shadowglitter | PSL || poe/odin

PSL || poe/odin

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"On your back," Owain repeats, and it comes with a laugh, one mostly ruled by nerves. Fuck, Poe's cute.

He curls his hands like he's going to tug on Poe's shirt and just get this over with, but he hesitates, and at the last second he reaches for his comm. He takes a photo of the bare bit of skin that shows the tiniest, tiniest trace of that tattoo - leaving the flash on to make it a good one, which is totally not cohesive towards being on a sneaky stealth zoo break in mission, but whatever - and he holds the phone out to Poe.

There it is. That tiny, tiny patch of inked skin, the start of something still hidden completely under his shirt.

"What... ah." He puts his comm down. "What... do you want to do? Should we--"

He takes a breath. Here we go.

"I... have one. I woke up with it. This morning. So..."

Owain was just about through the words 'do you want to' when Poe was already pulling off his jacket in one smooth motion, then crossing his arms in front of him, grabbing the opposite sides of his shirt and pulling it up, over his head, and off.

He was good at stripping in short order.

He only caught the rest of Owain's words once he was arching his back and trying to look down at his spine, which - even without his clothes - was of course really not possible. He stopped what he was doing and looked up at Owain.

"What, really? I thought they were supposed to just - be there. From the beginning."

Again, Owain laughs, but for the first time in their relationship, he finds he's not sure if he wants to look at Poe's half-naked body or not. The tiger that was still awake has curled up and gone to sleep, too - poor dude doesn't get to give anyone a show.

"No - what? Why would you think that?" He's looking off into the distance, eyes unfocused and mind racing. "They've been breaking out all over the place - growing, too. Mine's just... starting, it could get even bigger as time goes on. It, uh--"

He hesitates. May as well go all in, if he's this far gone.

"It will. I think. If that's supposed to be representative of-- like, importance. How big the feelings are. Or whatever."

"Oh."

He still looks confused, his brows furrowed. For the first time, he notices the bandage on Owain's arm. He gives it a look, then gives Owain a look, but without saying anything he twists around again, trying to get a glimpse of what's on his back - and he almost can. In flashes. There's definitely something on his skin. Damn. How the hell had that gotten there?

"That's--- How the hell is this helpful, I can't even see it--"

Owain risks a glance back at Poe, still avoiding his back - he's too scared, and it's not his place, and he's nervous - and when he sees him turning around like an idiot trying to look at his own spine, he breaks out into another laugh.

"Dude, you're like a dog chasing your own tail, stop it." He roughs his hand through Poe's hair, barely even noticing when it just bedheads back into place. "Which is kind of funny, because chasing tail is kind of your whole-- you know what? Nevermind."

He draws his thumb over his bandage, trying not to read into the fact that Poe barely even looked at it.

"Do you want me to take a better photo? We might have to go somewhere brighter." He pauses. "Wanna break into the tiger enclosure?"

Edited 2018-01-19 05:07 (UTC)

"Just take a picture here," He says, and there's an impatient edge to his voice as he says it. "Or just tell me what it looks like."

It's not that he wasn't interested in Owain's. Quite the opposite. But he'd been so sure that he didn't have one that the shock of it hadn't worn off yet, and he needed to see it.

Because if he was supposed to be here, if he was meant to stay--

He turned so that his back was facing Owain, but was still catching some of the faint light from the window.

"Just describe it to me."

"Are-- you sure? It's-- private, right? I don't know if I should--"

He's too slow to look away, but he tries. He catches the shape of a hilt between Poe's shoulderblades as he turns his head to face the distance, and his heart skips a beat as he looks back. His eyes widen, and-- and without even asking, he's right there, war-weathered and calloused hands pressing onto Poe's back, tracing over skin spent too long buried in sheets.

He's seen that hilt thousands of times before - held a replica of it in his hand as he charged into battle against the men and women who wanted to burn Ylisse. It's real, though, it's the real Mystletainn, the unattainable sword he spent years and years trying to find but never could, long and silver with cuts of gold down the blade. He traces his finger down Poe's spine, over each ridge, following one of the vines that blooms until his hand is pressed flat against the end of it.

"It's--"

It's his sword, the sword he dedicated his life towards trying to find and to own and to have, and it's here. He panics, knows that he needs to put a thousand different feelings into words, but he stumbles and he bites his tongue when he tries to speak. There's too much in him trying to get out all at once, and he just--

"-- for me."

"How private can it really be if it's in a place I can't even see?" He complained, but he fell silent as Owain's hands touched his skin. He could almost feel it, the outline of it, but the touch was too vague to really make out whatever Owain was tracing.

That was when the nerves hit.

He'd been too focused, until that moment, on the tattoo existing at all, that he hadn't really fully thought about what the tattoo was for. But in those few seconds, a very real and heavy panic hit him.

Who was it even supposed to be?

What the hell was he going to do if it wasn't Owain?

It was the second thought that made his brain stutter and his brow furrow. He didn't even really know where it had come from, that brief flash of panic at the idea of fate stepping in and choosing for him. But he didn't want anyone else. He hadn't admitted that to himself, at all, until that moment, but the idea that a mark on his skin might suddenly wrench Owain completely away from him--?

"Actually I'm not sure that you should--"

But it was too late, Owain was already speaking, the pause in the air heavy and laden and Poe was about to grab his jacket and pull it back on and tell him to forget about it, no fucking tattoo was going to tell him who he should be with, screw all this fate bullshit, let's just go ho--

Oh.

A heat rose very suddenly under his skin, but he didn't look back.

"... What is it?"

"I--"

He can feel the heat rise in Poe's skin, hear the panic in his voice. It's hard, for him, to put everything he wants to say in order, as it always is - he knows where this is going to go, he knows he's going to snowball and get emotional and cry, and he does his best to steady himself before he does.

"There's this sword, back home," Owain starts, speaking very slowly, very deliberately. "My sword. In a way. My personal-- but this isn't--"

His fingers draw a slow, slow line from the tip of the sword to the very end of the hilt, showing Poe, quietly, how big the tattoo is. Letting him know that he knows, if the size of it means anything.

"It's called Mystletainn," he says, the word sounding heavy and foreign in his mouth after going so many years without holding it. "A weapon lost to history. Inherited, long ago, by those with holy blood. I thought-- if I could find it, I'd be worth something? It became this huge, huge symbol of all the things I wanted, like-- like if I could wield this amazing, perfect, mythical sword, I'd be able to save everyone, I'd be able to win the war, I'd be able to make my father proud, I'd be able stop all the pain and the suffering I saw. It was-- it would give me the strength that the cause I fought for deserved. And I found-- a replica, and it was cheap and it slipped through my hands like butter, and it was dull like sea-glass, but it was mine, and everyone knew it was mine. It's the sword everyone knows me by, and this is-- real, this is real, this isn't a replica, I can tell that it's the real one, and I found it, and it's on you, and I'm--"

He's red, and his fingers are trembling, nails scratching down Poe's back.

"And I'm-- I'm worth-- something."

As Owain traces the length of the sword, Poe does finally get a sense of the size of it, and it causes a shiver to run all the way down his spine. The flush under his skin only darkens as Owain continues, and every nerve ending in his body is becoming hyper aware. He had a sudden and intense urge to turn around and pull the bandage off of Owain's arm, but it was tempered by the shock. So he didn't. But his hands twitched on the edge of the carpet, gripping it.

"I--"

But what did someone say in the face of that?

There were a lot of things he wanted to do, but right here...?

"I think we should go home. I- I want to see your arm."

Owain's lost in the tattoo, tracing the vines that coil around the sword again, thumb stroking short, soothing motions over skin. His heart is racing and his mouth is dry and he feels like he might be dying, and his breath catches in his throat when he realizes that the scars on Poe's back - the leaves cover the worst of them.

"Okay... but, like."

He laughs, and it's watery and happy and far too clear that his arm belongs to Poe.

"Leave your shirt off. On the fly back. I'll-- pay. For. The indecent exposure fines. If we get any."

He can't really argue that, and he doesn't want to. Instead he stuffs his shirt into the backpack and thrusts his jacket into Owain's arms.

"Don't lose my jacket. I like this jacket. And hold on."

He hooked the strap of the backpack over his shoulder, grabbed the edge of the carpet, and they hurtled into the sky far faster than they'd arrived.

Owain considers just folding the jacket up and holding onto it alongside the hoodie he's got balled up in his lap, but his innate and ever fucking constant need to be as close to Poe as possible takes over, and he slips the jacket on. It's a little small, thanks to their height difference, but it fits pretty well and he feels warmer wearing it than he can ever remember being.

They hurtle through the sky and Owain shouts something loud and happy at the top of his lungs, startling the security guard and waking up at least two or three kinds of animals. It feels good, burning off the energy, but once they're among the stars and things are coasting a little steadier he shuffles closer to put his hands back on Poe's back.

All through the trip home, he whispers things about Mystletainn in Poe's ear - it's a sword designed to keep nobility safe, a sword that protects. Coated with mistletoe, a plant capable of felling certain evil, according to legends, but more realistically, a tradition to hang above doorways at Christmas to bring two people together. He talks about the design, seeing as Poe can't see it - the gold letting scratched into the silver blade, which he runs his fingertips over with a featherlight touch. The hilt - he rests one fingertip at the very tip of Poe's spine - keeps the blade sturdy, steady - he drags his fingertip all the way down Poe's back and leaves it at his waist.

By the time they're back home, Owain's touched every corner of Poe's spine, just trying to make him squirm.

He succeeds. By the time they can see the governmental housing that they still live in (as permanence is not something that had yet to cross Poe's mind), Poe is as tense and taut as a tightrope.

He doesn't head for Owain's window, he heads for his own.

It isn't entirely unusual. Owain's been over a couple of times, but not many. Even without someone living there to make him shy away from bringing anyone home, he still doesn't really like it. There's an implied intimacy there, of letting someone into his life that close, that he was never quite able to manage. The few times Owain had been over had ran a little too close to Intense, so Poe had always defaulted to Owain's rooms, given the option.

Tonight? He barely thought twice.

He always left the window I unlatched when he left, so that when he returned he could throw it open on arrival. Which is what he did, the second they slid up to it.

Owain doesn't actually realize what Poe's doing, at first, and when they park next to Poe's window he's quietly complaining about how he can't reach his own window from here and that Poe flew too far away. He's standing on the edge of the carpet wondering if he can make the jump from here - of course he can, he's Owain, he can do anything -
when he turns his head and finds Poe opening his own window. Oh. Oh. His eyes widen and he falls quiet.

He heads inside, scratching at his tattoo beneath the still-slipping bandage, his ankle catching on the ledge and make him trip gracelessly over the threshold. Even if it's not unusual, exactly, it's a curveball to be here, and any surprise from Poe typically always gets his heart racing a thousand miles an hour. The tattoo alone is enough to keep him in cardiac arrest for years.

Here, in the soft light of Poe's bedroom, their date cut short by revelations that rewrite the entire playbook of their relationship, Owain is, once again, suddenly very afraid. He has no idea if-- if people can resent their soulmates, or if-- if Poe doesn't want this--

"Do--"

He takes a breath. Do this the easy way.

"Do you want to see mine?"

He doesn't reply. Or more, he doesn't reply to words - the nearly useless and indirect method of communication that they are. Instead, as soon as he's inside, as soon as he's finished rolling up the carpet and leaning it against the wall, he's turning to Owain. Gonna rip that coat off him, then the bandage, and get a good look for himse--

Okay, that was what he was going to do, until he actually saw Owain in his jacket. He blinked, then felt his cheeks warm.

"Right. Okay. Buying you one of those later," he said, half to himself and half to Owain, still completely ignoring his question as he shoved the jacket off of Owain's shoulder, pulled out the man's arm and then went straight for the bandage--

Owain's--

Proud of himself. Smug, more than anything, seeing that look on Poe's face. It's so good he almost wants to keep the jacket on, but he lets Poe strip him without resistance, and he hooks his fingers at the bottom of his tank and takes that off as well. He's-- afraid, still, on some level, but Poe wouldn't look at him like that if he was angry, he thinks.

The bandage comes off and the design is there, the hard cuts of lines that form a band around his arm before spiking up and taking flight by his shoulder. He can't see it, he hasn't seen it, but the part of the tattoo that angles off actually spreads out over his shoulder until it's going down his back at an angle--

And at his shoulderblade, it explodes. The lines cross over each other, shaped like an X wing, branching out until they form the geometric silhouette of a jungle canopy. Every part of his skin is cut with sharp black lines ahead of bursts of orange, and the rest of him is covered in stars. Stars that are spreading, even as Poe watches them, should he look at Owain's back - the sky darkening and bursting into light before his eyes, taking over Owain, crawling back up over his other shoulder and already starting to spiral down his other arm.

At the base of his neck are two rings - one, a signet ring fit for royalty, the other, heavy and thick and made for function from war. Owain nervously holds the bandage in his hands when it's off, though, ignorant of all of this. He pulls the fabric taut as he eyes Poe for his reaction.

Edited 2018-01-19 23:51 (UTC)

He didn't notice that he was holding his breath until he let it go as the thick black lines interspersed with orange were revealed. He let that breath out, satisfaction and relief flooding him instantly. He didn't need to understand what it depicted, exactly, because he could tell it was him. No one else.

He reached out to rub his thumb over it - a little too hard - as if he was trying to make sure it was real and not just drawn on him, and he started to walk around, wanting to see the whole band around the back.

His breath stopped again.

From Owain's perspective, it must have seemed very disconcerting - One moment Poe walking around him, hand still on his bicep, and then suddenly: nothing. Poe absolutely stopped dead.

A star blinked into life on Owain's hip as Poe stared at him.

"... That's--"

He reached out, fingers pressing against the base of Owain's neck, against the impossible. "... That's my mother's ring."

He was a little too overwhelmed to even start to put together the entirety of it.

His ribs are aching from the breath he's holding and the speed of his heartbeat when Poe rubs at his bicep. He says nothing, even though his feelings are mounting on top of each other, piling like snowfall. It's hitting him, in slow, great waves, that Poe's okay with this, and that they're-- they're each other's--

"What--"

He freezes, when Poe just stops, but then he's saying there's-- more-- and if he'd laughed at Poe for trying to look at his own back, that just makes him a god damn hypocrite. He tries to see beyond his shoulder, and he can't, other than the shadow of something dark, and he yells far too loudly when he realizes there's more to the tattoo than he thought. Something about a ring? He tries to see his neck, where Poe's fingers were, and-- again, he can't, obviously, but he does spin around really fast like he's chasing it until he's suddenly face to face with Poe. He yells, again, like he's surprised to find Poe so close to him. Idiot.

"What do you-- okay, hold on."

He turns again and reaches blindly back behind him to find Poe's arm, slapping his forearm when he finds it.

"Touch it again? The-- what is it? What's it-- tell me."

Normally he would laugh, at the display, but he's too stunned to do much save pull his hand back while Owain whirled around, catching him with an arm when he nearly spun into his grip. He was wide eyed, when Owain suddenly turned around, but the slap woke him out of his stupor and he shook his head.

"It's... huge, Owain, and I think it's still--"

He reached out, pressing a point on Owain's hip where another star had just appeared. His heart thumped, hard. "... It's still growing. A star. That's a brand new star, and the constellation-- That's-- That's Yavin--" It wasn't working. Every word was sticking even harder in his throat, and his eyes started burning entirely of their own volition. Man. Keep it together, Dameron. You didn't even believe in this shit fifteen minutes ago--

The size of the tattoo doesn't surprise him, really, beyond the fact that it's there and he hasn't noticed. Yavin - Poe's home - that doesn't surprise him, either. It's a little embarrassing, to have something so sprawling and constant overtaking him right in front of Poe's eyes, but more than anything, the bandage he'd covered his sleeve with feels awfully small, all of a sudden, and he balls it into his fist.

"Of course it's huge," he says, a light-hearted snap, impatient without cause. "I mean, I'm in l-- wait, it's still growing? Like, you can see that happen? Right now?"

He tries, again, to look over his shoulder, only to groan in frustration and throw his hands up in the air. He gets annoyed enough to fold his arms over his chest, too much energy and too many feelings flowing out of him in every fucking direction because he has no idea what to do with them.

WHY DID THEY HAVE TO BE ON THEIR FUCKING BACKS.

Edited 2018-01-20 02:30 (UTC)

"Yeah. Right now."

He tried clearing his throat, but the lump was still there, his eyes stinging a bit. He scrubbed quickly at his eyes before Odin could see it, and then tentatively reached out - fingers tracing out the lines from Owain's shoulder - the sharp shape of the X-Wing, the geometric pattern of the trees on Yavin--

He swallowed again, tracing the trail of stars.

"... Shit."

Then, quieter:

"... I didn't think it was real."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

PSL || poe/odin

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject