likes she's trying to hide it from the kid. "Baby drool."

"Oh, fu--shove off."

"Classy."

--

So like. Here's the thing. About carting around two almost-Jedi:

One of them is his age, and hot, and weird, and he's a little bit in love with her.

The other one is less than a year old, and should be relatively safe and sound to leave alone for five minutes while napping so they can do things like use the bathroom, or argue over the nav, or knock against the walls doing things that babies probably shouldn't know about.

Ahsoka says that Ferus was a rule-abiding guy in the future, uptight, even.

This means nothing, because the ship jolts out of hyperspace without warning while Jango's got his hand up a hot tog's skirt, and they both have to rush to the cockpit to find the literal baby has crawled onto the pilot's seat and somehow turned off the nav.

The baby continues patting, full-palm, at the controls.

"What the fuck?" Jango demands.

"Language," Ahsoka sniffs, and then picks up the baby and swings him around. "Who's a little troublemaker? You are!"

"What the actual--"

"Language!" Ahsoka snaps, a little harsher this time. "There's a baby."

"Yes, I noticed, it just knocked us out of hyperspace."

Ahsoka rolls her eyes. "It's fine. We just need to keep a better eye on him."

"This could have been deadly."

"Eh, doubt it," she dismisses. "I mean, with a normal kid, yeah, but I bet you ten to one odds that he did this because the Force told him to."

"I cannot explain how much that doesn't fill me with confidence."

She ignores him. She settles into the chair, toddler on her lap, and closes her eyes. This lasts for several minutes, and Jango tries to keep his impatience under control so he doesn't 'project' it into the Force or whatever it is that the Jedi are worried about. It would distract Ahsoka, and possibly more importantly, it would upset the baby.

"I've got it," she finally says. "A direction. He pulled us out a bit early, but the fact that we didn't overshoot it is a bit of a shocker in and of itself."

"A direction to what?"

She shrugs. "We'll find out."

--

The direction is to a fresh-faced teenage Duros by the name of Cad Bane, who's been floating around the guild's gossip lines for a few years now. He's good, for eighteen, but Jango hasn't met him before, and Ahsoka really doesn't like him--Jedi don't hate, supposedly--and that's enough for Jango to have zero interest in really networking here.

Also, Bane has a stolen toddler. Jango knows the toddler is stolen, because she's dressed in far-too-fancy clothes for Bane to bother with, and screaming her head off, and trying to bite him, and yelling about how she wants to go home. Surprisingly eloquent for a toddler, actually. She can't be more than four.

Jango wants to get involved. He's itching for a fight. He does not get one.

He gets the smaller baby, and is told to take care of said baby and be ready to catch the bigger baby--toddler--while Ahsoka handles the fighting.

It seems kinda personal. Jango leaves her to it. It's not like they need both of them to fight this literal teenager.

(He's right. They don't.)

--

There are now two small children on Jango's ship. One of them is barely-almost a toddler, and the other is barely-almost not.

"I am Padme Naberrie of Naboo," the little girl tells him, all care and important grandeur. "Thank you for saving me. When may I return home?"

Naboo. The noble kids from there are damn creepy. Also worth a good ransom or a better bounty, to some. It's not exactly surprising that Bane went for one of them. the family must be pretty influential somehow.

"Not sure," Ahsoka says. "We were on our way to Coruscant... do you have a number we can call? Maybe one of your parents can meet us on the way."

"That is ac-cep-table," the little girl sounds out. She even bows, a touch wobbly. "Thank you, Master Jedi."

Ahsoka is not a Master, and is only sort of a Jedi. She does not correct little Padme, because that would be a little mean, in Jango's estimate. The girl's just been through something harrowing, and even he's not that much of a dick.

"Do you know their contact info?" he asks instead.

--

They aren't on a convenient hyperlane for Naboo, so they're meeting Lady Naberrie on Corellia. It's several days there, which is still faster than trying to get to Naboo from where they currently are, and Padme spends an hour or two talking to her mother before the woman enters hyperspace and comms are no longer an option. Then she talks to her father, and asks about someone called Sola, and Jango's not paying enough attention to keep track of who's who in the life of a child that is not his.

He doesn't have enough beds on the ship for this.

He empties out a small armor crate and lines it with blankets, then sets it on teh floor by the end of his bed. It's big enough for Ferus, who probably doesn't care much for fancy things. Padme gets her own bed, because they're strangers and it would be odd to suggest she share with Ahsoka as a gender thing. The other, larger bed is then for Jango and his somewhat irritating and entirely too lovely Jedi.

He laces his fingers with hers, once they're in bed, autopiloting down the hyperlane. Padm's breathing has finally evened out, and Ferus hasn't woken up yet either.

"Do you want them?" he asks.

"Hm?" Ahsoka shifts, and when she speaks, it's sleep-heavy and muddled. "Want what?"

"Kids," he says.

She's silent, long enough that he starts to wonder if she's fallen asleep, but eventually she shrugs. "I'll take an apprentice one day, probably."

It's basically the same thing, for Jedi.

"Did I ever..."

He tries not to ask too much about his personal future. He knows how Galidraan would have ended, and knows that somehow, he had been involved in a clone army that tried to kill Ahsoka when she was seventeen. She tries not to tell him too much.

"One," she says. "Boba. A few years younger than me. And..."

She doesn't finish.

"And?"

"Maybe another time," she says.

He's gotten that response more than once. He knows it for the wall it is.

"Alright," he says. "You could... tell me about Boba in the morning?"

"Maybe."

Noncommittal. He's not entirely surprised.

"Okay," he finally says. He presses a kiss to her lek. "Goodnight, Ahsoka."

"Night, Jango."

[wheregoodthingsthrive]

Politicizing Saiyans (but not how you might think)

To think too hard about Saiyans is my job. Especially in the context of what I do- I gotta combine my interests or else I will shrivel up like a sad little plant that hasn't seen the sun for five years nor had water in ten. So, what am I combining now? Dragon Ball and political composition, functions, and apparatuses. For reference, I am a political science student (International Relations and Military Force, specifically) so when I got into Dragon Ball, I was not expecting to be able to identify a minimally shown and explored militaristic galactic despot with vassal states with one said vassal state being a really interesting sketch of a government system so intricately avoided, I can't help but theorize and apply what I consider myself to know a lot about.

This is all personal headcanon and absolute indulgence in my own niche interests in the realms of history, world building, and political science. There is no evidence for easily 1/2 of what's going to be in here but that's how it is. This will probably be a yapping session meant to just. Get my thoughts on Saiyan structure (and Freeza Force application) out into words and hopefully (maybe, preferably) talk to other people who are equally insane about Saiyan/DB universe exploration despite having next to no evidence as to why we think the way we do lol (THIS IS VERY LONG)

I. Government Structural Basics

My favorite... Genuinely. The Saiyans are my political analysis DREAM (just without all the math). Some lore -- the first DB content I was exposed to, in full, was the 2018 Broly movie. Not the best start in terms of canonical timelines and building content from the ground up - BUT - it happened. I was not expecting a shonen manga-anime series to have a movie that opens with such a heavy handed demonstration of a tyrannical despot and vassal state patronage. Maybe I am giving it too much credit but the dictatorial, patrilineal passing of power, so seamlessly avoiding any form of deliberation or consultation we see Cold direct and the disillusioned response of the Saiyans is so so so easy to connect to an empire-vassal dichotomy that I simply cannot help myself. A vassal state, a medieval perfected concept, is a state that is beholden to an empire or superior state's power. A great example would be the Ottoman Empire and the lower cradle of S.E. Europe, feel free to go look it up. The controlled Vegetasei/Planet Vegeta encompasses this definition but ALSO it's more enriched one: "a state with varying degrees of independence in its internal affairs but dominated by another state in its foreign affairs and potentially wholly subject to the dominating state". Vegetasei is a fully functioning monarchy (more on this later, too) that is beholden to the Freeza Force with it's time, resources, militaristic strength, personnel, citizenship, and sovereignty. It functions internally with a significant degree of independence, with external function that benefits solely the dominating state. I think its not really a stretch of the brain to see the empire-vassal patron relationship here. Though we do not know HOW Cold overtook the Saiyans, the assumption of force is reasonable, a common denominator in vassal states. Or, possibly, given the Saiyan values and the expectation of the FF, they were absorbed consensually that then delved into tyrannical patronage. I don't know. This is more of a sketch of my general assumptions and thoughts for this section and a spring board for the deeper explorations of Saiyan politics.

II. Vegetasei: The Oppressive Oppressed Vassal State

Now that we've established the relationship at the core of Saiyans and their lizardy occupant, I can get into the specifics. More of my favorite thing to do! I see much discussion of the treatment of Saiyans by the Cold Dynasty but not much on the condition of Vegetasei's internal workings and authoritative structure. Which is strange as I feel the political condition of the Saiyans is just as conducive to character arcs like Vegeta's or motivations like King Vegeta's as the subjugation conducted by the Force is. So, what is Vegetasei's political composition? What makes the Saiyans, especially their prince and king, behave the way they do? Bear with me. The Saiyans are a monarchical meritocracy with values of militarism and rigid, hierarchical social cohesion philosophy. That's a lot of words. Too bad I'm going to make you read (understand) them!

III. Monarchical

This one is self explanatory but I am a yapper so yap about it I must! Saiyans are a monarchy. Wow. Shocker. But I would like to propose that the Saiyans function as a faux-mixed absolutist monarchy with hereditary expectation but is prone to socially acceptable coup d'état. Let's get some more defining out of the way. A faux-mixed absolutist monarchy is my own proposed hybrid of a mixed and absolutist monarchical structure.

Mixed: a form of government that combines elements of democracy, aristocracy and monarchy ostensibly making impossible their respective degenerations which are conceived in Aristotle's Politics as anarchy, oligarchy and tyranny.

Absolute: a form of monarchy in which the monarch rules in their own right or power. In an absolute monarchy, the king or queen is by no means limited and has absolute power.

Okay. So. We can see throughout many flashbacks to Vegetasei in its heyday that King Vegeta was surrounded by what looks like a council or military posse, constantly. He has a consultative court that, really, has no authority and might just be there for political bluff and show/posturing. We see matters of science, military, and general royal court procedures be present in King Vegeta's assembly. Paragus is described as a "colonel", implying there is a military hierarchy that spills out beneath the king. There is also a blue-cloaked Saiyan who speaks openly to King Vegeta about denying Freeza's request for the prince. Additionally, there are instances of scientists talking openly about the prince's incapacity compared to Broly to the king's face and live. So, given these, it seems these positions are places of legitimate prestige but hold no sway in political construction. Thus, I'd argue there are political apparatuses and institutional bodies placed beneath the king, who will ultimate say over them. I've included what I think the Saiyan monarchy is structured like (it's pretty rudimentary but I am not going for 100% depth*):

*You can see I denote that the presence of children makes or breaks minor positioning in the upper caste of the royal family/echelon of Saiyans. I think posterity is very important. Read more slightly below.

On top of being absolutist, I'd like to argue that the monarchy has "hereditary expectations [and susceptibility] to socially acceptable coup d'état". What do I mean by this? I believe it is pretty easy to assume that the Saiyan monarchy (given its corrupt maintenance) is held by the House of Vegeta/Court of Vegeta, depending on who you ask. I make the assumption on calling it the HOUSE OF VEGETA because of the familial name. Often, royal families are defined by the names inherited by its members (i.e. the Brits). With our prince of all Saiyans Vegeta being the fourth in his lineage, I think it is safe for me to assume this condition. From there, I work under the idea that the right of the king is passed down from parent -> child (assumedly father -> son if we look at what we have so far in canon. I would assume the same value is placed on females and that females can inherit the title of queen/whatever their female equivalent is from their father's or sole maternal parent. That's a whole other essay. Sexual dimorphism does not equal sexism but anyways). So, that covers the standard understanding of familial/hereditary expectations. Right? Sure. Hang tight. I think an important thing to note is that we never see or hear (as far as I know, please correct me if I am wrong) Vegeta call Trunks or Bulla by any term of royal value. Therefore, I'd like to make the argument that even if the royal tie is carried from generation to generation, there is only the expectation of royalty found in blood, not instant ordainment. This is where socially acceptable coups come in.

Vegeta says in the Broly 2018 movie (much to my dismay, this version is so much worse) that, upon the death of his father, "[he'll] never get to be King Vegeta" (paraphrasing). While this is a poorly written throw away line, pair it with how Vegeta never, ever refers to himself as king. Always prince. He will forever be the prince. Even Freeza observes this, albeit with malicious intent. I'd like to argue then that Vegeta, as the son of the king, is expected to fight for and win his position as king or to be purposefully given it by his father but because he can never be properly ordained/crowned as king, he is stuck as prince, dooming his lineage to never receive the rightful processes to accept their blood's expectation. This is how multiple families can compete for the throne. Should a blood-obligated child of the king fail to ascend (either by coup/force or by selection by their father), a rival family or individual can swoop in and compete for the inheritance of the throne. And how do they compete and validate their ascension to a throne that belonged to a different family? Merit. How does a son/daughter usurp, be granted, or claw their way to the throne? Merit. Which Segways perfectly into the next part of Saiyan structure!

IV. Meritocracy

Much like it's empirical controller, Vegetasei is so merit based it almost hurts. A meritocracy asserts that a government is ruled/power is held by individuals "selected on the basis of their ability". Further, "advancement in such a system is based on performance, as measured through examination or demonstrated achievement". A meritocracy also asserts that the accumulation of wealth, power, and influence is concentrated in those who are higher valued by the society itself. This I think is pretty well explained by the privilege and value placed upon those with higher power levels. Their concept of merit (as per Vegeta's narration and understanding of Saiyan culture, excusing any inconsistencies or indoctrination for a moment) is constructed on a few things: pride, capability, born caliber, and execution of these elements. The concept of these merits runs so deep in Saiyan culture that it runs BOTH ways in terms of power capacity: too weak is seen as a weakness that must be exterminated or exiled while also too powerful is seen as a danger to the fabric of society (i.e. the arrangement of power). So, merit is a double edged sword to Saiyan society and this facet of danger is increased by the Force's regime. Merit manifests itself in very different ways (that I will get to in later sections) but the important foundation here is that due to being a meritocracy, there is NO trickle down political or societal gain from the monarchy. There is only a frantic scramble up. If you are too weak, you must scathe by if you have not already been disgraced. Too strong? Either hope it's beneficial to the society or that the Force or the crown does not consider you a threat. Either way, whether you're run of the mill or an outlier in power level, the merit of your Saiyan Traits is what gets you anywhere. What I find interesting is that there is evidence that implies societal climbing while also hinging on NO social movement due to power levels being seemingly fixed at birth (or at least very early in life). I find this interesting-- in the OG Broly movie, we see the explanation that baby's power levels are observed and in the 2018 Broly movie, its implied birth power levels dictate not just what you're going to do, but how valuable you are and if you're even worth keeping on the planet.

I think the best exploration of this can be in Tarble. Despite the dubiousness of his canonicity, I find it particularly insightful that even a prince was not given the chance to be cultivated into a power house but rather nigh instantly abandoned due to two perceived faults in the classifications of merit:

No born caliber (low or untapped PL)

No capability (implied gentle spirit)

I think it also goes to show that the higher up you go in the society, the more a low PL matters to the merit of who the child is associated with. We can get more into this in the social hierarchy part but compare Tarble's position and fate with, let's say, Gine. Very different-- but the common thing is that the traits of merit are not exhibited to societal standards, garnering a societal ruling of less value, paid in either exiling or low-level societal jobs.

So, tangent aside, let's break this down in the last two categories of my aforementioned word soup of Saiyan political structure.

V. Militarism

Y'all could see this one coming. Militarism is classically defined as "the belief or the desire of a government or a people that a state should maintain a strong military capability and to use it aggressively to expand national interests and/or values." In political science (polsci), this extends into a school of thought called Realism, establishing the "security dilemma". While I do not think the full extent of this sketch of realism 100% applies to Saiyan political composition, I think it matters. Realism is defined by a few characteristics: the world is inherently anarchic, state actors are the main actors, and the security dilemma. The security dilemma asserts that a state must continue to bolster, improve, and better its militaristic prowess and power projection to defend itself and assert its own power as other states assumedly do/feel the same. Sound familiar? Security dilemma literally got the Saiyans slaughtered. Toriyama somehow managed to put the inklings of realism in an anime about a monkey boy who punches things. Anyways.

Saiyan societal structure is ALL ABOUT your place in the MILITARY, both in respects to the internal/domestic and to the foreign/Freeza employment. Let's focus on the domestic for a moment. The Saiyan Armed Forces is spearheaded by the House of Vegeta, maintained as a separate but maintained branch of the FF. The initial description of ranks were "Elites" and "low-class", showing merit assessed structure. It is a seemingly compulsory army, with some form of required service and with no retirement save for types of dishonorable discharges (example: Gine or...dying). The army is the backbone of Saiyan society, functioning on multiple levels of society and with a great menagerie of apparatuses for conducting operations. The army is dedicated to accumulation of resources, no matter the position. This is where the security dilemma assembles itself in the sketch of the army -- its entire purpose is to Saiyan bolstering (until it is commandeered by the CF/FF). The accumulation of planets, races, trade routes, resources (foodstuffs, raw goods, etc.) is the main goal of the army and the main identity-giver of any soldier. They also practice realism in that the army inherently treats ANY opposition as inherently anti-Saiyan (anarchic) and works on behalf of the state solely (state actors). I don't have too much to really say about the military given its pretty self explanatory nature. I think it's a perfect microcosm of the meritocracy and...omg...VASSAL STATE IS BACK!!!! GOSH THE ARMY IS A PERFECT EXAMPLE OF VASSAL/EMPIRE PATRONAGE.

As defined earlier, the vassal is subjected to the empire with "foreign affairs". The Saiyan army is its biggest hand in the international galactic arena, a force to be reckoned with and a force that is KNOWN for its impartialness in imperial conquest. The commandeering of a nation's foreign muscle is the perfect move for a vassal-owning and -employing empire. The control of the army is the swiftest, most effective move to undermine the Saiyan monarchy, society, and cultural values as the military is, was, and continues to be the Saiyan's "everything". By absorbing the army, the Cold Army/Freeza Force effectively paralyzed the Saiyans, making them MORE than beholden to the empire in that by controlling their strongest apparatus of control, the average Saiyan can do nothing without the FF. Another interesting note (that is a small tangent)-- it's fascinating how the CA/FF manages surveillance given the vastness of space and the hostile/temperamental nature of the Saiyans and their warlike inclination: the Scouters. The establishment that the Scouters LISTEN is so so so smart for a despot empire to put into place! It's very 1984 and establishes some control on the... drum roll please...next section!

Everything in this point is a little more out of my amateur "expertise" as it deals more with sociological domestic policy than military/IR so, it'll probably make less sense.

VI. Rigid, hierarchical social cohesion philosophy

Saiyan social structure is given to us very clearly, by multiple sources, and it seems to be handled with quite the lot of animosity. Social cohesion is "the strength of relationships and the sense of solidarity among members of a community" and is often identifiable by a community's social capital. Social capital is the basic trust, foundation, and interactions within a society permitting it to function. Social cohesion is upheld by the following facets: a sense of belonging, social relations, and an orientation towards the common good. The question now becomes -- Grace, if you're trying to say Saiyans have social cohesion, how can that coexist with animosity and competitive merit? Great question. I would like to posit that Saiyan social cohesion relies on this push-pull of merit, competition, and the pride of a conditional brotherhood rather than the cut and dry, earthly expectations of social cohesion. Let's walk through these real quick! (I must avoid making this another 2k words long). Sense of belonging: Saiyan's are described by Paragus in Broly 2018 as generally untrustworthy. They are backstabbing, power-hungry, violent cages of people. Yet, Saiyan pride (and the merit of it, see the follow through?) is what ties them all together. The sense of belonging perhaps doesn't come from actual, well-cultivated cohesion but rather their species identity in BEING a Saiyan, not BEING IN COMMUNITY. I have a lot of thoughts about how Saiyans are more tribal beings than they'd admit but that's another essay that cannot be tacked onto this one. We much stay focused, brothers. Social relations: Relationships and familial ties do exist in Saiyan society, though they don't seem to manifest in an exact one-to-one way as per Earth standards. I, as per earlier, argued there is power in the blood line and I think that rings true throughout the general society. Looking at how Goku is more often referred to as "Bardock's son" over anything else or how Vegeta is a seemingly patrilineal name, I'm going to make the leap that paternal line determines a lot of social relationships. They are maintained by fatherhood, power levels (a low enough PL can result in the bloodline 'dying', cause of death: disgrace), and a militaristic aspect of brotherhood over blood in most occasions. Orientation towards the common good: Don't let "common good" distract you- a common good can be anything the society agrees is good. So, what do Saiyans conclude as good? Conquest, war/conflict, victory, kill counts, strength, power of the people, power of the Saiyan, power in general. This is once again where merit-competition and cohesion interact- yes, one would want to ascend ranks, to claim victories, to pursue power, but can one do that alone all the time? Possibly. Vegeta sure does think so, but he seems to only act on this value when Nappa becomes useless to him. Use is a common good, purpose is a common good. Your fellow brother, your fellow warrior, etc. has purpose when the two of you can bring forth Saiyan glory. It's a temporary arrangement but one nonetheless.

All of these things though are maintained by societal structure. It is the rigid social hierarchy that encourages social cohesion and the subversive method of turning animosity into brotherhood and vice versa given the need at the time. The distance of the monarch, a seemingly untouchable governor, seems to imply also that these societal structures are upheld by the populous but made 'perfected' by the monarchy. A monarchy that wants to maintain power will cause controlled discord within its own state so that any transmission of power seems either 1. Improbable/dangerous (highly likely due to FF occupation) 2. Not needed because the leader provides some type of stability. I could argue that the social cohesion of Saiyans relies on a strange form of Diversionary War Theory. Diversionary Way Theory states that "unpopular leaders generate foreign policy crises to both divert the public's attention away from the discontent with their rule and bolster their political fortunes through a rally around the flag effect." I believe this is more of a...Diversionary Social Theory. With the society so folded in on itself for merit and competition, the king can maintain power for his line alone by altering it, looking at different social conflicts (low PLs, Frieza Force encroachment, etc.) rather than surrender powers. Sounds corrupt. I know. That leads me to my final facet of Saiyan political structure.

A little more back into my expertise, briefly.

VII. Corruption

I am sure you all knew I'd get to this to some extent. To say the Saiyans are void of corruption would be a fool's statement. I think there are two main forms of corruption seen in Saiyan society.

Despot maintenance of power

Society-induced and maintained methods of population/defection culling

Despot maintenance of power

A despot is an often tyrannical leader with a monopoly on power. Despotism is the "form of government in which a single entity rules with absolute power. Normally, that entity is an individual, the despot, but societies which limit respect and power to specific groups have also been called despotic." In writing this, I've realized that the Saiyans are equally despotic but geez I am too far into this to add ANOTHER section so a definition is all you will have to settle for. King Vegeta is a an active despot. I don't think this is a dramatic statement. He is shown to remove opposition, going to the lengths of infanticide and murder to do so. He antagonizes his specialists who dare question the legitimacy/efficacy of his lineage. He makes deadly errors in foreign policy by stationing snipers at Frieza at the risk (and expense) of their lives. He targets his own son and banishes him as an exile, completely intended to kill him in the long run. King Vegeta is losing 0-2 in trying to not kill babies/kids. I don't have much else on this subsection due to its pretty straightforward nature and political gain. In both Broly movies albeit for...weirdly different reasons...the King argues that the murder of Broly (and subsequently Paragus) is justified because it 1) ensures the social and political status quo, 2) muddles the waters on proving or accusing Vegeta's house in intending to not relinquish power even on correct merit values, and 3) shows how he, in general, is unwilling to admit defeat and hold onto power.

2. Society-induced and maintained methods of population/defection culling

This is touched on briefly in the aforementioned social cohesion section. Culling is the method of killing the population of a wild animal to preserve its maintainability. Saiyans practice this with different principles at its core; I believe it is simply an unsaid, dark reality for the majority of the media due to its reach and aimed audience. However, where we do see glimpses of infanticide with the goal to protect the purity of strength in Saiyan numbers. Goku's PL is a concern. Him being a runt or being behind on schedule seems to be an issue, even if minimally stated. Broly's PL is a threat. Tarble is a royal liability. All of these seem to be justifiable reasons to straight up KILL them (or at least exile them from the population with an understood mortality rate). Now, Raditz seems to be an exception but I'll argue that he serves as a necessary low-PL canon fodder for more powerful members society. That is a more social cohesion point that I could've included but my lanta guys this thing is long enough. The society itself seems to maintain this principle - whether you HC there being a governmental agency observing infants power levels as the OG Broly movie would imply (which is interesting in and of itself looking at it through a bureaucratic apparatus lens). Monarchy perfects, society maintains in striving for that perfection due to merit competition, value of the patrilineal line, and a cohesive idea of Saiyan pride on a general societal level.

VIII. Conclusion

The Saiyans are a monarchical + despotic meritocracy with values of militarism and rigid, hierarchical social cohesion philosophy.

I hope now that we've reached the end, this contributes something of at least SOME merit to the discussions and long text-posts I've been seeing floating around DB tumblr recently. I think smashing my degree and Dragon Ball together might've killed all my braincells but at least I can exhibit to my professor that I understand a majority of what I've been putting thousands of dollars to to learn.

I am not responsible for any typos or misspelling; y'all figure it out.

Takes the heaviest breath ever. I'm going to stop here-- it is finals season and I have a test over US foreign policy tomorrow. Yap session: OVER.

PLEASE INTERACT WITH THIS DB OVERTHINKERS PLEASE.

[cherryxblossxms]

Masturbation May - Day 2a: With Toys (Nanami Kento)

A/N: This is part 1 of day 2, With Toys! I don't see Nanami as being that adventurous with using toys when he does masturbate, so this was very fun to explore and think of what he'd use when he's by himself. Nanami was suggested by an anonymous sender

Featuring: GN reader || Nanami x reader

Warnings: Use of sex toys: bullet vibrator, cock ring; slight nipple play, slight overstimulation, cumshot; reader is mentioned but this is Nanami focused

Word count: 1322

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You were killing Nanami.

You had left for a mission several days prior, and normally, this was no problem for him. Nanami could be surprisingly needy on occasion, but he had the self control and patience of a saint and could hold off on taking care of himself and any urges he had until you returned. Recently, however, you were testing that same patience to the edge of its limits.

He wasn't sure if you had some kind of objective in mind or maybe you were feeling needy yourself. But every other day since you'd left, you would send him a dirty video, ranging from strip teases initially, to finally full blown pleasuring yourself. The videos would sometimes arrive while he was in the middle of something, catching him off guard and making him turn his phone off until he could look at your message privately.

He was gifted at schooling his expressions, but when he was with Gojo, that man missed nothing. And the way Gojo would simply smile at him on such occasions made him think he probably knew what was happening, only serving to annoy him. When you'd sent your latest and most revealing video, Nanami could only thank his stars that it was a rare day off for him, given how quickly he got hard.

However, it meant he couldn't focus on or fully enjoy anything as he tried to move on with his day, such as baking, doing a puzzle, or tending to his plants. He hoped ignoring it would let his body settle down, but as time went on, his thoughts just grew dirtier and dirtier, plaguing him with tantalizing scenarios. It finally came to the point he needed to deal with his raging hormones, or he'd go crazy.

Nanami made his way back to your shared bedroom, stripping off his shirt as he stepped through the doorway. He knew doing this wouldn't be enough, that what he truly needed was to lose himself in you. Solo sessions weren't nearly as satisfying to him anymore, physically or emotionally, ever since you became a couple, but the fire in his groin made it feel like he'd explode if he waited even a moment longer.

You two had collected a variety of sex toys together to use in the bedroom. Although Nanami was very proficient at the use of his own body, it was still exciting to implement different toys to see how it enhanced your pleasure, and that's what he sought out now. He made a beeline for the dresser, opening up a lower drawer and locating your stash, picking up a bullet vibrator you both had come to enjoy. His eyes caught on a cock ring you had bought for him, and after a moment of deliberating, he grabbed it too. You hadn't had a chance to use it yet on him besides confirming the fit, but he knew what it could do for him.

Once he was settled on the bed with a bottle of lube and the toys, now rid of his pants, he wasted no time in sliding a hand down to wrap around his shaft. He was already semi-hard, so he quickly poured some lube and slid the cock ring on. Even without full stimulation, he felt himself grow fully hard soon afterward, the ring now snug on his shaft, and could feel himself twitch.

His thoughts drifted back to you as he finally rewarded himself with some stimulation, stroking himself leisurely at first, nearly melting from the instant pleasure and relief. As his pace slowly increased, he finally allowed his mind to wander back to you, and especially the enticing video you had sent him earlier. Just remembering it sent a spike of heat coursing through his body, only making him harder, and when combined with the cock ring, the head of his cock was an angry red. He couldn't believe the amount of pre-cum he was leaking, giving away how desperate he was and adding to the slippery nature of the lube.

Even though he gave you a stern warning when you sent the videos while he was busy, he did still appreciate it, knowing he was on your mind even when apart. That, and the videos were a boon for when you two were separated, letting him imagine you were still by his side and that it wasn't just his fist that he was fucking.

Using his free hand, he opened up his phone and started up the video you had sent. The angle didn't show your face, focused only on your busy hand as your fingers pumped in and out of your opening. But the microphone had picked up your audio, and even better, the sound of your wet fingers pleasuring yourself, quite clearly. He battled with himself between watching it or only listening, but finally let his eyes drift close as he continued stroking.

If he ignored the feeling of his own hand around his cock, he could almost picture you there with him, hearing your sighs and gasps of pleasure surround him. He could practically taste you on his tongue, imagine the feel of your lips around his cock, or the warmth of your thighs as you straddle his lap. But the stimulation still wasn't enough.

He opened his eyes and picked up the bullet vibrator. Pausing the video and setting aside his phone for now, he placed the vibrator against the underside of his shaft before turning it on. Instantly, he couldn't help the moan that spilled from his lips. The cock ring seemed to make everything more intense, and the strength of the stimulation was on the edge of overwhelming, especially as he moved it up to his frenulum.

His thighs quivered from the stimulation, and he alternated the placement of the vibrator, rubbing it up and down his shaft for the different intensity. As he did that, he reached up a hand to rub across his chest. You always enjoyed touching his chest during intimacy, particularly playing with his nipples, and Nanami had grown to expect that touch with you, becoming comforted by it. He experimentally flicked his nipple and was surprised by the pleasure it brought, and so continued flicking and lightly pinching, reveling in the sensations.

Finally, he could start to feel his own climax crest the horizon, his balls aching to unleash their load already. He quickly pressed play on your video to hear your sweet noises again, then continued his ministrations, breath heavy and sweat beaded across his body. He could start to hear your own climax approach, indicated by your volume and the pleading words you were mumbling, which only served to push him along.

It only took a few moments longer before his body seemed to tighten, then released all at once as the first hot ropes of cum shot out, a deep groan coming from his throat. He quickly angled his cock back, watching his seed shoot out and cover his quivering abdomen. The pleasure was intense and his climax seemed to last longer, maybe helped by the ring, and for a moment, it was as if he'd left his body.

Nanami worked the last of his release from his cock, letting the vibrator stay on a little longer and shaking as overstimulation let in, before quickly turning it off to finally relax. He let his head hang back, trying to catch his breath. Your video had ended shortly after your mutual climax, the room now silent of your lewd sounds and the noise of the vibrating, and he missed it already.

Even though it couldn't be helped, your absence had clearly affected him. As the post-nut clarity set in, he couldn't believe how desperate he'd been. It just proved to show how much he needed you now, and Nanami quickly sent a text to you wishing you well and reminding you to come home promptly.

[saltwatersweets]

yknow, given the fact that it’s entirely possible wounds created by angelic weapons don’t fully heal (since vaggie’s eye never healed), and the fact that adam attacked alastor with an angelic weapon, and the fact i’ve seen a few fics in which alastor deals with chronic pain in his chest wound because of the injury, i’m surprised i’ve never seen anyone bring up an idea where adam’s axe landed just a foot or so above where it did in canon and ended up taking out alastor’s eyes, similar to how lute did with vaggie.

i’m not sure if i would be comfortable writing about this, given i am not physically disabled and i’m not sure if i could accurately portray blindness (especially with a character like alastor, who’s already so difficult to write), but i’d love to see this idea explored somehow. alastor is already someone who wants to be the most powerful (or at least in control) person in the room and so taking away his sight in a permanent way would definitely affect him badly. another reason i’m not sure i would want to write this out: the internalized ableism would be off the CHARTS. not to mention, a wound to the face isnt something he can hide like he could with a chest wound, so the other hotel inhabitants at least would see what happened as soon as they realised he was still alive after the extermination. he would not be happy about their endless concern one bit.

tl;dr: what if alastor was permanently blind after the extermination?

here are some ideas i have regarding this au (please let me know if any of them come off as insensitive):

alastor probably would try to use the recent lack of eyes to his advantage. after all, outside of one’s mouth, the eyes are typically the most expressive part about a person. even when he’s trying to conceal his emotions, you can tell what he’s feeling because of the expressions in his eyes. now, however, he’s even MORE difficult to read, which he likes to think gives him more control. the eyes are a window to the soul, they say? not anymore!

he looks rather similar to rosie now (based off how vaggie looked like when charlie first found her after she fell, with her eye socket just being dark and black)! once he’s accepted what happened to him, they’ll make an occasional joke about how now he looks more like a typical cannibal in hell, it just took him a century to catch up.

vaggie and him bond over losing one or more eyes because of adam (whether directly or indirectly). he hates the fact that he genuinely is more fond of her after this experience, because she never treats him like something about to break, for better or worse.

speaking of which, i feel the need to say that despite alastor likely viewing himself as weaker after the loss of his eyesight, he is not inherently weaker. it takes him a long time to know he is not ruined, he is just changed. doesn’t mean his musical mental breakdown in episode eight isn’t even worse than before now though. he hates that this has happened to him, that he has been permanently injured in this way, but he learns to live (or… exist? since he’s already dead) with it and accept his disability as a part of himself.

his staff (once repaired) and ears are incredibly helpful, especially since deer can hear extremely well. his shadow and microphone are also extensions of himself, so though he can’t see through them per se, they keep him from crashing into things when he’s in an unfamiliar area.

once mimzy gets over being “kicked out” of the hotel so to speak, they’ll still hang out and dance together! she doesn’t think of him as any lesser or any weaker after what happened, he’s still able to keep up with her on the dance floor even if it is a bit more difficult now.

the hotel inhabitants and some other people he regularly meets with will occasionally read his favourite books aloud to him (there were books in his room so i headcanon he likes to read in his free time). he never says it aloud, but he does genuinely appreciate this. he particularly enjoys it when niffty sits still long enough to read to him, especially if she’s reading out a cookbook and helping him make food. it is physically impossible for her to sound condescending to him.

on the other hand, charlie reading aloud is a mixed bag, because although she’ll always try to make it entraining for him (by being very animated in her voice acting), she’ll often interrupt herself to disavow the fictional violence. also, it is physically impossible for her to NOT sound condescending to him. he’s not a wayward sinner down on his luck for her to swoop in and save, after all! he doesn’t need her to try and “fix” him.

he has allowed angel to read to him a SINGULAR time, because while his voice acting is quite entertaining and he won’t complain about the violence (he has no room to talk, given the scripts he acts out), angel would rather die (again) than quit making sex jokes every two minutes. he could be reading a cookbook and sneak in a “that’s what she said” a good three times in a single page.

one of the first things charlie does upon seeing alastor is still alive after the extermination is ask lucifer to heal him, and lucifer has to tell her it’s not something that he can do. it’s actually something charlie initially responds with anger about, because at first she thinks he’s just refusing to heal alastor just because he doesn’t like him. it’s vaggie who steps in to calm her down, because she knows personally that angelic wounds can’t be fully healed. it’s been three years, she’s not expecting her eye back by now.

alternatively, it’s easy to imagine charlie still asking lucifer to TRY and heal him regardless, because maybe if they just try hard enough, they can do it! so lucifer tries. and it does not work. naturally, this only serves to make alastor more pissed off. he melts into his shadow and goes into his room, and doesn’t come back out until that night.

the next thing charlie does is spend no less than four hours looking up accommodations she can make to the hotel for someone with no sight. braille to all the rooms and other things that are labeled is among the first she gets lucifer to implement, as well as keeping nearly all of the floors loud tile instead of carpeted, so alastor can tell if someone else is in the room with him.

i swear i’m trying to think of something distinct for husk because his dynamic with alastor is so interesting to me, but i really can’t think of anything super specific. one thing that does stick out is that, like vaggie, he never regards alastor with pity, because he knows alastor better than most and knows he’s still extremely powerful. i’ve always thought alastor somewhat appreciates husk’s unflinching honesty (even though it’s a trait of his that undeniably pisses him off at times), and so he knows husk isn’t lying or acting when he still treats him the same way as before the extermination.

alastor will still make radio broadcasts, even if just for his own amusement. you don’t need to be able to see to be able to talk, after all! if anything, this experience only makes him hate television and modern day technology more. at least he revels in the knowledge that it is now impossible for vox to hypnotize him, if he ever dared to try.

he’ll make. so many eye puns. TOO MANY eye puns. you know that joke where people are like “we can’t ever let alastor know he’s asexual because if he does, the amount of ace jokes he’ll make will be through the roof”? yeah, it gets that bad.

i like the headcanon that alastor likes to draw on occasion (given the all but stated fact that he drew the hotel in the commercial in episode 1, as well as a few unnecessary but fun doodles outside of that), and he is initially saddened to realize that this is something he won’t be able to do anymore. however, niffty ALSO likes drawing, and she likes to rope him in to her drawings by force, giving him paper and crayons and always being completely honest if he ever asks what colour is in his hand. he’ll even occasionally let her move his hand to the right spot on his paper if he ever forgets where he drew the lines on his paper before. she likes to spend as long as she needs describing her drawings in vivid detail - she will talk to him about her gorey artwork, and no one will stop her!

[usernu11]

beelzebub nsfw headcanons ft. oral fixations

warnings* 18+ content ahead, minors dni

tags* male!reader, reader has a dick, no pronouns mentioned, beelzebub has a serious oral fixation, reader is implied to have one as well, size difference kink is pretty prevalent as well

notes* i have a pretty bad oral fixation and beel is a bad influence on me so i decided to write abt it lmao.

Beel's oral game is no joke; it's something you assumed due to his gluttonous predisposition but when you first had sex with him it simply on a whole other level. Whether it was your first time or not, Beel is hellbent on sucking you off while prepping your hole. That was fine and all but what you didn't expect was to come twice just from his mouth alone, not even to mention him eating you out halfway through the prep.

His mouth is everywhere at once: licking, sucking, biting, anything to keep his mouth preoccupied and keeping you feeling good. Your thighs are absolutely covered in bite marks and hickies before he even gives the rest of your body any sort of attention. It isn't until your hole is puffy and stretched out enough to even handle half of him that he relents and makes his way upwards. His tongue is lapping up a trail up your skin, only for his mouth to stop at your chest.

Giving head is absolutely Beel's favorite thing to do; but his second favorite? It hands down goes to marking every inch of your chest and making your nipples so puffy, red and sensitive your body flinches just when they get rubbed. The heavy bite marks he leaves around your nape and neck are also something he heavily enjoys; he likes seeing the marks the next morning while you're drowning in one of his massive shirts, barely awake enough to get embarrassed at just how marked your body is.

He loves kissing your swollen lips, tongues fighting for control while spit dribbles down the side of your mouth. The hazy, barely there look you give him while heaving for air makes his chest feel warm and fuzzy. Breathing in your moans while you struggle to fill your oxygen deprived lungs is also a nice feeling as well.

Beelzebub is huge, probably the biggest out of any of the brothers and you both are very aware of it. Even after all the prep in the world, it always ends the same way depending on just how far-gone you are. Even just the head alone leaves your eyes watery and gasping for wobbly breathes of air. He can only go about halfway into you before you're hiccupping at just how full you are. You're always overstimulated just with half of him inside of you; especially since you've already came from just the prep. Beel doesn't want to hurt you so he usually settles with only about halfway, never fully entering you. He's okay with it though; the way his name falls from your lips and how you're sobbing about just how good your feeling always makes up for it.

Keeping up with Beel is nearly impossible; you feel bad about it but your stamina isn't even half of what his is and your body can only take so many orgasms before you start to shut down. You always end up feeling guilty since you never feel like you've fully satisfied him but he always reassures you that giving you pleasure is the greatest turn on that can never leave him unsatisfied. Even if it stops at just foreplay or jerking each other off, he's happy to just give you anything you need. He's never admitted it, but he actually really enjoys wearing you out. Again, he'd never want to push you too far but it does make him feel good to know that he's pleasured you enough to bring you to your limit. He's very much a service top in a way.

Beelzebub's greatest turn on? Anything to do with your mouth. If your conscious enough to leave marks on him during sex Beel lets out the most erotic of moans. You've never seen him come faster than after you've given him head; not much fit so you were left mainly licking the shaft and sucking on the tip but Beel looked like he'd never felt pleasure before. He was an absolute mess, eyes barely able to open while he covered his mouth to stop the embarrassingly load moans he was letting out. He usually gets hard if you're eating anything like a popsicle or a hotdog but he also seems to be entranced when you're eating anything you yourself enjoy. You were starving and absolutely loving the bowl of cereal you whipped up real quick? Beel's cock is twitching in his pants while he tried real hard not to stare at the pleased expression you've got.

If you're a tiddie enjoyer than Beel is very much for it. Just groping it makes him blush up to his neck but if you decide to mark it up just like he does with you? Might become his favorite pastime. He does get a little embarrassed over it and since he does go to the gym often, he requests that the marking not be done too often since he does shower there. However, if you're particularly into it, he'll allow it after some getting use to and wear the marks with pride.

Beel is the perfect person to cuddle with; his body swallows yours easily and he's just like a personal heater on cold nights. What you weren't expecting was to like this fact so much and neither was Beel at first. He just adores at how he's so much bigger than you in every way. One night, while cuddling up to you, he found himself hard and unable to do anything because you were sleeping so peacefully in front of him. His hands just fit so well on your waist and even better on your ass; it didn't make matters any better that the hand holding his disappeared when he clenched around it. When you did happen to wake up and was in the mood enough to help him out (despite barely being awake, he noted), your efforts did anything but calm him down. Your cock was just so much smaller than his when you put them together and both of your hands could barely wrap around both of them. He ended up doing all the work that night, his one hand alone enough to bring the both of you to a swift climax. Ah, but you just had to mention the size difference while half-awake, hips jutting forwards to rub your cock against his as you attempted to milk the both of you for any last moments of pleasure. You didn't get to sleep much longer after that.

If you were into the idea, Beel would most certainly be down to be the bottom once in awhile. Not as much prep would need to be done and even he's thought about it on occasion. He thinks you would really be able to mark him up and enjoy yourself to your hearts content; it would even solve the issue of you feeling guilty for not giving him enough pleasure. The stamina issue would still be a bit of a problem but foreplay can easily solve that issue.

Speaking of stamina, Beelzebub has only ever been worn out and fully bottomed out on one occasion. It just so happened that you drank something that you shouldn't have that night and it also just so happened that what you drank was an aphrodisiac. It was as if your body was on fire, cock dribbling at the tip just from the thought of your ass getting spread wide by Beel's massive cock. You felt no pain that night and practically pounced Beel the moment you had saw him; he was very hesitant at first and was going to bring you to Satan to try and figure it out but seeing you in pain from the need alone made him reconsider. He was overwhelmed at how tight your ass was, swallowing him whole with ease. It didn't matter how long you two were going at it for, you just seemed to only get more and more turned on the more you came and milked him for all he had. It wasn't until he jolted awake the next morning that he realized he was the one to pass out this time.

Needless to say, you were so sore that morning that you couldn't move properly for days. Beel, the sweetheart he is, said that he had to take responsibility and took care of you the entire time. If you needed to get up he would simply carry you where you needed to go. He made sure to prepare you your favorite meals and made sure to apply ointment on all the marks he happened to leave that night so they would heal nicely. You have thought about taking an aphrodisiac again just so you could take him entirely once more but Beel was super against it since your body was in such horrible shape afterwards. If you're persistent enough, he might go to Solomon about making a potion that would lessen the pain and heighten the pleasure without having you so out of it that you go past your limits.

ao3 *** about me

[uselesssomebody]

could you maybe do poe comforting an overwhelmed reader by giving them his jacket to wear 🥺

𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕜𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕒𝕓𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕟 - poe dameron x reader

complete masterlist | poe dameron masterlist

words || 𝟠.𝟟𝕜

summary || in which poe kinda makes the reader's life hell

a/n || 8,7k??? what is wrong with me

➵ nonnie you're gonna have to sift through like 8k words to get to the request but star wars fics need good world building

➵ yo send me moon knight requests or any oscar/pedro characters i'm banging them out right now

➵ not edited (yet)

➵ send me requests if you have ‘em. enjoy!

warnings || fluff/angst

her tools fall out of her hand with a distinct clatter, as she rises from her haunches for the first time in about an hour. she runs a gentle finger over the the edge of the removed metal plate, examining her handiwork at re-configuring, and then bettering the main control center.

it’d looked like hell when she'd first seen it, just 10 minutes after the black squadron had returned to d'qar - after a particularly nasty run in with some tie-fighters after attempting to survey a first order base. though all the members had bore a part of the violence and destruction, he who bore the brunt of it was their oh so brave leader - poe dameron.

of course, his extreme courage, and never-ending headstrong-edness did enough to serve his position as the resistance's golden boy. on the other hand, though, that same bravery owed to her consecutive long nights.

see, no one thought about the little guy - dameron was probably basking in the praise he was receiving at the moment, while no one ever remembered that the only reason his shots were so good was because she'd tinkered with the weapons system until perfection. the only reason he could ever complete any of his complicated maneuvers was because she ensured his controls ran smoothly - never jamming - and that the wings of his starfighter weren't falling off. though that may seem like a base requirement of her job, she knew that wasn't an occasional fix; no, it was much closer to weekly.

it was dark on the surface of the base, and she was beside a measly lamp to finish her work. she lightly tapped against the metal on the outside of the x-wing, satisfied with the adjustments, and, when she finally stretches out her body, standing fully upright, she feels the quirk in her shoulder from the hunching, and the cramp of her forearms and palms at her meticulous but firm grip on her tools. she sighed deeply as her bleary eyes made her see spots.

she hears footsteps approach her, and she collects her items as her close friend and fellow mechanic rose comes up behind her.

"how's it going?" she hums discontentedly in response.

"i'm done, at least." it's not a great answer, but rose understands, a soft smile gracing her lips as she grabs the lamp, holding onto it to allow her friend to place her tools away.

rose's own x-wing was one of the new recruits, given a lesser brunt during missions and scouting. thus, she'd finished ensuring it was in the best shape ages ago. she'd decided to finish up some other things in the meanwhile, before doubling back to see her eternally overworked friend's progress.

"you wanna head back to the bunks?" she rubs her nose as she thinks about rose's question. as they begin leaving the flight deck, she can hear the light echo of people from afar.

"if you want to, don't wait up for me. i need a drink, though." she finally decides, not wanting to deprive her friend of sleep, but also knowing that she needed something to help her unwind from the busy day. rose simply shrugs, gesturing to the both of them making their way to the cantina.

as they enter, a decent amount of people are still milling about, though many look ready to begin wrapping up their nights. there's a empty table a ways away from the bar so, upon taking rose's request, she urges her friend to sit down as she heads to the bar.

the bartender's a lovely guy: a weequay called aid-zarg, that everyone just refers to as 'ay' or, if they're close, 'zarg'. he'd been a bit against the nicknames, but had eventually caved to them.

"ay - how're ya?" she slides into a stool in front of him, attempting conversation tentatively. he shrugs - his expression seems cold, though she knows that's just how his face is.

"alright. long night?" she smiles, but it's almost a grimace.

"something like that." she orders for her and rose, and patiently taps against the wood counter as he prepares them. when he finally slides them over, she gives him a nod of appreciation, and he returns it with a nod of acknowledgement, before she turns back to join rose.

rose glances at her as she slumps into her seat, looking half-ready to pass out.

"maybe you should talk to the general about your schedule. you're half-asleep all the time; that can't be good for a resistance member." rose takes a sip of her drink as she presents a solution to her friend's never-ending dilemma.

"i - i would, but it's not fair to assign extra work to anyone - everyone's got a specific part of the base to tend to, or a specific ship, or fighter, or whatever." she thought about her hesitance as she watched the slosh of her drink, "everyone else's already working, and i don't want to make it anyone else's baggage just 'cause my pilot has an ego the size of a death star." rose purses her lips to keep herself from laughing - not wanting to encourage her friend's catty commentary.

"how'd you end up getting assigned his, anyway?" rose mumbled. her friend laughed into her drink, slowly recanting the reason:

even before she'd come to d'qar, it was common knowledge amongst the mechanics that being assigned to fix up dameron's x-wing meant you'd lose out on a weeknight or two, if it was temporary, and your entire night life - if it was permanent.

so, when she'd arrived, and presented her previous qualifications as a mechanic on tatooine, many knew that she was at least experienced and, at most, very efficient.

so, almost as a rite of passage amongst the mechanics, she'd been assigned the dreaded ship. and she'd fixed it up in record time. at first, it was an achievement she wore like a medal, the surprised faces of the resident mechanics enough to make her beam at her skill, and her knowledge of its contribution to the resistance's efforts.

then, though, it became a permanent assignment. and, for a while, it was manageable. but then, the fights got tougher; the first orders weapons more destructive.

"and suddenly, i'm up at 1 on a work night." she finally concludes. rose, having known her since she arrived, was privy to her friend's sometimes tired, always slightly pent-up rants on any topic that aggravated her, so she waited patiently for tonight's, "it's just-" there it is, "he's so fucking - ugh - would it kill him to just follow the plan? to listen to his instructions, to not be so reckless and not go out of his way to get himself killed - no, fuck that actually - his plane destroyed? i don't know - i get it's important to be versatile, and brave, and whatever bullshit, but c'mon - every time? keeping me up every night?"

rose was sure she hadn't even stopped to breathe in that entire time, but she definitely paused her rant to take sips of her drink, which then spurred on the vent further. she contemplated maybe removing the drink from her hand, but figured that after her long evening, she deserved it, along with a listening ear.

she sighs deeply into her drink as she finishes her story, not exactly expecting an answer from rose, but happy that she could at least get it off her chest.

suddenly, she feels a firm hand on her shoulder, making her and rose squeak and whip their heads to the person. what they hadn't realized was the volume with which they were speaking, causing her eyes to widen as she realizes that the object of her annoyance stood behind her, a goading smile plastered over his - unfortunately - gorgeous face.

“yeah - that guy’s a pain in the ass!” he hisses sarcastically, as though in his group of friends, gossiping, “what’d you say he was again?” he hunches down, so his face is in line with hers. she tries to glance desperately at rose, but all she can make out is her brown overalls behind poe’s jaw. she swallows, but looks him in the eyes, an unwavering look on her face.

“i was saying that he’s reckless. and he’s the reason i’m having a drink - as opposed to, y’know, sleeping. what anyone should be doing this late.” her voice is clear, and she watches the confidence in his face falter for a moment. then, as quickly as it hesitated, his smile returned, rising back up to his full height. he pokes his tongue into his inner cheek, looking between the both of them.

“enjoy your drinks, ladies.” he says it with a shockingly non-confrontational tone, accompanied with a shrug. she feels her cheeks heat in embarrassment as he gives her a slight nod to her, before turning and heading in the direction of one of the newer recruits - frank? flynn? - as she turns back to her drink, eyes closed in humiliation.

finally, she glances up at rose, and sees the uncomfortable grimace mirrored on her face.

“please, please, can you not shout when you complain about someone?” she chastises and begs her friend in the same tone, telling her off for her borderline rude behavior, and for the subsequent awkwardness it caused her. it makes her laugh, as she nods, assuring her that she won't. as rose bemoans she situation, she smiles into the rim of her drink, trying not to think about the warmth that she felt.

she wasn't quite sure if it was still embarrassment, or something else.

as she and rose had finally decided they'd taken enough from the night, and were ready to pass out into the longest sleep they had time to muster, rose heads towards the exit while she rushes to the bar to bid adieu to aid, and to front over the cost of their drinks. the quiet bartender thought her to be funny, so prices were usually discounted, but what did confuse her was the shake of his head and the shrug he passed when she asked to be reminded of the prices.

"already paid for." her eyebrows quirk at the non-descriptive explanation, and she wonders who'd paid for them in the short time they'd sat in the cantina.

"huh? by who?" aid was never great at names, but even he couldn't forget her infamous donor.

"dameron."

the revelation muffled in her mind over the night, as she wondered what exactly had possessed the cocky pilot to pay for their drinks, especially after hearing her bad-mouth him.

perhaps, she figured, it was a gesture of good-will, to imply that her snarky comments did little to actually affect him. and, for a moment she thought it was sweet.

until she passed by him in that same cantina, surrounded by both the members of his squadron, as well as some others, recounting the story of how he'd narrowly ducked in and between the cliffs of some outer rim territory in order to avoid a gang of small-time pirates. he spoke animatedly of how he narrowly made it out from a 20 meter gap in the cliffs, though how, tragically, one of his wings had taken a brunt of impact.

she grimaced at the casualness of his words, and of the enraptured expressions of everyone else, only speaking in order to reiterate how truly amazing they thought he was.

of course she remembered that mission, as she'd spent a grueling 3 days fashioning a new wing tip to add to his starfighter before his next mission - pulling maybe a collective 3 hours of sleep over the 3 nights.

and, suddenly, his gesture seemed almost more of a mockery.

though she knew that he continued to leave her blood boiling, and thus attempted to avoid him as much as possible, he seemed to have a remarkably different idea, deciding that his prevalence as a topic of conversation of her yielded him permission to become the one she spoke to.

he'd greet her as he hopped off of his ship, whenever he passed the flight deck as she worked, and somehow always managed to walk past her just as she knew he was clocking out for the night, leaving her to work an additional few hours - at least - to rescue his overworked vehicle.

poe didn't believe that he was being malicious - not at all. after all, she had no idea how difficult his job was either, so what gave her the right to complain? she didn't know that the only reason he pulled off complicated maneuvers was to divert attention from less experienced recruits, or that the days of planning missions - just for many of them to fail - also left him exhausted, and owed to many of his own contemplative, long nights.

thus, a strange, very aggravating dance occurred between the both of them. she was stubborn - as stubborn as him - but, of course, she - rather stubbornly - would never believe it, owing neither to want to secede and create a more comfortable environment by discussing their issues or - and this was completely off the table - apologizing.

though, due to this, both of their friends were subject to suffer through their passing remarks, or the strange tension that seemed to follow the pair. as the days continued, rose found herself seeking out the amused eyes of finn - poe's good friend - as he took in the scene, smiling or laughing alongside him at the absurdity of their situation.

it was this growing familiarity between their friends, in fact, that had owed to her current lonely late night. the black and green squadrons were responsible for the destruction of a medium, but connected first order base in the mid rim. it was an unlikely victory - outnumbered by tie-fighters at least 2 or 3 to one, but the meticulous plan crafted by finn, poe and a few of the others, and green-lit by the general, had created it.

there was much celebration when they'd headed back - and that spirit soared through the entirety of the base, with everyone coming together to remember their primary goal: weakening the authoritative role of the first order. it had gone on late into the night, as she can still hear the loud, carrying voices from the cantina. she's headed in the opposite direction, though, as she usually does. she'd seen dameron's ship when it'd come in, and - though it didn't look all that rough, she could tell it could do with a tune up.

she hadn't asked rose to stay alongside her, seeing the twinkle in her eyes as she'd spoken to finn in the aftermath of the mission, smiling widely in a way her friend didn't see all that often. so, instead, she’s left in company of just her tools and the occasional creak of the old, overworked machines.

there's quiet squeaks as she's unscrewing the control panel of the starfighter, but the noises are dwarfed by the sounds of steps approaching her general direction. she wonders if someone's forgotten something, or if it's rose stopping by the check on her, but she decides to ignore it, unable to pinpoint how close the other person is. that is, until she sees them round the nose of the x-wing.

it makes her start violently, dropping her tools with a clatter as she jumps. her heart's beating so fast that she can't even see all that clearly, and, when she finally realizes who it is, frustration clouds over her confusion.

"what the hell are you doing here?" it's harsher than she usually is, but it'd been a really long day, and she wasn't excited at the notion of dealing with him.

immediately, poe's defensive.

"kriff, calm down! i just wanted to check in on her." he lightly pats on the nose of his x-wing, as if it were a pet, and she suddenly wonders where his actual pet-droid - the orange one - is, "wanted to make sure nothing happened to it." he continues, not looking at her.

she opens her mouth, wanting to say how dumb of an explanation it was, but she truly can't find the energy to start a back-and-forth with him, so she simply goes back to work, shrugging. seeing that he still doesn’t leave, she drops her head, sighing deeply.

“what - what exactly do you need to know about it - her - dameron? do you need to watch the circuits as i reconnect them, or maybe eyeball every screw i twist in?” he seems shocked by the outburst, mouth hanging open for just a moment, before his hands raise up in a faux-surrender.

“if you want me to leave - i’ll go.” he pauses for a second, but she can still feel that more words are soon to leave his tongue, so she doesn’t say anything, eyes falling down to the circuits she'd just spoken about, “but i’m not exactly excited by the idea of you - someone - down here all by themselves.” she purses her lips.

“well, i’m sorry to inconvenience you - but you are flying again tomorrow morning, and your ship isn’t exactly tip-top.” she’s ready to turn back, hoping it’s enough of an argument to suffice him, but’s he’s adamant.

“at least take a break? everyone else’s at the cantina - it’s not like a drink’d hurt-” she rolls her shoulders, sighing deeply.

“if i agree, will you stop talking?” his voice stops, but a smile grows in its stead. he shrugged.

“you want me to stop? i thought you adored the sound of my voice-” she rolls her eyes, the hint of a smile ghosting over her own lips at the sarcastic joke. muttering a small shut up, she raises to her feet, dusting off her outfit, before stepping away from her work. he gestures to the large doors leading out the flight bay, and she nods, walking to meet his stride.

they reach the cantina in a moment, the silence between them filled instead with the increasing sounds from everyone else. as she enters, she notices the large overflow of people around the bar, evidently still celebrating. she takes a deep breath as she looks around desperately for where exactly she's supposed to do.

poe, keeping a close eye on her so as to not lose her to the crowd, points towards the table where their friends are sitting. she nods, flitting right behind him to benefit as he pushes his way through the crowds. when they finally reach the table, he can see a calm rest on her face, especially in the presence of rose. he follows her gaze to the close proximity between rose and finn, and, when she averts her gaze, she meets his, making him smile with a shrug, as if saying i know, right?

as poe grabs a drink for the both of them, and she's finally able to actually meet finn and speak with rose, she finds herself loosening up, grinning at rose's excited expression, or finn's somewhat deadpan humor, or the sweetness of her drink. sometimes, poe's own jokes forced an unwarranted laugh from her as well - which he definitely took notice of.

for a while, he'd also noticed the apprehension of not being able to finish her work, but he reminds her subtly that his ship hadn't been too beat up: it wouldn't disintegrate if he tried to exit the atmosphere tomorrow, and she'd have time to fix it up before it got to that point. it allows her to really mellow down, and she settles - alongside rose -with a few other members of the black squadron as they discuss the day, their missions, and the base.

poe's more decent, she realizes, than she gave him credit for, as when he's reintroducing her to the other pilots, the first words out of his mouth is acknowledgement for her hard work. it almost makes her giddy, especially after it's followed by miscellaneous praise from the others. she feels a smile creep up on her countenance, and it's only bolstered by the many small, sweet glances he'd shoot in her direction.

though, like all good things, it doesn't exactly last.

as the night drags - and maybe it's also her exhaustion, or the fact that poe's a few more drinks in - she can feel that respect that grew for him begin to chip away again.

his mouth just works too fast for his brain to catch up - she supposes - as she feels annoyance creep over her as she hears him gloat about his many stories as a pilot. though many of the stories have less to do with him giving her more hardship, when she sees the more egoistic parts of his personality reveal themselves throughout the night, she feels that same aggravation that led to that one night of late drinking with rose.

at some point, she feels that hearing him boast over and over and over was just too much to bear, so she knocks the rest of her drink back, waves rose and finn off, and slips out as she came in, deciding a night of good sleep may soothe her turbulent mind.

only a moment after she left, does poe return with a drunken smile, just about to introduce her to one of the many recruits he'd mentored - in order to remind said recruit about the importance of respecting your mechanic.

the smile fell as finn - almost sadly - mentioned that she'd left.

it's been a few weeks since then, and poe's reeled in his antics - much to her pleasure. though, she couldn't help the twang of something she'd begun to feel when he walked past her station, not acknowledging her in the slightest.

she wondered why; after all, that was what she'd initially wanted.

neither could continue ignoring each other, though, when they were called into the communications center of the base by the leader of the division, and the general herself.

she made her way up there quickly and, meeting poe at the door, hoped her confusion wasn't apparent on her face. if it was, he did little to quell it, as he instead focused on opening the large doors.

now, she'd only met the general a few times - and the other she knew only by rank. he, on the other hand, seemed very buddy-buddy with the pair, forcing her isolation for a moment as the three greeted each other. when, finally, they turned to outline the reason for the meeting, she was directed to sit down, and listen carefully.

she was told of how the resistance had recently learned from a rebel spy on an important first order ship that said ship had been collecting significant amounts of data on the resistance, and were soon hoping to transmit that data to a more central base.

the spy had gone on, stating that if there was a way to shut down the servers in the main control room of the ship, the data would be corrupted and would be useless.

there's a pregnant pause after the delivery of this information, and she swallows before speaking.

"what - um, what exactly do you want me - us - to do?" poe's role may seem somewhat self-evident - as in, flying a passenger onto the ship or jetting them out - but her own contribution was a bit more dubious.

after all, this seemed a mission best suited for the few technical analysts on the base, as opposed to the mechanic that she was, if it included corrupting intel and shutting down servers. truly, she didn't know what the first thing about that.

the general, ever so observant, smiles lightly as she understands her question. the comms leader responds for her.

"the spy has mentioned that the core system and servers are held in an old compartment - a remnant of the original empire - and, thus, much of the system is reliant on old, though complex, circuitry." she inhales deeply, better realizing her stake in this. the other person continues, "as one of our best mechanics and - obviously - our best pilot-" okay, that stung a little bit, and the smug little grin on his face definitely didn't help, "myself and the general believe it best we run a covert operation: you will sneak onto the ship, make it to the servers, destroy them, and then come back. it's a bit technically challenging, but the likes of the two of you should ensure a smooth operation."

as they finish speaking, she can feel her heart going a mile a minute - unable to believe that she - she! - was going to try and play super-spy and sneak onto a massive first order ship. she was sure poe now realized her shock, as he gave her a small reassuring nod.

it wasn't particularly reassuring, though.

they were then told that time was of the essence, and that it would be best that they leave as soon as possible. they were told to recruit another pilot and mechanic, in the case of a back-up that may exist on the ship, before being given stolen first order uniforms, correct to their assignments.

as she headed back to the flight bay, poe and the comms leader in front of her, she felt a strange, nervous churn in her stomach. she mulled over who she'd choose as the secondary mechanic, but realized the answer was - quite literally - staring her in the face.

rose joins her at the entrance of the flight bay, curious as to why she'd been called in, and, as she recounts the meeting, she posits the position to her friend. as one of the most competent mechanics she knew, but also someone who knew how to think quick on her feet, she knew that she'd be a great fit.

rose agrees in a heartbeat - her loyalty to both her friend and the resistance unwavering against the fearful mission.

she walks further up the flight bay and, upon seeing dameron similarly speaking to finn - likely to convince him as well - she joins him, now intent on how exactly they would find a ship that would go undetected by the first order.

the general - having planned ahead - had an answer for that as well, taking the four out into a forest clearing behind the main base. two large tie/sf-fighters stood, just slightly battered, on the lush greens of the ground. they're in decent condition, she supposes, for what she knew were likely captured or shot down ships by d'qar's defense system.

they're each handed earpieces, going to guide them as they entered the first order ship, and they are waved off as she and poe enter one of them, while rose and finn enter the other.

"everyone ready?" the crackling of the comms for the mission - led by a lovely ex-bounty hunter called pala - came through, as she adjusted into the gunner's seat, and poe into the pilot's. rose answers first, a chipper 'yes' coming through between the other 4 devices. she nods to no one, as though she were really just trying to convince herself.

"as we'll ever be," she mumbles, owing to a grunt of agreement from finn. taking the answers into consideration, pala transmits the coordinates of the ship to poe and finn.

both vehicles rumble as they lift up off the ground, and she feels herself white-knuckling her seat as she anticipates the flight.

as they reach the range of the ship, poe flies ahead, surveying the entrance and - by extension - the exit points. she hears a deep voice crackle through poe's earpiece, but she can hear it echo along the narrow walkway separating her and the pilot as well. it lists off - what she presumes - is the plane's serial number, and she holds her breath as she waits for poe's response to the question, "what business do you have here?"

"the admiral sent us in for reintegration - i've got a deserter on board." she lets out a gasp at the answer he'd chosen, blatantly throwing her on the bus, but the approving echo left her annoyance to a minimum as, at least, he seemed to have bought it.

they begin lowering down into the ship's flight bay, and, before she can even stand up all the way after it becomes stationary, poe's behind her, helping her up. she doesn't know if she should thank him, but decides that she should definitely not, when she finds him grabbing both her wrists and pinning them - though gently - behind her back.

"the hell? what're you doing?" her words come out more shaky than she maybe intended, but he'd really taken her by surprise.

"you're a deserter, remember. can't exactly take you in like we're the best of friends." his tone is sarcastic and she scoffs, rolling her eyes.

"they only think that because that's what you said." he doesn't dignify her with a response, honestly making her more agitated. he opens the door of the sf-fighter and tightens his grip for a moment, as the two of them are greeted by what looked to be a colonel. it's confirmed as they near him, his nameplate engraved with the title, and poe nods at him - a little too comfortable.

"they caught this one trying to flee three days ago." he gestures to her, and the unrelated sour expression on her face was definitely helping his case. the colonel nodded, looking at her with the utmost disgust.

"and she will be reprimanded accordingly. bring her to the cell bay." poe nods, pushing her lightly as he continues forward.

"you're a good actor." she can feel his goading smirk, and she shakes her head.

"i hate you."

as they enter further into the ship, he finally releases her, their clothes helping them blend in as crew members. her fingers find her earpiece, ensuring it was on, as she spoke into it.

"rose, finn? you guys get in alright?" there's a beat of silence, and her worry grows strikingly, but it quells just as quickly when she hears the familiar tone of finn's voice in her ear.

"we're fine - heading down to the storage to find those back-ups." she glances at poe, who nods at her, before speaking.

"alright - we'll meet near the flight bay after." finn and rose both agree.

pala begins speaking a few minutes later, guiding them through the base as they reach the server room. poe keeps look-out as she crouches beside the large, cylindrical structure. circuits surround it in an orderly manner, but she can tell the ancientness of it - dust floating around, pooling around every crevice.

she reaches into her deep pockets, procuring a small screw before closely eyeing the intricacies, and getting to work.

poe's eyes flit between her frame and the hallway right outside, keenly watching for stormtroopers, and praying that none would come. he feels himself blank for a moment, not used to feeling so helpless - or, at least, not the one taking charge of a solution for a situation. he resigns himself, though, to simply waiting, gripping his blaster tightly as he waits for her to finish.

finally, she stands back up, watching the lights on the server begin flicking on and off rapidly and sporadically, owing her to believe that she'd done something right, and that the information contained was - at least - corrupted due to the circuitry she'd just purposefully fucked up.

she's by his side in a moment, peering out as well to see if they had any company. for a beat, there's nothing, and they think they have the all clear, until she hears rose's voice.

"shit!" her eyes widen at the exclamation, and they both immediately leave the room, heading back in the direction of the flight bay.

"rose? what happened, are you guys alright?" there's an eerie silence, as rose nor finn reach to communicate back through their earpieces.

"-over here! poe, we gotta head back, they're right on us!" finn's voice comes though, finally, but it does nothing to quell the pair's heightened worry.

"wait - finn, they'll chase after you - wait till we-" poe begins.

"we don't have time!" rose's voice is frantic, and the sound of blasters surround it. her eyes squeeze shut as she breathes deeply.

"rose - okay, get out of here. we're right behind you." there's no confirmation from the other end, but she tries not to let that deter her as she and poe continue towards the flight bay.

there's a smattering of patrolling stormtroopers, but her sharp ears and his sharper reflexes keep them from being caught as they slink along the shadows, tattooed to the walls of each hallway.

the large hangar finally comes into view, and they can see the familiar sf-fighter exiting it, evidently being chased by single-manned tie-fighters.

knowing they were unlikely not to be caught in this last stretch, they flee the short distance between the secluded entryway and their awaiting ship, with her rapidly beating against the button to open the door as poe covered her, keeping those whose attention they'd drawn at ever-decreasing bay with his calculated shots.

finally, the panel lowered, and they swapped positions, her shoddy shots managing to continue slowing them down as poe seats himself in the pilot's seat.

no sooner than had the panel closed upon itself are they up in the air, and she desperately straps herself into the gunner's seat, knowing she had to put her limited knowledge of the position to any use. the entrance to the hangar is rapidly closing as the colonel from earlier can be heard through the ship's comms, desperately trying to keep the pair trapped within the base.

she can feel her back imprint against her seat as poe speeds the vehicle up, just narrowly exiting the snapping jaws of the base's exit. as she takes the smallest breath of relief, does it disappear once more.

"'re you guys out? we could do with some help!" finn's voice evidenced that he was trying to keep his cool, but the fear in it was also obvious. poe's responding in a heartbeat.

"we're there in a second!" she can feel the ship begin climbing as poe checked the scanner for any other vehicles. finally, they see the sf-fighter, being narrowly tailed by two tie-fighters. poe - true to his word - comes between the forces in a heartbeat, almost dancing with the tie-fighters as he weaves between the both of them. she feels dizzy at the quick movements, but suppresses the urge to pass out and grips harder at the armrests.

"finn - get outta here, i have them!" poe's speaking through the comms once more and, as he finishes his sentence, the ship's horizontal, peeling away from finn and rose - the tie-fighters hot on his trails, evidently disgruntled by the flashy flying. finn doesn't wait a second, activating the hyperdrive and inputting the coordinates of d'qar.

on the other side of the galaxy, poe's still leading the two tie-fighter's away, but the shitty ship is impeding his ability to duck and weave like he could in his x-wing.

"'m gonna need your help here!" she jolts awake at the request, realizing that she needs to man her station. her eyes desperately flit over the various buttons, before she grips the aim stick. her eyes are trained against the tie-fighter directly tailing them, and she centers it in her view, before aggressively hitting the button to shoot.

and, it's a narrow miss. she curses, trying to refocus, but a dread begins creeping up her gut.

"i don't know what i'm doing, dameron - get us out of here!" it's an order, but, really who was she to order him around.

"we've got this - we can take 'em out." she's used to his confidence and belief in himself, but she knew they truly couldn't.

"will you just-" seeing another clear shot, she takes it. it goes a bit better, with it hitting the end of one of the fighter's wings, causing the ship to dip to one side. her worry is soothed as she celebrates the small victory to herself.

then, as though a higher power was absolutely fucking with her, it all goes to shit.

she feels the ship rumble and heave sharply as she hears a loud crash, and she whips her head around, trying to find the source of it. she desperately grips at the aim stick, trying to keep it steady and ready to fire again, but she doesn't have a moment to use it when another loud blast and creak is heard.

"shit!" her eyes widened at poe's exclamation.

"what the hell just happened - whad'ya mean-?" her words are cut off due to the wind being knocked out of her as she's slammed against one of her armrests.

"we're going - fuck - the engine's been hit - hold on-" his words are breathless against the comms, and she can hear the exertion of effort by the grunts that carry through the hallway. she grips the armrests for dear life as she waits to see what would happen. she can feel the ship make a sharp turn and, behind them, the tie-fighters trail behind a little, as if they were playing with their prey.

"what're we doing?" her fear is evident in her tone, and her voice is a bit croaky in her heightened confusion.

"i'm trying to set us down on that planet over there." she can't see it, looking out from the back of the ship, but she knows that can't be the best idea in their current state. though, seeing the creeping tie-fighters makes it seem like there's no other choice.

she can see as they enter the atmosphere, hearing the shrill whistle of wings singeing on impact. then, she closes her eyes, bracing for impact as the both of them sit in anticipating silence. she's thinking we're going too fast, the ship's gonna blow up with me in it - god fucking dammit-

and that's the last thing she remembers.

he wakes up to a mouthful of dirt, bent very awkwardly over the semi-buried dashboard of the sf-fighter. his window's broken open, and the sun - or suns? - is blinding through it. he blinks aggressively, his vision swimming a spotty as he spits the gunk out of his mouth, wiping his lips against his fucked jacket sleeve. there's enough of a space between the ground and the glass of his window pane for him to just about crawl through, feeling the heavy impact on his legs from the crash. he looks around, desperately wondering where the hell he was.

it's a grassy planet, filled with lush vegetation and small ponds and lakes. the ship was half-sticking out of one, and his pants legs are soaking wet, the skin of his fingertips pruned. he can feel a sharp sting of pane every time he moves his foot and, peeling back the end of the sopping cloth, sees the discolored swelling of his ankle - having been sprained or twisted in the crash. he lets his head fall back - could have been worse, a lot worse.

he looks up at the looming, though destroyed figure of the sf-fighter, and, seeing the other end balanced precariously above the ground. for a moment, he doesn't pay it much attention - until he remembers.

his shoddy ankle sings in agony as he makes large, limping steps towards the other end of the ship, realizing that he didn't yet know the fate of his other passenger - his mechanic.

of course, in the recess of his mind, he had a guess. but he couldn't entertain it.

finally getting to the end. he peers in to see if she was okay. he's panting heavily, desperately trying to ignore the pain as he focused on using the little light on this side to look through the broken glass. he could see her legs, bent a little awkwardly - but not broken - and he traces them up to her head and torso - which was tightly strapped against the seat. it was the only thing keeping her from falling onto the floor, and her heads hanging. she's definitely not conscious, and he can't help but feel his heart sink as he steps closer - ankle be damned - reaching through the broken glass to unstrap her. when he does, her body flops forward - as he believed it would - a bit like a ragdoll and, though the angle definitely didn't help, he did his best to pull her out. when he could finally observe her in the sunlight, he could feel his chest swell in relief at the movement of her chest up and down. pulling her towards him, he could feel her breath against his neck.

so relieved, he doesn't realize, for a moment, the shallowness of those breaths, and the dampness of the cloth around her shoulder. when he does, though, he desperately removes the fabric. he winces at the sight, having to look away for a moment, before looking back down to observe the extent of her injury.

her upper arm got a long, deep gash, and the blood from it had soaked through her sleeve. not wasting a moment, he slides the sleeves of his own jacket off, tearing a thick, long strap from the t-shirt he wore under it. he wraps it as tightly as he can manager around her arm to staunch any further bleeding, hoping it wasn't too late, and trying desperately to ignore the small whimpers or stuttered breaths that she let out at the action.

he rises to his feet, a difficult task, in his condition, and notices a small shade of trees just a bit away from the pair. breathing deeply - almost in an effort to will away his pain - he grabs her good arm and pulls it over his shoulder, hoping his good leg wouldn't give out, as he makes his way there.

she wakes up in a cold sweat, looking up to see the large leaves of a tree under the backdrop of an orange sky. she scrambles to sit up in a moment, unable to fully comprehend her surroundings. her heart's going a mile a minute, her body entering fight or flight mode, before she hears his voice.

"you're alright - you're good. m'here." she recognizes his voice more quickly than she'd maybe be willing to admit and, when she goes to turn to the source of it, she feels a scream of agony in her arm. her sharp grunt of pain is louder than she maybe had hoped, but fuck - did her arm hurt, "yeah - uh, you've got a bad cut." his voice is soft, as if he were trying to lull her into a sense of calm.

it worked. for a moment.

until she remembered what happened. the tie-fighters, her pleads to go the hyperspace, the engine failing, the jolt of the impact of the straps holding her body in place, the blood in her hair from the open wound on her arm, her head going blank and her passing out from the pain.

she remembered all of it. including what he'd said.

'we've got this'

there's a lump in her throat, and she desperately tries to swallow it down as she stares vehemently at the dirt under her. she refuses to look up at him, and hopes he realizes why.

"do - does anyone know we're here?" her voice is more broken than she'd hoped it was but - fuck, she was scared. she can see him shrug in her peripheral.

"i'm sure they'll find us." she sighs deeply, turning away to the extent that she can. there's a calm, though cold, silence between them, before she can hear him sharply inhale.

"helluva trip, huh?" there's a jokey cadence to his voice, and it takes her a moment to actually process what he's said, his casual tongue actually igniting a rageful fire in her.

"what?" it's a whisper - backed by such an anger that she worries if she speaks louder, she'll scream.

"i'm just saying - pretty, uh, pretty crazy thing, right?" she shuts her eyes, and a small part of her brain knows that, at best, this is his way of making the best of a bad situation and, at worst, this is just some shit attempt at small talk. but - be it his words in the past, or the pain of her arm, or maybe even just the fact that all she could hear was his confident words like a low buzz in her ears since she remembered what he'd said - she was furious.

"yeah - it's fucking insane how i'm lightheaded because of all the blood i lost, and how i can't move a centimeter without wanting to cut my arm off, and how i can feel the bruises forming where the straps kept me from splitting my skull open on my broken window. it's a helluva experience." her words are softer than she'd thought they would be, but she knew if she was any louder, she may have screamed at him until her lungs collapsed or her throat gave out - whichever came later.

she doesn't have to turn back to see the expression on his face, and, truly she feels a bit shit for lashing out at him.

but she was on a random fucking planet with a mangled fucking arm and her only company was a pilot with no fucking plane.

so, excuse her for the outburst.

"i-" poe's stammering behind her, but she can't hear it, as her vision swims when she tries to get on her feet. she can see the ship in the distance, and knowing that it was her best bet at company right now, she trudges towards it, "where're you going?"

she doesn't dignify him with an answer.

when she finally reaches the large structure, she situates herself against the pilot's dashboard, gently kicking away the broken glass as she tentatively crouches down. she looks over the panel, hoping that at least one of the comms was still working. she procures her screwdriver with her good arm - well, technically not, but at least it didn't hurt all that much to move - before lightly tapping the back of it against any and all of the buttons, seeing if anything worked.

her arm now had a dull, thrumming pain, and she desperately tried to ignore it as she focuses on identifying what the comms were. she traces over a panel that seems to be promising, pulling the screwdriver towards it to see if she could meddle with any of the circuitry under it to get it to work - however briefly.

pulling it up, she realizes both the awkwardness of her position, and of her grip on the tool, unused to using this hand for it. her muscles ached, her arm ached, her temples ached as she desperately tried to slot the head of the tool into the screw, failing once, twice, thrice, before dropping the tool with a groan of anguish.

she's heaving - no, sobbing, feeling the liquid of her tears roll down her cheeks. she slumps against the glass, palming her cheeks as she desperately tried to muffle her exhausted weeping, only the sound of her small hiccups escaping.

she hated getting like this - crying out in the open, and she only reserved the ordeal for true upsets. though, this was one of them. she was so tired, and in so much pain, and she'd just been so horrible to poe as well - when he'd just tried to lighten her mood.

through the blood rushing in her ears and the motion of her hiccups, she doesn't realize the heavy thuds of poe's limping steps. she only realizes when he's in front of her, blocking the dimming sunlight from her eyes, and she covers her face entirely, not wanting to see her in this state.

he doesn't comment, though, only falling to his own haunches before sitting beside her, granting a respectful silence and, more importantly, friendly contact.

she swallows harshly as she forces her hiccups down. she doesn't look at him, worried it'd make her start up again, but he knows she's not uncomfortable with him there.

taking her good hand, he gently drops an opened bag of nuts. she looks at it, a bit confused.

"always keep 'em on me. emergency snack." he says it so casually and, it being contrasted with the slight childishness of the information, makes her crack the hint of a smile.

maybe she was hysterical.

"- hope they'll make you feel better." he continues, and she nods, popping one in her mouth and absorbing the mild, sweet taste.

"thanks - thanks." she mumbles, and they're quiet for another moment.

she hands them back to her, and, in that moment of contact, he notices her cold skin. he glances over her, realizing her thin top without a sleeve, and he shrugs off his jacket. it's a bit mucked up from the crash, but it's better than nothing.

tentatively, he moves a bit closer to her, gently placing the material around her, careful of her arm. still she winces - but only for a moment. really, she's more confused.

"what're you doing?" she whispers, and he's close enough to hear her now.

"you're cold." he's not wrong, but she still protests.

"and you?" he smiles.

"well, i'm pretty hot-headed. i'll be fine." it's a joke, and she really wants to laugh at it, but she can't help but feel bad once again for her words. taking it differently, poe continues solemnly. “i’m sorry.”

it’s a quiet mumble into the still air. it sounds foreign, coming from his mouth, as he tries to fit the extent of how apologetic and shitty he feels into the fleeting, overused phrase. she stays quiet, the only noise being her soft exhales.

“i - i know.” she mumbles back, unsure of what more to say. of course he was - he’d never intended for this. nonetheless, he’d been subject to her own emotions, to an unjustifiable degree, “i am, too.”

his contemplative expression returns a smile instead, now, and she finally turns to look at him.

"i'll buy us a drink when we get back, okay?" he offers, making her scoff.

"you're so great at apologies." he shrugs, as though it's obvious fact, and not a light jab.

"then what about dinner?" her eyes widen a little at the proposition, and she's speechless for a moment. then, she snorts, pushing her good hand across his face and playfully pushing him.

"get us out of here; then, we can talk about dinner." he smiles widely under her palm, and laughs as she takes her hand off. he leans back just that bit further against the metal, and the readjustment causes the dashboard to shift just slightly.

a small item comes rolling down, and falls right in his lap. he grasps at it and, realizing what it is, his eyes widen. he brandishes it in between the both of them, and she also realizes: it's his earpiece.

he gently presses the input button, and immediately starts calling out for finn, rose or pala. they wait a moment, with baited breath.

"poe - kriff, we thought you were dead!" finn's voice is unmistakable, and the revelation makes the pair's spirits soar.

in no less than a couple minutes were the told that a ship was coming by to collect them, and, as the earpiece's output stops for the moment, she rests more peacefully against the destroyed ship, and he mirrored her movements.

"so, about that dinner?"