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#as my best friend and life partner can attest

littlelioncub43 · 2 years

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If Only

Summary: You overhear something you wish you hadn’t. What’s an ideal type, anyway?

Pairing: Best friend!Jake Jensen x Female!Reader, Steve Rogers x Female!Reader

Warnings: Angst, mean things being said, insecure reader, perceived unrequited love, Steve being an angel, discussions of an “ideal type,” fluff, happy ending for some characters.

Word count:

A/N: As many of my friends can attest to, I have been in a sad mood and have been having many many many many sad thots. This is a product of one of my many heartbreaking scenarios. I have more coming! So buckle up, grab your favorite emotional support blanket/plushie/pillow, and let’s get into it. I love you guys and think you’re amazing. (Also, is it just me, or does this feel rushed? Like.... right?)

Kisses 💋

—K

Being friends with Jake had a lot of positives. Like he always knew how to fix your router when it decided to stop working, how to get all the game cheat codes to make Animal Crossing or Mario Kart a little more exciting, and just being around him was like being close to an angel. He made you laugh harder than anyone you knew, he made you feel special, and safe, and comfortable.

But being around Jake had it’s downsides too. You weren’t planning on falling in love with him. It was cliche and stupid, but it happened. You fell in love with one of your best friends. That by itself wasn’t the downside. The fact that he was oblivious to it was the painful part. But after a few months, you learned how to swallow it down and keep it to yourself.

Tonight was just another game night. Clay and Aisha were arguing about whether or not she was hiding cards underneath her couch cushion. You really have no idea how the topic of ideal partners came up.

“If you could have the perfect partner, what would they be like?” Aisha asked you. You chuckled and fought the urge to look over at Jake who sat next to you. “Come on, let’s have it!”

“This is such a dumb question,” you laugh and hum as you think, “hmmmmmmmmmmm... they’d be funny and really kind, someone I could be myself with—you know, all that classic stuff,” you shrug and quickly try to change the focus from you to someone, anyone else. Thankfully, you needed another drink, so you made your escape to the kitchen.

“What about you, Jensen?” You hear Clay ask. You pour yourself another drink, listening carefully for Jake’s answer.

“O-Oh, you know,” he clears his throat, clearly nervous, “someone funny and really kind, a-and, um, someone I could be myself with...”

“Someone like Y/N?”

“Well, y-yeah," your heart flutters at his answer, but the joy is short-lived, he quickly adds, "but if she were prettier," Jake says nervously, hoping that his answer would throw everyone off his scent. He didn’t need them to tease him about this too. Truth be told, he thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world. You were also his best friend, and he couldn’t risk you not liking him back. So he’d settle for longing looks and lingering touches.

The sound of you quickly rushing by to grab your things and the door slamming shut were the obvious indicators that you left. Jake sat in his spot, wondering what could have happened to make you leave. He hoped to God that you didn’t hear what he just said. The angry looks from the rest of the group tell him that it is a very real possibility.

You held back the tears until you got to your car. In the back of your mind, you always knew that Jake didn’t like you like that, but hearing it was a new type of hurt. As you drove home, you couldn’t help but think: at least I have an answer.

Yeah. At least you have an answer.

The weeks you took away from everyone were some of the worst of your life. You got a therapist after deciding that you were going to deal with this as healthily as you could. You deserved that much. You also decided that you deserved a loving relationship. You have a lot of love to give, and some one out there deserves to receive it.

There was someone out there who was worthy of your time, and you were going to find them.

And who do you find? A sweetheart named Steve Rogers.

You had ran into him at a bookstore, he was looking for the fiction/fantasy section and couldn’t find it for the life of him. He was looking for a copy of The Hobbit, ‘it’s an inside joke with me and a friend.’ You were hooked ever since.

You don’t have as much time to hang out with the group anymore, not that Jake notices. It's not like he was looking forward to seeing you at one of Aisha's game nights. He wasn't looking forward to meeting Steve. It was all he fucking heard about; ‘oh, her new boyfriend Steve does this,’ ‘oh, her new boyfriend Steve does that,’ ‘oh Steve is just so charming and handsome and blah blah blah.’

He was the last to arrive at Aisha’s house, sliding in through the door relatively unnoticed. The nerves in his gut mounted as he heard your melodious laugh. God, it’s been forever since he saw you. He found you standing in the living room. You were still you, absolutely beautiful. Jake’s palms are suddenly sweaty.

Then he saw who could only be Steve. He was tall, blonde and had a smile that looked too perfect. Jake wants to hate him, but the way you looked at him made it nearly impossible. You couldn't stop looking at Steve like he hung the fucking moon, and Steve? Steve couldn't stop looking at you like you were the stars.

Jake watched from his spot on the couch how you snuck your hand into Steve’s, how Steve immediately linked his fingers with yours, and the shy smiles you both exchanged. Jake sipped his beer to drown the ache in his chest. But when you guys stole a kiss when you thought no one was looking? That broke Jake's heart.

Jake watches as Pooch ropes Steve into a game of Uno. You break off from the group to get your own drink. The next thing Jake knows, he’s following close behind you. You jump when Jake calls your name.

“Hi, Jake,” you smile politely. You didn’t have it in you to be mad, at least right now.

“Hi,” he sighed, “h-how are you? I haven’t seen you in a while, missed seeing you.”

“Oh, yeah, I had some stuff to take care of,” you say a little awkwardly, “I’m still taking care of it, but, you know, it’s better these days.”

“That’s good to hear,” he says quickly. The conversation begins to die, and before Jake could think of something else to talk about he’s opening his big mouth. “So, Steve, huh? H-He’s seems nice.”

"He's absolutely wonderful," you beam at the mention of Steve. You chew your lip a little before continuing, "he reminds me a little of you, actually."

"He does?" Jake’s eyes widen at that. To think that he resembled any part of the nearly perfect man in the living room, boggles his mind. You nod softly, and Jake decides he's feeling bold. He licks his lips and looks down at his feet. "Well... why wasn't it me?"

You're surprised by his question. A bubble of anger rises in your throat but you swallow it down. Clenching your jaw, you straighten your back a little and take a deep breath. You spoke slowly and carefully.

"I like you, Jake, but..." yeah, there's always a 'but,' he thinks. "But, I heard what you said, when they asked what you thought of me and... And I realized that... the right man for me will like me just as I am," your voice shakes a little but your tone is strong, "Not if I’m funnier, or smarter, or prettier."

Jake swears must have stopped beating, the pit at the bottom of his stomach and the lump in his throat double in size. He wants to tell you he didnt mean it, that he thinks you're absolutely perfect, but Steve finds you both before Jake can say anything. Steve smiles at you and you can't help but beam back at him, your sadness almost melting away instantly. He catches sight of Jake and clears his throat a little.

"Hi. You must be Jake, I'm Steve," Steve offers Jake his hand and Jake takes it politely with a smile. You could tell Jake's forcing his smile, but you couldn't find it in you to care too much. He deserved it. "I've heard a lot about you, it's nice to finally meet you."

"Oh, yeah, same," Jake flounders a little, "b-but about you."

You chuckle at his stuttering, it was petty but it lightened the mood a little. You snake your arm around Steve's waist, leaning into him slightly. Jake watches as you naturally relax into Steve's annoyingly perfect body.

"Jake and I were catching up a little, it's been a while since I've been able to hang out with them," you fill Steve in, playfully scolding him.

"Yeah, my bad," he purrs back at you, his gaze slightly smoldering. Jake suddenly feels out of place, like he's seeing something that he's not supposed to. The tightness in his throat threatens to strangle him if he doesn't get away.

"I gotta— I gotta go, I just remembered, I got a thing," Jake stutters out and quickly makes for the exit. He pays no mind to the looks the others give him as he grabs his coat and practically runs to his car.

He makes it to his car just before the tears that burned his eyes can fall. He sniffles and wipes at the few strays running down his cheeks, knocking his glasses off. He knew he had no right to be upset, but he couldn't fight the toxic cocktail of sadness, jealousy, and anger any longer.

As the tears settled, he sat in silence for a moment. The minutes ticked by as he slowly came to terms with it all: it was his fault. All of it was because of his big mouth. Resting his head on the steering wheel, he sighs and turns on his truck. Failure was nothing new to Jake, but defeat was.

He knew you were right: the right man would love you just as you are — but Jake had always thought it'd be him.

I no longer have a taglist! If you wish to stay up-to-date on when I post, follow @littlelioncub-library 💖

Dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

#jake jensen #jake jensen x fem!reader #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x female reader #chris evans fic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans #jake jensen angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers #tech tuesday #little lion literature

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thevoidstaredback · 28 days

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CW: Mentions/Implications of Transphobia, Religion, Aphobia

I do end up telling at everyone, btw. I'm a bit pissed off near the end.

I'm a bit pissed off still...

I think the main reason I haven't come out to my parents as AroAce is because they're both very conservative Christans (LDS). They grew up that way, and they raised me that way. While they're open minded about a lot of things, they're close minded about a lot of things, too.

Both are very family oriented, my mother moreso than my father. They both want me and my sisters to get married and have kids and I don't know how to break it to them that I don't want that.

I've tried telling them without coming out. "The best I can offer are cats." or "I'm not interested in relationships." or the one I've been saying since I was in my single digits "I'm gonna be the crazy cat lady. I can't do that if I have other people I have to take care of."

(Honestly, that last one shoulda been my first clue. How the hell did I not know until senior year of hs?)

Both parents have brushed me off or ignored me completely. On several occasions. My aunts have all done the same. Some friends have done the same. All with varying excuses that I've already mentioned here before (and on TilTok).

I think the worst part is that they're both a bit transphobic, my father moreso than my mother. Mom is a bit more open minded (at least that I've noticed). She's a bit confused, but does her best to understand. Dad is a lot less so. He's actively watching things that are transphobic in nature or in passing, though I think he's realized that shit makes me uncomfortable, so he doesn't listen to it when I'm around. Only when he thinks I can't hear. (Doesn't work very well. I've got crazy good hearing and he watches with his speakers on full blast)

I'm not trans, but I have friends who are. My thought process is, if they can't accept that people are sometimes born in the wrong body, how will they ever accept someone stepping way back from what they were raised on?

Okay, I know those two things probably to connect in the way that I'm trying to convey, but I- I don't know how to explain it?

How do I convince people that I don't fall into the norms they were raised in when they can't even accept the norms that have been since the time of gods?

Does that make better sense?

The Queer Community has been around since humans started to walk the Earth. How does one explain this to people without things going to absolute shit?

I think I've gotten a bit off topic...

How does one tell their parents (who have been dreaming about their children having children to the point of "cursing" us with triplets) that getting married or having kids is not in their plans?

How does one get past the years of (what I can only label some kind of manipulation attempts) convincing that having kids and getting married will be the best thing to ever happen?

As I'm sure my fellow Aspecs can relate or attest to, it's extremely hard to tell a heteronormative society that you don't quite fall in with them. It's equally as hard to tell s homonormative group that you don't quite fit in with them, either.

On all sides, we're being pushed and pulled to fall in love and have families and have romances and have sex and all of these things! I think the reason we (at least from what little I've seen) feel so lonely is because we have little to no support. People on all sides are telling us we're wrong. People who are supposed to be on our team are telling us we're wrong.

Do you know how much that hurts?

Straight friends, gay friends, trans friends, queer friends, even fellow Aspecs have all told me some version of "You just haven't met your perfect person yet."

Fuck you.

Fuck whoever has ever said that in their life.

Fuck whoever has said that to someone who trusted them.

That line, and any line like it, is harmful.

I'm sorry you can't look past your rose coloured glasses to see the world. I'm sorry you can't pull your head outta your partner's(s) ass long enough to realize that not everyone is like you.

Yeah, I'm yelling at all of you. No discrimination here.

....

I really did go off topic...

I guess I really needed all that off my chest...

Regardless, I don't take any of it back.

#aroace #aspec #crisis #how does one deal with this?#how do I come out in a place like this?#is anywhere really safe?#being targeted on all sides

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panzershrike-pretz · 4 months

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RODION

Source: x x x | x x x | x x x -> song: Something Wild

You had your maps drawn You had other plans To hang your hopes on Every road they let you down felt so wrong So you found another way You've got a big heart The way you see the world It got you this far You might have some bruises And a few of scars But you know you're gonna be okay And even though you're scared You're stronger than you know If you're lost out where the lights are blinding Caught in all, the stars are hiding That's when something wild calls you home, home If you face the fear that keeps you frozen Chase the sky into the ocean That's when something wild calls you home, home

- About;

- Rodion Mahari - he/him

Rodion's name came from the book Crime and Punishment, one of my favorites of all time (and I absolutely recommend!! Read it!!). In the book, Rodion Raskólnikov is the main character and I knew I LOVED the name (I keep saying it aloud as a vocal stim even years after I read the book xD).

Mahari is his partner's surname, my best friend's @isazmoon former oc.

- Carpenter

His work aboard Blithe consist of maintenance and woodwork along the vessel; given that it was Rodion's former job before piracy, he spends most of his time taking care of Blithe. A skilled carpenter can keep the ship afloat even with major damage, just enough for it to reach a safe place to be restored - and that Rodion knows how to do really well.

Other than that, Rodion is also a really skilled fighter as gunner, that being his secondary role.

- God of Gold, of Lighting and of Woodwork

As many of the other members of the crew, Rodion is no more than a minor God - and the last one of the Gods to be presented. He's not powerful, but can still manage with what he has.

Rodion is capable of manipulating gold and turning things in it by touch, although generally speaking he tries not to use it. It's a temporary thing and normally whatever he turns into gold will turn back to normal in a while - unless it's a curse (for example, turning people in gold as punishment for a wrongdoing).

Lightning manipulation is another of his abilities; Rodion is able to store electricity in his body and project it out in bursts, although it can be dangerous to him and people around. It is strictly used during battles and can't be used out of it, given the risk.

Rodion is a really strong and tough guy, given his boar-like phisique. He can endure a good amount of strikes and punches - it does get to him eventually, tho. Boy's always complaining because he does shit, gets hurt and only feels it a good time later.

Finally, turning into a boar. He uses it to scare people and pull pranks. He's a menace. His children love it tho-

- Personality

Rodion may be big and tough but he's a gentle soul, with a big heart full of love to give. He's a cuddle bug, extremely caring and thoughtful of people. Rodia is the type of guy who'll not hesitate in potting his own life on the line for the sake of others (as many of his friends will attest, including his children).

Most of the time, Rodion is a confident jokester (seriously, him and Sirius should be kept very much apart or they'll wreck the whole ship). He does like to seem scary and intimidating at first, but really he's just a sweetheart.

Rodion is illiterate and dyslexic, almost completely unable to read or write, that being his biggest insecurity about himself. He tries to read simple books, mainly children's ones and comics, since he finds the images helpful. He's still a romantic soul and tries to write letters and poems to his wife, even though they are hard to comprehend and he can only string together simple words; she still saves every single one of them with a lot of love.

Most of the time, he makes carvings on wood to gift his loved ones; gift giving is his main love language.

He's a magnet of people, almost everyone is immediately drawn to him - maybe that's how he ended up with three adoptive children (Enoch, Olive and Kanna).

Funfact: Rodion met his wife after a street fight against her brother. It was truly something. I may or may not need to write it eventually-

Relationship: Hanabi

HERE IS THE BOY. THE BABY. I LOVE HIM. He's @isazmoon favorite (same tbh he's perfect)

He has tusks. He can do a lot of damage with them-

#pretz oc #🥨🪶

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hyperlexichypatia · 8 months

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ok this has always been a question in the back of my mind regarding autonomy - "what if someone needs help and wants it, but for any reason, never explicitally communicates they want it?" or "what if someone is in a mindset where they dont want help, but after/before they always want help/wish someone would help?"

because ive seen posts like "even if someone is in critical state, unless they explicitly state they want help, then you shouldnt interfere", something along the lines of that.

its affecting how i approach others, especially those who arent doing well mentally (and even myself)... because sometimes, we DONT know what we want, or whats best for ourselves. I can attest to that. I dont know what i need or what i want a lot until i gravely mess up or i miss out etc. Sometimes I say yes when i mean no, and no when i mean yes. Sometimes i reject help both when i actually want it, and when i feel as if i dont need it if I'm not well (psychosis, ocd etc...)

The thing everyone says about "you know yourself best always" and "never intervene on others actions even if theyre not okay if they reject outside help." it... assumes everyone is in a state to know themselves well. amnesia comes to mind, or any cognitive condition where someone will struggle to know what they want/need, or how they feel, and how to communicate such.

Maybe im overthinking and nobody has ever said ppl cant intervene in special cases.. but ive never seen anyone explicitly say they can, either.. so idk what people think about it.

We're all here to overthink, so that's a good thing. I think there are a few issues to overthink here. First of all, what is "help"? I mean this in both a specific and an abstract way. Specifically, what are you considering doing for someone that they haven't asked for and you think they need? Is it something where if you're wrong and they really don't want it, it's no big deal (like giving someone a coffeepot they have no real use for but accept to be polite), or is it something where if you're wrong and they really don't want it, you're severely harming them by imposing something on them against their will (like forced drugging, which is what most policy advocates mean by "getting someone help")? And more abstractly, how can you be sure that what you want to do for someone is actually helpful? The premise of "You know yourself best always" doesn't mean "You know yourself perfectly always." No one has complete self-knowledge. It is absolutely possible for you to be wrong about what's best for you. It's absolutely possible for you to make a decision and regret it -- maybe immediately, maybe years later. And to think "Why did I make such a bad decision? What was I thinking? Why didn't someone stop me?" But you still know yourself best always, not because you know what's best always or never make bad decisions (that's not true of anyone, and is an unreasonable standard!) but because you know yourself better than anyone else can, because no one else can have the lived experience of being you and knowing how you feel and what you need. Or put another way: However bad, unwise, or regrettable your decisions about your own body/mind/life are, anyone else's would inherently be worse. So moving on to the specific: What if someone needs help in a way that they can't communicate due to awareness/communication related disabilities? This definitely happens to me! For example, I have a real problem remembering to eat and remembering that I'm hungry. It's helpful for me when someone reminds me that I haven't had lunch yet, and that's probably why I'm spacy. For yourself, if you know you're prone to bouts of poor bodily awareness, try to ask for help in advance. If you have a willing friend or partner, you can ask them in advance "If I get spaced out, please remind me to eat/ drink/ take medicine/ go outside." For more complicated things, you can look into some of the advance plans and templates suggested by the Fireweed Collective: https://fireweedcollective.org/crisis-toolkit For trying to help other people who haven't asked for it -- or rather, trying to intervene in a way that you think is helpful even though they haven't asked for it -- I would recommend some broad guidelines.

Ask first, and be willing to take "no" for an answer. If someone says no, but seems really disoriented, you might try asking again later, but still be willing to accept a no.

Offer basic things: Food, water, and the opportunity to leave the environment. If the person only eats certain foods, bring them that food. You may need to physically bring it to them if they are too disoriented to get it themselves or even answer whether they want it.

IF you know that they take a medication regularly, and you think it's possible that their disorientation could be caused by a missed dose, offer to bring them their medicine. Do NOT try to get them to start a medical regimen if they're not already on them. DO NOT encourage them to take medication if you know, or have reason to believe, that they're foregoing medication as an intentional choice rather than simply forgetting a dose.

If possible, try to reduce environmental stressors like noise. Turn down music, fans, flashing lights.

If the person is communicating in a way you don't understand, listen respectfully. Don't bombard them with questions. If you don't understand, say so. You can always come back to the topic later.

Offer alternate ways to communicate. If someone isn't speaking well, try typing or another form of AAC.

Be humble. They may not appreciate your offers, nor do they have any obligation to. They might be annoyed or angry by your offers (especially if they've already said "no"), and they have every right to be. Accept this fact going in.

These are some general suggestions for trying to help someone who has not specifically requested your help, but you have reason to believe may be disoriented or otherwise unable to communicate their wants/needs, while still respecting their bodily autonomy. It's not foolproof, but it might be a start.

#ableism #neurodiversity #mad pride #mad maps #bodily autonomy #cognitive liberty

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thermodynamic-comedian · 8 months

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Hey, I’m so sorry I know you don’t know me and I’m not following you, I don’t mean to pry or invade your privacy I’d just love to share something with you more like I need you, I’m Ameera 23 years old, and I’m calling out to the community 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈 to please support us so me and my girlfriend can come out, we have dreams about going for pride rallies,clubs, to be able to kiss in a park express love with no restrictions or fear of being caught, we are both from a typical religious Muslim family, we are know as best friends by our families and friends, we have made this decision to come out to everyone so many times but couldn’t because of how homophobic our parents are due to religious values and ethics. Any one from a typical religious Muslim family can attest to how important it is to follow the rules and moral that are in the holy Quran, So we have come to a conclusion to be ready and be prepared for the worst, Cause the price we may have to pay is to lose our families and maybe friends and of course their support, so we have decided to get an apartment and move in together and start a new life where we can freely be who we really are, and here is where we need your support, though we both work and have some money saved up, but we still need help, getting and setting up an apartment is a lot so we will definitely need all the love and support we can get(donation link pinned on page), Thank you for your donations so far,but we are still 37% to the goal so please add your own bit,I know everyone have one or two things we go through, and this is not me imposing on any one to help, but if you can with how ever little, it will be so much appreciated, and if you can’t, kindly reach out to encourage us cause we also need that as much,This is the biggest and hardest decision we have ever had to make and please share to whoever you feel can help. We shall draw strength from the pride to pull through this, I’M NOT A SCAM feel free to go through my page or do whatever to confirm and my DM is open if you have questions or requests to clear your doubts, I believe pride is for all

i'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt (i went through your profile and you do not seem like a scammer, even though the method you're using is very scammer-like), but i can't spare any money at the moment. however, i wish nothing but the best for you and your partner, and really hope you reach your goal!

#unfortunately scams like this are very common on this site #but i really hope this isn't one

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flowersarefreetherapy · 2 years

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You Are My Sunshine: pt. 4

CW: degrading language, choking, noncon drugging, dehumanization, blood, needles, gore, violence, forced to fight, minor character death

“Rise and shine, you mangy mutts!”

The world floods with light. 002 whimpers, ducking his head in his arms in an attempt to block out the worst of the light. The rough sand underneath him scrapes his face. Just when he can breathe again, a baton clangs against the bars of his cage.

“I said get up, you flea-bitten excuse of a dog!”

002 blinks grit from his eyes and raises his head. Lance stares down at him, yellow teeth glowing in the harsh lighting. When their eyes meet, Lance brings the baton down on the top of the cage. The sound rattles his skull and he lets out a whine.

“Uh uh, can’t go having that, pup. Get up. I ain’t asking again.”

002 pulls his stiff legs under his body, forcing his arching arms to hold him up as he kneels. Tuffs of his patchy hair stick through the bars of the cage.

Around him, the other fighters struggle to do the same. Sixteen small cages line the room, each with a person inside. Each with a number, each with the same blank stares, each covered in scars and bandages from failed fights. He hasn’t had one of those in a long time. The scratches on his bars and his number attest to that. Twenty tallies scratched into his cage; twenty won fights. Second only to 001, who glares at Lance with more hatred than 002 can ever summon.

“What?” Lance teases. He reaches through the bars and tousles 001’s hair. He growls through the muzzle locked tightly over his face. “You know you’re excited, baby.”

A low growl tears their throat. Lance chuckles and moves away. He’ll pick a new one to tease soon enough. 001 is getting too old and too scarred. He knows by now what jabs to respond to and which to ignore. Lance will just bother the newer ones.

“Got lot of fighting to do today! Lots of money to make! And plenty of holes dug! Let’s make us regret that last one, right?”

He isn’t looking for agreement. 002 digs his nails into the dirt, allowing the grit to jam under his nails. Better than acknowledging the fear lying in the back of his mind, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He lets out a shaking breath. Second to last. That’s his lot. Once all the others have fought and killed and bled for entertainment.

His gaze accidentally locks with 016. A well built girl, dark eyes wide with fear. She doesn’t come back.

015-010 come back. They’re only numbers. Just killing machines. Nothing more. 009 comes back, screaming and crying as two handlers wrestle their arm into a splint. White pokes through the shredded skin.

“I hate this,” 003 whispers next to him. “I want to die.”

“You can’t,” 004 gasps. “You promised! We’re gonna make it, I promise.”

The two of them are cute, falling asleep with their hands in the other’s, making up little games to pass the time, encouraging the other every night. 004 doesn’t come back. They drag his partner out screaming and crying.

003 doesn’t come back.

Most of them have survived. Ones he shares jokes with and laughs with and considers the only thing to friends he can have. Some are gone. He feels nothing at that thought. It’s a part of life. That’s all.

His turn. The cage unlocks and two handlers yank him out. Batons and tasers at the ready, but he doesn’t need them. He knows the routine.

002 walks into the ring, grimacing against the smells and sounds. The bar is full tonight, people jostling against each other, fighting for the best view of the sawdust covered circle. Beer and whiskey slosh to the floor. He hates the sound. It makes him think of the office, kneeling on the carpet like a good pet, listening to his mistakes being read out, the pain of another beating.

The crowd watches expectantly. Flashes of green pass from hand to hand. Collections from the last fight, bets on his. 002 slowly exhales, forcing his muscles to relax. He has a fight to win.

The other kid is small, young, someone he’s never seen before. The last one must have died. Her hair is shaved to her scalp. A good move. Can’t be grabbed.

002 crouches, pushes away all the sounds and sights and smells. His world narrows to a focus, to the girl.

When she leaps at him, he’s already moving, stepping out of line of her attack. Her sharpened teeth snap together centimeters from his face. Hit, block, punch, drop, roll. His back screams in protest as sawdust tears open the skin. Pain lances up his arm as his knuckles connect with her face.

She falls back. The crowd cheers. 002 doesn’t wait. He pushes his advantage. Kicks her head. Grabs her neck, straddles her body, pushing down hard. Under his fingers, he feels her trachea start to give way.

“Please,” she gasps, bloodshot eyes meeting his. “Please . . .”

He ignores her. Stupid. They’ll kill them either way. At least this way is more merciful. She won’t have the needle slide into her veins, feel the poison that sucks the life out of you, leaving you alive until you feel your heart stop. This is better. 002 pushes down harder.

This is better. This is better. This is better.

Teeth tear through flesh. 002 screams, trying to jerk his hand away. The other fighter digs her teeth in, tearing deeper into his flesh, warm blood running down his hand. He punches her, again, again, again. Bile rushes up his throat as bone scrapes against bone.

The world blackens, darkens. As if through a fog, he registers handlers grabbing his shoulders. Someone swears. Screams. His throat is raw, the taste of copper filling his mouth. Fresh pain lances up his arm as the fighter’s jaws are peeled off him.

I can’t feel my fingers! Why can’t I feel them?

Hot tears slide down his face. 002 collapses into the handlers’ arms. Blood soaked sawdust blurs in front of him. That’s his blood. There’s a lot of it. That’s bad. He could be dying. They’ll have to buy new fighters.

I'm sorry. I'll be better!

Something sharp stabs into his arm and cold liquid fills his veins. The last thing 002 sees before the world goes black is a fountain of blood as the other fighter’s throat is slit.

That could have been me.

Then the darkness swallows him.

Tagging: @pigeonwhumps (let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

#Thad #degrading language #blood #choking #noncon drugging #dehumanization #needles #gore #violence #forced to fight #minor character death #pet whump #multiple whumpees #bbu #sunshine house

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gvftea · 1 year

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to anybody wondering, this is what jita commented

“Thank you Ryleigh. Unfortunately someone of his past and her family insist on benefiting off my partner’s success. They continue to spread falsities about him to stay revenant in his present. His friends and family can attest to this. This same person and her family continue to take advantage of his family’s kindness. Unfortunately for her this doesn’t effect us, but I don’t appreciate him being made out to be someone that he’s not. He has the best heart and anyone that has met him feels his warmth and sincerity. We’ve been happily together since the day we met. It’s really sad that someone of his past perpetuates lies for attention and isn’t happily focused on her own life. I am hoping that people don’t believe everything they read and see through anything that’s not truthful.”

#gvf #greta van fleet #josh gvf #sam gvf #jake gvf #josh kiszka #danny wagner #danny gvf #jake kiszka #sam kiskza

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fatewalks · 6 months

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#𝙁𝘼𝙏𝙀𝙒𝘼𝙇𝙆𝙎 [ ... ] is a private, & selective writing blog for 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒, of square enix's game, final fantasy xiv. canon-compliant, with a lot of influence of head-canon & friends plot dependent lore. ns/fw & triggering themes will be present, so please be 18+ before you follow. tanked by valentine. ( ANY PRNS, 24. )

affiliated with ( ... ) ishguardienne / hiseminence, amaraenthos, unmeiha / phoinixdown / aetheiryte

rules below cut.

i. i am a full - time worker with a lot of responsibilities in life , so this blog will be SPORADIC & LOW-ACTIVITY . mutuals can request my discord and twitter if i am not here ! ( p.s, if i take a long time with a reply , please remind me . ) shipping just to get it out of the way , my shipping will be extremely selective , & done only with friends. there are some exceptions , where if the mun & i feel as if there may be potential. i am not particularly looking for ships , as i'm not very keen on just romantic shipping , so please keep this in mind. i am also multi-ship, & no two relationships will be in the same universe unless discussed prior with all partners involved, otherwise please do not accuse thancred of cheating; they are in their own seperate timeline / universe. addenum i'm not looking for relationships- don't assume we are dating just because our characters are/they are involved with eachother. i am not looking to develop any romantic relationships, and would appreciate it if advances weren't made towards me. thank you.

ii. as a general rule , i don't follow anybody under the age 18 , as i am an adult above legal age . FFXIV has a lot of adult topics , & i wouldn't want to expose minors to this sort of content . standard dni applies if you condone / support the following : grooming / paedophelia , r*pe , non-con , abuse , and things in this umbrella . i don't want you here, or anywhere near me. this is a safe space for survivors. if you see me interact with a known groomer/paedophile , please let me know immediately! i am an autistic mun, & would like to keep my spaces free of people like this. dni if you interact with miles, also knows as reapcrbunny. before knowing of his harmful behavior, i interacted with him briefly & was deeply made uncomfortable before being made aware of his behaviors. i will hardblock anybody i see that currently interacts with him. this also applies to zach/zacharie, under the handles of zachscratch on twitter. he is a racefaker & don't want him anywhere near me. ( he is my sibling, & i can only attest to his behaviors. ) he has been caught saying slurs he cannot reclaim, along with multiple other behaviors that is unnacceptable.

iii. as far as portrayal goes , i go mainly msq & canon-divergent based , with a few references to other games. my headcanons are also included in my portrayal , & i do my best to try & blend it with canon . there are a few modified headcanons from ideas that i've come up that i use here , and i will try my best to cite any non-canon sources , along with any research i do.

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onlinewithlove · 6 months

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Falling In Love In My Head (Again)

Life Update From Genevieve to Jospephine

Shay left Los Angeles at 4 p.m. PST on a redeye back to London yesterday. He hugged me outside of my building before he left town and then disappeard. This morning he texted me:

“Three years was too long. I’m hoping I’ll see you sooner this time around.”

But, I read: “I’ll be thinking about you until I see you again.”

In my head, I unravel for him. I have this image of myself chasing after him through the airport, the mad dash that only happens in romantic comedies, and professing my love at the gate. I’d weave through traffic and count every gate in LAX, checking each one for London at 4 p.m. until I’d see his face. Then, I’d jump in his arms him, settling in a tender hug where I could whisper: “I love you.”

But none of that happened.

In reality, I didn’t move. Instead, I spent the day in the park by my house, gripping my phone and re-reading his last text.

“Three years was too long.”

I met Shay halfway through my senior year of college. That year was a rolling whirlwind. It was the year I lived with Josephine, who can attest when I say I was a mess. I was heartbroken after Matt and I broke up. Matt was a boy who said that he loved me but lived in a different state and would only call to tell me that he was with another girl. I spent every moment of that year dreaming of life after college, decorating it to be so much better than it actually would be. I worked every morning, drank every night, danced on every bar, and always fell down in the drunk girl fashion that eventually became my trademark. I was playing it cool but falling apart at the seams when I met Shay. We were introduced through Carolina, one of my best friends besides Josephine. She met him at work and immediately developed a crush on him. Half the school had a crush on Shay. He was always flirting with different girls around town, using his accent to get every woman on campus to swoon. He was smooth back then, charming but inoffensive.

We never did anything sexual. To him, I was always the friend that needed help or a hug. Several times at parties or bars, we’d catch each other from across the room, a quick meet of the eyes and then a smile as if to say “hey.” But nothing notable happened besides the time he held me. That was the night before I graduated. He stood next to me as I drunkenly swayed from side to side. He tried to teach me how to play pool and when he realized I was not cut out to be his pool partner, he held my waist and made the room stop spinning until it was time to go home.

I had thought about that moment every time I saw Shay’s name on my phone screen for the past three years. That’s why, the moment he landed in LA, I took him to the pool hall down my street. We reminisced and laughed. He introduced me to his friends that he’d traveled with. They were backpacking across America, seeing the world before they started new jobs. Shay showed me every picture and video, bragging so subtly about the months he spent on their trip to Vietnam. He asked me about New York, how my life was there, and why I moved. We caught up the way you do with someone who knew you, really knew you years ago. It was like I was twenty again, still bad at pool but still with him by my side.

When he dropped me off, he told me that he’d missed me.

READ THE REST ON OUR SITE: https://onlinewithlove.wordpress.com/2023/10/06/in-love-in-my-head-again/

#womanhood #love #friends to lovers #falling in love #in my head #real life love #dating #men #sex and love

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deepakjurysoft · 7 months

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WeDezine: Transforming Spaces, Crafting Dreams in Bangalore

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The WeDezine Difference

WeDezine isn't just an interior design firm; it's a team of passionate designers and architects dedicated to bringing your vision to life. Whether you're dreaming of a cozy and inviting home, a sophisticated office environment, or a breathtaking commercial space, WeDezine offers a range of interior design services that cater to a wide spectrum of tastes and requirements.

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The journey with WeDezine begins with a thorough consultation, a moment for you to share your vision and aspirations. We understand that every project is unique, just like every client. We take your ideas and convert them into a personalized design plan that reflects your style and desires. Every detail is thoughtfully considered, from the choice of colors and materials to the layout and functionality.

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WeDezine is dedicated to staying at the forefront of interior design trends. We blend innovation with sustainability to create designs that not only look stunning but also contribute to a greener planet. Our focus on eco-friendly materials and energy-efficient design elements makes us a responsible choice for those who care about the environment.

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Our team of interior designers in Bangalore brings a wealth of experience to the table. We've successfully completed an array of projects, from contemporary and minimalistic designs to opulent and luxurious aesthetics. Our expertise extends beyond residential projects; we have a strong presence in commercial interior design. We know that a well-designed workspace can boost productivity and leave a lasting impression on clients and visitors.

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The ultimate measure of an interior designer's success is the satisfaction of their clients. WeDezine has a long list of delighted customers who can attest to our dedication, creativity, and attention to detail. One of our clients, Mrs. Sharma, shares her experience: "WeDezine turned my dull living room into a breathtaking and inviting space that I now proudly show off to friends and family. Their commitment to delivering the best is truly commendable."

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Timeliness is a crucial factor in interior design projects. WeDezine is proud of its track record for completing projects within the agreed-upon timeframe. We understand that your time is valuable, and we work tirelessly to ensure you can enjoy your newly designed space as soon as possible.

Conclusion

WeDezine is more than just an interior designer in Bangalore; we are your partners in crafting the perfect space that mirrors your personality and dreams. With a commitment to excellence, sustainability, and customer satisfaction, WeDezine is the top choice for anyone looking to transform their living or working environment.

If you're ready to bring your vision to life, contact WeDezine today. Experience the magic of professional interior design that exceeds your expectations and leaves you with a space you'll cherish for years to come.

Transforming spaces, crafting dreams – that's the essence of WeDezine, the premier interior designer in Bangalore

#best interior designers in bangalore #luxury interior designers in bangalore #interior designers

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lemmingsunday · 7 months

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I'm really sorry, i'm unable to donate, but i really wish you and your partner the best, and i hope you reach your goal soon.

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contactassets660 · 2 years

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roanniom · 3 years

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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

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1895locktva · 3 years

Text

DEAR PEOPLE!

Maybe someone has already scored this, but I might making up a small contribution.

With all this news of vague hope for a season 5, I got into a debate with an acquaintance about the romantic relationship between Sherlock and John.

I used various metas, theories, historical facts from the original canon, and briefly all the information (subtext or not) I could find to make him see how real Johnlock is.

But now I'm thinking: we wouldn't need to explain the whole subtext of the series when just one explanation is enough to attest to the fact – a fact that everyone can see explicitly in the series with just a little bit of character analysis.

If their relationship were just platonic, they would both be as happy after John and "Mary's" wedding as they were before.

• Sherlock would have a best friend (which John always was, but the attestation fact)

• John would have a romantic partner

Life would go on, Sherlock (as he pointed out many times) not needing a romantic partner and being perfectly satisfied with John's company as his best friend.

John would visit him a few times, they would solve some crimes, John would go back to medical life and live his married life happily.

So why do they both look so miserable after TSoT? They supposedly don't have everything they wanted?

Sherlock goes back on drugs, sloppily in his normally ruthless appearance, not being able to work properly with the distraction of John's lack of presence (he doesn't even bother taking his clothes off in 221b and eat standing up when "Mary" arrives with the coded message in TEH, as if he didn't even belong there).

It's purely sad.

John's nightmares about the war returned (which only spread when he dreams of Sherlock), he thinks about Sherlock constantly and misses him in an almost desperate way (the scene with John, Mary and the female guest asking for help in HLV). He's clearly stressed out, easily irritated, doesn't sleep well and tries as much as convenient to stay away from his wife (the fact that John chooses to cycle to work instead of taking a ride with "Mary", who works at the same hospital as him).

They're not happy apart. And yet, they said that's what they wanted.

"Best friends" doesn't work for them. They've been pinning after one another for years and told themselves it was enough. Yet, one of them enters into a romantic relationship with another person and it is disastrous for both of them.

Sorry, but if this is a platonic friendship for you, you should review your concepts.

Sorry my bad English, its not my first language.

Feel free to add something you might find interesting

#tjlc #johnlock #sherlock #watsonxholmes #sherlock and john #holmes and watson #johnlock is real #sherlock season 5 #johnlock is canon #john watson #sherlock holmes #my meta #mini meta #johnlock meta #i'm mad #i'm going crazy #i am johnlocked

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sweetestdreamsofyou · 2 years

Text

And another thing...

That's right. I'm not done yet. Read it.

Something I've been meaning to get off my chest. I'm sure other women on Tumblr can attest the same damn thing.

Men. I see you. I have talked to dozens of you over the last many months and I hear versions of the same thing. Over and over and over. I can almost predict the story when I start talking to someone. So this is not about one person in particular. If it rings a bell, that's not my fault.

- You are married or in a committed relationship

- You love your wife / GF. She's a great mom, your best friend, you have history, depth of commitment, you'd do anything not to hurt her. Etc

- You are either no longer physically intimate, or very rarely, or not to the degree you desire. You are touch starved. You are attention starved. You want to feel desired. You want to feel masculine and powerful again. You want...

- So you come here to flirt, to sext, to talk and have emotional connection. (nothing wrong with any of this). You establish relationships with women you have no intention of ever meeting and can't commit to anyway (this is a two way street, us women are doing the same thing)

Ahem. This is going to be harsh.

Grow a pair.

I am not going to tell anyone how to live their lives or how to conduct their relationships. Consider this, though.

You wouldn't cheat on your partner (or maybe you would, some of you do) because you don't want to risk what you have. You'd rather live a life of deprivation than have the tough fucking conversation about intimacy and your needs. You pretend that intimacy online isn't really cheating, doesn't touch your honor, isn't really hurting anything. And maybe it isn't.

But perhaps, just maybe, you deserve to have the intimacy you need in your life? And perhaps, just maybe, your wife/gf deserves to be treated as a rational adult who can and should have these conversations? As a woman, I'd rather my partner not hide his needs from me, even if it's painful to face.

Almost every man I know says the same thing- she'd leave me. And that may be true. But if you having emotional and physical intimacy needs is enough to ruin your relationship, if the solidity of your relationship is based on the status quo being never questioned, how strong is it to begin with?

OK. - I promise I'm done with this topic for now. Don't even come into my DMs with your rationale or excuses. This isn't about you. It's about all y'all.

#real talk

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