#the correct answer is nobody but i made them regardless

[yjposting]

More Yellowjackets + text posts who cheered

[leroiestmortvivelareine]

The Ravens have captured my brain... Lots of discussion lately about where the Raven story is going, including @constelationprize s excellent post and all the tags on it. Turns out I have many many thoughts (so yeah, it's long and has spoilers).

Why are the Ravens like this? How did they become monsters? Are they even all monsters?

That's the question tormenting Lucas, isn't it: what happened to Grayson, what shocking event, or what slow alchemy, turned him from someone pretty much like me into a soulless beast? And even more urgently: if I'd gone to Evermore, would it have happened to me too?

How does someone became an irredeemable monster?

I feel like the answers are slowly revealing themselves.

There's a few different levels to the Raven malaise. The first is what you might call best-case scenario Ravens, following Tetsuji's fanatical plan to create the best-of-the-best team. it was supposed to work like the marines or some other elite force.

We've seen a lot of cruelty for cruelty's sake... but most of it was Riko Behaving Badly, and Riko was actually a pathological anomaly who was constantly undermining the elite force (which Tetsuji was either too stupid or too afraid of his brother to rein in properly).

I'm sure Riko passed off his persecution of Jean as a Code Red. Correcting a defective part. It would have made perfect sense to the other Ravens.

But the hardness Tetsuji imposed on the Ravens wasn't about being mean or cruel for fun (nobody was supposed to have fun) - it was all about eliminating weakness.

Tetsuji's ruthlessness was pressure intended to turn them into diamonds. And it worked, they could see it worked, because Riko was a diamond. He may have failed in many, many areas that weren't relevant to their world, but in terms of being good at stickball everything that mattered, he was a diamond. The Ravens knew if they endured this pressure they too could be diamonds. All they had to do was to be hard and tough and show no weakness.

They were rough with each other and tough in the way they interacted, because being soft and caring might foster weakness. They wanted to be strong. They wanted to be elite weapons, like Spartans, like Navy Seals, they wanted to look down on lesser, weaker mortals.

It's like the marines in 'A few good men' who didn't sign up for an easy life, they signed up to live by a particular code: 'unit, corps, god, country'. For the Ravens we could say: 'partner, team, the king, the master'.

As individuals they were nothing - they only made sense as components of a team. Regardless of personal issues they gave each other everything they needed for the team to perform. All those precision passes they did, landing a ball on a dime... that was because they relied on each other to be where they were supposed to be and do what they were supposed to do. Almost like machines on a production line, which is what Tetsuji wanted them to be.

Of course it's harder to work as a team when any kind of emotional intelligence is ruthlessly stomped on, but they were united by what they all feared - losing, failing, being alone.

They talk to each other in terms that probably seem scary hostile to those who've never heard Australians having a friendly chat, still they DO talk to each other.

Sergio's responses to Jean might sound cruel, yet my take-home was: Wow. HE ANSWERED. He's supposed to be the enemy but he provided all the information Jean asked for. Because if you ignore the worthless trash-talk that's what happened. Same as when Jean messaged Zane for information after leaving Evermore - Zane instantly provided the information. I have family members that it's a coin-toss sometimes if they respond when I message them. The Ravens were trained to be functional. They saw no reason to do it nicely, but they DID work together effectively.

They were training to be diamonds - physical pain was part of it, trash talk was part of it, hazing was part of it - no matter, they were elite, they could take it, they had something to feel proud about. The harder they were, the more they would be like their diamond star.

The lucky Ravens managed to make it through their servitude in the Nest without getting too drawn into Riko's schemes - like Thea, who I'm convinced terrified the absolute crap out of him, or the ones who acted as his weapons and not his targets.

But even the best-case Ravens had a pretty bleak outlook. They won all their collegiate games for Tetsuji then got released into the world incapable of boiling an egg or basic social interactions, to fall apart physically in about five years.

Then there were the worst-case Ravens, who cracked and went haywire. Maybe from being unable to hack the pressure, maybe from Riko getting high on revenge and fucking things up for everybody.

Because of the intensely hard and brittle world they lived in, I think when it happened it happened suddenly and catastrophically - people literally snapped and turned into something unrecognisable. Think of Jasmine breaking when the Nest disbanded (as told in the ec), and Zane snapping when he was tested and couldn't handle it... and I'm assuming something happened to Grayson some time ago to make him go man-ape.

Grayson used to be normal, or at least could pass for normal, but we never saw that. We only saw cruelty that was unreasonable even by harsh Raven standards, although the cruelty could be hidden (as Riko's pathology was hidden) within the shadows of Raven harshness.

I think Grayson must have always had some seed of weakness or insecurity in him. If he'd never been subjected to the Nest pressure-cooker it might have manifested as nothing more than resentment and aggression and a shitty attitude for life.

Maybe he was secretly resentful of Lucas. Lucas who was not better at exy, but was a bigger man in every way that mattered.

No one in the Nest had any social skills to help someone cope with major (or even minor) setbacks. They had no healthy ways to process disappointment, or anger, or fear. They didn't even know there was such a thing as processing other than 'get over it'. When they broke, they broke, no safety net.

We don't know the answer to Lucas' anguished question, we don't know what made Grayson snap or when. Maybe we'll never know, or maybe Nora wants us to stew awhile and think about what our breaking point would be. We all have one, you know. Most people are lucky enough to die without having to find out what theirs is.

We get to see a bit of how it works with Zane, going from a best-case Raven to an irredeemable monster.

A lot of people said tgr shows Zane in a more hateful light than tsc, but I saw something else. In tsc we see Zane furious because his ambitions were thwarted when he missed out on the number. Then in tgr we see him being upset, not just about the number 4 (which he would know perfectly well was not up to Jean), but that his partner didn't want him anymore.

These guys are all about 'partner, team, the king, the master'. The bond of Raven partners was sacred. Jean was important to Zane. He thought they were in this together. (And even without the partner system... all those layers of Raven-hardness couldn't disguise the fact that Jean is, well, lovely. You'd have to be pretty far gone not to be attached to him on some level, and hurt by his apparent rejection.)

Zane's partner preferred to replace him... and for what?? Some tiny menace who must have seemed like a complete joke to them; not even trained up as a backliner, spent his entire brief time at Evermore stumbling around in a painful daze... Years and years of loyal partnership, and Jean prefers THIS??

If Zane and Jean had that fight right at the start, Jean might have wanted to say: Riko is playing his own cruel games with Neil, we're just collateral damage. He is the last person ON EARTH I want as a partner, being stuck with that little shit is a living nightmare etc etc. But by the time they had the fight, Jean knew Neil is worth 100 of him so... yeah Zane, welcome to Dumpsville, population: you.

((I've said this in an earlier post... we know someone else who was crushed by having a loyal partner suddenly prefer Neil over them, don't we? Was Zane saying to Jean what Kevin really wanted to say to Andrew?))

Anyway. Zane felt dumped, and angry and reckless enough to do something unconscionable, something so awful that he looked back at his own actions with horror, more importantly he realised Colleen would look at him with horror ...

("She hadn't been back to their room since January. Zane hadn't been able to face her, not after what he'd done to Jean, not after what Riko made him do to Grayson.")

... so he snapped. He turned into the walking dead we saw in tgr, with only brief flashes of the real person still inside.

I guess when you've convinced yourself there's no going back from what you've done, all you can do is construct a justification to shield yourself, however unreasonable, and preserve it no matter what. That delusion becomes all that's keeping you upright, so you can't possibly let it go.

So is he an irredeemable monster? I don't know if we have to watch Zane demonstrate for us the full road Grayson walked down, or if he has some crumb of hope left. I want answers as badly as Lucas does, but do I want them at Zane's expense? Would I rather forfeit this knowledge? Kind of an interesting dilemma for a reader to be in, isn't it.

As for the other worst-cases...

Kevin started snapping a long time ago, in small silent stages, retreating further and further inside himself into a walled-up place even Riko couldn't get to him.

And Jean... Kevin's lifeline was juuuuust enough to stop Jean from snapping yet he was so brittle... we spent the whole of tsc and most of tgr just waiting for it to happen. In the end his chains snapped - but he didn't.

When the Nest disbanded all the little pieces of the Machine were thrown out into space. They'd been converted into component parts of a perfect device with one purpose, but they failed it by losing to a travelling circus. Now they're broken apart, separated from the other components that allow them to function. Yesterday they were heroes, now they're the subject of derision, of pity, of scorn. They are merely broken weapons that serve no other purpose but to break further until they are no more.

The only ones who survived were those who found another purpose. Like Jean with his promise to Kevin. Or those who fashioned a new purpose from the ashes, like avenging themselves on the Foxes, or Grayson's quest for the now-worthless 4.

And still more Ravens cracked under pressure; mentally, like the stuttering boy, or physically, like the kid Tetsuji beat to death for not finishing drill #7 properly.

Worst-case ravens either die a non-hero or live long enough to become a villain. And there's many more worst-case than best-case.

We've seen Jean starting to heal and throw off this pattern but is it a happy ending to save just one, when so many are left behind? That thought hurts. Perhaps it is meant to.

Is EA's role in Jean's book merely to show just how far he has to go in order to heal? To show the extent of the unnatural programming that needs to be undone? I don't think so, because Jean's in a pretty decent place at this point yet Ravens still plummet from the skies.

Is it not enough for Jean to heal, does he somehow need to do something to turn this black tide around?

And are the Ravens even human enough to be worth saving?

Well, Kevin managed to throw enough humanity Jean's way to keep him alive despite daily torture. Jean managed to save Neil. Friendships managed to form, like Thea's and Jean's. Jean had a whole list of Ravens he could actually get on with.

Oh yeah, and despite the hardness and the bleakness and the toxic muck they all lived in... Zane Reacher loved a girl enough to die for her.

[towards-toramunda]

Thinking about more iconic lines from the show over the years instead of going to bed and created a list that is far too long:

- What’s my mother’s name?

- My best. Finally.

- I have so many flowers to bring to her.

- You were not born with venom in your veins. You learned it. You learned it.

- Don’t get on my ass about it! All I heard is that its pretty easy to do here thats all I took from what you said. (Bonus: its for the god of arts and crafts)

- At dawn, we plan.

- Doo doot doo doo doot doooo donuts!

- What matters more, the dream or the dreamer?

- Sleep well with your bad decisions.

- Nothing happens for a reason. It’s absolute fucking chaos.

- Patience is fine, but it can curdle into apathy.

- I’ve met the devil, thats not him.

- You never take copper. That's just kicking someone while they're down. You take silver if they're an asshole, and you take gold regardless.

- Time is one of my specialties.

- It’s entirely off-putting how disarmingly charming you are.

- How lucky I am to have had all of you. How lucky indeed.

- I smell like a crayon.

- I could tell by the bone structure and the contempt.

- I think I can punch ghosts now.

- Big moon, little moon.

- Pop, pop!

- I need chaos. I have faith in chaos.

- Molly said not to steal from happy people.

- I am going to tell you the story of how I murdered my mother and father.

- Smiley day to ya!

- I killed my family, I’ll throw you under a bridge.

- We’re on the moon bitch.

- She throws it. I shoot it. It explodes! NO STRUCTURAL DAMAGE! (FLUFFERNUTTER)

- I am all for faith, and I'm not going to pick a god. They can pick me. It'll be the first one that actually praises me and then maybe I'll fucking answer. I'll wait. They can fucking beg. And I will listen, which is more than they ever fucking did.

- I would like to RAGE!

- The worst thing that has happened to me has already happened.

- We're running; it's bad.

- You can reply to this message.

- Dagger, dagger, dagger.

- Opinions are like opera. Sure, you can listen to them, but why would you, really?

- There is no god that strides this world that I worship more than I worship your heart.

- I would like to live long enough to be someone else.

- Help, its again.

- Whoever it was, just put it back. I think they've earned it. Put it back.

- I’m fun scary.

- Sorry, babe. Gotta handle these ninjas.

- I’m the cleric? I’ve never traveled with a bunch of people I thought would die in front of me.

- He thinks I’m gonna go into the water for some fucking buttons.

- You are, at the moment, the luckiest person in Whitestone. Do you know why? Because you’re at the bottom of my list.

- You need me more than I need you.

- I protect him. He’s my boy. And I keep him safe.

- I made the earth remember him.

- Come correct or get corrected.

- Do not go far from me.

- Are you worth saving?

- How do I want to do this?

- Heaven to some, and hell to others.

- Fix him!

- Why do we tell stories?

- Do you spice?

- Listen you fucking jungle! I'm a paladin of the Wildmother. You're going to move or we're going to bust you wide open! We'll wreck this place. Don't make me fucking tell you twice!

- I am your god, long may I rein, eat of my fruits.

- Anybody can make lights. Anybody could send a message through a wire. I want to bend reality to my will.

- Would you like to talk before or after?

- What the fuck is up with that?

- To reach a hand down to somebody, they need to be beneath you! And I'm beneath nobody.

- The one eyed monster slayed my pussy.

- Time is a weird soup.

- I’m killing someone. Hold, please.

- Gold is a resource by which mortaldom climbs.

- Why are you so mean to me?

- Yours is the face I saw when murder entered my heart.

- This one time I saw a bug carrying a piece of bread that was like five times its size and he was carrying upstairs, like up and then he would turn, and then up, and then he would turn.

- I live as long as Whitestone lives.

- Vox Machina! Fuck shit up!

- I’m not disappointed, I’m just angry.

- Someone prayed for a miracle and there you were.

- We don't leave people behind. That's just the rule. You do not leave people the fuck behind.

- Call me child one more goddamned time!

- Finish it, Champion.

- I am of the Empire. But I am no friend to the Empire.

- I think it has been a long time since anyone has pointed out to you that you're a fool. Pain doesn't make people, it's love that makes people. The pain is inconsequential. It's love that saves them. And you would know that but you have none around you. You said so yourself, you surround yourself with lies and deceptions. And I wish for you, in the future, to find someone to mourn you when you are gone.

[dekariosclan]

I loved your post about Gale falling for someone from this world! It's been in the forefront of my mind since reading it! I'd love to hear more about your thoughts on this, if you have any new ones.

If it were me, personally, I think we'd get on very well as friends, at the very least. Talking, asking each other questions, taking the opportunity to FINALLY be able to speak freely without interruption, probably long into the next morning.

But I still struggle with thinking he'd ever be interested. Not because I think I'm ugly (I do, but that's besides the point cuz appearances don't matter to him), but because of my general personality. I've been told that I look and sound mean and often speak without thinking. I've also been known to prattle on about things nobody cares about (the various stages of decomposition and outer space being only a few of my favorite topics).

Maybe I think he wouldn't be interested in my personality because... well, it's ME, and who'd wanna be with me? Maybe I'm simply asking for comfort from one who seems to have incredible insight into our collective pixel husband. Lol

Sorry this got so rambly! Regardless, I hope you're having a great day, and I wish you a joyful and heartwarming Love Month!😊

Anon, I got this ask and I was going to write a whole response explaining that of course Gale would absolutely love you.

Let me get this straight—you enjoy discussing decomposition and outer space?!? You enjoy discussing topics at great length?!? and yet you think Gale WOULDN’T be interested in you romantically?!?! ANON! C’MON NOW!

I was also going to go into detail about how Gale would be shocked to hear you say anything negative about yourself and how he would immediately go about correcting you and complimenting you—

—but I don’t have to.

Because you, anon, can hear exactly how Gale would respond to your uncertainty about yourself straight from Gale’s mouth himself, courtesy of @the-wizard-kisser very generously sharing this cameo from Tim Downie that they had made for Vase (their Tav).

I mean…*gestures wildly at Tim’s cameo* that’s it, that’s exactly how Gale would respond to any negative self-talk from his beloved (or future beloved)! No notes. 10/10. Perfection.

Galemancers, I greatly appreciate that y’all enjoy my Gale metas (and find them mostly accurate!?! I hope?! 😂) but if you want to hear a 100% accurate answer from a TRUE GALE EXPERT, no one comes close to Mr. Downie himself (along with Gale’s writer(s) ofc!) 💜 Tim is a treasure!

[thescarlettbitch]

Answering witchcraft paganism FAQs~

Nobody asked me, but I'm going to share my take on these faqs I see all the time.

Before you read- I am a stranger on the internet and I am by no means a figure of authority, I have just been practicing for many years and am discussing my beliefs. That said, there are no true rules to witchcraft, other than being respectful to others' beliefs. (Unless you follow Wicca, or another very specific religion. This is not quite a free-for-all practice, but it is very freeing, do not view witchcraft/paganism as the antithesis to Christianity, its not.)

How old do I need to be to start practicing/worshipping?

Can you believe in a deity/form your own beliefs about the universe? Congrats, you can start. That being SAID do not bring anything into your home that could get you hurt (ie don't bring in crystals or tarot cards into your house if your parents are going to assume it's Satanism and kick you out, etc) and DO YOUR RESEARCH. Be wary of closed practices and scams. I started practicing bare-bones when I was like 11. I made mistakes, but I grew. Never stop learning. I know people who are raising their kids in paganism and witchcraft, so my belief is very much anyone can join. (Yes, that does mean ANYONE)

Is there any specific way that is correct?

No, to a point. Your practice is your own, there are so many labels within the community (sea witch, kitchen witch, eclectic witch, etc) because people do what works for them. There is no wrong or right way to be a witch or a pagan. Find what works best for you and be respectful of everyone else. Again, be weary of closed practices.

What is a closed practice?

A closed practice is an aspect of culture-specific witchcraft that outsiders to that culture have to be taught or invited into. Burning white sage is a closed practice to Indegenous people, dreamcatchers are a closed practice to indigenous folks as well, honey jars are closed to Hoodoo— hoodoo/voodoo is closed to a specific sect of afro-centric cultures, it's argued that working with Lilith is closed to Jewish people

I don't know much about these practices as I am culturally and ethnically white. I'm sure if you asked someone within one of these practices to explain it better to you, as long as you are respectful and kind and respect their interaction boundaries, they would be more than happy to tell you why these practices are closed. I will say that I'm pretty sure it's about cultural appropriation and how their ancestors were persecuted for doing these practices, but again, I am not in these practices, so I do not know for sure. And again BE RESPECTFUL.

Do I have to be pagan?

Absolutely not! You can be a pagan and be a witch, be a pagan and not be a witch, or be a witch and not be a pagan! I know a couple Christian Witches, and i know a Muslim Witch, and a Jewish Witch. You don't have to be religious, but if you're going to a part of this community you should at least be aware that there is a large number of religious people, but I'm sure most will welcome you with open arms regardless.

Where do I start?

Pick an aspect and start researching! Interested in tarot? Google it, buy your own deck, or use an app. Astrology? Dozens of apps and websites will let you input your birth chart and give you detailed descriptions of each sign and placement.

Don't I need to be gifted my first deck of Tarot?

I think that's the tradition, but I bought my own and I haven't been smited yet. If you're really worried about it, you can always find people through different communities who might be interested in gifting you one, but that's not always feasible for everyone. They can get expensive, and some people only want to part with their deck after they die. Just buy your own, or use a regular playing card deck, or make your own if you're crafty. (Post about this incoming)

How long do I have to practice before I'm a real witch?

Have you practiced a day? Perfect, you're a real witch. You're a /baby/ witch, but you're still a witch! As for how long you will remain a baby, I've been practicing on and off since i was like 11 (I'm in my 20s), and I still say I'm a baby half the time. It just depends on how comfortable you are with your practice, and how much you know.

How do I know if this is the right path for me?

You'll never know if you don't try! Start slow, don't dive headfirst and get into way too much that you get overwhelmed and burn out. I made that mistake over and over again

How can I be sure I'm not going to offend The Powers Of The Universe?

I'm pretty sure you'd have to actively seek out offending them in order to really do it. As I mentioned, I made lots of mistakes when I first started out. I didn't do half the research I needed to do, and I didn't really ask if deities wanted to work with me. I tried working with half of like three different pantheons at once, and while mixing pantheons is fine and relatively commonplace, trying to devote yourself to about 20 deities at once at like 15? Not a good look. I couldn't build my relationship with them and my practice was stagnant for a long time. That being said, those deities weren't offended. They weren't happy with me but I didn't get cursed or smited. When I was getting back into my practice I apologized to them, and they seem to have forgiven me. They are omnipotent, if you are trying your best, they'll know your intent. I'm sure there are people who have offended deities, as they have feelings just the same as you and I, but to my knowledge it is hard to do unintentionally.

Can I do spells for other people?

Honestly, there is no one good answer for this. I'd say it's about context. Should you spell someone to develop feelings for you because you have a crush on them? Absolutely not. That takes away their ability to consent. Do not start a relationship with a kidnapping. Can you do a spell to attract love in your life? I'd say yea, you're not targeting a specific person, but be careful with it. Your friend is going through hard times, and you want to put a luck charm on them? I'd say get their consent. You want to curse your cheating ex boyfriend? Think about your belief on karma, and go from there. Use your best judgement.

Speaking of Karma, what is the law of threefold?

That is specific to Wicca, unless you're Wiccan, don't worry about it, but I'll tell you how I understand it. It's a "rule" saying that the energy you put into the world will come back to you threefold. So if you curse someone, you will feel the curse three times as hard. I'm not Wiccan, so feel free to correct me. I don't believe in that law, I believe in nuance and that karma is more of a delivering of justice. But that's me, if you want to believe in that, you can, think about your own beliefs in karma, and spell accordingly. I personally do not follow this rule.

Do I have to do spells?

I mean, no, it's a pretty big part of witchcraft but if you just like one aspect, sure, who am I to tell you that's not allowed? I'm just a person on the internet.

How do I do spells?

Spells can look however you want. There are a million and a half posts on here about spellwork. It can be a jar, a candle, a food, a chant, whatever. It can take a lot out of you if you're just starting out, so be careful. I'd say steer clear of huge undertakings until you're more comfortable.

What is shifting?

I am the complete wrong person to ask on this as I do not believe in this. In my opinion it is just lucid dreaming, but again, I do not believe in shifting, so ask someone who does.

Again, these are just my opinions, feel free to comment anymore that you may have!

[charles-and-camilla-fanfictions]

All the Time in the World - Chapter 11

Birkhall, March 2020

“I love you. Please tell me that you know that.”

“I know you love me… You just don’t love me enough.”

“You’re upset because I put you second to the Crown.”

I don’t answer. I just try to breathe, try to match the pressure around my body from his arms but my limbs have no strength.

“Do you know why I would come to see you?”

“Yes, you’ve told me…”

“That’s the public reason I would give. But my personal reason has nothing to do with that. My personal reason is you. Darling, you wouldn’t even know that I was there. But I couldn’t be apart from you. The reasoning is selfish. How I feel.”

“But you won’t grant me the same wish.”

“No. Because it would look bad on the Crown.”

I open my mouth, ready to complain but I just sob, my heart so heavy.

“And think who that person is. Not my mother. She’s just holding on to spite me. He’s my little boy, regardless of his age. Don’t hate me for that. Don’t think I love you any less.”

The reasonableness of his argument jars through me. “I hate you.” 

“You would do exactly the same.”

I hate it when he is right. “Why is it always me that has to submit?” I know I’m being petulant but he has really hurt me, years upon years of knowing I’m not important enough.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry about how upset I have made you. But a marriage is a union between two families, not just two people. It isn’t an isolated cocoon of just our love. Could you even imagine?” He kisses the top of my head. “We’d kill each other.”

“This is a bit like a cocoon…”

“And we’re already fighting.”

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

“I don’t want to fight with you either.”

“But it’s always me making the compromise.” He isn’t even aware of most of them.

“I know. I know… I love you. You’re the reason I have happiness in my life. I don’t deserve you. I know I don’t. But I love you. Every atom of your being radiates the energy I need to survive. I don’t have the power to give you everything you deserve in life. I’m sorry for being a failure to you.”

If I didn’t know he meant it, this would anger me. It’s manipulation. But in his case, he means it and it tugs at my heart. How can he still feel like this? “You’re not a failure.” 

“I am if I can’t make you happy.”

“You make me happy.”

“Funny sort of happy this is…”

“Nobody is happy all the time.”

“I’m happy every time I know I’m going to see you. Even today. I was scared about seeing you but still happy. Holding you in real life, like this. Even if you’re crying…”

“Better when I’m not crying?”

“Admittedly better when you’re not crying…”

“Hold me until I stop.”

“Can I hold you for longer?” 

“Yes. Can we start today again?”

“How?”

I wriggle out of his arms and start taking off my clothes. He gives me a sideways glance and copies me.

“I presume this isn’t what I’m thinking.”

That makes me smile. “Your presumption is correct.” I slip my legs under the blankets, out of the cold, and he soon joins me, squealing slightly as I press my frozen feet against his calves. He kisses me softly and I realise how much I’ve missed him, how much I’ve wanted to be beside him, to hold him, to kiss him.

“What do I have to do to make it a positive presumption?”

“Depends on how loved you can make me feel.”

“I can make you feel loved.” He finds my hand and kisses it repeatedly.

“When we get up, we can start the day again.”

“I’d like that very much.”

“I can’t wait to spend the day with you. Being in isolation away from you has been like living in a prison. But I can deal with being trapped inside the house with you. Just you.”

“Only you. I’m looking forward to it already.”

1980, Bolehyde Manor

I struggle with the seatbelt, not managing to release it from the clasp and he laughs at me, watching me getting annoyed with it before reaching over and releasing the lock.

“Free.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you planning to run?”

“What? Because you’ve released me?”

“Because I set you free.”

“You think I’m free just because you removed a belt from around my body?”

“I’ll release you from everything.”

“The door’s locked.”

He smiles, pressing a button and I hear the clunk as the car unlocks.

“If I run, there’s armed police to stop me just ten yards away.”

“I’ll call them off.”

I hold up my left hand. “You can’t free me from this.” I say the words before thinking and then I curse myself. We don’t talk about this relationship going anywhere or that it’s not. We don’t mention the binds and why it’s not possible. We don’t talk about anything to do with feelings. Just desire. And friendship. They’re easier.

He takes hold of my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the palm of my hand and making me shiver. “I could remove this very easily.” Then he bites my ring finger, roughly, pulling my wedding ring off with his teeth. I giggle, nervously, as he spits it from his mouth and tosses it in the ashtray, amid the ash from my cigarettes. 

“It feels very bare now.”

He reaches to kiss me but pulls away before I can respond, then I feel him pulling at my finger again, this time to push a large ring over my knuckle. The metal is warm. He doesn’t let me look at it but I know the ring very well. It sits on his pinkie and he never removes it. My heart is beating so loudly, his protection officers must be able to hear it, sitting in the car behind ours, guarding the drive behind us. His blue eyes are staring at me intensely and he strokes my hand now with his thumb, stirring a current through me. Why did he do that? Why does it make my heart leap with an excitement which is edged in such a warm pleasure? I want to allow myself to love him but I know I can’t.

“Imagine it’s any diamond on this planet. I’d get it for you.”

“Please stop.” I can’t afford to indulge in this pretence. It’s dangerously like hope.

“Or would you prefer a stone instead?”

“No.” I don’t know what I’m saying ‘no’ to. The stone, the roleplay… 

“A diamond then. The size of your knuckle. Then you can’t ever take it off.”

I feel him slide towards me, slipping across the leather seat and then we’re in easier territory as he reaches to kiss me. I throw myself into the kiss as kissing him is the only outlet for my heart. I grasp onto his head and push my fingers into his hair, pushing against him fiercely. But then my head is against the back of the seat and I can feel his hands now caressing my face, his kiss so gentle, it forces me to open my eyes and his are there, staring at me and I need to look away but I can’t. How did this become so much more than playing games with my husband? How did my best friend become this burning desire in my heart?

“I think I’m in love with you, Milla.”

“Think? If you were in love with me, there would be no thinking involved.”

“That’s nonsense. Of course the thought process is involved.”

“Then you’re not in love with me.”

“You have the most ridiculous romantic notion of love.”

“Love is different. You said you were ‘in love’ with me.”

“I take it back. I love you. Are you going to argue with that?”

“I’m heading inside.” I push him off me and reach for the ashtray to retrieve my ring.

“Don’t!”

It stops me for a microsecond and then I reach for it again, his hand capturing my wrist roughly. A liquid anger bursts through my veins as he physically restrains me. “Get off me!”

“I don’t want you to get your hands dirty!” He holds out a pristine handkerchief and releases my wrist. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to…”

“Yes, you were.” I snatch the handkerchief and fish out my ring from the ash. It’s filthy.

“I’ll get it cleaned. Please don’t put it back on tonight.”

His ring is so heavy on my finger and so tight and my heart is pounding from the conversation we’ve just had. I climb out of the car without kissing him goodbye and walk quickly to open the front door. I’m not surprised to feel his arms around my waist and his lips against my neck, making me ache for him. “You can’t come in, the children are in bed.” I push the door open and his teeth pull at my ear, making me squeal.

“Why not?”

He follows me inside before turning me to face him. He’s not even kissed me and I know he’s staying. Every cell in my body wants him. I manage to put my keys on the sideboard along with his handkerchief with hands which are already shaking.

“I’m sorry for making you angry.”

“I’m not angry.” I don’t have enough resolve to maintain anger with him. He kisses my neck and my arms wrap around him of their own accord. 

“I love you. I don’t want to upset you.”

“I’m not upset.”

“You’re shaking.”

I pull away from him. “Follow me. Quietly.”

He’s gone when I wake the next morning and I roll over to push my nose into the pillow he used. I can still smell him and I breathe him in, feeling it curl through me, stroking my heart which is already sending out ripples of distress at being parted from him. I need to get a grip on this. I can’t be in love with him. I allow myself a few long moments to remember last night and that delicious rush which floods through my skin as I recall the feeling of his body flush against mine before I force myself up and into the shower, washing him away. Then it’s time to switch into my other life as I go to wake my baby daughter, her fat little face scrunching up in displeasure at being woken. Back to praising her for having a dry bed, slathering cream all over her, dressing her, negotiating what she’s wearing–why does she care what she wears? Then I heave her on my hip as it takes far too long for her to walk downstairs when she’s dopey like this and trudge into the kitchen. Tom is out on the patio already. I can hear him talking to himself and the door is wide open. 

Ambling outside, I see the train track first, a wooden contraption which he has constructed all around the patio and then I see the two of them, Tom and Charles sitting together, building a bridge. My heart feels like it’s falling from that same bridge. I watch Charles explain the need for supports and then help to build the track, letting Tom do the work, allowing him to think and adjust the plan. Laura demands to be put down and I find myself staring at Charles as Laura toddles over to him and he sits her on his knee.

“Good morning, Darling.” It’s said to Laura but he’s looking at me. Laura makes a grab at the track and he hands her a train to play with which she drives over him. This isn’t fair. He can’t be so good with my children. My heart is shouting at me to listen and it’s becoming too difficult to ignore. I return to the kitchen for air, busying myself with breakfast and I notice my ring in a bowl on the side, sparkling clean. I reach for his signet ring, sitting on my finger and run my finger over the feather crest, wanting to keep it. I pull it but it’s tight and it doesn’t budge and I get the first waves of panic that I won’t be able to get it off.

“Do you need help?”

I look up at him worriedly, then smile as he seems to be wearing my children, Laura still playing with a train on his shoulder, Tom clasping onto his trousers. “Morning, Darling.” I bend down and open my arms to my son, kissing his soft hair until he wriggles away.

“I got it on without a struggle so it will come off.” He grasps onto my hand and kisses it. “For now, you’re stuck with the reminder of me attached to you.”

“Don’t look so smug.”

“I’m feeling incredibly smug this morning.” He puts Laura down, and she rushes off to follow her brother before he wraps me in his arms. 

I sink into them as if they were made for me, breathing him in, pushing my lips against his neck. 

“Last night was…”

“Stupid…”

He laughs at my interjection, kissing the side of my face. “Incredible. As you well know.”

“I thought you’d left.”

“I won’t leave you without saying goodbye. I was planning on making you breakfast but then I got distracted by Tom.”

“Making me breakfast? You can cook?”

“Scrambled eggs, of course.”

“Wow!” He grasps onto my sides, tickling me, making me giggle before kissing my forehead and drawing me closer.

“When can I next fall asleep with you wrapped around me?” His words are whispered into my ear, making my heart sing, making my stomach churn with anxiety.

“When can I wake up with you beside me?” 

He doesn’t answer, just kisses my ear and holds onto me tighter.

“So when am I meeting you and your girlfriend as ‘a couple’?”

He moans into my ear and we pull apart. “Why can’t I just marry you?”

“I don’t know. Something reminiscent of someone called Simpson?” It makes him chuckle but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I would actually like you to meet her properly. Tell me what you think of her?”

“We should probably do it sooner rather than later. You have very bad taste in women.”

“You just never like any of them.”

“Precisely. Really bad taste.”

“Give her a chance. She’s very young.”

“I know of her. She’s a lamb. I can’t really see you two together though.”

“You can help her.”

“What? Help her become more ‘suitable’ for you? Christ, Charles, do you actually like this one?”

“I don’t know. I might do. She’s very sweet. She listens to me.”

“Do you think she’s attractive?”

“Hmmm…”

“Oh God… So you only might like her personality and you’re not sure she’s attractive?”

“She’s very pretty.”

“That’s a start.”

“She’s very amenable.”

“What a quality to possess.”

“It’s quite important really. She’s going to have to do everything my family says and tradition dictates for the rest of her life if she marries me.” “Good point… Okay, amenable then and pretty. Let’s meet her. I’m sure I can pass on some friendly advice.”

“I don’t want to marry her. I need you to know that. I want to marry you.”

“But you can’t, so here we are, discussing potential brides…”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself…”

“Darling, you don’t have to marry her. But you might need to give her a chance.”

“I was meant to be leaving.”

“Some conversations are important enough to take the time to have them.”

“Yes. Call me later. It’ll be good to talk through this with you anyway.”

[golbrocklovely]

covered their names. i get that pretty much anyone could find their names out there, i'm just not gonna be the place for that. hope you understand.

short answer, yeah. longer answer, kind of lol

i do think they have something going on with them, i just don't know if that thing is serious/long term. but i don't think they are just friends with the girls, like some fans are trying to imply.

slight side tangent to your ask, but... i get that a lot of fans want an answer. they want to know if snc are truly dating these girls, and they want that answer to come directly from snc. i understand that. however, there is one fan in particular that has made it their soul mission to just constantly bombard snc, asking if the m and k are their gfs. and it's very odd and weird behavior to have, even for a fan.

respectfully, no one deserves an answer. you (not you specifically anon, just the general fandom) are not owed an answer. snc don't have to share anything with us about their private lives.

and before anyone reading this gets pissy and says "oh but they don't hide it either, so what do they expect? if they want privacy, they shouldn't post anything at all". first and foremost, the reason we even know about these girls is bc THEY posted shit before and then pics LEAKED of snc and them on nye. snc had no involvement in any of this shit happening. sure, sam comments on the girls pics. and they reposted them to their story like once. they've done that with other girls too, idk why this is the one that deserves an explanation.

not to mention, snc are allowed to share and not share shit about their private lives. it's odd to see many fans have the sentiment of "if they don't want ppl to comment on it, they shouldn't post anything about it". you are a person with a public profile who posts about their private life, correct? does that mean a random nobody is allowed to come up in your dms and say this that and the other thing about you, just bc you posted publicly about something? no. so then why is that allowed with snc? just bc they're public figures? bc they make money online via fans? i don't get it.

bc even if snc never posted about their private lives, yall would speculate. yall would make up shit and run with it, which is what happens anyway. so it's a catch 22 regardless.

just be nice and have sympathy. and know when not to cross boundaries. it's that simple. holy shit lol

(again, none of this is directed at you anon. this is mostly just me venting)

[wrathfuldissonance]

"Alright, 'Master,' are you done laughing at everyone?"

"Aren't you Hideki's Servant?"

. . .

"... Okay, yeah, fine, I'm done laughing. For now. I'm sorry it's just... hilarious... that there were three questions that only one person got right, and the same person didn't even get all of them! ... Wait, no, results just updated. It's only the one. There are four that only had two right responses each though!"

"How auspicious. Then let's begin with your tricky question, shall we?"

"Right... My favorite fruit is actually kiwifruit! This actually was mentioned before but it was a while ago. Unsurprisingly, everyone except one person went for the low-hanging fruit. I do love pomegranate, too, but I prefer the seeds frozen then dipped in chocolate. So good. I do like cherry juice and cherry wine too, so it's kind of surprising nobody went for that."

"I'll be sure to share that with Gilgamesh. Speaking of your favorite drinks, though..."

"Only three people got this right. Considering I'm known for being a chocolate fiend the number of people who got it wrong is astounding and a little worrying. My favorite drink is hot chocolate. I do like tea and coffee, of course, but even coffee I tend to add chocolate to. Rum's good in mixed drinks."

"Perhaps one day we'll share a drink. Regardless, the jewelry one seems to have stumped as many people as got it right."

"Can probably blame that on my fashion sense being on point. I'll wear jewelry that suits my outfit even if I wouldn't otherwise choose it. I do prefer silvery metals with green gems! I think gold usually makes me look a bit washed out, but I'll wear it when it suits the outfit. I do also like moonstones. The one person who went with platinum and diamonds... Well I certainly don't mind those at all."

"In other words, you don't mind being spoiled? Though I will point out those filigree ear decorations you like to wear do look like rose gold and opals."

"Oh! Those were a gift from Dove. They're rather fond of gold, and they said the opals suited my eyes."

"I see... This next one appears to have only two correct answers."

"Hm, that one was down to observational skills. To be fair, they are all principles I live by, but their true order is something more like... I don't make promises I don't intend to keep, forgive but never forget, I'm made of spite and vinegar, and I won't make the same mistake twice."

"You have to admit, your spite and refusal to give up is quite a bit more blatant than what you don't do."

"When have I broken a promise?"

"... Fair point. And this next one is why I'm here."

"Okay this one absolutely is on me. I forgot to specify it was specifically for this me. Though even accounting for the clocktower haters... you're still Hideki's Servant, not one of the other me's."

. . .

"What, did some other me summon you while we weren't paying attention?"

. . .

"... message received I guess?..."

"Now that that's cleared up..."

[candywife333]

Baby Boss (Part 4)

 I really appreciate all my readers and hope that this story has messages that comfort them and make them intolerant towards people who do not treat them with respect regardless of appearance. This will close to the end of Baby Boss. Hope you all enjoy it! An update after a while. Sorry for the wait.

Y/N walked back to her office after getting her sweet treats from the bakery and sat down to finish her work. She was working on her thesis and there wasn't much time till she had to submit it. Putting her hands on her head, she winced in pain at the stabbing pain in her pelvis. The sweet treats were an attempt to assuage her period pains, but as usual the pain was relentless. If she were back in her apartment, she would've brewed herself a cup of ginger tea, eaten the tiramisu in her fridge, and snuggled with a fuzzy blanket in the confines of her soft bed. To her utter dismay, she was at work and still had to be there for 3 hours or so before leaving for the day.

She couldn’t afford to disappear because she was counting on the money from this job to provide her with a safety net when she went job searching. The plan was to join either SM or P-Nation as a marketing and PR analyst and then slowly build her way up to climbing the corporate ladder. HYBE was off the table for the time being as she didn't want to come into contact with Jin. Her encounters with him had really made her feel self conscious and as though she were less of a person. Though she had healed mostly, she didn't want to put herself in the way of ridicule and humiliation for no reason.

As Y/N deliberated her game plan, she decided to make a quick trip to the costume and fashion department. She needed to check up on their clothes, as according to Sun Ye, they needed to make sure the total count was correct for the next concert in the UK.  Y/N opened the door and froze for a second in alarm at who appeared behind it. It was Jin. Of all the people in HYBE, why did she have to come across her bully and former crush? It was like she had the worst luck in the world. 

Whereas before she would have been too distraught and shy to barge in, she now had developed enough thick skin to remark, “Good afternoon Jin. How are you doing?” He was startled as he squeaked in reply,  “I’m good. And you? Haven't seen you in a while Y/N. Where have you been?” Y/N took a seat in the sofa across from him as she waited for the designer to come out of her office. 

“Oh, I’ve been just occupied with college and my thesis. So, maybe that's why you haven't seen me around.” Jin’s hands trembled slightly and started tapping his foot as he pulled at his collar, avoiding making eye contact with Y/N. “But, you used to hang out with all of us earlier. I know I wasn’t particularly kind to you, but why did you stop spending time with the rest of the boys?” 

Y/N gazed at Jin with a cold indifference only an ice cube could muster. “I guess I just got tired of being thrown around like I was nothing, particularly by you. I love the boys but if I have to deal with you to spend time with them, you can miss me with that.” If Jin felt horrible before, he felt like the scum of the earth now. He started sweating and starting speaking rather nervously in his defense,”I-I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m so sorry for my atrocious behavior. I didn’t realize that the language I was throwing at you was so vulgar as I was speaking in anger. I was so angry and frustrated at my incapability to attract your attention.”

Y/N scoffed at his answer, chuckling in disbelief. “So you mean to say that you slut shamed me, insulted my appearance, and interjected in my life as though it was your right-- just because you liked me? I find that hard to believe and actually rather pitiful.” Y/N got up from her sofa having had enough of his weak explanation for his behavior. Nobody just insulted someone’s character like that just because they were jealous. Y/N knew she had never encouraged any type of interest from the boys other than a spirit of friendship. She had never flirted with them willingly and had often just laughed it off if they had. 

She walked towards the designer’s office, discomfited with the thought that she had made a trip down here just to have to deal with this pathetic man and his ridiculous, childish excuses. As she was about to walk away completely, Jin grabbed her by her waist and hauled her over his shoulder. Yes, you read right. He hauled her like a bale of hay onto his shoulders. Y/N started shouting in protest, “JIN LET ME GO. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING FLINGING ME OVER YOUR SHOULDER LIKE A RAG DOLL!!!”

Jin, almost cognizant of how little time he had to convince her otherwise, ran with her over his shoulders to a tiny store room. It was deserted except for a few ottoman chairs, one sofa and a light bulb. Y/N scratched at his shoulders, clawed at his hair, hit him over his head, and tried to even knee him. Through all of this, Jin endured and set her down onto the sofa and locked the door behind him. 

Y/N continued screaming, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU PSCYHO? LET ME OUT! WHY DID YOU LOCK US IN HERE!? I DON’T WANT TO TALK WITH YOUR DUMB DISGUSTING ASS!!” Jin stared at her fascination even as she screamed at him, not registering one word. All he saw was her heaving chest all red with exertion, her face and neck shiny with a sheen of sweat and her hair in disarray, as her plump lips made intricate patterns in the air. He tuned back in when she started trying to knock down the door in agitation as he had bolted the door in a position too tall for Y/N to reach. 

Jin once again grabbed Y/N by the waist and sat her on his lap as he sat on the couch. He needed her to just listen for a few minutes, without wailing and protesting. He knew what he had done to her had damaged her emotionally and had made her feel ugly. He knew had only hurt her until this point. But he didn't want to be that cowardly man anymore. 

She continued ineffectively resisted against him, punching at his stomach and chest to free herself from his arms. Jin restrained her arms as he breathed heavily from the exertion required to keep her on his lap. He desperately begged her, “Y/N please listen to me. Please stop fighting me. I don't mean to harass you or hurt you. I could never. You see, I love you.”

[webofpassione]

Apologetic Arguments

Bruno x Reader x Giorno

Content Warnings: Polygamy, Relationship Arguments

***

There was no sustainable way to continue what you had been doing without it coming to a fight of some sort.

You’d just hoped to avoid it for maybe a little longer.

The tension had stretched tight across the house for days now; a silent standoff between two unyielding forces. Everybody was getting more wound up because of it. You, especially, had found yourself more on the edge as forces pulled you in opposing directions. It was enough to make you snap at even the smallest of missteps.

Eventually, the argument had broken out over something as simple as leaving a window open during the night.

Bucciarati wasn’t actually paranoid about it, Giorno had genuinely forgotten. They were both absolutely wrong for fighting over it but it quickly devolved from that point. And finally, finally, the real problem had been brought up.

You.

At the mention of your name in the argument you’d already failed to placate, you snapped to attention, listening in properly to hear what was being said about you.

“Involving somebody, anybody, in Passione business is something that falls to me,” Bucciarati said. “I’ve given you a lot of freedom but this was something that should have been run by me.”

“You would have immediately denied it.”

“Yes, I would have. Nobody chooses this life, not even you. If the better paths had been open, you would have taken them.”

The two were standing on opposite sides of the kitchen, leaving you sitting at one of the cabinets with an exit to your back. There were no raised voices or aggressive tones being thrown but the conversation ran deep.

For a while, they stared at each other and you were about to answer when Giorno spoke, voice quiet.

“Bucciarati, there’s no use in pretending that anybody could be involved with us but not the life we lead. By trying to keep things secret and hidden, we’re just making it more dangerous.”

“Also, I want to assist where I can.” Your words went ignored.

“Things being kept secret is how the entire organization works. People who go digging for information rarely end up finding it.”

“Then that’s why we should provide it so nobody has to go looking,” Giorno urged.

You cleared your throat louder than needed. It hurt but it also managed to get both of their eyes on you. They both turned as though remembering that you had been in the kitchen cooking with Giorno before the discussion had even begun.

Bucciarati had been colder towards everybody lately, growing worse until even Abbacchio had made a comment about his harshness. Giorno, on the other hand, had become clingier and stuck to your side no matter what was happening even if it inconvenienced him.

“I want to know things,” you explained, mainly speaking to Bucciarati. “I live here, I see what you guys come home with, I watch you work until you’re exhausted. There are things I can help with that don’t have to put me in danger.”

His eyes softened a little. “It will. You might not think the information shared with you is worth anything but there will be those willing to kill for it.”

“If they think I have information, they’ll kill me regardless of if I know it or not,” you explained.

The words soured in your stomach but you managed to keep your voice steady. This was a discussion you’d had before in your mind. It wasn’t going to back down now.

“I don’t mean to undermine you,” Giorno said. “And I’m not trying to win affection over you.”

“I don’t think that you are.”

But he worried it was happening regardless. Bucciarati liked being needed, he liked being adored even if he pretended that it wasn’t true. He worried about Giorno stealing away the affection you had for him with the offer of everything you wanted. It was a fear he held very close to his heart.

“Bruno,” you said. “I understand why you don’t want me to get involved in any Passione business but that’s a price I’ve already chosen to pay. There’s no backing out of it now.”

“There is,” Bucciarati corrected.

“No, there isn’t. Not for me.”

He met your eyes, trying to see through the cracks in what you were saying and seeking the flaws in what you wanted. When he saw nothing there, he sighed and leaned back against the counter. “You say you understand but I often don’t think that you do.”

Giorno met his gaze and you saw a flicker of uncertainty dart through the blond’s expression before he broke the staring match in favour of whatever he was cooking. You could hardly remember what it was anymore.

“Even with what little I know Giorno has shared with you, as a capo, it should be my duty to either recruit you or have you killed,” Bucciarati explained. “The former, of course, would require you going through a Passione entrance test and with Polpo no longer around, I would need to come up with something else or get a message to the boss.”

“It’s really nothing important.”

“It’s important enough.”

You knew that it was dangerous. It wasn’t like you didn’t see the injuries they brought back from a bad job. You worried about them daily.

“Bruno,” you urged, standing up and walking closer. “I know that it means I have to be extremely careful. But knowing what I’m doing is for the better. When that stand attacked Giorno and I the other week, imagine how worse things would be if Mista hadn’t shown me how to use that gun.”

“You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

“It was only a matter of time before I saw a dangerous stand.”

Bucciarati shook his head. “True or not, that doesn’t take away the problem. You have no idea how many rats I see daily. People who think they can win favour by sharing information on others. How long is it until another capo realises my own team is too close and tells higher ups?”

You frowned, looking towards Giorno and the burned food that he was attempting to save. “But then, I wouldn’t be the only one in danger?”

“No, you aren’t but you are one of the few who can avoid facing the worst of it.” He glanced towards Giorno. “And you’re easily the most vulnerable. Even Moody Blues can be used to buy time but without a stand, it’s unreasonable to think you’d survive.”

“From what I’ve heard about some of the higher ups of Passione and their stands, I don’t think I’m the only one vulnerable to them.”

That stopped Giorno from trying to scrape blackened egg from the bottom of the pan. “I haven’t spoken to you about that?”

“Uh… the Pistols are often not too sure about what they should and shouldn’t say.”

Bucciarati sighed and it was so exhausted that you wanted little more than to hug him even if he didn’t look like he was too open towards being touched at the moment.

“It seems everybody’s made a habit out of telling you things that you’re not meant to know,” he said.

Giorno forced himself to put the pan down and you watched him drag his attention away from it. Arguments of any kind stressed your blonde partner but he mostly kept it well hidden. The altercation had mellowed but that was allowing him to relax the tenuous control over his façade.

“If you’ve decided it’s too dangerous and you can’t continue with this kind of risk, that’s understandable,” he said, turning to fully face Bucciarati.

“But there’s no solution that wouldn’t be painful for everybody,” Bucciarati said. “Can’t you see the situation you’ve created? This kind of choice…”

There was a problem that lay between them, deeply embedded into the way they had always interacted with one another. One that you had spoken about in passing to Abbacchio but only realised now the level of tension it could actually create.

“If the two of you would speak to each other and find common ground instead of fighting for control all the time, maybe it would be easier to understand,” you pointed out, cutting Giorno off before he could respond.

The silence that fell across the kitchen was deafening.

“Look, I made it worse,” you admitted. “When I found out that Giorno would give me what I wanted, I took full advantage of that instead of speaking to you. I’m sorry, Bruno. Really, I am.”

His attention fell to the floor. “I sometimes forget that I can’t, or at least, I shouldn’t control your involvement.”

“We’re all at fault,” Giorno said. “I knew it would upset you both in the end but I didn’t allow that to stop me even though it should have.”

There was an awkward pause, punctuated only by the awfully strong smell of something burning.

“Perhaps we can order dinner,” Bucciarati eventually said. His eyes drifted to the smoking husk of what had once been the meal of choice. “And apologise to everybody who’s pretending not to be listening in on our conversation.”

“I’ll feed this to the Pistols then,” Giorno said, gesturing to the pan.

As though their name alone summoned them, the tiny stands shot into the kitchen to see whatever food had been set aside for them. They didn’t mind eating something burned but they would certainly complain about it. In that regard, they were extraordinarily similar to Mista.

While you stepped in to help ration things out, you spotted your two partners sharing a gentle kiss and it broke the heavy cage that had settled on your heart over the past weeks.

[astaroth1357]

More undateables with a demigod hades mc???

By request, have yourself a part two!! 

Demigod MC Series: Hades Pt. 2 (Un)Dateables Edition!

I will ask that y’all please don't ask for continuations of other gods unless I say it’s okay to do again. This series already fills my inbox something fierce and this is a one-off that I allowed for during the request window.  If I have to make ideas for new gods while continuing a bunch of old MCs, it'll burn me out fast...

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena, Hades Pt. 2

Diavolo

Oh, he has no problem at all hosting a child of the Underworld, hell he even throws them a welcome banquet when he finds out! Hades is a dear friend - and practically a parental figure to him growing up - so he's more than happy to take in one of his children for a year.

Diavolo is actually one of the few people that the MC can talk to about their home with any kind of fondness. Usually when they bring up things like the comforting wailing of the River Coctyus, the brothers will give them weird looks... but Diavolo knows where they're coming from!

He spent numerous summers in the Underworld growing up doing things like pestering Charon on the River Styx or playing games with Cerberus (the other one) in the Asphodel Meadows... His beach house is actually modeled after his childhood summer home in the Isles of Paradise! Really, it can be a lovely place if the gloom doesn't bother you!

So in the spirit of his fond memories, Diavolo really tried to make their time in the Devildom a fun one!... in his maybe trying a little too hard way…  

Poor MC found themselves offered pretty much everything under the moon… Tickets or exclusive passes to different cultural events/festivals, invitations to gala events, and tours of nearly every inch of Hell by the Prince himself - it was… it was a lot for the poor introverted thing…

It didn’t help that Diavolo would have a hard time gauging if they were having any fun due to their naturally melancholic nature, which only pushed him to try harder… He means well, he does. He’s just not the most in touch with what would make an anti-social doom child happy...

It took Barbatos and Lucifer stepping in for the mortal to actually start getting some much needed space and that improved their experience significantly. Sometimes less is more, Dia… Less is more. But they appreciate his efforts anyway.

Barbatos 

Also has a pretty amicable relationship with the Ruler of the Underworld, though his is much more professional compared to Diavolo’s. He actually has a good deal of appreciation for the man for taking good care of the Prince during his visits, so he sees this as an opportunity to return the favor.

Like Diavolo, he’s rather focused on making sure the MC is having a good stay in the Devildom, but he’s much more subtle about it. He’ll come by the House often to check up on them and make sure everything is to their liking... 

Even the brothers notice that he treats them like anothering visiting Lord/Lady in that way, which he would argue they very much are and should be respected as one. It’s the least the Devildom can offer their father at this point.

His visits may also be an excuse for keeping an eye on the brothers to make sure they don’t do anything to inconvenience their “young guest…” To be honest, the entire House is a little paranoid about that… Nobody wants to know the punishment for hurting MC if Barbs is the one dishing it out...

Apart from watching out for them, Barbatos tries to encourage the MC to accept the Young Lord’s gifts (while also actively advising Diavolo to go easier on them at the same time). It would be so disheartening to him if his Prince feels like he hasn’t offered them the best experience that he could… He’s sure they understand.

Any time that he invites the MC to tea, they usually end up talking about their father in some way. Barbs knows a surprising amount about the god… He’s been around about as long as Chronos - preceding the birth of Aether and Chaos themselves - so he has some stories to tell.

The MC did once ask him why he doesn’t just run everything if he’s really been around for so long... his answer was: “Kings and their kingdoms will rise and fall… Worlds upon worlds are born, then cease to be. But time is what brings about all changes… So, I think I’m perfectly content with the power I possess. Wouldn’t you be?” 

Annnd they never asked Barbs another question like that again… and people think death is scary… 

Simeon 

He was honestly a little worried for their new companion for quite a while… It’s not like there’s never any sadness in the Celestial Realm or anything, but they seem to have something else entirely…

He’s heard stories about the Underworld. He’s never been himself, that’s usually a job for the Seraphim due to the… dreary nature of the place - but he’s heard it would make the Devildom look downright festive…

If he were being honest, he had half expected the MC to be obsessed with skeletons, ghosts, and other elements of darkness but that wasn’t the case. They certainly knew a lot about those things, but they appeared to have a healthy interest in the afterlife in general, so they asked him a lot of questions about the Celestial Realm, angels, and how the souls of the blessed are treated up there… It was surprising to say the least.

Of course he did the same and, frankly, Simeon found it incredibly wasteful that so many Greek followers find themselves just wasting away in a field of nothing for so long… but that’s neither here nor there.

He was also surprised by how gentle of an influence the MC ended up being on Luke as well. He had always suspected that the little angel just needed a bridge between him and Devildom to start finding appreciation for it, and the MC fit that bill perfectly - nothing he was used to, but still approachable enough to make everything less frightening. He thanks them a great deal for that… but...

It’s just that… Well they’re just so… depressing sometimes…! He doesn’t want to blame them because it hardly seems like their fault! They’re a very kind person, it’s just an atmosphere around them… It brings him to tears if he isn’t careful…

He’s invited the MC to Purgatory Hall on multiple occasions to chat and try to make them smile… When they do, the gloom is dispelled - even just a little - and they’re a truly beautiful creature regardless. It’s just so unfortunate that their life brings so much sadness...

Even so, he actually likes the MC enough to consider basing a character on them if he ever wrote another book. Something about a gloomy but sweet protagonist at home in a world of darkness sounds appealing… doesn’t it?

Luke

He didn’t know how to feel about the MC when they met. At first, he actually thought they were just as unhappy as he was to be there due to how depressed they looked but when they told him that wasn't true, he was really confused...

The Devildom is a dark, brutish, and dangerous place. Why would anyone feel at home down here??

But… well… He would spend time with them at RAD between breaks (partially to help scare off their many, many demonic suitors) and it might be weird to say, but they really made the Devildom look beautiful… literally.

The world just looks better when they’re around! It’s really hard to describe because it’s not something you notice much until they leave, but when the MC is around everything looks more vibrant and inviting! The grass gets greener, flowers grow bigger, and butterflies/birds hover around wherever they are like they have their own gravity - the realm loves them!

It started getting hard for Luke to hang onto his disdain for the place when they made it look so appealing… And then they started talking to him about the Underworld and the creatures they’d befriended there… creatures a lot worse than any demons he’d seen there...

Like. If the MC can be good friends with a bunch of rude walking corpses, then he could probably make friends with a demon right? There’s nice ones… kind of… 

Beel. He can make friends with Beel.

Like Simeon, he does feel bad that they seem so sad all the time… but unlike the older angel, he’s a bit more understanding that this is just how they are and enjoys his time with them regardless. (It helps a lot that just being around this little bean of a boy can lift their spirits anyway).

And you know what’s even better for him? When Lord Diavolo gives the MC tickets to things that they don’t want to go to, sometimes they’ll invite him along or give them to him instead! 

He’s gone to the Devil’s Coast with MC and Simeon sooo many times by now and he loves it!! Maybe the Devildom isn’t so bad after all, I mean, it can be a lot of fun when you go to the right places, anyway.

Solomon

Oh, he finds them both deeply fascinating and utterly terrifying - so just his sort of test sub-er, person!

He kids (somewhat), Solomon isn’t that dumb/lacking in self-preservation instinct. Experimenting on a child of death in a land of the dead (even if it’s not their “home turf”) would be asking for trouble. They’d have more than enough ammunition to fight him off and if their father found out? Immortality wouldn’t even begin to save him...

That being said, questions aren’t necessarily experiments… and oh boy, does he have a lot of them.

If the MC isn’t being pestered by Diavolo or the brothers, then they’re probably having to put up with Solomon nipping at their heels trying to get them to use their powers or answer all sorts of “innocent” scientific questions…

“MC, reanimation of Greek dead requires a blood offering, correct? Do you have to sacrifice animals for that process or do you allow them to feast on your own?”

“MC, when you’re controlling a skeleton do you move the body as a whole or do you have to animate each individual bone due to their lack of ligaments?”

“Think fast!! Oh look, you just caught the skull of my good friend, Richard! Could you bring him back from that, or should I fetch the rest of him?” 🙂

They put up with it because, believe it or not, he’s not nearly the weirdest person they’ve ever met (a lot of crazy people drift in and out of the land of the dead…) and well… they’re a pretty lonely person too so it’s not like they have a lot of standards when it comes to friendships anyway.

But the second they breathe a word of this to Barbs or Diavolo, this boy is on his way to a royal restraining order… Where does he even get those skulls…?

[raggaraddy]

Discipline- Hyung Line

How and why would Yandere Bangtan punish you?

Trigger warnings: Mentions of violence, mentions of abuse, descriptions of unhealthy relationships.

Alpha!Namjoon

You would find it hard to get Namjoon to react impulsively or rashly. There might be the odd look or feeling you get from him when you say or do something that he disapproves of, but he will never raise his voice or strike you. He is much too controlled for that.

However, that does not mean that your actions would not have repercussions. From the first day when he met you, he made sure to install a clear series of causes and effects. They came so gradually and his reasoning was so irrefutable that while the original you would have been disgusted at the idea of being treated like this, the you that Namjoon has crafted finds his rules and actions reasonable and necessary. They are set for your own well-being.

If you didn't eat well or drank too much, of course, Namjoon was going to scold you. He's just showing how much he cares.

You also need to be corrected when you're rude or disrespectful. Namjoon is an Alpha after all and he deserves your respect. A smart mouth, bad language, or disrespectful behaviour will earn you a time out to reflect on your choices.

And if you're bold enough to leave the house without him or without informing him, then he's made sure you know what consequences to expect. Sure, being bent over his lap like a petulant child is embarrassing, but Namjoon has shown you what kind of creatures exist in the world. It's your Mates' duty to remind you to be more mindful. Even If that means he covers you in bruises from time to time.

For every undesirable action, there exists a correction. All rules and guides are clear so you have no room to argue. If you happen to stumble into a grey area Namjoon will kindly explain your wrongdoing and inform you of the result should you re-offend. He always takes the time to make sure you fully see his reasoning as he would never want you to think he is unjust.

Although, there is one exception to this. Nobody touches you. No one makes any sort of advances towards you and you certainly do not reciprocate or tolerate those actions. That is absolute.

Like I said, he would never hit you out of rage. Another person however would not be so lucky. If you ever wanted to see the full extent of an Alpha's power, just blush or smile when that cute delivery boy asks for your number. Sure, he might lock you in a room and throw away the key, but seeing an Alpha shift in an open plan office is a once in a lifetime event.

King!Seokjin

This is a tricky one to answer because Seokjin isn't looking for a rhyme or reason to hurt you. He just will regardless of any behaviour.

If there are little failures or mistakes he will certainly utilize them for the chance to be extra cruel, however as mentioned, he doesn't need them as justification.

There is still plenty you could do to madden him. He is a King first and foremost and he will not tolerate any kind of disrespect or disobedience. Doing so would absolutely be an easy start to evoking his anger.

Jin is also not impetuous, everything he does, he does with purpose. So when he does hurt you in response to something you have done he can be truly poetic in the methods he chooses.

You dropped and smashed a cup? He'll use the pieces to cut you.

Did you interrupt him? He'll fill that mouth with one thing or another. Don't worry, he doesn't need you to speak anyway.

You did something as foolish as to refuse or fight him during one of your sessions? That's fine. The nearest servant will take your place. Let's see if you can endure their screams and cries, while he continually reminds them and you that their pain is your fault.

Assassin!Yoongi

How would he punish you? He has basically one method. Very simply, he would lock you away. He isn't looking to deal with any bullshit. So if you want to act up, fine. He'll just throw you in your room until he is ready to deal with you again. If you especially irritate him and he wants to make a point or really dissuade your behaviour from happening again he'll chain you in the basement. A two-meter chain, a toilet and a tap for water. With that and soundproof walls, he knows he'll have at least 2 weeks of quiet before you start to properly starve to death and he has to take you out.

Why would he punish you? That is less simple. His moods change too often for there to be any one answer.

You might have been too energetic, or maybe you weren't matching his excitement and it disappointed him. It could be that you were frustrating him by not participating and conversing when he wanted. Or maybe he was just feeling annoyed because he was hungry and tired.

Honestly, Yoongi doesn't know in the slightest what he wants, and while he doesn't truly expect you to be able to, he demands you anticipate his ever-shifting whims. He took you to be useful to him. So he sees it as your job to figure out what he wants, not his job to teach you.

Like when he told you he wanted you to be more proactive and initiate sex. That didn't mean that you could just choose any moment to come to him and offer to make the both of you feel good. No, it was important to wait until the exact moment Yoongi was also in the same temperament. And to make sure you approached him in the way he wanted. And to say the things he liked.

The only thing you can ever be sure of with Yoongi is that because you spend all your time trapped with only him, you will be locked away hating him while obsessing over ways to make him happy. Wishing you could be near him just to have some form of contact with another person.

On the rare occasions when you do see his true anger, it's good to keep in mind that he is a professional killer. He isn't phased with shooting you and leaving you to see if you survive.

Vampire!Hosoek

Like Jin, Hoseok is someone who revels in the pain and suffering of others. Hoseok however is less concerned with formality, obedience, or rules. Fight. Cry. Beg. Scream at him. Tell him how much you hate him, how much you wish he would die. He doesn't care. In fact, he enjoys it. It spurs him on.

There is nearly nothing you could do to truly anger him. Everything is a game for him, everything's fun. And you're his favourite toy. So when you fuck up, it's just another chance for him to play with you.

The only thing he is serious about, the only thing he is possessive of, is your blood. He has made it clear many, many times that that is his. His to drink and his to spill. Get so much as a papercut by yourself, or accidentally bite your tongue and he'll be utterly offended that you robbed him of something that should have been his. Not just the loss of blood either, but that he wasn't able to enjoy the sounds and faces you made as you injured yourself. And how dare you rob him of a moment that should have been his.

If any other person were to hurt you, purposefully or accidentally, or god forbid if any other Vampire tried to drink your blood.... well you would think Hoseok was downright gentle with you when you saw the things he did to them.

[smiletimeisrunningout]

"I'm not..." she wasn't displeased with their arrangments, it wasn't even theirs to begin with, in a way, because she had made the decision to stay. She started pouring him a glass as well. Could she get into it now? She knew she may accidentally provoke him - this time really not meaning it - and doing so in front of his best friend was less than nice.

But God, there was something about him that was just asking to be defied in every possible way. The way he spoke to her was going to lead her to do something stupid, or worse fight with him, and she didn't want that. No, she had to change things immediately, for better or worse, this direction could not do.

"Alright. Let's start over. I am not displeased by anything your general wants from me, or about you as a bodyguard, or this tent. But I am sorry that you have to look after me, in the sense that I feel guilty. And I'm displeased by my overstaying because I want to go kill every single one of those monsters who came here looking for me, and I cannot do that, I will not do that," she pointed out to remind herself of her own resolve, gripping her glass of whiskey.

"Forgive me, Caleb, this is not a happy first talk we are having, but I must say this so that you," she turned to Benjamin, her tone softening, "Can start making peace with the idea, and I won't get reckless because you are pushing buttons you don't know you are accidentally pushing. I told Washington I'd be staying for now, because I don't want to add to his pile of worries. I told him I'll write to my parents, hopefully the letter can be sent by tomorrow morning, so that soon he'll be released from any responsibility. See, this is a self-containment, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be: nobody had to persuade me or explain, it was my choice and it will keep being my choice. But I am not going to be confined at camp the entire time nor pretend I'm a delicate flower, of course I'll listen to what you have to say and I'll try to be on my best behavior, but I will never take orders. Only advice. That is what you need to make peace with. My choices and my life are my responsibilities and will remain so, that is why I can't act like a subordinate. So what I'll tell to your general is that while I'm happy to have your help, you can't be held responsible for what a silly princess does, you can only be thanked whenever you can hold her back. We are on the same level, no one is above the other. Which means sometimes I'll leave camp, neither of us can be trapped. And when my parents answer to my letter I'm definitely going to hunt those people down."

She didn't want to add to George's pile of worries nor to Benjamin's pile of guilt, so hopefully he'd understand she wasn't to be ordered around because she wasn't to be considered under his protection. It wasn't as if any other figure of power would actually state that they were on the same level, after all, but she meant it.

"Caleb, you can visit me whenever you please and it will be much more amusing than it is now, I'm sure. Major, the same goes for you, and you can check on me, but please, please, don't talk to me like a prisoner nor an idiot, talk to me like I'm happily waiting, so that it can be easier for me to convince myself that I am. It's killing me that I can't go find them, they ripped innocent people's hearts out, and that is exactly why you must allow me to handle this. I could leave, you forcing me to stay is what would actually cause a war, not my death, but I won't go regardless, I don't want anyone to get hurt except the people who deserve it. I promise you I'm not that much of an idiot, but sometimes one must act like it... Well," she corrected immediately, "I also am an idiot, and you talking to me like I have no choice in any matter is awakening every fighting instinct I have, and I was in the middle of trying to put them to sleep, don't forget I also just found out-" she lifted her injured hand this time, to show that she hadn't exactly been taking the situation calmly. "If you wish to fight me, can we go back to how you were doing it yesterday, like I'm the most inappropriate woman you have ever met, and not a toddler? Reject my courtship again, that's fine." And maybe he'd stop giving her the impression that he was truly angry about being there but forced to choke it down by his orders, if he did that. Hell, maybe now he'd explode instead, but it was better than the little comments here and there that she didn't know how to read yet. As long as he understood she was there by choice and would stay by choice. Of course she didn't hear no often as a princess - and as a woman she'd still get to pick when to listen to it anyway.

Irritable, Ben rubbed his thumb over the pommel of his sabre, attempting to ground himself while he listened to Emma’s assurances. "I value everyone’s lives equally,” he finally said. “Regardless, it just so happens that I have to value your life more, because it’s what my commander has requested. If you’re unhappy with our arrangement, I’m afraid you’ll just have to get used to our rules.” He offered a thin smile. “But then, how often are princesses told the word ‘no?’”

Caleb snorted at the jeer, watching their exchange as Emma turned and began rummaging through her liquor selection. “Whatever ya say, Emmy-girl,” he agreed. “I try whatever rolls off the tongue, so we’ll just hafta see what sticks.” When she indicated the bottles, his eyes lit up and he nodded towards the one in her left hand. “Whiskey – don’t be holdin’ back on me now, aye?”

When Emma glanced toward Ben, he lifted his shoulders and sighed. “I’ll have the same,” he muttered. “Truly, you needn’t make a fuss. I can’t stay long anyway.”

“Besides having… sticks in improbable places, is there any reason why your friend seems to hate the idea that I like him?”

Affronted, he drew up and glanced between Caleb and the princess, wholly befuddled. “I am right here, you realize,” he grumbled. “Other than this line of questioning, I do not hate anything.”

“Other than bein’ questioned,” the whaler gleefully cut in. “You ask too much, Emma. Benny here prefers those who take orders without a fuss – though why he chose to befriend the only people who don’t listen is beyond me.”

“I’m beginning to wonder that myself,” Ben replied, though there was finally a softening in his eyes.

“Is it the princess thing? Is it because I’m too pretty? Or do I really behave that badly?”

Good Lord, she was relentless.

“You overestimate your effect on my conscience,” he said. “Prettiness has nothing to do with it.”

“Aye, but bein’ a looker sure doesn’t hurt,” Caleb jeered, lifting his whiskey in a mock salute.

Accepting his own glass, Ben looked down into the amber liquid with a touch of regret. He really shouldn’t imbibe – not when so many lives were counting on his success. And had Emma not been listening earlier? Had she overlooked his knee-jerk confession about how befriending his men often led to hurt? His same rules of distance applied to everyone in camp; she wasn’t special in that regard in the slightest.

Desperate to deflect, Ben asked, “Aside from your clear displeasure with our arrangements, have you settled in well?” He kept his gaze focused downward, still swirling the whiskey in his glass. “If you’re missing any sort of supplies, I can see to it that they’re looked after…within reason, of course.”

Caleb snorted. “In other words, he’s here to make sure you have absolutely no fun, whatsoever – startin’ now.”

[edelegs]

Reading Way Too Much Into Petra’s Language

So basically I study second language acquisition and I have been meaning to do a deep dive into Petra’s language use from the moment I first read her dialogue. (On a slightly unrelated note, the Black Eagles house really is just targeted content for queer linguistics grad students). I’d intended for this to be some grand project where I take Petra’s speech patterns and classify them according to theories in second language acquisition (SLA) - but that involves explaining too much Fire Emblem lore to Serious Linguists, so instead I’m going to use my class notes to analyze Petra’s speech patterns and explain why I feel she is a good representation of how narratives should treat non-native speakers of the majority language. (sources will be fast and loose, I’m sorry professors) 

I first want to mention the idea of “native speakerism”, particularly the fact that its use as a measure of proficiency and/or an expected standard of language use is flawed. Today, there are more non-native speakers of English than native speakers as a result of globalization, native speakers do not use language perfectly, and not all varieties of English are viewed equally (e.g. “native English speaker” never seems to refer to Indian English or AAVE). Much of today’s literature on SLA advocates for a focus on successful communication rather than native-like competency. From this perspective, Petra has achieved this goal: she seems to have no problem communicating with her peers outside of some trouble with idioms. Her peers always understand what she is saying, regardless of misconjugated verbs or odd phrasing. However, it is clear that Petra holds herself to these native-speaker standards. She is also the only non-native speaker of Fódlandish to be portrayed as a language learner. Despite this, I will try to avoid describing her language according to this standard. 

Of the non-Fódlan nations in the game, only Brigid, Duscur, and Dagda speak a different language than Fòdlanish. (I don’t recall anything about Almyra’s native language, because I’m 99% sure Claude didn’t mention it). Dedue in particular gives the audience a concrete timeline for his language acquisition - in a support with Dimitri, he mentions that he didn’t use honourifics for him in the past because he was still learning Fòdlandish. This puts him in a Fòdlandish-speaking environment from a young age. Shamir references speaking Dadgan in her A support with Byleth, but there’s no mention of how long she had been learning the language. Her background as a mercenary would be a logical justification for her strong proficiency (training one’s accent away is rare and often not feasible, but I sincerely believe the writers did not put this much thought into that). 

This means that language in the game only seems to matter for Petra’s character. Her background as a political pawn serves as her motivation. Petra is sent to the Empire five years before the events of the story as leverage against a Brigidian uprising. In their C-support, Hubert mentions that Petra could barely use the language when they met. This suggests that Petra has interacted with Adrestian nobility prior to attending Garegg Mach. At school, her environment is still largely made up of members of the nobility, especially as a member of the Black Eagles. (Not all noble speech is created equally, however. Put a pin in that). 

There are three notable features of Petra’s English: over-reliance and misuse of verbs “to be” and “to have”, an overgeneralization of the suffix -ness, and contraction avoidance. In general, Petra uses “have” to describe states of being: “I have gratitude”, “I have sorrow”, “he has much concentration”. This pattern reminds me of the French auxiliary verbs “être” and “avoir”, which leads me to believe that Petra is experiencing transfer from her first language. An English learner of French might say “je suis 24 ans” (I am 24 years) instead of the accepted form “j’ai 24 ans” (I have 24 years). Petra is likely making a similar mistake. From this, I suggest that Brigidian might use an equivalent form of “have” for states of being (or uses the same verb for “to be” and “to have”). What is strange is that this pattern does not significantly change in her A-supports with the others. She does make more use of “to be”, though it remains largely unconjugated (e.g. “we will be winning”, “I will be sharing my heart with all of you”, “I want to be smoking the meat, so that we can be preserving it”). 

There is an order for the development of English morpheme accuracy (Pienenmann’s Processability Theory, 1989). -ing is typically acquired first, which is seen in Petra’s language. It is followed by plural -s, then -be, when to use “a” versus “the”, irregular past, regular past -ed, third person -s, and possessive ‘s. Petra does not seem to follow this pattern exactly. She does not typically misuse articles (a/the), but her use of be is still largely unconjugated. She also uses the past perfect form more often than the simple past (from Hubert/Petra C: ”I had more youth then”, “I have learned much . . .” “and meeting you and Lady Edelgard has had great value for me”). There are instances when she does use the simple past (Caspar/Petra: “you are not the one who did the killing”, “our parents had conflict”) but this use is inconsistent. This blatantly contradicts Anderson and Shirai’s (1996) Aspect Hypothesis, which states that simple past is acquired much earlier on than past perfect. Similarly, Petra’s overuse of -ness is likely a similar developmental issue (though I cannot find a developmental hierarchy outlining this). 

One explanation for this (aside from “I am reading way more into this than the writers/translators did”) lies in Petra’s social networks. Since coming to Fòdlan, Petra has largely been surrounded by nobles. The use of past perfect, as well as contraction avoidance, might’ve been influenced by the noble’s speech patterns. A side effect of transcribing literally every line of Petra dialogue for the bigger-scale project I’d initially planned was noticing which Black Eagles use contractions and which don’t. Those who are concerned with maintaining their image - Edelgard, Hubert, and Ferdinand - either do not use contractions or use them much less than the others. Linhardt, Bernadetta, and Caspar all don’t care about how others perceive them, and as a result their speech is much more casual. Petra is a highly conscious learner who likely aspires to achieve the speech of the former group. As the future Queen of Brigid, she aims to be perceived as Edelgard’s equal and bring more respect and dignity for her nation. One way for her to do this is through language. Petra perceives herself as lacking proficiency and is embarrassed by her grasp on the language. She is a perfectionist in everything she does and this extends to language. In her supports with Byleth, she corrects herself often. One of her advice box questions expresses frustration about her lack of progress with speaking. She is proud of herself when she uses an expression correctly (e.g. [smiling] “I have had practicing of that phrase”). The realism of her tense acquisition aside, Petra’s aspirations lead her to model her speech after that of her distinguished peers. 

Should Petra’s language have been written to more closely mirror real-world English acquisition patterns? Considering that I doubt this question has crossed other players’ minds, this is largely unnecessary. What should be asked is this: how is Petra treated by the narrative as a second language speaker? The answer is: surprisingly well! Though there are times when her misunderstanding of common expressions is used for humour, nobody treats Petra as if she’s lesser for being Brigidian or a non-native speaker. In fact, the person who’s hardest on Petra’s language is Petra herself. There are no incidences (at least within the Black Eagles) where others perceive her as less intelligent or less worthy of respect. It could be easy to read her character as “quirky foreigner”, but that dismisses the fact that her peers do not see her this way. This game is far from perfect at portraying differences in race/nationality (looking at you, Dedue), but Petra Macneary--hunter, friend, and badass queen--is a pleasant surprise. 

[roanniom]

The Night That Follows

Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 8,000~ 

Summary: While celebrating a successful mission, you and Poe accidently ingest a mysterious beverage that makes it hard to resist one another, helping you forget the stress that weighs you down and the friendship that you’ve been holding between you two as a shield. 

Note: This is my first ever non-ADCU fic and it is dedicated to the ever lovely and supportive @paper-n-ashes who urged me to get out of my comfort zone and cheered me on.  

Warnings: NSFW, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, sex pollen, drugged drink (it’s drugged with the sex pollen by a 3rd party and not with malicious intent but it still might be triggering), masturbation (f/m), PIV sex, unprotected sex, war-related angst 

When people talk about war, they often discuss the paralyzing fear, the numbing depression. Hopelessness that spreads through your veins like cold water as you face immeasurable odds and stare death in the face day after day. And you can attest to these feelings. You experience them with each dawn that breaks, muddy in the sky regardless of the atmosphere shrouding whatever planet you find yourself waking on each morning. Your life is transient, full of ships and bases and camps. The constants are the clothes on your back, the friends in your squadron (those who survive), and the x-wing you hop in each time danger calls.

The other constant is the part of war that people do not discuss. The rush of adrenaline every time you make it out of a tough scrape. Adrenaline that burns your veins, evaporating the icy hopelessness that had flooded you up until the minute your boots hit turf and your jellied knees catch up to the reality that you are still very much alive. The euphoria that crackles in your brain when you spy your best mate zooming down from above, finally landing and throwing themselves into your arms in the hug you never thought you’d experience again after their coms had gone down in a fire fight. The absolute debauchery of a night of celebration after such a fire fight. Because nobody needs to live quite as much as those who may die.

Which is how you find yourself here, on this non-descript jungle planet, the name of which you didn’t catch during your descent because honestly there have been so many jungle planets and they have all become little more than coordinates on a screen to you at this point. You and your squad have been set up with a mini-festival by the resistance-sympathizing locals as a thank you for your recent decimation of their First Order oppressors. The operation had been pretty seamless, thanks in no small part to the excellent teamwork between you and a one Poe Dameron.

Your flying today had rivaled some of his best, which is certainly saying something since Poe prides himself on being the best pilot in the resistance. You certainly gave him a run for his money, outflying TIE fighters and swiveling shuttle cannons in a perfectly choreographed tandem maneuver wherein the two of you manipulated your assailants to ultimately destroy themselves.

As you knock back a burning shot of the local alcoholic beverage, the liquid tingling and warming you all the way down, you search the triumphant crowd for the cocky pilot who had helped you set the stage for this celebration. You wouldn’t dwell on the earlier events of the day much more tonight. Wouldn’t think much of the comrades you’d lost in the struggle. That was an ache that would throb back to life tomorrow. Tonight, the priority is living.

It is then that you lock eyes with Poe Dameron through the throngs of semi-drunken revelers. His handsome face splits into a wide, cocky grin, so you adopt an exasperated smirk in response as he pushes his way towards you. Such is the game you play. A dance, if you will. Poe plays the role of the self-assured, overly confident golden boy while you, his long suffering partner, humble him with your good-natured criticism and ever rolling eyes.

“Alright there, Sweets?” Poe practically drawls as he reaches you, the nickname both a term of endearment and a teasing reference to the sweet tooth that keeps you hoarding candies of all kinds in your bunk, much to Poe’s own benefit. You beam up at him and upend your little glass to demonstrate its emptiness.

“On my way there, Fly Boy.”

“Looks like you’re falling behind, rookie. Like you did on that triple barrel twist today.”

You throw a punch that lands a little too lightly on his shoulder to produce the grunt and showy flail that he graces you with.

“First of all, you’re not allowed to call me rookie anymore. Your dumb ass might need to be constantly reassured that you’re ‘best pilot in the resistance,’ but by now I am, at worst, second best.” Your gut warms and you’re not sure if it’s the drink or Poe’s deep, full-bodied laugh in response. “And second of all, we don’t talk about the day if we make it to the night.”

Poe almost seems to sober at your words, a phrase of his tossed back at him. The smile remains, though, and he tosses an arm around you before dragging you over to the table that’s been set up with refreshments.

“Right you are, Sweets,” Poe agrees quietly. Louder now and injecting you two into the crowd surrounding the cluster of bottles, he continues, “as for you being second best pilot, I’d rather let the squad decide before you go getting a head too big to fit in your helmet.”

This receives a laugh from the crowd as well as another smattering of slaps thrown towards Poe’s chest.

“Dameron, we all know you already have your own helmet custom made so you can stuff that massive ego in there,” your friend Myrna.

“And those curls,” you add, reaching up and ruffling your hand through his hair in that way that always makes his nose scrunch up in mock anger.

“If you must know, there’s something else they also have to custom make me…” Poe says, grabbing your wrist and forcing your hand to slide down his chest towards the bottom of his flight suit zipper and wiggling his eyebrows. You shriek and yank your hand away.

“In your dreams, Dameron.” Poe leans down toward you so that his face is close enough for you to feel his breath fan across your cheeks.

“Or perhaps in yours?”

Suddenly a small, wrinkled face appears between you. It’s an elderly female member of the local alien race and she’s beaming up at you, holding two steaming mugs and smiling around a garbled statement in a language you don’t recognize.

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m not sure I…” you interrupt her, glancing awkwardly between her massive eyes and Poe’s confused ones.

“I might be able to translate!” Myrna cries out, stumbling forward with a newly refilled glass in her hand.

“You sure that’s not just the liquor talking?” Poe asks with a chuckle. Myrna waves him off and kneels unsteadily to listen to the old woman. More garbled speech issues forward as the woman gestures between you and Poe with her mugs. Myrna nods several times and gives little hums of agreement and affirmation. You and Poe trade glances of amusement during the interaction, but you have to look away when the upturned corner of Poe’s mouth begins to distract you.

“Alright alright,” Myrna pipes up. You turn back in time to see Myrna standing back up to her full height, now holding the two mugs, while the woman waddles back into the crowd.

“What’s the deal?” Poe asks, slinging his arm back around your shoulders. You resist the knee jerk actions that come to mind, both to slap his touch away and to lean into it, standing rigid instead.

“She said these are for you,” Myrna says, pushing the steaming mugs into your hands and Poe’s.

“Did she say why?” You peer at the milky, opalescent contents curiously. Myrna has already moved on, however, turning back to the pilot she’d been hanging on before you and Poe had approached. You look to Poe but he shrugs.

“I don’t know, something about you guys deserving it.” Myrna waves her hand dismissively, obviously ready to get back to her own evening. You look up at Poe, unsure, but he’s nodding and smiling.

“Hear that, Sweets? Seems like word travels fast that we’re the top two pilots,” Poe says cheekily, clinking his mug to yours before throwing back his head and downing its contents in one gulp. Your insides ignite at his acknowledgment, as well as the bob of his adam’s apple, but your eyes still flit warily to your beverage.

“We don’t even know what it is and you’re drinking it?”

“Honey, I’m pretty sure that liquor we were taking shots of earlier was actually jet fuel, I don’t think we need to be too worried about this.” Poe smacks his lips and runs his finger around the inside of the mug. “And besides, it’s really kriffing good.”

Watching the way his cheeks hollow out as he sucks the last dregs of his drink from his finger makes a heat boil in the pit of the stomach. You decide you actually are quite thirsty, and since your curiosity is stronger than your apprehension, you knock the liquid back yourself.

“Atta girl!” Poe cheers you on, nudging you. The drink is sweet and thick on your tongue like a melted version of the ice cream you’d tasted once, many years ago. You can still remember the creamy texture, very much worth the credits paid to the traveling vendor who’d brought it to your village during the hottest summer of your childhood. As you swallow this liquid down, however, its cold temperature changes into a burn, similar to alcohol, though smoother than any liquor you’d ever had.

“Good, right?” Poe asks, eyebrows raised. You nod and lick your lips, sure that you’re imagining things when Poe’s eyes flicker down to your darting tongue.

“That was actually pretty good,” you concede with a grin.

“So what have we learned tonight?” Poe prompts, grabbing your mug from your hands and placing it next to his on a nearby table. You shake your head.

“Your cockiness extends to believing locals on a miniscule planet find you special?”

“The correct answer was ‘always give things a chance,’ Sweets, but you can continue being closeminded if you want,” Poe responds with a chuckle. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and makes to walk away.

“Fine!” You reach out and grab his arm before he can leave. When he rounds back on you with a wide smile you roll your eyes and refuse eye contact. “And just so you know, I’m a lot more open minded than you think, Dameron.”

“Is that so, rookie?” You bristle but as the glee raises in his eyes at your reaction you do your best to tamp it down.

“I’m…flexible,” you say, your grin begrudging. A hubbub breaks out beyond you in the crowd as the makeshift band that had assembled to play party music transitions to a particularly festive song, causing both you and Poe to watch as people begin forming an impromptu dance floor. When Poe turns back at you and raises his eyebrows, expectant, you throw up your hands defensively.

“No. Don’t look at me like that, Fly Boy,” you’re quick to say, but Poe’s even quicker, having already grabbed you by the hand and pulled you to him. Your body collides with his and his other hand finds the dip of your waist.

“Oh I’m sorry, what was that I just heard someone say about being open minded?” Poe asks. In a sudden fluid motion he dips you, bending you over so that your back is parallel to the ground and his face hovers over yours. “Being flexible?”

You let him pull you back up and steady yourself with a hand on his chest to catch your balance, dizzy now, most likely from the suddenness of the motion. You’re about to toss back a witty retort, possibly something that will knock him down a few pegs, but then you catch the glint in his eye and a smile spreads across your lips unbidden.

“You get one dance, Dameron.”

~*~

One dance turned into many, as it turns out. The band, upon realizing their audience’s appetite for raucous music, had begun a steady rotation of upbeat tunes. The dance floor had expanded, spilling out of its original confines in the center of the town square and into the concession areas on the perimeter. Resistance members danced and drank, their bodies jumping and moving to the beat in one chaotic mass of excess energy and euphoria. Bodies writhe against one another in all directions as people seek out friction that can confirm to them that they did indeed survive the day’s trials.

You’re experiencing friction of your own in your little portion of the dance floor. Where things had started out innocently – energetic bouncing to the beat and moving in unison – the tone had long changed. At this point Poe is behind you, arms slung dangerously low on your hips to hold you against him, hands pressed right above your pelvis. The feeling of his chest pressing against your back, his hips bracketing your ass – you’ve lost yourself in the sensations. The rhythm of the music shakes through your muscles but instead of tense and tired, they’re loose and buzzing.

Though truth be told, they aren’t the only thing buzzing. The proximity of Poe’s hands to your lower body feels charged like a magnet. Without thinking you press your hands over the backs of his, encouraging pressure on your lower abdomen. You swear you hear Poe growl behind you has his hands pull you further to him, but it could also be the roar of the crowd. Your hips move in sync, your ass grinding against him in time with the music. Escapism in its purest form is what you’re experiencing in Poe’s arms, held against Poe’s body, matching Poe’s motions. It’s heady and distracting and everything you could ask for to make living feel like living, especially in the aftermath of a day centered on death. You’re content to let this moment last as long as the universe allows.

That is until you realize that the increasing beat you’d thought was a shift in the music is actually the rapid crescendo of your own heartbeat.

Swallowing you find your throat is thick, saliva pooling in your mouth inexplicably. You take a deep breath and allow your mind to reel. How long had you been feeling like this? Why hadn’t you noticed these feelings coming on?

One of the large hands at your hip begins sliding up along the plane of your side and you get your answer. The weight of his touch lights your skin on fire as it drags up and across your collar bone. Your breath feels ragged, rattling around in lungs that can’t seem to take in oxygen no matter how high your chest rises and falls. Poe’s hand lingers on your throat for a second so you swallow again, with even less luck than before. His hand reaches up to grip your jaw which he uses to turn your head back toward him.

Oh.

Poe continues to move behind you, his motions controlling you both on the floor, but his face is strained. Sweat dots his temples, gleaming in his curls, and his teeth seem gritted, making his jaw set at a striking angle. His eyes pin you down, however, and they keep your attention as you gaze back, wide-eyed.

“You okay, rookie?” Poe’s voice is deeper than normal, huskier. The way it reverberates through your body makes a rumbling bubble up deep inside your chest. The beginnings of a moan, perhaps? You’re quick to gasp a response before such a sound has a chance to make its way into the air between you.

“I’m…feeling quite strange.”

The hand still at your waist tightens its grip while the other rejoins on the opposite side. You have to gasp again to keep from moaning. Suddenly you’re being maneuvered forward, Poe’s guidance weaving you through the crowd with ease despite the congested revelry.

Neither of you see the way Myrna is watching you both with a knowing smirk from her place draped around her own handsome pilot beau. Or the way the little old woman who’d gifted you the beverage hovers on the outskirts of the dance floor, a proud look on her wrinkled face as she eyes your retreating figures.

~*~

You’re not really able to follow where Poe is directing you, mainly because of how the imprint of his hands on your body seems to be searing into your skin through your flight suit. While your accelerated heart rate was the thing you had been most worried about, now you are equally worried about the dull ache that has seated itself in the pit of your stomach. You bite down hard on your lip to keep the moan from spilling out, the one you’ve been suppressing since the moment you became conscious to your current discomfort.

When Poe’s stride finally slows to a stop only then are you able to take in your surroundings. Blinking, you’re surprised to find that you’re now outside of the town, far from the lights and bustle of the party, walking into the silent clearing that contains the squadron’s parked aircrafts.

“Why are we all the way out here?” you ask, unsettled by how deep your voice sounds in the darkness.

“Needed to get away from the crowd.” You’re even more unsettled by how breathless Poe’s voice is as he says his first words since the dance floor. So unsettled that you turn in his arms so you can finally take in his disheveled appearance fully.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, it’s the weirdest thing. One minute everything was fine and the next…”

“You can’t catch your breath,” you finish for him and he nods gravely. Both of your chests are practically heaving, pressing into each other with each exhale. When you become aware of this, it also brings awareness of the way his chest pressed up against yours is also adding pressure to your nipples. Since when were your nipples hard? The night is balmy, a cool breeze barely able to disturb the moist warmth that settles in the jungle terrain. You feel sweat begin to collect on the back of your neck and your hairline, much like the sweat causing Poe to shine a bit in the moonlight. And yet your nipples are hard and a shudder runs through your body, nerve endings clearly ten steps ahead of you, taking in some experience to which you’d yet to catch up.

“Wait a minute, look at me,” Poe suddenly orders, his fingers wrapping around your chin to lift your face toward his. You freeze as he stares down at you, eyes widening at whatever he sees.

“What is it?” you ask, voice urgent, almost frightened.

“Your pupils are wide as planets,” he mutters, distracted fingers drawing up the side of your jaw to press to the pulse point at your throat. “Your heartbeat is out of control.”

“I haven’t been able to calm down,” you say, nodding but getting more worried by the second. “Why can’t I calm down? Are you feeling the same way?”

Poe’s mouth presses into a hard line and he turns away abruptly, head tilting down.

“Oh fuck.”

“What?” You try to pull him back toward you but he doesn’t budge.

“I think…we’ve been drugged.”

Your blood runs cold and a hand flies to cover your mouth. You’d known tonight was too good to be true. Your mind races, making connections out of thin air, trying to place when and where you could have possibly come in close enough proximity to First Order agents to be compromised.

“But what – how – what can we do? What is it? Is it deadly?” You’re cut off by a sound issuing from Poe’s now curved body. You wonder at first if it’s a sob, which makes sense because you’re about ready to cry yourself. But then you realize it’s a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t say deadly. Just exceedingly inconvenient.”

“So you know what it is then?” you prompt, tugging at his shoulder some more to try and see his face. “Tell me!”

“Well for starters I’m pretty sure it was that drink the old woman gave us.”

Fuck.

Of course. What was the one suspicious thing you’d ingested all day? The fact that you hadn’t thought about it sooner makes you want to kick yourself, but you press on instead, anxious to have the matter dealt with.

“What does it do?” You hate the tremor that colors your voice. At that Poe finally turns around and you take him in all at once, trying to assess what he could have been hiding. His tall, wide-legged stance makes it easy to notice after a few seconds. As your gaze moves lower on his body you finally see the massive tent forming below the zipper line of his flight suit.

Without even being able to mentally process what you’re looking at your body responds immediately. A rush of warmth and wetness floods the apex of your thighs and the moan that you’d so far been able to hold in finally makes it way out of your throat. Poe’s eyes, which had recently gone hooded, widen in response to the lewd sound. You clap a hand over your mouth and snap your eyes back up to his face, away from the rigid shape that had made the muscles inside you contract wantonly around nothing.

“It’s made from a plant that’s meant to accelerate sex drive,” Poe says matter-of-factly.

You almost don’t hear him because your eyes have already slid back down his body, feasting on the sight of his impressive bulge. You’d heard stories of Poe’s sexual prowess, many from the man’s own loud mouth. You knew he’d satisfied many members of the Resistance, male and female alike. But you had never truly let yourself consider what he’d be like. What he’d look like. What he’d feel like…

“Why would she possibly give that to us of all people?” You feel like you’re going to cry. The feelings coursing through your body are overwhelming.

“Maybe she went around spiking many people at the party. Maybe she just thought you and I would look hot together? You can’t blame her for that one.” Poe winks at you and it diffuses some of your angst. You let out a tense laugh and shake your head.

“How do we make it stop?” you force yourself to ask, just as you force yourself yet again to look back up in his eyes. Poe averts his own, a sheepish look overtaking his face. When he doesn’t answer you step forward and grab his arm in alarm, trying not to consider the way his bicep bulges under his sleeve. “Poe?!”

“We have to…take care of it.”

You’re launching yourself away from him before he can finish the sentence. You probably knew the answer before you’d even asked the question, but his words still sent electricity through your spine.

“We can’t. That’s…that’s crazy – you’re crazy, Dameron!”

“Hey, you think I like this? Standing here like an idiot with my dick so hard I can barely see straight?”

The sexual nature of his words, spoken so plainly and without euphemism for the first time, makes a new wave of wetness pool between your legs against your will.

“Don’t….talk about it,” you say through gritted teeth, closing your eyes in an attempt to center yourself.

“What? Don’t talk about my aching cock?” he asks, almost as a challenge. He’s frustrated now, egged on by your attitude.

“Stop it.”

“Are you about to tell me you aren’t wet right now?”

You turn your back on him in a childish and fruitless attempt at blocking out his words. When you don’t reply you hear his footsteps as he approaches from behind.

“If we’re both having the same reaction, and I’m certain we are, then I’d imagine you’re practically dripping right now.”

His words would have made your eyes cross if you didn’t have them shut so tightly. A hand molds around your hip while the other grasps at the side of your neck, both working in tandem to pull your back flush against his front. The impact, though gentle, knocks the wind out of you. Or whatever wind had been in you in the first place. His lips are at your ear then and you melt into his touch.

“If we take care of this together we’ll go back to normal.”

“…back to normal?” you ask, simply repeating and not really aware of your words.

“Exactly.”

“I…I don’t know.” Poe’s hardened length is pressing into your ass now, insistent and firm behind you. The hand on your hip migrates lower to pull you against him. A swivel of his hips causes your own to follow the momentum, gyrating in their own right.

“We can be quick,” Poe coos, his voice vibrating over your earlobe where his lips are making contact with your skin. Another low chuckle sounds. “Or I can take my time if you want. Either way, I can promise you’ll enjoy it.”

There’s your cocky Fly Boy.

You wrench yourself from his grasp and take a few steadying steps away before gaining the wherewithal to turn back and face him once more. He looks supremely disappointed, arms still outstretched in the place where you had just been.

“Does this really have to be a…team effort?” you ask, face screwed up with discomfort. Poe runs a hand through his hair and casts a distracted glance about your surroundings.

“I mean I guess theoretically one could take care of themselves – ”

“Great!” you cut him off and stalk around to the other side of his x-wing. Of course he’d brought you to his ship. You look around for your own but when you can’t find it you plop yourself down on the ground.

“Are you kriffing serious?” comes Poe’s angry voice behind you as he stomps over. “We could bang this out and feel better but you’re just going to – ”

“Oh ‘bang’ this out? Real nice, Dameron.”

“You know what I mean.” You can practically hear his eye roll.

“The other side,” you say simply, lowering the zipper on your flight suit. When you don’t hear the sound of his retreating footsteps, however, you pause. “Stay on the other side of the ship, Dameron.”

He grumbles but does as you say. When you finally hear the sound of him throwing himself to the ground, you lift the tab of your zipper again. However, the loud and sudden ziiiip indicating that he’s yanked open his own garment seems ring out then in the clearing and you’re inundated with mental images of what that must look like. Poe sprawled on the ground with his flight suit open and askew. You imagine the expanse of his chest, the way the muscle would ripple in the shadows of the jungle. You’d seen him without a shirt before, the arms of his flight suit tied at his waist as he reclined beneath his x-wing making repairs. Covered in sweat and grease. The memory and the subsequent lurid thoughts have you dipping your hand down into the small opening you’ve made in your clothes, not fully comfortable enough to expose yourself entirely to the elements. When you reach the place between your thighs you have to swallow the gasp that bursts forth at the realization that Poe had been right. You’re not just wet. You’re dripping.

“Fuck.”

You think you say it quietly but a chuckle from the other side of the ship proves otherwise.

“Need any help over there?”

You ignore him and try to focus in on your own body, closing your eyes. You allow a hand to ghost over your breast as you ease a finger through your folds. You feel the insistent thrumming of your pulse even down below and your breath is shallow in your chest. The images dancing behind your eyelids show you flashes, glimpses of things you try to banish from your mind. The angle of Poe’s jaw. His faint, ever present stubble. The arch of his eyebrow. The curve of his smirk. His ass in those pants.

“Sweets…”

Poe’s voice interrupts a whimper you hadn’t even realized you were releasing.

“Poe.” Your voice is small and it cracks around his name. Your muscles are contracting but nothing you do eases the sensation. It just continues building within you. “It hurts.”

“Just come over here. I don’t even have to touch you. Just let me help you through it.”

You ponder the darkness before you, the way it envelops the other aircrafts in this makeshift parking zone. You hear a shick shick shick behind you and your cunt aches. Completely in response to the siren call of Poe Dameron’s building pleasure. You’re immediately intensely jealous. Jealous of the way that, you assumed, he was having more luck getting himself off than you were, despite the fingers inside you right now. Jealous of the way his voice didn’t crack when he beckoned you over.

But most of all jealous of the fact that he’s the one currently touching his hard cock. Not you.

You will yourself to stand up, pulling your hand out of your flight suit but not bothering to zip it back up. On jelly legs you make your way to the other side of the ship. The far side, facing away from the town square and the distant glow of the party you’ve now forgotten.

As you round the edge of the x-wing you bite your lip at the sight before you. Poe is indeed sprawled out with his suit zipped all the way down. His thick member protrudes from the bottom of the opening, a fist moving up and down rapidly, pulling from root to flushed tip in skilled motions. However the eyes that gaze up at you from under his unruly mop of curly hair are not doused with pleasure and satisfaction as you’d imagined. Instead he looks pained, almost agonized. At the sight of you he sits up a bit and does his best to give you a reassuring smile though it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful, rookie.”

“That’s the drink talking,” you dismiss, despite the way your stomach swoops as you move to settle yourself down next to him, careful not to make contact. “And you know I hate you calling me rookie.”

“I’ll call you anything you want, baby, as long as you start touching yourself.”

Your cunt pulses at his words so suddenly that you almost double over. Your breathing, already ragged, speeds up as you feel the overwhelming urge to have something deep inside you. Dropping your hand into the opening in your suit you halt, however, watching Poe warily in your peripheral vision. He catches you looking and reluctantly stills the hand moving on member.

“Would sitting back to back help?” he sighs. You nod, scrambling over so that your back is to his.

This is better. This is much better, you think as you dip your hand back between your legs and into the waiting slick. You drag a finger in tight circles over your clit and do your best to calm the racing thoughts that flit back to images of Poe’s body.

The body that is currently pressed to yours, though not at all in the manner you would prefer.

Poe grunts then, making you lose your rhythm.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve wanted you, you know.”

You cut your answering gasp off at the source, not daring to make a sound lest it interrupt this information that you desperately needed to here. He interprets your silence correctly and continues.

“I’ve thought about you. When I’m in the cockpit on my way to some distant planet. When not even hyper speed can get me there quick enough before thoughts of you creep in.” He almost sounds mad, but you get it. The emotions coursing through your body along with the hormones are driving you wild and you don’t know how to feel.

“What…what are the thoughts about?” you can’t help but ask.

“I’d love to say it’s your smile or your brains or something sweet like that. And I do think about those things too, don’t get me wrong,” he says on a hoarse chuckle. “But it’s mainly your body.”

You slip a third finger inside your cunt as he says this, his words and the feeling mixing to cause you to let out an unchecked moan. You feel Poe’s body shudder against you.

“Shit Sweets you’re killing me.” You feel him tense as his hand begins moving faster. “I think about how you look poured into that flight suit. The way your tits and ass jiggle when you hop into your x-wing – fuck.” Another shudder wracks through his body and you can’t take it anymore. The way you’re touching yourself isn’t the way you usually do it. Not in those rare moments where you’ve got the sleeping quarters to yourself and you’re able to get yourself off in your bunk to images of a chiseled jawline, a clothed bulge, rippling muscles, soft, curly hair…

You abruptly pitch yourself forward to balance yourself on your knees and one hand while the remaining hand redoubles its efforts between your legs. The shift in position ends your physical contact with Poe and he swivels to see.

“What are you – ”

“Don’t turn around,” you gasp out. Your new angle works in your favor as your swollen clit becomes more sensitive, pulled down by gravity so that every swipe of your finger becomes more potent. “But for the love of gods, don’t stop talking.”

Poe is taken aback by your sudden forwardness, but he doesn’t let it faze him for long. Instead you hear his renewed efforts at jerking off as the sound of skin swiping across skin, made smoother by spit and precum, gets louder behind you.

“What do you want me to talk about? How much I wish it was your tight little pussy I was fucking instead of my fist?”

The whimper you release at that statement is unlike any sound you’ve ever made and it only spurs Poe on.

“And I just know you’re tight. I know it. And wet too, just like I guessed you were. I can hear it, baby,” he practically growls and you become intensely away of the slick, creamy sounds coming from the rapid in and out, in and out rhythm of your fingers delving into your cunt. “You’re dripping, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” You close your eyes and hear his words and wish the fingers inside you were harder, thicker, him.

“You wish it was my cock inside you, I know you do. You don’t want to admit it but you wish I was pounding into you, making you feel good. Making the ache go away.”

Your answering whine confirms his beliefs and he lets out a triumphant grunt.

“Fuck, baby. I want it, too. Bury myself deep inside of you and fuck you till that drink wears off and you’re still screaming for me, that’s how good it would be.”

“Oh gods.”

“Tell me who you’re wet for.”

“Y-you.” It comes out small. You’re shocked that you even say it, especially with how much you’ve been fighting all of this. You want it. You want it in your bones and in your blood and in your tight, spasming cunt. But you also want Poe’s friendship. Want him to tousle your hair on the way to the hanger. Want him to keep sending you funny messages over your data pad, constantly trying to outdo your own silly riddles and jokes. Want to tease him and eat dinner with him in the mess hall and slap him when he says something stupid and yell at him when he does something dangerous and cry when he doesn’t come back on time from a mission…

A sob finds its way out of your body, sandwiched between two moans. You’re not sure Poe even heard it until his voice reaches your ears again, this time gentler.

“Sweets? Is this working for you?”

You take a shuddering breath before answering.

“No.”

You practically hear Poe slump in defeat, the rhythm of his hand on his length slowing down. You bite your lip before continuing.

“Take me, Poe.”

“What?” Poe whirls around so fast you feel the air woosh over you as he disturbs it. You jump to your feet, still facing away from him and yank your flight suit over your shoulders and down your body, stepping out so it pools on the ground. He watches as you get back down on your hands and knees before him in your underwear, ass in the air, waiting for him to catch up.

“I need you, Poe. Just…just please get inside me,” you say, reaching back to pull the damp fabric of your panties aside, exposing your glistening, swollen folds for him to see.

You don’t have to ask him a third time. He’s on you so fast that you’re confused by his motions. It takes a few seconds before you realize that he’s taken your discarded flight suit and stretched it out on the ground, positioning you over it so that your hands and knees are protected from the dirt. The sweetness of this considerate action is offset by the way his fingers dig harshly into your hips, maneuvering your ass so that it lines up with his pelvis. You tilt forward, aided by pressure on your lower back which raises your click cunt to the level of his cock.  

“I’m going to make you feel so good – ”

“No more words, Dameron. Just shut up and get your cock inside – FUCK.” He spears you mid-sentence and you immediately fall down onto your elbows. Your ass still in the air, held in place by his hard grip, receives a smack and you cry out, feeling no pain. Only pleasure as the sting ripples through you and into your clenching cunt. He feels it deep inside you and groans.

“Maybe you’re the one who needs to shut up, baby.” His words issue forth from gritted teeth. “Always fucking teasing me with that fucking mouth.” His hips rut into yours, taking up an unforgiving pace, while the rest of his body folds over yours so his chest pressed flush to your back. One hand closes tightly around your chin, wrenching up your head and dragging a finger over your bottom lip which has grown plump from biting. “This beautiful, bossy fucking mouth. Always telling me off, telling me what to do.”

Your tongue darts out to meet his skin and his other fingers caress your chin in response. It’s a stark contrast to the almost feral way he is still clutching your hip and driving into you over and over.

There’s almost no resistance. You’re tight, cunt clutching onto his throbbing cock in an effort to keep him buried inside, but you’re wetter than you’ve ever been and it’s making his thrusts effortless. You assume it’s a side effect of the drink. But in some part of your brain you can’t believe that a plant could possibly make a man’s cock feel as good as Poe’s does right now inside you. How a plant could cause you to feel pleasure that is not simply rooted in the way his hand drags down from your jaw to wrench your breasts out of the cups of your bra. How a plant could in any way magnify the surely already intoxicating feeling of Poe’s mouth working at the side of your neck, the curve of your shoulder.

“This working, baby? This doing it?” Poe checks in then, not relenting in his thrusts. Never relenting. “You’re squeezing me, so I know your little pussy likes it.”

A shuddering gasp kicks through you before you can answer his question and he laughs. The vibrations go straight from his cock to your clit and you whimper some more.

“Your sounds. I want to record these little sounds you’re making and play them back when I’m flying. Have you fill the space in my x-wing till I can’t take it any more.” Poe presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder, nipping and then laving the skin over with his tongue. “I’m going to hear these sounds in my dreams.”

“It’s…just…the drink,” you practically hiccup, barely able to form thoughts from the way your body has focused all energy, all recognitions of nerve endings to the space between your thighs. Poe slaps your ass again and you keen.

“Just listen to yourself, baby. No drink is making you sound this hot. That’s all you, Sweets.”

Before you can argue further you do take a second to listen. To the way your shallow breaths mix with whimpers and whines. The gurgle in the back of your throat when his cock bounces against your cervix. He’s right. It is hot. You are hot. You reach a hand down to your clit, desperate to increase the already mind-blowing stimulation, greedy for more.

“You feel so good. You’re sosososogood,” you barely manage to slur. Despite your inability to fully speak you make the attempt because you assume that if hearing your gasps is egging him on, your words will amplify it. And amplify it they do. Poe’s hips stutter for a second before he drops down heavier on you, thrusting deeper and from a more primal place. A hand savagely kneads at one of your breasts, playing with the nipple.  

“I’ve never been this full. I can’t take it, I can’t…”

“Seems like you’re taking it pretty well, baby,” Poe coos, pressing more kisses to the side of your neck.

“I need m-more,” you gasp, realizing with urgency that the pressure in your core is finally building past the plateau of the last…hour? Half an hour? How long had this been going on? All night? It doesn’t matter because Poe’s inside you and he’s listening to you and suddenly you’re being slammed into with all the force he can muster. He expertly wrings pleasure from your body and you feel yourself careening toward a release that you can’t describe. Just out of reach and full of all the potential energy inherent in an object rocketing toward the moon only to soon plummet back to the depths.

“Poe! I…I…oh fuck…oh gods…I…”

“Go on, baby. Cum.”

“You ha- ahhhh. But you…y-you…” You’re babbling. You’re incoherent, not wanting to leave him behind in the blinding ache that comes before release. Your hands are fisting in the flight suit below you, desperate for something solid, something substantial to hold onto.

“Don’t wait for me, Sweets. Let go.”

And then his hands are closing over yours, fingers interlacing and squeezing down, pinning you to the ground with white knuckles that would hurt if you weren’t squeezing him right back, finally grounded in the way you needed.

And you’re cumming.

And cumming.

You feel every muscle in your body seize and spasm and bliss roils out through you in waves. You shake and stutter under him, feeling fresh wetness gush down around his cock as he fucks you through the feeling. You keep waiting for it to stop but it doesn’t, it only intensifies. It must be a side effect. Of the drink not the man. But when you feel yourself transcending the moment, the way your soul feels like it is literally floating above you, you use the out of body experience to take in the man who is causing this pleasure. The way he cages you in, bracing you through the storm of your orgasm, giving more and more to keep the flame burning as long as possible.

His muscles ultimately seize sometime around when your soul seems to sink back into your body and you’re one again enough with your senses that you can feel him paint your walls with sticky, hot cum. He doesn’t drop his weight on you like other men have after the completion of such exertions. Other men who had focused more on the destination than the journey, leaving you as wanting for release as you were wanting for air under the pressure of their body weight. Instead, Poe pulls you of you and flops to his back in the grass beside you. Without him holding you up you crumble down, face pressing into the fabric of your rumpled flight suit instead of the dirt, thanks to Poe.

A few minutes pass, silent except for the sound of your slowing gasps for air. When your breathing evens Poe sits up on his haunches to guide you back into your flight suit. You’re sticky from sweat and your combined cum, but you couldn’t care less with your bones liquified and your eyelids heavy. Gone is the buzzing ache, in its place a heavy sleepiness. When Poe lays you, now clothed, gingerly back down on the ground you automatically curl into him, allowing him to wrap his arms around your body.

Neither of you shares another word. You don’t have to.

Because shortly after you doze off. And for the first time in a long time your final thoughts before sleep overtakes you are not of the dread the morning will bring, but the solace you found in the night.

~*~

When you wake it’s to a dawn as grey as all the ones before it. Hazy with receding fog and with the promise of all the danger that looms ahead in the hours soon to follow. One of the planet’s suns has already breached the horizon, and you raise a hand to cover your eyes as you peer out from under the x-wing’s protective wing. Looking down you take stock.

Your flight suit is on but fully unzipped, leaving your chest and stomach entirely exposed, all the way down to your lower belly. A large hand covers one of your breasts, fingers twitching against your flesh as the man attached to it continues to dream. You follow the length of his arm to take in his body, tucked close into your own, equally unzipped, his broad torso showing through the gaping fabric. You watch Poe’s abdominal muscles contract with his inhales and exhales for a moment while you check in with your body.

The humming from last night is gone, that much is for certain. This makes you believe that the effects of the drink have worn off. You’re quick to question this hypothesis, however, when Poe stirs in his sleep and his hand squeezes down a bit on your breast. Your breath catches in your throat and fire shoots through your veins. A lingering symptom, you wonder. Or perhaps just a normal, biological reaction to sexual stimuli. You kick yourself mentally because of course it has to be the latter. It couldn’t be the third option which you won’t even allow yourself to fully consider.  

You require a shower urgently, it occurs to you suddenly. And food, a realization that coincides with a rumbling in your empty stomach. Knowing you’ll never have a good enough excuse to extricate yourself from this gorgeous man’s arms you steel your nerves and pull away. When you stand, Poe groans and allows an eye to crack open, his hand flying up to shield his eyes from the rising sun. You’re silhouetted against the dawn and he takes in your outline. The curves of you.

“Morning, Sweets,” he says, voice hoarse with sleep this time instead of sex.

“Morning, Fly Boy,” you reply simply with a small smile. You feel a buzzing in the pocket of your suit then and pull out your mini com unit, even more portable than your usual data pad. The message that blares across the screen and you relay it before Poe can reach his own device which had similarly vibrated.

“We’ve got a new mission. Briefing is in an hour and then we take off.” The information feels stilted as it leaves your lips. How can you feel so entirely, earth-shatteringly changed and yet in many ways everything is still the same. The sun still came up. The war still rages on.

You look down at Poe and his intense expression as he watches you makes you think that he’s wondering the same thing.

Your heart thumps in your chest, this time unaided by any drugged drink or the eyes or hands of a man whose existence seemed both your making and undoing. Routine is the only thing that can calm these nerves. Routine is what is required to survive war. Routine and protocol and boundaries.

You zip up your flight suit with finality.

“See you at the briefing?” you ask, though its more statement than question.

“Of course.” Poe’s response is quiet as he continues to watch you from his reclining position. You’re still above him and at a distance, a position he often associates with you.

You smile and give him a good natured salute before turning and making you way back toward the town where you know the rest of the Resistance members are already bustling about and preparing for the day.

Another day you hope you, and Poe, will be lucky enough to outlive.

~*~

Doing a smaller taglist since it’s a Poe fic and I’m not sure if everyone on my usual taglist is into it (Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed for future work!): @paper-n-ashes @mariesackler @tlcwrites @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess @sacklerscumrag @jynzandtonic @millenialcatlady @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @hopeamarsu @direnightshade @leather-flannel-liquor @fizzywoohoo @aliveandlonely @wayward-rose @safarigirlsp @emeraldsiren20 @finn-ray-nal-beads @maryforyou @maybe-your-left

[chilly-me-softly]

Are u going to do a part 3 to the chilly fic its so good <3

Part 1 - Part 2

"I did something stupid" you announce as soon as Mason opens the door to his house, walking in and heading for the living room as if you were at your house.

"You? When have you ever done that in your life" the boy rolls his eyes sarcastically as you glare at him. "This is no time for jokes Mason"

"Okay come here" he claps a hand on the couch after sitting down, inviting you to sit next to him so you don't go back and forth, "What happened"

"Do you promise not to judge?"

"Hmm no but I'm listening" he retorts immediately and a groan escapes your lips as you lower your head and start to doubt at that very moment that that is the right thing to do. But if you don't tell someone, if you don't open up to him, you're gonna go crazy. So you take a deep breath and do your best not to look at him.

"Do you remember how Ben helped me that day? Well I wanted to thank him so I brought him a cake"

"Okay" Mason states looking suddenly curious as to where this is going.

"I just- I used a big plate hoping he might bring it back. But he didn't! Ugh why am I so stupid" it takes him a few seconds to realize the meaning of your words, his body straightening up at the revelation while yours almost wants to get swallowed up by the couch in embarrassment.

"You like Ben? Since when?" but still, his tone isn't judgmental, if anything curious and shocked.

"Mase"

"What? You guys are always fighti- oh"

"What oh" you look at your friend lost as he seems to be lost somewhere in his memory before returning to look at you turning slightly towards you.

"Of course! How the fuck did I miss that" he murmurs, "you acted the same way with Tim Reese when we were sixteen"

"Okay first how do you still remember Tim and second what are you talking about?!" you ask somewhat shocked as he smiles mischievously ready to strike. Oh you knew it wasn't a good idea.

"You were always nervous when it came to him and then when he got close to you you became this impassable fortress of coldness and sarcasm. The poor guy had to sweat to even get a kiss"

"That's not true" you try to defend yourself in vain.

"I might be a little offended you know, you didn't even have a little crush on me"

"Please, you're like my brother ew" you wince as he laughs shaking his head.

"So that's how it is today, it all ends over a plate?"

"It was an excuse Mase" you roll your eyes, "if he wanted to see me again he'd know how to hook me up" in short you had even sent each other a few messages, just to test the waters not knowing how far you could go at the time. But your relationship had never been just about the two of you and there was always that fear of ruining that little step forward lurking.

"Maybe who knows, he needs some kind of push too. Ben isn't the cocky guy he wants to appear after all"

"You know something I don't Mase" you look at him inspectively, him raising an eyebrow. "I won't say anything about him if I can't do otherwise"

"No mh-mh forget it" you shake your head firmly, Mason could talk to you about Ben all he wanted no one would know and you still knew how to handle a rejection by acting like nothing happened. But Ben knowing about your feelings and not returning them... no thanks, you didn't need any more embarrassment in your life to deal with.

"Well then you'll never know what he thinks of you"

"What's he even supposed to think, that I'm a crazy person who always has a say in everything and out of pity helped when I was sick" you shrug as he smiles knowingly, he's never going to tell you how worried his friend seemed in the days following your illness or how he was trying to find out something under the radar. Not if he can't tell him that he might find the door open if he wants to join your world. But as sure as hell he would have done something.

-

You correct yourself. That's the moment you know it wasn't a good idea to tell Mase.

He had asked you a couple of times if you were going to watch the game that saturday, he always did that when there were tough games because he said you were his good luck charm even though it wasn't true and most of the time they won or lost regardless of your presence. However, you had already cleared your whole schedule for that day and so he had extended the invitation to a drink after the game.

Nobody had lost, nobody had won. There was regret for a few wasted chances, but nothing that couldn't spur them on to do better the next game. You'd driven to the stadium in your car, not wanting to wait for Mason after the last time he'd made you wait over an hour outside, having him tell you where he wanted to go after the game and waiting for him there.

The place isn't that crowded and you can occupy a table further away, ordering something while you wait and taking the book out of your bag while resuming your reading.

"Hi" a voice makes you shift your gaze from those pages and you're bewildered to see Ben take a seat in front of you.

"Hi Ben"

"Mase said he'd meet us in a bit, he had something to do" the boy shrugs, "but I'm certainly not going to wait for him to order"

"Go ahead, I've already helped myself" you place the bookmark on the page you are on then put it in your bag and before you can let your eyes rest on Ben again, your phone alerts you to the arrival of a new message.

As soon as you see that it's Mason you get a bad feeling, and as soon as you open your conversation you see that he has sent you a picture of a diner where he is with some of the other guys. And it's definitely not the one you and his teammate are in.

"Son of a bitch"

"What?" Ben's voice makes you raise your head in alarm, suddenly you feel nervous and you want to strangle your friend and you want to bury yourself because what are you gonna do now. All while he looks at you expectantly.

"Um eh I- that wasn't meant for you" you murmur pathetically sighing and handing him your phone, "Mason's not coming"

"I don't understand" Ben looks at that picture with furrowed brows, but you can't read his expression.

"Look I'm sorry he set you up for this really. Um we can go and pretend like nothing happened" you stammer trying to pick up your bag and jacket deliberately trying not to look him in the eye and you try to get up but he stops you.

"Woah hey wait, wait. I'm not letting you go anywhere so upset" he is quick to grab the chair and move closer to you, if he wanted to calm you down he certainly isn't succeeding like this.

"Easy now, just try to explain what's going on please"

"Ben really it's not- it's just Mason okay? I just need to beat him up and then I'll be better" a soft laugh escapes his lips and you find yourself huffing but giggling at the same time.

"Nothing wrong with that. Just answer one of my questions first?" you nod losing focus for a moment as one of his thumbs starts stroking the back of your hand.

"He tried to set us up"

"Is that a question?" you ask struggling to swallow, your voice coming out weak and shaky. What's going on?

He shakes his head slightly, "Do you like me? That's my question" and if before it was difficult to find air now it seems like everything has closed for good. There you go, is that how you're going to die? In front of Ben of all people, and still before you can get revenge on Mason for that low blow?

"Cause Mason probably knows I fancy you-"

"You what?" you croak.

"-but he wouldn't have done that if he didn't know something else" his cheeks are slightly red, so he's feeling all that sudden heat too then!

"Ben I..."

"It's okay, it's okay. Look we're in the same boat here, if anything I'm a lot more exposed than you are at the moment because I've revealed to you how I feel and you haven't really let me know that I haven't really fucked up"

"No!" instinctively you lean forward and you don't know why you actually did it, but the sound of your foreheads colliding together resonates loudly. "Ouch I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Oh my god are you okay?" geez you feel so stupid, embarrassed like a teenager struggling with her first crush and as clumsy as you've ever been... or don't like to remember.

"I've taken worse balls" he tries to lighten the situation but your now worried look doesn't seem to want to give way to anything else as you gently test his forehead.

"What do you say we get out of here? Maybe somewhere less crowded?"

"Yes please" you find yourself nodding and after paying quickly exit the building, Ben firmly takes your hand guiding you to the opposite side of your cars.

Neither of you speak on the way, you're lost in your head trying to calm yourself down to get your thoughts in order and not embarrass yourself further. He glances at you from time to time, what he is thinking you cannot know.

You arrive at the park and after a few more minutes of walking you sit down in a fairly secluded area except for a few people walking quietly on the stone path not far from you.

"You were pretty worked up in there" Ben breaks the silence.

"Being taken by surprise throws me off. Probably if I had known you were coming I would have been prepared, and imagined all the possible situations I might find myself in"

"Do you do this often? I mean do you never live in the moment?"

"Obviously I can't predict everything that's going to happen to me in a day, but the important things I like to know in advance so I can leave the anxiety at home and not risk headbutting people" a laugh breaks free in the air and when you look at him you feel lighter, nothing like the you of moments before.

"And to answer your question, yes I like you Ben. That day you helped me I think it helped me realise that"

"Funny, I realized it that day too"

"Sorry I must have looked like a weirdo" the awkwardness comes back overpowering again as he shakes his head moving closer to you some more.

"You were cute. Different from how you show yourself to others" you smile slightly dipping your teeth in your lower lip. "Now, do you still want to beat up Mase?"

"You betcha" you reply promptly causing him to laugh, "but not right now"