#and i put matt in a glass jar so i can study him like a bug

[charactercandyart]

a little something for the birthday boyyyy (on my hands and knees begging you the viewer to read @ghostboyscomic)

[bastillia]

Loyalties Lie

AO3 Mirror

Summary: You're a bartender in a Lothal cantina, living a quiet life in the Outer Rim after the fall of the Empire. You can't help but wonder what more might be out there for you. One dangerous guest in particular keeps catching your eye. Unfortunately, you've also caught his.

Rating: E

Words: 6.1k

Warnings: possibly mild dubcon, threats with a weapon, rough sex, verbal degradation, mentions of alcohol, cumplay, Boba Fett has a 24oz monster can dick and he knows how to use it.

A/N: Remember when I said I had a Boba Fett WIP laying around like, months ago? Well guess who showed up in Mando S2 with a sexy dad bod and the fattest dick in the galaxy to overhaul my dreams and make them a reality. Fuck me. Yes this is the first thing I’ve written in months hi I’m still here. No I don’t know how many chapters this will be. I live in hell. Welcome. Thank you to @kylorengarbagedump​ for graciously beta reading and listening to me literally scream about this man all the time. Love y’all so much PLEASE ENJOY.

**

It’s the kind of night that hums. 

Like a moonlit Lothal prairie, quiet and alive somewhere beyond the outskirts of town. Except that in here, the crickets swoop past your bar to buy shots, and the stars fall steadily to become the lovely tink of credits in your tip jar. The twin moons are shifting hues of neon light, and time seems to stroll by, like it has nowhere better to be.

Tonight has been steady. 

It’s not busy enough tonight to challenge you, but not slow enough to let you rest. Your guard is up, as it always is when you’re behind the bar. But your hold on it can afford to be loose. 

Tonight has been…

Boring. 

No brawls, no assassinations, not even a drunken paw fumbling across the bar towards your tits, attached to some overly rowdy patron who you then get to watch with quiet glee as they’re dragged out by the ears. No, in fact, it’s hard to remember the last time something remotely interesting happened around here. So much for the Outer Rim’s rugged reputation. You hate to say you miss the Empire’s occupation from time to time. But at least it brought nightly intrigue.

Tonight, your guests are especially calm and happy, lulled by liquor and the easy flow of conversation, murmurs blending like a stream through the grassland. And you suppose you shouldn’t complain. You’ve more than earned your keep for the night, and then some. Best of all, your boss has no reason to be breathing down your neck. 

In fact, he’s happy, too, you note when the Lasat’s bellowing business-laugh resounds overtop a few flutes of spotchka, glowing inside a booth across the room. You pass a cloth around the rim of a clean glass, feeling a tickle of interest as to who he might be schmoozing this time. When you glance up, you can just make out a pair of well-dressed Rodians seated across from him through the leisure-thick air of the cantina, nudging each other and laughing at whatever witty, schmoozy thing he just said. 

A soft snort puffs through your nose. At least Dakk is a predictable man, if nothing else. Must be rich folk, probably well connected. Good. You’ll get no help tonight, but at least he will be occupied for a while.

In fact...

Flicking a quick glance around the room, you take your chance and shrug your outer tunic off your shoulders, quickly smoothing down your much more revealing undershirt until it clings to the shape of you. You know Dakk hates when you do this, always goes on about keeping the place “classy.” But he’s not looking, and if it puts a few extra credits in your jar by the end of the night, it’s worth it. Anyway, you’re in a good mood tonight. Bored nonetheless, and the combination always forges a mischievous kind of boldness in you; a tiny spark that glows just bright enough to cast the idea of consequence in shadow.

You scan the bar for an empty drink, a flirtatious urge rolling off of your freshly bared skin and filling your ribs with air. It’s not long before you hone on your target-- an unsuspecting guest sitting alone, head turned away. Probably eavesdropping. A smirk curves your lips and you sidle over, plink a glass down between you, leaning your elbows on the bartop. 

“Something else for you, sugar?”

His head whips around with a guilty swiftness, but you just offer an easy smile, shifting your weight through your hips to coax his eyes down your body. It works like a charm.

“I, uh...“ The young Mirialan stammers directly at your tits. “Yeah, c-can I, ah…” 

As you wait out his struggle, an idea sparks in your freshly emboldened mind. Maker’s sake, might as well help the poor thing out. 

“Got a ruge liqueur in stock, last shipment off Alderaan. Rare these days.” Your lashes flutter, tongue just barely playing your along your lower lip as if teasing some unspoken promise. “I just couldn’t help but notice, you seem like a person of exceptional taste.”

The words are warm summer air on your tongue, practiced and enticing. You can see them go to the kid’s head like spice smoke, his cheeks immediately flushing deep emerald beneath diamond-shaped tattoos. 

“Y-yeah?” He straightens, runs a hand through his hair, grinning sheepishly. “I mean...yeah! I, uh, I am. That s-sounds great, yeah. Um. Please.”

You smile. Too easy. 

Now, it’s not technically a lie. You do have the ruge in stock, it’s just that--well, it’s definitely nothing this kid can afford. But you’d bet a week’s worth of tips that you can slip him a cheap offworld varietal instead. Charge him triple its price, pocket the excess. Poor thing wouldn’t know the real stuff if it bit him.

You swell with the thought. That amount might even let you buy something nice for yourself for once. It might be a little slimy, but... fuck it. Kid seems well off enough. Decently nice clothes, cologne, that misplaced air of belonging that comes with sheltered entitlement. Surely he won’t miss a few extra credits. Anyway, you deserve this, right?

Moving to speak again, you prepare to lay the flirting on thick, really sell the gambit. But before you get the chance, a loud bang snaps your attention upward just in time to see the cantina door slam open. 

You straighten where you stand, irritation and curiosity pricking your ears in equal measure. But then a slight hush cuts the ease of your buzzing meadow, and your chest squeezes with it.

Boba Fett.

The hunter takes up almost the whole doorway, a broad tower of matte green beskar catching the soft neons of the cantina. The distinctly cold gaze of the Mandalorian helmet scans the room, stirring murmurs and averting eyes until it comes to rest, finally, upon you.

It feels like two cold weights set down on your shoulders, being the focus of that stare. 

Even as the energy picks back up around you, as conversations cautiously resume, it’s like you’re trapped in it, breathless under its weight and unable to look away. You vaguely register the Mirialan turn back to your tits and ask them something about when your shift ends. But you’re still transfixed, watching the armored man take a few deliberate steps towards the bar and straddle a stool, the visor trained like a crosshair upon you as his forearms settle on the bartop.

You’ve seen him here before. Heard his name whispered in weighted ripples ever since news spread through the Outer Rim that Bib Fortuna was dead. Since then, he’s come through maybe once every few dozen cycles, each time with a couple new chips in the paint of his armor. He comes here on business--or at least you assume that’s what it must be, since he always meets someone, speaks in hushed tones enshrouded by the dim corner booth in the back. He’ll toss a few credits on the bar when he leaves, but has never uttered a word to you, never ordered a drink.

Never even glanced your way, for all you know. Until right now. 

You swallow. Fucking hell, if there’s anything you’re used to, it’s being looked at. So why is this gaze kicking your pulse up into the base of your throat, making you feel exposed? A prickle of heat is already settling in your cheeks.

And then the visor cocks, and just barely tilts down the length of your figure. 

A tight breath snaps into your lungs, and your eyes dart to the bartop, across the room, back to the Mirialan still babbling dumbly at you, your face now hot. Kriff, what is wrong with you? Since when are you outright flustered by some stranger copping an eyeful? You try to breathe, ignoring how the hairs stand on your neck.

But you can still feel his attention like the heat of a sun warming your bare shoulder, and it makes something start to coil in your belly and glow there.

“I’ll have that ruge right up, sweetheart.” 

You’re pretty sure you interrupt the kid, but he doesn’t seem to mind, just calls out a stammered thank-you as you pivot away towards your new guest, your heart kicking against your sternum. Your feet almost feel weighted to the floor, and by the time you reach him, your pulse has an edge like a blade. 

“Something I can interest you in?” 

There’s a breathlessness to the warm air of your voice now, and you pray to the Maker that it doesn’t betray you. You lean against the bar, hoping that the solidity of the wood will somehow teach your nerves to follow its example. It doesn’t. 

He seems to study you for a moment, motionless. And then his shoulders shift, his elbows widen, and he leans in towards you.

“Information.” His voice is low and direct, barely above a graveled whisper, the single accent-laden word dragging through your belly and sparking like metal on stone.

Fuck.

Of course he’s after the one thing you’re not willing to sell.

Your heart stalls while your mind starts to race, eyes searching the dark visor. Of course you’d be a fool to deny him, and he knows it. That’s why he’s asking you. Why would you risk rousing a scene in your own bar, especially when the night is so mercifully calm? Easier to give him what he wants. Tap into your collection of liquor-loosened secrets, and knowledge of the local crowd.

The thing is, you’ve built a good rapport for your discretion. You think. Not to mention the number of cutting warnings Dakk has laid on you about the consequences for selling secrets in his bar. Is it really worth risking? Fett intimidates you, no doubt. But he’s also banking on the assumption that you won’t make this difficult for him. He has to be. And now unease and excitement are starting to play a game of catch between your ribs with that tiny, dangerous spark of boldness.

“Fresh out.” Your fingers drum the wood beneath them, trying to ground your reflexes through the rush of adrenaline that accompanies your words. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and you stare into the blackness of the visor as you let the tiniest, playful smirk flit over your face.  “Perhaps something to drink?”

Slowly, achingly slowly, Boba Fett settles back on the bar stool. Unease lances you, splintering with the immediate question of whether you just made the right choice. You don’t want to think about how many he’d manage to kill before you could even blink, if he decided to do something extreme. His hand starts to shift back along his thigh, drawing a path towards the blaster at his hip. You swallow, panic pricking your neck.

Just as your muscles are primed to dive behind the bar, convinced you’re going to have to evade his quickdraw, his palm just takes a lazy rest on the hilt. The helmet levels, and then leans slowly to the side. 

“No.” 

Dizzied, you blink. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking through that helmet, and he’s offered you all of two words. But was that… amusement, you heard? No. Anger? Fuck, now you’re really imagining things.

Still a little breathless, you straighten, sensing that you’re dismissed. The thought of flirting with a killer was a much-needed rush, but you need to take his indifference as a mercy after that little stunt and get on with your job while he’s giving you the chance. What little you apparently have left of a survival instinct is at least telling you that much.

You shrug. 

“Suit yourself.”

It feels dangerous to take your eyes off of him. But you force yourself to do so anyways, turning your back on the hunter and making your way to the dim doorway at the end of the bar, his attention still heating your spine. 

It’s a fucking relief to slip through the door to the storage room, ease the door shut behind you, and for the first time in what feels like moons, you let a long breath fill your lungs. The familiar scent of dust and wine-aged wood floods you, and something like disappointment tugs at your heart.

Maybe that stupid, adventure-craving side of your imagination took things too far, fueled by your boredom and the prospect of something exciting finally happening. You suppose you projected that naive hope onto Boba Fett, if nothing else just because he’s the first person to come through here in a long time that actually intrigues you. That confounds your prized, finely-calibrated radar for reading people without having to speak a word to them.

Fuck, he really wouldn’t give you much more than a word, would he? Guess he’s determined to keep scrambling your sensors. It shouldn’t deject you as much as it does. But...  come on, the least the son of a mudscuffer could do is flirt back if he was gonna fucking undress you with his eyes like that. 

Or maybe that was just your imagination, too. 

You sigh, scanning a shelf on the back wall for a ruge that will make a convincing enough dupe. A synthetic varietal, perhaps. No--too cheap. You’ve got something from a Naboo vineyard in here somewhere. Anyways, whatever, since when are you desperate for any man’s attention?

No, okay, it’s... you know that isn’t what this is really about. 

It would just be nice to feel important, is all. Like the secrets you’ve gathered might be worth something. Could someday give you a place in something bigger. Or at least like anything about you might be worth more than equivalent to a shot of shitty spotchka. 

Forget it. As if that will ever happen.

Your finger absently traces the dusty label of a bottle, and then a soft clink of metal behind you freezes your blood. 

You whip around to meet a wall of beskar, inches from your face.

You start to scream, but the sound catches in your throat when a big hand seizes you by the back of the neck and wrenches you around, bending you at the hips and slamming you chest-down against the stale wood of a storage crate. Cold metal presses your thighs and your heart smacks your ribs, your body completely trapped under Boba Fett’s mass in one motion. 

“I said I need information, little one, and you’re going to give it to me.” His voice scrapes over your body, sliding through the dim room like the shadow from a candle flame. You quail beneath him, brain racing with shock.

“I d-don’t—ugh!” The weight of his forearm comes down between your shoulder blades, pressing breathy little grunts from your lungs as you squirm. “I don’t sell out my customers.”

You freeze when the distinct click of a blaster registers right at your temple. 

“Never said I was buying.”

Panic zips down your spine, your chest heaving against the wooden crate as heat slams your core. Somewhere, your rational brain is scrambling to parse the threat, but something about the sheer filth and danger of it is setting your whole body on fire, making far more primal nerves come alive. Trying to shake the feeling, you squirm.

“At lea--ngh, least nothing’s changed there.”

Fucking hell, what are you doing? Besides sassing the known murderer with a blaster currently trained at your head, alone in a dark room. Yet somehow that very fact is making arousal bloom so wicked and fast that you can already start to feel your cunt throb against the fabric of his pants. 

“Willing to die to protect a few spineless slime crawlers who don’t even know your name?” Boba rocks his weight against you, powerful and lazy in the way he simply leans into his hips, grinds them up hard against your ass to keep you flattened over the edge of the crate. “Boss man lines his pockets while his good little pet works for scraps.” Air feels more scarce to your lungs by the second. “Interesting, how your loyalties lie.”

Indignance flares up your spine.

“I w-ouldn’t expect you to understand.” You try to put venom in the words, but it’s difficult between your breathlessness and the sheer eroticism of this position you’re in. “Small price to pay, f-for a good life.”

Through your annoyance, you can’t help feeling a twinge of enjoyment at his solidity, at how you can just discern the outline of him through his pants. An excited thrum of your pulse snaps to your core like a fuse.

Above you, Boba Fett chuckles.

“Is that what he gives you?” There’s a mockery to his tone that heats your blood, and you start to squirm in defiance before remembering the blaster at your temple. Fett simply crushes you harder, drawing your attention back to his crotch. “Seems to me like you’re the mouse in his attic.”

“I suppose you’re better than him? Than any of them?” you immediately bite, not wanting to acknowledge the truth behind his words. Instead, you grab that spark of bravery and crank the voltage until it drowns your doubt, throwing your caution to the stars faster than punching an airlock in hyperspace. “Do you even know m-my name, Mando?” A tiny giggle ripples your chest. “I know yours.”

“Might be the last one you know,” Boba growls, but you’re becoming fixated on his cock now, the way you could swear that it’s growing more distinct by the second.

Fear and pleasure wrack your brain, the combination intensifying so deliciously with the pressure of his groin against your ass that you can hardly think straight any more. In a moment of sick indulgence, you arch your back and shift just slightly, wanting to feel that pressure against something now pulsing and sensitive. 

The grip on your neck locks tight, and your breath stops. 

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, princess.” 

He kicks your legs apart and crushes his hardening bulge against your pussy. And, fuck, you moan. You don’t even mean to, but the thrill of helplessness has you so mindlessly turned on that you can’t stop the noise from squeezing out of your throat.

“Filthy little thing you are.” 

There’s a shift in his tone now. The vice hold disappears from your nape just before your pants are wrenched unceremoniously over your ass and down to mid thigh. You gasp at the feeling of air brushing your bare lips. He takes a moment, and you think he must be looking at you. Heat blossoms from your face all the way down to your chest, and then he’s against you again, a palm coming down between your shoulders as coarse fabric presses flush with your cunt. 

You can really feel the outline of his cock now, hard enough to rival his armor but warm and thick against you, and you whimper. It’s only a click that snaps your awareness back to the weapon pointed at your head. 

“Let’s try this again, little mouse.” Boba’s voice comes lower and airier through the vocoder now in a way that blazes right through you. “You give me what I want, and perhaps you’ll inspire my generosity.”

In emphasis of his intent, he rocks his erection against the cleft of your pussy. Your eyes snap wide, an almost painful stab of arousal making you immediately whine louder than you intend to. “Fuck--oh, please!”

“Careful.” His hand slides up your neck, angling your face so that he can see it twist in shame and pleasure. “Wouldn’t want anyone finding you like this.”

Your cheeks blaze. Shallow breaths stutter in your lungs as his thumb tugs the pillow of your lower lip. And then he releases you, his hand moving back somewhere you can’t sense. The pressure against your ass shifts for a moment, just before the wide, hot shaft of his bare cock caresses your cunt.

“Last night there was a man here, Mon Cala, middle aged.” Your body is on fire as he speaks, the skin to skin contact dousing your brain in blind want. You grit your teeth, screw your eyes shut, trying hard to focus on what he’s saying while your pussy twinges around nothing. “He talked to the owner here, then he met with someone. Tell me who.”

A reluctant whimper leaves your lips, and the noise might just be one of the most pathetic you’ve ever made as your tongue still stubbornly refuses to slip. But Fett’s words ring again through your head with a resentful pang: the mouse in his attic. Is that what you’ll die as?

At your temple, the blaster’s safety disengages.

“Fuck! Okay, okay.” Your breath comes heavily, brain uncertain and lust-addled, fumbling for the details. “He um. Met a--mmh, a woman, I d-didn’t catch her name. Please--” Your voice trails off in a soft whine, your hips shifting back, trying to find the means to swallow his cock where it teases your tender core, entice him with the diversion now that you’ve given him a crumb.

“You must be dumber than I took you for, sweetling.” His hips retreat slightly, evading you. The sheer display of restraint is infuriating, electrifying. It shallows your breath with need. He stills again, a rough, gloved hand running firmly up your spine, pushing your shirt up to bare more of your skin to his view. “Tell me the rest.”

Your teeth set with a final, feeble whine of hesitation. More instinct than anything. But then a cold ring of metal presses your temple, and fresh fear unbinds your tongue in a deluge.

“S-she had, ah--civilian clothes, but, um… an Imperial s-standard issue blaster.” Your eyes screw in concentration, details flickering like a glitchy holocom through your brain. “I heard them talk about, uh. A shipment. For… Fuck, uh. Th-three cycles from now.”

Boba hums, a sound that makes your eyes roll back as you feel yourself nearly dripping against him, your slick coating his cock where it just barely parts you.

“Smart girl.” His hand drags indulgently down your back, coming to rest on your hip and squeezing. “Where’s the shipment going, princess?”

Torture. This is some kind of galactic war crime, you’re sure of it. Pleasure surges from your teased cunt and his grip on your flesh, and his voice is almost soothing now, coaxing you further towards complacency. It’s all too much. Your head rests against the crate, defeat washing in a gentle tide over you. 

“Going... to Hosnian Prime.”

A soft, satisfied puff of noise comes from the modulator. The barrel retreats from your temple. 

“Now, there’s a good girl.”

Warmth crashes through your lower belly, a strange and exhilarating sensation that suddenly makes you want to... purr? No one has ever spoken to you like this, and it’s tickling a part of your brain that feels far, far too good. But then his cock glides thick and heavy along your folds, obliterating your thoughts, and all you can think about is having that inside of you. 

“Fuck,” you whine as he slowly aligns himself, teasing up and down the drenched, tender flesh of your pussy. He takes his time, massaging the blunt head over your clit and sending little shocks through your muscles, making you shiver and clench. “Please, please…” 

“Tame little creature when you want to be,” he grits, pressing against your entrance with an exhaled groan. “Keep being good for me.” 

Slowly, he starts to push. And, oh, fuck.

You’re not ready. 

You’re wetter and needier than you’ve ever been in your life, and you’re still not fucking ready to take a cock like this one when it crushes in and stretches you, setting an ache through your hips that tells you whatever happens, you’re bound to feel him for days. 

A cry sticks in your throat and you will yourself to breathe, to relax as he sinks in further, forcing your walls to flutter and part around him. It truly feels like being broken open, and your fingers have to dig into the wood beneath you when he pulls out an inch and then pushes again, sinking deeper this time as a choked noise pulls through the vocoder.

By the time he finally bottoms out, you swear you can feel him shifting your guts. Every muscle in your pelvis is straining to take him, the intensity mind-numbing already. You’re nearly choking on your own attempts to breathe while he pauses, sheathed like this for a few moments, seeming to concentrate on his own breathing at the same time. 

And then his voice comes again, a growl, pitched even lower and more ferocious than before through a clutched breath. 

“Fuck, you’re a tight little thing.” 

Stars.

This is different.

It’s so hard to think, you’ve never felt more full, but something in the back of your mind is unfurling, turning hot and primal with a roiling kind of need that burgeons and begs at the feeling of his cock rooted so fucking deep inside of you. You’ve had sex before, sure, but this…

You’re about to get fucked. 

“Please…” you mewl. Desperation pierces you when you feel his fingers flex strong and firm around your hip in response. You turn your head, trying to glimpse him--only to realize that the blaster is still right next to your face, its angle nonchalant, close enough to brush your lips. 

Your mind is so drenched in lust, the first urge that strikes you is to stick out your tongue and wet the metal, its sharp alloy piercing your senses and making your pussy seize with the shudder of danger.

In your periphery, you see the visor snap to attention, like he wasn’t fully looking at you before, lost in his own pleasure. But now he is. And he gives the weapon an experimental twist, allowing for your lips to wrap, delicate and wet, just around the tip of the barrel.

“Fearless little mouse.” There’s something dark and charged in his voice. “You look good like that.”

A slight wiggle to open your jaw, and the blaster shoves past your lips, resting thick and cold on your tongue, lighting your spine with a new thrill. Your voice swells on a muffled moan around it, such a soft and lovely sound to accompany a thing that’s orchestrated countless deaths. 

“There we are. Nice and quiet now.” 

Finally, finally, he starts to thrust, slow and measured, forcing your body to yield around the width of him. Something burns hot in your belly with each steady stroke, wiping your brain of everything but his presence.

The rough material of a glove smothers one of your asscheeks, grips and pulls at the pillowy flesh, spreading you open as his thrusts take up a steady, powerful rhythm. Boba Fett lets out a long groan, and you can only imagine the view he has right now. It sears you alive, the knowledge that he likes looking at you like this, pitching and whimpering with his rhythm, the sight of your pussy stretched, helpless around his cock and your mouth wetting his blaster. 

Your spit slicks the barrel more with every thrust, and you can feel the mechanics shifting dangerously between your lips. But his trigger finger is steadier than death, and his control gives you the nerve to let your tongue lick out along the barrel, bathe in the electric wash of fear that sets all of your nerves into overdrive.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he snarls as his pace starts to kick up wilder. 

Intense pleasure cracks through you now, visceral in a way you’ve never felt, and it’s all you can do to keep relatively quiet. The barrel on your tongue is a sharp enough reminder, yet it fuels your arousal to burn hotter and wetter all the same. The more you concentrate on the powerful bliss coiling in your core and rippling outwards, the more you can feel yourself starting to tighten around him, your body yearning vaguely towards a release it can’t seem to center on.

You hear him groan as you squeeze him, his grip on your flesh flexing and shifting. A few more strong thrusts, and then his cock pulls all the way out of you with a woeful pang, the blaster vacating your mouth in the same motion to leave you empty, dizzied and clenching. But before you can unscramble your brain, the blaster slots back into its holster and he’s moving you. With an effortless kind of control, he flips you over, shifting you until the solid wood of the crate supports your ass.

He hikes both of your legs onto one shoulder and in one swift, easy motion, whisks your pants over your shoes and off of your ankles, tossing them carelessly into the darkness of the room before hooking your legs around his armored waist.

“Going to watch you cum, princess. Nice and pretty.”

Your mouth opens on a gasp at his words, and a gloved thumb immediately presses your tongue, the taste of leather and plasma residue grounding your senses enough to register that he’s lining his cock back up at the heat of your entrance. You whine around his thick digit, and he growls somewhere low in his chest as he pushes the thick head back in, this new angle making you see stars all over again. 

He doesn’t bother letting you adjust this time, just uses your wetness to his advantage to start railing through your tightness, burning and stretching you as that warm swell starts to crest again. It’s such a deep, full feeling, spreading a delicious ache from the spot where he hits you deep in your tummy. 

Your brows draw together, your whines pitching higher as you search the visor. It’s a wordless plea, your vision swallowed by the power of him fucking you deep, your body now screaming to cum but needing something you can’t quite pinpoint.

The hunter’s thumb slips out of your mouth, his hand forging an eager path down your body. He palms your tit over your shirt, before grabbing the low collar and yanking it down, baring your nipples to his view one after the other. His whole hand spans your torso as he hooks the lower hem with his thumb, bunching the material until both your belly and tits are bare, your shirt like a handle at your diaphragm that he uses to pound you even harder, watching your body jolt, overpowered by his thrusts.

Airy little wails brush through your lips, the pleasure all too intense and not enough at the same time. You can’t take it anymore, you need something on your clit, and your fingers twitch to seek out that precious target. But he’s already moving, his hips slowing to a lazier pace while his free hand finds some destination at his belt, and what he produces freezes you in your tracks.

“Steady now,” he breathes as he slips a long blade out of his belt and spins it by the hilt, his fingers almost too quick, too tactful for such a brute. 

Instinctual panic grips you at the sight of the weapon, making your legs try to close. But he’s pushed too deep in you, his frame has you pinned open, and there’s nothing you can do against the sheer breadth of his body. Powerless, you simply whimper.

“Wh… what are y--”

“Hush, princess.” 

A flick of his thumb and the vibroblade springs to life, its hum filling the quiet air. He starts to bring the blunt hilt of it down where your body yields to his. Alarm pierces you one final time, but then he touches the pommel, just barely, against the tender swell of your clit.

You want to fucking scream. As if in anticipation of this, he claps his hand over your mouth just in time for you to bite down on his glove while your eyes roll back in a powerful wave of ecstasy. The vibrations surge through the sensitive nerves, lighting your whole body up in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s pure bliss, and then a low, long growl slips through the helmet’s modulator at the feeling of your walls pulsing tight, strangling his cock. 

His thrusts deepen again, powerful and steady, stroking some devastating spot deep inside you. Your muffled wails get lost in the breath-dampened fabric of his glove while the intense pleasure crests from your clit, higher, higher, lasering in on that intangible cusp and barreling you straight towards it.

You suspend at the peak, all senses failing, and then your orgasm takes you in a riptide, surging through your nerves like liquid fire. The magnitude of it rends you, stronger than you’ve ever felt, dragging you under and forcing you to ride it out while it just pulls and pulls. By the time you regain your sight you’re shaking, waves of bliss still pulsing and crashing through your body in time to the strong rhythm of his hips, the glowing epicenter that unwavering vibration at your clit. 

Sobs wrack your chest, pour out high and lose themselves somewhere in the meat of his hand, and you think you try to catch a few breaths, but you can’t even come down. Boba’s voice cuts through the rush in your ears.

“Good. Good girl.” 

He holds the buzzing hilt of the blade impossibly steady against your clit and that glow is still so bright, twitching, starting to spill through your nerves again and holy shit you think you just might--

“Again.”

Your second orgasm shreds you like a plasma cannon.

You’re blind, numb to everything but the intense pleasure, nerves now as raw and sharp as the edge of the blade itself. His hand is tight over your face and you feel your cunt convulsing and gushing around his cock, slick cum spilling to wet your asscheeks, and it must be your own because his pace hasn’t let up. 

A clatter resounds on the edge of your consciousness and when your eyes come into focus, Boba’s hand is locking into your waist, the blade discarded somewhere in the room. His hips piston hard with a few vulgar slaps of flesh, the head of his cock crushing against your deepest parts before he wrenches out of you and spills over your bare stomach with a strangled roar, gripping himself at the base and thrusting against you as warm, thick ropes paint your skin.

His release is long. Grunts distort into rough static through the vocoder as he rides out the last pulses, until finally he braces himself on the crate beside your head, hunched over you like a beast, his chest plate rolling with heavy breaths. You can only blink at him through hazed, damp eyes, your body feeling weak and utterly fucked dumb. The hand over your mouth slowly unlocks its grip, dragging downwards and leaving you to take shallow gulps of air while he gives your tit a deliberate squeeze. 

And then he drags himself off of you, straightening with an almost-concealed groan as he adjusts himself and leaves you to blink at the dark ceiling, still letting oxygen find your brain. 

When you shakily manage to sit up, you just glimpse him slipping the discarded vibroblade back into his belt and turning towards the door. Even through your dizziness, you scoff. Figures. Bastard is just going to fuck your brains out and then leave you like this.

“You know,” you sigh, watching him and lazily trailing your fingers in a circle on your tummy, enjoying the lingering buzz of your skin and gathering a bit of his spend where it coats you, still warm. “I’d say that tip-off was at least worth a handful of credits in my jar on your way out.”

He turns and looks at you then, the helmet cocking in consideration for a moment. As soon as his attention is on you, your fingers move from his mess on your belly to your mouth, where you slowly suckle him off of your fingers, never once taking your eyes off the visor, a tiny ripple of playfulness wiggling your shoulders and curling your lips.

His shoulders square to you, and that hunter’s stance still makes your chest seize, sends a pulse to your exhausted pussy.

Metal clinks softly as he walks towards you, stepping between your knees until you’re forced to drop your hand from your mouth and look up at him, heart fluttering again. He brushes the knuckle of his forefinger under your chin.

“Fresh out.”

His back turns as you stare, speechless. And then the door swings on its hinges, and Boba Fett is gone.

[whockeywhore]

Winning Bet 3

The bar was packed when we got in but a guy waved Shane over excitedly. She pulled my hand and I followed her, leaning against the bar as she spoke to the man behind it. He smiled and pulled her into a quick hug before pointing down a long hallway. 

She took my hand again, looking over my shoulder to motion for Matt and Mitch, and we started weaving through the crowd again. The sound of the music faded as we went deeper into the hallway. We met a door, painted black and plastered with band posters, and Shane pressed a few buttons on the keypad, trying the handle and turning towards us with a small grin. 

“You guys ready?” 

She squeezed my hand and wrenched the door open, looking up at a long set of stairs. They were lit on both sides with red tracklights and I looked at the guys. 

“I thought we were going to the Donovan Bar.” Mitch grabbed my shoulder and I shrugged, watching Shane as she dropped my hand and started up. We all stayed put and Matt dug his elbow into my side. 

“Dude, are you gonna go?” I shrugged again and he pushed me aside, following the path she took with careful steps. He disappeared through another door after her and poked his head out a moment later, eyes wide in excitement. “Guys, you gotta come see this!” 

Mitch and I made our way up the stairs and through the door, stopping as soon as we made our way through. The whole ceiling was glass, open to the night sky and what seemed like a million stars. Music was rolling through tall, thin speakers set all around the room and the bass was subtle but present. 

Shane was on her tiptoes, bent at the hip and leaning on the bar. She was laughing hard in conversation with the bartender. I watched her shake her hair from her face and turn to me, flushed cheeks and a wide smile. 

“Auston, hey! This is Joanie.” 

She reached forward and took my hand in a strong grip, grinning in my direction before turning back to Shane. 

“Is this the guy you told me about?” 

She turned away and I felt my cheeks warm, thankful when Mitch interrupted our conversation with a confused hand up. “Um, hi. Excuse me, what the hell is this place?” 

Joanie laughed and grabbed a glass from the stack, dropping in one large ice cube and covering it with liquor. She pulled an orange peel from a jar and held it up to a lighter, snapping it once before dropping it in. 

“It’s the Donovan Bar.”

Mitch pointed downwards and raised an eyebrow. “I thought that was the Donovan Bar.”

“Nope, that’s the Donovan. This,” she waved her hand over the room, “is the Donovan Bar.” 

“There’s a difference?” Matt asked. She slid the drink over and he took a long sip. 

“You tell me.” 

“That is… amazing. What is it?” 

Joanie leaned on her elbow and glanced towards Shane proudly. “It’s our own whiskey, distilled in our warehouse downtown. Twelve bottles a batch and each one takes a year to make. She didn’t tell you about it?” 

“You make whiskey?” She threw me a shrug and a glance, humbly shaking off the compliments Matt was throwing her way. I looked back at Joanie and she beamed with a wide smile. “Wait, do you two- you own this place?” 

“I’m a silent partner but… it’s just something we’ve wanted to do for a while.” 

“She’s being modest, this was all her doing. Why don’t you guys grab a seat and I’ll pour something special for ya?” 

We all agreed and found a booth in the corner, Shane and I sliding in on one side and Matt and Mitch on the other. She leaned into my side and I looked down at her with, what felt like, new eyes. 

“You own a fucking bar? How old are you, liked twenty?”

“Twenty four.” 

“But you own a fucking bar.” Matt was incredulous, shaking his head as he took another long sip. “That… this… it’s fucking incredible.” 

“Watch your language, young man.” Joanie sidled up to the table with a smirk and Matt mumbled an apology, happily taking another drink while avoiding eye contact. She bumped him with her hip and sat down, glancing from me to Shane and down to our hands touching on the table. “I’m just fucking with you guys. How do you all know each other?” 

I sat back while Mitch explained the whole thing, how he, Matt and I played hockey together. I zoned out watching Shane while he rambled on, studying her features while she studied him. 

“How do you two know each other? Aside from this place?” 

“Law school.” They said in unison, stopping to laugh. She tucked her hair behind her ear and shot me a smile. 

“Fordham, right?” 

“Well actually, we met a few weeks before that. In New Orleans.” Joanie looked at me and nodded, letting Shane take the lead. 

“I was um, I took a job tending bar at a little dive, horrible hole in the wall-”

“Oh that place was so gross!” 

“Right? A friend of my dad’s owned it and he needed someone for the summer so I went and one day Joanie came in and we just… hit it off.” 

“That is so not how it went! She saved my life that summer.” 

“Joanie,” Shane warned, taking a grip on the glass in front of her. 

“You did! She saved my ass and let me stay with her.” Joanie turned her attention towards me and grinned. “You got a good one here.” 

I cleared my throat and crossed my arms over my chest, avoiding every gaze at the table and turning my attention towards the open roof. The moon was full above us, bright and beautiful. The rest of the table had fallen into a conversation and I jolted back to the present when Shane elbowed my side. 

“You still here?” I nodded and pointed upwards, watching her eyes follow my finger. I could see the reflection of the night sky in her irises and she held her gaze for a long minute. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Very beautiful.” 

“You wanna see something cool?” 

She took my hand in hers and nodded to a door behind the bar, sliding out of the booth after me as I stood. I stepped back and let her lead the way to another flight of stairs behind another mysterious door. 

“Are we going to another bar? Should I leave a trail of breadcrumbs so we can find out way back?” 

“Shut up and follow me.” She looked back with a grin and I did, holding the railings with white knuckles as we went up. We settled on a small landing and she pointed to a ladder bolted to the wall. “You wanna go first?” 

“I don’t wanna go at all.” 

“Why? Are you scared?” 

She started up and I braced myself, catching a flash of her panties under her dress. The black fabric disappeared between her thighs and I had to step back down before I started up again. I was on the third rung when a light flooded the small corridor, a trap door she had pushed outwards. Cool air hit my face and I looked up in time to see her vanish, only her head reappearing after a second. 

“Come on, slow poke.” She reached out her hand to help me up and I took it, stepping onto the gravel roof. 

“Holy shit!” 

She snorted a laugh and kept my hand in hers, pulling me to the edge of the building with a bemused look on her face. I tried to say something, anything at all, but I couldn’t. The view was… breathtaking. The whole skyline of Toronto visible from where we stood. I felt like I could pick stars out of the sky and the moon, it was the clearest I’d ever seen it.

“You like it?” 

“It’s… holy shit.” 

“I think you said that already.” She pulled my hand and turned, crossing to the other side of the building. From here, we could see the river and how it wove it’s way around the city. 

“How did you find this place?” 

She smiled fondly, sitting on the edge and letting her feet fall over the side, patting the spot next to her until I followed. 

“When we were looking for places, nothing really felt right, you know? Like, we found a bunch of great spaces but it just… something was missing. I came back here without Joanie and the realtor gave me the key, told me to explore it and let her know, so I did.” 

“Do you usually just climb creepy ladders to nowhere?” 

“Do you not?” 

She leaned back on her hands and shivered. “Are you cold?” I pulled my sweatshirt over my head and handed it to her, helping her pull her hair free from the hood. She snuggled into it and looked over at me, a content smile on her face. 

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” A silence fell over us and I reached out, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. She leaned into me and set her hand on my knee, laying her head on my shoulder. “So, is this where we get to know each other?” 

She hummed thoughtfully and looked up, “I think so. But I think we covered most of it over text.” 

“Yeah, three brothers, right?” 

“Mhmm. And you have two sisters, from Arizona, started playing hockey when you were… five, right?” 

“Right. And you’re a military brat, dropped out of Fordham in your last semester, and apparently you own a bar.” 

“Yup. Seems like we’ve got all our bases covered.” 

“So what next?” 

Shane leaned back, crossing one leg over the other with her hand still on my knee. It shifted a bit and my stomach flipped, the warmth of her skin radiating through my pants. There was some sort of electricity in the air, the feeling that something incredible would happen, and I hoped to God in that moment that she felt it as well. 

“Should we go back downstairs?” I shook my head vigorously and she laughed. “We’re going to have to go back eventually.” 

“Not until Mitch leaves, how about that?” 

She nodded her agreement and looked down at the river, her voice soft when she spoke again. “Yeah, w-what’s his deal?” 

“I’m sorry, he’s an asshole.” 

“Yeah, I know but… why?” She giggled and I did too, tripping over her laugh with my own goofy chuckle. I felt overwhelmed by her, intoxicated by the heady combination of her in that dress and the way she touched my thigh. It was almost too much and I reached out to pull her into me, my lips meeting her in a fevered kiss. 

She curled against my chest, moving one leg to straddle the edge of the building as I wrapped her in a tight hug. Her chest rose and fell against me and I pulled away with a gasp. 

“Shane, I’m so sorry. I just… I had to do that.” 

Her lips were bright pink, slightly parted as her eyes fluttered open and she sank into a soft smile. My arms were still around her and she slid her hands over my chest and onto my shoulders. 

“No, Auston, don’t apologize. I wish you’d do it again.”

Author’s Note: Is there even a fucking river in Toronto? Sorry this is so long and garbagey

[empire-stories]

The Rejects: by Draco

int.North Pine high school principle office-day

The principle sits across from Angela as she is greeted at the school.

Principle

Well, allow me to be the first to welcome you to our school Ms. Pier.

Angela

Thank you, sir. I just hope I fit in.

PRINCIPLE

Nonsense a pretty girl like you will fit in just fine.

Angela smiles.

ANGELA

Hehe, oh stop.

Cut to:

INT.NORTH PINE HIGH SCHOOL-classroom-day

Angela stands next to the Female Teacher. Matt sitting in his seat looks up and smiles a little at Angela.

teacher

Ok, class, we have a new student that's joining us today.

ANGELA

My name is Angela Pier.

TEACHER

Well, Ms. Pier why don't you have a seat next to Matt.

ANGELA

Yes, mam.

Angela takes a seat next to Matt who greets her.

Matt

Hey, I'm Matt.

ANGELA

Oh Hey, I'm Angela.

Angela sees a strange book under Matt's arm.

ANGELA

Oh, what's that?

Matt picks up and shows Angela the strange book with weird markings on it.

MATT

This here is a book I found in an old building. It's really cool filled with all type of strange stories.

Angela giggles a bit.

ANGELA

Sounds like you should be an archaeologist.

MATT

Yeah, that's what my mom always say.

Slide to:

ext. North Pine high school-courtyard-day

Matt and Angela walking together talking among themselves.

ANGELA

Thanks again for showing me around.

MATT

Well, what can't say no to a lady?

Jeff and his three friends walk up to Matt and Angela. Jeff pokes Matt on his forehead.

Jeff

Well if it isn't dirt head Matt, picking the fresh meat before anyone else. Smart move.

Matt blushes.

MATT

Ah What, no, it's nothing like that.

Jeff notices the Book in Matt's shoulder. Jeff takes the book from Matt.

JEFF

What kind of weird book you have this time?

Jeff flips through the book and comes to a strange page with the image of a crystal.

MATT

Hey, give that back.

Jeff's three friends hold Matt back.

JEFF

Geeze, man why don't you just read normal books. Freak.

Jeff tosses Matt's book on the ground and his three friends walk away. Angela walks towards the book and picks it up.

ANGELA

I'm guessing those aren't your friends?

MATT

Ah, that's just Jeff, thinks he owns the place since his parents donate a ton of money to the school.

Angela hands Matt his book.

ANGELA

Wow, so there are people like that in the world. You know it is a strange book but I might want to read it sometime.

MATT

R-really?! Well, I can show you where I found it after school, maybe we can find another one.

ANGELA

That sounds cool, but I should check with my brother, were suppose to walk home together.

MATT

You have a brother? now that you mention it Pier does sound filmier but I can't figure out who is it.

Angela looks around and spots her brother then points.

ANGELA

Oh, speaking of which there he is now.

Matt looks over and sees Marcus and Henry facing off against each other readying for a fight.

Marcus

(To Henry)

Ok, Henry this time we settle things here and now.

Henry gets into a Martial arts stance.

henry

((To Marcus))

Run home now unless you want me to embarrass you.

Matt takes a step back in shock.

MATT V.O.

(To himself)

Oh man her brother is Henry! If I play my cards wrong then he'll karate chop me into next week.

ANGELA

((To Matt))

Looks like he's gotten into another fight. Mother will be so mad if he gets in trouble.

Marcus and Henry charges at each other getting closer and closer; Xiao grabs Marcus and Henry by the back of their heads and slams them both into the ground. Xiao stands up commandingly.

xiao

((To Marcus and Henry))

What are you two doing?

Henry lifts his head.

HENRY

((To Xiao))

Sensei?!

Marcus rolls over and looks up at Xiao.

MARCUS

((To Xiao))

This doesn't concern you.

XIAO

Fighting someone who just wants to pick a fight is no reason for you to fight Henry. You must have more discipline.

Angela runs off towards her brother.

ANGELA

Brother!

Henry looks over to see who is yelling. Angela runs past Henry and hugs Marcus.

MARCUS

Ugh, Angela! What are you doing here I'm in the middle of something.

Matt looks shocked as Angela helps Marcus up.

MATT

((To himself))

Ah, man, that's worst than her being Henry's sister!

Henry gets up and bows to Xiao.

HENRY

I'm sorry sensei.

Marcus punches his palm.

MARCUS

Hey, this battle isn't over.

Xiao walking away with Henry, Xiao looks over at Marcus.

XIAO

Yes, it is.

Xiao and Henry walk away.

ANGELA

Who are they?

Matt walks up to Angela.

MATT

Xiao Ming, she's an 8th-degree black belt and is an acting instructor for the school's martial arts class. Behind her is her number one pupil Henry.

MARCUS

Tsk, more like the only pupil.

Marcus looks over at Matt; raising one eyebrow.

MARCUS

Say, Mattie, why are you hanging with my sis?

Matt backs up in fear.

MATT

Who me oh I'm not hanging out with her I'm just-

ANGELA

((Cuts him off))

He's showing me around. In fact, he wants to show me his secret spot.

Marcus looks at Matt with his arms folded.

MATT

Wait I never said Secret spot! Besides, I didn't know she was your sister. I I-

Marcus puts his hand on Matt's shoulder and snickers with a laugh.

MARCUS

I'm just messing with you. So where is this spot?

MATT

Oh well, it's where I found this book.

Matt hands Marcus the book.

MARCUS

What kind of freaking book is this?

MATT

That's what I'm finding out.

Marcus looks up at the sky.

MARCUS

Well, it is getting late and if I return home without her I'm the one who's getting yelled at.

ANGELA

So I can't go?

MARCUS

I didn't say that. I'll just tag along with you guys.

MATT

Really?

Marcus puts his arm around Matt.

MARCUS

Yeah, it's a brother's job to protect his sister, especially with a secret spot.

Marcus gives an evil glare at Matt.

MATT

Ugh, Sure.

Slides to:

int. abandon house-study-evening

Matt, Angela, and Marcus are in the study looking around. Marcus flips open a couple of books from the bookshelf.

MARCUS

Where did you find this place?

MATT

Two days ago when I picked a different route home.

Marcus notices a black crystal encased in a glass jar.

MARCUS

Really got to hand it to you, Mattie, you excel in the unique department.

MATT

Yeah well, try not to touch anything since I don't know what exactly is in here.

MARCUS

This coming from the guy who took a book.

Marcus takes the crystal out of the jar.

MARCUS

Hey, Mattie thinks fast.

Marcus tosses Matt the crystal; Matt catches it.

MATT

Hey, Watch it will ya! What if I didn't catch it? And by the way, it's Matt, Just Matt.

MARCUS

Geez, Matt, you got to learn how to lighten up. Your too uptight, I swear he could swallow a rock and spit up a Diamond.

Angela dusting off a nightstand to look at a locket and jewelry.

ANGELA

Marcus, this is why you don't make friends.

MARCUS

Tch, Just saying.

Matt looks at the crystal.

MATT

Hey, this crystal is in the book. I wonder if this book was what this book was written for?

ANGELA

Well, it's getting late.

MATT

Yeah, I guess we'll leave.

Matt puts the crystal in his bag. The crystal glows a light dark glow as everyone walks out the room.

Cut to:

ext. city-streets-night

Marcus and Angela see off Matt as they are about to part ways.

ANGELA

Thanks again for today.

MATT

Oh, it was no problem.

Matt walks off. Above everyone two shadowy creatures watch them.

((End of Act 1))

((Act 2))

Cut to:

EXT. CITY-STREETS-NIGHT

Matt walking his bike gazes up at the sky.

MATT

Aw, man, I think I blew it. I should have said something more interesting. Maybe I can come up with something tomorrow..Hm?

Matt turns around and sees the two shadowy creatures walking towards him.

Cut to:

EXT. CITY-STREETS-other side-NIGHT

Marcus and Angela both walking home talking about the day.

ANGELA

And then we meet Jeff who was a real jerk to Matt, then I spotted you.

MARCUS

So as "first days" go how was yours.

ANGELA

Mmm, Pretty good I guess; Matt was pretty nice.

MATT o.s.

Ahhhhh!

MARCUS

What was that?!

ANGELA

That sounds like Matt, you think he's hurt or something.

Marcus takes off towards the scream.

ANGELA

Marcus!

MARCUS

Stay putt! Better yet go home!

Cut to:

EXT. CITY-STREETS-NIGHT

Matt running with the two shadowy creatures chasing after him; sliding as shadows.

MATT

Ahh! What do you want?!

Matt trips over out of fear and tumbles to the ground. One of the shadow creatures makes its way closer towards Matt.

MATT

Oh man!

HENRY o.s.

Back off!

Henry hits one of the shadow creatures with a wooden kendo sword. Matt looks up and sees Henry.

MATT

Henry?

HENRY

I was on my way home from Kendo practice and heard you screaming. Can you stand?

Matt gets up.

MATT

Yeah, thanks.

HENRY

Don't thank me yet, I still don't know what these things are.

Matt stands behind Henry.

MATT

That makes the two of us.

The two creatures make their way closer to Henry and Matt, as they both back up. A rock is thrown at one of the shadow creatures; the shadow creature turns to the direction of the rock. The creature turns and sees Marcus standing in the street.

MARCUS

Hey, over here you...EH, whatever you are.

Angela catches up to Marcus.

ANGELA

Marcus..I ask you to slow down.

MARCUS

Angela, what are you doing I said go home!

Marcus notices Henry; the two stare tensely at each other.

MARCUS

Hmmm?

HENRY

Hmmm?

Matt waves at the both of them.

MATT

Ugh, Excuses me, can you two not fight when we're in a crisis!

MARCUS

Right, I'll settle things with you once I take these two out.

The two shadow creatures turn back to back. Henry holds up his wooden sword and Marcus puts up his fist.

Marcus and Henry both stare at the shadow creatures with a serious glare.

ANGELA

Marcus?

MATT

It's ok Angela, these are two of the strongest guys in North Pine high school.

Henry and Marcus and the two shadow creatures charges at each other. Marcus strikes the shadow in the face as Henry attacks the other one across the back of its neck.

Henry and Marcus get back to back as the two shadow creatures get back up.

MARCUS

These guys are tough.

HENRY

Agreed.

MARCUS

Hey, Henry do me a favor and don't agree with me.

HENRY

Do me a favor and go down with these creatures.

ANGELA

Marcus! Stop picking a fight.

MATT

Yeah, Lets get out of here before there recovered.

One of the shadow creatures leaps after Matt with its mouth open.

A wooden sword impales the creature to the fence.

XIAO o.s.

Don't lose your focus, just because the battle seems won.

Everyone looks over and see Xiao walking towards them.

MARCUS

Xiao?!

HENRY

Sensei?

XIAO

I saw Henry running in a hurry, what's going on?!

Matt runs past and grabs Xiao by her wrist and takes off.

MATT

Explain later let's get out of here.

Henry, Marcus, and Angela take off after Matt and Xiao. The two shadowy creatures take off after them.

cut to:

EXT. CITY-warehouse district-night

Matt and everyone running, towards the warehouses see one open.

MATT

Let's head in there!

Everyone heads inside.

Cut to:

int. city-warehouse-night

Everyone gets inside; Marcus and Henry close the door and blocking it with a chair.

MATT

Everyone here?

ANGELA

Yeah, I think so.

Marcus walks up to Matt.

MARCUS

Ok, what in the world were those things?

MATT

I..I don't know. They just pop out of nowhere.

HENRY

Well, whatever they are we need to devise a plan to get rid of them then notify the police.

MARCUS

Good luck genius, fat chance they make it out here in time.

Angela pulls out her cell phone.

ANGELA

Shoot I have no bars.

The shadowy creature's claws at the warehouse.

ANGELA

What do we do?!

Marcus looks over and sees a sledgehammer and picks it up.

MARCUS

We fight back!

XIAO

He's right. That seems to be our only choice at the moment.

Xiao and Henry get ready next to Marcus. Marcus with his sledgehammer in his hand raises it a bit and Henry holds up his wooden sword in a fighting stance and Xiao puts up her fist.

HENRY

What's the plan? We just strike when they come in?

XIAO

You two hide!

Matt and Angela run off; the two shadow creatures break in and chase after Matt, slipping past Marcus and the others.

MARCUS

Wha!

XIAO

They're after Matt!

Matt running looks back and sees the shadow creature chasing him.

MATT

Why are they after us?! Or me? But why?

Matt running stops and looks in his back; Matt takes out the crystal and sees it glowing.

MATT

The crystal?! Hey, Marcus think fast!

Matt tosses the crystal at Marcus. Marcus stumbles and catches it.

MARCUS

Hey, what if I dropped it!

The shadow creature stops in mid stride and heads towards Marcus.

MATT

It's the crystal! They're after it!

Marcus looks down at the crystal.

MARCUS

This thing?

XIAO

What do we do?

HENRY

We should give it to them, they're probably spirits disturbed from their resting ground.

MARCUS

Or!

Marcus drops the crystal and raises his sledgehammer.

MARCUS

As our mom would put it, since you both can't play nice then no one gets to have it!

Matt reaches his hand out towards Marcus.

MATT

Wait don't!

Marcus smashes the crystal on the ground. A large surge of light emerges from the crystal; dozens of shards of light shoots out of the warehouse as a light engulfs Marcus, Henry, and Xiao. The light fades away. The two shadow creatures look at each other and skeet away. Angela runs towards her brother.

ANGELA

Marcus!

Matt looks around to see the shadow creatures are gone.

MATT

They're gone.

XIAO

Your plan actually worked.

HENRY

I have to admit that was clever, but how did you know?

MARCUS

Eh, I just wanted to do the opposite of what you said.

Matt walks over and picks up a shard of the crystal left on the ground.

MATT

I wonder why they were after this?

Marcus raises his sledgehammer.

MARCUS

Don't know, need me to smash it again?

MATT

I think you did enough.

Matt pulls out his book.

MATT

I'm sure that this book has the answers.

HENRY

Maybe we should head home.

XIAO

Good idea, how bout we regroup here tomorrow after class.

Fade to:

INT.NORTH PINE HIGH SCHOOL-gym-DAY

Xiao is in the middle of a circle face with an opponent. The two bow to each other and then pace around each other. The background a crowd of people cheers.

XIAO

I won't go easy on you.

The referee blows his whistle and swings his hand down.

A blue spark emits off of Xiao. Xiao throws a punch at the student, the student back up at the last second; Xiao's fist grazes the student. The student is sent flying to the wall; making an indent.

XIAO

What I barely touched him!

The teachers and students go over to see if the boy is ok. The Teacher looks back and sees Xiao leaving the gym.

Cut to:

EXT. NORTH PINE HIGH SCHOOL-COURTYARD-DAY

Xiao running stops and takes a breath.

XIAO

What was that?!

MARCUS o.s.

Yo, Xiao or do you prefer Sensei?

Marcus walks up to Xiao with his hands in his pocket.

MARCUS

Where are you in a hurry go?

XIAO

Marcus, have you experience anything weird since yesterday?

MARCUS

Weird like what?

XIAO

Well, just a few moments ago I just launched a kid to the wall.

Marcus leans on the wall.

MARCUS

Maybe you were just facing someone out of your league.

XIAO

I'm serious Marcus. Something weird is going on.

MARCUS

Look we're all going back to the warehouse tonight and see what Matt uncovered. I'm sure this is all nothing to worry about.

Marcus puts his hand on Xiao's shoulder; Xiao looks up at Marcus.

MARCUS

Hey, it'll be alright.

Henry watches Marcus and Xiao from afar.

Cut to:

EXT. CITY-STREETS-day

A shard of the crystal lays on top of a light post; A crow flies by and picks it up. The crystal glows as it's in the crow's beak.

((End of Act 2))

((ACT 3))

Cut to:

INT.NORTH PINE HIGH SCHOOL-CLASSROOM-DAY

Matt and Angela sitting next to each other are talking about the events that have happened.

ANGELA

((Whisper))

So did you find anything with the book?

MATT

((Whisper))

Yeah but it's totally crazy I can't wait to tell you and the others about it.

student o.s.

Ahhh!

All of the students gets up and looks over at the window.

ANGELA

What's going on?!

A giant winged shadow flies past the window.

MATT

Oh no, I was afraid this would happen?!

Cut to:

EXT. NORTH PINE HIGH SCHOOL-COURTYARD-DAY

Marcus, Xiao, and Henry in the courtyard look up shock at what they're seeing. Matt and Angela run outside to meet up with them.

XIAO

Matt?! What is that thing?

MATT

I can't say right now but we have to get away from here.

Matt pulls out the shard of the crystal.

MATT

It's probably after the crystal!

MARCUS

You brought that with you to school?!

XIAO

No time we have to lure that thing away from the school.

Xiao and everyone run away from the school; the large winged shadow gives chase after them.

Cut to:

EXT. CITY-STREETS-DAY

Everyone making a run to the streets; Xiao stops and turns around. Matt and everyone stops.

HENRY

Sensei?!

MATT

What are you doing Xiao?

XIAO

I have to stop that thing, I feel only that I can.

Marcus picks up a pipe off the street and puts it over his shoulder. Marcus and Henry stand next to Xiao.

HENRY

I won't let you face this thing alone.

MARCUS

And I can't miss an opportunity of proving I'm the best.

A large fierce looking crow lands down and spreads its wings open.

ANGELA

They're going to fight that thing?!

Marcus looks back at Angela.

MARCUS

Hey, sis stay back.

ANGELA

But Brother-

MARCUS

((Cuts her off))

Trust me I've watched enough TV and comics to know that I have super powers.

Everyone looks at Marcus as if he lost it.

HENRY

You are very stupid.

MARCUS

Hey, you want to go around! Look pal I know I have power with the white light and all! Just you wait till I find a way to activate it!

Marcus's fist emits a blue spark of light. The Crow flies up into the air and circles around them.

XIAO

Do you know what your "Superpower" is to stop that thing?

MARCUS

Don't know, but I do plan on hitting it.

Xiao offers her hand to Marcus.

MARCUS

Huh?

XIAO

I'll help you. Now give me your hand.

Henry looks at Xiao surprised. Marcus smirks at Xiao.

HENRY

((To himself))

So that's why.

MARCUS

Right.

Xiao and Marcus cuff hands.

XIAO

Hope you know, what you're doing?

Xiao twirls around Marcus, over and over like a cyclone. Xiao throws Marcus at the Crow. Marcus with his fist out like Superman gets closer and closer towards the crow. Marcus transforms in a bright light with a long trench coat and gauntlets on and cocks his right fist back. Bandages and belts wrap around Marcus's face covering it.

MARCUS

Barbados!

Cut to:

INT. CITY-WAREHOUSE-NIGHT

Everyone sitting around the warehouse as Matt explains the content of the book. Marcus and Henry fighting among themselves.

MARCUS

You're just upset that I bested you.

HENRY

If it wasn't for Sensei you would have never been able to beat that thing. And what's was that junk yelling Barbados?!

MARCUS

I gotta rep my homeland, that's why your just mad because your homeland name sucks!

HENRY

Ireland is a good name!

MATT

Are you two done?

Marcus and Henry walk over towards everyone. Marcus leans on the desk and Henry sits beside Xiao.

MARCUS

Yeah yeah, Indianan Jones so what's with the crystal and what happened back there.

White flash:

EXT. CITY-STREETS-DAY-earlier

The crow falls to the ground and Marcus beside it.

MARCUS

Alright! Marcus 1, Evil Bird 0.

A shadow creature pops up out from a shadow and makes it's way to the crow. Matt notices the creature.

MATT

Marcus Look out!

Marcus turns around and sees the shadow creature taking the shard off the bird's head and dipping back into the shadows. The crow reverts to normal size.

ANGELA

What just happen?

XIAO

Whatever it is we step in it big.

MARCUS

Ugh, guys how do I turn back.

XIAO

Didn't your comics tell you?

Marcus waves his arms around.

MARCUS

Hey, I'm serious! H-How does I turn back?!! I can't go home like this, my mom's gonna kill me.

fade to black:

INT. CITY-WAREHOUSE-NIGHT

Matt opens the book.

MATT

We should have taken that shard when we had the chance.

ANGELA

Why's that?

MATT

According to the book, that crystal is a key.

HENRY

A key, to what?

MATT

Something bad. I'm still figuring out the text but so far I understand that the crystal is a Key to open a door to something evil.

Fade off:

unknown

The shadow creature slides out of a shadow and with the shard in its hand walks closer to a Door with a red orb in its center.

MATT V.O.

I did find a name, however. Something called Ra's Al.

The orb glows red.

Blackout:

(End of act 3)

(Credits)

[doctorwhonews]

Doctor Who Series 10 - Episode 2 - Smile

Latest Review: Doctor Who Series 10 Episode 2: Smile Starring Peter Capaldi, Pearl Mackie, Matt Lucas With Kiran L. Dadlani, Mina Anwar, Ralf Little, Kiran Shah, Craig Garner, Kaizer Akhtar, Kalungi Ssebndeke Written by Frank Cottrell Boyce Directed by Lawrence Gough Produced by Peter Bennett Executive Producers: Steven Moffatt, Brian Minchin This review contains spoilers.   The tenth twenty-first century series of Doctor Who has been keenly promoted as a new start, but it’s enthusiastic about showing it’s taken old lessons to heart. Smile follows the precedent of The End of the World by taking Bill to the far future, to have (recalling one of the promotional lines of 2005) an adventure in the human race. However, where The End of the World was a celebration of diversity within and beyond humanity, giving the Doctor and Rose a range of different beings to interact with in separate story branches, and a villain who did not appreciate the parable within her own narrative, Smile concentrates much more on how the Doctor and Bill react to each other in an environment where humanity is absent, memorialized by an environment intended to cater to human needs, the murderous machines built to help the last humans, and by the fertilizer made from the skeletons of the slaughtered. Bill’s hope when setting off is to find that the future is a happy one. This is a change from her present, where study with the Doctor provides hope in a background of low aspiration and petty betrayals. The Doctor takes her somewhere which has supposedly discovered the secret of human happiness – and there’s an irony in that the colony building screams its optimism to the Doctor when there are no living (or at least awake) humans present. Bill doesn’t seem to be addicted to crisis and peril in the way that some of her predecessors have been, and Pearl Mackie conveys well her evolving assessments of the situation. Where Rose in The End of the World could phone her Mum when she needed reassurance that her world was still there, it’s the smell of rosemary in the nursery which reminds Bill of home, and that home is the student union rather than her foster mother’s. Steven Moffat’s Doctor Who heroines tend to be detached from family much more than Russell T Davies’s earthly lead characters, and have a corresponding need to build alternative networks. Bill’s search for belonging is not buried so far down as it was for Amy or Clara. Her distress at realizing that the colonists might be the last remnants of humanity bubbles up from Pearl Mackie like an unexpected hot spring on downland. Doctor Who has form for seeing companions bond with abandoned children, which arguably include since Listen the Doctor himself. Here it’s Praiseworthy whose awakening, soon after Bill’s discovery of (I presume) his dead grandmother, gives Bill someone to hope for, and whose protection is the catalyst for the story’s resolution. In the final TARDIS scene Bill has moved on from the abstract ideal of happiness to the more practical question ‘Is it going to work?’ before going on to tentatively accept responsibility with the Doctor for the ‘jump-start(ing of) a civilization’. Given that the Doctor knew the colony by its positive reputation. perhaps she already had her answer, but Bill is still the student working out these questions for herself, perhaps like the young audience at home. The episode sees another accessible, believable performance from Pearl Mackie, immediately well-established in Doctor Who’s soil without obvious need of ground skeletons. Bill’s idealism is balanced by suspicion of deep-rooted prejudice. Her reaction to seeing that the Doctor has been served two algae cubes to her one is to ask whether this is ‘a bloke’s utopia’. However, her sense of the epic survives; even after the cryogenic units have been revealed and the Doctor has acknowledged that he was mistakenly going to blow up the human colonists, he calls the ‘shepherds’ who awoke first ‘those with (relevant) skills’. For Bill they are ‘the brave… the best’. Epic is important, with many of the colonists having names whose meanings are obvious to the listener. Like the warrior classes (at least) of early European cultures, their name patterns claim ownership of their own story. It’s a neat irony, and one which offsets any romanticization of colonization, that to survive the colonists end up having to pay rent to their servant caste. Back in 2003, Russell T Davies’s ‘pitch document’ for Doctor Who emphasized that it should be ‘pioneers’ who take viewers into space in the series, rather than alien creatures. It might be a leap too far to emphasise here the associations of Frank Cottrell Boyce and Steven Moffat with Liverpool and Glasgow, two of Britain’s biggest slave-trading ports, but the case is there for making that connection when considering the story’s shaping of the colonist narrative. Such stories inevitably express debts towards tales of settlement in the American West or in this case, with its intensive agriculture, the American South or European colonies in the Caribbean.  Admittedly, as transposed into Doctor Who, these tropes are rarely left uncriticized. Here the enslaved evolve into an indigenous people before the colonists can properly revive, leaving the claims of the colonizing culture hollow. The Vardy robot murders, however, fit less comfortably into a ‘slave revolt’ parallel, but instead suggest the futility of trying to second guess and avoid unhappiness. Perhaps everyone is on better terms with human folly by the end of the story. So much of the episode is a two-hander between Bill and the Doctor, who gradually reveals more of his personality to her. Peter Capaldi continues in a much more relaxed portrayal of the Doctor which is much easier to watch than his disgruntled, tortured Time Lord of series eight or the most midlife crisis-ridden moments of series nine. He’s someone who enjoys his travels again, which have been cast in a new context now he is sworn to stay on Earth to protect the Vault. Capaldi enjoys or makes us enjoy the multiple levels of denial: the evasiveness, the childlike naughtiness – referring to Nardole as ‘Mum’ – and his insistence that he doesn’t set out to save the day, but just passes by and mucks in, delivered in a tone which suggests the Doctor barely convinces himself more than he fails to convince Bill. As Bill says, he’s a great tutor, but the Doctor’s lessons are often in what he does (or does not) rather than what he says. He’s careful not to betray his suspicions about the absence of people in the colony to Bill, who is too curious and too excited to look at the Doctor’s mood badge and see that he is considerably less happy than she is. At the same time, the Doctor wants to protect her from the horror of the situation, leading to a powerful variant of the ‘Let’s get back in the TARDIS and go’ trope. Here the Doctor pretends to himself that Bill will be happy watching movies in the TARDIS while he dodges the robots again to blow up the city, but at the same time he’s not disappointed that she rebels and comes with him. A tidy parallel is drawn between the mood badges and the sign on the TARDIS door. The Doctor denies that he travels the universe putting it to rights, but the TARDIS seeks out ‘urgent calls’ anyway where the Doctor can usefully provide advice and assistance. Smile provides a restatement of the Doctor-companion relationship – Bill’s sigh as she leaves the TARDIS reminds me of Sarah Jane Smith’s resigned plodding after the fourth Doctor as he sets off towards problems, or Turlough’s transfer of the Doctor to Peri’s care in Planet of Fire – ‘Look after him. He gets into the most terrible trouble’ – but nowadays the Doctor’s methods and assumptions are questioned much more, and rightly so. I didn’t find the emojibots as ‘cute’ as I felt it was hoped the audience would. There was an innocence about them – they (and the Vardy robots they represented) wanted to smile, they were unhappy without people but unhappiest when people were incomprehensibly sad. They were more compelling when being sinister, staring out of windows balefully like figures in the 1980s Miss Marple television title sequence. Given that the entire city was made of Vardy robots I expected to feel it brooding a little more, but the light and architecture didn’t lend itself in that direction. Instead much matter-of-fact internal photography was broken into by slightly jarring shots, such as the view of the sun through the latticework of the glass roof, as if we’re looking up through a skeleton’s rib cage. The use of the City of Arts and Sciences in Smile plays with both architectural intention and alternative meanings derived from other angles. The Hemisfèric, according to its website, is intended to suggest a huge human eye but we never see it from an angle which would encourage that interpretation. Instead, it sometimes appears like a sunken, skeletized beast. Soaring optimism lives alongside inevitable decline; that the Wheel Turns (to recall Kinda) is a recurring part of Doctor Who. The robots’ loss of innocence, as they reveal they understand the concept of rent (and the pound sign has survived to Doctor Who’s far future) is the basis for a better society than one based on robot servitude. There’s a contrast in the portrayal of the colonists themselves which could have been better managed. The introductory scenes featuring Kezzia and the Vardys outside in their pastoral idyll, celebrating the pollination of crops in a golden field under a blue sky, impress: one warms immediately to Kiran L. Dadlani, and once inside the city, Mina Anwar is a familiar and reliable television face who does not disappoint here. The costumes, with their suggestions of wings and gauze, suggest holiness but are only introduced when we know everything is going wrong: a tragedy in heaven. One could comfortably spend forty-five minutes with Kezzia and Goodthing, and the ease of their introduction and sudden dispatching is a greatly effective piece of misdirection. However, Ralf Little’s Steadfast and his fellow gun-toting revivees could come from an entirely different society. Their outfits aren’t co-ordinated and one doesn’t have the sense the production has the same grip on these characters than it did on the two Shepherds met and lost before the credits. As with The Pilot, the script is dotted with odd nods back to earlier Doctor Who stories, particularly twenty-first century ones. These deliberate references seem to suggest that a phase of the series including both Russell T Davies’s era and that of Steven Moffat is coming to an end. The Doctor’s mention that an algae emperor ‘fancied me’ recalls the tenth Doctor’s memory of Martha in Partners in Crime, and we learn that yes, lots of planets have Scottish people claiming independence from everywhere they land. These are ironic takes but they suggest that the Doctor’s life and the programme’s is a little more complicated now than it once was: glibness has consequences. The Doctor’s method of winning at chess – knocking over the board – is dishearteningly similar to the gameplay of a neoliberal financier of which I’ve read, though The Curse of Fenric’s change of the rules so that the pawns join forces would have seemed as contrived as it did then and even more out of place. The references to The Ark in Space, indirectly through the Doctor’s expository dialogue, and directly through Steadfast’s self-identification as ‘Medtech One’, are nice in a vague sense of suggesting Doctor Who has a long-term scheme for human future history (though one would be hard-pressed to get anyone to agree on what it is) but it must jar for several long-term fans in that although there is an element of specialization depicted, Smile doesn’t quite portray the same kind of stratified society as that depicted on Space Station Nerva. The most disconcerting features, though, were a couple of lines of dialogue. I’m not sure that the Doctor should be rubbishing a society which communicates through emojis as one for ‘vacuous teens’ – he’s more open-minded than that, surely? Towards the end, as the Vardy robots prepare to strike down the survivors of humanity, Bill has a redundant ‘What’s happening, Doctor?’ which doesn’t serve her previous character development well. This review is based on an advance viewing copy, watermarked as a work in progress, and I wouldn’t mourn those lines if it turned out they had not made it to the broadcast cut. A more pleasing recall was the device of linking the second and third episodes together with a cliffhanger, as the TARDIS fails to return to the Doctor’s study and Nardole’s kettle but lands on the frozen Thames in Regency London and the Doctor and Bill are approached by a curious but not that threatening elephant through the presumably freezing fog. We go from a clinical and almost sterile environment to a cluttered one which pre-dates modern hygiene and where exotic animals replace robots. The Doctor’s magic haddock of fable (and the final, ‘face on’ view of the city as giant fish) is about to be realized as a more intentionally threatening undersea beast – or is the season catchphrase of ‘not evil, just different’ to be repeated? Overall, Smile is a welcome addition to the series. It’s by no means as slow as I feared after reading the Radio Times preview, it uses its locations well, and cements the partnership between the Doctor and Bill, both adventurers in contrast with the cautious, rule-keeping Nardole, and where Bill’s wide-eyed enthusiasm reignites the Doctor’s interventionist wanderlust. It doesn’t always quite come together, but there are strong performances and ideas and design ideas which should keep an audience intrigued and entertained until the end of the episode, together with a not-heavily carried sense of myth, as might be expected from Frank Cottrell Boyce on the strength of In the Forest of the Night. The horror is depicted in a pre-watershed friendly way with enough grim humour to amuse enough of the audience while the youngest have the joke ‘skeleton crew’ explained to them. Perhaps it could all have been a little more buoyant, but on the whole Smile is dramatically convincing and sets the audience up well for next week. http://reviews.doctorwhonews.net/2017/04/doctor_who_series_10_episode_2_smile.html?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

[soloburn]

BOURNE AGAIN? TRAINSPOTTING 2? WHY SEQUELS ARE A BAD IDEA

Sunday mornings are the most vivid in memory. ‘Breakfast is ready,’ would echo through the house. We’d scramble down the stairs excitedly to the dining room table and take our seats, which were arranged oldest to youngest – my father at one end, my mother at the other. Across the table lay a delectable feast of pastries, cereals, fruits, eggs, bacon, the works. My father would enter the room, and the chatter would dim to an audible hush. He’d take his seat and mother would hand him the Sunday newspaper, and freshly brewed coffee. “Milk dear?” he’d nod in approval. He’d hold his mug up to his nose taking in the fresh morning brew, surveying his children like a General surveying his troops before battle.

He took his first sip, but on this particular morning something was off. Immediately he spat it out causing a collective gasp. “This milk is sour!” he said. “It can’t be dear,” said mother, “I bought it just yesterday?” “I don’t care if it was milked this morning. It’s sour. Who is responsible for this?” I hoped that my elder siblings, who knew of my late night weakness for dairy, would protect me. I was wrong. “It was Neil! He left it out overnight.” said Paul my eldest brother grinning sardonically. “Well, boy, speak up, was it you?” said father. I quivered unable to look up. “Yes but I -- ” “Yes, what?” “Yes Sir.” “Look at me when I speak to you.” I raised my head to meet his terrifying gaze. “You were a mistake. Lower than a mistake.” He growled. “I’ll check the fridge for a fresh bottle,” said my mother scurrying out of the dining room. “Stop crying, you sniveling ass, stop your nonsense.” He continued. “You’re just an afterbirth Neil. They should have put you in a glass jar, on a mantle piece. Where were you when Paul was suckling at his mother’s teat? Where were you? Not even born yet were you? A mistake waiting to happen.” “I can run down to the store and buy another bottle Papa? said Mary, my sister. “Hush child. The coffee is ruined. There’s nothing that can be done about it. It’s had. Draaaaainage. Drainage Neil, you boy. Here, if you have milk, and I have milk, and I have a straw, there it is, that’s a straw see, watch it. My straw reaches across the room and starts to drink your milk. I drink your milk,” he said, slurping from my bowl of sour cornflakes, milk dripping from his square jaw. “I drink it up.”*

My mother returned not having witnessed the theatrics with another bottle. “Here’s the fresh milk I bought yesterday dear” she said smiling. “Found it in the back of the fridge. That must have been an old bottle. Shall I make you a fresh cup?” “I’ll take it in my study” he said, exiting the dining room. “Harsh but fair” mumbled Paul through his bloated, confectionary stuffed mouth.

Although it’s painful for me to admit, sequels are a bad idea. Particularly when there’s been a significant gap between the original and its ill-conceived sibling - ten years younger, ten times the cost, the same DNA yet a poor reflection on the original and all who were involved in making it happen. Don’t get me wrong, I’m rooting for the sequel. I want it to be as good if not better than the original. But every time I see one before me, I’m filled with the same contempt that my father must have felt every time I committed some minor indiscretion.

Naturally I approached Trainspotting 2 with a mixture of hope and trepidation. The original movie holds a special place in my heart. Exposed to the film at a young age I could barely make sense of what I was witnessing, but I knew it was brilliant. Parents and schoolteachers alike squirmed as they read the reviews. It was vile, rotten, shocking - “ALL RESPONSIBLE PARENTS MUST WATCH THIS FILM!” But all of those who dared would have sleepless nights, worried that their little Johnny or Janey were only a puff away from ending up in a scag den in some long forgotten council estate in Edinburgh.

The T2 trailer depicted of a group of middle aged, ex-drug addicts who through an unlikely set of circumstances meet again to take care of some unsettled business– in other words, the plot for every band reunion documentary film ever. And just like a reunion concert, this film never should have happened. Watching a group of withered looking men desperately trying to recapture a spirit that could only make sense during a specific time and place was a sad affair. While the original Trainspotting perfectly captured the zeitgeist of the time, the latest film felt about as relevant as a Dad joke albeit a very violent and crude one. The original story felt believable, the sequel seemed inconceivable.

Before you accuse me of being an ageist, I’m not arguing that Danny Boyle, Ewan McGregor or Robert Carlyle should give up making films. I’m arguing that they didn’t need to make this film. The same way Matt Damon and Paul Greengrass didn’t need to make another Bourne film or Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson didn’t need to do sully the image of Zoolander.

Hollywood keep green lighting these films in search of the almighty dollar and suddenly you get this:

“What kind of people are we dealing with here?” “I believe that like me, the people behind these robberies are extreme athletes, using their skills to disrupt the international financial markets.”

That’s not a quote from a Sean Spicer press conference but rather from the trailer of Point Break 2. Keanu Reeves must be glad he chose to star in John Wick 2 instead.

So why do we keep doing it? Making sequels when we know it’s a bad idea? I guess it’s because we’re all addicts, chasing that original high that’ll never be captured again. As Bonehead, ex-guitarist of Oasis puts in the documentary Supersonic, reflecting on their historic Knebworth gig in 1996:

“My attitude then was - give me more, give me more. Now, looking back, I honestly think we should have just went, ‘thank you, every one of you, for getting us here. We were Oasis, and good night, and walked off.”

“We should have,” Noel Gallagher added, “We should have disappeared into a puff of smoke. But you know, it was my idea to keep going, because I keep on fishing for it, d’you know what I mean? I’m an addict. That’s what shit-kickers do. They ride it until the wheels come off.”

In the end we’re all complicit. The only reason Hollywood keep rehashing perfectly good films is because we, the audience, keep paying the price of admission. You could choose to see an original film. You could choose Moonlight, Fences, Manchester by the Sea, The Salesman, or Arrival, or you can choose to be an addict.

*Dialogue paraphrased from There Will Be Blood: --Paul Thomas Anderson. The There Will Be Blood Screenplay. 2006.