#Have I mentioned I like non-standard intimacy?

[winged-self-indulgence]

Why Do People Like Yanderes?

Hi everyone, my name is Diya, and this was going to be a YT video-essay-type-thing but I'm too poor to afford a mic and too busy with college to learn how to edit videos, so here's my vague exploration of the psychology behind why people like yanderes so much through the lens of my favourite Visual Novels.

TW for uh. yandere content. Mentions of sex, gore, and non-con, particularly in the last topic. This is more like the first draft of an academic paper so while it's not explicit, I do go into some detail.

Introduction

If you’re a fan of anime or visual novels, then you’re probably already aware of what a yandere is, or at the very least you’ve seen that one picture of Yuno Gasai. Still, for the sake of thoroughness, let’s take it from the tippy top. The term ‘yandere’ is a Japanese portmanteau of ‘yanderu’ – the progressive form of ‘yami’ – meaning ‘sick’, and ‘deredere’ which roughly translates to ‘loving’. Together, the word refers to someone who is – in short – extremely lovesick. Obsessive to the extreme, and with little morality to spare, the standard yandere is characterized by a dangerous fixation on a chosen target, often appearing shy and caring at first only to flip the script and become violently aggressive towards perceived threats (Kroon, 2010).

It should be noted that yanderes are not a strictly romantic or sexual trope. The Ancient Greeks classified at least six forms of love, from familial (storge) to guests (xenia). Modern psychologists may distinguish love as either Companionate or Passionate (Kim & Hatfield, 2004) or consisting of three dimensions of Intimacy, Passion, and Commitment (Sternberg & Sternberg, 2018). Realistically, possessiveness shows up in a variety of relationships. However, people are generally primed to view certain dynamics as inherently amorous. Societal norms tend to encourage the idea that romantic bonds ought to rank above all others, and therefore if Person A is bizarrely fixated on Person B, then clearly there must be an element of sexual interest involved regardless of the actual relationship between the individuals in question.

Regardless, yanderes remain quite popular in fiction. Many dismiss it as a fetish, which it can be, but that isn’t the case for everyone. While there is nothing wrong with indulging in kinky fiction, not all of us get horny at the thought of being chained up in someone’s basement, no matter how hot our captor may be. So why is it so pervasive? Why is this trope so appealing that most writers cannot help but include at least a single line of dialogue implying that – if circumstances had been ever so slightly different – my wholesome shoujo romcom might have turned into a psychological horror?

Hybristophilia

‘Hybristophilia’, also known as Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome after the titular criminal couple, is a word is derived from the Greek word ‘hybridzein’ meaning ‘to commit an outrage against someone’ and ‘philo’ which means ‘a strong preference for’. Sexologist John Money reportedly defined it as a paraphilia in which an individual is sexually aroused by a partner who has a predatory history of hurting other people (Money, 1986, as cited in Matuszak, 2017). In his book, Serial Killer Groupies, true crime and crime fiction author RJ Parker distinguished two forms of hybristophilia: passive and aggressive. The former is when an individual contacts a criminal with the intention of striking up a relationship with them, allowing themselves to be seduced and manipulated but having no interest in committing a crime themselves. The latter are far more dangerous, as the individual not only derives sexual pleasure from their partner’s atrocities but are active participants in carrying out or covering up the crime. To quote Griffiths (2013, as cited in Pettigrew, 2019):

“[They] help out their lovers with their criminal agenda by luring victims, hiding bodies, covering crimes, or even committing crimes. They are attracted to their lovers because of their violent actions and want to receive love yet are unable to understand that their lovers are psychopaths who are manipulating them.”

In some ways, hybristophilia is the nearest thing we have to a realistic understanding of why people love yanderes. I mean, much of the fantasy surrounding such characters and their media tend to be filled with posts begging to be spat on or calling the rightfully terrified main character ungrateful for being a teeny bit upset about finding surveillance cameras in their ceiling. However, enjoying fictitious immoral activity does not predict real perpetration, so what does? There exists little consensus amongst psychologists as to what sparks this particular predilection, and that was strange to me. You would think there would be more studies into this topic, in spite of or perhaps because of its controversial nature. Heck, that one dude wouldn’t shut up about white women’s obsession with Bundy and Dahmer, and I assumed he had gotten that information from somewhere, but it turns out that was just him using modifiers to justify sexism.

However, I believe that we can hedge a few guesses, and over the course of my research, I’ve organized the main rationalizations under four umbrellas which I will explore through the lens of my favourite yandere-themed Visual Novels. Please keep in mind that most of these games are rated as mature due to sexual scenes and/or gore. Additionally, in the spirit of transparency, this ramble will be focused exclusively on male or masculine yanderes. So, without further ado:

Call Me Bob the Builder Because I Can Fix Them

If you’re familiar with DC Comic’s Batman, or just happen to have attended any costume event held over the span of the last 20+ years, you may be familiar with the character of Dr. Harleen Quinzel, better known as Harley Quinn. Initially created as the Joker’s one-off sidekick in Batman The Animated Series, she was so well-received by audiences that she became a recurring character in the cartoon and was eventually given a proper origin story in the form of a one-shot titled Mad Love.

Harley’s origin story has seen some alterations over the past decades, but the core aspects remain largely untouched. In the beginning, Harleen Quinzel was a promising young woman who wanted was a degree from the university’s prestigious psychology department, which she gained through…less than scrupulous means.

(Listen, I’m not sure if the authors were leaning on the Dumb Blonde stereotype, or if they simply thought that casting her as a genuinely bad student would make her later actions more believable. Either way, the idea of Harley as someone with a legitimate PhD came later)

After landing an internship at Arkham Asylum – a half-hospital and half-prison straight out of the 1870s that might as well be built out of one-ply tissue-paper soaked with gasoline and left next to a crate of fireworks – Harleen set her sights on the then incarcerated Joker. At the start, her fixation on the criminal wasn’t remotely sympathetic. She didn’t want to help him, she wanted to use him. Harleen Quinzel wanted piggyback off his infamy and write a tell-all tale detailing what sort of messed up childhood resulted in Gotham’s Clown Prince of Crime. Yet the more she interacted with him, the more the Joker took advantage of her empathy. By the end of their sessions, Harley no longer saw him as a violent serial killer with a clown schtick, but as a “lost, injured child looking to make the world laugh at his antics.”

But Diya, you may be asking, what does this have to do with the video? The Joker never loved Harley, and it could even be argued – as Shehadeh did in a 2017 essay – that her obsession with the pasty-faced clown is more akin to Histrionic Personality Disorder. While that may be the case, I believe that Harley’s story provides one of the reasons yanderes are so popular: their backstory.

Whether they were abandoned by their family, bullied by their peers, experimented on by evil scientists, starved on the streets, died under mysterious circumstances and then trapped in a haunted VCR tape for decades, or are simply so impossibly inhuman that they frankly do not understand why it isn’t socially acceptable to imprison their crush in a pocket dimension made of meat and non-Euclidean geometry, yanderes often have fairly sympathetic or at least understandable explanations for why they are Like That. Your mileage may vary significantly depending on how much you sympathize with these motives, but the point is that yanderes always make sense to some degree. Their morality and priorities may be twisted or even completely incomprehensible, but the audience almost always knows the reason, and that can be comforting. In the real world, other people aren’t always straightforward, and we never really know what they’re thinking, but narrative coherence demands a semblance of internal consistency lest the audience end up frustrated and confused. So yanderes are not only easy to sympathize with, but also fairly predictable. In-universe they may be unhinged freaks with a blood fetish, but to you watching from behind the safety of the screen they’re just acting out the script written for them based on a prototype. And if you understand the why behind their loose gears, then you might just be able to put them back together again.

The concept of rescue romances or “I Can Fix Them” has been around in our stories for thousands of years. The Epic of Gilgamesh detailed how Shamhat essentially ‘civilized’ wild man Enkidu through ritual lovemaking, and a concerning number of religions push the idea that women are dutybound to save men from the follies of sin. Yet men are not exempt either, with one notable example being the German fairytale, King Thrushbeard. Call it what you will regardless: Knights in Shining Armour, the Florence Nightingale Effect, or a plain old case of Because You Were Nice to Me, studies have shown that human beings generally like helping [DA2] others, even when the reason doesn’t necessarily stem from pure altruism. I will delve deeper into this later, but care and compassion are deeply ingrained in human nature, and arising from those roots is the appeal of this mentality: You can save them. You can change them. You can make them better. You are special, and the way you treat this person carries a weight that has not and will never be matched by anyone else for the rest of their mortal or immortal existence.

The illusion is a delicious one, especially if the person you’ve helped turns out to be a billionaire CEO with cash to burn, a super powerful ghost king willing to raze continents to dust for you, a demon having fun on a Friday night, or just your average hot creep with a knife. Moreover, different people have different ideas of what ‘fixing’ even means. Maybe you want to single-handedly rehabilitate your yandere into a functional member of society. Maybe you’re cool with the incessant stalking but would like them to stop slaughtering your friends, family, and local service workers. Maybe you want to make them much, much worse.

Not only do yanderes provide immediate proof that your actions have a tangible impact on the lives of others, but the fantasy also includes the desire of being seen as special. Of being admired and adored by someone whose life you inexplicably made better by virtue of simply being yourself, or an idealized version of yourself. In this fictional world, in this imaginary setting, the person you are is so uniquely, impossibly irreplaceable to someone. And if that’s the case then they can’t risk losing you, can they?

The Allure of Obsession, or ‘Til Death Do Us Part (Literally)

It shouldn’t be necessary, but here is my obligatory disclaimer anyway. Ahem: obsession is not a good thing in real life. Fixating on another human to the detriment of your own wellbeing and that of those around you is dangerous, as is encouraging someone else to obsess over you. You might think you are being worshiped, but real life is not a visual novel. The outside world doesn’t come with an age rating, the author’s guiding pen, and a convenient fade to credits sequence once you’ve reached an ending. The consequences will still be there in the morning, so don’t do it. Just don’t.

PSA out of the way, it’s natural to want to be wanted. Maslow’s Hierarchy places it just above physical safety, but I’d argue that it could easily be compared to baser drives. According to many psychological and anthropological studies, much of humanity’s continued survival and environmental dominance is largely attributed to our ability to form groups, cooperate with one another, and maintain complex interpersonal networks. Social support, intimacy, and a sense of belonging are linked to emotional and physical benefits, such as more optimistic health perceptions, higher subjective well-being, increased creativity and innovation, and greater self-efficacy (DeWall & Bushman, 2011; Harandi et al., 2017; Wang & Sha, 2018). Therefore, it’s perfectly understandable that rejection of any sort would be construed as a threat.

But if someone is obsessed with you, then you have no reason to worry about that, right? No more nights spent agonizing over how they feel about you, asking yourself whether your last text made you sound too desperate, or if you’re boring them because you spent the past hour info-dumping about Stardew Valley farm layouts. With a yandere, there will never be any doubt that they care about you. Sure, they might go about it in weird, manipulative, and insidious ways that violate your physical and mental autonomy, but you can’t deny their loyalty. They do love you in their own bizarre way. You are the sun around which they orbit. When you’re in the room, no one else exists. Every single messy flaw is just another bullet point on the mile-long list of why they adore you.

In essence, yanderes are not only attentive, but their love can be virtually unconditional. A yandere might know everything about you, and still revere you. It’s unhealthy as hell and you might genuinely question their taste, but it can be tempting to pretend that all of you, right down to the ugliest parts of yourself – the traits and choices that you would never share with another living soul even at gunpoint – are worthy of understanding, if not open praise and affection.   

Attractiveness, or Okay but Have You Considered That They’re Hot Though?

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I mean what am I supposed to say here? They’re hot, what do you want from me?

No, but in all seriousness, fictional media paints an idealized version of the world, and most yanderes are hot because they have the freedom of existing purely behind that screen; artfully arranged and edited to forever appear compelling to anyone who happens to enjoy their particular style. And there are a lot of styles to choose from. Whether you want them pretty faced and disarmingly cute, or scarred up and big enough to pin you like a butterfly, yanderes come in a wide variety of shapes and sizes that are meant to pique your interest and draw you in like a naïve little fish being lured towards the mouth of an angler fish, unwilling to believe that anything bad might happen to us when the bait is this pretty.

This is often referred to as the Halo Effect, a form of cognitive bias referring to the tendency for people to assume that a single obvious positive trait must be associated with other positive traits. The go-to characteristic is typically physical attractiveness, but a nice voice, good humour, and cooking skills are also factors which serve to influence our perceptions.

So, conventional physical attractiveness is one thing, but that’s only skin deep. What about beyond that? After all, the yandere still has to talk to you before they enact their master plan of tying you up in their basement until Stockholm Syndrome kicks in.

When I showed my friend a picture of John Doe from the game John Doe, she told me that he looked like a creepy slob, and she’s far from the only person who’s ever thought so. Look at them. I feel like if I tried to comb that hair it would simply eat me, and some of the CGs really put the scopophobia in Scopophobia Studios. I love Doe, but he is not hot, and he doesn’t behave in a normally appealing way either. If the player chooses not to take a bath, Doe will immediately comment that you “smell good” before following you home, breaking into your house, and leaving a bloody organ on the floor for the player to trip over. Many yanderes can at least fake a veneer of normalcy, but from the get-go Doe doesn’t even bother to pretend he’s anything less than an otherworldly creature stuffed into a vaguely person-shaped meatsuit. In an effort to find out why so many people had latched on to Doe – including me – I shopped around social media and YouTube for answers, and what I found was a widely unanimous sentiment.

While some were drawn to his fun design and goofy personality, most simply thought that he wasn’t inherently malevolent, just very confused. In addition to being a supernatural being with a completely alien axis of morality, Doe’s meta-awareness and unbridled attempts at winning the player’s affection lends him quite a bit of support from the audience, especially if you yourself also happen to struggle with social cues and relate to his pure earnestness. In Ending 7 of the extended version, the player character has the option to tell Doe – who has altered himself to pass as more ‘normal’ – that they prefer who he truly is, at which point he grows visibly flustered and sports an adorable pair of literal heart-shaped pupils.

Whether they’re charismatic, seductive, cute, sweet, funny, nurturing, or generous, the best yanderes have engaging personalities. Even while they’re committing truly heinous crimes against God, man, and your guts, you still kinda want to hang out with them, and you want them to acknowledge you as being just as interesting. And this is all fine in fiction because you’re the one in charge, and if you ever get bored or uncomfortable or busy with something else, then you can simply close the tab or window with zero consequences, which brings us to the final and most important reason.     

Power Dynamics and Consent in Fantasy (I Couldn’t Think of a Joke Here Guys, This Is Kinda Serious)

Once again, I feel that I must preface this section just for the sake of my own peace of mind: sexual coercion and assault are vile and disgusting crimes that should never be emulated or tolerated in the real world. We are speaking purely of fictional media, specifically adult-oriented media in this case, so please be mindful.

In 2009, Bivoni and Critelli conducted a study on 355 undergraduate women with the goal of assessing the reasons behind fantasies of non-consent. At the time, there were two leading explanations of this phenomenon. One stated that women with high libidos but repressed views of sex used these imaginary scenarios to alleviate the guilt they had grown to associate with sex. Because the simulation was a purely mental exercise and they themselves were cast as helpless victims in the scenario, they were able to remain blameless while still finding sexual gratification. The second stated that these fantasies were an expression of liberation by women who were adventurous and comfortable enough with their own sexuality to engage with taboo ideas that they weren’t at all interested in performing in real life. Which do you think was more common?

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If you guessed the second option, you’d be right. The study found that of the 220 women who had experienced such fantasies, 45% found theirs erotic, 46% were mixed, and only 9% reported pure aversion. One justification for this outcome relies on psycho-biological theories, for example masochistic preferences or the unintended activation of the sympathetic nervous system and subsequent mis-attribution of arousal. Other reasons have to do with higher order thinking and are tied to the power dynamics within such fantasies. On the surface is the appeal of being so desirable to someone that they simply cannot control themselves, but then there is a deeper impulse, which the researchers referred to as Adversary Transformation. To quote the article: “[fantasies] involve a struggle between an assailant and a potential victim in which it is relevant to consider who is the winner and who is the loser. At one level, it is a struggle over sex, but the woman's non-consent may be feigned or token. At another level, the woman may be seeking a victory that is not about whether sex occurs, but about what happens emotionally between the protagonists.”

Basically, the imaginary perpetrator may have ‘won’, but the self-character need not have ‘lost’.

Media provides an extra layer to the illusion, one that you as the viewer have absolute control over. If you are choosing to engage with a piece of media that explicitly labels itself as including R18+ yandere content, then you clearly have some expectations, and that background awareness goes a long way in reducing long-term discomfort and allowing audiences to make informed decisions. If you don’t like the plot, you can simply turn it off it with the click of a button, and when the screen goes dark it’s not like the yandere is going to punish you for saying no. Strade isn’t going to break into your house with a drill, there are no homicidal clown ghosts hiding in your TV, and no suspicious pink-haired hackers watching your webcam. They aren’t real, and the consequences aren’t real either. You have all the power here.

Conclusion

In summary, Yanderes are appealing for a variety of reasons. Whether you want to save them, think they’re attractive, wish to indulge in a dream of being utterly coveted, or simply enjoy a bit of spice in your me-time, it’s obvious why the trope has persisted for so long and will likely continue to do so. If you enjoy yanderes but are worried that having a taste for the less wholesome side of things might imply something about who you are as a person, don’t be. The notion that fantasies and media preferences directly reflect subconscious desires is not only painfully out of date debunked nonsense but also indicative of restrictive ideologies wherein bad thoughts = sin. This isn’t 1984. You haven’t committed a thought-crime by having a weird kink. You aren't going to superhell for fantasizing. The human mind is hardly ever so mathematically rational, and the point of fiction is to allow us to safely engage with and explore various ideas, provided the everyone involved is mentally, chronologically, and emotionally mature enough to do so.

Thank you all for listening to me. If you learned something or were just a little bit entertained. If you're curious about knowing more, I've listed my sources below

REFERENCES

Bivona, J. M., & Critelli, J. W. (2009). The Nature of Women’s Rape Fantasies: An analysis of prevalence, frequency, and contents. Journal of Sex Research, 46(1), 33–45. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490802624406

Critelli, J. W., & Bivona, J. M. (2008). Women’s Erotic Rape Fantasies: An Evaluation of Theory and research. Journal of Sex Research, 45(1), 57–70. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490701808191

DeWall, C. N., & Bushman, B. J. (2011). Social acceptance and rejection. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 20(4), 256–260. https://doi.org/10.1177/0963721411417545

Flynn, F. J., Reagans, R., Amanatullah, E. T., & Ames, D. R. (2006). Helping one’s way to the top: Self-monitors achieve status by helping others and knowing who helps whom. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 91(6), 1123–1137. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.91.6.1123

Harandi, T. F., Taghinasab, M. M., & Nayeri, T. D. (2017). The correlation of social support with mental health: A meta-analysis. Electronic Physician, 9(9), 5212–5222. https://doi.org/10.19082/5212

Hazen, H. (1983). Endless rapture: rape, romance, and the female imagination. https://openlibrary.org/books/OL3161300M/Endless_rapture

Kroon, R. W. (2010). A/V A to z: An Encyclopedic Dictionary of Media, Entertainment and Other Audiovisual Terms. McFarland.

Matuszak, M. (2017). Hybristophilia White Paper. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55dfd21ee4b0718764fb34cc/t/5cb7cabee5e5f00ab13be58b/1555548863275/Hybristophilia+White+Paper.pdf

Oarga, C., Stavrova, O., & Fetchenhauer, D. (2015). When and why is helping others good for well-being? The role of belief in reciprocity and conformity to society’s expectations. European Journal of Social Psychology, 45(2), 242–254. https://doi.org/10.1002/ejsp.2092

Parker, R. (2014). Serial killer groupies. RJ PARKER PUBLISHING, INC.

Wang, T., & Sha, H. (2018). The influence of social rejection on cognitive control. Psychology, 09(7), 1707–1719. https://doi.org/10.4236/psych.2018.97101

[irrealisms]

svsss and sexual violence pt. 2: gender and homophobia

standard disclaimer at the beginning: i am not saying that this is the Only thing svsss is about, or that other readings are invalid; i am not intending to character-bash most of the characters here (while i will freely admit to thinking e.g. old palace master or qiu jianluo are pretty one-dimensionally shitty, lots--probably most--of the characters in this series who i mention as perpetrating SA are characters who do have depths & who i in fact like a lot! despite this meta, or perhaps because of it, my second-favorite character is luo binghe, and i am in fact a bingqiu shipper!); and, obviously, huge fucking CW for sexual abuse and adjacent topics. this one's also got a CW for, well, homophobia and sexism. this section is approximately 1k.

(also: shoutout to @rooses40stepskincareroutine for motivating me to actually write all this out!)

TABLE OF CONTENTS pt 1: shen yuan's realization of himself as a target pt 2: gender and homophobia (you are here) pt 3: non-bingqiu sexual violence pt 4: shen qingqiu's body pt 5: we live in a society

We talked in the previous post about how Shen Yuan begins the story oblivious to himself as a potential target for sexual violence, and that his realization that he is in danger of this is the same as his realization that he is a target of male sexual desire. One of the quotes I think about a lot here is a much later quote:

Yeah right! Like he’d dare share a room with Luo Binghe. A straight man and a gay one staying in the same room? That was just asking for death. Yes, Shen Qingqiu insisted he was still straight! His willingness to read a stallion novel like Proud Immortal Demon Way was rock-solid proof!

And--on the one hand, this is funny. I'm not going to say this isn't funny, because it is; we as the reader know that Shen Qingqiu is obviously not straight and that reading stallion novels does not actually make you straight. In light of this, his insistence that he is straight is funny!

But. There's also two other things going on here:

We all know the trope of the predatory gay man, right? Gay men (and queer people in general, though the specifics of this vary by sexuality/gender) are seen as inherently sexually predatory; you see this in the idea of gay men "converting" straight men and boys through rape/molestation, you see this in AIDS-era fears of HIV+ men who deliberately tried to spread HIV (often through rape) as much as possible, you see this in modern-day grooming panics. one of the most common ways homophobia manifests is this sort of idea--as a teenager, one of my friend's parents stopped letting me have sleepovers once they learned I was a lesbian, because they didn't want me sleeping in the same room as their daughter; you see stories of people kicking gay people out of changing rooms, of refusing to touch them/let them touch others, and generally isolating them from platonic intimacy with the same gender due to the specter of gay people being sexually predatory. Shen Qingqiu's narration very deliberately calls this to mind: A straight man and a gay one staying in the same room? That was just asking for death. there's interesting things to say here about how mxtx interacts with this trope in her other two novels--lwj and hc are both definitely also engaging with this trope, though very differently--but i'll keep this post focused on scum villain.

however. as established in part one: luo binghe has in fact sexually assaulted and been sexually predatory towards shen qingqiu. between the kiss in the dream and here, we get two major moments: the first, where luo binghe admits he knew it was the real shen qingqiu and not a dream construct when he sexually assaulted SQQ in the dream, and the second, where luo binghe holds shen qingqiu down, tears off his clothes, and explicitly threatens to rape him. which...yes, luo binghe clarifies shortly after (when sqq starts dying) that he wasn't actually going to rape sqq, he just wanted to scare him. but, uh, holding someone down and then--while they try to fight--kissing them, tearing off their clothes, and telling them that you're going to rape them? that is still very much SA. so sqq's fears of LBH are ... well, they're justified, and they're coming from a place of trauma.

I... have some genuinely fairly mixed feelings about how MXTX handles this combination in SVSSS? right now i'm not actually doing very critical analysis of the text tbh, so i won't go into it, but i invite you to think about it for yourself about it!

that said, i have more things to say on other topics. specifically: SY thinks of himself as a straight man, and thus safe. but he's been put in a very feminized position by the narrative. he's constantly on the other end of LBH's wife plots, to the point where, in the extras, the culmination of their marriage involves LBH calling him "wife". the genre change is vital to understanding this--he's no longer a man in the real world, or even a man in a stallion novel; he's a shou in a danmei. (and while there's a lot of discourse on the feminization of bottoms in M/M, esp written by women, i want to emphasize that this isn't exclusive to chinese-language M/M--go read some omegaverse on ao3 to see some men being feminized by the narrative in much more extreme ways, without any of the interesting commentary on genre!) now, this is a role that is also very distinct from being a woman--especially on the doylist level, the [shou/uke/bottom] in M/M is generally written better and is more central to the narrative with fewer sexist tropes than the actual women in the story, and svsss is no exception to this--but it's still very distinctly feminized. something I think about in this regard is how his internet handle, "Peerless Cucumber", is misheard in SVSSS as "Peerless Chrysanthemum"--his name has been changed, by the setting, from something representing [penis/topping] to [anus/bottoming]. It's a representation of traditionally male bottoming, it represents the anus and not the vagina, but it's still a very literal emasculation of Shen Yuan by the setting of SVSSS! another sample quote:

In conclusion: So the female lead’s role was going to Shen Qingqiu again, huh?

this is also particularly interesting to me because of the ways SQQ is sexist, just like the previous quote is interesting because of how SQQ is homophobic. another quote, from earlier in the book:

He was a man, yet he had been forced to meekly tell another man that he would “submit to him,” in front of so many people. And above all, the other man was his former disciple, which made it even more frustrating and shameful.

again, we see his sexism and anxieties around masculinity being tied up in his anxieties around sexual abuse. he sees putting himself in a position where he's at risk for sexual abuse (because he is doing that, he has just learned that LBH knew he was real when sexually assaulting him in the dream, and he is now agreeing to submit & go home with him) as shameful. why? because he's a man. the implications that it's shameful for men to be sexually submissive or get sexually abused (which are conflated here and throughout the novel by SY, although other characters draw a distinction! but SY's views on ~kink, both D/s and S&M, while fascinating and very relevant to the bingqiu relationship and his relationship w queerness, would be thoroughly a tangent here--ask me if you want another post on the subject lol), because men should be "stronger" than that, but it would not be shameful for a woman, because women are supposed to submit to (and be sexually abused by) men, is left as an exercise for the reader. so ... he's being wildly sexist! but even here you can see he's being sexist because he's being emasculated. because he's being pushed into the "female" role, instead of the "male" one, and when it comes to sexual violence & the fear thereof, that's a dangerous place to be. once again, being a man doesn't protect him: a lesson he will keep learning.

there's more to say about gender & sexual violence in SVSSS about other characters, but that mostly gets addressed in the next post, except for my thoughts on gender that aren't about sexual abuse (i have a LOT of these--mostly about bing-ge vs bing-mei, but also about shen yuan's view of femininity as inherently degrading and painful, which the text does not agree with even as it does agree that the societal baggage of femininity often comes with sexual violence; again, ask me if you want another post about that, it would not be part of this meta series but i DO have things to say on it). thanks for reading this one!

[lixxen]

Since @the-chapmania and @eeternalferret told me I should do this, here is Fall Out Boy (and others!!) songs but I've assigned them to Always Sunny characters/ships because I'm absolutely insane and Fall Out Boy is one of my special interests (plus a ton of other songs that fit them at the end!!)

The first few will be above the cut then the rest are UTC

Disclaimer: most of these are just I think the characters fit the dynamics or I have specific situations and dynamics for the songs. I'll specify some of them. These are all opinions and you're allowed to disagree. A few will repeat!

Charlie

I Don't Care

Novocaine

What A Time To Be Alive

Saturday

Sunshine Riptide (I'm laughing over this one. You'll get it when you see it)

Mac

Sugar, We're Going Down

The Kintsugi Kid (Ten Years)

Young and Menace

Thnks fr th Mmrs

Dennis

This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race

The Kintsugi Kid (Ten Years)

Pavlove

Bishops Knife Trick

Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea

Dee

So Much (For) Stardust

Fake Out

The Lawyer

You're Crashing, But You're No Wave

CharMac

Alone Together

Fourth of July

Disloyal Order of Water Buffalo

The (Shipped) Gold Standard

The Kids Aren't Alright

Bang The Doldrums

Favorite Record

What A Catch, Donnie

Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown on A Bad Bet (Dennis is the husband!!!)

It's Not A Side Effect of The Cocaine, I Am Thinking It Must Be Love

CharDen

Dead on Arrival (early friendship)

America's Suithearts (could be just Charlie, but has the vibes for both)

Disloyal Order of Water Buffalo

My Heart Is The Worst Kind Of Weapon

The Phoenix

I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me (early friendship)

Hold Me Like A Grudge

A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More Touch Me (Charlie's POV if this makes sense)

CharMacDen

American Beauty/American Psycho

Twin Skeletons (Hotel in NYC)

Thnks fr th Mmrs

Bang the Doldrums

Grand Theft Autumn/Where Is Your Boy

Grenade Jumper

MacDen

Wilson (Expensive Mistakes) [Dennis POV]

Immortals

Love From The Other Side

Last of The Real Ones

Dance, Dance

Where Did The Party Go

Miss Missing You

Irresistible

HOLD ME TIGHT OR DONT

Heaven's Gate (Mac POV)

CharDee

She's My Winona

Disloyal Order of Water Buffalo

Rat A Tat

Jet Pack Blues

I'm Like A Lawyer In The Way I'm Always Trying to Get You Off

DeeStress

Just One Yesterday

Last of The Real Ones

Pretty in Punk

CharStress

Chicago Is So Two Years Ago

Last of The Real Ones

The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes

Tell That Mick He Just Made My List of Things to Do Today

Honorable Mention

Growing Up

Grand Theft Autumn/Where Is Your Boy

Dennis & Dee (Platonic)

I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me (cover ourself in cheap perfume and can't cover it up is them fr)

Non-FOB songs:

Panic! At The Disco:

The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide Is Press Coverage (MacDen)

Nails for Breakfast, Tacks for Snacks (Dennis and Frank)

There's a good reason these tables are numbered honey, you just haven't figured it out yet (Dennis and Dee)

Nearly Witches (ever since we met) [CharDen or CharMac, pick your poison]

This is gospel (Mac)

Girls/Girls/Boys (Mac/Carmen)

Let's kill tonight (CharDen)

Casual Affair (charmacden)

Crazy = Genius (CharDen)

Folkin around (CharMac)

She had the world (past CharMac current MacDen from Charlie's POV. Charlie is Brenden and Mac is Ryan)

Ready to go (get me out of my mind) [DeeStress or charden]

Bittersweet (CharMac)

Turn off the lights (CharDen)

But Better if you do (MacDen)

Camisado (Charlie)

Spiritbox

Hurt You (MacDen)

Too close/too late (Charlie)

Jaded (Mac)

Lilyisthatyou

RELAX AFTER WORK WITH A DRINK (Charlie)

GRINDING MY TEETH (Charlie)

DANCE (Charlie)

SIREN (Charlie)

Competition (CharMacDen)

INTIMACY ISSUES (Charlie)

The Happy Fits

She Wants Me (To Be Loved) [CharMac]

So Alright, Cool, Whatever (MacDen)

Mary (Charlie)

Dirty Imbecile (CharMacDen)

Moving (Charlie and his mom)

Miscellaneous

Impressively Average by Brigitte Calls Me Baby (MacDen. LITERALLY THEIR SONG!!!)

Codependency by Orla Garland (Charden)

If you ever leave, I'm coming with you by The Wombats (CharMac)

Here comes your man by The Pixies (Charlie)

Alley Rose by Conan Gray (pre-canon CharMac)

[sharkssharpteeth]

Can I please get some nsfw HCs for Caesar from Fallout New Vegas? It's near impossible to find any content for him 😭😭😭

Of course! I was delighted to do the research and such for this, but please heed the warnings, it’s a bit of a rough one 💀

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ Caesar NSFW Headcanons ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

“We have cities of our own, but nothing compared to Vegas. Finally, my Legion will have its Rome.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

18+ CONTENT - MDNI

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Content Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Mentions Of Dub/Non-Con, Sexism, Slavery, Homophobia, Murder

A/N: So, this is mostly based on his mannerisms as an individual because he decided to retcon some parts of Ancient Roman history that were actually pretty major, such as no homosexuality (found in his Wikipedia article), but I also did some looking into some things during that time period that would have relevance.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

🏛️ Sexuality - He is completely and unequivocally against homosexuality, to the point that it is punishable by death within the Legion. As such, he solely has sex with females, even though he sees them as being on the same level as slaves.

🏛️ Threesome? - No, polygamy is treated in the same way that homosexuality is within the organization - only excluding the instances where it pleases him. Even with this exception, he doesn’t enjoy having multiple partners at once as it has gotten awkward in the past and causes more issues than pleasure.

🏛️ 24/7 - There is at least one of his chosen, a concubines, who is at his beck and call. While he doesn’t experience arousal as much now and finds it harder to get and maintain an erection (as a result of the tumor), he still will call upon one of his women to visit him in his bed chamber on occasion to keep his cock warm in her mouth.

🏛️ Playing Hard To Get? - He’s a narcissist dictator, so unless his partner has proven to be a willing participant, he isn’t keen on them resisting. He would rather them be pliable beneath him and welcome his use, though sometimes, a resisting partner only serves to rile him up further. If his partner resists on a day where he isn’t feeling merciful, they will be handed off to his Legate to deal with as he sees fit. Due to the Roman structure of his empire, women will not be thrown into the colosseum and instead are generally raped by the Legate and/or taken out before the others and publicly executed.

🏛️ Selfish Lover - When he does have intercourse with another person, it’s all about his pleasure. Once he gets what he wants out of it, his partner is sent away to clean up and get back to work

🏛️ Roman King David - Since Rome was strictly monogamous (unless you were an elite), he will send lower ranking soldiers out into the field knowing they won’t make it back if he finds their wife to be attractive.

🏛️ Prude - He hates nudity unless it’s that of the women he has claimed as his concubines. It is shamed to be bare in public and punishable by the colosseum or execution depending on who is making the offense.

🏛️ “Standards” - He refuses to have sex with anyone who is a slave and is only interested in sharing such intimacy with women who are citizens of the Legion, along with that, they must be in their twenties at the oldest.

🏛️ Humiliation - He loves humiliating his partners and exercising his power and dominance over them. A few of the things he will make his partners endure are animal play (being treated like an animal and being forced to act as such), making them endure him ejaculating, spitting, or urinating on them (generally on their face, but sometimes their chest), verbal abuse (making fun of their appearances and calling them degrading names), making them ask for permission to cum and generally denying them the privilege all together, disciplining them (including spanking, flogging, restraining them, etc.), objectification (treating them like they’re nothing more than an object for his pleasure), and forcing them to wash his feet (generally he has female slaves wash his feet, but this acts as a punishment for insubordinate concubines who haven’t yet made a major offense)

🏛️ Pain Play - As mentioned above, he enjoys spanking and flogging his partners, but he generally aims for more bony parts of the body when doing it for punishment since it will hurt more and leave more intense impressions in their skin. He also enjoys pulling his partner’s hair and roughing them up. In the past, he would regularly pin his partners down by exerting enough pressure on their shoulders to drive their fronts into the mattress and restrict airflow due to the pressure against their ribs. That doesn’t occur nearly as much now, but it’s a nice way to break the new girls in.

🏛️ Body Worship - He’s obviously not going to worship his partners due to how inferior they are to him and them being nothing more than a vessel for his pleasure and amusement, but he enjoys having his own body worshiped like the god he is. It earns his girls extra brownie points when they put the effort into it, but only when he’s in the mood to allow them the time to do so.

🏛️ Breeding Kink - Even though he’s infertile, he still sometimes gets the idea in head to fill his partner up with his cum and get them pregnant with his heirs. When he isn’t in this mindset, it’s still nice to see his seed dripping out of his partner after he’s finished with them.

🏛️ Choking - He enjoys choking his partners, but not in the way you may initially think. While he does derive pleasure from wrapping his hands around one’s throat and squeezing, he usually doesn’t stop until they stop twitching if it gets to that point. Instead, he enjoys it when his partners gag and choke on his cock

🏛️ Riding - Why should he put effort into getting his pleasure? He erected the Legion with his own two hands, and given his physical state now, it’s better for everyone when his partner rides him. They get more pleasure than he’d be willing to give them and he gets to kick back and relax while someone else does all the work.

🏛️ Voyeurism - Given his thoughts and feelings on women and his infertility, he would much rather watch two women have sex and pleasure himself to the sight. Since women are unable to penetrate one another and aren’t as high on the food chain as men, this is the only homosexuality that is exempted, though it’s only allowed when he’s watching.

🏛️ Aftercare - He cares about his chosen concubines’ well-being, but only to a certain degree. He would never help them clean up himself, but he entrusts their care to other female citizens. They are to be cleaned, clothed, fed, watered, and allowed to rest before returning to their other duties.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 ���𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

⁺˚⋆｡°✩ Navigation ♢ Kofi ♢ AO3 ✩°｡⋆˚⁺

[apollumihelios]

as a second generation immigrant, it's weird and a little frustrating to try and create a world inspired by my culture when i feel so disconnected from it in the first place. it feels like something is missing from my life and I don't think any amount of studying will fill that void. but i want to try. everything I am revolves around this world I've created and it's been a good start for me to reconnect with my greek roots after being so indifferent my whole life.

I've been writing on and off for years, but only properly began this endeavour about four years ago when I was really questioning my life. to cope with everything I began making maps of a simple fantasy world, and creating small towns with insignificant lore in minecraft. but I became bored of creating standard medieval stories, I longed to see my culture within a genre I loved so much.

ultimately what pushed me to commit to writing was the lack of greek characters that were actually greek and well written, and not just used as a joke or to push a personal agenda (see literally every 'retelling' made by non-greeks). not to mention if anything greek happened to be in fantasy media, it's either an extinct culture with the classical aesthetic or the focus is on bastardizing the olympians. because that's all we're seen as; a dead culture whose only value comes from the gods. and that's just not true.

I wanted a world where the focus was instead on the people and their way of life, rather than the gods and epic wars. I wanted stories about families, friends, and lovers who didn't have any divine power at their behest. I wanted to read about the intimacy of the mundane, the beauty of being, and the tragedy of trying. I wanted to see my culture represented in a way that wasn't through the western eyes--which even I have been tricked by. I want greek stories told by greek people.

I don't know if my work will be any good or worth anything to anyone. maybe I'll get scared and none of it will see the light of day. I know this won't bring me any closer to understanding what I've missed out on, but just being able to learn and create something is enough for me.

[loveless-arobee]

The Aromantic-representation in my book! (in the form of the two main characters, and one side character)

I mentioned a bit in the specific posts about Meisin and Aivil, but I wanted to go more into detail, as well as mention another aromantic character I have.

As I've mentioned before, Meisin is romance-averse/repulsed, and he is completely non-partnering. His experience is loosely based on my own.

While Meisin does not have words to describe his feelings/orientation in the beginning, he still was very openly not interested in relationships since he knew what that words means, and is repulsed to the very idea of being in one. The only word he has at that point is in sign-language, made up by his Deaf father, and doesn't translate well to spoken language.

He later learns the word aromantic from Aivil, who is, as a transmasc nonbinary person, a bit deeper in the queer community and knows such things (Meisin comes from a very small village of around 300 people, there are basically no queer people there, and the few that are there can't really be described as a community). And while he is like "huh, neat, there's a word for that", he isn't really one for labels.

Aivil, on the other hand, takes a bit longer to figure out that they are aromantic, even though they know the word. He is romance-indifferent, and also indifferent to favourable to the thought of having a relationship of whatever kind. She has trouble telling the difference between platonic/sexual attraction and romantic attraction. Through talking about how he actually feels, he figures out that his "wanting a (romantic) relationship" is more wanting intimacy, trust, and closeness, and that he doesn't actually care how this relationship is labelled, and all his negative feelings about that come more from societal standards and pressure.

There's another aromantic character who enters much later. Her name is Rhima, another dragon rider, but since most people don't like spoilers as much as I do, I won't talk too much about her. Rhima is aroace and married, so does not have any romantic or sexual feelings for her husband, and neither does he for her (he is gay). The marriage is mostly for convenience, and, well – other reasons. Uh. Spoilers.

(Honest questions tho: What do people have against spoilers? I like to know stuff that happens later in books, movies, or shows, and even how they end. And I really don’t understand why most people don’t like to hear spoilers.)

[yautjalover]

My Yautja Head Canons

I’ve been putting this off because I know my head canons are a bit different than most of what I’ve seen on here. My brain is weird and so therefor my head canons will be…odd. I’m certain this may get flack but oh fucking well. It’s my head canon and if you get mad, log off and go whine to someone else who cares. 😂

1. Yautja females have boobs, but like humans, they come in a variety of shapes and sizes! This includes their bodies. Females being larger isn’t the universal standard, though they are sometimes bigger than the males. They have breasts all the time, even when not with a pup.

2. Their society isn’t a Matriarchy but more of a balanced society with a council of Ancients ruling the home world and heading their species. Matriarchy was mentioned in one book, therefore it’s not hard canon and I don’t abide by it. I prefer the shared responsibility between the two sexes. It’s actually equal and there isn’t any sexism in such a thing.

3. Taking a life-mate is rare and a ceremony and celebration is thrown together for the couple. It’s pretty much getting drunk around a bonfire and indulging in bountiful buffets. This is followed by lots of sex between the new life-mates.

4. They have a keen sense of fashion and looking well kept. In the Hunt this isn’t as important, but in day to day life they like to look clean and presentable. Yautja apply oils to their locs to make them shine and keep the skin healthy at the roots. I like to think of their fashion as being similar to native African style clothing; perfectly suitable for the warm climates Yautja prefer.

5. Nudity is fine and accepted. They are comfortable with their bodies, not wanting to miss a chance to show off scars and the physique they’ve acquired through their hunting lifestyle. This goes for females feeding their pups. Popping a titty out to feed their child brings none of the bullshit that it does on Earth.

6. Money is present but not important with trade being the common currency. They can acquire large sums of money but they don’t see much use for it apart from it just being a relic of the past.

7. Yautja are basically giant therapsid cats. They purr and rub their foreheads together to show affection. Gently brushing mandibles along another’s signifies intimacy and affection. Licking and nibbling another’s neck also has the same implication.

8. When they’re mated, the equivalent of a boyfriend or girlfriend, they’re monogamous during that relationship. Sharing partners is vary rare among Yautja as they’re naturally territorial.

9. Homosexuality is accepted. It’s not unlikely to find males partnering up with one another on long hunts for companionship and to scratch that proverbial itch. This doesn’t mean that they’re all gay, but bisexuality is prevalent among the male sex. Trans Yautja exist but it’s pretty rare. When there is a trans Yautja, they’re accepted.

10. Yautja don’t have sheaths. It’s commonly liked that Yautja are seen to have them based off of that model for AVP that was never put in the movie. I think it’d be funny for them to call themselves the perfect being but nature didn’t bother to have them evolve with hidden genitalia. It’s just out there, like a human’s, though their penises have ridges and bumps to make sex pleasurable.

11. They can mimic the difficult sounds to speak English perfectly, though they do still have a deep voice. Their voices tend to be gravelly and rough when speaking in non-native tongues.

12. Yautja see humans are primitive but with a lot of potential. They dislike their dishonorable actions, but they do like to watch the progress. Having watched us go from mud huts to colonizing other planets has been a fun past time for them. Unlike a weird sentiment, I see them above killing machines and capable of complex thoughts and emotions, so they tend to have mixed opinions on humans but not outright hatred. Of course, there are those that hate humans, but they have their own individual reasons.

13. Interspecies relationships are in the minority but there is a curiosity among the Yautja of how it’s like to bed a human or other alien. Every species has its outliers. 😏

Art by me showing an example of Yautja fashion.

[castlebyersafterdark]

i am SO interested in you saying will was the first of them to give head. can you elaborate in terms of how this could potentially play out in the show? it would certainly be more steroeotypically 'gay' and 'dirty' by media standards to show a blowjob than them having full sex, but i feel like it also could work practically - rushed for time, end of the world, etc - but also as a first stop in teen experimentation, a way for one person to instigate rather than both already being on the same page... it would also be very easy to film offscreen and oral sex is something audiences are used to seeing so it may be considered more palatable and tasteful somehow, easier to pass with the execs you know?

plus that classic symbolism from s1 where will has the vine in his mouth. could well be a symbol of his gay thoughts and fears but it could also be reprised with an actual blowjob... i can totally imagine will sliding out of shot and them focusing on mike's reactions in some sort of artfully low-lit scene, lots of shadow and rich mellow light

To speak honestly, I really don't think we'd get any sort of simulated scene of a blowjob in the show. I mean, it's honestly one of the easier types of sex acts to depict while implying something so specific and yet still being able to pan away and not show anything graphic. A flash of a character falling to their knees. Or showing one character lying on a bed, scene shot from the side and we only see them from the waist up but their eyes are shut closed, mouth open back arching, like you mentioned. Or many other angles and positioning and camera work. I don't really think the show would do this though? I think a potential sex scene might be more vague for them.

Showing a blowjob is definitely more explicitly gay even more so than them falling into bed with very non-descript shots in there to portray intimacy of some kind, but not really showing what they're for sure doing, where instead you can imagine the off-screen antics as intricately or blankly as you want. I think a BJ or something does make more sense for the characters themselves, because it would honestly be laughable to me, if in some crazy world there is a non-fade to black Byler sex scene, like oh wow they are going to actually fuck each other here, sure thing, this is happening right here in this tv show. First kiss and first time all in several minutes of screen time, confirming for sure that the DBs are absolutely not gay or bi men and who let them get away with this? Hahaha

Otherwise, in fandomland where my imagination runs and considers different timelines and situations about their relationship - I do tend to portray Will as the first one to slide on downtown. I just think he'd have wanted to do it for much longer and he's so curious. I think he's desperate to see all of Mike and it's almost a way to, how to word this, express his desire at his own pace? It's going to be something for Mike's pleasure but it's for Will, too? You like men, you know you like men and their bodies and this is an undeniable part of the male body you've been thinking about and coming to terms with desiring. And now this is a reality. Do you actually like dick - oh, yeah. You do. This is blatant now. Men are it. Not that Mike can't have this sort of journey, but I've mentally given them different approaches to their sexuality and this is what I've landed on for Will.

And so - you're down there now, you're choosing to give this, controlling what's happening. Making out, you were both active participants. Grinding together, or even a handjob you're probably lying close, faces near each other even if your hands are otherwise occupied. It's different, the first time you go down on someone. Obviously that's the person you're with, that's their body. But, it's an isolated point of focus, at least for a moment. You're choosing to put your mouth on someone, take them in. We're talking about two people who care about each other and are actively engaged in exploring this type of a sexual relationship together. Some view blowjobs as an entirely submissive act for the giver. It can be, in certain contexts and settings and it can be a positive, consensual form of submission, or not so much with an asshole partner ☹️ It can be entirely neutral, too, like most sex. There are many times I've viewed them as quite the opposite. The person on their knees has so much of the power. It can be a mental trip, being in sole control of giving someone pleasure like that. And the first time - the first time you go down on someone and it's a little terrifying and scary exciting, and you look up and make eye contact and they're looking at you with this expression. Especially if they've never received one? Man. It can be magic. And I want that for these two boys 😜

[lori133]

GOT I - Prologue and first few chapters

M first impression right off the bat is that the chapters are so short, barely anything happens in there and thus it is super easy to go through five or six without noticing. I was planning to do one chapter per day but not only would that take me more than a month and my librarian will protest, but also it is quite poor as far as content consumption goes.

I've read around one tenth of the book, ie seventy pages, and hopefully, I'll be able to keep this rhythm till the end.

Prologue

Man that prologue still slaps so much. I remember reading it and being hooked and not puting the book down until it was almost morning (the day after was not much fun).

This is a clear proof on how good Martin is at weaving a compelling narrative. Straight to the point, drama ahoy and then bang action and death. By surverting the standard narrative of a handsome noble dying when you'd expect him to succeed, makes you want to know more about the world and about the others.

I remembered Waymar as a contrarian character and as someone clearly in the wrong. But all of his comments are correct, there is something going on and as someone from the Vale, he has no reason to fear there is something magical going on, as iirc the Others are but a myth at that point in history. To a perceptive young lord northern superstitions must ring as true as the runes inscribed on his house's armors. Still he is young and hasn't developed the sense for the eerie his companion's have and thus they are doomed.

Bran I

Great start for the book, I am that B99 Rosa meme only instead of the puppy it is the puppies and the Stark children. I love Bran already, he is so tiny and earnest and cute and only seven. I remember reading this and thinking: yasss a magical pet, nothing bad will happen ever.

Knowing what lies ahead, it makes me so sad to see Robb and Jon's interactions. They have such an easy camaraderie, and are so warm in their interactions and area also so obvious in leaving Theon out of their own small intimacy bubble of brotherhood. For some reason I was not into Asoiaf fanfiction at the time I read this for the first time (i was in my star wars/terra e era I believe) but now I want to read a fanfic where they remain together and nothing hurts.

Last thing as a question for english readers. What tree is mentioned on these 2 chapters? In spanish it is a tamarind tree which grows only on warm weather? As a tamarind lover who suffers its lack on a non tropical country, this really took me out of the immersive read.

Catelyn I

Another tamarind tree, wtf! Also, when fifteen year old me read that Ned had built a septon for Catelyn I thought it was a romantic gesture; some two decades later my first thought was: Surely Catelyn cannot be the first follower of the Seven that marries into Winterfell, right? A look at the Stark family tree later, and indeed the only time the Starks married southern houses it was to descendants of the first men like the Blakwoods of the Royce. Why would Rickard break centuries of tradition?

Goes to read the wiki page and aha! The first hint of a Maester conspiring arises, as according to Barbrey Dusting, the Stark's maester (a Hightower bastard, le gasp!) was the brain behind the two Stark cross religion engagements.

Besides name dropping a few characters and the news of Jon Arryn's death and the royal visit, not much happens. It is insteresting, however, that despite Catelyn being the one following the least magical religion in Westeros, it is her who fears and respects the portents and religious places. Also loving that Ned is such a good dad and always asks about the kids, he just loves them so much.

Daenerys I

For some reason I thought that Harry LLoyd being such a good looking Viserys was going to make Dany's chapters less painful, but I was lying to myself. She's thirteen and being molested by her brother and sold to a man more than twice her age like a hot comodity and it is terrible to read as it was the first time.

Apropos to nothing, whenever I read about her house in Braavos with the red doos, I think of the song "paint it black", it is such a Dany song.

Eddard I

Ah, the begining of the L+R theory, right here on the first Ned chapter. Robert goes to appoint a new hand and for a bethodal; he is al least courteous enough to do it in person, but like, Sansa is only 11 you monsters :'(

Jon I

I had forgotten how Jon's chapters were half self pity half plot. I had also not noticed the first time, but there is a lot of Targaryen Tyrion teasing going on here. His hair is almost white, his gather considers him a bastard despite Jon pointing out he is suposedly true born and that kinglike shadow hmmmm.

[dxncingxqueen]

✧ ━━ Romance Headcanons.

Name: Nayako Hayashi

Nickname: Naya, Koko, Nymph of the Gales, My Nymph

Gender: Cisgender Female

Romantic orientation: She's on the ace spectrum, possibly demi, but doesn't know that and has a crisis every time the subject is brought up because she always believed she needed some kind of label to attach to her identity.

Preferred pet names: She's fine with most, there are very few that won't fluster her lmao

Relationship status: She is currently with @the-ultimate-muses Gundham Tanaka uwu but that doesn't mean she isn't open for ships! Throw these bitches at her!

Opinion on true love: She doesn't have much of an opinion on it, honestly. She'd rather not argue with others about what their own feelings are.

Opinion on love at first sight: Refer to above answer lol

How ‘romantic’ are they?: Admittedly, she's a bit wary of standard romantic gestures, like roses or overly romantic dates. It mostly has to do with not-so-fond memories of her previous relationships at her old high school. That isn't to say she'll completely turn them down, though just that they make her feel a bit uncomfortable at first.

Ideal physical traits: Taller than her, which isn't very hard lmao. Other than that, she really isn't picky.

Ideal personality traits: Someone patient and understanding, who isn't quick to lose their temper. She has bad memories of that.

Unattractive physical traits: Like I said, she isn't picky.

Unattractive personality traits: Someone quick to anger and short tempered in general. She absolutely hates having to walk on eggshells, always thinking every dip in someone's mood is somehow her fault

Ideal date: This might seem oddly specific, but a haunted house date is something she's always wanted to do with someone. Her love for the horror/thriller genre isn't very well known to most people because she doesn't bring it up much, but if someone shares the same interest in her, she absolutely wants to walk through a haunted house with them. It's on her bucket list.

Do they have a type?: She seems to attract flirty goths a lot?? So I guess that?? But also she seems to gravitate towards flirty people in general lol

Average relationship length: She was in two relationships prior to attending Hope's Peak, neither of them lasting longer than a month. Gundham is the longest relationship she's been in.

Preferred non-sexual intimacy: Cuddling. She feels so much safer just knowing that the other person is there and won't leave

Opinion of public affection: She won't turn it down, but she will get very flustered and embarrassed. Not out of shame or anything like that, but more that she's just not used to that kind of treatment. Well she is but not in a particularly good way

Past relationships?: As I mentioned, she did have two previous relationships while she still attended her old high school, neither of which ended well. She doesn't like to talk about them.

Tagged by: Stole it

Tagging: Steal it

[theefairygodmother]

Adulthood VS Childhood.

As kids, we're so open with who we allowed in our space as 'friends' . All we needed to know was that they had the 64-Pack Crayola Crayons with the built in sharpener & we were SOLD; the making of your first grade BFF. If we knew better, we'd do better and needless to say - we definitely didn't know better but we were along for the ride because FUN was the priority.

Children were ruthless when I as growing up, most times nothing nice came out of our mouths on that playground. Much wasn't required in friendships as children - all that mattered was fun and everything insignificant. There was absolutely no maintenance . The definition of young, wild and carefree.

As teenagers, friendships become more meaningful and can become complex. We're coming into ourselves and discovering our identities and what intimacy includes which means there's some self disclosure and required support in which our friendships come in handy. By this time we’re a more secure in who we are and tend to gravitate to friends that share similar values and likes and begin to invest in these friendships.

Now as an adult.. .

The emotional intelligence has heightened and much more is required from the relationship(s) that we choose to invest in. This time around, we actually know better now that we've had some experience with other individuals, and are aware that people generally don't always mean you well - which makes it harder to make & maintain friends (both old and new as an adult)💡.

Also, we're just busy. There are responsibilities, careers, children and sooo much more - that gets tossed in the mix that we try to juggle! It's giving circus act. There isn't much time to maintain most of the relationships we have. Often times we get together and end up venting about bigger life stresses, bills & partners while nourishing the already existing foundation isn't a priority since subconsciously - the foundation already existed -Right?. . Wrong!As adults we have to be intentional about expanding & maintaining the foundation that originally was built at the core of who we are. The only way to know if the foundation has cracks; is if we're being intentional about wanting to maintain these grounds to continue to flourish.🌷

Innocence is non - existent. As adults we've experienced so much by now to know nothing and nobody is perfect & people can be hurtful - which will change the dynamic of any relationship. Society also has influence because now there added societal standards along with our personal expectations that we’ve developed as a requirement overtime. As adults we want the relationships we invest in to also bring us value; we should be seen, heard, respected, understood & supported - basics.

Self Awareness.

As adults, we're much more self aware than we were as children. Over the years, we've become concerned with what other people may of us think while picking apart our own existence. We know our strengths, weaknesses & desires in life. We have new & far developed ambitions which allows us to us decide who we choose to connect with and keep in our spaces. Life experiences play a major part in adult friendships vs childhood friendships as we gravitate to those with similar wants needs and experiences. While many things set the two apart, it is imperative that we take a step back and acknowledge that a lot of our friendship frustrations as adults are things that we've allowed to developed overtime. GO FIGURE🤯. Being intentional about maintaining the foundations will require lots of accountability, grace and compromise.

So ask yourself, are you intentional with the foundations you've been part of? Where can you step it up? What is now required that wasn't previously required? What do you need to ask for that you've failed to mention? Can you offer all that it is that you require ? How open is your communication? Is this worth maintaining or dismantling?

Theefairygodmother🧚🏾‍♀️

[masschase]

34, 36, 41 for casey for the ask meme :^]

SR character building questions

34. What activities does your character do when they’re not doing Saints business?

I'm guessing this is activities as in hobbies etc. not Activities which would come under Saints stuff?

I feel like obviously the Saints hang out just watching tv/movies and drinking/getting high a lot. So whenever that's an option, she'll take it because honestly she does have this constant fear of abandonment that frames her interactions with her friends. I mean that both in the sense of making the most of it and also feeling like she can't let them down even on the occasions she could probably do with some alone time.

Casey's also pretty good at poker. I did make a mention before of the time she won one of Pierce's tournaments because she had terrible cards but couldn't stop smiling all night, but that aside I think she's already really good by that point. She generally has that pretty chill facade and is used to hiding her emotions, plus, if she's playing with people she doesn't know, it's even better as they're very likely to underestimate her intelligence because of the way she talks. One might even speculate that the way she goes from desperately wanting people to realise she's not an idiot to realising that it can be useful at times may be something she realised partially through playing.

She still likes to practice shooting even when she's not doing that at work, she even builds a shooting range in her own home on Ragnarok/New Earth. Now the thing about this one is that generally, Casey does not enjoy physical violence out of work so much, she prefers to wind down from all that. But she enjoys target practice at all times, she gets a big sense of achievement out of it. She has a preference for doing this with Johnny because of the high standard of competition involved and in fact until her friendship with Matt develops, her target practice with Johnny is about the only regular (she does other stuff e.g. shopping with Pierce but it's more occasional/sporadic) one-on-one friend time she has.

I feel like sex should be mentioned as it takes up a fair enough chunk of her time. She has a high sex drive and while she obviously could deal with things by herself in that respect, perhaps more crucially she isn't fully comfortable with non-sexual intimacy for a long time. Did I just say she fucks everyone because she needs a hug? Yes, she fucks everyone because she needs a hug. My point is, 2-3 one night stands a week is time consuming. Granted sometimes calling up a sex worker can speed things up but by the time she has enough money to regularly do that she's also somewhat famous so has to weigh up the risks of that being found out.

She was a big, big fan of Yu-Gi-Oh and Magic the Gathering in her teens, but none of the original Saints are into that and later on she's kind of embarrassed about it and doesn't ask. She does get back into MTG after the Forbidden Planet trip and teaches Matt. They start with the most basic thrown together decks then build on them together until they are able to reasonably challenge each other. She likes board games but I feel like there were several incidents pre-therapy that mean no-one wants to play with her anymore, even though as she matures she would take it way less seriously. I think various board games are brought out on the ship. She is fascinated with various tabletop games as she peeked some at YGO/MTG tournaments but has never actually played any.

Then when she's alone... reading! Big one! Obviously I make a big deal out of Jane Austen bc she is her favourite but the Brontes are a very close second, and like most avid readers, though she does have her favourites, she is always reading something new when she gets the chance. Unfortunately that's not generally the case for a long time because those moments of complete calm are rare. After SRIV she has a lot more free time (and the ability to time jump for books) to the point where Zinbir, one of my antagonists suggests"...your only capability; that of running around shooting people, has been replaced by sitting around on a spaceship reading books." (but fuck him tbh). But the main reason she has the time to do that is because I feel like she finally learns to say no to hanging with everyone all the time because it's hard enough to all get along in that living situation without being together 24/7.

36. What diversions did your character like to do in Steelport and Stilwater? Which ones did they avoid?

don'tsayho-ingdon'tsayho-ingdon'tsayho-ing

Again, I'm guessing specifically just diversions? I love this question bc I have to think about what the character would enjoy not just what I do.

I feel like in SR she really likes tagging but she is not an artist, half the time in my hc it's probably just a smiley/angry/sad face, a dick and her pseudonym. She starts off doing it again post-coma but when she actually processes the fact she is suddenly not a teenager anymore she finds it kind of embarrassing.

I think she mugs people but not quite as we see in game. Honestly I like anything to do with stealing stuff with Casey, it's a random trait I apply across universes. She's not the stealthiest though, that's why it's hilarious. She'd pickpocket someone and they'd totally notice and she'd just be like yeah I took your wallet, I also have a gun, like... where do you want to go with this? You'd think theft would be on my list on this basis but I doubt she's great with safecracking tbh.

Combat tricks are a diversion right? I feel like you can only kill so many people before you start wanting to get a little creative. I can see her saying, right, today I am shooting everyone in the balls. Whether they have balls or not.

I also think it would be really, really funny if she's not usually into collecting things but it's something she gets incredibly into when she's high. That said in 4 she doesn't really have the ability to get high and she still likes collecting clusters when she's bored. I think this is because obviously she gets to use the super powers to get them and plus the habit of collecting things maybe just stuck.

Once she has worked out her strengths she avoids racing, stunt jumps, anything involving a car bc she can't fucking drive... she only gets driving stunts by accident 🤣 I don't think she much likes photo ops in 3 as I make it clear she sees fame as a necessary evil most of the time. She's also terrible at those tower jump things in 4. Maybe if she wasn't wearing heels all the time that'd help. Also, although it's fun in-game, realistically I think she should be a complete fail at like 90% of store hacking.

41. Name the top three Saints your character got along with the least.

Ooh difficult!

I feel like Oleg and Casey have a pretty meh relationship overall. This kind of goes back to the recognising intelligence thing. He does respect her as a leader, but he doesn't really see her as an intellectual, because I guess she's not really. He seems genuinely surprised when she shows brief moments of linguistic prowess or brilliance in problem solving for example. I think they get along just fine for work but they don't form the sort of close friendship she does with a lot of the other Saints. Which is a shame because I like Oleg and his dynamic with some of the other Saints a lot.

Angel... I don't know if this is because Angel is such a meh character to me or what. But I feel like they barely knew each other especially as I see him as so super focused on Killbane throughout SR3 so they never really got to connect. Since Casey saves Shaundi, I always see Angel and Killbane kind of disappearing off into the sunset together. Idk, I like the idea of a love so passionate it resembles hate and vice versa. I don't necessarily know which is them. Unless I decide I want to do something with them later, they are presumed dead though.

Finally I'd say maybe Keith. Because just thinking back to the dynamics in the white house and on board the ship, they just don't make that kind of connection. Plus I think he thinks she doesn't take anything seriously enough. Like Oleg he doesn't bother her enough to scratch the surface, which is fair. Not everyone wants to have to unwrap every layer of someone just to make a friend.

I think this is the thing, Casey has Saints she argues with more and less and has her ups and downs with. Also sometimes her personal and work relationships with one person manifest very differently. But she's still with them, interacting, keeping them close. It's the ones who she doesn't make the effort with or who don't make the effort with her that I class as her not getting along with.

[shardclan]

"You feelin' nervous boy?"

Rubedo's throat managed a bob despite the dryness on his tongue. "A bit."

Middlemist patted him roughly on the back. "Good! Means you're not dumb. La might be the last-hatched of our nest but you'll end up missing an eye if you fuck around here."

Despite his dry mouth, his eyes betrayed bright excitement. "I know."

Middlemist smiled the satisfied smile of an eldest sibling seeing good things in her little sister's future, and adjusted his wrappings.

Though the air was festive, the witnesses were few. Just family in fact--Haematica, Camellia and Middlemist herself. Phasmatis sent her luck, but with nearly the entire expertise of the medical sector attending, she had opted to stay behind. Things in Feldspar were a bit tumultuous recently, or else Asura would likely have been there too.  This was an important rite for the clan's only plague bloodline. One a bit archaic, Middlemist thought, but Alala was like their mother that way. Romantics who liked to do things the old ways, shed a little blood for sentiment's sake.

Rubedo, of course, was not a plagueling. So he was participating largely to prove that he could keep up with their family’s strong attachments to their heritage. Compared to Alala, he was younger, less experienced, and had little combat training, but victory wasn’t the point. 

Mostly he was excited to see a new side of Alala. She stood across the circle from him, her medical whites and soothing blues replaced by fleshy pinks. Even her glasses had been set aside for a bony mask and ragged tatters. From the moment that first spark of potential had passed between them, he’d always wondered what was underneath the surface. There was always that mischievous sparkle in her eyes. That controlled, playful smile like she knew something he didn’t. Most tourists firmly believed she was harmless. Some of the frequent visitors who knew the clan well enough were bold enough to say her plague element had about as much bearing on her personality as it did on Enyi’s. Seeing that get cleared up was the first time Rubedo had ever seen her genuinely angry.

Though they had flirted and coyly courted each other’s affection for nearly an eon, this was the first time he felt like he was really being invited behind the curtain.

Haematica looked beside herself with the innocent but slightly malicious high cheer characteristic of plague dragons. She raised an arm.

“Present the weapons!”

If he had been from the same area of the Boneyard as their family, it would have been a weapon of his own making. The cleaver Rubedo presented was Opalite's. It was probably the oldest object present, certainly older than any dragon there, and it had been killing for the better part of two ages. Daunting for a dragon that was only two eons old, but it had the right spirit about it.

Alala's weapon emerged from under her tatters. Hooks. In the subtle off-white that only belonged to true ivory. They were nearly the size of her head, and somewhat clumsily made. He had seen them once or twice on the same mantle where Haematica's bone saw and Middlemist's claws were. Rubedo couldn't help a charmed smile as he lowered his stance. She really was a romantic in her own sort of way, to have brought her very first weapon.

"Ready," Haematica said loud and clear. "...COMMENCE!"

Alala didn't move immediately, and neither did Rubedo. Hooks were utility items for sure, but they weren’t great weapons for killing. She hadn't attached any rope or rods to give them any real reach, just common handles bound in leather.

Which meant she had to get close.

"Surely you're not scared of little old me," she taunted.

"Scared isn't the right word. Appropriately wary?" He circled carefully. "Appreciative, let's go with that."

"Charmer~"

Her approaching gait suggested playfulness, but the battle shriek that came out of her opened every pore in his body at once. The hooks had seemed blunt at a distance, but when they grazed by his cheek he saw much too closely that they were barbed.

As the adrenaline kicked in, memories erupted through the haze. Feeding him anything that might keep him alive as the woman he was so wholly enamored with tried to rip into him in the most literal sense. Their family crest was of a viper coiled about a rafflesia. They came from dragons who were Ice and Earth. Their names had meaning, each an homage paid because they didn't believe in physical mementos. Each of them according to tradition had a trait they cultivated. Haematica had intensity, Middlemist had savagery, Asura had ferocity (when he was well enough), and Alala... had never been explained to him. His guess was part of their courtship.

He swung hard. A straight blade would have been dealt with easily, but the teeth of the cleaver meant she could not re-direct his strikes. But she met it anyway, and though the leather creaked the hooks flashed a sickly red and didn't give.

He suspected it was tenacity. It showed in the bulge of her small muscles, the baring of her teeth, and the intimidating red light in her eyes.The youngest of the nest and a baby-face. Pleasant, playful, and dignified as a dahlia. But she had survived contagion like the rest. Everything about her seemed to say nimbleness and dodging was her game, but there she was. Bearing the pressure of the cleaver and looking him dead in the eye.

He wasn't wrong. Not entirely. While his words would later be flattering to Alala, they would also be answered bluntly by Middlemist with : "That’s cute but nah; she's just fuckin' mean."

And the truth really was that simple. Alala didn't have the raw intimidation factor of the other females in her family. Not when she was a skydancer and definitely not when she was humanoid. It had been that way since she was a small child, scrapping with other hatchlings by the Wyrmwound. She looked an easy mark, and she wasn't as robust as Middlemist. So she had found her own way to survive. And it usually involved the other hatchling getting their first big, life-changing taste of regret.

Alala chose hooks because she attracted the type who thought they could easily knock over a weaker dragon to make themselves look powerful. She chose barbs on those hooks so if they tried to run as soon as she fought back, they were branded as cowards forever. Alala was tenacious, but most plague-born were. The special aspect she cultivated to help her survive was malice. She just didn’t need it on a day to day basis.

That was what she hoped would be reflected in Rubedo the longer they fought. She met every strike, and sought only to sink her hooks into him. To see what he would become in a moment of pain and danger. He wasn't born to the Boneyard, but he was born to barren Ice and the touch of the Seat that threatened his life constantly. It wasn't sickness in the traditional sense, but he was contaminated as they were. Striving to live. And she had seen him bitter about it. Seen him angry and rebellious at the coddling that had been characteristic of his youth. And the more she pressed and swung and snagged his flesh, the more she saw it rearing.

Neither of them were easy marks. Not to fate or magic. Not to common dragons or the gods themselves. Not to anyone. 

The hooks found him. He let them find him. But even as the barbs pulled ragged furrows into his arms and he howled in pain he kept his focus. The armor was to protect him from Alala if she got too excited, but the wrappings were to protect her from him. From the opalescence that could kill them both if it made contact. In reclaiming her weapons, she had torn the wrappings on his arms away and the glassy crystallization shone with the same searing magenta of the Seat.

He gripped the cleaver in one hand. Every cruel strike she came for was punished not with the cleaver but with his spare arm. His hands were still gloved; he could never have dared to go that far on her. But his claws and the patches on his forearms were making contact with the bits of her own skin that weren't covered. And each time his pink opalescence made contact it was stained by her essence, until it grew red as the blood running from both of them.

Dark circles formed under both their eyes, but the spark grew only brighter. Alala was laughing, covered in smears of Rubedo's blood and gouges all along her arms and sides. He in turn stood grinning and panting with her flesh caught under his nails, his glassy fingertips clouding pink and red.

"CEASE!"

They looked back at Haematica, seemingly having forgotten she was there. They looked back to one another, and both gratefully sagged onto the ground.

Alala, unable to not be a doctor now that it was over, called over to him. "That was a dumb thing to do, using your opalescence."

"Didn't seem to slow you down any," he coughed. "I'll be fine. I'm not going to die to something like this."

She made a pleased sort of humming noise. "No, I get the feeling you wouldn't."

A short breather later, the both sat up to find themselves alone save a medical kit left in the space between them. Alala got to it first, but Rubedo gently pushed her hands away. 

“You’re more injured,” she insisted.

“I can wait.”

“You’re covered in lacerations!”

“And you’re sick from the contact with me. Your fingers aren’t going to be steady enough to deal with this.”

She stared at his mangled arms. “And yours are?”

“Yes.” He took her mask and brushed strands of sweat-stuck hair from her cheeks. His voice was low and gentle, murmuring into her shoulder as he cleaned her wounds. “I can wait, Alala.”

She let him have his way, mostly so she wouldn’t give away how much the words flustered her. The sting of the anti-septic, the scent of dying blood and sweat laced with adrenaline, the tender efficiency of his first-aid... It was everything her mother had always described, exhilarating and so intimate she could feel heat wafting from the tips of her ears. And he probably knew it. She’d gone easy on him--it was only a courtship spar after all--but he had met her expectations and now he was pampering her on top of it.

She murmured faintly as he finished. 

“Hm?” He leaned around her, looking for other injuries. “Did I miss a spot?”

“No.” She pulled a thin pair of gloves from the kit. “I said, do you want to get married?”

[the-cosmic-gentle-giant]

♡Astrology Notes♡

Hey hey friendo's! Here are the astro notes as promised! I'll try my best to get the asteroid post out soon, but in the mean time enjoy the notes I've compiled, take what resonates and feel free to correct me, as I always appreciate constructive criticism 😊

P.s. if you'd consider buying me a coffee it'd mean the world to me. Thank you for the support!🤗

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So first of all, I've noted that Mars in 1st natives tend to be ambiverts. They've got the energy and capacity to be full on party people, but their also selective about who they share their energy with. Their social approach really depends on the vibes of other people.

Now this pisses me off to no end, but Mars in 8th is NOT your sex god!! There is less emphasis on sex and more emphasis on sexuality with this placement I feel.

1. Mars in 8th tends to explore and come to grips with their own sexuality, rather than just whoring about. To them it's really about understanding where they fit on the spectrum of sexuality, from being gay, bi or ace. It's not just about sex.

2. Also, casual sex is shallow to them. They want intimacy with someone who has and will show them their depth of character. This is what sex is about to them.

3. Mars in 8th may also tackle issues with secrets and trauma related to sex.

BASICALLY! DON'T SIMPLY LABEL THEM AS SEX GODS! YOU ARE FAILING TO STUDY THE DEPTH OF THIS PLACEMENT!

11th House or Aquarius Mercuries become so easily vexed when dealing with people who are intellectually challenged lol. Like they fume at at people who struggle to figure shit out that this placement feels is so effing obvious. Sometimes they just wanna grab a stupid person by the face and yell "get gud! Pls!" at them lol

When discussing non-traditional sexualities people always reference Aquarius, Pisces, Scorpio or Saggitarius in this regard. However, ya'll are sleeping on Leo placements here. We all know about lions and their pride, so best believe they'll be comfortable as all hell displaying their sexuality to the world and can be quite vocal about LGBTQ+ rights...altho the opposite is also true. Regardless of tho, they are confident in their sexuality.

Still on the topic of sexuality, despite what I've mentioned above you can't just pin a person's sexuality down based on a single placement. This is why we study aspects, to understand how people may view, react and experience it...especially aspects to venus, moon, mars and lilith

Juno Trine Neptune natives are the type to wait for the man/woman/person of their dreams AND when they do meet them are sometimes blind to their partner's flaws, only willing to see the best side of them and nothing else...quite delusional on occasion really.

Check your 4th House and 10th House signs for insights on your parents. The 4th House being the more nurturing parent and the 10th House being the more leading parent. For instance I have a Pisces IC and Virgo MC, my mom shows more Pisces traits like sensitive, spiritual and distant whereas my dad shows Virgo traits of being overly-critical, a workaholic and having high standards.

Virgo placements, being represented by the virgin/maiden, often have this innocence and naivety about them which leaves them hurt many times over as these carry over to their unrealistic expectations. They are looking for perfection in a world unwilling to provide it to them.

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[writing-for-marvel]

Your Hand In Mine

Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ransom was never a physically affectionate person, at least, not until he met you.

Prompt: @suck-tember day 1 prompt ‘fingers’

Warnings: strictly 18+ only, NSFW, fingering, semi-public sex. TRIGGER WARNING: mention of Ransom’s parents being neglectful and physically abusive. Mention of drugs and alcohol - not consumed by reader. Ransom is fairly soft in this

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: so I know it’s not focussed on oral fixation as intended for @suck-tember, but the prompt inspired this idea so I ran with it. Banners by @maysdigitalarts, dividers by @silkholland

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library

Ransom Drysale was always someone who liked to keep to himself.

Not that he didn’t enjoy going out, being the life of the party, managing to spend a regular person's yearly wage in one night, or arguing his opinion with anyone who was willing to take the bait.

But in the sense that he enjoyed his physical space.

He was smart enough to realise it was probably rooted in his parents not showing him physical affection as a child - no hugs goodbye, no forehead kiss goodnight, not even a damn high five for a job well done in school.

The only time his parents ever touched him was if he was being dragged somewhere didn’t want to go, their hands in a vice around his arm as he wailed and cried, like the spoiled brat they incessantly told him he was. His father sometimes resorted to physical punishments to prevent his weeping, regularly enough that Ransom quickly learned not to resist their demands, to simply go along with it if he were to avoid their punishment.

And with his compliance, went their last reason to touch him. Though, Ransom was thankful for that.

As he got older, Ransom’s aversion to physical affection born solely from innocent, non-sexual intentions only grew stronger.

Wherever he went he’d see couples interlocking hands, using any excuse to hold each other, sit in each other’s lap, mindlessly fiddle with the other's fingers, placing chaste kisses to foreheads, shoulders, hands.

Why would people want that? Why would you go out of your way to spend more time in connection with someone than you had to?

Ransom was by no means averse to some physical forms of intimacy - having a woman in his bed for the night who could wet his dick provided far greater pleasure than his own hand could. His body had figured that one out for himself.

But that was all about his own sexual release. It had nothing to do with romantic feelings, affection or comfort. Nor the satisfaction of his partner in those carnal activities. It was purely about himself.

How selfish.

Well, he was a Drysdale after all.

Nobody expected anything more of him.

And then he met you.

Your compassion for others were second to none, and even though Ransom had never done anything in his pampered and overindulgent life to deserve any sympathy, you showed him incomparable kindness nonetheless.

If Ransom wanted something, he got it. Friends and strangers alike never said no to him, not with the wealth and stature his family notably held. That same status was something you didn’t place importance on - you treated everyone the same regardless of their background or what material items they could offer you.

Most were too scared to call Ransom out for his bullshit, so he continued to toy the line to see what he could get away with - it was all a game to him, knowing his family money could buy him out of any real trouble he found himself in.

However, you were different. You told him off when he crossed the line. Held him to a higher standard than he held himself. For some strange reason, which Ransom couldn’t fathom, it seemed that you wanted him to be a better version of himself than the spoiled narcissist his parents had raised.

That intrigued Ransom. Mostly because society viewed him as purely the wealthy enabler who paid for everyone’s night out, but that’s where their attachment ended. He knew he was only tolerated because he funded lavish parties, supplied the alcohol and facilitated his so-called friends' drug habits - if it weren’t for that, he’d just be the dickhead nobody liked.

You had this endearingly inspiring quality about you which always made him feel like he could do anything, including improving himself to be more than just the pampered, pompous rich boy.

And he found that he wanted to. For you.

You would later tell him it was his courage and resolve to better himself that really made you fall for him. And though Ransom rarely felt shy, he was apprehensive to inform you that you were the reason he tried in the first place. Because that would mean admitting not only were you the only person on the face of the earth who actually gave a damn about him, but also the way he felt about you was developing into a deep fondness he was unable to control.

In most contexts Ransom was usually the person in charge, directing what needed to happen and when. Yet, when it came to his relationship with you, you were the one who instigated everything.

His lack of experience in affairs born of the heart rather than pure lust, made him feel like an insecure, inexperienced teenager. Yet you were always patient with him, which only resulted in his ever growing attachment to you deepening.

With a romantic relationship came expectations of chaste physical intimacy, and that perhaps more than anything scared Ransom. He couldn’t understand the reasoning behind wanting to be close to someone in that way, and with the deficiency of experiencing any physical touch his whole life, he was concerned he may never be able to provide that for you.

He felt comfortable enough to express this worry to you, and with the unparalleled empathy you possessed, you promised him to start off nice and slow.

You were both attending a book release for his grandfather when it happened for the first time. In tedious discussions with relatives who Ransom had completely forgotten how he was connected to, you inconspicuously reached over and interlocked your pinky with his.

That’s all it was. Just his smallest finger connected with yours. And yet he found himself never wanting to let go. That one minuscule act, that seemed at least outwardly to not affect you at all, had Ransom’s entire body paralysed.

You must have sensed his rigidity beside you. When you looked up at him, all wide eyed and believing you had done something wrong, moving to pull your hand away from his, he clamped his hold on your pinky even tighter.

Ransom wasn’t quite sure why he felt that if you were to let go his whole life would crumble before him. It seemed a drastic overreaction to a simple caress of fingers. But he felt that way deep in his chest nonetheless.

You must have been able to read his intent from the expression on his face - you were always good at doing that - because instead, you smiled up at him, scrunching your nose in the adorable, involuntary way he adored, and kept your finger joined with his for the rest of the party.

Ransom tried to not let the thought of innocently touching your hand consume him, but he failed miserably. He had previously only ever experienced repulsion at chaste touches, and yet he welcomed your touch so freely, only wanting to experience more of the warm sensation.

It wasn’t until two weeks later, while having Sunday family dinner at his parents house, that you chose to perform a similar action.

His mother was on a tirade about certain members of the family whom she didn’t approve of, something she ended up doing when she had one too many glasses of wine, when your name fell from her lips followed by the words ‘gold digger’.

Ransom’s hands were immediately clenched in fists, and rage boiled so fiercely within him that he wouldn’t be surprised to see steam billowing from his ears. He opened his mouth, ready to return the attack when it happened.

Your soft hand pried his fist open, nestling yourself between his fingers. You barely looked down at where you now connected with him, instead choosing to look deep into his eyes as if to say ‘she’s not worth it’.

He could feel his heart rate immediately start to slow down. The anger which had been ferociously bubbling in his chest now felt like barely a ripple.

All because you touched him.

Not sexually. Not in the sensual, teasing ways your hands would roam his body when you wanted him to fuck you.

No, not like that at all. You were simply holding his hand with no additional motivation. You were gaining nothing from this exchange, the act was solely for Ransom’s benefit. Interlocking your fingers with his and affectionately rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand, as if it were the most normal and natural thing you could do.

And that’s when it all finally clicked in Ransom’s brain.

The reason all those lovey dovey couples that annoyed him everywhere he went couldn’t get enough of holding each other - why they’d use any excuse to be connected with their person.

Comfort. Support. Security.

The people currently in the room with him had provided the opposite of that his entire life - they had only caused him anguish and loneliness. It was all he was used to, and yet with a gesture as simple as holding hands, he knew for a fact he had found that solace with you.

Linda across the table repeated his given name a couple of times in the scorchingly frustrated way only she could manage when directing conversation at the son she regretted having. However, Ransom was too caught up in his body’s reaction to your affectionate touch to give a shit about his mother at that moment.

The table went silent as Ransom finally stood and declared “eat shit, we’re leaving.”

Heads held high, you walked side by side out of the hostile house, Ransom not letting go of your hand until he opened the passenger side door of his car. As soon as he let go, a feverish tingle rushed up his arm which he suspected only your touch could soothe.

“Thank you.” Ransom breathed out. Somehow the air in his small car wasn’t as stuffy as it was inside his parents' giant house. Ransom couldn’t remember the last time he thanked someone, if ever. Yet the words felt right in his mouth when you were the one he was thanking.

“You’re welcome, Ran.” You returned, seemingly knowing exactly what he was thanking you for without him needing to say it aloud.

As if to make him fall even harder for you right then and there, you chose that moment to yet again join your hand with his, and place a kiss to his knuckles. A warm, fuzzy feeling erupted in Ransom’s chest, one he knew for certainty he had never felt before.

It concerned him for a moment that possibly he was having heart palpitations, or an anxiety attack. But perhaps what startled him the most was that this feeling was actually a surge of love and devotion to you.

He had never loved someone before.

But when he looked into your eyes, he was sure. He could see his whole life in front of him. He never thought finding someone who would put up with him for longer than a night would be on the cards for him, and yet here you were, sticking by him even when you knew the dark and ugly parts of him.

It was both exhilarating and terrifying that for the first time in his life, there was someone more important to him than himself. Someone he wanted to truly be better for.

“Let me thank you properly.”

Without thinking, or even really knowing how he managed it in his small car, he shifted you from the passenger seat onto his lap, pulling you into a bruising kiss.

Ransom felt an inherent need to pleasure you with his fingers, the same part of your body which you had used to provide comfort to him earlier. Pushing your skirt up over your thighs, his hand instinctively reached for the damp patch already forming on your panties.

“Please Ran, please. I need you.” God you sounded so desperate, and that only turned him on even more.

Ransom wasn’t about to deny what you wanted when you asked so politely. Pushing your panties aside, he coated the tips of his fingers in your slick before slipping his middle finger into you. He could tell at once it wasn’t enough by the way you wiggled your hips eagerly to increase friction.

“Such a needy girl aren’t you?” He asked before generously adding an extra finger, your grateful groan in appreciation making his dick twitch. “Look at you, my gorgeous little slut creaming on my fingers right outside my parent’s house where they could see us. You like that, don’t you?”

All you could do was nod when Ransom used his thumb to draw small circles over your clit while simultaneously scissoring his fingers inside you, knocking the breath out of your lungs.

Unlike with his previous sexual partners where all Ransom was concerned about was his own orgasm, being knuckle deep inside your pussy was about your pleasure.

Did the sight of you whimpering above him, feeling your soft walls fluttering around his fingers make him painfully hard? Absolutely.

But this wasn’t for him. This was all for you.

He continued to relentlessly thrust his fingers inside you, instinctively curling them to brush over the spongy spot that had your thighs quivering, relishing the moans and whines slipping from your lips right beside his ear.

“I love all those pretty little sounds you make.” Knowing he was responsible for every breathy gasp, every whimper trickling from your lips only fueled him to pump his fingers faster, to hear more of them.

As he pushed you closer and closer to the edge, Ransom could feel your grip on his shoulders tighten and your pussy squeezing his fingers gloriously.

“Shit, right there! Oh God, Ran, I’m gonna cum.” Your head fell to rest your forehead against Ransom’s shoulder, fingers tugging at his hair and though your eyes fluttered shut in pure ecstasy, he couldn’t take his eyes off how beautiful you looked.

“That’s my good girl. Let go baby, I got you.”

Your entire body shuddered as the wave of your orgasm overcame you, crying out an incoherent combination of curse words and his name as your gushing climax coated his hand and the front of his pants. Though, Ransom didn’t relent the pace of his pumping fingers until he was satisfied that you had fully come down the other side of your high.

The dazed smile you shot him once you managed to sit upright in his lap again mesmerised him. In that moment all he wanted to do was give you mind blowing orgasm after orgasm so he could continue to experience the heavenly sight of your writhing body and that bewitching, satisfied smile.

Ransom removed his fingers from you and brought them up to his mouth to taste the slick of your release, which was as sweet as he knew your soul to be. Lord, he could just drown in the taste of you - something he planned on doing once the location allowed for it.

“Let’s go back to your place, and I’ll return the favour.” You mumbled against his lips in a sloppy kiss before manoeuvring yourself back into the passenger's side seat.

The entire drive home Ransom covered your hand with his on the gear stick, his large fingers slotting between yours perfectly.

In his small car beside you, driving ever further away from his old family house, Ransom had never felt more at home. He intrinsically knew that he’d never find a safer place than his hand enclosed in yours.

And because of that, someday, he’d make sure you knew just how much he cherished you by giving you a ring to wear proudly on your finger.

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[millllenniawrites]

a light, a song, a bluebird (Poe Dameron x f!Reader)

words: 6.4k

warnings: contains smut and difficult themes so 18+ only please; Reader has certain trauma responses that not all readers may relate to (including being touch-adverse, temporarily non-verbal, and ‘flight’ related conflict responses); intimacy related anxiety; dealing with trauma indirectly (source of trauma is never explicitly declared); assumed consent typical of a developed relationship; passing mention of having children in the future; canon typical violence; dancing; Jedi!Finn (not that it’s a warning, but it’s necessary for context)

a/n: FINALLY THE FIC I HAVE BEEN TALKING ABOUT FOR MONTHS IS HERE!!!!! I don’t really get into my trauma on here but this fic is pretty heavily based on me and the way I exist which is SUPER vulnerable and makes me very stressed but I’ve had a few requests over the years for something like this and I think I’m finally ready to post more about my experiences. We’re gonna start with this and see how it goes. It’s also a new narration style I’m trying!

I definitely could add more scenes to this thing (and I still might add to it) but I just need to post it and let it be imperfect. But if you guys like this universe, let me know? Maybe I’ll make this a little series? Not that I need another damn series

(Also if you’re interested in the playlist for this fic, it’s here)

I hope this means something to you. Writing it has definitely meant something to me.

__

Poe could have sworn you were a statue with how still you sat. Shoulders hunched near up to your ears, only a slight sway of your head gave you away: the human among life-like metal and stone.

He takes a cautious step into your workshop, head on a swivel for company and your self-designed traps. Only once had he missed a tripwire, sending a misshapen clay head—he later found out it was an attempt at a lothcat— swinging through the air and into his jaw.

He carefully navigates the stacks of artwork as he heads for your work station. As he passes though, he brushes a thin layer of ash off a carving of a Force-tree and rights a pile of tarps threatening to topple onto a half-finished clock. He never would have lingered on the timepiece, tucked under a larger depiction of a four-legged, seemingly hairy creature he doesn’t recognize, if not for the delicate gold gears set into its face. Not only were the gears golden, but you had pressed metal leaves of the same warm shade into the preserved wood of the clock’s body.

He freezes as he hears you call out, “Mr. Bey?”

You’re shocked at how quickly his head snaps around to look at you. It usually takes him a moment to respond as he feigns having the reflexes of a normal person, making it more than clear that he’s undercover, but you weren’t one to call a man out. His business was his.

And your discretion kept him coming back.

You had turned in your seat and were grinning at the handsome man, yanking your earpieces out of your head. They clatter to the tabletop. Standing, you tuck your hands into the front of your stained apron, sending your bag that was always slung over one of your shoulders swinging at your side.

Something about the softness in his eyes makes your heart flutter.

He takes a small bow, carefully tipping the grey cap he has sitting on his curls in your direction as he made his way to his feet. Something in his knee pops and you flinch on his behalf.

He coughs, surely from the thickness of the air. The volcanic island that houses your shop has experienced recent activity, sending debris and ash into the air. Given how sparse his visits were, you doubt he’s used to the air quality.

“I hope I didn’t startle you,” he says, his voice gravely. There’s something child-like about how he carries himself, like a boy in his father’s clothing.

“You didn’t,” you say with a shake of your head. Leaning around the large chunk of unworked metal that was blocking your view, your eyebrows quirk up as you notice the subject of his study. “I didn’t think a non-standard timepiece was part of the Princess’ order.”

“It wasn’t this time. But I’ll put a good word in.”

Your laugh is a gentle exhale. You rock back on your heels before turning around and pushing aside the grease-stained cloth that curtained off the underside of your table. The box he’d come for had been tucked under your workbench all day in anticipation of his arrival.

Every time your swinging legs had collided with the crate, you had seen his gentle brown eyes as clear as if he was standing before you.

You grunt as you pull it free. With a quick tap on the top of the weapons case, it begins to levitate itself. With a careful shove, you send it towards Poe. “There.” You rock back on your heels again, your head cocked. “Will that be all, Mr. Bey?”

He brushes some ash off the crate with his sleeve. “This time.” He sets the credits – more than he owed you for the weapons, if your eyes didn’t deceive you – on a squat table beside him.

The man was always careful to keep his distance from you. Though your quips were given with a smile and you seemed to take his teasing as well as you dolled it out, there were certain moments that you became timid around him.

He didn’t want to be the one to chase away your smile.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come on an adventure?” he asks, knowing your response.

He’d asked every time he’d come to pick up orders from you. It had taken you a few occurrences to figure out exactly what he’d meant. That he wasn’t just a stranger attempting to kidnap you. That he was actually asking you to come with him.

The Princess. A handsome scoundrel with a fake name. Shipments of weapons disguised as art. You didn’t need to be a genius to figure out what exactly you were assisting.

The Resistance.

Though it was a noble cause, and you couldn’t be happier to assist the General-Princess Leia Organa, you couldn’t imagine what being on a military base could offer you, other than sleepless nights and the feeling of uselessness you’d been trying to avoid since birth.

So, you shake your head. “No, thank you, Mr. Bey. You enjoy your adventure and I’ll see you soon.”

“Well, alright.” He bows again. “Take care.” He gently pushes the crate out your front door without looking back.

*

It’s weeks before Mr. Bey comes back to visit you. He’s transporting bombs, this time. Expensive ones. You’d traded a few of your best pieces for them. Things you were proud of and didn’t want to part with for anything.

Except, apparently, the fate of the galaxy.

His trip is short, as it always is, but he’s been sure to ask you: “Do you want to come on an adventure with me?”

Your answer is no, again, and he does look disappointed, but he smiles at you and leaves without pressuring you, as always. It’s like he can’t be anything other than sweet. He doesn’t know how. It simply isn’t in his programming.

You wonder what a man like that is doing in the middle of a war.

*

“Will you join me on my adventure today?” he asks softly.

Mr. Bey is wearing a long cloak this time. The thick fabric pools at his neck, failing to hide the suture tape that lines his jaw. He carries a new weight on his shoulders this time, months after you’d seen him last, his eyes sunken and hands unsteady.

You wonder idly what would happen if you were to say yes. Unfortunately, you hadn’t planned for this to be the moment you find out.

You push the crate towards him. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Bey. Who would finish this piece if I were to come with you?” You gesture to the metal sculpture in front of you before returning your hands to the strap of your bag. You worry the frayed edge with your fingers as you gaze down at your current project. It’s nowhere near finished, barely resembling the tree you could see in your mind. Two small birds, one still missing its wings, lay on their sides on your desk.

The floor begins to shake.

You move to duck under a table but Mr. Bey surges forward, holding out a hand. You take it gingerly, only because of the intensity of his gaze.

“We have to go.” He pulls you along with him as he heads for the door, abandoning the crate of weapons.

“It’s just a quake,” you try to explain, dragging your feet to slow him down. “They happen from time to time. We need to find cover…”

He opens the exterior door and swears.

The buildings surrounding the landing field burn. Two Planetary Defense ships plummet out of view, black streaks across the sky. Your lungs seize around the ashy air you drag in with your gasp.

A unit of TIE fighters close in on the Flight Tower. Two shots, and it’s set ablaze. Another, and it’s falling, falling…

Mr. Bey grips your wrist, dragging you out of the rubble’s path. The world moves in slow motion as it crumbles around you.

You clutch your bag tight to your chest and you run, hand in hand, from the building as the world explodes around you.

Two hands wave at you through the dust from the far side of the landing field. The shuttle that the person – a human, from what you could make out – is standing on hovers right at the end of the field, where flat earth drops away to sheer cliff and the rolling magma ocean below.

“Jump!” He shouts, dragging you across the gap and onto the boarding ramp of the ship.

He holds tight to your hand as you gaze down at the landing pad, watching the ships, the trading village, and your home explode and crumble into the sea below.

Mr. Bey does not let you go until the both of you are safe inside the shuttle and the doors close. As the shuttle lifts off, you scramble for purchase on the smooth, clean metal walls.

Tin can. You’re inside a tin can, flying away from your home.

“Steady, there.” The human that waved you into their shuttle sets a hand on your shoulder and you jump, gluing yourself to the wall.

“It’s okay. You’re safe.” Mr. Bey doesn’t approach you but holds out a hand. You timidly take it. He gestures to the other man. “This is Finn. He’s a friend.”

“Another code name, Mr. Bey?” you ask, still shaking.

He chuckles, the sound warming you. “I’m Poe,” he says, “Poe Dameron.”

You don’t know the family name Dameron. You’re not sure if you should. But from the way he says it, the sheer weight the name seems to carry as it rolls off his tongue, you know he’s important. His family is important. This man carries a legacy that you don’t need to know to respect.

You introduce yourself quietly, shaking his hand where he already holds yours. “I guess I’m joining you on your adventure this time, Poe Dameron,” you say. In your head, the words sound more confident than they come out, hanging awkwardly between you.

But he chuckles again. It calms something in you, and you smile too.

“It’s gonna be cramped with four people, but we’ll manage,” the man called Finn says and you shrink back against the wall.

Poe quickly lets you go, still smiling. “Come meet our pilot? She’s great. You’ll love her.”

You keep your bag clutched to your chest as he and Finn lead you through the ship. They both walk in front of you, turning back to check that you’re following occasionally but giving you space as you navigate to the cockpit.

The ship is a relic from an ancient time. The vents are clogged, and you can smell salt and sand and something definitely rotting somewhere. Despite that, you can tell the ship is very well loved.

You follow the curve of the upper deck towards the cockpit. A small brown-haired woman pokes her head out the door. “Stowaway?” she says.

Her deadpan has your gut twisting. “I—Mister—Um, Poe… Poe said I could…”

“You’re good. Rey’s kidding.” Poe introduces her to you and you carefully shake her hand.

“Welcome to the Falcon,” Rey says before taking her seat in front of the controls.

“She’s a little odd,” Poe whispers, warmth and love radiating from every word. You just nod, trying to smile.

Finn takes the seat next to her and Poe sits behind her, so you take the only remaining seat in the small cockpit for the remainder of the flight, tucking your knees to your chest and making yourself as small as possible, your bag resting over your knees.

The flight to the Resistance base is much shorter than you had expected. It makes sense, given how often Poe came to visit you for supplies, that they’d want somewhere close if they got into a jam.

If you could equate ‘a jam’ to the war raging in the galaxy.

Upon landing you’re quickly taken through a medical evaluation and then meet two members of the Resistance leadership, a taller woman with pink hair and a shorter one that seemed to carry the galaxy on her shoulders.

You can’t remember their names. It takes all of the concentration you can muster to keep from trembling. You’ll have to ask Poe later, for their names and a map of the base that quickly reveals itself to be a labyrinth. Surely he’ll be able to help. He’s been at your side since the Falcon had landed on D’Qar, providing enough smiles and kind words that you didn’t shake apart.

He walks beside you then, excitedly rambling about how well you’ll fit into the mech unit that had been stationed on base and how he’ll make sure you have enough supplies to still make some prettier things.

“You could still sell them, you know. The Resistance doesn’t exactly have that many sources of income. It would be the same work you were doing for us before!” he says.

The light in his eyes makes you want to trust him. You don’t have the heart to burst his bubble, but you know you aren’t going to fit in with the other mechanics. You don’t have the skills to contribute and you aren’t enough of a social butterfly to make a meaningful contribution to morale.

It was why you had always worked alone.

But there was no going home. So what else could you do?

Poe leads you down a quiet hallway near the back of the base, where the walls are open to the evening air and you can gaze out at the jungle. At the very end of the hallway, he opens a door.

The room is small, the furniture well-used in a way that instantly makes it cozy. A clean set of sheets has been laid on the unmade bed, which is squished into the corner against a wall of windows.

“The windows darken, if they make it feel too open for you. I noticed you cover most of the windows in your workshop…” He moves over to the panel laid into the wall next to the windows and hits a button. The glass becomes opaque, leaving you in darkness.

He giggles, letting out a small, “Oops,” as he paws at the panel, struggling to find the light. Your eyes adjust quickly to the darkness. You move towards him, hitting another one of the buttons.

The lamp in the ceiling stutters to life and you quickly back up, realizing how close you’ve gotten to Poe. He smiles, not unkindly, and says, “It’s okay. You’re going to be safe here. I promise.”

You nod. Your jaw has glued itself shut, keeping you from responding with anything more than a hum that you hope sounds encouraging.

“I’ll leave you to get settled in. We can head down to Supplies tomorrow to get you some clean clothes. There are a few shirts in the dresser. I thought you might want to sleep in something clean.” Poe points to the dresser and makes his way to the door. “Well, goodnight.” He backs out of the room, still smiling as the door closes between you, leaving you alone.

In the dresser, you find two shirts, one with long sleeves and one with the sleeves cut off. You lay your dirty clothes in one of the other empty drawers and put on the long-sleeved one. It’s worn, small holes dotting the edge of the collar where a necklace might have snagged it. But it’s warm. You dress the bed and lay down, fiddling with the hem and staring at your flickering light until sleep finds you.

*

You lean against the wall outside the cantina, clutching your cup tight in one hand. You’d brought tea in case the night got cold, but the dancing, screaming utter chaos inside the building seems to seep out, warming the night long after the sun had gone down. You watch the shadows that the people inside cast through the windows.

“Hey, Mech! Are you coming inside?” One of your favourite techs calls from the doorway. In your panic, you forget her name.

Even a year of knowing someone can’t stand up to the adrenaline spike that courses through you at someone’s eyes meeting yours.

Your open your mouth to respond but your tongue sticks to your teeth, so you shake your head, holding up the unlit stick of spice that rests between your fingers as an excuse.

She grins and yells, “Enjoy!” before heading into the building.

You wonder how long you can go using the same stick of spice as a way to get out of talking to people before someone calls you on it.

A crowd of pilots make their way up the short road between the town and the base. From their yelling, they’ve already broken into the liquor stash. A few voices stand out. Karé and Jess, more specifically. Black Squadron. Which means Poe is surely among them.

Quickly, you survey them. Poe is there, his flight suit only half on. He’s tied the arms around his waist, securing the bottom half of his jumpsuit in place and leaving him in a white undershirt that showed off his arms, shoulders, and most of his chest. Rey always says it ‘barely counted as a shirt’ and you giggle to yourself at the memory, stopping only when you realize how crazy you’ll look if someone spots you.

You tuck your knees into your chest, making yourself as small as possible so they don’t notice you.

You’re almost successful.

Poe Dameron slides down the wall beside you, waving his squadron into the cantina as he settles. “D’you need a light for that?” He gestures to the spice in your hand.

You shake your head.

“Just needed a minute by yourself?”

At that, you nod.

He grunts as he sinks back into the wall. “Cool. Me too.”

You gaze out at the jungle together. Poe can’t sit still, as hard as he tries. He begins to sway to the music that blasts from inside the cantina, humming along and tapping a rhythm line you can’t hear on his thigh.

“Do you want to dance?” He finally blurts out.

“In there?” You whisper, somehow finding your voice as you point to the door.

He shakes his head and stands up, brushing off his flight suit. “We can dance right here.” He grins down at you. Pure energy radiates from him.

You can’t disappoint him.

So you stand, pocket your spice, set down your teacup, brush yourself off, and look at him expectantly.

Poe takes your hand in his, stepping closer. He keeps enough of a distance that you don’t feel the urge to run, only making contact with you where your palms touched and where his hand rested lightly on your back to guide you. The two of you barely sway, following the bass that pounds through the walls.

“Is this usually how you dance at these parties?” You whisper, already knowing the answer. You’ve seen the way he holds onto his partners, his dark gazes, his wandering hands. This is very, very different, almost proper, and you aren’t sure what to make of it.

“No. But it’s how I used to dance when I lived on Yavin. My mom taught me,” he says, turning you slowly. “The music at these parties is always bad. But it’s not always so loud.”

“Celebrations usually are. Loud, I mean. It’s… good. I’m glad everyone has a chance to relax.”

Things on base had been tense, the silence uncomfortable and heavy, even for you. The Resistance had needed a victory. Even this little one was invigorating, like you actually had a chance against the army that had amassed in the shadow of the New Republic’s failure.

“Yes. It’s good.” He spins you again, and you settle into a rhythm.

Poe is a good dancer. Many of the people that seemed to yearn for him would have killed to be in your place, to be so close to the Untouchable War Hero Poe Dameron. He keeps to himself, sticking with Rey and Finn (and you, when you could stand to be around people) when he wasn’t around his squad, and you saw how that angered some people on base.

Thankfully, they mostly left you alone. There were some perks to having two Jedi and the Resistance’s best pilot as your only friends. Even if they were only friends with you because Poe kept sitting with you for meals.

But that didn’t mean your ears turned off. It was safer to stay in your office or in the mech lab, where you didn’t have to be around people’s judging glances and whispers. The techs you liked kept their conversations with you brief and solely focused on work-related matters. They didn’t bring up Commander Dameron’s favouritism towards you, the extra projects he gave you so you could practice working on the Resistance’s tech, or the way he trailed behind you on your rounds when he should have been training, or the nights he spent in your room.

They also didn’t know that most of those nights ended with the two of your sprawled out on your floor, laying in the light cast by the moon through your window, with enough space between you that Rey and Finn could have fit. It wasn’t nearly the scandalous affair they all made it out to be.

But still. Poe is there. Holding you, not some other mech he could romance and whisk away before the night is over.

“Shouldn’t you join the party?” you whisper.

“I’d rather be out here with you.” His voice is as soft as the hand that rests on your lower back, drawing you closer.

“You know I won’t be going home with you,” you remind him.

He chuckles again. “Can’t I dance with a friend?”

“I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Are more of the people you dance with friends?”

“Friends of a sort.”

Your stomach rolls and you straighten up. “And what sort of friend am I?”

He doesn’t seem to notice a change in you, but his voice softens, the darkness that had edged his words disappearing. “A good one. One of the best.”

“I can’t beat Finn, I guess.” You untangle yourself from him and sit back down, taking a sip of your cold tea.

Poe stays standing, looking down at you like a lost puppy. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, Poe,” you whisper. “You’re fine. Go enjoy your victory party.”

He shuffles his feet, looking between you and the open door.

“I’ll come back for you,” he finally says. “I’ll walk you home.”

“Sure, Poe.” You nod, trying for a smile.

You’re gone in the time it takes him to get a drink and come back to your spot against the wall.

*

“So, you haven’t hooked up with anyone since you got to D’Qar.”

You stare at Poe, trying to figure out if you’ve imagined him speaking.

“Am I wrong?” he says.

You watch his lips move.

Yeah, he’s definitely actually talking.

“How would you know?” you finally reply.

“Because you have the same routine every day and I’d notice if you deviated from it. Hell, Holdo would notice if you deviated from it.” He stares down at his feet, swinging his legs off the edge of the boarding ramp. It had gotten stuck in place, five feet off the ground, and you and Poe had been sent to fix it. Though your tools were spread out in the belly of the shuttle and you had wanted to get to work, Poe had insisted you pause to watch the sun rise ‘properly’ over the base. It’s still too early for you to be disturbed, which you’re equal parts grateful for and dreading. Though you had settled back into a normal rhythm after the Dancing Incident, you felt like you were still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Maybe I haven’t. What’s it to you?” you say, not looking at him.

“Most people go through the base the moment they get shipped here.”

“I’m not most people.”

“Clearly.”

His voice edges it’s way solidly into the flirty zone.

On instinct, you say, “If this is you offering, I’m not interested,” even though you know it’s a lie.

He snorts, “Oh, I figured that one out. Don’t worry.”

Your head whips around to stare at him. “What?”

He laughs, full-belly, his face tilting up towards the rising sun. “I’ve been flirting with you for ages. If you had any interest, I’m sure you would have made a move by now.”

“You flirt with everyone.”

“I do not.”

“Yes you do! You treat me the same as all the other people you take home.”

“No. I don’t.” Sudden softness. And it hurts, it aches somewhere deep in your chest because the pain in his voice is your fault, and you know it.

It’s your turn to stare down at your feet, hanging off the platform. You wonder what he’d do if you jumped off and went inside. Would he come after you? Would he give you space, find you later and apologize?

How many more times can you run from him, reject him, leave him behind, before he started to leave you?

You reach across the gap between you and take his hand. Your grip is sure, more like you’re holding a soldering iron than a human. When he moves to hold you back, you don’t flinch, even with your heart hammering against your ribs and the little voice in your head screaming at you to run.

Progress.

“I know,” you whisper. Because you do. If you’re anything at all, it’s perceptive.

Something in you aches to say more, but your tongue turns to sandpaper and you can barely swallow around it, never mind speak.

Poe squeezes your hand lightly.

The sun rises.

Finally, he whispers, “Should we get back to work?”

You nod. You stand.

You’re the first to let go.

*

Poe sits across from your work bench, dutifully holding your wrench with two hands. He hasn’t said a word since he sat down, fully becoming part of your workstation as you move around the engine mod you’ve been working on for weeks.

He’d taken to randomly showing up. It was a recent development, and you guessed it had something to do with how few missions he’d been assigned. Everyone else had been busy, taking the intel from the new scouting team and turning it into results. Which meant you had more stuff to fix.

But Poe had been kept on D’Qar, training the recent batch of recruits. And when he was off, he delivered the damage gear that got shipped back to base from wherever-the-fuck the Resistance spies had broken it so you could fix it.

He watches carefully as you replace the paneling on a blaster he had brought over from Gold squadron. Another mech steps into the workspace, takes one look at Poe, and runs out.

Your face burning, you turn on him. “Do you keep showing up here because you have something to say?”

Poe shakes his head.

“Have you taken a vow of silence?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“I like your voice.” You still sound grumpy (and embarrassed), but you mean it.

He just blinks at you, his lips turning up in a sheepish smile. It’s sweet, how he still gets nervous around you. Before, you’d thought that it was just the circumstances of your meetings, the high-stakes nature of smuggling weapons for the Resistance. But he still gets quiet, still blushes whenever you catch him off guard.

Before you can think too hard about it, you lean across the table and kiss him.

It’s light, just a press of your lips against his, but it sends your head hammering against your ribs anyhow.

He’s too stunned to speak for a long moment. Finally, he whispers, “What was that for?”

Your stomach drops like stone. “Did you not like it?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “I dunno. You ran away before I could decide.” Slowly, he rounds the table, coming to stand between your knees.

You roll your eyes but lean in again anyways. His hand gently cups the back of your head as he brings his lips to yours.

It’s nothing you were afraid of and everything you want. He’s soft, oh-so-soft, but never yielding to the way you push against him. Winding your hands in his hair, you tug him closer and swallow the little surprised sound he makes.

In an instant, he’s everywhere: his hands on your waist pulling you out of your seat, his chest pressing to yours, his arms encircling you to keep you close.

When you finally pull away, flushed and gasping for air, you ask, “How about now? Was that okay?”

Poe nods slowly, his gaze focused on your mouth. “It was perfect.”

*

After that day, Poe hardly leaves your side, to the point that Leia had to order him to return to his normal duties.

As much as you loathe the stares from everyone else, you bask in the attention from Poe. He’s so sweet to you, stealing little kisses and touches whenever he can. Though you still tense sometimes when his hands on your back or hips catch you by surprise, you’re more than comfortable the rest of the time. It’s new. Different. You hadn’t thought this would ever be possible again.

You still hadn’t talked about it. What you were to each other. What this meant. But he walked you home every night, and he brought you lunch on days he was on-world, and you were okay with the not-knowing.

Weeks later, after he had walked you home, you invite him inside.

It should be normal, him being in your room. It had happened before. You’d spent long days working in there and nights sleeping side by side, the few inches between you feeling like an entire planetary system and nothing at all.

But somehow, this feels different.

He keeps a hand on your back as you enter the room. You sit on your bed as he talks through his next mission, but you aren’t really paying attention.

The air is heavier somehow. Every shaky inhale takes more out of you.

You’re not sure how it happens. One moment, he’s talking about the caves on Jedha. The next, he’s above you. His hands tight on your waist. Yours under his shirt (just barely). His breath hot on your neck.

Everything is warm. Too warm. And he’s above you, and it should feel good, and it does, when you aren’t thinking about it. But you are thinking about it. And the walls start to close in. And you can’t get a full breath.

“P-Poe…” you whisper.

He hums into your skin, hips grinding more firmly into yours as he kisses along your jaw. It hurts, somehow exquisite and excruciating all at once.

“Poe?”

He freezes, hands leaving your waist and finding yours. “Are you okay?”

You tip your chin up to the ceiling, gasping. “I… I can’t breathe.”

Poe backs off, keeping a hold on one of your hands. “Are you sick? Can I get you something?”

You shake your head and fold in on yourself, somehow sitting up on your bed. Bent over your knees, you focus on breathing slowly. Evenly.

Poe sits on the floor at your feet, still holding your hand, rubbing small circles over your knuckles with his thumb. He kisses the back of your hand, murmuring against your skin. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. You’re okay. I’m so sorry. You’re safe.”

Slowly, you start to come down. Your eyes open enough to focus on him in the dim glow of your room.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you say slowly, your whole body shaking. “It’s not your fault.”

He nods, seeming to understand.

“It’s not your fault,” you say again, tears pricking your eyes.

“It’s not yours either,” he whispers, and you find he’s right.

*

Poe starts to stay the night.

It isn’t often, only when you both can afford to lose some sleep getting ‘distracted’. More and more, your bed feels empty without him in it. You begin to miss his kisses, rather than worry about when the next one might happen.

And Poe notices.

He’s more careful, after the night you had to stop him. But never timid with you. He doesn’t walk on eggshells like the others used to. He’s wrong, sometimes, but he tries. And you’re safe no matter what. And that means more than any sweet words he could whisper to you in the dark, after he thinks you’re asleep.

Because he does that. Often.

It doesn’t matter how you fall asleep, whether he’s laying on your chest or you’re tucked under his arm; he eventually starts to talk to you. Sometimes it’s stories, the ugly parts of his recent mission that he couldn’t bare to tell in the daylight or a memory from his childhood. Sometimes it’s dreams: taking you back to Yavin IV, introducing you to his dad, meeting his childhood friends, vacations on Chandrila, what your first baby’s room will look like (he’s sure to clarify: “If you want kids. We can talk about it.”), where the kids should attend flight school, how he wants to be buried beside you someday.

It’s that night that you wake as he’s saying, “I’ll die first. I have to. I don’t want to be alone.” He pauses to sniffle and cuddle into your shoulder before continuing, “I don’t want to leave you by yourself but I can’t be without you. And you won’t really be alone. You’ll have Finn and Rey. And your people in mech. You’ll be okay.”

“I won’t be,” you whisper before you’ve decided to speak.

“W-what?” He props himself up on an elbow, staring down at you in the dark.

“You were my first friend. You’re my love. I don’t want to be without you either.” You reach up, tracing over his cheek with a feather-light touch.

At once, he shudders and slots himself over you, his arms cradling you to his chest as he presses his forehead to yours.

“You have the more dangerous job,” you say, though you know it won’t help. “I could lose you any day. Any time you walk out the door…”

He presses his lips to yours, insistent. And you give in. Because he knows. And you know he knows. As much as you never talk about it, this war is more likely to steal you from each other than to spit you out the other side, hand in hand. The clock ticks, and ticks, but as long as it doesn’t stop, you have time.

And it’s time you spend, that night, wrapped in each others arms, shedding clothes, as close as two souls can be while trapped in human forms.

When you cry — and you do cry — it’s from relief. Release. Never pain.

In the aftermath, he holds you tight, and he presses kisses over your cheeks, and you realize just how much you love him.

When you tell him, he cries too. And it’s your turn to hold him.

*

Poe seems to stand taller as you walk through the base and people notice your linked pinkies.

“It’s so sweaty,” you’d said whenever he asked if he could hold your hand.

So you’d found a happy medium. He could still be physically linked to you, claim you as his for everyone to see, and you could avoid the sensory overload that accompanied having damp palms.

A few people look, more to pay respect to The Poe Dameron than to give you any attention, but even so, the stares are like pins in your neck. You flinch at a cupboard slamming in a room adjacent to the hall. Poe drops your hand to wrap an arm lightly around your waist, like he can shield you from the sudden onslaught of sights and sounds.

“Almost there,” he whispers into your hair.

You nod just enough to signal that you’ve heard him.

Poe steers you out of the base, keeping a hold on you until the two of you are on the path towards the cantina the Resistance frequented. He helps you into a booth at the back, his hands staying safe places while people could see you. Once you’re settled in, his hand finds it’s way between your thighs, squeezing gently.

He kisses your forehead and joins the conversation happening around you.

Eventually, Rose, Rey, and Finn join you, squishing you all onto the small bench. Poe checks in, making sure you’re alright, and you find that you are. Without realizing it, you’d gotten used to the casual affection that’s typical of Resistance members. Where Finn’s thigh is pressed to yours, you just feel warmth.

He and Rey talk about their daily training. You and Rose bond over your mech work, and she agrees to teach you everything she knows about the bombers. Before you know it, the night begins to wind down.

Poe helps you out of the booth, your hand securely in his. He kisses over your hair and whispers, “Thank you for coming out with me.”

“Thank you for asking.”