#time to skim through and find all the ship names for these fuckers >.>

[void-with-a-keyboard]

some Thoughts ive been having

so i feel like we all know that one of the main things that ppl find the most physically attractive about earth is her height. and this obviously applies to her partners (as i will discuss in a moment :3c). and me personally, as an aroace gay man, if a tall woman came up to me and suddenly started flirting with me i would combust on the spot (/pos ofc) so i can only assume that her partners feel that tenfold when its something she does. like. daily

SO- stay with me now- wut if she was small? like- lunar sized small. like temporarily shrunk down to be itty bitty. ik she had a whole episode where she was made tiny BUT SHE WASNT SMALL ENOUGH!!

and personally i feel like her partners would just. lose their fucking minds. like- their tallest partner- IS NOW SMALL?? ITTY BITTY??? AND CAN BE HELD???? LIKE PICKED UP?????

and i was rewatching the original video and solar and moon were like "im not used to looking down to look at u" and i was like "oh..? is that... mayhaps- a bit flustering??" like- u CAN NOT tell me that solar didnt immediately try to distract himself by moving stuff around so he could calm down-

and i imagine that after the initial fluster of seeing their partner being so adorably tiny they just. absolutely took advantage of the situation. i have a hc that earth LOVES to put ppl in her lap. makes interactions more intimate. PLUS it makes it easier for them to be able to kiss her. (ofc they could just. ask her to lean down so they can reach but.. its more Fun just sitting them in her lap :3c) BUT. im just thinking to myself like. they would ABSOLUTELy tease her by using the same tactics. cooing at how small she is while they hold her in their lap, patting her head and holding her face oh so gently- DO U SEE MY VISION????

and i feel like solar and eclipse would be the ones to do it most. cuz like- i imagine that theyre effected by her holding them the most cuz it just- makes them feel so many emotions so NOW theyre like "u wanna sit in my lap?" give her a taste of her own medicine and all that :3

AND IT WORKS!! BC SHES SUPER FUCKING FLUSTERED AND DOESNT KNOW WUT TO DO WITH HERSELF. and eventually the others catch on and they just go "finally, a chance to fluster her" (since i imagine that there isnt many ways to fluster her. shes very much a "can dish it out and take it" kind of person unless u hit a Soft Spot for her) AND LUNAR would be ECSTATIC!!! FINALLY!! theres someone HIS SIZE???? and he also finds it ADORABLE how small she is. like- she baby! she small!! and FINALLY lunar is in kissing distance. he doesnt have to climb her like a jungle gym to kiss her (again, she can just lean down, but he finds it more Fun to just climb her :]) and HE DEFINITELY takes advantage of that. INFINITE KISSES!!!!! SOOO MANY KSISES!!!!!!!

anyway time to Be Normal and pretend like i didnt think about this LITERALLY ALL DAY

[sslutf0ryel3na]

COMPLICATED — S1-E5: Two Men on a Mission

Pairing: Eren Yeager x Fem! Reader x Jean Kirstein

Word count: 5.3k

Series summary: Two boys, opposites you could say with a troubled past, fall for the same girl. You to be precise, but one falls head over heels at first sight, and as for the other, won't dare to admit his feelings. With the first guy, you had a not-so-welcoming encounter with. And well, the same goes for the other play boy as well. Are you a competition to them? Maybe. Will you fall for one, or both? Definitely. But how will everything play out in the end?

Chapter summary: Things heat up between You, Eren, and Jean. But everything complicates when Reiner becomes your foe.

Content warning: mild verbal abuse and violence

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｡･:*˚:✧ 𝖢𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 ｡･:*˚:✧

𝗦𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗱𝗮𝘆, 9:15 𝗽𝗺

𝗝𝗲𝗮𝗻'𝘀 𝗣𝗢𝗩

I never once really fell in love with a girl. My standards are pretty high, but I'll still take a few to bed. By few, I definitely don't mean every girl I flirt with haha... I'm only joking, calm down love:)

A notorious playboy or horse-face (uh, ignore the second name) Is what I get as a nickname just because I can pull. I mean, I'm young. I could do whatever I want. No need to worry about all the lovey-dovey shit.

She's a normal girl, she's just like everyone else...

She caught my eye though. Well, not really actually. It was more like her rejection to me which caught me off guard, because rejection doesn't happen to someone of my degree.

Like, Who can resist a guy like me?

Maybe I shouldn't have tried to seduce her the first time I met the girl. I could've used my other tactics for her to fall for me, but the thing is... I don't usually need to use all the tricks up my sleeves for a girl to fall head over heels. One look at me, and they want me.

I gave her a pickup line and my killer smirk that night at the Diner, yet she didn't look flustered a bit.

I had to even resort to my hands to do all the skimming around her thighs, which made her push me away instead as a result. I thought that move would have definitely drawn her in closer to my trap...

But I was rejected again! Unbelievable, isn't it?

I don't know if she's playing hard to get, but if she is, she's good at her game.

Eren got to her first before I could at that fucker's party a few nights ago. It was confusing to me how he held such a worrisome face, so I had to follow the bastard.

His traumatic look came to make sense when I pursued him through the crowd, finding the blockhead and Reiner about to throw hands for the same girl I had my eyes on.

Except I find within their conversation that Braun's intentions were nothing like Eren's... the bipolar is sick in the head, literally.

I wanted to step in, but Eren made it plain as day that he had the whole situation covered as soon as he knocked Reiner out cold, then left afterwards with the girl he saved over his shoulders and out the party.

I'm mad. It wasn't me who got to protect her... but why? Do I like her? Or is it just a random feeling...

My stupid self back in the days got Eren into drugs, and I guess my mother and Grisha got in between me and the suicidal maniacs bond on top of that. Everything wasn't pretty, and it still isn't to this day.

Yeager's been going through a tough time, and it's... mostly my fault. So I guess I understand his hatred towards me.

still..

I'll make sure you crave for me, instead of him.

-

Destination: Fucker's house, and Goal: To not get caught, but I have a idiotic bald-headed side-kick besides me who will most likely get the fucking cops called on us. I'm praying to whatever god's above that won't happen.

"Bro we should play the mission impossible playlist, amIright?? This is going to be pretty epic Jean. But I swear.. If we get caught, my parents are gonna shove me into a box and ship me off to Madagascar.."

Connie was all excited about the plan of action in the passenger seat, and he doesn't exactly know why we're even doing it in the first place. But the dumb-ass still agreed to the scheme just for the fun of it.

I like to keep it like that. If baldie found out it had to do with Y/n, he would never shut up about me simping over her for months in consequence.

"We're not gonna get caught. But if we do, the look on Reiners pathetic face will make it all worth it." I chuckled, drifting my corvette to the left to make our final turn to Braun's place.

"Hey, you notice the black corvette behind us? That's one hell of a car, better than yours Jean. They aren't following us, right?" Connie cross-examined as he gazed at the left side-view mirror.

I checked mine also from curiosity, and damn how he was right about those wheels being something else. A cv z06 corvette, better then my classic torch red.

"Nah, I don't think they're tailing us, we're good." I reassured, glancing at my rear-view mirror to check the black vehicle once more. I don't know why, but I felt like I've seen that certain car somewhere. Just couldn't quite put my finger on it.

Wonder which hot chick drives that car...

-

𝗕𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗣𝗢𝗩

"Do you think they spotted us, sis?" Noah nervously babbled as he was slumping in the passenger seat like that would've hidden his presence or something. You sighed and slowed your speed a bit since you were going about 90 miles per hour on the freeway near the red corvette.

"We're fine, guess dressing in all black worked." You giggled because you dead-ass looked like Catwoman and Noah...Yeah, he doesn't deserve the title as Batman so, no.

You evenly swerved to the left and took the same exit Jean had taken. The exit gave you an uncanny sensation, déjà vu, like you've driven down this road before.

Weird, didn't Mikasa take this same exit when we were going to the dick's party?

"S-slow down Y/n, you're driving like you're in freakin Tokyo drift." Noah stuttered, clenching his seatbelt with his life from your car propelling. The adrenaline for driving fast was like an addiction for you. But you had to calm down since Noah looked like he was about to piss his pants from fear...

"Fine, I'll slow down. I just don't wanna lose them." You maintain your distance, zig zagging through cars swiftly until you finally catch Jean's car in the distance, parallel parking across... REINER'S HOUSE??

Why the fuck are they here oml...guess we're gonna have to find out.

Your car rolled in a few houses away from Reiners place for good measure, parking behind cars of big brands. You flung out your door, and tried softening your steps towards the mansion. Noah quietly followed behind.

"Here! Let's hide behind these bushes. We'll be at perfect range from the two idiots." You sent Noah a signal like you were a marshaller for an airport, then crept behind him towards the bushes. The leaves crunching below your feet weren't as loud when you steadily dashed to your designated hiding spot.

"Fuck! I think a thorn just went up my ass.."

You yelped in pain as soon as your rear hit the ground abruptly.

"What ass? Flat Stanley, HAHAHAH-" Noah couldn't finish his cackle due to you stuffing a bunch of dirt and grass into his shitty mouth to make him shut up. He basically almost choked to death, it definitely wasn't the best idea for him to tag along also.

"Wait, didn't the seniors throw a party here a couple of nights ago, sis?" Noah questioned. "Yeah, this is where the awful back-to-school party happened." You answer in front of Noah with a slight sigh.

You never told your family what really happened that night, or anyone for that matter. Only Mikasa and Eren knew... Well, that's what you had thought.

You and Noah shift your weight a bit because crouching behind those bushes felt like the blood flow would stop in your legs. You then sent a silent prayer of thanks that your bad-luck doesn't get you to get caught snooping.

"Shit, sis! I think they're going to vandalize the person's car. Look at the spray can bottles they have in their hand! Wow, they're coooool. Date one of them please." Noah begged, you rolled your eyes from his stupid utterance and continued to observe your view.

You squint your eyes like it might help you hear Jean and Connie better, because damn those idiots are real idiots. But in the back of your head, you really wished you would've joined them.

If I were them, I would've painted the fuck-face's house as well. And maybe even break in to paint dicks all over Reiners face. But why are they even doing this?

....

"Art in the highest form." Jean wiped the paint off his chin with a thumb and chuckled wickedly, taking in the sight of his colorful masterpiece on the now not-so-white Bugatti.

Jean exceeded his limits of spraying miniature dicks onto Reiners car. Art can be a way to show your emotions, and Jean took that literally.

"Remind me why we're doing this exactly?" Connie asked Jean as he was scratching his bald head in perplexity.

"Cause he's a piece of shit." Jean answered right away with a straight face and a shrug. Connie cocked a brow from his confusing explanation.

"I know that, but he hurt Historia ages ago. Why now?" Connie crosses his arms over his chest and backs away from Reiners car a little.

"He's been fucking with too many people lately. Besides, his face alone is enough reason." Jean's blatant response was still difficult for Connie to understand, but he pushed it aside.

𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗲'𝘀 𝗣𝗢𝗩- Yeah, by 'too many people' I know you mean one person. One girl... Pfft horse-face, nice try.

"Anyways, we should go now." Jean advised since it was getting a little too late. "Alright, start the car. I've got one more thing to do." Connie proposed with a sly smile, which made Jean send him an eye-roll from skepticism.

"Please don't piss on the car, don't ruin my hard work..." Jean shook his head with a hearty laugh, then sprinted off to his Corvette with the empty spray-cans before Connie could counter.

"I wasn't going to- actually, that isn't a bad idea..." Connie really thought about what Jean said, but denied it before he grabbed his phone from his back pocket, and began to record the whole car from every angle.

Snickering as he was doing that, all the lights suddenly shifted back on inside of Reiners place. Connie swore no one was actually home, but boy was he wrong....

"HEYY, WHO THE HELL IS OUT THERE?! YOU ARE SO FUCKED WHEN I FIND OUT WHO YOU ARE!" The shrieking grumpy voice threatens.

Yup, that was the devil himself yelling from the top of his lungs. Connie froze, you and Noah's mouth hung open from shock behind the bushes, and Jean was pissed that he actually believed Connie's idiot self that no one would be home...

Connie then darted to Jean's car for the sake of his poor life, and almost tripped in his tracks.

"DRIVE NOW. DRIVE! DRIVE!" Connie hyperventilated and demanded as soon as he jumped into Jean's car.

"Connie, I thought I fucking told you to make sure no one was home!" Jean scolded Baldie while revving his engine back to life.

"I did!" Baldie blurted, swearing he really thought the bastard wasn't home.

"No, you clearly-"

"Dude, DRIVE. NOW. I'm not rich or white! And I don't think I look good in an orange jumpsuit either!" Connie claiming he wasn't white made Jean burst out into laughter, but they couldn't waste time for an argument, so the both of them fled the crime scene before notice.

Now, back to you and Noah.

....

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Noah stop squirming, and get up quickly before that mother-fucker catches us." You whispered harshly into Noah's ear. Reiner already had came out of his house, and he didn't look anywhere near okay from the sight of his now ruined car.

"Okay, I'll go first. You will be on the lookout." Noah murmured, you nodded and agreed. You lurch your head back with frantic eyes towards Reiner. Trying to keep a lookout while Noah got up first to cautiously creep away.

Alright, the jerk's focus is entirely on his fucked up car. I should be good now.

At a slow place, you extended yourself off the muddy ground. Each muscle in your body was guarded carefully. Okay, okay, I'm doing good so far... this isn't so hard haha...

A leaf beneath your feet then crunches. LOUD AND CLEAR.

"HEY? WHO'S THERE!!" Reiner took his attention off his car, and sprinted without hesitation towards the noise you caused.

Oh shit. Gotta blast!!!!!

You run expecting to save yourself and Noah. Being chased is as potentially lethal as it gets. You had to escape at any cost. You focus, you think, and you don't look back.

Goddamit, He's fast!

Finally making it into your car that Noah had started up himself, you rushed to dissolve away in the night without getting seen thankfully.

Reiner was too late to catch your face.

I'm never pulling this stunt ever again...

-

𝗠𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴,

8:00 𝗮𝗺

Mirage, what you named your precious car, sadly broke down right after you took flight from Reiners place the other night. So you were car-less, and that's literally the worst feeling.

It's like losing the privilege to escape from reality. You couldn't go for random long drives at night to ease your thoughts. No more of those for about two weeks you estimated.

But guess what? Now you get to tag along with Mikasa to school every morning! Let's also add another certain blond hottie to the morning drive. Remember the Leonardo DiCaprio look-alike?

The blonde was wearing a collared blue shirt, his sleeves shrugged up to his elbows, and a silver chain around his neck for you to eye on the rear-view mirror In Mikasa's G-wagon.

Man, and Armin plays the guitar too. I really wish he was my neighbor... fuck Eren.

"So... When is baby Mirage gonna get fixed? Mikasa batted her eyes at you for a second, then turned to face the road in front of her as she drove.

"I hate being car-less. Every time I get somewhere, I feel like I'm stranded on an Island just waiting for a rescue team to get me out of there." You dramatically preached. You heard Armin chuckle under his breath from your sentence, which made your cheeks blush all kinds of pink.

"If you want, I can give you a ride to school until you get your car back! It won't be a problem for me since I don't live that far from you." Armin offered an offer every girl would've dreamed to accept.

"No need for you to do that Armin, I'm keeping Y/n to myself until her car gets fixed." Mikasa winked in the rear-view mirror at the blonde in the back. You have Mikasa and Armin fighting for you, what more could you ask for?

Damnit Mikasa. I love you, but... ARMEEENNN.

"You guys are making me blush all colors calm downnn. Anyways, speaking of problems... Eren is so careless!" You exclaimed, Mikasa gave you a 'Uh oh, what now?' Look.

"What did Eren do?" Armin kindly asked from the backseat.

"Well, he's supposed to memorize a script for a project that we both have to present today...and I just know he didn't glance at it but only once since our last meet-up a few days ago." You answered with a spirit-less sigh.

Mikasa and Armin attempted, but failed to suppress a laugh from your agony. Your eyes bounce from Armin to Mikasa, a blank look formed on your face from their giggles.

"Whatttt? Am I missing something here?" Your head wilted towards the both of them as you let loose a self-conscious laugh. "Oh, you don't know. Do you?" Mikasa found your puzzlement amusing, she was definitely hiding something that felt important for some reason.

"Know what...." You dragged out, "You'll find out! Don't worry." Armin tried raising your spirits, but it failed miserably, and the thought wouldn't get out of your head as soon as you finally all made it to the hallways of the school.

Mikasa's statement was so vague, did Eren do something? Armin waves bye to the both of you,

and Mikasa leads you to the vending machines by the cafeteria.

"Hey, did you see what happened to Reiners car over the weekend?" You asked as a devious smile graced your face. Mikasa pulled out a barbecue lays chip packet from the machine, and handed it to you.

"NO. Explain after I take a quick shit, I'll be right back my love." She pecked your LIPS this time, and you turned red as a fat tomato while she left you and walked off to the restrooms to the left.

I think I might fall for her one day.

Entirely unaware, Reiner overheard your little conversation with Mikasa from a distance about the vandalism. His heart increased while he clenched his jaw, storming towards your direction as his temperament went up with each step.

Shit was about to go down, any second now...

"YOU little bitch!" You suddenly felt a huge hand forcing you to turn around to face them. Their grip was so tight, that it pained your shoulder. It was Reiner. The menace had fury etched into his eyes. Everyone around you stopped in motion to gaze at the both of you.

"Guy's, he's crazy... don't you

think we should step in?"

"I got this, hand me

your phone HAHAHHA."

"Who the fuck do you think you are! Touching me with your fucking crusty hands!" You pushed him away with all your force, but it only made him step closer to you. He wasn't even discreet about the situation, it's like he wanted all the attention on the both of you.

𝗝𝗲𝗮𝗻'𝘀 𝗣𝗼𝘃- The hell is going on over there? Is that angel-face and Reiner?? The fuck does he think he's doing talking to her like that.

Jean scurried through each student who was either gossiping, or had a phone in their hand to video the whole argument. From everything he was hearing from the maniac's booming voice, Jean exactly knew why the circumstances came to be.

"I didn't mess with your car. Calm yourself jack-ass." You glared above into Reiners dreadfully threatening pupils that wouldn't dare to take off from your face. You were itching for him to go further so you could shut him down with a few punches.

"I heard you, bitch! I know you fucked my car up! How stupid do you think I am?!" Reiner spoke in gritted teeth, his filthy saliva flew to your cheeks.

Don't say it. Don't say it. Resist the urge-

"Extremely stupid." You pouted sarcastically as you twirled your hair, hearing laughter in the range of multiple students from your quick-witted comment, thus making Reiner's ears go all red.

"Listen to me, I'm gonna fuckin destroy-"

"Woah, woah, woah, don't you think you're a little too close to Y/n over here? You know it's not cool to call a woman a bitch, right?" Playboy appeared out of thin air and stepped in between you and Reiner. Acting all heroic and superior.

One of Jean's soft hands were intertwined with yours, like he was trying to calm you down with his touch.

Great. I'm the center of attention, why is mullet in my way of punching the dick...Ugh.

"Fuck off man, I'm not done." Reiner spat to Jean, hovering in front of him so he could view your face instead of Jean's.

"No, I think you've done enough to this poor girl..." Mullet calling you 'poor girl' felt like the biggest insult to you, all you wanted to do was handle the situation on your own but of course tweedle dee is acting like you're hopeless.

Who the fuck is he calling 'poor girl!'

"Mind your fucking business, Kirstein." Reiner hissed, still trying to catch a glimpse of you, but Jean's giant figure covered your whole body, Mullet's physique was tall as hell.

"Oh, but this is my business. Connie and I were the ones who gave your car a makeover. No need to pay us, it's on the house Braun!" Jean admitted with a smirk, and the tension between the boys only grew from his accusation.

"YOU DID WHA-"

Reiner couldn't finish telling off Jean. Thanks to you pushing playboy out of your way to throw a lethal jab onto Reiner's stone-cold face. The punch was long awaited for you, and you hear scatters of gasps from your hit.

Fuck! Is that dick's face made of armor?? My knuckles are aching...

Reiner was thrown to the floor, adjusting his jaw and spitting the leftover blood that was remaining in his mouth from your punch. You had to take in the beautiful sight before you opened your mouth again.

"You little- My father will hear about this!" Reiner muttered nonsense like that would scare you away.

"Oh, really now? I'm sure he'd love to hear about you spiking my drink too." The words tasted so good when it escaped your lips, Reiner was dead silent from your utterance. Everyone was in fact, no back-talk at all.

"That's right, I know. Aww come on, give him a call! Your daddy's waiting!" You teased him to the point where he just sighed and took all the hate you were pouring onto him with no backchat.

𝗝𝗲𝗮𝗻'𝘀 𝗣𝗢𝗩- I want her so bad...

"Yeah, that's what I fucking thought. I don't care who your father is, or how much money he has. In fact, no one does. Because no matter how filthy rich you are... you're still just a dick. Next time you mess with me or any other girl... You'll be hearing from my lawyers, Reiner." You serve back without missing a beat. People were praising and applauding you.

Invisible fucking mic-drop.

You scoff with a playful grin at the sight of Reiners guilt, then turned around to leave the scene. But... Jean stood in between your way to your next class. You peer above into his sinful brown pupils that were covered in lust. His smirk never left his face as he looked down on you.

"Feisty chick, aren't you? Any guy would be lucky to have you... So why not be mine? Jean tells you with the biggest grin he could muster.

You actually stiffen from his big words, you couldn't tell whether he was teasing you, or being real for once. But it still made your cheeks instantly heat up nonetheless.

"Jean, I'll deal with you later...but bring me a bouquet of flowers when you actually want to admit your undying love for me." You push past him and snickered with a smirk, leaving him speechless in the middle of the hallway in front of the mass of students.

Damn Mikasa! Your fat shit caused you to miss all the fucking action. Where the hell are you...?

Mikasa was still in the restroom. Still taking a shit.

-

To your amusement, you didn't get caught punching Reiners pathetic face. The day went by pretty quick, and Eren wasn't anywhere to be found. It was finally time for Economics. You weren't completely doomed, you had a plan... You could make a script during the first few minutes of class, right?

"We will start the presentation in five minutes. I hope that you are all ready, this will be a major grade." Captain America broadcasted to the classroom, leaving you worrisome to the core since Eren hasn't even shown up to class yet.

Think, think, think, I could do this on my own right? Fuck Eren, I got this.

You were actually losing your mind at that moment. You could barely remember the presentation you studied so hard for. Eren, on the other hand, didn't study at all too which didn't help. To say you were terrified would be an understatement.

But right when the bell rang as always, the jerk decided to materialize out of nowhere. Lightly placing himself on the seat next to yours, while he was on the phone and talking in... French???

"Je vous remercie. Ma tante va s'en occuper." Eren was directly looking at you as he talked in a foreign language. You couldn't help but blush because hell, the accent was really attractive. But were you going to admit it? No.

"Au revoir. Bonne nuit." He finally ended his conversation to whomever he was chatting with on the other side of the line. A smile grows on his lips from your surprised expression.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Eren exhaled with a bored expression, pocketing his phone as he brings his attention on your Lips then up at your eyes.

"You're not ready to present! You didn't finish your part in the presentation. I spent more than an hour looking over the script, and I'm barely ready myself!" You ranted, and he gave you an eye-roll.

"49 seconds."

"Huh?" You didn't know what the dick meant by '49 seconds.'

"I spent 49 seconds looking at the script." Eren bragged, but you didn't believe any of it.

"Okay? How is that any better?!" You were so done with the man-bun freakin uhh ugly man sitting in front of you with a stupid grin carved on his face.

Eren erupts into laughter from your current state of panic. He patted your head like you were a puppy, and got off his seat. Mr. Smith called for the both of you which made your heart drop levels down into the earth.

"Just watch me, love." Eren winked, and walked over to the front. Your bones froze for a second but you dragged your feet to the front also, hoping Eren wouldn't embarrass the both of you.

Okay, let's just get this over with.

You eye all the students across the classroom who held either a face that had a lack of interest, or excitement because the Eren Yeager was standing next to you. Captain America approved for the both of you to start your presentation, your side of the script was up first.

We're fucked. Eren's fucked...

"Hey... everyone. The economy has four stages in the business cycle... Fluctuations occur repeatedly as the economy experienced with the following turning points. Uh... the peak is the highest point in the upswing of business. And then you have the... the..."

This. Is. So, embarrassing.

Eren nudged your shoulder, and cleared his throat. Saving you from your humiliating moment surprisingly. "I'll take it from here. The trough.." Eren looks at you for a second with a self-satisfied smirk, then back at the students who were fawning over him as he continued to speak.

"This is the lowest point in the downswing of an economy. Which is generally through the recession period. Then you have the expansion period..."

Ohmygod. You were genuinely shocked Eren exactly knew what to say. He also explained stuff that wasn't even covered in class. Even Mr. Smith himself was amazed, and all the girls in class were drooling... What a shocker!

20 minutes later, and the both of you end your presentation with a final thank you. Students applauded brutally, but only for Eren. You had to hand it to him honestly, but how did he manage to pull it off? That was the real question.

"Look, we don't really have an excuse to talk to each other anymore. Have a nice rest of your day, Y/n." Eren gave you another one of his smug smiles, then grabbed his backpack to dart out of the classroom.

The presentation took all of the class time, that's how much time Eren took explaining.

Unbelievable, right? You had to know. How the hell did he do it? You were certain that he didn't practice. Determined to find out the truth to it, you followed Eren as he exited the school building.

Making it to the school parking lot, Eren was walking towards his... Motorcycle?! His shiny pure black Harley-Davidson 2-wheeler! It looked like it was straight out of Mad Max.

You needed a ride anyways, so you might as well just ask him for one. But only after your interrogation with him about the whole presentation stunt he pulled.

Eren put each one of his long husky arms through the holes of his leather jacket before he sat on his cycle. He was about to put his glossy jet black helmet on over his head, but you interrupted his action by appearing in front of his vehicle.

𝗘𝗿𝗲𝗻'𝘀 𝗣𝗢𝗩- Just as I was trying to avoid her... of course she shows up out of nowhere.

"You forgot to answer my question. And I need answers, how'd you do it Yeager?" You eyed him up and down with your hands on your hips, squaring your brows as he let out a suffering sigh from you.

"Are you gonna leave me alone if I do, Y/n?"

"Answer me. Did you study?"

𝗘𝗿𝗲𝗻'𝘀 𝗣𝗼𝘃- This girl will be the death of me...

"Nope." Eren scratched his head as his eyes wandered off from yours.

"Are you a repeat? Did you take Economics before? Did you actually make a script after all?? How did you know so much!" Your brain was driving crazy from your calculations for Eren. He looked like he was about done with your questioning and shit, so he finally decided to reveal the truth.

"I have an eidetic memory." Eren jolted his shoulders and brought his emerald pupils back at your gaze.

The fuck is that?

"It's a photographic memory if your dumb-ass didn't know what 'eidetic' meant." He then continued to put his helmet back on while you stood in front of him not moving a muscle since you were so astonished.

A- photographic memory? Is this man supposed to be built perfect or something? It's not fair!

"I don't have time for this, your interview with me is over."

"Wait! I have one more question." You tried stopping him before he dashed off, and it worked. Eren didn't take his helmet off though which covered his entire face. You were staring at pure darkness.

"Could you give me a ride back home?" You politely asked, like actually. Mikasa had karate lessons so she had to leave school in a jiffy. Eren was basically your only choice.

"No." Eren proceeded to start up his loud-ass engine, turning away from you as he tried to back away... but a particular red corvette delayed Eren to drive off.

Jean...

"Ignore him, love. I'll give you a ride back." Jean straight away offered to take you back home. His head was popping out of his car window, while his right hand grasped his leathered brown wheel. You were about to nod and agree, but Eren took off his helmet to face you again.

"Actually, Hop on Y/n. Don't want you going home with that fucker. He might kidnap you..." Eren tried swaying you back towards him, which confused you. Did they think you were some type of competition to them? You weren't a game piece, please. It was annoying, but...

Who will you decide to go home with?

______________________________________________

𝗪𝗵𝗼 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗽𝗶𝗰𝗸?

𝗝𝗲𝗮𝗻 𝗼𝗿 𝗘𝗿𝗲𝗻?

Next on Complicated- A deal made with the devil. When Connie, Armin, and Eren go for a ride... they have a small accident. Things heat up when they realize it's you in the other car.

[adhdeancas]

Dean Winchester (and the script leaks last night) possessed me to write this.

Dean happens upon Chuck's latest book: Carry On. Except it ends differently than it really went, and the ending? It's really fucking bad.

tw: suicide mention, transphobia (quickly shut the fuck down) 

Dean doesn’t make a habit of going to bookstores. Not because he hates books, contrary to what Sam might think; he just prefers to buy used books. There’s something comforting about a book that has already been worn and read over and over, that already shows how much the previous owner loved it. Plus, y’know, big corporations are evil and all that. And Dean only allows himself to overlook that when his stomach or his wallet wins over his hatred of the shitty mass-produced products. 

This time it was Jack who won; he’s obsessed with this new fantasy series and the new book just came out, so there’s no way he can hunt it down on Ebay. He makes his way to the fantasy and sci-fi section, eyes roaming over the displays of new releases, and his eye catches on something that turns his blood cold. 

“Supernatural: Carry On, The Final Book of the Winchesters’ Epic Journey” takes up a whole table, the generic and overly serious cover jeering out at him. 

He storms over to the display, anger covering up for the way his body feels light as a feather and like lead all at once, and picks up a book. “Why is Sam always fucking shirtless?” he mutters, the only thought that allows itself from the mess inside his head to his mouth. 

“Book sales.” A voice behind him says. He turns to see a teenager with their arms crossed over their work polo, pierced lip fixed into a customer-unfriendly frown.

“People want to see that?”

They snort, a small grin turning up the corner of their lips. It reminds Dean of Cas. “No. But that’s what advertisers think all ‘women’ want,” They use air quotes. 

He raises an eyebrow and asks. “Women?”

They shrug and uncross their arms, leaning back against the display table behind them. Their nametag says Jadyn. “Supernatural’s biggest block of readers is queer. I’d go out on a limb and say a lot of those the marketers think of as ‘women’ aren’t, or if they are, they aren’t itching to see Sam’s six pack.” Jadyn smirks. 

Dean takes a second to digest that, then grins down at the book, thinking past Sam’s apparently badly-received nudity now. “So how’d they like it?” he asks, waving the book a bit and looking up at Jadyn. Apparently they know a lot about the fans of the books, and for once, he’s proud of the way the story ended. 

Jadyn’s face sets into all hard lines. “Most people fucking hated it.” they say bluntly, then, probably remembering that he’s a customer, correct. “Sorry. I mean, it got some good reviews, mostly from people who like Wincest, but beyond that, it had some problematic plot points.”

Dean winces at the reminder of the ship between him and his brother, then scrunches his whole face together in confusion. “Wait, what? Why?” Why would Wincest fans like it? What was problematic about their end?

Jadyn shifts from foot to foot. “I don’t wanna spoil anything for you-”

“I don’t care about spoilers, just give me the short version.” Dean says quickly. A quiet panic is rising in him, and suddenly he has a horrible feeling that he’s not holding the truth in his hands anymore. 

“Uh, okay… Well, the most obvious thing is the bury-your-gays thing, then there’s the fact that it completely contradicted the rest of the lore. And it was ableist, misogynistic, and messed up, like, every character’s arc.” they take a breath, clearly worked up by it. “Even if they changed any of the details too, it was all built on Dean’s death, and that’s just bullshit. Sorry.” they apologize again, apparently mistaking Dean’s stricken expression to be in reaction to their rant and swearing. 

“No, nah, you’re… you’re okay. Uh, thanks.” he waves a hand and wanders away from them, only remembering Jack’s book when he’s almost to the register. He manages to make his way back and find the damn thing, but he’s still in a fog when he gets to the register. 

“Did anyone help you in the store today?”

“Huh?” he looks up and meets the middle-aged cashier’s gaze for the first time. Brent, from the nametag, looks at him impatiently. “Oh, yeah, uh… Jadyn. Jadyn helped me.” Brent scoffs and starts typing with a shake of the head. “Uh, is there a problem?” Dean asks, a little annoyed at this cashier’s unnecessary attitude. He usually doesn’t care if an employee’s rude, because they have to deal with assholes all the time and honestly Dean isn’t much better, but this one gives him a bad feeling. 

“No, no, sorry. It’s just - “Jadyn’s” got this idea that he’s a girl. Makes everybody call him that name now too. Just-” Brent shakes his head. “I mean, you get it. Their generation, everybody wants to be special.”

Dean glares. “No, I don’t get it, Brent.” He says through gritted teeth. “Seems to me like Jadyn probably deals with enough assholes like you that her asking for a little basic decency is the exact opposite of special. Sounds pretty normal, actually.” He can see the fear creep into Brent’s eyes, and he knows the cashier is reacting to the murderous look in his eyes more than his actual words. 

Brent hands Dean his bag of books with a quiet, “Here you go.”

Dean snatches it away. “Oh, Brent?” he checks over his shoulder to make sure they’re alone and then leans across the counter into Brent’s space. “You should find a new job, one where you don’t have to interact with other people. At least until you learn how to stop being a piece of shit.” He starts to ease away but thinks better about it. “And if you think that’s a suggestion, it’s not. My husband likes this book coming out next month that I’ll need to buy, and if I see you here when I come, well… it would be really embarrassing for you to tell all your little friends that you got your ass beat by a ‘special’ guy, huh?” He pats Brent on the cheek condescendingly and leaves with a huff. 

Damn transphobes. 

He only remembers the book once he’s back in Baby, and he takes the time to drive out of town before he pulls over to read it. It’s an old abandoned church, the cross long since fallen from the roof and the doors hanging off their hinges. He sits on the steps just because being in Baby seems claustrophobic for once in his life, and going back to the bunker to look at this is just… not happening.

Dean only skims the beginning to see that it starts the same. The ground erupting with bodies, hell spitting out its most-conveniently placed nasties, Rowena sacrificing herself, Cas leaving. His throat closes up at that, at Chuck’s description of Cas’s heartbroken expression as he climbs the stairs of the bunker. He clears his throat and skips to the end, right past Cas’s death that he doesn’t have the time to think about right now, past them defeating Chuck and then stops. He goes back a few pages, trying to find the disconnect. 

The story’s different.

After Jack takes on God’s power, in the book, he’s totally fine. Not almost vibrating out of his skin or anything, not crying like the three year old he is because he’s scared. Not like it really happened. He just smiles and leaves him and Sam, and they let him go. 

Dean scoffs, skimming over the story as it just gets more ridiculous. 

In the book, he doesn’t even try to save Cas. They barely even mention him. And they never mention Eileen, either. In fact, Dean notes disbelievingly, practically the only characters in the last few chapters are him and Sam. They’re hunting again.

“What, is Chuck trying to keep the series going?” he whispers to himself, anger flaring through him. They let Chuck live, and he decided to write obnoxious fanfiction about them? He’s gonna kill that shameless little fucker. For real, this time. He deserves it.

In the book, Sam and Dean torture some vampire mime, and they enjoy it. Dean cringes; this is really what Chuck thinks of them. Then they tussle with more vamps in a barn and- 

Dean’s brain stops working. He rereads the scene again and again. 

“There’s something in my… something in my back. It feels like it’s right through me.” 

Dean Winchester dies in a dirty barn, on a piece of freaking rebar. 

More than that, Dean realizes on his fourth read-through. This Dean? He tried to drag out his speech, Dean can tell by the way he pauses for fucking drama. He would never do that. He would never talk to Sam for fifteen hellish minutes when he could be trying. Trying to live, so he can actually get his life back on track, get his family back. No, he made that speech stalling. He made that speech so Sam wouldn’t try to save him. 

“You gotta admit, I had one helluva ride.” He was strangely calm.

Chuck made him kill himself.

Dean reads the rest of the book through blurry eyes, reading an ambiguous and nothing-ending, one where he’s somehow happy to be dead and driving around in heaven alone while Sam raises a kid into hunting and cries about Dean decades after he’s died. Eileen isn’t mentioned. Cas is mentioned once, and Bizzarro-Dean doesn’t even think about seeing him, apparently. The whole book ends with a hug between him and Sam, both dead. Both alone. 

Dean rips the ending up. He tears through the stupid paper covering and keeps ripping the pages up until they’re the size of confetti. His lower lip wobbles. He throws the whole thing against the side of the building, and it tumbles through the broken doorway and drops into a pile of dust and dirt. “That isn’t the fucking ending.” he grounds out, knocking his hand against the flimsy handrail. It gives a little under his fist and he kicks at it. “That isn’t the fucking ending!”

He’s having a panic attack. Again. He tries to take deep breaths, but they’re gulping, too big, they’re making him panic more. He scrambles back to Baby and grabs his phone, presses the first number on his favorites list and waits for him to answer on speaker phone.

“Hey Dean, what’s up?” Sam sounds like he’s been laughing. There are voices in the background, and Dean tries to convince himself one of them is Eileen. 

“Hey Sammy.” he chokes out, trying to sound normal. “You busy?”

There’s a pause, and then the sounds in the background. “Nah, Rowena’s just over.” he says casually. 

“So those voices in the background were-”

“Rowena and Eileen, yeah. They’re trying to convince me we need to go to Mexico. For the beaches.” A smile in his voice. Dean lets out a sigh of relief.  What’s up, Dean? You need something?” The smile drops, and Sam’s worried. 

Sam’s okay. Sam’s okay. “No, nah. Hey, you heard from Donna lately?” Dean just needs to triple-check.

“Uh, no, not since Sunday dinner… Dean, you okay?”

“Yeah, she just- she hasn’t been answering my texts. Just wanted to make sure.” Dean lies quickly. His breathing is still uneven, but his body is settling into uneven shakes. 

Sam sounds skeptical. “Yeah, well, she did tell us it’s been pretty busy at work lately. Y’know, everybody going out for the first time with COVID, getting stupid. Plus, y’know, nowhere’s drowning in EMTs right now.”

“Right. Yeah.” Dean takes a deep breath, a distant memory of Donna talking about that coming back to him.

“Pretty sure you were setting up a D&D session with Charlie while she was talking about that,” Sam laughs. Dean knows he means it as a subtle jab, but there’s too much relief flooding through him to care. Still, a string is pulled taut in him, and Sam can’t fix that completely.

“Gotta go, Sam,” Dean hangs up before Sam can say anything else, and goes to his next contact. It rings for far too long, and Dean’s heartbeat picks back up to thundering.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean breathes out. “Cas, you know I love you, right?” He needs to test all the bounds of this, to make sure, just to make sure. Make sure Chuck isn’t still fucking with him. Because apparently, Chuck won’t let him be queer. Not in his story. Not out loud.

He can hear Cas’s eyebrow raise through the phone, and his chest is overcome with stupid fondness. “I would be a little worried if you didn’t.”

Dean grins widely. “Like, romantically. I’m in love with you. Because you’re the love of my life and I’m bisexual.” He says it all like it’s a checklist, like he expects some cosmic being to slap a hand over his mouth before he gets each next phrase out.

“Yes, Dean. We’ve been married almost two months.” Cas is smiling. It happens everytime he talks about their wedding. Dean adores it. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, now it is.” His whole body relaxes, still vibrating with leftover panic, but satisfied. “I got Jack’s book.”

“Oh, good. He’ll be so pleased.” Cas pauses. “Dean, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Dean eases off the ground and sends a last look at the dilapidated church before climbing into Baby. “Just- read a bad book. I’ll tell you about it later. When I get home.”

[jangofctts]

Tough Luck (Boba Fett x reader)

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Smut, violence, language, dry humping,  oral (m), sex with binders, vaginal fingering, mildly dubious consent, mild cumplay, more sexual favors (jfc), vaginal sex, consensual loss of virginity, 

Chapter (1)

a/n: howdy hey bucket fuckers. welcome to the second chapter!!! thank you so much for ms. @bobafctts​ for helping me THOT and help with the process of this bad boy in addition to @djxrxn​ whom ALSO encourages all these DISguSTAnG thots. love you, whores 🤠💖❤️ 

It’s a grueling ride to Coruscant. Even with a midway stop to refuel, it takes more than a couple weeks to arrive. 

You wish Boba Fett had thrown you into the carbon freezer. 

It’s...boring down here. 

The bounty hunter had left you alone, preferring to lock himself away inside the cockpit. Not like you’d want him anywhere but there, that is. He’s not some circus clown meant to entertain an impartial audience—you’re his quarry. A quarry worth a quarter million credits.   

The rare occasion you do see him is humiliating as is. Monitored refresher brakes and the singular hellacious shower incident. True, all he had done was wrestle your kicking and screaming self into the little cubicle then proceed to lock you in—and yet…Never in the entirety of your existence had you encountered anything more glacial than that water.  

Stars—you swear he has a direct pipeline to Hoth. 

With fingers frozen and teeth chattering so hard they rattled your skull, you made quick work of scrubbing at your hair and body. It’s a miracle you survived certain death by hypothermia, even more so you haven’t caught a cold in the following hours.   

There are limited chances to protest and rebel, close to zero in fact. He’s proven to be stronger on more than one occasion, man-handling and knocking you around like some squeaky toy left to be chewed on for some oversized loth-cat. 

He’s taken away the sole thing you’ve craved since coming aboard this ship; ripped it from your fingers and shattered it upon a duracrete floor. You’ve never chosen the petty undertaking after flustered nerves and lost arguments in life; it festers and twists into malice like a weight over your chest. But you’re no longer there. 

Here, after the first meal bar landed in your lap, you surrendered your pride and tore into that idle act of revenge.     

The meal bars thrown at your feet now begin to pile up; the one small defiance you can spare. It’s either this or throw your head against the wall until you pass out. Tragically and against your own volition, the imagery your brain provides for it forms a bubble of unease in the pit of your stomach. The sight of your own blood makes you queasy anyhow.   

It’s not ideal. You’re knifing hungry, but your act of defiance works. Faster than you’d originally thought as the second sleep cycle rolls around. 

Boba Fett’s spurs chink against the front of his boots, the glare of the shiny metal catching against the dim lighting. He doesn’t carry a meal bar this time. Instead all he brings is an ion storm filled with buzzing irritation you can feel crackle against your skin. Your eyes sweep up his figure as he plants himself before you, his head tipped down to meet your half-hearted glare.    

With a long sigh, squats and lifts up one the meal bars, the shiny wrapper crinkling under the pressure as he points it in your direction. “I’m not interested in delivering a corpse.”

“I’m not hungry,” you quip, turning your head to glower into the murky darkness of the ship. 

You jump, a pitiful squeak escaping your vocal cords as he throws the bar at your feet and lunges. His hand clamps around the binders, the roar of your heart deafening against your eardrums as he yanks you in close. 

“What is it you want?” He snarls, “A deal?”  

“I see how you treat your deals,” you bite back, straining against his grip. “You’re a liar and a cheat.” 

Boba wrenches you forward, the tip of your nose skimming the edge of the tinted visor from how close he leans in. “Careful, Rabbit. If I recall correctly, you offered me a favor not a contract.”

Despite the inky blackness of the visor, you could easily mistake it with the intensity of a dying star. You’re caught in that same familiar, lecherous pull from before. It feels wrong to be brought so close; like dancing over the serrated edge of a blade, not meant for a mortal soul to be wandering along.  

“I’ll ask again.” He states, the leather squeaking as his fingers clench tighter. “What is it you want?”

There’s no bargaining for a merciful death. You’ve seen how that would play out. All your cards are exhausted and spent and the only thing you’re left to bargain for are simple accommodation before you’re appointment with a firing squad.   

“No more binders. At least for more than a couple hours.” You rush out, afraid if you don’t speak with haste he’ll cut you off. “And...and I want a blanket. It’s—it’s cold.” 

He considers this, each second like a poorly wired hyperdrive—seconds from imploding. You let out a shaky breath as you catch the near imperceptible nod. “Is that all?” 

“Yes...I-I think.” 

He snorts. “You think? What else do you require, Rabbit?” 

You ignore the sarcasm dripping through the syllables like melted sugar. Be it intimidation or your own hormones betraying your rational mind, your eyes dip down. You curse yourself for his perceptiveness. 

It comes with the job you suppose. No one becomes the best bounty hunter in the parsec using untrained eyes.  

“You know, girl,” he chuckles, a gravelly rasp against the vocoder. “I could...return the favor.”

If you had it your way, wielding an iron grip of control on your own body, you’d stop the tidal wave of crackling arousal from licking at your heels and settling in the pit of your stomach. It’s a rush of electricity guilt yet you’re able to reign in your tongue and speak; as shaky and unsure as it is.  “What makes you think I want anything more to do with you?”

“There’s no harm changing your mind,” he says. Boba cocks his head to the side and rocks forward, capturing and twirling a lock of your hair around his fingers. “As you said—you’ll die soon anyhow.”

With a goading tug on your hair he sits up, the tinkle of his spurs filling the space as he saunters a couple paces away. He smooths a hand over a large cargo crate, the leather glove rasping against the wood and with a sigh, he sits. He settles his back against it, your eyes not once leaving his figure, entranced by each subtle movement and swish of his cloak that bunches beneath him.  

“Come claim your favor, Rabbit,” Boba purrs, crossing his legs and leaning further into the cargo crate. He’s awfully nonchalant—like a loth-cat furled out in the sun. Though you know, behind the undisturbed facade, one wrong move and he’ll pounce; sink those razor sharp talons into exposed flesh.   

“Anything?” 

If you could see his eyes, you imagine he’d be rolling them. He pats his thigh. “Why don’t you sit on my lap and then we’ll talk.”

You don’t think about the fact that this is worse than before. That you’re letting yourself clamber over his crossed legs and into his lap. You hate that the crackling fire, greedy and dark, burns through your core as if it had never had a taste of pleasure before.  

His hands skim up your thighs, covered and impersonal. You don’t let that kernel of disappointment wiggle into your thoughts—it’s bad enough you’re here. In spite of this, you think, fuck it. You might as well. Your life is such a shit show anyhow might as well indulge.   

You hiss in surprise as your crotch meets the unforgiving metal codpiece. “Take it off?” 

“You take it off, Rabbit.”

Your teeth clamp down into the inside of your cheek. Bastard. Cocky, smug, asshole—

The list could go on forever and despite the irritation snapping inside your chest like a cut wire, your fingers find the latches to the dark green codpiece. You’re rough taking the blasted thing off, delighting in the bounty hunter’s little chagrined grunt as you tug and pull without much caution. 

“Careful.” 

You shoot the best glare you can muster and stick your tongue out, jolting as his fingers dig into the flesh of your ass in retaliation. With a clatter the codpiece falls off; the thick swell of his cock creating an attractive line against the white fabric. 

The same trepidation returns. You’re digging your own grave here, shoveling through dirt and tough layers of gravel in order to toss yourself in. It shouldn’t be this easy to convince yourself to fall into those greedy claws of arousal.

“Well?” Boba challenges, snaking a hand around the swell of your waist. “Get moving before I change my mind.” 

“What do you suggest I do then?” You snip, exasperated by his indignant shrug. 

With a low hum he anchors his hold over your hips and yanks you further over his crotch. “You could be a good girl and get yourself off.”

You swallow, chewing on the edge of your lip. “Like this? Nothing else?” 

“I don’t know, Rabbit,” he sighs, “but it feels good, doesn’t it?” 

Before you can ask, he rolls his hips up, pressing the firmness of his cock against your covered cunt. You gasp and rock into him, a hand shooting out to grab at his shoulder pauldron. His snort of amusement only encourages your spiral into madness as he allows you to set your own pace; a timid and shallow undulation of you hips that only serves to amp up the craving and not sate it in the slightest.    

Stars, it’s hard to think like this. Every spark of pleasure is a catalyst to the inferno that tears through the fabrics of your being. It’s an effortless process to forget who you’re using to get off; easy to tumble into that pit of pleasure with each buck of your hips.      

Your cries are harsh, an incoherent string of curses and his name all thrown into one. Fuck—it’s blinding. The catch and pull of the fabric against your clit and the hardness of his cock that presses against your inner thigh; pitching quite an impressive tent in those creamy white trousers. 

It rushes up, searing and white-hot that’s got your whole figure into stiffening and catapulting into bliss. With a groan your head dips onto his shoulder, the scent of plasma and an undercurrent of smoke lingering on the fabric of his cowl. Your hips still rock into his lap, riding out the last dregs of pleasure. 

In retrospect you should have known. Deduced that this favor claimed as yours would shift into something completely his. He’s never satisfied with the terms unless he gets the larger cut. 

Just as your hips begin to slow, he readjusts his grip and grinds his straining cock against your sensitive pussy.     

Boba’s hands, one cradling your spine while the other clamps down over you ass is an anchor so unyielding it’d take a ship cutter to brake; he’s heaving your body into they jerky and erratic roll of his hips, too far gone to care about technique or poise. Just a means to an end—desperate for release. His breathy grunts reverberate through the vocoder, near deafening this close to your ear as the hand resting between your shoulder blades, latches onto the back of your neck. 

If not for the intensity of your orgasm, devastating and still wracking through your body in tiny jolts of lingering pleasure, you’d have fought his hold. Instead, you allow Boba to urge you forward, the cool metal a shocking contrast against your forehead in comparison to your flushed state. His own head is bowed against yours, playing into that foreign sense of intimacy as he finds his release. 

With a stuttered groan, his fingers harpoon into your flesh and cums. 

His chest heaves, fervent gulps of air harsh and distorted by the vocoder as he winds down from his high. You’re no better; your breath fans across the visor, the humidity painting a foggy layer of perspiration over the visor as your body still quivers with the aftershocks of pleasure. He’s the first one to part; jerks his head away as if you've burned him.   

In the following seconds, it’s as if your eyes are glued to that visor. There’s no telling wether you’re moments away from being slaughtered or allowed to sustain this little charade he’s put you through.    

“Oh, Rabbit…” A shiver tears down your spine as he glances between your bodies. There’s a wet patch, the fabric dampened by both your combined releases staining the front of his trousers. “What a waste.” 

You gasp as his hand curls around the column of your throat, your cunt clenching as the pressure tightens. With once last, teasing squeeze his fingers move to tangle into your hair. “Clean up your mess.” 

With a not so gentle yank on the strands you’re coerced into clambering off Boba’s lap. He guides your head forward, uncrossing his muscled legs to let you crawl up and settle between his thighs.     

Your hand quivers, somehow able to pop open the button and pull down the wet fabric. Smeared globs of his release stain the soft, dark skin, his cock still thick and swollen even after orgasm. Your tongue passes over your bottom lip as you lean in, a new, fresh wave of arousal carving through your frame. 

The taste isn’t horrid, still warm and mildly salty as you tongue laves at the crease of his thigh. Your tongue leaves a wet trail of saliva down to his balls, the skin velvety soft against your mouth. Boba jerks as you suckle them into the wet heat of you mouth, carefully swirling your tongue over them then tracing up to his softening cock. He grunts as you lick along his shaft, the flesh twitching as you lap up the rest of the sticky substance.   

Boba’s hand nudges at your forehead, then shifts and maneuvers himself out of your hold. Not a word is spoken as he pulls up his trousers and thumbs the button closed. He snatches up the codpiece laying pathetically on the ground and reattaches it around his groin. 

You don’t mean to flinch as he dips down—force of habit—even if all he does is reach for one of the abandoned meal bars. He pushes it into your hand; no room for arguments and perches himself against the cargo crate, one ankle crossed over the other as his arms fold over his cuirass. He dips his head, the message loud and clear to hold up your end of the deal. 

“You don't have to watch me eat,” you mutter, biting off the corner of the foil with your teeth to open it. You roll a piece of the pasty food into a crumbly ball between your fingertips then pop it into your mouth. You grimace at the taste. Bland. A bit like dirt. 

Except…dirt has flavor. 

Not to mention the fact that he won’t stop staring. Tracking every move—unsettling and curbing your appetite into a mess of anxious knots. You don’t like being analyzed and monitored like an ill-tempered child. It’s a long shot to ask and receive an answer, but you’re desperate for anything to fill the silence.  

“How did…um…you find me?” 

Kriff, you can’t even ask about anything normal, can you?

Boba cocks his head to the side, letting that unnerving quiet draw out until you’re sure he won’t respond. And then; “People leave trails. Even you, clever rabbit”

You force yourself to choke down another bite of the bar. “What was my trail then?”

You’re split between the desire to know what you did to ensure your capture while battling your queasy surprise that he’s chosen to indulge your questionings. “The pilot.”

A knife of dread, so sharp and swift it cuts through the layers of cartilage and bone; the blade lodging itself into your heart. “W-what?” 

“The Imperial one.”

Elliria Beren. Elli— 

No. No—that’s…he’s toying with you.  

Dantooine is the last place you saw her. Alive. Wild, auburn hair blown from her braids caused by the windstorm that swept up through the grassy plains; the clouds, colossal and dark, swallowed up the sun as they rolled across the horizon. Her flight suit was hastily thrown on, rumpled and against regulations in the rush to help you. She told you to run—stole the TIE fighter to give you one last, undeserved chance. 

It feels like a broken promise stapled to the roof of your mouth as your mind dregs up the remnants of that day. She’d thrown her arms around you, crushing you to her chest, smelling like oncoming rain, and that contraband perfume she’d bought on Alderaan; a delicate sweetness you can hardly remember.

With Elliria, there was no fear; cradled in her arms and severed off from the world. There, you've done nothing wrong, you are not being chased by some relentless terror. You could sleep inside that moment. You could live inside that string of seconds. It would be fine. It would be perfect. You could escape and mend you fragmented heart strings. 

But you’re not there. 

You’re here. 

Here on a bounty hunter’s ship. Here there is fear. There is great sorrow. There is a litany of sins and a throng of terrors devouring at your soul. You led her straight to her death. Right into the very jaws of the man who sits before you. You hadn’t even considered she’d be caught.   

Your stomach churns and coils as bile pricks at your throat. What have you done.  

“I found her on Tatooine,” Boba continues, either enjoying your obvious horror or unabashedly oblivious.

No. Stop fucking talking. You bite back a choked sob as he raises a finger, tracing it across his cuirass. There—alongside the braided pieces of hair mounted as trophies, sits a red and blue ribbon. How haven’t you seen it before? You were there when Elli was awarded the Imperial Medal of Valor—it’d been the first time you’d seen her smile in months.  

And now…now it hangs upon the pauldron of a bounty hunter as a conquest won. “She was a good shot—but I was better.” 

Your chest is a wall of fire; the air you breath constricted and hot as your throat mimics that of a too tight collar on a fancy suit. You don’t care that stinging tears spring from your eyes and carve burning paths down your cheeks. Grief and wrath spin inside your chest with the fierceness of a vortex all-consuming. You shouldn’t have asked. Shouldn’t have forced his hand into revealing that all you ever do is leave a wake of destruction behind you. 

The abrupt, sharp, buzz throughout the ship slices through your despair. The comm system is flashing, attempting to patch in a call. The moment he stands, your mind races with plots of vengeance. You have nothing but your fists, your sharp teeth and bitten off nails. You don’t care. 

He turns his back, his cloak rasping against the floor. 

A momentary lapse in judgment on his part to leave himself vulnerable to a quarry free from their binders. 

With a cry you launch yourself across the small space, hooking your arms around his neck. He shouts out a curse, the weight of your body causing his own to pitch backwards. All air punches out of your lungs as the back of your head cracks against the ground, the full weight of beskar platting slamming into your chest and stomach. 

Your hold around his vulnerable throat loosens, giving him more than enough wiggle room to spring up. Your fist snaps out, the skin over your knuckles splitting open as it connects with the sharp edges of his helmet. He scrabbles to contain your flailing hands, eventually ensnaring your writs between his fingers with ease. 

Bucking your hips and kicking your legs out does nothing to save you from Boba wrestling you onto your stomach, straddling your thrashing body, wrench up your arms, and snap out a new pair of binders. Boba snarls as your elbow manages to stab into a vulnerable gap in his armor, forcing him to throw his entire weight over you. 

You don’t mean to slam the side of your face into his helmet—hurts you more than it would ever him. But it’s satisfying to feel him jerk and hiss out a curse.

“Stop this.” He barks, digging his forearm harder into the flesh of your shoulders. “You’re only hurting yourself.”

The blooming mark forming over your left eye socket is proof enough. The most damage, if any, would show up as bruise from where his own beskar had brutalized the skin or where your elbow had connected on his ribs.  

You want to fight—tear into his flesh until he feels even an ounce of the kind of pain he’s caused. Instead, he chooses something different.    

“I’m sorry about your friend.”  

Friend doesn’t sound right. And lover too bold. Feels overly simplistic; shallow to what you had with Elli. Like glossing over a three hundred page holonovel. “I hate you.”    

There’s no malice, no gloating. Just...sincerity. “Truly, I am.”  

You don’t know what’s worse; the fact that there’s nothing to latch onto, bare your teeth and spit out words more jagged than broken glass or if it’s the hollow void that carves out the cavity in your chest. The frigid vacancy that follows after a forest burns; charred skeletons of a once lush forest. Everything in your life has been burned, flipped and torn inside out more than you care to think about. 

Stuck in that strange limbo between the devouring vortex of agony and revenge. Flirting with dull edged apathy that blankets the pain with buzzing static. 

You choose the latter. 

It’s easier.  

It’s not fair Elli is dead. But there’s nothing you can do to change what happened. 

Some of that pressure bearing down on your spine eases as your body goes lax. You’re not sure how much time ticks away as you lie there against the dirty floor. Enough time to count the screws connecting the durasteel walls and the individual planks making up a cargo crate. You don’t care that Boba Fett continues to maintain his precarious position seated on your thighs, or the inquisitive touch between your shoulder blades. He isn’t the one to hate in this situation. You are. 

That gentle, uncharacteristic touch smooths down the line of your spine, disappearing once it reaches your bound hands. 

“You’re such a tiny creature...” You don’t think it’s meant for your ears, more of an observation he lets slip than a conversation starter. Regardless, it sends a shiver from the base of your skull and down. 

With a curious hum, Boba shifts, slotting his hips against your ass. The added weight is uncomfortable, it digs your hip bones into the durasteel flooring. Yet, unlike the beskar codpiece supposed to be strapped to his groin, all you can feel is a different sort of hardness present.

“There’s still fight in you yet, Rabbit.” 

Your fingers curl into fists so tight the bite of your fingernails leave crescent shaped indents. His hands smooth along the waistband of your trousers, the soft leather tickling the sliver of exposed skin where you shirt became rumpled. “Does that surprise you?” 

He huffs. “No. But you could put it to better use instead of attacking me.”  

“Like what? Fucking you?” Bitter resentment builds like ash over you tongue, even if the idea of it sends a charged volt of interest down to your lower belly. 

Boba’s fingers crawl down your thighs. “I didn’t say that, but if you insist.”  

You scoff and wriggle. “You’re deplorable.” 

“Is that a yes, Rabbit?”

Maybe, you think as you nod your head, this will fill that torn void with temporary gratification. Steal away your thoughts and loose yourself something akin to the mind numbing affects of alcohol. 

Boba hums in acknowledgment, hooks his fingers around the elastic and yanks down, underwear included. You can feel the weight of his stare wracking down the newly exposed skin, pliable and wanton—and all for him. 

You squeak as he takes two, plentiful handfuls of your ass, spreading and massaging the flesh. It’s as if the only reason he exists is to torment you. Pull from you the embarrassed flushes and ashamed squeaks. You’re relieved once he retreats.   

Though it’s not a moment later his hands are back over you. Gloveless. It’s a shock to your system feeling the scrape of calloused fingertips trail over the curve of your spine. A curious touch, one unfamiliar with the softness of skin, yet the fleeting presses rapidly turn into the only thing he knows. 

Your sharp inhale echoes into the ship as his fingers trail down the slit of your cunt, gliding through the slick, already leaking from your core, with ease. You jolt as his fingertip catches against the tiny bundle of nerves, the pressure teasing and light. Never enough to satisfy, just a cruel reminder just how easy it is to get you worked up. With a muted whimper, your hips twitch, silently begging for anything more. Anything to fill your clenching cunt.  

He obliges with a smug chuckle, lazily pushing a finger into the ring of velvety muscle. You whine as he slips in another digit, scissoring and shallowly thrusting in out, thoroughly coating his hand with your arousal. Just as the buzzing strings of pleasure begin to build up, he extracts them. Frustration pierces through your sternum, your teeth clamping down over your tongue in order to quell your irritation.  

There’s a rustle of fabric and a harsh inhale from the man behind you as he closes the space between you. Your pussy clenches as the tip of him touches against your clit, the flesh searing and painfully hard. You shudder and exhale a long, stuttered breath.    

“I can tell you haven’t been fucked right,” he purrs, dragging the flushed head of his cock through your folds. “Why don’t we fix that?” 

Boba gives your thigh a swat and shifts, ready to align himself and sink into your clenching core. That heavy haze of pleasure is abruptly yanked out from beneath your feet, panic piercing through your heart with an alarming jolt. You seize up and jerk away. 

“W-wait!” You gasp, hands wiggling against the binders. “I-I...uhm—“

“Don’t tell me you haven’t done this before, Rabbit.” He thinks it’s a joke. It is a bit silly considering the circumstances—yet here you are. Bent over and telling Boba Fett you're a kriffing virgin.  

Your shamed silence and the heated flush that follows answers his question with crystalline clarity. 

“You’re serious.” 

“I’ve never been fucked, ok?”  Your eyes squeeze shut as you let out a long exhale. “I just...never…”

Your piss-poor explanation tapers off into a gaping fissure of terse silence. Maker, you should just throw yourself into a trash compactor—  

“I can change that,” he offers, trailing his palm over the globe of your ass. “If you’d like.” 

You swallow. Maybe in a different version of reality you’d consider a better option, but fuck it. You’re already here. “O-ok.”

“As you wish, Rabbit,” Boba complies. If not for the helmet you’re sure you’d see a smile curl across his face. “Just know—I don’t do gentle.”

You would never expect him to. Whatever civilized temperament he holds in not saved for anything but hunting and aiming a blaster. You tense as your walls begin to stretch and accept the tip of his cock—alarm bells blare inside your head, terrified that it won’t fit. His hand smooths over your hip as he encourages you to relax, let him sink in the rest of the way. His fingers find your clit, rubbing jerky patterns into the nerves as your cunt flutters and stitches wider for him. The sharp outline of his hips touch your ass, a sharp hiss of breath crackling out of the vocoder as he finally bottoms out. 

You’re so achingly full. No amount of fingers thrust up inside your cunt could compare to what you feel in this exact moment. Simultaneously split open and burning with white hot ecstasy with each involuntary jerk from the man inside you. There’s a minuscule pinch and ache as he pulls his hips back, the drag of his cock catching against each ridge and fold as you clench around him. 

“Fuck,” Boba swears, sheathing himself back inside with a forceful thrust. You squeak and pull against the binders. “You take it well.” 

There’s not much time between your next inhale and his hands anchoring around your hips, before he sets the pace; harsh and unyielding. Just as he promised, there is no buildup, just the violent roll and abrasive push inside you.  

There’s no time to familiarize yourself with this newfound sensation, just a frightening buildup that seizes you by surprise. It begins in belly, spreading through your bloodstream like the most virile poison. With another, devastating, surge of his cock into your pussy, you’re cast into that gaping bit of burning pleasure. 

Your vision whites out, your body arching and stiffening as you cry out. The fact that you’re squeezed so, fucking tight around him, holds no hinderance to his pace. Just encourages him to go faster. There’s no mercy as he fucks you through orgasm, overworking those sensitive nerves and pushing them past your limit.

With a hiss of air the binders fall to the ground with a clatter; the noise barely heard in comparison to your stuttered cries and the obscene sounds of his cock burying itself into your cunt. Your shoulders burn as your hands slip beneath you, shaky and unsure of themselves, stabilizing yourself against the greedy pull of his hands.  

The rough callous of his palm sweeps up your back and forms a fist in your hair, urging your spine to arch as his thrusts take on a sharper rhythm.

Your core is a mess of knots, pulled tight and more pressurized than a airlock. Your nails scrabble against the metal flooring, your knees rubbed raw from the vicious momentum he’s achieving. Fuck—this should’ve been your favor from the very start.

Those burning nerves, flooded with acute overstimulation, throws your body off that haphazard edge of another scorching orgasm. One that drags it’s sharpened nails down the curve of your spine, all the way done to your toes. 

“Fuck—fuck you’re tight,” he snarls, his hands squeezing your hips with vicious strength. “Keep squeezing me like that, Rabbit—good girl.”

The top half of you buckles under the weight of ecstasy, weakened and unbothered by the new angle; his cock reaching deep. Your fluttering cunt and the high-pitched whines of his name are it takes for him to reach his end. 

He pulls out, ropes of his release landing over your ass in hot gushes. “Shit.”

Boba’s cock still jumps and twitches as he drags it over your ass, rubbing his cum into the skin until the last dribble of his release dips above your tailbone. Quicker than you’d have liked he pulls away. Not far; just seats himself to your right and pulls up his trousers with a sigh. Eventually you’re able to trick yourself into moving; curling yourself into a little quivering ball as the aftershocks of pleasure prickle beneath your skin. 

You were right. It did fill whatever grasping numbness inside your chest, but now you’re left to deal with it all over again. You’re glad your back is to him as lonesome tears trickle down your nose and into you mouth, filling it with the taste of salt and pain. 

“I didn’t kill her. If that makes a difference.” 

It’s muttered and hard to catch, but you hear it just the same as if he had yelled it into your ear with an amplifier. You crush that flicker of hope with an iron fist as it flutters inside your stomach. “But?”

“But your Empire made sure that she was.” 

It doesn’t make a difference. 

[turtle-steverogers]

Not Guilty- 2

murder mystery’s back! im having too much fun with this story guys

Link to chap 1 in case you need it

warnings: albert being a human disaster, abuse of the word ‘milk’

ship: ralbert, platonic spalbert

word count: 1680

editing: lmaoooo no

Chap 2

When Albert gets to the precinct the next morning, he’s wary to find a wrapped parcel on his desk that looks suspiciously like a sandwich.  He pokes at it, frowning when he sees a singular smiley face drawn on the underside in black sharpie.

 “Hey, uh, Spot?” He calls, looking up when he hears his partner’s chair roll out from his desk and subsequently poke his head around the low wooden wall that separates their cubicles.

“Yes, honeycakes?” Spot’s expression is the face of innocence and Albert’s stomach churns.

“Did you-” He stumbles, gesturing to the presumed sandwich, “Is this for me?”

“It’s on your desk, isn’t it?” Spot smiles, rolling back into his cubicle.

Albert sighs, taking off his messenger bag and jacket and sitting heavily in his desk chair.  He cautiously unwraps the white paper to find a loaded meatball sub sitting in the middle of a napkin.  There’s a sticky note placed delicately on the fluffy white bread and Albert plucks it up, squinting at the words:

Sorry you didn’t finish your sandwich xoxo Spottie

He laughs probably too loud and sticks the sticky note on his desktop, right next to the note from Jack that reads: ‘I’m sorry for stealing your pants, I had brains on mine’ after Jack had taken his extra pair of slacks from his locker when his got spoiled at a crime scene.

He takes a bite of the sandwich, pleased to find that he can still stomach his favorite Gianno’s special after yesterday’s events.  As he chews, careful not to get any tomato sauce on his shirt, he plucks a sticky note from his own pad and scrawls out: Thanks, Pop Spotcket.  Love u, dear xoxo and tosses it over to Spot.

A moment later, Spot snorts indignantly, “‘Pop Spotcket’? Really? Does anyone actually use those anymore?  The only person I know who has one is my niece and she’s eleven.”

Albert rolls his chair so he’s in Spot’s cubicle, sandwich still in hand, “I have one, asshole.  They’re useful.  Anyway, thanks for the sandwich.  How’s it looking at Gianno’s?”

Spot sighs wearily, placing a stack of papers down and turning from his computer to look at Albert, “Eh.  They’re closed today.  I stopped by this morning to pick up some evidence left at the crime scene and one of the waiters asked if I wanted anything and I remembered that you didn’t get to finish your lunch yesterday so…”

“Thanks, man,” Albert says, mouth full.  Spot wrinkles his nose and tells him not to speak with food in his mouth.  Albert rolls his eyes, “Anyway, evidence?  What’s new?”

“Nothing really,” Spot says, “Just Wiesel’s receipt from his last meal.  Wasn’t really much on it, but it gave us a sure timestamp that lines up with our original record, so at least that’s set.”

“Good,” Albert shoves the last bit of sandwich into his mouth, licking his fingers.

“Yeah.  Saw our boy there, though.”

Albert raises his eyebrows, “Higgins?”

“Mhm.”

“How’s he?”

Spot shrugs, “Didn’t talk to him.  Kid looked like shit.  Well, more shitty than yesterday if that’s somehow possible.  Kept sending cute little glares my way, fucking ray of sunshine, that one.”

“Christ,” Albert grimaces, “I’m convinced he’s a player in this debacle somehow.  I mean, he seemed genuinely surprised when he found out the vic was Wiesel, but too many strings lead to connections on his end.”

“Yeah,” Spot agrees, “I dunno, I say we dig a little into Wiesel’s other relations as well.  I feel like there’s a gap here somewhere.”

“Toxicology came back,” Albert says after a pause.

Spot looks at him, eyebrows raised, “And?”

“Sarin poison in the blood.  Stab wounds were post-mortem.  Someone wanted this shit to look messier than it is.”

“Interesting.  I wonder who’d go through the trouble of poisoning, then following up with a physical attack.  ‘Specially in a public place.  S’kinda risky.”

“That’s what I was thinking, but whoever it was, clearly knew what they were doing.”

“Clearly…”

XXX

Albert never understood why there was such a wide variety of milks in the world.  And why, in this moment, he can’t find any simple fucking 2%.  

He scans over the selection again, bypassing the almond and oat milks and skimming over the fritzy lactose free shit.  There’s strawberry milk and chocolate milk on display and even horrifyingly enough, mint milk, but no fucking 2%.  It’s not even like this fucking bodega is big enough to warrant having so many milks. 

He just wants some damn normal person milk!

“Excuse me, detective.” 

Albert doesn’t startle.  He doesn’t.  He’s a trained law enforcement officer and detective.  People like him don’t fucking startle.  But, he is on high, professional alert when he turns around to see Antonio Fucking Higgins standing behind him, eyebrows raised in what’s probably amusement and hands shoved in his pockets.

Albert makes a strangled noise, eyes working on their own accord as they trail down Higgins’ body.  He’s sweaty, looking like he just came from some sort of workout, and a pair of tight adidas running pants hug his legs in all the right places.  He’s in a tank top today, somehow doing his arms more justice than the grey shirt he’d been wearing yesterday.  A hat sits backwards on his head, doing little to tame the curls that are trying to sneak out of the stupid hole where the strap meets the fabric.  He looks hot and it’s unfair and Albert’s never been ashamed of his sexuality, but right now he’s wishing that he could reign in his gay ass a little bit because aside from the fact that Higgins is a bit of a prick, he’s also a suspect and that’s, like, number one in the Book of Nope for cops of any kind.

Higgins is still looking at him, but now there’s a small crease of concern between his eyebrows, “You alright, man?” He asks, “You look kinda like you’re having a heart attack.  Do you have any chest pain?  Your left arm feel numb at all?”

Albert shakes himself, morphing his expression into something he hopes looks less like Gay Panic, “Yeah, sorry, I-” He splutters a bit, then shuts his mouth with a click.  

Higgins scoffs, “I just need milk, man, you mind?”

Albert starts, hastily stepping out from where he was definitely blocking the milk selection and watching as Race grabs a carton of-- fucking 2%.  How did he find it so fast?  How did Albert not see it?  He’s supposed to be the one trained to look for details others don’t see!

Trying not to flush, Albert reaches out and grabs a carton as well and Higgins looks at him again, laughing, “You were standing here for a long time, dude, I thought you were gonna murder the milk for a second.”

“Couldn’t find the 2%.” Albert mumbles, blushing harder when Higgins laughs louder.

“Real good reconnaissance there, detective.”

When Higgins is laughing, his face changes into something a whole lot more pleasant.  Not that it was ever unpleasant (the dude’s got a jawline of a god), but some of the hardness in his eyes and shadows on his face go away and for just a second, he looks like the 25 year old he’s supposed to be.  It’s nice, Albert thinks, ignoring the way alarm bells are going off in his head.

“Shut up, Higgins, I’m tired.  Some of us have to read about murders all day, so excuse me if my milk finding skills aren’t the most refined.”

Higgins’ face softens and the smile in his eyes turns into something else that Albert doesn’t want to dissect, “Race.”

“What?”

“Higgins is my dad, not me.  And I don’t like the name Antonio very much, so if we’re gonna be talking more, be it over murder or milk, call me Race.”

“Race?”

Higgins--Race--winks, “That’s a story for level five amici.”

“Oh, okay.”

They pause for a moment and even though Albert’s not drunk, his inhibitions seem to flutter away from him against his will as he blurts out, “Drinks sometime? Would- uh- would you wanna get drinks sometime?”

And fuck-fuck- SHIT- what are you doing Dasilva? What the fuck?

Race considers him for a moment, “Not that I wouldn’t hit that,” he nods to Albert’s body and Albert flushes.  Damnit with the flushing!  He’s 26, not some flouncy high schooler, “But I don’t think that’s a good idea, detective.”

Albert nods, “No, yeah, honestly I don’t know why I asked- uh-”

“Relax, don’t have an aneurysm, it’s okay.  I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now.”

“No no, you’re right.  Absolutely.”

There’s another pause, then Race smiles apologetically, “I gotta go get the rest of my groceries.  Take care.”

Albert cringes internally at how fucking painfully awkward this exchange has been, “You too,” he says, watching Race retreat to the wine aisle.  He takes another moment to gather himself, then goes to the checkout line.

XXX

Albert turns up the volume on his TV, pleased with the quiet solitude of his apartment for the night.  He doesn’t love living alone, but it’s been a long couple days and he’s been looking forward to a night to himself since he’d woken up that morning.  Just him, some thai, and the Animal Planet playing reruns of ‘It’s Me or the Dog’ all night.  Fucking self care.

He’s just yelling at some dog owner on the TV for feeding his pug 24 eggs a day and watching as Victoria Stilwell chews out the greasy fucker when his phone rings on the coffee table in front of him. 

Groaning, Albert mutes the show and chugs down a few sips of beer, before picking up the phone and answering with an annoyed, “Someone better be dying.”

There’s silence on the other end and Albert pulls the phone away from his ear to check the caller ID.  It’s Spot.  Shit, someone might actually be dying.”

“Spot?  Everything okay?”

Spot sounds sheepish when he says, “Well no one’s dying, technically…”

“But…”

“There was another murder.”

“Shit.”

-

Race went straight home after the bodega, right? RIGHT!??!? stay tuned ;)

thanks saph for ‘pop spotcket’

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[redscullyrevival]

Ship of Destiny: Liveship Traders Rundown

@sonnetscrewdriver this has been a wild ride! TW: Spoilers abound and discussion of rape follows. 

Setting/Plot/Narrative

For being my least favorite installment I do feel that this created world and it’s social/magical systems arrives at it’s most cohesive fruition in this last book, which makes sense, and I am thankful for that. 

I also found the idea that a large bulk of what was expressed and used to motivate and further the story is tossed away, or altered, by the end of the book - in the sense that Tintaglia and the reintroduction of dragons into the world along with the recognition of the Pirate Isles reorders power, society, and economy - to be a unique and interesting choice. 

Its a bit of a tricky move but it didn’t feel like “a waste” to me to have learned so thoroughly the world only for it to be rearranged at the end. It all worked towards the total theme of the series of inevitable change and response, in accepting life and taking responsibility for only what we can control. 

Or, at least, that’s the big takeaway I got!

Althea Vestrit

Fuck

Okay

We’ll... we’ll have to come back to Althea in a second.

Captain Kennit

HHHHMMMMMMMSLDKFNL:KSLDK

This fucker.

Like a lot of characters with well done tragic backstories I was rooting for Kennit. I didn’t hate him but I didn’t really like him either, you know? As I said last time he exudes the “cool motive, still murder” type of deal - Kennit is a character who the majority of the series straddles the line of never being someone who gains reader sympathy while still being recognized by the reader as a deeply damaged person not entirely of his own making. 

So I rooted for him. 

Through out the entire series Kennit gets away with a lot of stuff and I understand from a narrative perspective that him raping Althea was a choice to have him cross a line. As the reader we know he raped Althea whereas everyone around, aside from Althea and Etta, isn’t sure he is capable of it. 

Which turned into some intense fucking writing. 

Because it isn’t ‘Kennit raped Althea so now he is the bad man everyone hates and a common enemy’, no. He remains captain. He remains a hero, the pirate king, the freer of slaves. A “good man”. We know Kennit isn’t a good man, but then again we’ve known that all along. We really have. All the signs were there. What was done to Kennit was all that was left of Kennit. Paragon tried to take that pain and suffering from him, but Kennit gave the hurt he received and that’s one reality of trauma and failure to cope. Because Kennit was never coping. 

Ultimately I pitied Kennit while also accepting his actions as being abhorrent - getting angry and baring frothing teeth wasn’t my reaction. That isn’t how I react to this type of thing in narratives a lot of the time, especially with one that is trying it’s darnedest to be honest and respectable when it comes to this particular reflection of real life. 

In the chapter the rape happened, the second my eyes read it, I came to hate Kennit. And that was the right response. That’s why it was written the way it was, I believe, so as to finally push the reader into having a real solid opinion about Kennit beyond his fake persona and his personal grab for power and fame elevating others; to remove benefit of the doubt completely and say “This is not a good person” no matter what his puzzled together sob story is and no matter what he has done in the name of social and political progress. Kennit is a shitbag human. 

This series stresses, to an almost anxiety inducing degree, that people and life and situations are complex ever shifting, evolving, and decaying breathing entities. The only character who was truly stagnant and unmovable was Kennit, who hid under the guise of modernization and revolution. He had to be made irredeemable and dead. 

This is a tight narrative that doesn’t abide such a person, doesn’t let such a person survive - that’s why so much emphasis was placed on the idea of Kennit’s luck. Something had to keep him around until he finally made a change, a choice, that would actually alter him.  

To that end, I “like” the character as a device but not as an idea of a person or as a character-character. 

What’s just as cutting is that Winthrow, Vivacia, Jek, (and probably society/history) doubt Althea. It’s gut wrenchingly frustrating. And it taints those characters just as much as it paints Kennit; and entirely because we know the total truth how they don’t.  

Althea Vestrit

Phew, okay, lets try this again. 

This was some hard shit. 

Althea’s rape wasn’t the “worst” rape scene I’ve ever read and it probably won’t be the last, but what made the scene so difficult wasn’t any fucked up occupation with focusing on the physical but by focusing on the emotional and psychological confusion, terror, and exhaustion of the moment which worked to heighten the violation. I was thankful it wasn’t a long scene or I’d have to have skimmed it, and making it short was a smart choice because it gives strength to the idea that any form of unwanted physicality, no matter how briefly depicted (or in actuality), has massive repercussions. Basically it was a small mercy that we didn’t have to linger and wallow in the misery of the act to get across the wrongness of it and that’s all do to the writing.

I feel a bit bad for focusing on Althea’s rape so heavily when talking about her and when talking about Kennit because it’s kind of like “Wow, well, there is more to her than this” - but I also think that’s a thought better reserved for a real person more than a character. 

I said my reaction to this kind of thing in stories a lot of the time isn’t real true anger, and I stand by that, but come on! Obviously I get a little angry at the same time! I invest in characters and I get mad at what is done to them in-story just as much as I get mad they had something done to them because that was a choice made for the story, ya know? 

Like, sometimes the emotion is “UGH this character wouldn’t do that, why is this happening?” anger and other times it’s “UGH what is this character doing stop being a dummy (because I understand them as being capable of doing this dumb thing)” anger. And sometimes it’s both lol. I’m a mysterious woman!

Anyways, my point is that poor Althea gets a bit overshadowed by her rape but that isn’t to say I think her aftermath was handled poorly - on the contrary I was pleased with her outrage and paranoia and cunning and muddled swamp of complex reactions and fears and triumphs. 

What I can’t decide is whether my still not totally endearing myself to Althea even after all she came through is the biggest fault of the series or it’s most crowned achievement if I’m completely honest. 

Kyle Haven

Bye bitch. 

Winthrow Vestrit

This fucking kid.

I’m almost devastated that Winthrow was so enamored with Kennit but like I get it? uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuughghghghgh 

I love Winthrow and Etta, they have a kind of relationship I enjoy, and I guess I’m happy they’re on the mend post-Kennit? 

From Winthrow’s faulted, stunted, half-truth perspective of Kennit doubt over the man’s ability to rape makes some sense - but as the reader I felt I couldn’t allow Winthrow the grace of understanding his hesitation to believe his aunt.    

So, Winthrow was tainted by Kennit and now writing this I’m a little shocked to find I’m a little bitter about it! LOL

My sweet precious priest boy where did you go?!

sigh

Its one of those things were I respect the choice and it makes total sense and thus speaks true of the character for Winthrow to doubt Althea and only realize it possible after talking to Etta - but as a reader and fan I wish Winthrow disowned Kennit immediately so I could continue to like him as I had all along. 

sigh

I thought it hilarious Winthrow was scandalized by his sister and Reyn’s relationship though, lol, like step back and get some perspective you prude.

Keffria Vestrit

STILL THE FAVORITE!

I’m biased at this point though.

Locking down the home front by doing all she could, especially by letting go of things she didn’t want to - that’s some badass guts and fucking growth right there.

FUCK YEAH

Her struggle with how to rearrange her bedroom in tandem with her understanding of Kyle and her place in the world was brilliance.

Ronica Vestrit

My favorite spy.

I really wanted her to take Serilla under her wing and phew thankfully that kind of happened at the end - I was so worried about my girl Serilla, I’m glad her fate is tied with Ronica’s. 

Malta

Oh boy oh boy what a treat!

Malta is my hero lol

She is a lot more like her mother than she thinks - her ability to navigate social standings, to become smaller or larger as needed, and to read others and bargain comes from mama not Kyle. I hope, I really hope, she knows that. 

My little survivor.

Seriously though, Malta evolved so much faster than anyone else and proved to be much more adapt at it then anyone else. The political/social manipulation she grows to be an expert in was some of my favorite world building/scenes in the entire series. 

I love her so much. 

Reyn Khuprus

I love him too.

I’m so glad the Rain Wilder’s drop their veils and open up, I can’t wait to read more and see how that goes for them!

Reyn’s desperate search for Malta was some fun pining but the best bits was how the trip worked to better illustrate the workings of dragons and give some insight into the Elderlings and what’s in store for the future before we ever get to the bardering table.

Just a sweet, sweet dragon boy.

Vivacia

Good for her, I guess. 

Pretty apathetic to be honest lol

I don’t know why Vivacia slipped away from me, especially since she is now in a good place, her own real entity! What’s wrong with me as a reader?!

Paragon 

I’m so relieved but so upset omg

Etta

Oh baby girl I’m so so so sorry.

Etta is a really fascinating character and I really hope to see, or at least hear of her, again. She isn’t done, she has the least resolve and most open ended goodbye out of everyone and I want more of her and for her than that.

I really grew to appreciate Etta and if I was going to make a friend out of this cast of characters she and Keffria are my first picks; and I’d love if ever they got a chance to meet. They’d help each other so much. 

I wonder if their parallels are intentional as the two most influential women in Winthrow’s life? Hmm. Probably not. Both are much more interesting as they are on their own without pitting them against Winthrow; especially Etta.  

Satrap Cosgo

This fuck nugget gets no props for growing. 

Kiki redeemed herself by like a thousand and I felt for her in the end but Cosgo can suck an egg. 

Although there is a part of me that enjoyed his detached and surly attitude towards everything.