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bookdragonwrites · 1 year

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Buddy Daddies was good, but could've been better.

I'm sure some or all of this has been said, but here are my thoughts. Spoilers, obviously.

Before I begin: I enjoyed Buddy Daddies. I really did. I'm a sucker for accidental child acquisition and affectionate bickering. This isn't me saying Buddy Daddies is bad. It has a lot going for it and I'll very happily watch it again sometime.

However. As someone with a background in writing (though admittedly not screenwriting), I did have some issues with the storytelling.

1 Overambitious choice of genres

If you only have 12 20-minute episodes to work with, there's only so much you can properly explore or draw attention to. Therefore, it's a good idea to pick a small set of core characters, a few core themes, and a single main genre (maybe two, if they're related). Buddy Daddies got the characters right: we've got Miri, Rei, Kazuki, and Kyuutarou. Four mains is good. No issues there. The themes were fine: found family, letting go of the past, deciding what you want from life. Nothing ground-breaking, but then themes rarely are, so that's not an issue. The problem here is genre. Buddy Daddies tried to take on two disparate sets of genres at once. First there's parenting comedy with the odd bit of comedy assassin/spy silliness. Cool. Obvious choice. All for it. Then they throw in adult drama/assassin thriller. Now they're trying to juggle two genres at once, and both require a different tone and level of seriousness as well as different takes on the core themes. If they'd picked either one to focus on and used the other one more as a background worldbuilding tool, it would've been fine. Instead, I got whiplash from how fast some episodes kept switching between genres. One second, we've got Miri at daycare, doing cute kid things. The next, we've got Kazuki and Rei involved in a gory gunfight. Another minute later, we're back to Miri with Kazurei trying to troubleshoot some minor issue they think she's having. This was especially bad in the second half of the show. The thing is, mixing these two genres can be done (Spy × Family being the obvious example – it's in the title) – if you have the time for it. 12 episodes is not enough time. If they'd tried to cram the full plot of Spy × Family (or even the entire first series) into 12 episodes, it wouldn't have worked nearly as well as it did. I'm sure the Buddy Daddies team simply didn't have the budget for 24 episodes, and that's unfortunate, but they should've tailored their script to the runtime. On the opposite end of how this could've been solved, we've got something like Barakamon (12 episodes). Barakamon has a not-dissimilar set-up to the light-hearted aspects of Buddy Daddies: a Tokyo calligrapher with writer's/artist's block gets sent to a sub-tropical island, where he's essentially adopted by Naru, an outgoing girl a year or two older than Miri. Over the course of a summer full of low-stakes shenanigans, the calligrapher comes to realise that Naru (who functions more as a little sister than a daughter, but we'll set that aside) and the other islanders have given him some much-needed perspective on life. The show chooses to focus on the low-stakes shenanigans almost exclusively, and generally treats the calligrapher's professional worries as one of multiple plot devices and as a source of comedy. There are a few episodes at the end that are a bit more serious, but even those have many light-hearted moments. The first half of Buddy Daddies seemed to be trying to do a similar thing: Miri decides she has two papas now, and Kazurei have no clue how to parent, so they end up applying their skillsets as assassins to the situation. I really liked those episodes: there was some assassin stuff on the side, but mostly we were watching Miri and Kazurei get lost in the weeds of modern parenting. I wish that could've lasted. I didn't really want or need all the serious stuff to take centre stage instead. (Of course, one could just as easily have done an assassin thriller with comedy elements, but I can't think of an example off-hand.)

2 Rushed plot

Related to the previous point: a rushed second half with a climax that didn't pay off. I keep coming back to this somehow: the first half was fine. The plot was straightforward and the pacing suited the content. Really enjoyable. Kudos. Then we got into the second half, and suddenly there's a metric shitton of really serious problems with only perfunctory foreshadowing. The organisation Kazuki and Rei work for becomes a looming Spectre of Doom ('it's certain death to leave or even have split loyalties, and the Boss wants his son back at any cost, so you're both shit out of luck') rather than a vaguely nefarious plot device. Rei's past is really, really dark, and apparently needs to be dealt with in far more detail than Kazuki's. Why? Dunno. Easy drama, I guess. But fine, I'll forgive that. It's a show for adults, after all. The thing I can't forgive is the rollercoaster speed at which we then zoom through a complicated series of events. And not in a good way. Just... an endless series of stuff, one dire situation after another, with bits of Miri in between. Rei's father reasserts himself in his son's life. Miri's mother shows up again for no reason (more on this later). Kazuki just gets tossed around on the waves of constant upheaval. Kyuutarou can't decide what he wants or needs to do about any of it. At this point, I stopped being invested, because it all went by so fast that I didn't have time to care. And why the hell did Kazuki and Rei think it was remotely reasonable to go to Rei's father's house, kill a bunch of his people, demand to be left alone, and then expect to A) survive and B) be back in time for Miri's Christmas event? Did they get concussions in the plot rollercoaster? And then it all culminates in... nothing? Well, not nothing. Rei loses the use of his dominant arm. But otherwise, they get off scot-free and somehow manage to run a restaurant for ten whole years, apparently without the Spectre of Doom bothering to follow up on these two escaped assassins, who both know tons of stuff they shouldn't. They're a major liability, useless gun arm or no, but the plot doesn't seem to care. Had this been a Barakamon-style comedy all the way through, I could've let that slide, but Buddy Daddies insisted on taking on these really mature elements and then simply didn't bother giving us a climax that lived up to them. It's my understanding that the BD team were shooting for realism and a 'surprise'. The climax contained neither. Instead, I was left bewildered and wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. Apparently there only ever was one shoe.

3 Miri's mother

I liked the way Miri's mother was handled in the first half (again). She's a complicated woman who made some enormous mistakes, but I liked the way the narrative showed that not all women are cut out to be mothers, and it takes courage to admit that. The way she went about finding someone else to take care of Miri was deeply irresponsible and frankly awful, obviously, but we do get an acknowledgement that it's possible to be a mother and be unable to love your child the way she deserves. Or so I thought. Then she came back. For no apparent reason. Aha!, I thought, clearly someone's paying or blackmailing her to do this (Rei's father, maybe?). But no. She'd had a truly epic change of heart. Suddenly she wanted to be a mother again, because now she had cancer and had lost her job, so I guess she had nothing better to do than cause upheaval in her daughter's life once again by selfishly insisting that she have her back and that Kazuki and Rei, whom Miri loves, have no further presence in this young child's life. Seriously? I don't buy it. Also, way to betray the point you'd made in the first half, geez. Is it possible to resent becoming a mother (against one's will, even), or is it not? But it gets worse! Basically as soon as she has Miri back, Final Words Man bumbles in to have a protracted shoot-out. Apparently he can't just do his damn job without a bunch of unnecessary melodrama. But at least he does half the job he set out to do. Miri's mother is dead. Aha!, I thought, she isn't really dead, and she'll come back once more, this time maybe to coparent or something (or at least find some sort of compromise). But no. She's dead. The End for Miri's mother and the most unnecessary character comeback I've seen in a while. This is lazy writing for easy Sad Points. The most infuriating part is that this entire 'I want Miri back' subplot serves little purpose to the greater narrative and could've been cut with minimal drawbacks. I didn't need or want to see more of Miri's mother. Her first appearance had been perfectly self-contained and didn't leave much by way of dangling plot threads. The Spectre of Doom could just as easily have summoned Rei to go see his father and then sent Last Words Man to attack Kazuki and Miri. Why add this subplot at all if you're already having to rush through the rest of the story? Mystifying.

-rant over-

Now, again, I still found plenty to like in Buddy Daddies. It's just that it could've been so much better, and I really wonder why the writing team made the decisions they did.

#buddy daddies #buddy daddies spoilers #spoilers #analysis #plot analysis #this is a lot longer than i'd expected

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happi-tree · 10 months

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Terry Jr for that character ask game ?

Hihihi Aether! Hope you're doing well, lovebird <333

So, Terry Jr. TJ. Teej. *begins weeping*

First impression: A little bit of a brat. Somewhat understandable between juggling teenage angst and adjusting to Ron's, uh, Ron-ness (affectionate <3), but would it kill him to be a little nicer about it? :/

Impression now: THAT'S MY FUCKING SON AND I MISS HIM TERRIBLY!!! So sick and twisted of Anthony to do that to him 😭😭😭 He's been through so much and he just wants to be there for his stepdaughter like his stepfather was there for him and!!!! Dissolves into a puddle of tears.

Favorite moment: Either the entire Thing that was the end of Tower of Terry or when he spotted Scary picking up the lunch he made for her and smiled about it :') I love him so much

Idea for a story: Hhhhhh this is one I've been meaning to actually write for a bit and have talked about a ton on Discord but! AU with seasoned vampire Terry Jr attempting to take fledgling vampire Scary under his wing. Scary is Not Having It, obviously (and is even MORE adamantly against it once she figures out he's coincidentally the new guy her mom's been seeing), but eventually she falls super ill bc she hasn't had blood in awhile and so Terry guiltily takes care of her while she's too out of it to argue. It only further complicates things that they were both Turned by the same man (Willy Stampler, obviously). They end up having a bit of a heart-to-heart on what it is to be a monster and how to live with yourself when you have to kill to stay alive sometimes and when you have the knowledge that you'll outlive everyone you know and love. Terry has no idea if she'll remember any of this conversation once she gets a good day's rest, but it feels like something of a breakthrough to him :')

Unpopular opinion: Hmmm idk the general opinion the fandom has bc it seems like things are mixed rn. The only "unpopular" option that's coming to mind for him right now is him just. Not coming back. But I do want him to come back in some way, so??? Hm. Oh! I think it would be cool if he switched classes between seasons from a caster to more of a fighter - not ONLY would it explain why Anthony is constantly referring to him as a "swordboy" and why he hasn't cast a single spell, it also gives him another parallel with Scary - they have both given up some element of the past selves (Scary, her peppy persona, Terry, his wizardry) in order to pursue what they think will serve them best. Also, it's quite possible that Terry associates his talent for learning magic with his trauma from Faerun and is attempting to distance himself from that (his mother is a therapist, after all, so I think that if one of the kiddads is going to make a single choice in favor of their own mental wellbeing, it's probably him). Anyway. Is this anything.

Favorite relationship: Terry and Scary I think! They just mirror each other in SUCH interesting and complex ways and episode 36 has only further solidified that for me 🥰

Favorite headcanon: Not so much a headcanon as a series of predictions, but I LOVE the idea of Terry coming back as a vampire. I also saw someone mention the possibility of Terry coming back as an Aasimar, which would be soooooo fucking neat, especially since it draws an interesting dichotomy between himself and Nicky. Angel/demon imagery and all that. I can already feel the desire to make Terrick content if that ends up being the case. That said, I hope he comes back and I hope he comes back Wrong :)))

#terry jr. is actually something that can be so personal...#ough. the tears i have cried over this kid who is also a dad. he's so much truly he is.#he NEEDS to finish out his arc though. do you hear me mr. burch. PLEASE i'm begging 🙏🙏🙏#anyway sorry this ask took me 50 years to answer i spent about half that time with my head buried in my hands. mourning.#thanks for the ask aether!!!#ask game #justablah56 #dndads #dndads s2 spoilers

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master-k0hga · 2 months

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| A M É L I E |

[ Category: Zareans ]

| This is probably the proudest ref I've ever fucking drawn tbh... I had to re-draw this lovely gal cuz her current re-design was a little off to me, and drawing her bust was absolutely fun so yeah that's happening... Anyways this is Amélie, or "Beaut" which is her celebrity name cuz she is in fact, a celebrity..

Also this would've been at least a month or two since I finished this when I do the mass post some time later.. So even though I'm proud of this now, wonder if that'll hold up til a couple months later when I get to the post spam..

Anyways- Amélie is another one of those old OCs of mine who's gone through massive changes, especially from when she was a fan character of another fandom I was semi into a few years ago... This is her now and honest to god, she's absolutely beautiful and I swear if anybody dares gives this post shit. I will massacre everyone and laugh while I do.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

INFO

Name: Amélie Species: Zarean General Personality: Funny, outgoing, supportive, forgetful, self conscious, posh, vocally talented Height: 15ft Relationship Status: Single

Extra Info:

"Beaut the Beautiful" is her stage name she randomly made on a whim in a sudden panic for a 'label' one day, it's kind of just stuck with her since

She is known for a variety of skills and talents within the species; Singing, dancing, acting mainly in pantomimes, fashion model, online influencer, all sorts. And despite seemingly extroverted and overall social, she actually deals with a lot of social anxiety; So she has to do all sorts of breathing and mental exercises just to get out there

She came out trans to her family roughly when she was in her teens, although her family had somewhat mixed reactions, in the end they supported her and her goals. She was officially "herself" when she got famous

Growing up she starred and took part in many things; Talent shows, school plays, all kinds of after school activities and clubs along with other events and such town. So she really has quite the experience in a lot of fields, she worked hard to where she wanted to be

She actually worked retail and working part time in a library while she was juggling career driven events and such

She stylizes, sometimes even crafts her own outfits, wigs and occasionally even the events she hosts in like concerts and such. She also has a personal assistant who is totally not her best friend she met in college

She never acknowledges her dead name or anything with the only exception being her grandmother before she passed (Emile was her grandfather's name)

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

And that's it for her again, re-doing her ref was a good idea tbh because I'm really happy with how I drew Beaut here, definitely catches her type of likliness better than the previous "re-designs" I did of hers on separate occasions throughout the years I've been drawing and re-designing all my OCs... Would hope I keep at it for a long time but I feel that somehow isn't going to work forever.. I genuinely thought at one point that I'd get all my OCs fully re-done, sorted and all along with their worlds and whatnot then I can work with what I got there..

But I've noticed now that the whole of the Zarean species specifically, which I was working on off and on for like 9 or so years now, has to now be re-done completely cuz the lore was kinda all over the place without reasoning and that it just felt.. Wrong..

So yeah... I'll probably be dead by the time I actually finish any of this, I probably won't have started by the time I end up on my death bed tbh..

Especially when loads of my OCs haven't really been touched since like... Before I completely ditched DA a couple years ago.......... Oh well....-

. Amélie, Art © Me . DON’T RE-POST .

#MASTER-K0HGA #Ary / Kohga Chronicles #Ary / Kohga OCs and Works #Beaut #Amélie #Female #Trans #M to F #Zarean #Zareans #Planet Zaria #Species #Personal Species Project #Fandomless #Original Character #OC #My OC #My Art #My Character #Re-post #My art re-posted #Yeah after I at least get most of my OCs specifically related to this species out the way then I'll start properly introducing them here to #Technically re-introducing them if I was still on DA since that's where I explained and talked about the majority of the lore there but it'#kinda gone now and don't really wanna use most of it since it's very outdated and very dumb... Like I'll re-read everything that I've got #and work with what can still be used so I'll work with that.. But the rest will obviously be scrapped entirely as it's not really useful no #needed much for these guys... A lot of it was very unimportant so yeah... And again yeah #This will be posted in like a month or two cuz I wanna get all this done for a mass post at some point since I won't really be online much #Fan art will be included with the bulk too even if it won't be much of it ofc.. So don't expect loads I expect my OCs to get the limelight #here....... Anyways...

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inquisitorius-sin-bin · 1 year

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How do you juggle real life, drawing, AND writing?

Truly one hour, one day at a time.

One big help was downloading the google docs app on my phone. I like to write on my breaks at work, while waiting in lines, riding in the car (NOT while driving obviously), etc.. Those in-between spaces when you might otherwise be scrolling social media or something instead. Say I'm too tired to get up and get my laptop? Easy, I have my writing tool in my pocket at all times, when I get bored of scrolling or have a fresh idea, I can just get it down. I also like to write right before going to sleep as well. Like after we've laid down, Marshall's already snoring, I'll just hammer out a few lines to help me unwind, until I can't hold my eyes open anymore.

As for drawing, I really have to be inspired for that, or in a bit of writing block. So I typically only draw much on my weekends. Usually for like 3 hour blocks or so, breaks in between. I almost always draw during my husband's podcast recordings, which is 2ish hours on Friday nights. If I don't feel like writing or drawing, I'll typically pick up some needles or a hook and hammer out my feelings that way.

And real life/everything else? That's your recharge period. Last night we went to a friend's place for dinner after work. Typically we get caught up on chores on the one day a week we are both off, and we just chip away at stuff for a few hours in the morning before going about the rest of our activities. The exceptions are things like dishes and cooking, which we split. Living full time with your partner and closest confidant helps. I was far less balanced when it was just me (and so was Marshall, so it helps us both).

I definitely don't have it all figured out. I haven't seen a single movie since October. If a TV series isn't weekly release forget it. I don't really stay up to date on media much. I barely read. But I do get out to see friends, go to concerts, go biking and birding, so all that is good for my physical needs. We just plan all those things generally well in advance, but that's like, what late 20's early 30's looks like anyways. Most of my friends are scattered across different states, some have kids, we all have different work schedules, and so on.

Thanks for the ask!

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tailsrevane · 2 years

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[movie review] avatar (2009)

i forgot how fucking incredible this movie is in 3d.

look, i hate 3d and i’m so glad it’s failed as hard as it has. most of the time even when a movie looks great in 3d it just doesn’t add that much to the experience for me to be worth all the headache–sometimes literally. plus the glasses hurt the bridge of my nose. plus now with masks you have to deal with trying to get them not to fog up.

i’m not trying to go all Old Enby Yells At Cloud here, especially over a fad that peaked 10 years ago, but i just think that 3d is for theme park attractions and the very occasional movie that really, truly calls for it. and those movies should also look fucking great in 2d, btw! avatar is the best 3d movie of all time, but when you’re watching it in 2d there are absolutely zero scenes where you snicker & say “oh, i wonder if this was originally in 3d?” so other movies really have no excuse.

like think of the amazing spider-man movies. even if they looked good in 3d (i have no idea) the first one looks like ass in 2d, and there are a bunch of scenes in both where you kinda roll your eyes because it’s basically the big budget tentpole equivalent of in friday the 13th part iii when they stop the movie to juggle or play with yo-yos. it just dates the movie and makes it harder to enjoy in every format.

so basically you need a filmmaker as obsessive as james cameron who has the clout to bully studios into letting him spend as much money & take as long as he fucking wants to put something like this together for it to be worth a damn. and like, if that’s what it’s gonna be, fine? i’ll happily see those movies in 3d? i just don’t want to return to the years of every single studio movie coming out in 3d because the vast majority of them end up looking fucking terrible in 2d & not really being that good in 3d? and as a 3d hater, i just don’t want to see a 3d movie but every once in a while. i’m sorry.

anyway, like i said, this movie looks fantastic no matter what format you watch it in. but given that i most recently saw it on a laptop screen & (i swear to the gods) on one of those tiny screens on the back of an airplane headrest because i thought it would be hilarious to watch it on the way home from disney after going to avatarland for the first time, i was pretty blown away by how big (heh) of a difference seeing it on the big screen again made. even just the early parade of establishing shots & voiceover narration have so much more power to draw you into the world, and it makes all the amazing alien sights on pandora all that much more powerful because you’re already sucked into the movie’s world. it’s small wonder that so many people found the movie so intensely affecting when they saw it in theaters, but given that not many people are sitting down to watch a nearly 3-hour epic on a regular basis this weird narrative formed about the movie being “forgettable” or whatever the fuck. boy am i ever sick of that one.

i kind of want to go see it again. this is exactly what happened the first time it was in theaters.

i’ve written about my issues with the movie (mostly the totally-avoidable white savior narrative) as well as the things i like about it at length before, and i don’t have anything to add to that now. but as often happens with movies where i let myself be swayed by the popular narrative around them, i find myself looping back to my original opinion when i first saw it: this movie fucking owns. s-rank

#avatar 2009 #avatar #james cameron's avatar #movies #movie review #reviews

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dzpenumbra · 1 year

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12/12/22

Today was intense, but overall good. The meds hit Max really hard last night. She could barely walk. I was really babysitting her around the stairs, it just completely slipped my mind that last time she did these meds we were in a one-story house, now we're in a loft. After a bit of juggling and making sure her needs were met, we went to bed. She woke me up a few hours later by peeing on the weighted blanket next to me. I honestly couldn't even tell if it was pee at first, it thought she had drooled. It was very confusing. I just had to soak it up and wash it out with a pair of socks, I really didn't have anything else, then I got back to sleep.

Then, in the AM, she wouldn't eat her dosed breakfast, not all of it. I tried every strategy I knew. I do have to say, with how extremely stressful and powerless that kind of situation made me feel, I'm very proud of my emotional management of it. I didn't lose my cool at all, I stayed calm and encouraging and tried to make the best of it all.

The appointment went well. The nurse was very nice and high energy, and had pretty eyes. Yeah, I'm feeling overwhelmingly single lately. But it's not like I have ever gone out and like... hit on people... so, I just was nice and friendly, like I usually am. I wonder why I'm single... The doctor was very nice, and attractive as well. So it just made me feel a lot more comfortable, honestly. People around my age, who were treating me really nice and like a peer, and were being incredibly sweet to my cat. Just a really nice feeling.

She got the blood draw, I'm guessing I'll get the results in the next couple days. She was super cooperative, despite not getting all the meds in her system. We discussed some better joint supplements to try out, which we will soon, they were out of stock.

Honestly, I could go through the entire day and list off a dozen awesome things that happened. And I will. I got a chair as an early christmas present and built it and it's really nice. I ordered Grubhub for lunch and it was awesome. I did laundry and enjoyed it. I took the recycling out. I cooked dinner. If so many good things happened today, why am I in a shit mood?

It's 2AM. Again. I lost track of time again. I lost track of my cat's prescription, it's hard to see what the level in the applicator thing is and I have no idea when it's going to run out, so I panic-ordered a refill and got overnight delivery. I'm... becoming more aware of my distractibility and lack of memory and shit. Like... it's bit me in the ass before. And I try so goddamn hard, I have so many systems and shit but sometimes things just... slide through the cracks. I hate that this is hard for me, it makes me feel stupid, inept.

And then I watched a video. It was about asking people for support with your needs. And it felt like it was said from the perspective of someone who has a lot of people in their life. And it made me flash back to every single friend who turned me down. When I called my former best friend at like 1AM after a severe trauma, like right when it happened, and she excused herself off the phone because she had work in the morning. When I asked my former friend to retweet my tweets announcing I'm going live on Twitch, and he said that was too much to ask and refused to discuss it. When I was having a freakout while on the phone with a friend --- okay, I don't want to relive all this shit again. It was every single one of them. All of them.

I'm afraid my needs are too much for everyone. Like... everyone. They're too much for a friend. They're too much for a best friend. They're "not in the scope of the work that I do" for a therapist or social worker or life coach or vocational counselor. They're too much to bring into a relationship. They're not available from family. So... who do I go to? Like... who do you go to to get your needs met when even the professionals turn you down?

I could hear how difficult it was for this woman to talk about this topic. And it was heart-wrenching and brain-spinning just to listen to and engage with. It really threw the night in a tailspin and uncorked a lot of emotions.

I have the curse of giving and giving and giving, everything that I have and more. And having every person I give to either disappear when they've taken what they want.... or stick around to tell me that what I need is not something they are willing to offer, but they still want to keep taking. You know, cuz that's healthy. Like I even choose what my needs are. And it's fucked up, because over the last like 5 years I started going down this rabbit hole of like... reducing my needs to the smallest amount possible. Asking for as little as possible. And you'd think the problem would change, right? It didn't. It didn't change at all. I walked away from a friend because I told her I wanted to hang out more than once a month, and that "penciling me in" for a phone call a month later was... well... I wish I had said "insulting to our 10 year friendship", but I just kinda froze in disbelief that it was actually happening and quietly but quickly found an emergency exit.

I guess the theme here is... I don't know what to expect from people. And I feel like I am too much for others. I have so much to give. So much love, so much creativity, so much effort, wisdom, strategy. And I really don't feel like my needs are "too much". I would know, I'm literally the only one who has been responsible for them for like... the majority of my life. I have never had a girlfriend that was responsible for my needs, or even really expected to attend to them. Like, I had one girlfriend that has ever even lived with me and I was genuinely surprised when she participated in supporting me with like... medical stuff. Yes, financial support has been present most of my life - at a pretty big cost, to be fair - but emotional, practical, spiritual, psychological support? Hell no. It makes me start to wonder if it's even a real thing, and if so, how rare it is.

Maybe that's why I don't flirt, and why I freeze up when I'm supposed to write a "compliment" on Bumble to like... even have a snowball's chance of being noticed by that person. It's not that I don't know how. There's a really passive, buried, primal reflex that just blanks my brain. I think it's "protecting" me. Protecting me from falling head-over-heels with another... this word is going to sound harsh... parasite.

I'm so blinded by my insecurity around my needs, that I don't see the... irony in all this. I struggle to even voice my needs, to even ask, because I'm afraid it's too much, I'm afraid I'll scare them off, stuff like that. These people that I've been around, that I've been close to. They don't even ask. They fucking take. They walk into my home with boots on and track shit around my house, and casually talk about it knowing that I'm not going to call them out on it. They start emotionally dumping on me without asking permission, and rarely ever --- oh man, I was saving that one, fuck it, let's go bigger. They. Do. Not. Apologize. For. Shit. And me? I apologize for shit I didn't even do. I apologize for my cat trying to get into a locked metal cabinet. I apologize for showing up only 10 minutes early when I was intending to show up 15 minutes early. They walk into my life, take what they want, do what they want, wrap it all around their schedule and their life, then throw a fit when I ask for anything to be done on my terms. To even consider my needs.

I'm scared of meeting another one of those, because my track record is... not good, to say the least. And, more than anything, I'm afraid of not being able to identify them until it's too late. So, I guess the best I can hope for is for them to play their cards early, and for me to notice and be brave enough to walk away.

I shit you not, all of this goes through my head when I think about dating. Or even making friends. And it sucks. Because I'm a really good friend. And I bet there are some really cool people out there. I just... I'm really fragile. I'm supporting myself, and I... have my suspicions that that job is one that I am not really properly trained to do, and that every person I've asked to help me with has looked at and then did that like cartoon thing where their eyes pop out of their heads, then they do the big waving arm gestures "Nope, no, nooo." And these are people who have like... taken care of screaming infants and shit. So like... how bad am I?! I know the weight of supporting me, I carry it every day. And I really think my life would be much much more functional with more interpersonal support, I have for ages. But... I'm just... scared. Of people hurting me again. Betraying me again. Disappointing me and abandoning me. Leading me on, and draining me in the process. Wouldn't you be?

But at the end of the day. You have to climb out on a limb if you want the fruit. That's just... where it is. And today, I was more confident in my own skin than I've been in ages. And that was with a sudden pimple outbreak too! But i did have it covered with a mask, but whatever, still counts. This, again, is a confidence deficiency. And I'm going to have to address that tomorrow. I want to get to sleep before 4 so I'm going to go. This was hard, but this is where my head has been the past hour before writing this, so... this was actually pretty good for processing. I'm finding this action of processing these emotions - "I had such a good day, why am I so upset? Just because of a YouTube video?" - is a super simple process of just... rabbit-holing until you get a broader picture. But finding the core and finding a few little bright sides to it... it helps, you know? It doesn't fix shit, but at least you know why. That can be a lot more helpful than you'd think.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of consciousness #stream of thoughts

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coffeeandacig · 2 years

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Alan Alda Opens Up About Living with Parkinson's and His Torturous Battle with Polio as a Child In the new issue of AARP the Magazine.

In the new issue of AARP the Magazine, M*A*S*H star Alan Alda opens up about life, love, and what he's learned

At 84, Alan Alda is a survivor — and he's doing just fine during the current pandemic, riding out the storm at his home in Long Island, New York, with his wife of 63 years, Arlene, 87."I'm having a good time under the circumstances," he tells the June/July issue of AARP the Magazine, shared exclusively with PEOPLE. "I've found a lot of positive things. I'm very happy about some of the changes we've had to go through. For one thing, my wife Arlene is looking for ways to be creative during this time, so she's gone back to painting and drawing, and she plays the piano every day and she's experimenting with cooking." He adds: "I haven't eaten this well since the last epidemic."The actor and science buff, who was at a time best known for his years playing surgeon Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce on the hit show M*A*S*H, knows a thing or two about getting through tough times.As a 7-year-old, he was diagnosed with Polio, and underwent six months of therapy that involved having scalding blankets wrapped around his limbs every hour. "It was hard on me," he tells AARP. "It was harder, I think, on my parents, who couldn't afford a nurse and had to torture me themselves. It's always better to pay somebody to torture your kid."

Decades later, in 2015, he discovered he had Parkinson's disease. His reaction to the diagnosis? "I began to exercise a lot," he says.

"A lot of people hear they have Parkinson’s and get depressed and panicky and don’t do anything, just hoping it’ll go away. It’s not going to, but you can hold off the worst symptoms. Movement helps: walking, biking, treadmills. But also specific things: I move to music a lot." He tells the magazine, "It's not the end of the world when you get this diagnosis."So how does he retain his positive attitude, especially with all the uncertainty in the world?"You know, with the world changing so rapidly, there’s no point in being optimistic or pessimistic about anything. You’ve just got to surf uncertainty, because it’s all we get."Always curious about science (in 2009 the actor founded the Alan Alda Center for Communicating Science at Stony Brook University on Long Island), he says he turns to educating himself on the mysteries of the world 25 years ago, and encourages others to be more curious as well, to learn real facts instead of believing everything they might see online. "It's clear our lives depend on it," he says of embracing science and sharing information outside of your inner circle.He adds, "One of the most basic things I’ve tried to do is give people a greater understanding of how science works — the importance of evidence, the importance of many trials, of rigorous studies, and the idea that we learn only a little bit at a time. No single study is the end-all answer for everything."

To maintain an active lifestyle and help hold back the progression of Parkinson’s, the star said that he regularly exercises. “I work out. You can hold back the progress if you do a lot of specific exercises. So I do a lot of crazy things,” he said.

Among the physical activities that Alda enjoys is boxing, juggling, tennis, swimming, marching and bicycle riding.A unique one that he regularly does? “I march to [John Philip] Sousa music,” he said with a smile. “A lot of Sousa music going on all the time in my house.”

#alan alda #interview #AARP #AARP Magazine #2020

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

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Having asked your thoughts on designing Frankenstein's daemon, might I now ask your thoughts on bringing Count Dracula from the written word into illustration? (I'm definitely in favour of the 'Hairy Old Mountain Man of Horror pretending he's people' look from the original novel; one of the small tests too many Draculas fail to pass is an absolutely tragic lack of the Evil Beard and/or Wicked Moustache explicitly described by Mr Stoker).

Unlike with Frankenstein, where I think the design needs to be painstakingly thought out in order to achieve the best balance of the creature's traits for horror and tragedy alike, I think with Dracula you can actually just take an approach of "whatever works". Because as I mentioned before, I think much of the appeal and longevity of Dracula is how the character's both a layered villain as well as a shapeshifting narrative force that can be tailored to whatever you want to do with. Granted, there are bad or dissappointing Dracula designs, of course there are, but in regards to the leeway you get for reinterpretation, you get a lot more of it with Dracula than with other literary icons.

Like with Frankenstein, I'm gonna bring up how I'd tackle a less grim, more comedy-centric Dracula first, one that's less a force of horror and more of a charismatic villain, and I think to that end I definitely agree that people are sleeping a lot on the hairy old man barely-passing-off-as-humanoid of the original story. Despite very much loving these performers, I'm actually not a fan of takes that mold Dracula too closely to people who've portrayed him, like Bela Lugosi and Christopher Lee, partially because I think it's a waste of an opportunity to create your own Dracula design. Since I can't draw (yet), I'll do what I usually do and make a board of images to try and convey some of my thoughts on one way I'd design Dracula.

(Pictured: Kiwi's design for Dracula, Hotel Transylvania concept art, Nandor, Castlevania Dracula, Charles Dance in Dracula Untold, Vladislav, a Transylvanian rug)

I used the images in my other Dracula post and I’ll post it here again because I absolutely adore @kiwibyrd's designs for Dracula and it's main heroes, in particular I love the way it strikes a good balance at making sure Dracula looks distinctly separate from the humans, but not too much that he couldn't conceivably operate in society as just a harmless old man. I also adore the mustache and bushy eyebrows and pointy ears and I think these three are wonderful features to keep on any Dracula design. I'm also very partial to the Hotel Transylvania concept art, even if it makes me incredibly depressed to look at all the great designs they had for Dracula that they threw in the trash because they somehow decided making him look like Adam Sandler was the idea to go with.

I deeply adore What We Do In The Shadows, both the movie and the show, and Jemaine Clement's Vladislav is one of my favorite (maybe even my actual favorite) on-screen Draculas. But I also enjoy Nandor just as much, and I think it's really great that as a character he's completely different from Vlad while also being ostensibly a take on Dracula, and in particular I bring up his Jersey look because "Dracula in common clothing" is a criminally underrated concept for a joke.

As a character, I'm very partial to comedy takes on Dracula that play him up as a decadent aristocratic supervillain, the kind that can get away with talking in third person. I also have this idea for a version of Dracula who dresses ostentatiously in finely-broidered Romanian or Transylvanian patterns, maybe even wearing a rug as a cape, claiming that he's carrying the legacy of his people on his back. And of course he's lying, he's not Vlad Tepes and he's not even Romanian, he is just a parasite pretending to have a history to be proud of, but good luck getting him to admit that. And finally, I'd like this version to be played by Charles Dance, and I consider it a tremendous crime against humanity that he has yet to play Dracula proper even despite being in a film with the character's name on the title.

So that's kinda how I would design a take on Dracula for something more comedic or more based around him as this guest character and personality on-set. Now, if we're talking a more serious version, I think the possibilities increase, and I won't be getting into all of them because I may prefer to keep them to myself, but I'll elaborate a few ideas.

For example, the edition of Dracula I personally own comes with these really scratchy, really creepy B&W illustrations related to the story, that I can't find scanned online so I'm uploading them here so you can look at. They don't necessarily depict the scenes but rather some of the story's moments, like Van Helsing staking Lucy, Renfield in a straightjacket, Dracula as a coachman, and they are more focused on conveying the horror of the concepts at play.

Dracula never looks the same way in any of the illustrations, in fact you kinda have to piece him out of them by trying to find teeth or capes or eyes or bat-features to see where he's hiding this time. In the first, it's the half-man half-bat, in the 2nd, he's the shrieking bat silhouette next to Renfield, and in the latter, he's the gaping jaws and eerily humanoid eyes in the wolf. The effect to me almost feels like if you were to look at a bunch of tv static and then see a humanoid shape form for a split second before everything went back to normal, something like you'd get from Slender Man or other modern creepypastas, and I’ve argued before that Dracula’s form of horror is a very modern one.

In terms of illustrations of Dracula that keep up the original traits while still pulling off horror, I definitely have to hand it to the one at the left of the image above, drawn by regourso on Deviantart (account deleted at present). Going back to Castlevania’s many takes on Dracula, two in particular that stick out to me would be Castlevania: Judgment’s armored dress Dracula, who’s got this great twisted heart/rose motif going on in his outfit, and Dracula’s final form in SOTN where he just sits in his throne and his cape twists into all these monsters, particularly how it’s depicted by witnesstheabsurd’s depiction.

I’m not particularly a fan of how Dracula’s “final form” in these games is usually just some big demon, and part of what I like about his final form in SOTN instead is that, while it’s not a particularly challenging final boss, I do find it interesting the idea of us never actually getting to see what Dracula’s true final form looks like, only an ever-shifting pitch-black torrent of teeth and claws and bloody veins pouring out because that’s ultimately what Dracula is and brings to the world.

On the flip-side of the rotten old monster, we have the charming seductor Dracula, and while I’m really not a fan of how various adaptations have convinced people that “the point” of Dracula is that he’s a seductive force and an allegory for Victorian xenophobia and I’m reeeally even less of a fan of adaptations that make Dracula some misunderstood tragic hero (and I think I’ve made rather violently clear my feelings on interpretations that play up a romance between him and Mina), that the seductive force part exists is impossible to deny, so conversely, while on one hand we can have Dracula as the gargantuan whirlwind of predatory violence, we can also go for Dracula as the tantalizing lover.

I’ve seen a lot of opinions proclaiming Frank Langella as the best Dracula because he was the best at actually being seductive while still playing Dracula, although I haven’t yet seen his performances. If I had to point at one picture I look at and do buy for a second the idea of Dracula as a romantic character, it would be that particular still of Raul Julia in the left of the above image. And it’s strange for me to think of Raul Julia as attractive because I mainly associate him with his brilliant comedy performance of M.Bison (I know it’s far from the highlight of his career but, look, I grew up with Street Fighter, I can’t help it) but those eyes are definitely looking pretty convincing to me, if nothing else.

And I’ve included this still of Sebastian Stan in the right because, during a conversation between me, @krinsbez and @jcogginsa about who could be a good fit for Dracula, jcog suggested Sebastian Stan, partially because he’s Romanian, and I’ve learned recently that Stan was actually interested in playing the character in Blumhouse’s upcoming remake. And you’d think I’d hate this idea considering how much I don’t care for tragic anti-hero Draculas, but who says that’s what he’d have to play?

Do you have any idea how much actors, who are traditionally known for heroic or supporting roles, usually LOVE it when you give them a chance to cut loose as the main villain?

I’d want Sebastian Stan to put all of his charm, all of his talent, all of his good looks and etc, into playing the absolute most vicious, bloodthirsty and irredeemable Dracula put on screen. Someone who is exceedingly, eerily good at being a lovable protagonist, who’s all smiles and charming eyes and politeness mannerisms and maybe even a funny accent, and then it isn't as funny when he's flying through your window intent on kidnapping babies to feed to his brides, except he may take a moment or two to do so because he's feeling pretty hungry himself right now.

Now, admittedly this is kind of a lot to juggle in regards to a single character, which is why my answer for questions like these inevitably has to be “depends on what I’m going for”. That being said, if I was going to try and cast someone who I think could both look the part of Dracula, as well as respectively, play “cartoon aristocrat” Dracula, “mercurial embodiment of evil” Dracula, as well as realistically be an attractive, even seductive performer who can charm viewers even as the character descends into horrible villainy, and juggle these performances even?

I think I’d have to go with Mads Mikkelsen. Not specifically because of Hannibal (I actually haven’t watched it yet), although it’s definitely a factor, the thing that actually made me pick him specifically is, other than his looks, his voice, his reputation for playing sinister characters, the fact that he loves the role and wants to play it, or how many people are deeply in love with this man, or that people already joke that he looks like a vampire, was watching him in Another Round, and specifically that glorious final scene where he’s just dancing to his heart’s content and just, moving with such spring in his step and such joyful vitality even though he’s past his mid-fifties, and that was the moment where, in regards to how much you all love this man, I went

And now I am going to add “casting Mads Mikkelsen as a dancing Dracula” to The List of Reasons Why I Became a Filmmaker.

#replies tag #dracula #horror tag #bram stoker #charles dance #sebastian stan #mads mikkelsen #castlevania #raul julia #wwdits #what we do in the shadows #vladislav #nandor

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vixenpen · 4 years

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Okay so I got a idea. Can you do a scenario with Kirishima and bakugou (separately) were they are famous 18+ asmr artists. And when they get to the spicy parts the actually have you there. So there basically fucking you while recording. And things get really nasty

Bruh...this idea is so fucking hot to meee like, could you imagine??!?!?

ASMR Boyfriend (+18)

(Art by: @sakimichan )

“I hope you know how special you are, and how much you mean to me,” your boyfriend held your gaze. “You deserve all this and more, and if you ever doubt how I feel about you, I’ll make sure to correct that. Understand?”

You bit your bottom lip to avoid saying: ‘yes.’

Today’s episode was a Valentine’s Day livestream special which meant big bucks for you and your ASMRtist boyfriend, Eijirou Kirishima’s, date tonight.

Your role was tech support and...sound affects. You were supposed to be monitoring the chat to make sure everything was going well, but the way your boyfriend’s ruby eyes were boring into your own lustfully, had your full attention. It didn’t help that his voice had dropped an octave becoming heavy and sensual.

The comments were going crazy.

Yes daddy. Ily 💕

🥺🥺🥺

😍😍😍

Big daddy EJ loves me

“Let me show you what I mean, Pebbles.” He curled a single finger and winked, blowing a long strand of red hair out of his face.

You damn near tripped over the chords littering the floor to straddle his lap.

Kirishima chuckled, catching you by your ass and gripping it gently.

He kissed you softly eliciting a hum from you. Listening to your boyfriend flirt and seduce for thirty minutes straight all while giving you the deepest bedroom eyes he could muster always had you ready to go. Today was no different as he had been laying it on extra thick.

“Do you love me?” He asked, biting your lip.

Despite yourself, a small ‘mhmm’ slipped out.

He held your hips tight and ground you on to his clothed erection.

“Can you feel how much I love you?” He asked, eyes sparkling as he gazed up at you.

Before you could answer, his hands dipped beneath your shorts and stroked the heat building between your legs.

“Cuz I can definitely feel how much you love me.”

You moaned. Kirishima brought the mic closer. He pushed the material of your panties out of the way and hissed at the sensation of your cream coating his fingers.

“I can’t wait to fuck you, baby doll.”

I can’t either so hurry up and do it.

You thought to yourself, impatiently.

You ground into your boyfriend’s erection for some relief. The moans and smacks of your tongues colliding with one another grew more feverish.

The chat was going off like crazy as hundreds of horny listeners expressed their desires.

“Wanna taste you,” Kirishima managed to murmur as he whipped off your shirt.

His own shirt followed. You took in his perfectly sculpted physique bulging and flexing with muscle. He gave you a sharp toothed grin and you stifled a giggle.

“You’re so fucking cute, Pebbles.” He tapped your nose. “My sweet doll.”

Kirishima worked your shorts and panties down your hips.

His eyes dipped to the desire between your legs and his tongue slithered across his lips.

When his mouth descended on your hot sex, you stopped holding back, and let out a breathy scream.

“Taste just as good as you look, baby doll.”

“Oh god, Eiji.” You sighed as your boyfriend’s tongue massaged your folds and flicked at your clit.

He slipped his fingers in and out of your sex and lapped up your cum.

“Do you love me?” He asked.

“Yes,” you sighed quietly.

“Hmm?” He stroked into your gripping pussy harder.

“Yesss.” You replied, louder this time.

“I can’t hear you, Pebbles.” He stuffed two of his fingers, slick with your juice into your mouth and hoisted himself up over you.

Chest heaving, you watched as he pulled his thick, veiny member out of the jeans he had been wearing.

Without warning, Kirishima held your gaze and pummeled into you deep and hard, sending your back arching off the couch.

“Do. You. Love. Me?” He ground out, punctuating each word with a hard, deep stroke.

Your loud wails of: “Oh god! Yes, yes, yesss,” overlapped with the question.

The chat was singing like crazy as donations and comments poured in. However, it could barely be heard over the slapping and screaming of you and Kirishima’s sex.

As the chat went off in the background, your boyfriend lowered his lips to your ear and in a voice meant only for you said: “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby, we’ll have a real date tonight. I love you.”

“You can’t take it when I tease you, huh, brat?”

SMACK!

The thick leather kissed your bare ass, drawing out a whimper from you.

Bakugo chuckled. His crimson eyes met yours in the mirror set up across from his work station. Ever since you two had decided to spice up his ASMR streams, he had installed those cameras as a little extra incentive.

It just made the experience all the more hot.

“Look at you,” he chuckled, digging his fingers into your hips and pulling you back against the hard on poking through his black jeans. “Is this punishment or pleasure?”

He spanked you again. You jumped.

“Hard to tell when you’re giving me that desperate look. You slutty little brat.”

His nails ranked down your back. A long his of pleasure and pain escaped through your teeth and you arched in response.

“You like this way too much, don’t you?” He asked, a hint of sincerity slipping through in the question.

“Maybe I’ll just leave you here like this.” He jeered. “Let you just sit here. like the horny little brat you are.”

He stepped away from you, eying your round ass bent over before him lustfully. His grin was wicked as he gazed down at you.

You shot him a pleading look over your shoulder. You weren’t supposed to talk during his recordings until it came to the spicy parts, but sometimes Katsuki pushed it too far. You were so horny after watching him stroke his dick and talk shit for half an hour, you were this close to begging him to fuck you.

“Aww, look at you. You need daddy’s dick that bad?” He asked. “Fine, but you won’t get it that easy.”

Your sex clenched at the thought of what Katsuki had in store.

In an instant, he stood before you. He cocked his head and gave you his signature cocky smirk with an almost animalistic gleam in his red eyes that both scared and excited you.

“Suck daddy’s dick if you want it that bad.” He said in a voice so gruff and raunchy, your knees gave out.

Nimbly, you worked his angry looking flushed erection out of his pants and peppered the tip with kisses.

You kept your eyes on him as your tongue lolled out to taste every inch of his long member from top to bottom.

“Fuck yeah, babe, just like that.” He groaned, arms uncrossing to fall limply at his side.

You kept it up, stroking his dick as you juggled his heavy sack in your mouth.

“God, I love that fucking mouth of yours...”

Every praise and deep, shuddering moan went straight to your sex. You put on a show of slurping and groaning and smacking on his dick like it was a lollipop, both for the audio and to hear his cursing and shit talking babble.

“That’s it, ahh, fuck! That’s it right there.” He grabbed the back of your head and helped guide your bobbing head. “Daddy’s little freak. Nasty little slut. Fuck!”

His hips snapped forward, sack smacking your chin. You sat on your ankle and pressed down against it to offer some relief and much needed pressure to your aching clit.

“I’m gonna fucking cum, baby. I’m gonna cum in this filthy mouth of yours. You want that, huh? Huh?”

“Mmhmm!”

You felt Katsuki’s dick flex and with that, his hot seed burst into your mouth. With a sigh of satisfaction, your boyfriend slid out of your mouth.

He grabbed your jaw and brought you to your feet to meet him.

“Such a good girl now, aren’t you?” He smirked, brushing the dribble at the corner of your lips away with his thumb. “Guess daddy will have to reward his good girl now, won’t he?”

#asmr sounds #asmrtist #bnha imagines #my hero academia #bnha #bnha scenarios #my hero fanfic #bnha smut #kirishima x reader #eijirou kirishima #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo x reader #slight n/sfw #n/s/f/w #this is filth #black writers #bakugo smut #kirishima smut

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animebw · 2 years

Text

Short Reflection: Durarara

Durarara’s a show I’ve been excited to check out for a while now. It’s based on a light novel series from the same author as Baccano, and Baccano is one of the most deliriously entertaining shows I’ve ever watched. From its impeccably eccentric cast of characters to its hypnotically twisting plot, Baccano knows how to kick ass and take names like few other anime. And Durarara doesn’t just share Baccano’s author; the same studio and director that brought Baccano to animated life- Brain’s Base and Takahiro Oomori- were also behind its anime production. Surely, with all the same creatives in charge, Durarara would be just as much a rip-roaring good time as its spiritual predecessor, right? Well... no, sadly, it’s not. Not even close, in fact. And while it would be unfair to simply define Durarara as a worse Baccano- it’s its own show, it deserves to stand on its own- the many ways it disappointed me can’t help but draw comparison to its sister series. How could Baccano succeed so brilliantly while Durarara, which shares so much of its DNA, fall so short?

First, though, what’s Durarara all about? Well, that’s a little hard to pin down. It’s not so much a story as it is a portrait of a location, a hyper-stylized Ikebukuro full of street gangs, quirky vendors, transient guests, and supernatural forces lurking just under the surface. Think Kekkai Sensen if the POV characters lingered on the outskirts of the city’s paranormal underbelly instead of diving right into the thick of it, and you’ll have a pretty good idea what you’re in for. The nominal protagonist is Mikado Ryugamine, a teenage boy who’s just moved to Ikebukuro to attend high school there and reconnect with his childhood friend Masaomi Kida. But much like Baccano, this is a show where most characters could reasonably describe themselves as the protagonist without it sounding forced. And while there’s some semblance of a larger plot, it’s nowhere near the tightly engineered swiss watch of narrative machinery that defined Baccano. It’s a tale of the various people living in Ikebukuro and all the ways their lives tangle around each other, not so much driving relentlessly toward a single destination as wandering down the streets and back alleys, seeing what ‘s there to be discovered around every corner.

In other words, Durarara is almost entirely driven by its characters. And credit where it’s due, this is where the show is at its strongest. Author Ryougo Narita is nothing if not a master at juggling large casts of eccentric, interconnected players with diverse agendas and perspectives on life. From the grumpy, violence-prone superman Shizuo Heiwajima to the pacifist Afro-Russian sushi hawker SImon Brezhnev, from the slippery, snakelike information dealer Izaya Orihara to the mysteries headless rider who patrols the city on motorbike, the world of Durarara is chock-full of entertaining personalities who clash and collide in countless enjoyable ways. It also helps that these characters are brought to life by a murderer’s row of the most iconic voice actors in the industry. Hiroshi Kamiya, Daisuke Ono, Mamoru Miyano, Kana Hanazawa, Miyuki Sawashiro, Jun Fukuyama, Yuki Kaji, Yuuichi Nakamura, Keiji Fujiwara, Ayahi Takagaki... barely a scene goes by without at least two legendary seiyuus flexing their talents in conversation with each other. It’s hard not to have fun when you’re surrounded by that much talent.

So if Durarara does such a good job capturing Baccano’s interlocking cast dynamics, why does it stumble so hard? Why did I feel my interest, initially so high, slowly slipping away with each passing episode? Well, there are a few major issues, none of which would be a dealbreaker on their own, but they all compound on each other to disastrous effect.

First, and most obviously: the lack of plot. Baccano’s plot was tighter than an oyster in a corset, always driving relentlessly forward even as it jumped and and forth across time. As I mentioned above, though, Durarara doesn’t really have much of a plot. It has individual arcs, sure, and things do happen, but you never get a sense that they’re building to anything more meaningful than “Well, that was interesting.” Even when the final arc tries to deliver something resembling closure for the characters, it never feels any less like just one detour among many. Sure, not all stories really need to have a strong structure, but there’s something so frustrating about how aimless this show can be. how it drifts between disconnected story threads and random urban fantasy Macguffins that never coalesce into a greater whole. It feels very much like Narita wrote this story solely to indulge in the characters’ dynamics, and what little plot we get is hastily cobbled together as an excuse to give those character dynamics a space to exist in. And I sympathize; that approach is how I started writing the webcomic I’m currently publishing. But at some point, you do have to make the plot more than an excuse.

Of course, a lackluster plot can be forgiven as long as those characters are strong enough to carry it. Which brings me to the second issue: the character arcs.

See, one of the most fascinating things about Baccano is that very few of its characters actually have arcs, per se. They show up as fully formed people, with their own well-established goals and philosophies, and the fun comes from watching all those perspectives and personalities bounce off each other. Very few of them change or grow as a result of their experience on the train, but it doesn’t matter because the push and pull between so many extreme, confident chess pieces is all the drama you really need. Durarara, in contrast, leans much harder on traditional character arcs... and they’re just not that good. People rarely change in ways that feel earned; it’s like the story decides at random when they’re able to grow from their experiences. The biggest offenders here are Mikado, Kida, and their female friend Anri, who form a classic YA Power Trio at the heart of the show. Everything about their growth and conflict feels so underbaked, especially when it saddles them all with the same goddamn twist backstory. Seriously, all three of these kids have a twist backstory and they all essentially boil down to the same exact reveal. It was cool the first time, but after the third time, it just comes off as overly convenient writing.

And then there’s the third issue, one that’s a little harder to describe. The simplest way to put it is that Durarara has a lot of romantic subplots, and they almost uniformly suck. But that doesn’t quite capture the problem clearly. It’s not just bad in the way that you’d expect a bad romantic subplot to be; it’s more like this show’s perspective on love itself is so unnatural that it infects every attempt it makes to tell a love story. Remember that dumb subplot from the Baccano OVAs where Chaine Laforet falls for the weirdo who stalks her and basically tries to smother her with his affections? Well, the same kind of thing happens here, except the characters hang around as a couple once they make it official so you’re forced to marinate in how awkward their relationship feels. The climax of the first big arc also seems to suggest that stalking for love is romantic (though amusingly, the show is equally forgiving of male and female stalkers alike). Another subplot revolves around a teacher who tries to sleep with his students, and it’s presented as uncomfortably as it should be, but then it completely changes course and goes “Syke! Actually, the bad guy here is a student he seduced who turned into a crazy jealous yandere bitch!” And it all comes wrapped up in this weird slut-shaming about Anri being a parasite who relies on strong men to protect her because she’s too weak to protect herself, and it’s like, what the fuck are you even trying to say here? Why is this show’s perception of love so fucking warped? I don’t demand perfect healthy relationship dynamics from the media I consume, but every time Durarara touches on lust or romance, it just comes off gross and wrong and disconnected from reality. And when so many of its subplots have romance as a central component, it very quickly crosses from annoying to exhausting.

Is Durarara fun? Ultimately, I’d say yes; the characters and their interactions are so entertaining on a base level that it would be hard to ruin them. But ae those fun interactions worth sitting through so much aimless, uncomfortable nonsense? That, I’m less certain of. If Baccano was an explosive fireworks shower of fun, Durarara is a bargain-bin box of summer sparklers set off in a muggy rainstorm, struggling to stay alight. Whether you compare it to Baccano or let it stand on its own terms, it’s a distressingly flawed show. Hopefully future seasons will improve on these flaws and bring Durarara to the heights it has the potential to reach. Until then, though, I give this first season a score of:

5/10

Oh, I almost forgot: Isaac and Miria have a cameo and it’s the best thing ever. God bless these incredible dumbasses.

#anime #the anime binge-watcher #tabw #durarara #1011 aniwatch

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unsettledink · 3 years

Text

Worth the World - Fluffuary Day 23

Prompt: Flowers

Words: 5463

Summary: Valentine’s Day is not Peter’s favorite holiday by a long shot. And it’s not just because he’s a little jealous of everyone else showing off gifts from their partners.

But it’s still really nice that an unknown someone sent him a gift this year. Or two. Or— okay, this is getting out of hand.

Valentine’s Day.

Ugh.

Peter sighs. Without a doubt, this is his least favorite holiday. It’s just…

It’s not, as MJ would say, because it’s an over commercialized performative display of heteronormative romance (or something like that; he might have gotten it jumbled up a bit). It’s not even that he doesn’t have—and never has had—someone to spend it with, like Ned tends to suggest. Though that sucks too.

It’s watching his classmates get flowers and silly singing telegrams and cakes, watching them wander around the rest of the day with balloons trailing behind them and juggling their gifts, everyone seeing it. He’d said as much to Tony—Mr. Stark—a few days ago when he’d apparently been too mopey to be ignored. Which is kinda embarrassing.

He hadn’t known how to really explain the difference between being sad not to get anything and not being sad he didn’t have anyone. It— he would have been just as happy if May sent him something silly; it was about people knowing. It was— kind of selfish, really. No matter how he stumbled around trying to say it, it just sounded bad. In the end, he’d settled for saying it was about wanting to feel normal again, for a little bit.

He knows Tony doesn’t think much of that.

It doesn’t really matter. Peter’s never gotten anything before, and it’s not like that’s going to change just because it’s his senior year.

Most of the teachers have given up on getting anything real done during Valentine’s Day, with all the interruptions, but not Mrs. Powell. She’s right in the middle of drawing on the whiteboard—and as far as Peter is concerned, first period is too early for trig--when someone knocks on the door. First delivery of the day, looks like. He stares out the window; at least he doesn’t have to think about math for a few minutes.

“Peter Parker?”

Honestly, it doesn’t even register for a moment. It’s not until Ned pokes him in the side that Peter’s brain stutters back out of shocked white noise and starts running again. “Uh,” he says. “That’s me? I mean, I’m Peter Parker.”

Someone giggles.

The lady delivering just smiles at him though. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” she says, and hands him a tall, slim vase, with just one perfect, dark red rose. Peter stares at it.

Ned elbows him again. “Who’s it from?”

There’s no tag, no note, nothing. “I don’t know,” Peter tells him. “It doesn’t say, so…”

“Oooo,” Flash says. “Parker’s got a secret admirer. Yeah right; you probably sent it to yourself.” Peter can feel how hot his face is and it probably just makes him look really guilty, but he didn’t. Not that he can prove it.

“Back to the reason you’re actually here,” Mrs. Powell says sharply, “maybe Flash can tell us the formula we need to use here.”

Peter has no idea if Flash gives the right answer or not, because he can’t stop staring at the rose. Can’t stop thinking, his mind spinning too fast.

Someone sent him a gift.

Part of him is still running through possible gift givers; not MJ, surely not. He can’t even imagine that. Ned’s heard him sigh about getting nothing plenty, but there’s no reason he’d do something now. May? Maybe, and he can totally see her forgetting to even include a note.

Maybe, he thinks with a sudden swoop of his stomach, it’s a prank. Please don’t let it be a prank. Maybe— maybe there actually is someone who likes him. Maybe there is.

But even with all that running through his mind, it’s background noise to the single, enormous feeling of actually getting a gift for Valentine’s Day, in front of everyone.

It’s really nice.

No one pounces on him in the hall between classes to yell ‘gotcha!’; he gets a few looks and a few smiles, but nothing suspicious. Maybe it really is for real.

Second period, Mr. Jackson doesn’t even try. Just puts on a movie and grades papers while everyone gossips as other deliveries start arriving, flowers and a teddy bear with candy and a singing telegram, and Peter is no longer the only one drawing attention, thankfully. It was nice getting it early in the day, though.

“Mr. Parker?”

It— it can’t be. He misheard. Right?

He raises his hand, slowly.

A gold box is deposited on his desk, all fancily embossed and no label. No note.

“Well?” Peter looks up, startled; he hadn’t even heard MJ scoot over in front of his desk. Well, it’s not like Mr. Jackson is paying attention, though it feels like everyone else is. “Are you going to open it?”

“Um,” Peter says. “Yeah, I— I guess? What if it’s like, a glitter bomb?”

MJ looks at him like he’s lost a few marbles. “Ooookay,” she says. “You’ll still have to open it eventually.”

True. “Well, here goes,” he mutters, and lifts off the top.

It’s chocolate covered strawberries. Really fancy ones, all decorated and different colors and some are even rolled in stuff. They smell amazing, not kind of artificial like a lot of strawberries do. Not that it’s something he noticed before the bite, but—

“Not glitter,” MJ says, and Peter laughs a little. This is crazy. “No note?”

Maybe they are from her? “Nope,” Peter says. “Uh, you want one?”

They taste pretty amazing too. He ends up sharing them with a couple other people; there’s at least two dozen of them and while he probably could eat them all before they got mushy, he’s pretty sure he’d feel sick.

He catches Ned in the hall after class. Gives him a strawberry too and takes a couple minutes to freak out at him before third period, because neither Ned or MJ share it with him. “Are you really, really sure it’s not MJ?” Ned asks him.

“I mean, does it even seem like something she’d do?” He doesn’t think so, but then— he might be wrong.

Ned barely considers it before he shakes his head.

Third period brings reading Hamlet out loud and a dozen roses.

They’re lighter than the first one, with a dark yellow center. Really, really pretty, and he gets a couple people ‘awwing’ over them. He still has no clue who is sending these. This is nuts. It’s just— it’s straight up crazy. No one else has gotten more than one delivery yet, and he’s gotten three. Who is it?

He pulls the first rose out of its vase and tucks in the center of these roses, trying to ignore the way a bunch of his classmates are looking at him and giggling. It stands out against the lighter ones; Peter bites his lip.

Please don’t let this be some elaborate prank, he thinks. He can’t really imagine why someone would put this much effort into it—and money, roses aren’t cheap for Valentine’s Day!—just to make fun of him, but then he doesn’t really understand why people started making fun of him in the first place.

Maybe it’s Flash. He wouldn’t care about the cost and he’d probably love to humiliate Peter in a big, showy way.

Ned’s mouth drops open when he sees Peter carrying this newest gift. “Wow,” he says. “This is crazy.”

“That’s what I said!”

He can’t concentrate even a little bit during fourth period. Ned keeps looking over at him every time Peter’s leg starts jittering again, but he can’t help himself. He feels nearly sick with nerves, waiting for whatever is next. Because three times— three times is a pattern. Three times means there’s almost definitely going to be a fourth.

There is.

This time it’s a box, a little bigger than his hand. He’s pretty sure this one isn’t a glitter bomb either, but he still hesitates.

Stares, once he’s opened it. “Dude,” Ned says, craning over. “What is it?”

“Uh,” Peter says, tilting the box so Ned can see too. “It’s a watch.” A really fancy looking watch; it’s not flashy, not like some of the really crazy watches Peter’s seen Tony wear, but sleekly elegant. Slim and dark and just— pretty. Something Peter could actually see himself wearing.

“Is that a Piguet?” Flash says behind him and Peter startles. “Seriously? When did you nab yourself a rich sugar daddy?” He eyes Peter, a slow once over. “How? I mean, come on, Parker.”

He says it all loud enough that people are staring, of course, and Peter’s face is so hot it hurts. “That’s not—” he says, “I’m not— I don’t! They’re not that kind of gifts!”

“Like you know anyone that could afford something like that,” Flash says before he saunters off. Why is he such a dick?

“You’re not though, right?” Ned says, much quieter. Peter gives him a betrayed look and Ned holds up his hands. “I don’t think you would!” Ned says. “It’s just. Really weird, that’s all.”

“I know,” Peter says, staring down at the watch, and a little of the excited, pleased shine has been rubbed away by Flash making things all… sordid. For second, he almost just closes the box and shoves it in his backpack, but— no. No, he’s not going to do that.

It fits like it was made to measure, and it looks good on him too.

MJ shares fifth period with them; “So?” she says. “Was there more?” Peter holds up his wrist and MJ’s eyebrows rise.

“Wow,” she says. “That’s actually really nice looking. I was kind of hoping for something flashier.”

Peter glares at her. “This whole thing is flashy,” he mutters, but even if he’s feeling pretty embarrassed… he’s kind of enjoying it too.

“Bets on what’s next?” MJ asks Ned. Ned shakes his head. Peter doesn’t say anything, but he’s pretty sure it’s going to be flowers again.

Maybe he should have bet, because he’s right. It’s roses again, two dozen of them, a slight lighter red than the first, and every single petal is edged with gold. Not like, yellow flower color gold, but literal gold foil or paint or something; it actually shines under the light.

Ned and MJ stare at them in silence right alongside him. “Well,” Mj says eventually. “That’s— flashier.”

“But like, classy,” Ned says. “I wonder if that’s real gold. That’d be crazy, right? Can’t be.”

Peter would almost be willing to bet it is.

He’s really, really wishing he had the first clue what’s going on.

He needs help carrying them to lunch, so Ned takes the smaller vase. (Okay, he could have carried them all but he would have had to sticky something and it might look weird.) He’s already getting plenty of attention; the glances and smiles from earlier have turned into stares and whispers, and in the cafeteria there’s all the other grades that haven’t seen things delivered. Peter kind of wants to hide out in the library for lunch or something, but he’s hungry. At least he can have a little break, right?

Wrong. So wrong. Because it seems like the second they set Peter’s flowers down, there’s a polite throat clearing behind him.

Peter turns, and there’s a guy with a bunch of bags. “Um. Hi?”

“Are you Peter Parker?” When Peter nods, the guys nods too and steps past him to put the bags on their table. They stare as he starts pulling out container after container after container, and there’s a noticeable hush at the tables around them, more and more people watching.

“This is a new one for me,” the guys says, casually. “Never thought of doing something like this for Valentine’s? But I might steal the idea for myself, next year. Anyway. Happy Valentine’s Day; enjoy!”

Peter pries open a container and the most amazing smell wafts out. His stomach straight up growls. “I… I guess this is lunch?” he says. Takes another look at the pile of containers. “Lunch for all three of us, actually.”

“I am dying to know who is doing this,” MJ says, opening another container, and Ned’s not wasting any time either.

“You and me both,” Peter says.

“Seriously,” Ned says and passes him a tray. “You don’t have any ideas at all?”

Peter shakes his head.

The food is good; scratch that, the food is amazing. Somehow everything is hot and nothing is soggy and every single thing is something Peter likes. There’s a soup in particular that Peter makes Peter nearly moan when he takes the first bite.

It’s… familiar? How— why does he know this dish? Where has he had it before?

He closes his eyes when he takes the next bite and tries to stop thinking for a second. Not very successfully, but it doesn’t matter because the memory hits him like a brick.

He’s had this in Tony’s workshop.

Peter doesn’t know the name of the place—though he’s pretty sure it’s a lot closer to Stark Tower than it is to his school—but he knows this dish. Tony orders in food for them pretty often and this had shown up once and Peter had eaten every bit of it. Had been really obvious in how much he liked it, because it showed up several more times without Tony ever saying a word about it.

No one else would know that.

“Peter?”

He looks up; Ned’s frowning at him. “You okay?” he says. “You were just staring at your food for ages.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, his mouth dry. “Yeah, uh, I’m fine. I’m— yeah, fine.” He makes himself start eating again, but as amazing as it tastes he’s barely registering it, because Tony sent this. Tony had to have sent this. There’s no way someone else would just choose this out of the way, definitely does not deliver here restaurant, or this specific meal. And if Tony sent this, it means Tony sent everything else too.

Peter’s doesn’t know what to do with that fact. Theory. No, fact.

Tony sent him— why? Why would he do this? What possible reason could there be? It’s just— it’s crazy. Peter’s pretty sure it’s not a joke, even if Tony finds it funny, but that only makes it harder to understand.

Is it pity? Did he hear Peter complaining about not getting things and decide to fake someone being into him so Peter wouldn’t feel left out? Does he feel sorry for Peter?

Was he ever going to tell Peter it was him, or just let him keep wondering forever?

He can’t wait for school to be over now, because he needs answers.

Fifth period, he knows exactly what to expect, and Tony—probably Tony, 99% sure Tony—doesn’t disappoint. Roses, more roses, over two dozen for sure but Peter’s not counting, white with dark, dark red edges. Roses, and every time Peter ever smells roses again he’s going to think of this; he doesn’t know if that makes him want to cry or not.

Because even if Tony isn’t doing this for a laugh, or out of pity, he’s not doing it because he actually is interested in Peter like that.

And Peter desperately, desperately wishes he was.

By the time sixth period comes around, everyone in class knows that Peter Parker is (supposedly, thanks Flash) getting a gift every hour from his sugar daddy, and everyone is watching him, just waiting for what’s next. Peter hunches his shoulders and puts his head down and gets more and more tense as the minutes tick by and nothing appears.

It’s not until the last ten minutes of class that the gift is delivered, late enough that Peter had started to hope that maybe that was it. This gift comes in another box, about the same size as the watch box but slimmer. Peter takes a deep breath before he opens it.

Snaps it shut a minute later, before Ned’s even had a chance to lean over.

Oh, god.

“Peter,” Ned hisses. “What is it? Come on, man. Why do you look like that?”

Peter shakes his head; leans over and whispers in Ned’s ear. “It’s a key,” he says. “A— a car key.”

Ned’s just as wide eyed as Peter feels. “They got you a car?” Ned whispers back.

“I think so?” Peter says. He doesn’t know what else to think about the key and fob in the box. Or the little card tucked in with them: Don’t worry, FRIDAY has the wheel until I get the chance to show you some real driving.

He guesses Tony isn’t trying to hide after all. Oh my god, Tony got him a car. Probably a ridiculously expensive, ridiculously fast, ridiculously flashy car, and Peter doesn’t even know how to drive. Not really. Stealing Flash’s car doesn’t count for much. What is he going to do with a car? Where is he going to keep a car?

What is Tony thinking?

He knows what he wishes Tony is thinking, as impossible and hopeless as it is. Because it is. It is, utterly and completely, no matter how Peter wishes this was Tony wanting to… to court him, in his usual over the top way. No matter how much Peter wants to think that this might actually mean something, it doesn’t. He knows that.

“You still don’t know who it is?” MJ whispers, and it’s really unnerving the way so many people are staring at them.

“Uh,” Peter says. “Actually—” He sighs. “It’s Tony.”

For a minute, she doesn’t get it. “Tony— wait. Are you. You mean. Really?”

“Does that mean you’re, you know,” Ned says, making vague gestures. “Together?”

“What? No! Of course not!”

“So he just… does this sort of thing?” MJ asks.

“I don’t know,” Peter says. “I guess? I don’t know what he’s thinking.”

“Does he even get that it’s super weird?” Ned says, and Peter shrugs. Everything Tony has been involved with that included Peter has been pretty weird. Where is this supposed to fall on that scale?

Seventh period lasts forever, Peter resenting every second. He’s almost free. He’s so close to escaping and being able to ask Tony what the fuck is going on. Just half an hour. Just twenty minutes. Just—

“Peter Parker?”

No, no no no.

He puts his hand up and his head down, and when he lifts it again, there are roses everywhere. Dozens and dozens and dozens, every one of them the dark red of the very first one. How many are there? Did Tony buy out an entire florist? What is he thinking? What is Peter going to do with all of them? He doesn’t even know how he could get them home.

This is a nightmare; Peter puts his head back down and groans.

MJ laughs softly, and when he looks at her she’s sort of petting one of the roses. “He’s really going for some grand gesture thing, isn’t he,” she says.

If Tony was— if Peter was— if they were actually together, or if Peter believed for a second this was leading there, this would be incredibly romantic. Really, really excessive and ridiculous, but still. Really romantic too. And Peter would still be blushing so hard he almost thinks it’s never going to fade, but he’d also be so—

So happy.

Instead, he just wants to cry.

Miss Ahuja gives him permission to leave most of them in her room for a few hours, until he can figure out what to do with them, so Peter just takes the gold tipped ones and the yellow and red ones and the very first one with him.

And almost runs right into Happy when he comes out of the classroom.

“I— Happy?” Peter says, because this day just keeps getting weirder.

“Hey, Peter,” Happy says. “I was told to help you carry stuff to the car. What kind of stuff are we talking about? Why can’t you get it all?”

“Um,” Peter says. Leans back and pushes the classroom door open; Happy pokes his head in and sighs. “Wait, the car?”

“So it’s like that,” Happy says, whatever that’s supposed to mean. “Alright, kid. Got any friends to help out?”

“Yeah, um, Ned, can you—” and Ned’s already grabbing a vase, MJ right behind him. “Seriously though, the car?”

“The car,” Happy says. “Which I need the keys for. What?” he says when Peter frowns. “Tony had the thing dropped off, I guess.”

“Right,” Peter says. “Because that makes perfect sense. Why would he—” He sighs. “Right. Keys.”

“Could be worse,” Happy says while Peter digs out the box and hands it to him. “Could be a giant bunny.”

“A— a what?”

“You don’t want to know.”

The car is not what Peter was expecting. Okay, he’s sure it’s incredibly expensive and fast, but it’s not flashy. At least, not overtly so, like a lot of the cars Tony drives. It’s silver and sleek and a convertible, so at least there’s still something wholly impractical about it. It takes them three trips to bring out all the roses and they completely fill the backseat, Peter having to stick a vase down by his feet as well.

“Where am I taking you?” Happy asks. “Home? May’s going to have fun with this.”

Oh no. No. “Actually,” Peter says, “could you maybe take me to the tower? I, uh. Think I need to talk to Ton— Mr. Stark.”

Happy snorts. “Going to read him the riot act, huh? Good luck with that. Not that he doesn’t deserve it,” he adds, looking over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Peter says, weakly. “Yeah, that.”

It festers inside him on the drive, this awful little fragment of hope that’s been growing ever since lunch. This tiny voice that keeps saying, what if he does? What if he is? What if he feels something?

It a really stupid voice and a stupid idea, but he has to ask something. Even if he can’t come out and ask it straight up, he has to at least ask something.

“Good luck,” Happy says when Peter climbs out. Pats him on the back. “Keys’ll be in the side pocket when you’re done.” Peter nods, not really paying any attention.

Tony’s in the workshop. Of course he is.

For a minute—for two, three, four, and FRIDAY doesn’t say anything so it’s okay—Peter just watches him, and wants.

Tony notices him eventually, like he always does, even when he’s in the middle of something. “Hey!” he says. “How’s it going, kid?” He grins, slow and obviously pleased with himself. “Have a good day?”

Peter walks a little closer to him. “I— I had a really weird day,” he says. “Um. I mean, thank you? That was— really—” Words fail him and he waves his hands around vaguely; he doesn’t even really know what he’s trying to say.

“Oh, you’re wearing it,” Tony says. “Good, here— lemme show you something. Right, so, tap the face three times and then turn the outer ring clockwise.” Peter does, because at this point, why not.

There’s a click, and then a moment later the watch is unfolding itself, spreading up his arm and down his palm. Is turning into a variation on his web-shooters. Peter stares at it.

“It doesn’t pack quite the punch your usual ones do,” Tony says, “but it’s easier to keep on hand all the time. Hopefully you can wear this anywhere without raising eyebrows, and it’ll be closer to hand then the nano ones even.”

Everything Tony has done today has been excessive and over the top and way, way too much, but this— this is the thing that breaks Peter. This is the thing that makes it obvious, makes it so, so obvious, that Tony put thought into this. That Tony didn’t just do this on a whim or for a laugh.

Right?

“Tony,” Peter says, slowly. “What— what exactly did you mean, with all this?”

“What did I mean?” Tony says, just as slowly, confused.

“Was it— was it a joke? Or—”

“No!” Tony says, cutting him off. “God, no, it’s not a joke. Peter— shit. I just. You sounded so down about being invisible for Valentine’s, and I thought— that, that you could have something nice for it. Should have something nice for it. And I could fix that? I—” He sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. “I wanted to give you a nice day. And— a little flex, you know? Since you have to hold yourself back so much already, I thought— why not show them someone thinks you’re worth the world?”

“Oh,” Peter says.

“I fucked up,” Tony says, “didn’t I. I’m sorry. I should have just— was it awful?”

“You didn’t— no,” Peter tells him, and he means it. “No, it wasn’t awful. It was nice, I did have a nice day. It’s just…”

“I know,” Tony says. “Too much.”

Yeah, but. If they were—

Peter liked it.

“So,” he says. “It was because you wanted to be nice,” and it’s so, so hard to force the next words out. “Was… was that it? All it was?”

Tony hesitates, looking at him. “Yes?” he says. “Was— is there something else it should have been?”

He was wrong. He knew it, he knew it and yet it still felt like a weight sinking right down though his chest, into his stomach. “No,” he says. Shakes his head.

“Peter,” Tony says. “Was there something else you thought it was?” And, a moment later, when Peter can’t quite bring himself to say anything but can’t quite manage to leave either, “Was there something you wanted it to be?”

He should say something. He should say something, because roses and watches that turn into web-shooters and Tony wanting people to think someone loved Peter. He should— “It’s just,” he says. “It’s. You know. Valentine’s Day. I thought— I hoped—” No, that’s not right.

“I wanted it to actually be because you—” God, he’s so terrible at this.

“Kid,” Tony says so softly, and this is where he tries his hardest to let Peter down gently, isn’t it. “Come here, will you?”

There’s no point in saying no, so Peter goes to him. Comes even closer when Tony gestures him forward, and then Tony reaches out and sets his hand on Peter’s hip and pulls him a step closer, until Peter’s standing between Tony’s legs. There’s a faint flutter of hope trying to rise up again, and Peter tells it to fuck off. This isn’t that.

“I’d be lying if I said that hadn’t occurred to me,” Tony says, and Peter stares at the casing on Tony’s chest, unable to look higher. “I’d— I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t on my mind while I was deciding what to get you, that I haven’t— haven’t thought of you like that. But that doesn’t make it okay.”

He’s not hearing this right. He can’t be.

“I couldn’t do that to you, Peter,” Tony says, and he sounds tired. “It’s more than a little fucked up for me to even be interested, much less act on it. I don’t— you’ve got your whole life ahead of you, and I don’t want you to end up damaged in the ways this sort of shit can. You don’t need that living in your head forever, don’t need me dragging you down.”

He is hearing this right. What the fuck. He is— and Tony is—

“Why are you so sure it’s going to go so wrong?” Peter asks. “It doesn’t have to?”

“It does,” Tony says. “It will. It— it always does, Peter. There are some gaps you just can’t bridge. And when it’s your first, it doesn’t ever really fade. It just. It doesn’t. I don’t want you to end up like—”

He sighs, and Peter finally looks up. Tony looks as miserable as Peter feels. “I want you to be better than me, kid.”

Peter thinks. Chews on his lip and takes his time because he has to do this right, he has to say this right, and Tony gives him that time. Just waits, quietly watching him, his hand burning on Peter’s hip.

“You keep saying what I don’t need,” Peter says finally. “And what you want, and like. I know you don’t think I’ll make smart decisions, and I know you want to protect me, but… why can’t I know what I need? What about what I want? For once, can I get to choose what happens to me?”

Why does everyone always think they know what’s better for him than he does? Maybe he’s still a teen, but he’s not stupid.

Tony’s pulled back a little, looking at him closer. “Alright,” he says, after what feels like ages. “What do you want?”

Maybe— maybe he can hope. “Can we try?” Peter asks. “For a little? At least see what happens? Because—” He swallows, hard. “Because I really want this, even if you think it’s a bad idea.”

“I just don’t want you to do something you’ll end up regretting.”

“Well,” Peter says, “that’s kind of already happened. A lot. So.”

The silence goes on and on and on, neither of them moving, and Peter doesn’t know what else to say.

So he ends up just blurting out the next thought in his head, like an idiot. “Would you— would you kiss me? Please?”

He doesn’t think it’s going to happen, even when Tony’s hand settles against his cheek, even when Tony leans in, even when Tony’s lips are almost on his. It doesn’t seem possible that it’s happening, but it is, and oh, fuck, it’s so good. It’s soft and barely more than brushing their lips together and even so, when Tony pulls back Peter sways after him, this tiny noise catching in his throat.

If the first one was good, this kiss is mindblowing, Tony’s lips opening under his and his tongue against Peter’s and his arms around Peter, pressing them together. Peter wraps his arms around Tony’s neck and clings, moans into Tony’s mouth and wishes he didn’t have to breathe.

“Jesus, Peter,” Tony whispers. “You can’t make noises like that, or I’m not going to be able to control myself.”

“Don’t,” Peter says, trying to tug him back. “Don’t bother. I don’t even want you to.”

Tony laughs and while Peter could make him get closer, he doesn’t want to use his strength like that.

“Okay,” Tony says, “so I knew it was a bad idea the second I bought it, and I didn’t think I was ever actually going to be able to give it to you, but I got you another gift.” Peter kind of doesn’t care all that much, but if Tony’s telling him now, there’s probably a reason.

“It’s over there,” Tony says, nodding at a different desk, and when Peter—very reluctantly—steps away to go there, Tony’s right behind him.

There’s a flat, rectangular box on the table, black, about as big as Peter’s laptop; it’s surprisingly light when he picks it up.

Inside, there’s this— this pale, pale pink, almost white, thing. This thing that’s all mesh and lace and a lot of straps and Peter’s not even really sure how it should go on, but his breath catches anyway with how hard and fast the want hits him.

“Please,” Tony says, pressed right up against his back, his chin on Peter’s shoulder. “Please tell me if this is too much, too fast, but I’m thinking you could go upstairs and put that on, so I can take it right back off. Yes? No?”

Peter can’t breathe. He nods, over and over, vigorously, and Tony laughs against his neck. “You want to try that in words, baby?”

Baby, Peter thinks, his brain completely short circuiting. “Yes. Yes,” he manages eventually, “I could absolutely do that. I would really really like to do that. I would love to do that.”

Tony sucks in a breath, and Peter can feel how he shudders, clinging a little tighter to Peter for a moment. “Okay,” Tony says, so softly Peter’s not even sure it was meant for him. “Good.” He steps back. “I’ll see you soon.”

Peter picks the box up; makes it halfway to the door before he gathers enough courage to stop, to turn back and say “Tony?”

Tony’s head snaps up, and he looks worried.

“Don’t take too long.”

There’s a second where Tony’s eyes just go wide, and then he’s smiling, grinning, growing slowly across his face. It’s so much happier than he’s looked since Peter showed up, and it feels— it feels incredible to know he made Tony smile like that. He made Tony happier.

He’s going to make Tony feel a lot of things. He’s sure of it.

AO3

#fluffuary #starker #ironspider #tony x peter #peter x tony #tony stark x peter parker #mcu #spiderman #posted a little late whoops #that got completely out of hand #my work #fanfiction

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mandalorewhore · 3 years

Text

Two Steps Ahead

PART THREE OF HUNTER (formerly hunter and prey)

gif by @princessxkenobi

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: SMUT, Fighting as Foreplay, Rough Sex, Penetrative Sex(PIV), Unprotected Sex, Dirty talk, Praise kink, Size kink, Big Dick Mando, Top Mando, Sub/Dom elements, Very slight Pain Kink, possible CNC elements although I didn’t write that I also want to warn anyone who doesn’t want to read about rough sex with physical fighting as foreplay Words: 6.9k AO3 LINK

Summary: Reader and Mando start tracking their first bounty together

A/N: i believe things are happening...interesting

***

“I feel like you have a distinct advantage here.” A bead of sweat drips over your brow as you mop at your sweltering forehead in irritation. Your temple throbs as you press on it, pain shooting down your neck at the pressure.

It’s so fucking humid here. You’re tracking one of Mando’s bail jumpers in the middle of a boggy swamp planet that you never caught the name of and you’ve been walking through the forest for at least 24 hours, only stopping for water and ration breaks. Based on the holo-map you’re currently staring at, this entire planet is one big swamp, with no escape from the damp, sticky environment.

The thing barely makes sense, a jumble of colors and shapes that worsens your headache the longer you try to figure it out. You had borrowed a thin shirt from Mando before setting out, but it does little to protect you from the buzzing swarms of insects, while at the same time it reflects just enough heat to have you sweltering.

Mando acts unbothered under all that padding and armor, trekking through the trees without any visible sign of struggle. You don’t understand how he can stay awake for so long without caf, yourself being covered in caf-patches to keep from passing out. It’s probably somewhat dangerous to have so much of the stimulant coursing through your veins, but oh well. If my heart gives out then at least I’ll escape the bugs.

“Footprints aren’t the only way to track a quarry.” He returns mildly, moving swiftly over tangled tree-roots to avoid the pools of murky water that litter the forest floor. You move with less grace behind him, trying to climb slippery wood and juggle the holo at the same time. The twisted trees of this planet seem to reach inward to point at the forest floor, giving you the impression of being trapped within their clutches. The eerie feeling isn’t helped by the distinct lack of light, odd lichen tendrils drape between branches to create a blanket that absorbs most natural light from the sky. A faint glow emanates from the tendrils, basking the forest with ghostly illumination. You scramble to the top of the particularly tall root he’s perched on then plop down to catch your breath.

“No, it’s not the only way,” you pause to take a swig from your water skin, dabbing off the spilled drops from your chin with your sleeve, “but the footprints you track are apparently all glowy and red. I get to look with my naked eyes for shit like depressions in the ground, which is so fun considering the only paths here are solid wood.”

Mando rolls his helmet on his shoulders, the effect similar to someone rolling their eyes. When he speaks it’s short and gruff, annoyed by your attitude. Which is… appropriate. The hours you’ve spent walking in this heat together is starting to snap both of your tempers. “Stop complaining.”

He’s not wrong about the footprints. You’re mostly annoyed because of how useless you feel, more like you’re tagging along than assisting him on the hunt. Drawing your eyebrows together you try to come up with a plan. Most of those mercenary skills you talked up for Karga don’t apply here, this naturalistic setting is too messy and... wild. Unpredictable. You’re used to the structure that comes with starships and cities, places engineered and civilized.

Tracking people isn’t very hard, you’ve done it plenty of times before. The only issue is that all of your practice came from environments where they left clear signs of direction, displaced gravel indicating a shoe-print, broken branches, a trail in sand. It also helps that your targets didn’t know they were being stalked. The only path here is over hard wooden tree roots, with nothing to indicate direction, not even moss grows over the foot trail for traveling feet to mark. You take in a deep breath and hold it for several seconds before letting out all your air in one huge swoop.

“I’m sorry, “ you tell him sincerely, “I want to help you -and not just for a bigger cut. Is there anything I can do?” You truly do feel bad for snapping at him even if you know you’re right about his advantage. Just because you don’t have fancy thermal settings and footprint tracking doesn’t mean you’re useless. The Mandalorian settles his hands on his hips and surveys the area, looking for a task to assign you. His helmet tilts up and lingers on the trees, and you’re already two steps ahead before he can voice his idea.

“I can climb,” you interject, standing up swiftly and moving. “Trees can’t be more slippery than a spacecraft.”

He nods in acknowledgment. “Find something and your cut goes up by five percent.”

“Ten percent.” You grin at him cheekily, wanting to tease him even if he won’t give it to you.

“Eight, if you find somewhere to camp.”

“Deal.” You return, already halfway to the widest tree you can reach without getting your feet wet. The trunk is covered in knots and twisted vines, ugly but providing fantastic handholds for your hands and feet. Grabbing hold of a sturdy looking ledge you begin your ascent.

The climb is fairly easy even with the woods damp surface, and you reach the forest canopy with minimal effort. Carefully squirreling around the thin top-most branches you attempt to find a break-through point, the wood beneath you bowing a little from your weight.

When you finally poke your head through and see the sky you gasp, taken aback by the sight. You hadn’t hung around in the cockpit during landing, instead choosing to pack the bags while Mando skillfully piloted his ship. The forest floor is all you’ve seen of the planet and apparently you’ve missed a lot.

The sky here is beautiful, a color palette that is completely opposite from the dark, damp underbelly of the forest ground. Swirling aquamarine clouds float lazily in the sky, speckling the orange hued atmosphere above you. There are at least 6 pale moons lined up on the horizon from edge to edge, stars twinkling around each orb as if drawn to their orbit. You drink in the sight greedily, the ache in your head lessening in the natural light. This is so much better than the cold stark metal of space stations that you’re used to living on.

It’s hard to tell the time based on the sky alone, the moons must be constantly present in the sky no matter the time of day and you can’t find a single sun. Maybe this planet lives off the light and heat from each moon, reflected from a distant star? The thought is lovely but you don’t think it’s possible. You file the image away for your daydreams then divert your eyes back to the thick forest, searching for anything useful to tell Mando.

The line of trees is unbroken, a sea of dark green leaves and glowing lichen. An orange sky helps to warm up the pale glow from the lichen but it’s eeriness still sends a shiver through you. Everything on the horizon is of even height, betraying nothing within its depths. It isn’t ideal. You gnaw your lip anxiously, dreading to return to Mando without any information especially on your first hunt together. Eyes flitting around desperately, you try to analyze any possible breaks in the natural pattern of trees.

Could that be a settlement there? You think, looking at a slightly thinner section of forest that might roughly be three miles away. You aren’t sure about the planet’s curvature and how flat the terrain is so you double check the holo, looking for the information.

Something catches your eye as you’re pulling up the data, just substantial enough in your peripheral version that you stop what you’re doing. There is a mist rising from that thinned area, far enough away that you mistook it as some sort of lighting effect from the overwhelming color palette here. That has to be steam right? It’s too thick to be naturally occurring from the bog. There must be machinery over there. A settlement hopefully.

You’re about to climb down when you pause, looking at the still lit holo with renewed curiosity. Something about the map visually paired with your clear view of the forest allows the pieces to fall in place. When you compare the shape of the map to the trees you’re finally able to make sense of what you previously thought was a topographical mess. A built pathway lies here, a body of water there. And clearings. Several clearings not too far from where you are now, the perfect size to settle down in. Hopefully they’re dry.

Either the caf-patches are finally sending you into cardiac arrest or you’re manically happy to finally be of help to your hunting partner, but either way, you’re grinning so widely that your teeth clatter together.

“Hey Mando! Guess what you owe me?” You shout down at the ground, beginning to descend. You’re so excited that you practically slide down the vines, jumping to the ground when you’re several feet high in the air, sore muscles creaking at the impact. The Mandalorian is sitting now, resting with his elbow propped on his knee while he waited for you to come back. There’s a soft pang in your chest and you wonder if he’s tired. You brush it off, feeling as though you’re just projecting, and instead grin widely at him in triumph. “7 percent increase for me!”

He lifts his helmet and looks you up and down. “What did you find?”

You reply chirpily, hands grasped behind your back and shit-eating grin still plastered on your face. “There is a settlement of some kind roughly three miles that way,” you point in the direction where you saw the steam, “and several clearings nearby suitable to camp in, if we don’t want to head in right away. Oh, also we aren’t on the actual path used by locals here, the asset must be making an effort to hide.”

“That isn’t very smart of them,” Din observes, shaking his head at the concept. “Busy path hides more prints.”

“Hm…” You take that in, wondering what other techniques a quarry may use to shake its hunter.

It occurs to you that there is a lot you could learn from the Mandalorian, since so far hunting someone has been notably different from your mercenary missions. You’ll find a moment to ask questions later once you’re settled down for the night, wherever that’ll be. “Do you want to camp or find the maybe-settlement?”

“We should camp,” he responds immediately, rising from his seated position and walking closer to you, “we don’t know what we’ll face there. You can choose the area, since you climbed the tree.”

You pull up the holo-map again and zoom in on the different options, feeling far more energized now that you actually know what you’re doing. There are two spots that seem encouraging, both a short hike away from where you are now but removed enough to grant you some privacy. You’ll still need to set up a watch to prevent ambush or stray travelers from finding you but it’ll be easier if you make an effort to hide. One of the clearings seems to have a running water source, you hope it’s cleaner than the still-water you’re currently surrounded by. Maybe you can bathe there too.

“Lets go here,” you pull up the coordinates for Mando, “that looks like a stream, right?”

He leans into your body for a closer look, broad chest just brushing against you in a way that sends flutters through your tummy. You know he can zoom in with his visor, there is no reason he needs to be so close to you except for your benefit. He seems to enjoy messing with you like this, throwing you off with unexpected touches, looks, and gestures. It’s like a game he plays and you’d be far more annoyed by his teases if it wasn’t so exciting.

“Looks good,” he rumbles low in his chest. “Fresh water would be nice.”

Your heart quickens, but you tried to hide your reaction by teasing him back, tapping your fingers on his helm and stepping away. “I was hoping to clean myself up, actually…”

Mando straightens up at this, visor locked on your face.

“Lead the way.” He returns quietly, giving away nothing. Trying not to smile, you start off in the direction of the clearing, for once moving faster than your armored companion.

Your goal isn’t very far, only about 3 miles north of your previous position and a mile adjacent to the settlement you’ll pay a visit to tomorrow. Large, fuzzy fronds of an alien fern droop down the sides of the hollow clearing, providing a barrier between the forest and empty space in between. The trees still tangle above the open area, blocking out part of the beautiful sky, save a few of the large moons, and old pieces of charcoal are ground into the sandy earth here, a sight that makes you a little anxious. This spot must be used by others, you’ll have to be more careful with setting up the watch than expected.

The water source turns out to be a small spring set on the edge of a cliff at the far end of the clearing, a sizable waterfall cascading down the side and gathering in a crystalline pool. Skipping ahead of Mando to the edge of the pool you crouch and dip your fingers in the cool water, sighing in relief as it relieves some of the warmth in your overheated body.

You’re unable to hear Mando’s approach - how he is so stealthy under 50 pounds of metal escapes you, but you feel him behind you. You smirk. Arching your back as you rise, you turn around slowly and begin to make eyes in his direction however, when you actually see what he's doing, you cringe at yourself in embarrassment. He’s not looking like you assumed, instead he is surveying the clearing skeptically, body-language imbued with disapproval. Your heart simultaneously sinks to your stomach and contracts in frustration. You thought you had finally done something right.

“What? Is something wrong?” You ask him tightly, subtly shrinking in on yourself in disappointment. You try to hide this by fiddling idly with a stray thread on your tunic, stubbornly keeping your head lifted high despite wishing you could disappear. He doesn’t respond right away, instead turning and walking the length of the clearing then back, stopping just in front of you sharply. You meet his visor with your eyes, holding the look until you feel like you’re burning up in shame from the pressure of it.

“It’s too… open,” he finally says, voice halting as he tries to find the correct words. “Anyone could walk into our camp.”

“I figured we’d set up a watch. There’s only one entrance-”

He interrupts you. “One ground entrance. Anyone can climb down from the trees.”

“Maybe, but this planet isn’t supposed to be dangerous, is it? Practically abandoned,” You huff out, fists clenching at your sides as you argue with him. “Besides. It’s… pretty here.”

The Mandalorian sighs, pinching the helmet just below the visor where his nose bridge would be. “Fine. I’ll take the first watch. No fire.”

Nodding in response, you cross the clearing and set your bag down on a log, letting out a sigh in relief. That’s fine by you, you don’t need the extra warmth and the glowing lichen provides enough light to get by. You really did not want to hike again after moving for 24 hours straight. Mando mirrors your movements, leaning his rifle next to your pack before settling on the sandy earth. A loaded pause passes between you, earlier implications at the forefront of your minds.

Letting out a shuddering breath you crouch down and pull your old tunic from your bag, slinging it over your shoulder before making your way back to the small pond. The water is completely clear, an inviting sight after the marshy puddles that made up the forest ground on your way here. You’re facing the water now but you’re still well aware of the man behind you, the intensity of his gaze burning even through the impassive visor. The invitation is clear. Take it off.

But you aren’t sure if you want to give him that yet. The exhaustion from today has wrung you dry, small bickerings between you and your work partner dampening the sweet mood leftover from Nevarro. Apologizing with sex isn’t really your thing. You’d rather stoke the mutual respect between you as allies instead of start up a pattern of fighting then making up.

You crouch at the water's edge, peering into the depths for a moment before splashing your face with cold water, fresh scar throbbing as blood rushes to the surface of your face. The spare tunic you grabbed just brushes the surface of the water, sending ripples throughout your reflection. Curious, you lean over and observe the way the mirror-like pond breaks off into fragments, bits of you here and there mixing in with the moons that lay on russet sky.

Like a painting. You think in awe, having only seen a couple of the artifacts in person. The richest target you were assigned to owned two pieces of art, real paintings on real paper, encased in transparisteel viewing cases before you smashed open the backing to wonder at them. You close your eyes and try to recall the texture of the paint before the rest of your memory catches up and sours the whole thing. The man's home had to be burned in order to erase evidence, his paintings too large to smuggle out of the city.

When you open your eyes the pond has settled with your reflection only- you’re not alone.

“Maker!” You jump at the sight of the Mandalorians gleaming helmet appearing in the reflection. “What the fuck, you sneak.”

He just chuckles in response and offers you a hand, which you take firmly while rolling your eyes and standing. He leads you back to sit with him on the sandy earth, taking ration bars out of his pack- not yours, and breaking them evenly between you. The gesture is surprisingly tender and none too appreciated what with your stomach growling audibly at the bland meal. All at once, you are reminded by the spattering of caf-patches on your limbs, the jitteriness becoming more apparent now that you’re finally still. You’re shaking. Mando notices as well.

“You may explode.” He remarks, prompting you to start pulling off the stimulant, crumpling each piece and setting them neatly in a pile at your knee.

“Good, let me explode. You’re too bossy to work with.” You return with a smirk, hoping your sarcasm lands. He hums in response, pulling one of the patches off of your forearm and flicking it in your direction for you to catch.

Tutting, you roll the patch into a ball and set it at the top of your pile. “Don’t leave a mess, this forest is ugly but at least it’s untouched,” you tell him firmly. Mando just nods.

The ration bars are hardly a delicacy but you shove them in your mouth all the same, appreciating the engineering behind them. They are so calorie rich that a piece the size of your palm can keep you going for hours. However, your body can’t seem to relax despite the food lining your belly- perhaps you actually overdid the caf. You should be tired right now. Staying awake for more than a day isn’t exactly the average schedule but your knee bounces uncontrollably in a frantic pattern, stirring up puffs of sand between you and the warrior.

“You need to tire.” Mando mutters, firmly placing a glove on your thigh and holding the limb down. “Stop that.”

“Sorry,” you reply, trying to freeze yourself and sit as still as he does. Mando always exists so sagely, like a monk. Completely calm when he wants to be before exploding into action, no warm-up necessary. You wonder if he had some sort of meditation training to achieve that. Is that why he sits like that in the cockpit, his back rod straight like a statue? Weirdo.

“Hey…” The palm at your thigh presses again and you suck in a sharp breath. You didn’t even realize you were twitching again. “Do I have to hold you down?” He growls.

You gulp. “Tempting. But no.” Your words come out steadier than you feel. The caf becomes all too much in that moment so you lurch to your feet, his gleaming helmet following your body as it rises jerkily. You feel far too energetic, needing to get the energy out somehow so you can finally pass out. Your idea leaves your mouth before you can truly think it over.

“Wanna fight?”

“...What?” Mando sounds truly surprised even if his body betrays nothing.

“You heard me,” you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, swaying back and forth like a green sailor on the oceans of Mon Cala. “Let's practice our combat, I rarely get to do that.”

He’s standing before you can blink causing you to jerk back, startled by his speed. The Mandalorian poses right in front of you, too close to not be a challenge with his weight settled on one leg breezily.

“Okay. Hit me.”

What a taunting mother fu- You swing your left hand out as if aiming for the unarmored spot on his ribs, which he blocks with ease… leaving his throat open for your right fist to sharply jab.

The bounty hunter doubles over, coughing and clutching his neck with one hand.

“O-Oh shit! I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean, let me-” You scramble with lost movements, trying and failing to help him straighten upright. It leaves you awkwardly placing your palms on his back while the crown of his helmet presses into your belly. “I, um… Mando?”

His arms wrap around your middle in a flash, pulling you tightly against his chest and throwing both your bodies to the ground. It happens so fast that you can’t even shriek before the air is knocked out of you, hitting the sand hard enough to throw it into the air around you. Gasping, you smack full force at the Mandalorian on top of you, his arms still crushing you against him while your legs lock straight together with his knees on either side. It’s sexy, but you’d really like to breathe. He lets up just barely.

“Nice punch,” he rasps, throat clearly affected by the hit. “Don’t think I’ll hold back after that though.”

“Don’t… want… you to…” You shoot back at him, sharp as you can manage while wheezing. Mandos visor raises ever so slowly and pins you, hidden eyes holding you down more effectively than his body. After a drawn out moment of this, your head spinning as you calculate your escape strategy, he crawls up your body to prop himself above you, locking your wrists in one large hand with the other presses against your chest, shoving your back into the earth. It is just enough pressure to squeeze some air out of your lungs and it is then when you know he isn’t kidding about not holding back.

You’re so fucking happy that he isn’t letting you win.

In other instances, you’d panic at the hopeless feeling of being trapped like this, by someone twice your size and clad in the galaxy’s most powerful steel. But the way he spars with you now, full force and not playing easy... it has implied respect for your skill. He knows you can fight and doesn’t spare you the opportunity to prove it.

Only a second or two has passed since he fully immobilized you and you’re still locked in your flattened position. When he motions to stand, pulling your wrists as if to drag you, you know you must make your move now or it will be too late. The only spot he has open on his body right now is… well, right between his legs. The first thing a smaller fighter learns about combating larger foes is to fight dirty and there is no reason you should hold back if Mando isn’t. Your legs had been pinned tightly together before he moved to drag you but now there is just enough room to swing a knee up and hit him between the legs.

Mando doesn’t wear a full codpiece but luckily for you, the padding on his groin isn’t enough to block your kick. A choked sound rips out of his throat and he falls to one knee, the fingers encircling your wrists loosening slightly while he struggles to fight his body’s natural pain response. You wrench one hand free and use it to grip his cowled neckline, planting your feet against his cuirass and swinging yourself into a hanging position before his grip tightens again. He's steady but you try to dig your feet in to throw him forward, hoping to twist around and land on his back with his face down. He totters for one frozen second, both your bodies on the precipice of falling but unfortunately, he manages to wrench himself backwards and land heavily on his back with you on top.

You’re both gasping and groaning at the shock of hitting the ground so hard, and for one breathless moment all you do is stare heatedly at each other on the forest floor, eyes locking through his visor and somehow you know he is grinning.

His smile mirrors on your face when you feel his hands rip at your clothes, wrenching the thin pants off of you down to your thighs forcefully enough to knock your legs together with a dull thud.

“Did I not just kick you in the dick, Mando?” You laugh, working at his belt at the same time. He palms your ass through your underwear greedily, squeezing so hard that you know finger shaped bruises will blossom there.

“You missed.”

“Must’ve hurt either way…” You mutter, finally managing to reach under his thick layers and wrap your hand around his length, producing a low growl from the man beneath you. “Maybe, it's good I missed.”

The only response you get is his hands pulling both your hands to lay on his chest plate then traveling back down your body to tug aside your underwear and grind you down onto his hips, rubbing your now bare slit against his bulge. You vaguely remember deciding against coming onto him as a form of apology, but for some reason, since he started first that all ceases to matter. It feels like a game you’ve begun to play with each other, playing with the tension between you and the Mandalorian until you find out what breaks your resolve. Maybe it started even before you entered this forest, perhaps back on Nevarro or even on the station.

You can’t tell but you don’t want to question it either.

A moan falls from your throat, your hands moving on their own volition to try and remove his belt entirely, or at least enough to pull his cock out. Mando’s glove flashes up again to circle your wrists, immobilizing them and harshly pinning you down with his vambrace lain across your back.

“You yield?” He asks, voice dripping with a sickly triumph. A chill runs down your back and you feel as if he just dunked you into the pond.

“W-What?”

“You yield… I win?”

“Wha- No!” You cry out indignantly, struggling against his iron grip. “I didn’t realize we were still sparring!”

He laughs, fully bodied and dark with some emotion that swirls deep within your core, and you can’t put your finger on it exactly but you know you’ll have to do something before you’re swept up entirely. “Oh, but we are. What shall the winner gain?” He asks, so quietly that it is almost lost in the warped modulator, barely a question and more so a crackling of static.

Fuck, you’re so wet.

You lick your lips and shakily respond. “I am not one to give up, however-”

“Then don’t. Keep fighting.”

Oh, and you love what he implies. There is no reason to argue further and less time to act, so you immediately struggle hard with the upper half of your body, wrenching your wrists to try and distract him from the way your legs are free to swing into his ribs. But Mando doesn’t fall for your feint a second time. In fact, he seems to have expected it, his leg is more than prepared to hook around the back of your knees and hold you against his body, rolling to the side to throw you underneath him.

You’re pinned on your back with nearly his full weight, unable to do more than weakly punch at what you can reach- unfortunately for you all you can reach is armor. Your cry of anger is cut short when Mando flips onto your front, your chest pressed roughly to the floor of the forest.

The helmet appears over your shoulder, his ragged breathing right by your ear. “T-This okay? You want this?” You can’t find your words to respond with the way you're held so tightly against the earth, so you nod as best you can with one cheek pressed into the ground. Mando snarls something furiously, one hand leaving your back to fumble with his pants and pull his cock out, lining himself up at your soaking entrance and running the head through your folds.

His helmet drops back down to your shoulder, the visor turning and burying itself into the line of your neck and you know that if he weren’t bound by his creed then he would be kissing dark bruises there.

“You know this means I win,” he hisses, pressing his cock to breach your tight opening ever so slightly.

“I-I know.” You whimper weakly.

With that, he fully pushes himself into you and if you weren’t so wet you know his size would be unbearably painful. Instead, the stretch is pure bliss, a slow burning sensation that has a hint of sting to it, his dominance lending to complete submission and all you can do is lay there and take it. There is still the strain you grew to know from when he allowed you to use his body on Nevarro, but something about Mando topping you encourages you to open yourself for him with more ease.

He quickly bottoms out then holds himself till, allowing you to adjust to his size. You’re writhing as much as possible under the way he crushes you to the floor, knees carving grooves in the soft sandy earth.

“Fuck,” Mando grits, teeth clenched together so hard that you swear you can hear the grinding in his jaw. “You’re so fucking tight, fuck.”

The position is hard to maintain on the soft ground, his hands keep sliding ever so slightly on either side of you forcing him to adjust every few seconds. His patience breaks after the third time this happens, a growl crackling through the helmet as he settles his hands on your lower back and hoists his body up, knees planted on either side of your thighs, crushing them together with intense pressure on your clit. Your body is locked tight, pussy clenching harder around his cock when he rises into an upright position.

You let out a genuine scream when he draws back then thrusts sharply into you, pain mixing with pleasure in a manner far more biting than on his ship, when he had let you take control entirely, never even doing so much as to thrust into you. It is almost too much for you but even while you struggle to take his cock, you don’t dare tell him to stop, nor do you want him to stop. You’re so blinded by the stretch that you don’t realize he is speaking until you miss several, distorted words.

“Fuck, why did I wait, why did I wait? I should’ve fuck-fucked you back on the station, approached you in that hangar and made myself fucking clear-” Each gritted word is accentuated by a mean thrust, his dick is so big that he has to shove himself inside of you rather than glide, breaking you open in a way that burns so sweetly. Your legs are held together, knees locked and straight, which doesn’t help how tight you are but you can’t budge at all to open yourself to Mando, his hands pressing down at your lower back so heavily that you’re short of breath.

A garbled moan is forced out of you when Mando grinds his length into your pussy as deep as he can possibly reach, hips smashing against your ass while he pulses inside of you and for a second you think he's cumming. But no- he draws himself from your depths and starts to rut his cock between your cheeks, head resting on your upper back and hands by your head.

A powerful hand wraps under your side and settles at your sternum, pulling you back against his cuirass and lifting so that you end up seated together, fitting against him without even an inch of space between your bodies. His hand lifts your hips, other appendage snaking around to position his cock back at your entrance before allowing gravity to do the work, your legs spreading to rest on either side of his thighs as you sink down on him to the hilt.

Once settled, Mando starts to work you on his cock, lifting you like you weigh no more than a pebble then letting go. The head of his cock slams full force into your pussy with the weight of your entire body, each brutal pounding sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. Lungs free and no longer crushed to the floor, you’re unable to stay quiet, broken sobs and moans puffing from gritted teeth as he takes what he denied himself on his ship, the memory a thousand miles away as your processing center is fucked stupid.

You can’t say how long this goes on for, maybe minutes, maybe hours, but the next thing you know is that your cheek is back on the sand, burning from the way it chaffs against the floor with each rhythmic thrust that claps against your thighs. You’re don’t even know if you’ve cum yet but it doesn’t matter, not with the way he is fucking the life out of you here in the wilderness. Mando is still talking, still uttering filth and praise through the helmet and all you can think about is how badly you want to hear his real voice speaking that way to you, you’re so close to asking him to take it off but you can’t find the words, you can’t think, you can’t-

Abruptly, he grinds to a halt at the deepest point in your body then pulls himself free, pushing your shirt up lighting fast before cumming across your back with a choked exclamation. You’re both still for a second before your knees collapse, landing flat on your belly and gasping desperately. There is a shuffling noise behind you, accompanied with heavy breaths from the bounty hunter. It sounds like he’s rummaging through something then, yeah- your train of thought is confirmed when a wet cloth wipes his pleasure from your skin, gently trailing along your spine and ass.

You reach behind you and hold his wrist, feeling the fluttering pulse there. “I’ll win next time…” You whisper, drawing his hand along the soreness on your bottom, the area he bruised, you suspect. He laughs- or pants you can’t really tell, but either way his touch becomes more gentle on your body, smoothing out the tense muscles and cleaning you up. Today's travels with the man have suddenly caught up to you and you might pass out right here, half clothed and dirty.

“Come on, get up. Don’t sleep here.” Mando firmly states, helping you up and guiding you across the clearing after you pull your leggings up from where they gathered at your ankle. You’re trembling like a leaf, fragile in your spent state but glowing all the same. Mando sets you down on a log and brings you a canteen of water which you gulp down thankfully. He chuckles. “Wait up or I’ll have to drink from the spring.”

That gives you pause, reminding you of something he said while you lay beneath him. You’re slightly nervous to ask but you do it anyway, warm and satisfied on your perch while he cares for you. “You.. When you were, um- fucking me. Well, you said something about how you shouldn’t have waited. Does that mean what I think it means?”

He nods, “I noticed you for other reasons too, burc’ya.”

“Maybe you should’ve fucked me back then.” Taking another gulp then handing the canteen back, you stretch then slide down to sit on the ground with him, back against the log. “You said that word before, ber-borshaw?”

“Burc’ya.”He corrects,“It means friend in Mando’a.”

“Oh.”You cheeks heat, feeling silly and rude for not recognizing the use of his people’s tongue, also noting that he used it to refer to you twice now, endearingly. It is an honor, one that makes you nervous. You feel like you should apologize, somehow. “Y-You speak Mando’a? I’ve never heard you use it before.”

Mando settles against the log, leaning his broad shoulders to rest against the wood near your side. A few moments pass before he responds, “I chose to not use it around the others. Didn’t trust them.”

“Oh, so you trust me?” You giggle, tapping the side of his helmet with your elbow. Questions burn within you and you may as well ask now, in the quiet afterglow of sex where everything is warm and slow. “Why didn’t you trust them if you started the company with Ran? How am I any different?”

“You aren’t ruthless,” he surprises you by answering immediately, and you can’t decide whether you're insulted or not before he continues. “Ruthless and cruel is all that group ended up being, and it didn’t start out that way. We weren’t just mercenaries, we had a code. In the early days, attacking a slave ship would’ve been out of the question. Ran wasn’t always so full of greed.”

Silence falls after he speaks, letting you mull over his explanation for a while while the waterfall rumbles in the background. Really, his perspective confuses you when you think back on your actions as a mercenary. Desperate to climb the ranks, to make a name for yourself, to earn credits and reputation. You suppose you conducted yourself with empathy, avoiding selection for hits that targeted innocent people if you could help it. You never had much choice in the area but it seems your actions spoke louder than realized. So much energy spent to avoid seeming weak and you never considered that your aversion doubled as strength.

“Friend…” You whisper, not of your own accord. The word floats on your tongue, a specter within your vocabulary. In your adulthood you’ve had allies, you’ve had teammates, you’ve had acquaintances, but to have a friend… it terrifies you as much as it warms your heart. You considered yourself partnered professionally with the Mandalorian and didn’t dare to consider yourself lovers, no matter how much you privately hoped. But a friend is a luxury you didn’t hold close, mainly out of fear. You lost too many as a child. For a faceless man he manages to strike areas that are quite intimate.

You decide that you’ll enjoy being his friend, a bit surprised that you aren’t too hurt by what is essentially a romantic rejection of the crush you held for so long. Probably because this is real , solid and built within reality instead of the silly fantasies you built prior.

This is better than lovers, you tell yourself, the slight ache in your heart melting into the background of your desires, behind lock and key for another world.

“I’ll take ‘friend’, Mando.” You grin, extending a hand to him cheekily. He stares for a second before taking it and shaking, helmet tilting in a respectful nod.

His next words send an unexpected pang throughout your chest, taking all the careful walls you worked hard to set up and throwing them into a blazing inferno.

“Let’s see where it goes.”

Fuck.

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

Leather boots prance lightly through thick branches high in the trees, footfalls landing silently with all the grace of an athlete. Through the delicate glasses perched on the pursuers nose, a red glow blooms on the shadowy floor of the swamp, two sets of footprints lighting up to reveal a steady path made by the travelers. A musical giggle bubbles out of the darkly dressed woman as she pulls a small holo-watch from her bag and straps it onto her wrist, pale light mixing with her lavender skin, transforming it into a sickly grey.

Xi’an claps a hand over her mouth to prevent her cackle from ringing through the trees as her plan takes form.

***

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