PSL || poe/odin

[shadowglitter]

WAY TO REJECT ME YOU FLIGHTY AIRBORN PIECE OF SHIT! WAY TO FUCK EVERYTHING UP FOR ME AND MY HEART, FOREVER AND EVER, ALWAYS UNTIL FOREVER



HEY YO YOU TOLD ME TO WRITE A LIST SO GUESS WHAT!!!!!! IT'S TIME FOR US TO GET FUNKY AS FUUUUUUCKKKKKKKK

god i am not going to bother formatting this

TO DO LIST:
1. SEXTING FROM BOOT CAMP ringverse AU
2. prince/concubine AU - owain's the prince, poe's a concubine to the king, paranoia and political assassination ensues, etc etc etc etc etc
3. vampire hooker AU?? owain gonna get his gothic goth goth dick wet in that spooky vampire butt
4. HAHA BOOM WE'RE DOING IT I LINKED THE POST DOWN THERE
5. enemies of war AU - owain's a good guy on the bad guy side who almost loses his life trying to save poe even though he's an enemy soldier, poes like What, Shit, Damn, gay shit ensues
6. HNENENGH
7. ANGELS AND DEMONSSSSSSsss
8. 20s AU///?? YES. YES ALRIGHT
9. WW1 AU WHATS Up
10. ?? there was something that was supposed to go here from the kink meme
11. samurai champloo AU what up. chon'sin. Shit
12. bBODYSWAPPpappapp


long-term AU posts:

⚔⛉☆ PLEDGED

Comments

[shadowglitter]

where it all began

link to the confession in ur reply ok

a lot of it is the same but there are differences throughout so don't skim!!

[flightforfreedom]

[ooc: directly after this confession DIVERGENT AU TIME.]

The first couple of sentences sounded relatively normal. It isn't the first time that Odin has tried to say something and stumbled on several different starts before he finally came to the point. 'Have you ever' could refer to a lot of things, as did 'do you' and 'what would' but as soon as the words 'if things were different somehow' come out, he feels his stomach drop and his heart stop.

He knew this conversation was coming eventually. He was hoping that it wouldn't be here, on this station, in front of the entire damn world. His gut twisted horribly between guilt and something else that he had a hard time recognizing, at first.

Longing. A deep, aching longing like he was looking at something that he knew was hypothetically possible but also something that he couldn't have.

"Odin--" he starts, but he stops, because he can almost hear the echo of it in his ears, almost picture it running out over all the televisions in America, and he hates it. And he hates it not least because he can't even use Odin's real name. He curses, quietly, and then says - to his suit, rather than to Odin - "Comms systems off, please. Yeah I know it's supposed to be a constant feed b---" Before he finished the sentence, however, the suit agreed to his request and suddenly the feed went silent.

All that came across was a quiet line of static.

He moved, though, and gestured for Odin to lean in at the same time he did, until their helmets touched. "Comms off for you, too," he said to Odin's suit, though his voice sounded further away than it had on the comms - almost like it was coming through water. The sound transported by touch rather than radio waves.

"Owain, Listen. I--" But he didn't even get more than three words in before the comms system in his suit slowly hummed back to life. He swore again as he heard it - and then Odin's - systems resumed broadcast. Even though he could talk to the suits, and even though the suits were happy to work with him, the network they were connected to overrode the command.

That wasn't going to work.

But he didn't pull back. Instead, his glove tighted around the back of Odin's helmet, holding him in place.

"I care about you a lot. Okay? I do. And I - fuck, Odin, I want you to be happy, but I- this isn't something -" He cut off again, feeling almost queasy and heartbroken and split between two minds.

He knew better.

"I could disappear tomorrow, Odin." His voice was so low it was almost a whisper.

WEHEHEGGG

[shadowglitter]

There's anxiety building in him with each passing second Poe spends communicating with the comm system, like a shadow in the water always swimming closer. His veins feel like strings, taut enough to make his body shake like it's cold, and he clamps his fists down to keep himself steady. He doesn't care about the rest of the world, about what they might be saying about him - he just cares about Poe, about what he's thinking, and all this work the pilot is putting into keeping things private for the both of them just feels like he's trying to make whatever terrible blow he's about to land hit a little softer.

He feels a surge of hope when they make contact, helmet to helmet. It burns even brighter, enough to make him stare at Poe wide-eyed and disbelieving, when he says his real name.

It sinks to the pit of his stomach, curling up, almost withering away under guilt and shame and fear with the rest of him, but--

--then Poe's keeping him close, staring at him with a shuddering, almost broken determination, and Odin is completely taken over by this voice in his head telling him to take a chance, to push harder, further, to walk closer to the edge of that cliff that might kill him if he falls.

"I don't--" He can't get the words out, too many of them stumbling over themselves to escape him at once. "I don't-- care. I could, too. We all could. That's not-- different to home. People-- die. People go."

He moves closer, closing his eyes, trying to get the tears to just stop hurting him as much as they are.

"You won't remember me. If you go. I won't, either. People don't remember, when they're ported out. I didn't know that, until really recently. You forget America." It hurts to say, but he has to say it. "If you disappeared-- I'd be okay. Because I know you wouldn't be trying to get back to me. You would be at home, fighting for the things you love, free without the weight of me at your back. That's-- sad, but it's-- okay? That's why I'm just--"

He takes a deep breath, wraps one arm around Poe's neck and keeps him there.

"If you turn me down, that's-- disappearing. I can't keep doing this. It's starting to hurt, not being able to be with you. And I don't-- I don't want you to go. I think, while we're here, before either of us die, or are gone, things could be okay, maybe. If you'll let them be."

Terrible guilty lonely drunk hookup is go

[flightforfreedom]

[i crossed the line, too.]

[He couldn't sit here anymore, like this. His chest ached, and he was making it worse, every passing second realizing how fucked up he really was. But he couldn't sit still - and he had no will power to resist. He wanted to feel loved, too.

He crawled out it the pod and slowly pushed off to go look for him, though he didn't hang up the conversation even then.]

you deserve so much better

So much better, Odin.

Where are you

hooraaaay...

[shadowglitter]

[ He's been hanging on every single fucking word Poe's been sending him, his pulse racing and every part of him aching. "You deserve so much better" hits him like a train, "So much better, Odin" even more. He feels like crying, because he doesn't need this, he doesn't need to be turned down again and that's what this is. The only reason he doesn't is because Poe wants to see him, and-- he can't cry in front of him, he cries too much. He's gotta suck it up, like Archie said. ]

confession pod. are you okay?

the door's unlocked.

rings rings rings

[shadowglitter]

[ Odin hates that he does this, but he's not going to stop.

Every time he's with Poe, he feels-- alive. Not weighed down by the ghosts in his past or the ghost he's going to become, the second that porter finally figures out he's not worthy of being a hero. Every night he's with Poe he falls deeper, further, faster in love, and every morning when he leaves his heart breaks all over again. He told himself he could weather through the lows, so long as he had the highs, and it's - been working, for the most part.

Poe doesn't love him, not the way Odin does, but he's with him, nevertheless. Even if every morning, when Poe leaves, Odin collapses in on himself like a dying star and tries to chase thoughts of Poe with somebody else out of his head, it's all worth it for those nights when Odin's making love to him and Poe almost feels like he's making love back.

They don't talk about it. They don't talk about a lot of things.

When Poe comes over today, Odin's as he always is. Bright, warm, full of love and joy in a way he only ever is with Poe, these days. The rest of his life, when he's away from him, is dedicated to anxiously waiting for these moments they can spend together, before Poe's gone away, probably back into somebody else's life, whoever they may be. There's so much radiance and exhilaration and bliss in his eyes, when he pushes open the window to let Poe inside, that he doesn't look like the boy who keeps breaking his own heart by going on with this. ]

Hey! Oh-- man, you came at such a good time. [ He's laughing, bouncing on his feet as he heads to the minifridge he keeps by his bed - so he doesn't have to spend a second away from Poe when he comes to his window, not even to get them both a beer. ]

They were doing a recap of the show? Just now. [ He nods towards his TV, which is showing Riptide and Jonathan joking around about something stupid. ] They did this whole highlight reel of me and Peter - god, we punched each other so much. I have no idea how you didn't go insane while we were up there.

[flightforfreedom]

Who says I didn't?

[The tone is teasing and fond, but he doesn't really look at the television. He tried not to think about it, for the most part, though sometimes it was impossible to avoid.

Like the look that Odin tried so hard to pretend didn't come to his face every time Poe left in the morning.

His visits were getting more and more frequent, and it was getting harder and harder to stay away. He didn't talk about it, and he didn't think about it, and if he could avoid it he wouldn't even feel it: the way his heart was slowly being peeled back, every day, the armour stripped and the defenses shedding. When he wasn't with Odin he couldn't stop thinking about him.

It had been months, since he had even though about sleeping with anyone else. He had tried, once, and it had felt hollow and empty and pointless.

But with Odin- felt like the opposite of pointless. It was almost as if he knew there was an answer there that he needed - something deep inside him that needed so badly to be addressed. But he couldn't.

So instead, masochistically, he came here almost every night. Pretended that he could ignore how his feelings were starting up on hyperdrive, quickly speeding out of his control.

He was slowly giving up on fighting it.

He climbed unto the bed while Odin grabbed drinks.]

Maybe it just didn't seem all that different from my normal brand of space crazy

Secret Affair AU

[flightforfreedom]

[ooc: alternate universe spinning off from this thread.]

[His heart slammed against his ribs uncomfortably.

We could just not tell anyone....


it don't think that's

i don't think that's a good idea

I want to see you but
Force, I want to see you

but.....

[shadowglitter]

Poe.

[ his name just sits there for a long, long time. the words don't have to be spoken to be heard. do this with me, even though it's wrong. ]

I think,

I think you know, how deeply I feel the way I do. For you.
You are - always - the only thing on my mind.
There is not a lot I wouldn't do for you. At this point.
There is not a lot I wouldn't-- give up. Or do. To be with you. In whatever way you'll have me.
Even if it's just as friends.
I know that's, a lot. To deal with. And I shouldn't say things like that. If we're friends.
But,

But like,

I'm saying it because I want you to know that I will be okay with this.
I am okay with keeping things just between us, and meeting in secret, and not sharing the thing we have, whatever it is, with, the people who wouldn't get it.
If you are.

I really,

I really want to see you.
All the time.

Moulin Fucking Rouge AU

[flightforfreedom]

This is a stupid idea.

Poe Dameron was used to a lot of stupid ideas - the scar that was etched permanently into his back now was proof of that - but this one was something else entirely. The first stupid part of this idea was wanting to do any of it at all: wanting to build a new flying machine, wanting to get back in the sky.

It was stupid enough to want to do that, let alone to end up concocting a massive scheme with a dwarf and his hedonistic friends to find the funding to build a new aeroplane from the Moulin Rouge. (It was even more stupid if he knew just how much the place was hurting for money.)

But a series of bad decisions and too much absinthe had led him here - standing in the middle of one of the most lavish suites of the entire club, fiddling with the bow tie at his throat. He could do this.

All he had to do was convince Odin Dark to talk to Ziedler on his behalf, and then everything would fall into place from there. Right?

He let out a breath, looking at the door, and then walked over to one of the lavish drapes, pulling at the deep blue fabric with his fingertips. Huh. Silk. And a really nice silk, too- there was enough silk in this room that he'd be able to build half an aeroplane out of this stuff al--

Without warning, the door opened, and he immediately let go of the fabric and cleared his throat.

[shadowglitter]

They call the male courtesans around here chevaliers, a word which always sticks in Odin's throat when he tries to say it. It's-- shameful, to refer to himself with a word typically reserved for knights, men with honor and strength and purpose. He, a prince with a fake name, a man who stained so much of his blood and his nobility by turning to a life like this one after his country fell to ruin, has none of those things.

But he tries to live up to the concept, as best as he can. Knights are refined, charismatic. They throw everything they have into doing the things they love, which - shamed as he should be to admit it - is kind of how he feels about this job. The attention he gets, the praise, the way people want him and the way he's encouraged to want them back - fuck, he loves it all and he took to this like a duck in water. Another thing knights do is politely hold their tongue, when a stranger is in their bedchambers poking around at all their shit. They also, well - serve the rich and the powerful, and as Odin enters his room and raises an eyebrow at the man threading through his silks, he realizes that this must be the duke who has been booking and re-booking with him for weeks.

"Ah - welcome."

He doesn't waste time in showing his intentions. He was hired for a job, the poor guy looks nervous, and he can fix that. Poe's the king inside these four walls, and Odin is his servant, dressed in nothing but blue, form fitting silks that drape way too low and show far too much. He closes the distance between the two of them and gives him a quick once-over, tilting his head like Poe's a particularly interesting piece of art. He notices Poe's bowtie, crooked and out of place after he was fidgeting with it as he waited. Odin reaches forward and undoes Poe's it as slowly as he can, drawing out every tug and pull of those long, slender fingers, and then he ties it again, laughing softly as he straightens it and pats down Poe's shoulders.

"Much better." He tilts his head again. "You seem nervous."

odin rescue mission lets go

[shadowglitter]

He's not dead yet.

The war against Hoshido had ended with far fewer civilian casualties than Owain had always feared it would, back in America. They stormed the capital and Ganon took the throne, and death came to many, but not to him. He wasn't the one to prevent the apocalypse, but it didn't come, and he was granted time to rest. When he was allowed the grace to leave his life as Odin behind him - to go anywhere in space, as he'd been promised he would be able to at the end of his mission in Nohr - he considered, briefly, returning to America.

But he knew Poe wouldn't be there. Poe would be at home, his home, fighting the war, falling in love, dying for those who needed him. Owain was too tired, from everything he'd been through, to wait a lifetime for someone he was only ever allowed to love from a distance. Even if he did have the strength to do that, like he'd had when he was an imPort, the decision to see his parents' graves had been made years ago. Even after falling in love and finding reasons to actually survive, he couldn't turn his back on that. It wouldn't be right. Fuck, they were family.

The trip was one-way, and of he and his two other friends who had received this same offer, Owain was the only one willing to make it. He said his goodbyes to the soldiers he fought with, and he was the only one not to cry as he bid farewell to everything he'd ever known. He's taken, in light, to the barren timeline he once called home. When he arrived at the desolate, broken corpse of the country he grew up in, he's - surprised, honestly, by how beautiful it is. Flowers and vines had overgrown the graves, ivy had overtaken the ruins of cities destroyed by war - it was beautiful, but it was empty. Nothing lived here, other than nature. No people. No animals. Just him. The sole existence in an empty world.

The trip to the capital took days, and he was wasting away with hunger by the time he found his parents's graves. Again, he didn't cry - but he didn't expect to see their weapons there. Standing in the center of his dad's grave is his sword, the sword he was holding as he died on Owain's back, and-- and his mom's grave, next to it, has her broken staff leaning against her headstone. Heavily, Owain sits there, on his knees, the wind in his hair. He runs his hand over his mother's name and feels a sickness he's never felt befoe.

He's not here because he wants to die, even though he knows he won't be able to survive here for long. He knows he hasn't made the wrong decision, giving the rest of his life - short though it may be - to turning to dust in the world he failed to save. He hasn't, but--

But fuck, he wishes so badly they could have met Poe. They would have loved him as much as he did.

[flightforfreedom]

The Porter made time a very strange thing.

The War went on for several years. How Poe actually lived through it, he had no idea, but by the time it was over he was an Admiral, and he had lost pretty much everyone he'd ever cared about. It was war - that was what happened - but when Peace was finally found, he was a cog that no longer fit. Peacetime wasn't for him - it never had been.

Earth had been the only place where he'd been able to make peace make sense.

The Republic didn't need him, anymore. He was young, to retire, but everyone understood. The ring at his neck had never left him. There was no life to settle into. No family. His dad had died years ago, and that had been the last link.

All his squadmates had died during the war. Rose. Finn.

Rey had survived, but it was almost worse, seeing her. Reminding him of a past full of Hope.

He wanted to go home.



But home wasn't the same.

He tried to settle back into Earth, but the faces weren't the same and neither was he. The grey sprinkled through his hair was obvious, as was the mechanical arm, the slight haze to his right eye. Those wounds were visible.

But most weren't.

He looked for Owain the day he arrived. Didn't know how he felt, that he hadn't come back. The war, maybe, still raging. He tried to chalk it up to another loss - another death - and let it be - but he couldn't.

Instead he found himself booking passage to Nohr via the porter.

The reception wasn't warm, but they gave him the information he needed. Odin had survived. And then he had disappeared.

It took a lot more, to find out where he'd gone.



But when he the porter finally sent him to the dead world, it was only a week after Owain had arrived there.

Time just didn't line up.

He would have preferred to go the moment that Owain went, stop him, bring him back - but the Porter wasn't a completely accurate device.

It took him two days, until he saw any other sign of life on the mostly-barren planet. Signs of a fire, off on the horizon. It had to be Owain. There was no other explanation. He walked the entire day, his feet sore and blistered, but he didn't stop. And when he finally reached the fire - burning low - there was no one there. He couldn't have been far - the embers were still burning - but the disappointment was heavy. He slumped down on the closest object to him - only to immediately stand up when he realised what it was.

Graves.

He was surrounded by the dead.

IN CANON WEREWOLF FRIENDFICTION??

[shadowglitter]

The turn never came easy.

It had been three days, since Odin had sunk his fangs into Poe's side, tore apart skin that drained too pale and shredded too much flesh in his hunger. Three days, since Odin carried an unconscious, wounded Poe to his safehouse - a cabin in the woods, dilapidated and draughty - and hid away with him in the basement, tending to the bite and keeping him stable as the infection spread like fire through his veins and made him sweat and shake and dance so close to death. Three days, since Poe had looked so fucking beautiful, with scarlet blood running in rivers down his abs, his thighs, after telling Odin he would give up his humanity to become a wolf. Three days.

It had been three years, since Odin had last had a pack of his own.

Everyone Odin once called family had left. Killed by hunters, died to save him, every single one, gone. Odin had fled into isolation, their bones left at his heels as he bounded on all fours away from his past, turning to live in the woods, becoming a ghost, surviving off the earth, shedding the shackles of his humanity. He could survive, on his own, if he had to, but it's dangerous for a wolf to be without a pack. Werewolves are social animals, with dozens of predators - hunters who kill them for sport, men who fear them, women who despise them, humans, humans, always humans - and for him to have survived so long without backup, sharp fanged with eyes of blue that glow with the light of the moon, so easily recognizable as the monster he is, was nothing short of a miracle.

He'd met Poe in the woods. He'd been collecting firewood to take back to his cabin, and Poe had just been-- there. Beautifully human, beautifully alive, just wandering around in nature like he was apart of it. Odin had panicked, but there had been no fear in Poe, really - only interest. It didn't take long for Odin to fall; to be drawn to his freedom, his sense of right, his justice, the way he carried himself, his smile, his laugh, the songs he sung. They were both lonely, in need of affection in different ways, and they bonded. When Odin spoke of loyalty, of conviction, of structure and order and hierarchy, of purpose, of all the things needed to be a werewolf, of all the things needed to survive with a family that will always have your back -

It didn't take much, for Odin to find a packmate.

But the bite had been given and the recovery, three days later, was almost done. It was evening, in the basement, cold and dark and achingly quiet, but Poe's wounds had all but healed, physically speaking, the bite scarred over and the bleeding long since stopped. He'll be a werewolf, when he wakes up - physically the same, mostly, with sharper teeth and eyes like headlights - but his senses will be on fire in a way they've never been before. Everything will be infinitely more sensitive, until he's adjusted to the strength of his new body - sounds a dozen miles away will rattle around in his ears, smells of the forest, of the way Odin smells like coffee and vanilla and freshly cut grass and the sparks of a blacksmith, all of it will overwhelm him. The chain around his wrist, secured to keep him from thrashing as he slept, will itch like a fucking madman. The soft yet-- undeniably coarse towel, damp with cool water, that Odin's running over Poe's torso, cleaning it of sweat and easing his fever, will feel like a million tiny brushes scrubbing him raw.

There's food nearby. Clothes, if Poe wants to change out of the sweatpants Odin put him in after bringing him back from the forest. Everything he might need, now that he'll be waking up groggy and listless and blinded by energy. When Poe's eyes start to flicker with movement, Odin drops the towel and puts a hand on his chest, feeling for the strong beat of Poe's pulse and feeling satisfied when he finds it. He's terrified of how Poe will react, or what he'll feel, now that the change is done - it's always different for each new wolf, from violent anger to casual acceptance to a fear of the unknown - and Odin swallows down, as what used to be his human begins to stir.

"Poe? Don't sit up too fast. You're-- safe. How are you feeling?"

[flightforfreedom]

The last three days had been a feverish haze of pain and intensity, nothing in the world seeming right. Or perhaps, like nothing in the world had been right until then. Every colour he'd ever seen, every taste that had graced his tongue, every scent that he'd breathed in deep - all of it seemed grey and dull and dreary, like looking back and seeing nothing but faint charcoal etchings of everything in his life.

Every time he rolled into consciousness, his world was bathed in bright, searing fire. He could feel everything, as if every piece of him was rewired to an intensity far beyond anything he could possibly have known. Every grain of dirt between his skin and the sheets below felt like a boulder jabbing into his ribs. His heart was hammering harder - his blood pounding faster - than seemed even possible to him before. But any brief few seconds of conciousness disappeared quickly as he succumbed to the darkness that drew him back into sleep.

This time, though, when his eyes flickered open they did not immediately close. Everything was bright - each colour a vibrant banner against the fragility of his mind.

The weight on his chest felt like the clamp of a massive vice, pressing down against him as his blood raged and roared in protest.

He saw Odin.

Not Odin as he'd seen him before, but Odin as he was - with every single blemish and perfect curve outlined in bright light. And he could smell him. Force, he could smell him. Not only the coffee and the grass and the smelted metal but also the heat and the sweat and the blood pulsing beneath skin. Poe's lips parted, his mouth incredible dry, face twisted in concentration and confusion. His clothes felt like a cage, branding him continuously, and with a sudden sharp motion he tried raising his hand - the chain snapping taut and causing him to hiss out loud, his muscles convulsing, flexing and releasing under his skin in a wave.

He was breathing hard, eyes blinking as they tried to learn to cope with the True Technicolour of the world, his hand twisting in an attempt to slip free, but all it did was light fire over his skin with everyone movement.

His eyes shut tight, back arching and he groaned, trying to push the entire world out.

But he couldn't.

"... I feel like shit," he finally replied, his voice clenched tight. It was both completely true, and not nearly descriptive enough to even begin to process what he felt.

"How -- Everything is so---

--Everything."

successful confession bdsm?? thread?? ?? ???? chains

[shadowglitter]

Owain wouldn't be able to say who came up with this idea first, if he were asked. He and Poe had both been dancing around this for a while now, half-joking and half-serious, a little thrill that only ever had potential to go somewhere. But here, now, in the middle of the night, with Poe strapped to their bed, arms up above his head, wrists strapped to the headboard, ankles chained to the foot of it, naked and cocky and waiting and expectant while Odin stood over him--

Fuck.

He'd had so many words he'd wanted to say, when they hit this point. So many poetic things on the tip of his tongue about restraint and how ironic it is that Poe is bound while Owain can barely contain himself. Something about the beauty, of him, held captive, in a way that Owain always feels for him in return - tied to his heart and his soul and his life, still Poe's prisoner, even now. None of it comes, though. He's just achingly hard as he leans over Poe, kissing along the tendon of his neck, down to his collarbone. He breathes out, low and soft, and it's - funny, honestly, how fragile he feels Poe is like this, despite how rough and limitless and unrestrained their fucking has been before today.

He gently scrapes his teeth against Poe's chest, leaving soothing kisses in its wake. He looks up to meet Poe's eyes, and his cock twitches immediately at the sight of them.

"If I don't make you scream by the time I'm done with you tonight--" His hand finds Poe's cock, and he slowly starts to stroke. "--you're gonna have to punch me in the face."

[flightforfreedom]

Poe has had many, many nightmares about a similar situation. But there were major differences.

His arms are above his head, for one, rather than strapped into restraints at his side.

He's not being tortured for hours by faceless, helmeted stormtroopers or snide imperial officers, and there isn't a masked shadow of a man trying to rip memories out of his head. He still can't help the rush of adrenaline, though, that comes with even the barest similarities.

It's one of the reasons he wanted to try this.

Maybe he could erase at least the restraints from his nightmares. Turn them into something good. He hadn't completely elaborated on that - mostly because it wasn't something he fully understood himself. So instead he'd just egged Owain on, at every opportunity. Which is how he had ended up here, strapped naked to their bed, feet in chains and his chest heaving with both adrenaline and excitement, a sheen of sweat on his throat.

The scars he'd gained from the last time he'd been restrained were also visible - though they always had been, since Owain had known him. They were as much a part of him as the rest of his skin. As much a part of him as the nightmares.

At the moment, though, the only thing Poe Dameron could actually think about was how fucking rock hard he was, and how badly he needed Owain to tou--

"Nnnnnghhh," He groaned, deep at the back of his throat, a self-satisfied smug grin on his lips. "... I throw a pretty good punch, so I hope you can live up to that promise--"

Leave Your Lover AU - Mom-verse, 1 year later

[flightforfreedom]

[We should leave our lovers
We should run after each other
We can share our secrets
'Till they swallow one another]



It had been a long time, since either he or Owain had to actually say that they would be there. Every week it was the same. The same place, the same time. Often twice or even three times a week. Since they never arranged it, Poe could lie to himself about his intentions with it. Just two friends, happening to run into each other at the park, right next to the pond. Sure, it just happened to be one of the most beautiful places in the entire fucking city. And sure, he kept finding himself wandering here around the same time of day, in the off chance that Owain might, too.

The pond was surrounded by vegetation, up against a cliff wall. A stream- that couldn't quite be called a water fall - ran down the rocks to continuously replenish it. At this time of year, the apple trees were in full blossom, and the grass was littered with white pedals.

And none of that was why Poe was here.

The first time had been an accident. But after months of coming here just in case Owain might also show up, even the lies he made to himself were starting to run thin.

He sat on the bench, just like he always did, slumped too far back and neck arched to watch the sky as it as the reds and oranges of the sunset started to tint the clouds. In two hours, he'd be back at home, with Finn, pretending like nothing had happened.

But there was only so much longer he could keep lying to himself about this.

It didn't matter if all they did was talk. If, at the most, he threaded his fingers through Owain's and left them there. It was almost worse, than if they were meeting up to make out or have sex.

This had nothing to do with his body. It was all in his heart.

And his heart was a traitor.

[shadowglitter]

Owain would fucking live in this park, if Poe asked him to.

The past year had been hard. Harder than he thought it would be, even as he'd hit the New Year in tears, dreading the ache in his chest and the knives in his gut that would only get worse in the long, long span of empty time ahead of him. He'd expected hell, and hell was what he'd found, but the nights he spent staring up at the ceiling filled with jealousy, the days that he'd spent empty and broken and dull, it all just - every passing hour felt like someone was slowly, slowly killing him, and all the crying and all the hurt just dug him deeper. He knew it would be bad. He'd feared the worst. It had been even harder than he'd thought.

He'd met his boyfriend back in May, when he'd been ported in from a world just like his own. On paper, he was everything Owain needed - bright, honest, a protector in need of protecting. All of Owain's friends loved him, which was a plus. The first few dates they went on came quick and easy, and they were fun, something Owain had actually forgotten how to experience, and when he cornered Owain one evening in summer with fireworks and cicadas behind him to say I think I'm in love with you and I want us to be something, Owain thought of space, he thought of Poe, he thought of Finn, and he said yes.

Owain gave the guy all the good in him that once belonged to Poe, and through it all - the kisses, the tears, the handholding, the sex - he felt that it all still did.

Poe only has to wait a few minutes before Owain's on the bench next to him, slumping down with a jolt, elbow brushing elbow. There's a nervous smile on his lips and a he doesn't want this the way that you do, stop hoping things will change at the forefront of his mind, but he mostly just feels good, as he always does, in moments like these. Again - he would just live here, if Poe asked him to, never leaving this bench so the two of them could pretend their lives began and end with the petals on the ground and the water on the rocks. But he knows that's not what Poe wants.

"Hey," he says, and his voice is so much quieter than it used to be, last year. "You been here long?"

It's not what he's asking - how long have you been waiting for me? - but he's getting good at making his questions sound innocent, rather than laced with electricity and hope as they are.

dubcon dubcon dubcon

[shadowglitter]

Four months.

Four months was Owain's limit, before the thought of Poe with somebody else became too much for him to bear. Until then, he'd managed to strike a pretty decent balance between smothering his feelings in being Odin Dark and opening himself up to the hey, maybe he and I could be friends? lie he didn't really believe in, but - with more time being spent at the base, seeing Poe and Finn together, with no distractions like murder or reality TV or bootcamp to keep the three of them away from each other - he sank too deep, and he couldn't pull himself out.

Five months until Poe knew about it.

It's five months after the Christmas Party when Poe gets a text from a bartender who knows the both of them. The text is an angry, colourful tirade followed by a demand to come pick up your stupid pet fuck-up before she turns him in to the cops, and if Poe decides to come rather than hoist the job off onto someone else, he'll find Owain sitting on the curb of a street outside a club in Maurtia Falls, black eyed and bloody-nosed after a very stupid fight with a very big man that he fought for no reason other than to get into a very stupid fight with a very big man. He hates sitting here, waiting for Poe like a kid in the principal's office, and he'd leave of his own accord, if he could, but - the bouncer's watching him to make sure someone takes him home, and he's just drunk enough to know that running around in the most crime-riddled city of America might not be the best thing for him to do.

So he sits, and he waits, and his head pounds, and his mouth feels fuzzy and dry and sick, and he struggles to think of an excuse to use on Poe when he inevitably shows up.

[flightforfreedom]

He'd barely finished reading the text message before he was already running out the door - grabbing his jacket on the way. Even a completely different city away, he's there in twenty minutes - eight minutes of breakneck flying from one porter, five minutes through it, and seven minutes to the bar. He only slows down when he actually spots Odin, the carpet coming up near vertical as he comes to a halt and hops off it.

"Hey-- Hey, Owain, you okay? What happened?" He looks up at the bouncer, who grunts and rolls his eyes before marching back into the bar, and Poe crouches down next to Owain. "You alright?"

soulmate soulmate vine tattoo vine tattoo aRE YOU GETTING SICK OF POEDIN YET

[shadowglitter]

He'd known, a scarce two months into their friendship, that Poe was, and always would be, the best part of him.

Poe is more than light. He's more than the stars in the sky or the warmth of the sun. He's more than the energy and the brilliance and the radiance Owain sees in him every time they're in bed after fucking for the third time that night and he's just quiet and gazing. Poe is more than the ocean waves, more than the summer breeze, more than the thousands of words and feelings Owain relates to him every time he passes him in the street or feels the heat of his skin against his own. He's more than life itself, even though he makes up so much of Owain's.

He's just - Poe. He's so much more than anything, to Owain.

He and Owain are two sides of the same coin - soldiers with a war to fight and purposes so much bigger than themselves, motherless sons with memories and mementos of the women who loved them, two men who keep their heads in the clouds because it's free and it's structure and it's who they are and nobody else gets it. Owain sees in Poe all the things he wants to be - someone strong, someone who fights and protects and puts everything about himself on the line for those he loves. Poe, to Owain, is perfect. He grew up wanting to be like Poe, to meet someone like Poe, to fall in love with someone like Poe, a brave and powerful hero who deserves all the best things in the whole wide fucking world, and the fact that they're so close, that they get along as friends and kiss each other in the dark and just be is still so much that Owain can barely ever handle it.

Months have passed, since Owain first realized he was in love. They've been friends through all of it, dating without using the word. A day doesn't go by without a message from one of them to the other - and a message doesn't go by without becoming a whole god damn conversation - and a conversation doesn't go by without leaving Owain laughing until there are tears in his eyes, or worried about Poe's problems with all the blood in his veins, or sad or happy or angry to the very fucking limits of those emotions or else just-- just complete. His heart always swells when he sees the crinkle in Poe's eyes when he smiles, and his voice always breaks under the pressure of talking to him without just finally, finally fucking saying I love you.

He hasn't said it, though. He maybe never will. He's always valued being direct, in his own way - it's what defines him - but he loves Poe too much to lose him. He's too fucking scared.

He's not surprised when the tattoo breaks out on his skin, but he's surprised by where it is. When he was younger, he had been given a brand - his family crest, a symbol of who he is, where he came from - and it marked his arm, before he grew older, shed his name, and had it burned away from him by the god who took his life. Poe's tattoo takes its place, wrapping a full band around that same bicep, and Owain wonders if it's proof - proof of something he's always known - that Poe means more to him than even the heritage he worked so hard for so long to live up to.

It was good, on the one hand, to leave this totally platonic zoo-break-in date until 1AM, because it meant after Owain woke up with the tattoo on his skin this morning he'd had time to sort through his feelings about it before meeting Poe - but on the other, having a full day of knowing he was going to see Poe had made him so much more anxious. The tattoos had been flaring in and out of people's skins with a kind of haphazard permanence, where every tattoo a person gets is theirs, even in the cases where a person has more than one, but the porter is unreliable. Some people still didn't have one, and maybe Poe was one of those. The nerves in his stomach make him think what if Poe has somebody else's tattoo on his skin? or what if Poe doesn't have one at all?, but--

But he still knocks on Poe's door to take him out for the night. It's easy enough to hide his own tattoo, with a thin red bandage he wraps around his bicep, which he wears even under the long-sleeved black hoodie he's wearing. Because, you know. Break ins.

They're gonna get themselves a fucking penguin.

[flightforfreedom]

Poe didn't understand the tattoos. It wasn't a concept that came easily to him. When he'd first been told about them, he'd spend the next two hours in the washroom going over every inch of his own skin. Nothing. If something was fated, it should have been there from the beginning, right?

He'd taken it as a sign.

This wasn't permanent, for him. This was temporary. At some point he'd just disappear and he wouldn't be leaving any broken hearts in his wake and that was just fine by him. (Or at least, he could pretend it was fine. Could pretend it didn't mean like he felt like a ghost drifting through his own life.)

He hadn't looked for the tattoos again, after that. Hadn't thought there was a point.

So when the jagged outline of a sword started to streak down the skin of his spine a month ago, he hadn't noticed. Hadn't noticed when the vine had worked its way up the blade as the weeks passed, hadn't noticed that it had bloomed. It wasn't as if anyone had a chance to witness it. Even spending so much of his time under Owain, Poe was always on his back. The tattoo helpfully completely unnoticed, pressed into the sheets as soon as Poe's shirt was ripped off.

So even though his soul had been branded and claimed for weeks, Poe never knew.

He continued on just as he always had, convinced that whatever he and Owain had was a temporary relief for the lives they'd been handed. Even though it had been a year, now, since Poe had slept with anyone else. Exclusivity had never been part of the bargain.

It had just happened.

(He never mentioned it.)

He showed up that night entirely in black - even the carpet that he flew to Owain's window was a black one that he had obviously picked up somewhere, recently. They may as well be completely invisible. He rapped his knuckles on the glass.

Ringverse, Bootcamp sexting wahtever fight me

[flightforfreedom]

[It's way too late, but. Poe's still awake, anyway. Despite everyone else in the barracks snoring away.]

hey, you still up?

[shadowglitter]

Nope! Hahaha!

[ this dickhead. owain's in bed, of course, but he hasn't been sleeping right since poe's been away. how could he? he's so used to having a warm body alongside of him. ]

You okay? You haven't had a nightmare or anything, have you? I'll break into bootcamp and lay down with you if you have.