#sorry in advance if tumblr scrambles the order again

[bluerose5]

Honesty is Key

Pairing: Scott Ryder/Jaal Ama Darav

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,487

Tags: Mass Effect: Andromeda, Pre-Relationship, Slight Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication, Loyalty Mission, Post-Jaal Ama Darav: Flesh and Blood, Emotional Hurt and Comfort

Scott couldn't take it.

He had been so close to losing him. His stomach churned at the thought alone. His hands shook, yet no amount of deep breaths or calming thoughts helped soothe his nerves.

Adrenaline coursed through him, showing no sign of letting up.

Scott had barely stepped foot on the Tempest before he was already rushing off to the bathrooms in quick, long strides. The others called out to him, but he ignored them. Their words were garbled, unintelligible. It was like listening to someone from underwater.

Thankfully, no one was in the restroom.

Using the codes that Kallo had given him, he overrode the Tempest's protocols and locked the doors behind him. Bile started to rise in the back of his throat, leaving a bitter taste that lingered on the back of his tongue.

Taking his helmet off, Scott tossed it aside. It hit the floor and cracked, but he couldn't find it in himself to care right now.

He had been so close to losing him.

Both of his knees buckled, and Scott barely had enough time to brace himself against the sink before they collapsed entirely. Running shaky fingers through his hair, he glanced up and met his eyes in the mirror. They were red, swollen, and puffy. Tears had started to stream down his cheeks without Scott even noticing.

His face was as pale as a ghost, and his stomach continued to churn until finally he gagged.

All he could see was that bullet slicing through Jaal's cheek, over and over again. If the shot had been aimed slightly more to Akksul's right, then he—

Before Scott could even finish that thought, he was stumbling through the bathroom. He fell to his knees in front of the toilet, and his stomach heaved.

By the time his stomach was empty, his throat burned, and his vision blurred.

He couldn't stop trembling from head to toe, feeling as if he was coming apart at the seams.

"Pathfinder," SAM said through their private channel, "your vitals are consistent with those associated with extreme distress. Should I alert Dr. T'Perro?"

"I—" Scott managed to scrape himself off the floor, careful of the shards scattered around from his helmet's shattered facepiece. "No, I'll be fine."

Eventually.

Scott rinsed his mouth out at the sink, nose wrinkled in disgust.

Cleaning up as much as he could, Scott figured he could come back later and finish up.

Of course, the second he stepped out the door, he bumped into Jaal's chest.

Well, that dashed any hopes he had of making a quick escape to his quarters. Not that he should have expected any different. Jaal wasn't the type to avoid an issue when he could confront it instead.

At the sight of Scott's blotchy, tear-stained face, Jaal frowned.

"You are upset," he stated.

"Yeah, no shit."

It took Scott a whole minute to realize that he had said that aloud instead of keeping it to himself. Jaal blinked owlishly at him in shock, but Scott averted his gaze, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, face flushed with warmth compared to mere moments prior.

Jaal regarded him in confusion.

"Why are you apologizing for speaking your mind?" he asked, utterly baffled.

Right. The angara value openness and honesty.

Scott could work with that.

Hopefully.

"Mind joining me in my quarters?" Scott asked, eyeing the empty corridor with suspicion. Knowing his crew, he might not have them in his direct line of sight at the moment, but that didn't mean that they weren't listening in somehow. Call him paranoid, but Scott wasn't taking any chances. "I want to talk about what just happened out there."

At that, Jaal shifted uncertainly, wringing his hands together.

"Okay," he whispered, "but are you certain that we have to have this discussion alone?"

Scott narrowed his eyes at him, arms crossed over his chest.

"I would prefer to be alone, yes."

"You're upset with me," Jaal noted, but was he right?

Yes, no, maybe. Scott didn't know, but he wasn't going to have this conversation out in the open.

"Come on," Scott grumbled, dragging Jaal into his quarters alongside him. Once they were inside, Scott sealed the doors. "In you go."

"Scott—"

"Not. A. Word." Jaal snapped his mouth shut, and Scott jabbed a finger into his chest. "You are so—" Reckless, stupid, careless... There was so much he wanted to say, but it was near impossible to settle on one word alone. "—infuriating!"

It was nowhere near enough, but it would have to do for the moment.

Without thinking, Scott kicked at a nearby box. He didn't notice until it was too late that his body was thrumming with biotic energy, his frame enveloped in a bluish light. He sent the box flying into a nearby wall, where it shattered into little pieces.

Scott watched it fall apart, but he didn't feel much satisfaction from the act. Instead, he felt numb. Numb and drained.

Turning back to Jaal, Scott let his biotics fizzle out.

His face crumpled.

"I could have lost you," Scott whispered distantly, his voice thick with exhaustion. "I almost lost you."

Repeating it didn't help any. Reality refused to set in entirely. He still struggled to comprehend everything that happened at the Forge.

In the blink of an eye, Jaal had Scott wrapped up in his arms. Scott choked on a sob, burying his face into the crook of Jaal's neck.

He took a deep breath, Jaal's sweet, warm scent a constant reminder that he was still there. That he was alive.

"I don't have many people left that I care about," Scott whispered, finally giving voice to those feelings that had been bottled up for so long. "My mom and dad are both gone. There's no telling when Sara will wake up." He swallowed thickly past the lump in his throat. "You and the crew... You're all that I have left. My friends, my family, my colleagues."

He pulled away, just enough to stare pointedly into Jaal's bright blue eyes.

"And so much more," he breathed.

Carefully, he traced his fingers along the underside of Jaal's latest wound. At first, he flinched, but Jaal grabbed Scott’s hand and held it there before he could pull away.

If anything, he leaned even further into his touch, and Scott melted.

"I'm sorry to make you worry so," Jaal said, "but I'm grateful that you trusted me enough to refrain from bringing harm to Akksul. I know that it had to be a difficult decision, but acting against him would have only strengthened the Roekaar's cause. You did the right thing."

"Perhaps," Scott grunted, "but that doesn't make me feel any less like shit."

Jaal chuckled.

Tightening his arms around him, his rofjinn draped over Scott’s shoulders like a warm blanket, safe and secure.

Scott snuggled in close.

"Doing the right thing won't always feel fulfilling," Jaal said, "but thank you. Not only for that."

Scott furrowed his brow.

"What else do you have to thank me for?"

Jaal beamed.

Truth be told, he had no right to look that happy, not when Scott was mad at him. Sort of.

"For being honest with me." He shrugged. "I've noticed that you've been opening up more and more lately, at least compared to when we first met. It means a lot."

"Well, uh..." Scott trailed off, clearing his throat. "No problem. My family were never really the touchy-feely types. It's definitely new territory for me."

"Yet you take to it so well. Even when you're enraged, you're radiant."

Scott sputtered, then unraveled himself from Jaal's embrace, keeping a hold on his hand.

"Alright, on that note, it's time to go."

As he pulled Jaal along, Jaal grumbled in protest.

"Hey!" They exited the room together. "Where are we going?"

"To have Lexi properly clean and disinfect your wound before I kiss you, and neither of us want that." Before Jaal could get too hurt by that statement, Scott clarified. "Not until I've showered and brushed my teeth, at least. I'm a mess."

"Oh!" Understanding dawned on Jaal, but he decided to take a risk. "And after that? Will you kiss me then?"

Of course, about half the crew decided then —of all times— to emerge from the Crew Quarters, all of them stopping short when they heard Jaal's exclamation.

They tossed Scott teasing glances.

"Yeah, Scott," Vetra called out, "when are you going to give Jaal a kiss?"

"It would be rude not to," Peebee said.

With his cheeks lit aflame, Scott gaped like a fish out of water, opening and closing his mouth as he struggled for words.

Why did he suddenly feel like it should be against the rules to bully the Pathfinder?!

Eventually, he said, "I should go."

And he hurried back to his quarters, tripping on his feet as their laughter chased him off.

[loquaciouslo]

4 / ? | Lesson Learned.

chapter synopsis. just what have you gotten yourself into, little lamb?

pairings. yoongi x reader. jimin x reader. eventual 0t7

genre. a little psychological, smut ✨

word count. 6.9k

next chapter ➸

WARNINGS! dub con / non con ahead, rough sex, sub!reader, a lot of dirty talk, coercion, heavy degradation, slut shaming, manipulation, manhandling, oral (m & f receiving), forced orgasm, spit-roasting, choking, hair pulling, creampie, religious imagery & guilt

author’s note. sorry, everyone, there was technical delays with getting ch 4 posted because tumblr posts = trash glitches but it’s all good now bc i had the time to deal with it, it’s fine! 

I think we’re gonna stay.

The tone of Jimin’s voice is playful, though final. It takes you one, two, three seconds to register what that means for you, flinching when you feel the possessive hand sliding up your spine again. It means to keep you in place. His mouth ghosts over your jaw, nuzzling it, and you feel something faint—oh my god, you realize—is his tongue, soft and moist, against it. You shudder. Despite your proclamations, your body can’t deny that something so simple feels kind of good.

“This is very unorthodox,” You whine both their names, nervous and hyper-aware of your surroundings now. You jump as a presence—Yoongi’s presence—gets closer.

“Turn her around,” Yoongi says, and if either of them heard you, they make no impression to indicate it. Two sets of strong hands are twisting your body around to where they want you, which is to display you like some sort of five-course meal on Jimin’s lap, your back pressed to his lithe chest. This way, you’re spread out for their gazes to drink in. You feel small, smaller than you’ve ever felt, in the here and now.

You have a clear name for the look that swirls in Yoongi’s eyes, and it’s the budding signs of lust. If only you could see yourself through his eyes; your skirt completely scrunched up to your waist, a permanent fixture that serves to accentuate your luscious thighs. Then there’s your blouse, a crinkled mess that barely contains what they conceal, hugging you in perfection. 

“Take this off.” He directs, and just like that, Jimin’s hands are going to undo the first button he feels out, making quick work of the garment. That jump-starts your limps into action, something they were momentarily failing to do before, and in order to preserve your modesty, you pry at the hands that tug and pull at it, scrambling to grip your blouse shut.

“Get off me,” You protest, a fight brewing in you, while you attempt to twist around and dislodge the hands that don’t seem to be hindered by your rebuttals. In fact, it’s like they predict it in advance. Jimin's well ahead of you. 

“Just relax.” Yoongi has the audacity to shush you, leaning over your bowed, struggling form to wind a hand in your locks of hair and grip your head to the side. Hard enough to make you still and stop, your eyes wide and rapt in attention. You gaze into endless brown eyes. Your world closes in on you, having Yoongi’s face so close to yours, his mouth just inches away from kissing you…

And then you remember, you’re just a helpless lamb, trapped in a lion’s den, made to be their next meal. You can't forget that. 

You know there’s something deeply wrong with you when despite having these realizations as they fall upon you, one by one, your fear-addled brain still has the time to admire your assaulter’s face. You can’t help but look from his eyes to his lips next as he talks to you. They look so soft. Or so you’ve imagined, you think hotly, and with ill-timing.

“Look at me.”

You do, lids snapping up. He has your attention now.

“You’re gonna calm down, and you’re gonna stop this—” he gestures to your labored breathing from struggling, “—crap.”

You shiver when his voice drops to a dangerously low level, voice deep. Where is this coming from? Where is this all coming from?  You shiver again. From his voice and from the feeling of cool air caressing your shoulders, your chest, your stomach. Jimin’s talented fingers have managed to get off every last button, leaving the blouse to hang idly off each shoulder, sheer bra, and ample swelling of your breasts exposed. You shake underneath him as the blond runs his hands down your arms.

“She’s shaking, Hyung,” Jimin points out, much to your distress, “she must be nervous.”

Yoongi makes a noise halfway between a sound of recognition and amusement, a twinkle in his eyes.

“You’ve got nothing to be nervous about,” Jimin coos, kissing your shoulder. It doesn’t distract you from the hand that slips underneath the wire of your bra, though. “We just want to get to know you better.”

“All of you,” Yoongi adds, for good and clear measure. He doesn’t bother hiding his smile behind his teeth anymore.

“You don’t—you don’t have to do this,” You protest, heart beating like a rabbit when Jimin’s wandering hand brushes the edge of your panties. Your legs practically draw shut at the intrusion. “Stop—help me—”

“What did I say.” Yoongi interrupts you with a tight squeeze to your throat, causing you to choke out your next syllables and fall quiet altogether. Your heart is furious in your chest, blood pounding in your ears. Your only blessing is that he doesn’t choke you to hurt you. It’s a warning, a small demonstration of what he could do to you if he really wanted to. You understand the message. “Don’t scream.”

A part of you wants to say fuck the consequences and do it anyways. Do it because he’s telling you not to. But Jimin’s way well ahead of you and speaks before you even have the idea to think it.

“Don’t be silly,” Jimin warns, his hands hot on your sides. Yoongi’s hands, with a gentleness that beguiles him, parts your thighs.

“You know everyone’s left and gone home. Everyone except you. And you also know that the next group of people won’t be here for the next several hours when evening service rolls around. So, until then, you’re alone and all ours.”

"Frankly, there's nothing you can do about it.” Yoongi nods in agreement, smacking your thigh when you fail him. “So, behave.”

Your thoughts have gone from anxious, to wild and dangerous. You face one fact: you’re one and they’re two. The chances of you escaping are slim. You’re truly beginning to understand that. One of the pressing questions that overwhelm your mind is why you? Out of everyone, why single you out? You wish you could understand it, you’re trying, but your mind crops up with a blank. This doesn’t make sense. You want it to make sense, but it's so out of your vision.

As your confusion continues to sink in, Yoongi is there to watch it take over. Once he’s sure the truth of the matter has settled in that pretty head of yours, he rewards you with a caress of your cheek and bends down to close what distance between you and him there is. Your thought from earlier comes back full force, hitting you with a dose of butterflies despite your resistance. His mouth against yours feels unbearably soft, like the petals of any fragrant flower. You can smell—even taste something sweet from it, and for half a second you nearly find yourself relaxing. It's like kissing the man you thought he'd be. 

You freeze. That’s a dangerous thought. And this is a dangerous time. Were you really that desperate? Willing to submit with barely a kiss? You’re reminded of the hand around your throat. These aren’t acts of love, of someone who likes me. You can’t let your body get this twisted when you know in your heart that this—all of this—is undeniably wrong. It’s wrong. Just like it’d be wrong for you to even entertain the hunger in their hearts, with you as their possession.

But Yoongi doesn’t think so. He believes differently, thinks otherwise. He takes your confusion as silent affirmation, so what starts off as exploitative pecks against your mouth turns into an insistent nibble at your bottom lip. He wants a taste of you, and he’ll be damned if he lets you deny him that.

“Mm, that’s better.” He hums, happy when you obey. You swallow, on edge. He applies no pressure, so there’s no active threat taking place, but it leaves you breathless from the warning alone it poses. “So pretty when you listen.”

Your ears turn hot at that, your heart squeezing around another stilted breath.

“God, she is,” Jimin leans into your back, his voice hot in your ear. He punctuates that statement with a roll of his hips, just so you can feel the hard length of his cock digging into your bare ass, pressing hot and insistent against you through your thin layers. “Just look at these perky tits, Hyung. Been wanting to feel these for ages."

Jimin hooks his fingers into your bra faster than a kid can blow his birthday candles out. The sheer bra is yanked up over your chest, snapping against your neck. Now bare, both sets of men let out a collective groan; Yoongi’s pupils blowing out at the sight of you. Greedy hands from behind you come to cup them, roll the nipples between their fingers just so you’ll keep squirming in his lap, teasing him with the friction it provides.  

You let out a cry, inching up his surprisingly lithe body, yours overheating at the two sets of hands that grab and pull at you. Yoongi’s eyes bore into yours, watching for every fleck and change in your expression as Jimin pinches one nipple particularly hard. It makes you hiss, much to Yoongi’s delight.

While you’re helpless against their actions, forced to react shamelessly, they’re soaking every inch up, using it and you as fuel for their own arousal.

“See? Doesn’t that feel nice?” Jimin slows down, soothing the nub he just brutalized. “It does, doesn’t it. I wonder what else you’ll let me see.”

It’s Jimin’s hand that rubs you over your underwear, making you choke on your plea. You give it one last go at snapping your legs shut out of instinct, but Yoongi prevents you from doing that, keeping them pinned apart. His face says it all: he dares you to keep it up and see what happens. And then, it’s gone, morphing into something else entirely.

“Jimin’s barely touched you over this slutty pair of underwear, baby, and you’re so responsive.” Yoongi sounds so sweet and yet his words cut. Something hits you in the gut at his words, and you shake your head ‘no’ as if you can shake the notion off.

“They’re—they’re not slutty,” you defend. That’s not true.

“They are,” Jimin affirms. Yoongi nods sagely.

“Look at this lacy shit. Why else would you wear them out if you didn’t want someone to see them?” The blond tells you, as you if you should feel bad for your poor choices. But then he has an epiphany, one that turns his tone into one of entertainment. “I bet you wanted us to see, huh? That’s why you went through the trouble to match.”

“I…I don’t always…” You fail to defend, face hot when he rubs his hand brazenly through your tights. The sensation it elicits causes you to choke on your syllables, shame coursing through you at how easily your body reacts to just a touch and a tease. Your mind knows better, but your body doesn't. 

“You don’t what, baby?” Yoongi hums, voice dripping with intent. He has to readjust his dick in his slacks at the sight of Jimin rubbing you between your legs, causing you to squirm and shudder over him, your face knit into expressions he’s never seen on you before. Not until today. “You don’t always wear lace and blouses this tight? Or skirts this short? Flaunting your perky tits around without any shame, just so Jiminie and I will take pity and notice them?”

That’s not true. You do feel shame. You feel an unspeakable amount of it. Your head drops back against the softness of Jimin’s shoulder, cradled by it. Your eyes begin to swell with the beginning of tears, starting to believe what you thought were once just ill-found accusations, but now you’re not so sure. The reasons you had to defend yourself fade into the background. Haven’t you at least once thought about it? Wearing something just a little flirtatious so they’d think of you the next day? Just fantasies you tried not to indulge in. Maybe you were just as bad as you feared.

Perhaps it’s cruel of them to find even an ounce of pleasure in those opal tears threatening to bubble around the corner of your lashes, but in their defense, you make too provocative of an image to ignore; too pretty of a mess to make out of. In their perspective, you might as well have brought this upon yourself.

“You’re a bad girl,” Yoongi says, a matter of fact, with a glimpse of white teeth. He rids himself of the buttons on his sleeves, rolling them up to his arms. Arms you’ve admired before on the rare occasion he’s wear something with short sleeves. They flex as he crouches down. “A tease. But we’re gonna fix that.”

Yoongi’s hands go for the hemline of your tights, snatching them down your hips like a man with practiced ease. Jimin helps by lifting your ass just enough for the eldest to get them down your thighs, past your knees, until he’s tugging them off along with your heels. You lose the tiniest bit of warmth with your legs now bare and nothing to obstruct Yoongi’s eyes, admiring and hungry, from your core.

“Please,” You tuck your head to the side, arms held still by Jimin’s surprisingly strong hands, just in case you have second thoughts about listening. Truth be told, you don’t know what you’re asking for, but you shiver in nervousness when Yoongi’s close enough to feel his breath against your pelvis. “You don’t have to—ah!”

You’re ashamed of the moan that spills out when he pulls your panties aside and licks a broad stripe along your center. You make no eye contact, eyes falling on the door. The door that Yoongi locked, trapping you here. So long as you don’t look at the man between your legs, violating you with a flick of his soft pink tongue, you can survive the embarrassment of this. Your resolve goes out the window when he pulls your panties down and tosses them somewhere in the room, then back to where he was.

“Hyung,” Jimin murmurs in appreciation, happy to see your panties go wayside. You don’t know what it’s for, but Yoongi does. He takes a minute to answer his companion, too focused on swirling his tongue in search of your clit before diving between your folds to taste the middle. When he finally moves away from your trembling form, it’s with a wicked lick of his lips, shiny with your arousal. Shame practically drowns you. He got you wet, and for what? 

“You’ve got such a sweet little pussy,” He states, unashamed, running two of his fingers through your center. It takes everything in you not to arch into his touch. “I can’t wait to stuff it full of my cock. But first, I think Jiminie deserves some too.”

Your eyes widen at Yoongi’s vulgarity, speechless. A dark part of you doesn’t mind the idea, more fearful of the unknown than anything. More than you are disgusted. Your pelvic muscles clench as the turmoil for yourself builds. Yoongi can see it written all over your face as he picks apart your myriad of emotions. 

“I sure fucking do,” Jimin growls, thrusting up into your ass while his fingers come down to meet Yoongi’s. He dips his finger between your folds too, collecting your wetness between his fingers. You gasp at the invasion as he pulls them away to give his fingers a look. His eyes practically darken at the results. “You’re wet from just this? Hyung, get her ass on the couch. I want her on her back.”

Yoongi follows his request, grabbing both your arms and maneuvering you around like a little old rag doll, pushing you onto your back. You hit the cushions with a soft bounce, watching as Jimin switches places with Yoongi so fast you can hardly blink first. He looks at you like you’re not even y/n anymore, you’re something to objectify, and you can see the desire that takes over the dark depths of his pretty rounded eyes.

You can’t believe someone so sweet and innocent looking could be so full of raw sin and bad intentions.

“Finally,” The blond exhales, eyes glued to your glistening lips. He thinks you look positively juicy like this, despite your efforts to hide it with your hands, blocking his line of vision.

“Stop looking,” You raise your voice as you command it, far more demanding in their opinion than you have any right to be.

“Impossible, Jagi.” He shifts back on the couch to hover his face over your core, pillow lips grazing your inner thigh. "Remember, you’re mine right now. I’m gonna look all I want.”

His mouth descends on you, and your pelvis does jerk away when he wastes nothing to find your clit, rolling his tongue around it in tight little circles when it's found. Doesn’t he care that Yoongi’s mouth was just on you? Doesn’t he mind sharing? You’ve never known two men who were so gung-ho about going after the same girl. Usually, there’s jealousy involved, but usually, it's just not done like this. What you do see is teamwork in keeping you at their mercy. You're so screwed. 

You try to avoid that fact by covering your face since your arms have some freedom to do as they want. You squeeze your eyes shut, blocking out the sensations Jimin’s energetic tongue rises out of you. Yoongi won’t have that; he wants you to suffer from the pleasure you experience. He wants you to cave; he wants you begging.

Yoongi pins your wrists down as your hips thrust off the couch, straight against the pressure of Jimin’s flickering tongue, and just as quickly drop, a bashful cry leaves you, eyes consumed with confusion and leaking tears. Jimin pulls you down the couch some more to get better control of you. You wish you weren’t so sensitive, making it so easy for them to manipulate your body to how they see fit.  

It’s mortifying how easy and fast he brings you closer and closer to your peak, sucking you with just the right alternating moves and soothing licks. He regards you closely, noting every twitch spasm of your thighs, listening for every gasp of air you haul in. He won’t relent until you’re shivering underneath him, tightening his grip on your thighs to keep you down. He doesn’t want you running away from his mouth when you’re so close to tipping over and he's going to bring you there. He can feel it, taste it on his tongue.

“Please—Please don’t, please stop, I d-don’t want to cum,” You babble, shaking your head as you look up at Yoongi, pleading with half-lidded eyes. “I don't want to do this, please guys, I can’t—”

“Too bad, baby,” Yoongi denies you, thumbing your wrist. You don’t call the shots here, he does.

You never get a chance to say anything back, rendered a babbling mess as Jimin’s tongue takes you to your peak in just a matter of minutes, stars blinding the corners of your eyes. You chant something you can’t quite hear from yourself, but it has both men smiling as wide as two sharks as you come down, panting and huffing. Jimin’s tongue continuous to lap at you, drinking you in, and when it’s time for him to pull away you’re confused when he doesn’t.

He just squeezes your thighs, refusing to let them go. To let you go. He keeps at it, running his tongue over you to collect your wetness, slurping it away until there’s nothing left. Not until you make more. Jimin eats you out like he’s enjoying his last meal and he wants to savor every swallow. Mercilessly he goes back to lapping at your clit, ignoring your pleas for him to give up.

“I can’t—It’s too much, it’s too much—” But Jimin pointedly ignores you and your cries to stop. You won't make it, not with how badly your legs are shaking, your hips twisting in vain in his grip. The fact that you can’t move very far or effectively increases your sense of helplessness, forcing you to realize that you have to take everything that Jimin gives you. There isn't a no. Not one that matters to him. You quake under Yoongi’s tight hold around your wrists, attempting to jerk them free. Anything to push away Jimin’s wicked, punishing mouth.

“You can and you will,” Jimin purrs against you, kitten licks against your quivering clit.

Jimin looks positively feral, one thick finger pressed gently against your hole, teasing it by circling it. He pushes in, brows furrowed, up till the first knuckle and mutters a curse for everyone to hear. “When’s the last time anyone’s fucked you, Jagi? You’re so tight.”

“Answer him,” Yoongi says when you don’t.

“I—I don’t know,” You sputter between labored breaths, words frantic and unwilling to give such a personal part of yourself away. You bite your lip, hard. “At least a few… a few years.”

“Isn’t that a shame and a blessing,” Jimin hums like he's happy to hear that, and pushes his finger in the rest of the way, nudging you deeper than even you’ve ventured in a long time. Jimin lets out another curse as you throw your head back, ashamed at how good it feels to feel Jimin’s tongue back where it was while he slowly pumps a finger in. You’re not so sure you can handle another orgasm so soon.

You don’t get to make the decisions, however, when Jimin goes back to hyper-fixating on what's between your legs, making noises you’ve never heard a man make before. Not like this. Then again, you’ve never been eaten out as enthusiastically as now and you’ve never had two orgasms in a row from someone. Jimin’s not inexperienced, you can tell by the way he's learning to read your resisting body. He watches you reach your peak again; another grand crescendo is about to befall you. With the added stimulation of a second finger pushing in past the first, it’s too much sensation at once.

I can’t handle this, I can’t, you shudder, feeling as if your body is going to go crazy. Warmth spreads throughout every inch of you. It washes over you in waves, reminiscent of the blinding sun behind your eyes. There’s a moment of extreme tiredness that washes over you too, all from cumming for the second time within a matter of minutes. You’re a trembling mess once he’s done with you, eyes downcast and hazy.

Briefly, you catch out of the corner of your eye the three bibles that lay haphazard on the table, reminding you of your place in this. You feel shame hit every deep, sensitive, guilty nerve, snapping your head in the other direction. Was this all a plan? A ruse? To get you alone, and vulnerable...

“So good, and so fucking wet for me,” Jimin smacks his perfect pillow lips, his words ringing in your ears. It takes a while for your senses to come back to you, and then you’re disorientated all over again when Jimin drops your thighs and Yoongi gets up. You notice the warmth of his lap is immediately gone, leaving you to be hot and flushed all by yourself. You lay there, not ready to move or be moved.

Jimin bends down and crawls over your body, shielding you from the room’s light and casting you in his shadow. He looks down at you, a predator’s stare, and when your shifty eyes drift down you can see how hard he is, slacks tented and strained. For a moment you think he’s about to kiss you, but he ducks his head, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You can feel his lips on the skin there, licking, biting, sucking until blood rushes to the surface and leaves a deep red hickey in its wake. You squirm the whole time, mouth open and incapable of holding back your voice as he leaves something of himself on you.

“You’re really vocal. I love that.” He says when he’s done, satisfied with his work. “And guess what? It’s time for you to get down.”

He grins, lifting you up by the head with him. He pulls you into his chest as he stands, and you’re almost thankful for it because of your wobbling legs. Cumming twice wiped you out, leaving you a mess of unstable nerves.

You let out a totally undignified yelp when Yoongi spins you around and aids you into a kneeling position. This way you’re face to face with his hand as goes to undo his zipper, pulling out what you can only describe as a cock you don’t think is going to fit in you. You swallow thickly, eyes shifting from side to side, your hands twitching in your lap. Uncertainty has never felt so deep.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do,” Yoongi smiles something absolutely sinful, expectation and excitement written all over him. You peek at the revealed skin you’ve never once thought you were going to bear actual witness to. “You’re gonna get up on your knees and you’re gonna put my cock in your mouth.”

Yoongi licks his lips, waiting for you to comply. Jimin really likes you like this based on how hard he's chewing on his lip. To them, you’re like a well-wrapped present on Christmas morning they can’t wait to tear it open and get their fingers in. There’s just something undeniably pleasing about making a mess out of someone that once looked so perfectly put together. When you make no move, stunned by his bluntness, he decides to make it happen by gripping your hair and helping you there.

“Suck,” The eldest instructs, and red in the cheeks you slowly do, much to his satisfaction. You don’t get a say in the matter when Yoongi takes a hold of your jaw, angling you just right so your mouth is aligned with the head of his cock. You open your mouth without prompting, and he swirls the velvety head against your plump lips, wetting them with the bit of pre-cum that’s gathered there, before feeding you the first couple of inches. You handle it perfectly well, but you forgot about what the burn of a stretching jaw felt like, having something so hot and heavy in your mouth. “That’s a good girl. Look at me while you do it.”

“I guess she can follow directions.” Jimin snickers, distracting you. Yoongi gives your cheek a light tap, redirecting you. “Who knew all she needed was a good cock in her.”

Your ears prickle at hearing Jimin talk like that, a spider-like sensation skittering down your spine as you work Yoongi with your tongue, lapping at the underside of his cock. All for the sake of self-preservation, you convince yourself, you’ll be earnest in your efforts to please him. When you pull back to take in some air, he grips your hair tighter, holding you there while he thrusts his hips. You can see the twitch in his thigh muscles strain as he does, groaning when he hits the back of your throat, your eyes watering. You look up at him like he told you to. You don’t want to be smacked any harder, just in case he has that in mind.

“Where’d you learn how to suck cock so good, baby?” You’re too busy trying not to gag to answer, artlessly attempting to swallow around him. And that’s okay, he doesn’t mind. It’s better this way. “You suck like a little slut.”

“Fuck, that’s really hot,” Jimin huffs and you can hear him shuffling next to you, “just don’t hog her, Hyung.”

Yoongi forces you to take another inch, but you resist, putting your hands on his thighs to push him away. You helplessly try to prevent it from going down your throat, but Yoongi holds you there until he’s happy, letting the saliva build up in your mouth and get him nice and wet. Your throat just feels so good butterflying around the head of his cock, making him shudder in pure pleasure.

When he’s done with you, he pulls out, a string of saliva trailing. You use this opportunity to gasp for air, clutching at your throat. Your throat burns from the unexpected intrusion, a slight ache in your jaw from being used.

Your reprieve doesn’t last long. Jimin hauls you back up on your knees, so you sit up properly. You want to ask for some mercy, but your pride gets the best of you. It’s one of the few things that have remained intact. Not unlike your sensitive and bruised nipples. Not your pussy, wet from their mouths and your own arousal wetting your thighs, much to your mortification.

The head of another dripping cock is pressed to your lips, urging you to open wide for him. Jimin’s used what’s gathered there to lubricate his shaft, making it easier to stroke himself. He’s still heady with the faint taste of you and now he can’t wait to feel your warm, wet mouth wrapped around him, just like your pussy is gonna be. He swears it’s a dream come true when you finally take him into your mouth, muttering under his breath. It was difficult enough having Yoongi in your mouth, but Jimin's a little thicker and that makes it tougher for you, causing you to let out a mild whimper. 

Jimin takes to holding the back of your head too, tilting it just right so he can feel the bulge of his cock inside your cheek. His mouth parts, tongue peeking out to lick one luscious lip. It’s too much. His shaft twitches when you suck him in, pumping your head back and forth of your own volition. You should hate the way he sounds when he moans—it’s so pretty to your ears when it shouldn’t be. The way his eyelashes flutter shut, unable to prevent the jerk of his hips, fucking into your mouth in slow, steady strokes.

“Good girl,” Jimin praises, those half-lidded eyes on you. Another urge rolls around in your tummy, wanting to hide your face from the intimate and depraved acts you’re performing for them. “Get it nice and wet for me so I can fuck that sweet pussy. God, I can’t wait. And you’re gonna fucking take it.”

With that, Jimin lets out a snarl, pulling you off with another wet plop. His cock stands proud, thick, and glistening, so close to nudging your cheek.

“Get on that fucking couch,” He tells you. You turn around to look at Yoongi, who’s been enjoying the free show with a languid stroke of his cock. It looks like you’re never fast enough for them, so Jimin manhandles you there, knocking you onto your knees so your face hovers over Yoongi’s occupied lap. Jimin’s ready even if you’re not.

“I don’t want to hear a word from you unless it’s moaning like the little slut you are,” His words cut through your carefully held together façade. He says it so matter of fact, just like Yoongi did. You're a slut. 

“I’m—I’m not,” You hang your head, waiting for that tell-tale sign of Jimin pressing his weeping cock to your entrance. He doesn’t just shove it in, thank god, because you definitely wouldn’t be able to stay quiet if he did that. But he could, your mind supplies, with how fucking wet you are. Maybe you are a slut. Maybe they are right, and they’re just seeing the real you; the dirty, guilty you.

The more they say it, and the more you think it, the more truth you start to see in it.

“What did I say,” Jimin smacks your ass, making you flinch away. He smacks you again for that too.

You open your mouth to respond, but your words get stuck in your throat. For half a second you find yourself about to apologize for not listening, for moving when you shouldn’t have. He’s just trying to fill you up as you deserve, but there is a part of you that understands the severity of the situation you’re in. It’s not right for you to apologize, even if you do listen to what he says in the end.

You stay still, your trembling in trepidation when he pushes the head in. Your pussy doesn’t resist him, too slick not to. Jimin can tell by the way you squeeze around him that it’s going to be a tight fit. It makes his hips buck, gentleness and slowness all but abandoned as he abruptly thrusts in the rest of the way, filling you to the brim. It takes everything in you not to wail, grasping the nearest thing in front of you: Yoongi’s lean thigh, fingernails digging into the flesh.

He tolerates the pinch of pain, petting your hair. It throws you off how gentle he is, so at odds with his currently severe persona and the way Jimin pistons his hips into your ass, cheeks clapping, your pussy wrapped around him like you were made to be fucked. And from behind, Jimin thinks the perfect shape of your ass and the curve of your waist is the hottest sight he’s ever seen. It’s second to the way your hair sways when he grabs you by the hips and throws you back onto his cock, huffing from the exertion.

Yoongi’s tired of not having at least half your attention, so he’s guiding your mouth to his straining cock as he watches you being taken from behind. Jimin makes sure to leave no inch of you unfilled, hitting the deepest spots inside of you; deeper than any of your fingers could ever go, deeper than they’ve ever gone. It has you seeing stars, biting your bottom lip to hold back your frustrations, only to fail miserably. You can barely keep Yoongi’s cock in your mouth from all the jostling. Your vision spins when he buries himself to the hilt, your back bowing naturally in response.

“She’s so fucking tight, Hyung,” He hisses, barely out of stamina. He pumps into you nice and deep, pulling one of your legs back on the couch when you start to slip. Bending over, he reaches under you to briefly cup one of your breasts, squeezing, cupping, pinching your already hard nubs. His dick twitches inside you, hardening even more, and you can tell he’s about to come. He’s about to cum inside you.

“J-Jimin—” You whine, whipping your head back to look at him, eyes pleading not to. You’re all but ignored. The blond’s too far gone to stop let alone process what you’re asking of him, and before you know it, he’s rocking his well-defined hips into you, cock twitching as he paints your insides. 

“Ah—” He pants, rocking to a stop. He doesn’t pull out right away, leaning over to kiss your ear, smiling with the most sated and relaxed expression on his face. “Your pussy feels too fucking good, Jagi. I want to do it again.”

And then he does pull away, reluctantly so, and leaves you on your trembling knees, admiring the way your pussy looks when the first ooze of his cum comes dripping out. He’s fast to stuff it back in with a few of his fingers, brandishing another kiss to one of your ass cheeks.

“It’s Hyung’s turn,” He smiles, patting it. 

“That’s right,” Yoongi murmurs, voice thick and sweet as molasses, patting his lap. There’s not a second to spare. “Come here.”

You look at him apprehensively, doing as you’re told, nonetheless. You know what this means, and you swing your leg over Yoongi’s lap with your hands crossed over your chest. You don’t want to flaunt them in his face, but that’s exactly what he wants.

“Move your arms out of the way unless you want me to make you.” He orders. “Put them behind your back.”

You follow his directions, uncertain where this is going. What Yoongi’s going to do to you. He’s so demanding that you never would have expected this side of a quiet, polite Yoongi. With your arms crossed, his cock rests just a few inches away from your aching entrance. The look on his face as he looks between the two of your bodies, so close to connecting, says he wants to be inside you more than anything. He’s wanted it the second he locked the door behind you; the second he got to watch Jimin fuck you like your body was just something to get himself off.

Yoongi growls at the thought, incensed, and once he gets you in the right position, he’s settling his hands on your hips and shoving you down in one fell swoop. You sob, the burn still evident. Not as bad as Jimin, but close enough to remember for the next several days. It’s overstimulating, tears resurfacing as he wastes no time bouncing you up and down on his cock without care.

You let out a string of noises as Yoongi fucks up into you relentlessly, slamming you down his length with the perfect timing of his thrusts. He’s waited too long to be patient any longer. You’re afraid of losing your balance at this rate, and when you start to lean forward a little too much, he snags one of your breasts in his mouth and yanks you back by your soft hair. He can smell the shampoo you use, caressing his sense of smell as it tickles his face.

“That’s it,” He moans, growling as he keeps your back bowed, finding a particularly vicious rhythm. Your face is scrunched in pure ecstasy, and he swears your pussy clenches around him so tight it’s like it’s trying to milk him for all he’s worth. “Make me cum.” 

You don’t protest this time, knowing it’s too late and too pointless to try and prevent what’s to happen. You hiccup another pathetic moan, shaking your head despite the undeniable.

“You’re squeezing me so tight,” Yoongi jeers, the smacking of your bodies joining ringing loud in the quiet room. His lap is wet with your juices. He swears he can feel your next orgasm building up against your will, based on how your pussy flutters around him, and it excites him ten-fold. He doubles his efforts, fingernails digging into your hips, goaded on by his own lust. There are going to be bruises tomorrow, definitely, based on how it burns. “Your pussy is making the most obscene sounds, too. And yet you want to act like you don’t want every inch of our cocks, you lying slut.”

You’ve come twice, so getting to your third doesn’t take long, not when Yoongi fucks you like a toy on his lap. Your arms are starting to ache behind your back, but it just adds to the boiling heat in your gut. Jimin helps you out by holding both your wrists easily with his hand to keep you angled just right. You can feel it coming, you’re so, so close, if Yoongi just kept going, kept hitting that spot inside you, you’d be pushed over the edge in a matter of seconds.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot—” And then Yoongi is cursing, hips slamming into you once, twice, and then he’s filling you up nice and thick with spurts of his cum. You can feel it leak out, heart heavy, and core throbbing with the lack of release. You sob, denied. It’s possibly one of the worst feelings ever, nearly reaching your high only to have it stop like a lover leaving in the night.

Yoongi keeps you seated in your lap, letting his dick slowly soften in you while he takes a moment to catch his breath, his long neck exposed when he tilts it over the couch headrest. Black hair falls off his forehead. You’re breathing just as hard, afraid you were going to break in the end. Your thighs burn with the intensity of such a workout, even though Yoongi did most of the work getting you to get him off. 

It seems by the knowing look in Yoongi’s eyes and the flick of his tongue that he knew you were close to your peak. Close to cumming all over his cock. But the look on your face when you were denied in the end? Couldn't put a price tag on it. He’s imprinted everything he’s just borne witness to in his memory. 

You swear you’re not bitter about it.

You should be thankful you didn’t cum. You’re not supposed to have wanted any of this. Now that it’s over, all you want to do is curl in on yourself, keenly aware of your nudity and their lack of it.

“Next time, if you’re a really good girl...” Jimin coos, coming to your side. A smile plays at his lips. He’s already tucked himself back into his pants, already making himself more presentable than your state of being. “... we might make you cum again.”

Just as you catch your breath, your heart stops, your whole body racked with tension.

“... Next time?” You choke out, feeling like your world just came down around you.

next chapter: aftermath ➸

[rose-demica]

Gif Drabble, A ruined date

So @mariekoukie6661​ sent me an ask with this gif... my new kitten jumped on my keyboard and somehow managed to privately answer it before it was finished. Thanks to my friends at the @fanficocean​, we were able to figure out where it went, and get most of it back. (I also have definitely learnt my lesson, and will be now solely writing on docs outside of tumblr again).

It does mean I lost the original gif, and despite searching for the gif, and having the original poster’s ID, it hasn’t helped me find it. So it’s just a screenshot for now. 

A sigh of relief passes your lips, eyes darting to the clock as your manager bustles in the door, mouthing apologies as you kept helping the seemingly endless line of people. It was 1am, four hours after your shift had been supposed to end. Everyone else from the other supervisor’s team had arrived on time, allowing the rest of your team to leave, but your own relief hadn’t shown up, hadn’t even had the decency to call in and warn the managers in advance. They’d asked you to stay later while they scrambled to find someone to cover the absence… you hadn’t expected it to take four hours. 

You had hoped for a moment to text your date, tell him you’d be delayed, or just cancel. It was a bad look for a third date, but you had no choice, the store couldn’t run without a supervisor, and there was no way you could close up the store, not two days before Christmas. Not when, even at 1 am, the lines for the registers winded back down through the aisles.

It was bad, really bad, to just ghost a man on your third date, but hopefully, he would understand. He had to understand, you really liked this guy. If your co-worker had cost you one of the sweetest guy’s you’d met, you would never forgive her.

“Just give me ten to set up.” You nodded as the manager breezed past you towards checkout control, turning your attention back to the woman who was insisting the sale sign didn’t specify a size. (It did, this was the 73rd time today you’d had this argument over this specific product.)

Those ten minutes dragged by, but finally, finally, you did your hand over and clocked out. Your first stop, once you were off the floor, was to check your phone. There were only five text messages, and two missed calls. Your heart hit your stomach, chest seizing up, did this mean he had given up? He wasn’t as interested in you as you thought. 

A shaky breath escaped your lips as you opened your conversation with him and read your messages. 

2105 

Hey, I’m here early, but don’t feel like you need to rush. There was a mess up with our reservation, so our table won’t be available for a little while. I’m at the garden bar, I can’t wait to see you. 

2147

So I guess you’re running a bit late? Our table just opened up. I’ll order a drink and wait for you there. If you want I can place your order in advance? I know you tend to skip your breaks when it’s busy, and I hate to have you wasting away longer than necessary. 

2215. One missed call.

2216

Are you far off? I’m getting a lot of dirty looks from the staff. Who knew they don’t like people who sit at tables and never order more than a drink?

2308

I gotta be honest here, I really like you, which is why I am praying you aren’t standing me up or ghosting me. It’s also why I’m going back to the garden bar. They’ve shut the kitchen down, but they said I can wait there until they close. I think they feel bad for me, and think I’m stupid for waiting this long... maybe I am...

2357

Well, it’s just me and the bartender left. The last stragglers from the restaurant left about 10 minutes ago, and now the staff have to. I know they won’t tell me to leave, not as a paying customer, however discounted my drinks might be, but I will. They’re allowed to close up early if there are no customers, and I don’t want to be the one keeping them open, not this close to Christmas when everyone is so busy and wants to be with family. So I guess I’ll... to be honest, I don’t know what I plan to do. Maybe I’ll head home, let me know that you’re safe please, even if you are ghosting me. 

0027. One missed call.

Your fingers were automatically typing out a reply as your brain tried to figure out what to say, but as soon as it was typed you deleted it. What could you possibly say to apologise for the fact that you had stood him up, as much as you hadn’t wanted to. He had waited at the bar for you for at least three hours. You didn’t know if you would be able to do the same, endure all those looks from the staff and other patrons. Just sit at the bar, constantly casting glances at the time and trying desperately not to think-

“Goodnight.” You glance up in shock, only to see one of your staff members passing by on their way back onto the floor. You slid your phone into your pocket, step one was getting home, then you could put your feet up and figure out how to apologise for your disaster of a shift, and missing the date without giving any warning. 

~~~

You feel your body relax as you step off the bus, nearly home, it was nearly all over, you were nearly home. You dropped your bag at the bus stop bench, sitting down and peeling off your work shoes, feet screaming after a long day of standing on them in cheap shoes. The snow was nice against your feet, at least, it was for now. The cold bite of the snow numbing the pain receptors. It would give you enough time to get home before it got too cold, or your feet gave out on you.

You were quick to pick up your bag and get moving, there was only so long before your feet would turn to icicles. Your eyes were glued to your phone as you walked the familiar route home, no one would be out at 1.30 in the morning. You barely looked up to type the code that would let you in to your apartment building’s lobby, nor as you approached the stairs, it was only as you made to dodge a person sitting on the bottom one that you looked up. 

Stunning blue eyes met yours, knocking the wind out of you. 

“Sorry beautiful, I just had to make sure that you’re alright. Please don’t think I’m a stalker or anything.” The man spoke, raising his hands. It took you a second more to tear your eyes from his, give yourself the chance to scan his body and recognise the man rising to stand before you. Your date, Clint Barton.

“Wha-” He chuckled at your stunned expression, 

“You never replied, I was worried that maybe someone had kidnapped or ambushed you, figured the least I could do was check-in to make sure everything was all right.” He motioned to the phone in your hand, before tucking his hands into his pockets and shuffling awkwardly. 

“I’m sorry, I was going to reply once I got home, I had no idea what to say to you.” You found your voice, putting your phone away. It hadn’t occurred to you that he might swing by to check on you, no one had ever done that before, it was sweet. 

“No worries, I understand, have a good life Y/N.” He took a few steps away, and you reached out quickly, your hand reaching out in an attempt to wrap around a firm bicep. He could have kept going, easily pulled his arm from yours, but he stopped, turning back towards you. 

“No. No-” It couldn’t all end, not like this. “I meant-” You breathed out heavily, searching for the same words you’d been looking for, ever since you’d read his messages. “Come upstairs? I still haven’t eaten, we can talk over a midnight snack.” His smile took your breath away, nodding slowly, almost as if he was waiting for you to take it back. “Great, my feet are killing me.” You smiled back, turning to eye up the stairs. You were only on the 3rd floor, but you weren’t sure you could convince your feet to carry you up that far. 

‘Allow me.” You turned back to Clint, offering him your bag, but he only shook his head, stepping closer to sweep you off your feet and into the bridal hold. “You’ll have to let me know which floor and room, I’m afraid I only managed to figure out which building was yours.” You wanted to complain, insist you could walk yourself, but you couldn’t deny the sheer relief that you were finally off your feet. 

“Just this once.” You meant to say it in your head, but the words accidentally fell out of your mouth, Clint chuckling at you. “3H.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, tucking your head into his neck. Eyes falling closed, feeling safe in his arms.

“You seem exhausted.” 

“My co-worker never showed, took them four hours to find and get someone in so I could get off. It was so busy I couldn’t even send you a message.” You sighed heavily, “I love Christmas, I really do. But I hate it.” 

“I had hoped it was something like that.” He spoke softly, before pausing, setting your feet back on the ground, one arm staying wrapped around your waist. You turned, looking up at him, arms staying looped around his neck, holding him close to you. 

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I wanted to be there.” He lifted another hand, running it down the side of your face, before cupping your jaw. 

“I waited as long as I could.” He responded, leaning in closer to you. Your eyes flicked down to his soft pink lips, able to think of nothing but how badly you wanted to taste them. 

“I know.” You stretched up, pausing when you could feel his breath roll across your face, waiting for him to close the distance. “Thank you.” You felt more than heard his quiet groan, lips rushing against yours a moment later. You responded tangling one of your hands into his hair and holding him. 

It was your stomach growling that interrupted you, Clint pulling back with a smile. 

“Let’s get you inside and fed, then we can discuss continuing this.” You stretched up, stealing another kiss from his lips, savouring the way they felt moving with yours, before pulling back and searching for your keys, eager to get inside and salvage what you could of your date.

[azwriting]

Everything We Need (Forget Me Not, Kylo Ren x Reader) - Chapter One

So Tumblr flagged my original first chapter so now I have to repost it! Annoying! Anyways so here’s this again... Let me know if you want to added to the taglist!

Summary: As the battle of Crait begins to unfold, the truth is still being withheld from Kylo Ren. But Rey is beginning to uncover it all.

Warning(s): Nightmares, mentions of death

Word count: 3579

The remaining members of the Resistance huddled in the Mine on the salt planet, Crait, dejected. The battering ram cannon had already burnt through the large door and no one was coming to their aid, the Resistance would perish today. General Leia Organa slumped down onto the stack of boxes, “We fought till the end . But the galaxy has lost all its hope. The spark is out.” She dug her cane into the gritty ground below, defeat evident in her disheartened voice. The few Resistance members that surrounded her, looked around at each other and the others awaiting the ill-fated incoming attack from the First Order’s Stormtroopers, this was it. 

Leia’s eyes suddenly fluttered up, sensing something or someone. She turned her head to her left, seeing a shadowy hooded figure emerging from one of the many brightly lit tunnels. The figure continued forward silently until he stopped before Leia. The man slowly removed his hood, revealing his aged face and short gray beard. “Luke” Leia breathed out in astonishment and relief. Her twin brother sat down in front of her, mouth opening to deliver his deepest apologies, but the General cut him off. “I know what you’re gonna say. I changed my hair.” The Jedi rolled his eyes at his sister’s ill-timed antics. 

“It’s nice that way.” He paused for a moment, inhaling sharply, “Leia, I’m sorry.” 

Leia nodded softly, “I know. I know you are. I’m just glad you’re here… in the end.” 

Luke turned serious, his green eyes hardening, “I came to face him, Leia. And I can’t save him.” A grim expression fell onto Leia’s face, the man terrorizing them was the “Jedi Killer”, Kylo Ren. 

“I held out hope for so long, but I know my son is gone.” A small frown on her lips, but Luke simply gave her a look. 

“No one’s ever really gone.” 

A small laugh escaped the General’s frown, “Yeah thanks for telling me by the way.” Her head nodded to her right out the broken command center windows, towards the group gathered by the melted door. Luke stood confused, eyes casting a search out into the small crowd of Resistance fighters hidden behind boxes of supplies and old transports. A young (Y/S/C) skinned, (Y/H/C) woman crouched down besides an olive toned man with black hair, caught the former Jedi’s eyes. Her hair was secured up in a bun of braided hair, small droplets of salt woven into it. 

A large faded pink scar covered a decent portion of the right side of her neck. That was the only thing Luke needed to see before he turned back to Leia exasperated. “How-?” was all he could muster, green eyes wide.

 Leia only smirked at her unexpecting brother, “She’ll always find her way back home, Luke. Regardless of…” The General trailed off, discreetly tapping her temple. Luke shook his head in disbelief, after all he had done to prevent this very thing and yet she still found her way back and with disturbingly close proximity to the enemy. “You know if we sent her out, he’d probably stop all of this.” Leia added. Luke shook his head immediately, this was not the endgame of Chess, they could not sacrifice “The Queen” in hopes to win. Not when he was so consumed by rage and would only endanger the young woman.

 Luke placed his hand over Leia’s, dropping the gold dice from the Millenium Falcon, from Han, into her open palm. A flash of realization washes over her facial features, as Leia looked to her brother in surprise. Luke remained silent only moving to cup Leia’s face as he bent down to kiss her forehead, before he turned to face his fate.

Resistance fighters throughout the Mine rose from their crouched down positions, eyes following the figure walking towards the hole the First Order battered into the shield door. Poe stood in disbelief, gaping at the legendary Pilot before him. Luke paused at the door, which was still surrounded by flickering red flames, and turned to look at something besides Poe. He pivoted slightly to see his longtime friend, (Y/N), staring straight back at Luke. The former Jedi Master nodded once to her, before heading out to face the First Order. Poe looked back at his friend when Skywalker was out of sight, her face contorting as she mentally tried to solve a puzzle with too many pieces missing. “I think I knew him.”

Kylo Ren emerged from the ship, clad in all black, making the man look like the silhouette of a monster. The newly self-appointed Supreme Leader was shaking to his core, pure and raw fury filled his being as he stalked out of the command shuttle. From inside the safety of the bunker, Poe watched the scene unfold behind a pair of binoculars. “It’s Kylo Ren, Luke’s facing him alone.”

 Finn quickly chirped up from beside him, “Well, we should help him. Let’s go.” The former Stormtrooper moved to walk in between (Y/N) and Poe, but a white sleeved arm shot out to halt his advancements. 

“No, wait. Wait” (Y/N) reiterated, her and Poe sharing a skeptical look, before returning their eyes to observe the scene about to unfold before them.

 “Did you come back to say you forgive me? To save my soul?” The words dripped out sarcastically and menacingly from the Supreme Leader.

 His uncle lifted his eyebrows, “No”. Kylo Ren shrugged off his cloak and ignited his crackling red lightsaber. Luke ignited his blue lightsaber in return and the two readied themselves for the inevitable fight.

 “He’s doing this for a reason” Poe muttered lowly, his finger gently gesturing to the spectacle outside. (Y/N), who still was loosely holding back Finn, raised her eyebrows a realization popping in her mind. 

“He’s stalling so we can escape” She exclaimed, perhaps that is why he nodded at her. 

“Skywalker's doing this so we can survive. There's gotta be a way out of this mine. Hell, how did he get in here?” The small group of survivors begin to follow a remaining Crystal Critter, in hopes of leading them all to an alternative exit. 

(Y/N) stalled behind the group, glancing out to the fighting force users, something oddly familiar about them both. Flashes of flames and quick movements of blue and purple light danced behind her eyes. “(Y/N) let’s go!” Poe shouted back at her, reluctantly she turned and raced after the group, Leia monitoring the perplexed expression on the girl as her beacon on her wrist began to illuminate...Rey was close. 

Kylo continued to strike at Luke, who easily dodged his advances. “How do you think she would feel about all of this Ben?” The man in black, growled at his words quickly swiping at his uncle.

 “Doesn’t matter, she’s dead because of you!” His words were harsh and accusatory, but his brown eyes were brimming with sadness and vulnerability, Luke had touched a nerve. 

Luke shook his head slightly, “No, that was all you. But I did fail you, Ben. I’m sorry.” The two now stood in front of each other, at a distance. “I'm sure you are! The Resistance is dead. The war is over. And when I kill you, I will have killed the last Jedi” Kylo spit out, anger overflowing. 

The Resistance members came to the end of the tunnel, the Crystal Critter escaping through a tiny hole amongst a massive pile of rocks. “No! NO!” Poe shouted scrambling up the rocks, they were trapped. 

“Amazing. Every word of what you just said was wrong. The Rebellion is reborn today. The war is just beginning. And I will not be the last Jedi.” 

The rocks began to move, bright white light streaming into the tunnel. (Y/N), Poe, and Finn stammered out of the cave first, seeing Rey with her hand outstretched the rocks floating in midair. Finn ran to Rey, the rocks dropping down to the sides, creating a clear path to the Falcon. The two engulf each other into a tight embrace, glad to know the other was safe. 

“Hey let’s get out of here first, then we can do that!” (Y/N) laughed approaching with Poe. The two broke apart and Rey laughed slightly turning to look at the girl, her laugh catching her throat at the sight. The girl had bright (Y/E/C) eyes and a large pink scar tissue on her neck, Rey had seen this girl before. Leia caught the look on the young Jedi’s face, flustered at the sight of (Y/N).

Kylo Ren led a swarm of Stormtroopers into the now empty Mine. He turned and entered the main command center, bending down carefully to retrieve the gold dice lying on the ground. His head snapped up suddenly, feeling the force connect him once again to Rey. The remaining Resistance fighters boarded the Falcon, Rey ushering them all in as she stood at the entrance ramp. She looked down to see Kylo kneeling below, her eyes hardened as they silently stared at each other. Kylo saw a flash of familiar (Y/E/C) eyes in Rey’s mind before she slammed the button, closing the ramp and their connection. The Millenium Falcon took off into space as the group rejoiced in their escape and reuniting with friends. Rey bent down to greet BB-8, while Poe and (Y/N) watched her from the side. The two walked up to greet their savior, “Hi.” 

“Hi” Rey smiled standing back up straight. “I’m Poe” 

“Rey” the two shook hands briefly before her eyes fell back on the scarred girl. 

“(Y/N)” she smiled, outstretching her hand as well. Rey graciously took it, but still looked at the girl confused. How was this possible? From what she had seen it was not.

Rey sat down on a crate, holding Luke’s split lightsaber. She could feel he was gone, but she felt he had not left with pain, but with peace and purpose. Leia placed her hand gently on Rey’s shoulder as she sat down beside her. “How do we build a Rebellion from this?” She looked down to the destroyed lightsaber, that resembled how she felt, split in two. 

Leia’s hand softly was placed over hers, “We have everything we need.” Leia discreetly looked to (Y/N), standing and laughing with Poe and other members. Rey followed her gaze behind her, to the girl who so very much puzzled her. 

“I’ve seen her before in-” 

Rey’s confession was cut short by the General whispering, “In his mind.” Rey nodded, surprised she knew her next words. “Yeah I would imagine you would.” Leia sighed, looking to the unassuming (Y/N). 

“He thinks she’s…” Rey trailed off envisioning the large flames she had seen through the force, listening to Leia’s heavy sigh. 

“They both can never know the truth, Rey. Not while this war rages on.”

 Two Months Later

(Y/N) was squatted down, cautiously maneuvering around in the tall blades of grass. Her blaster was cradled tightly in between her hands, index finger hovering above the trigger. She silently moved around, the blades of grass barely moving, as her face was hardened in determination. An image of black fabric, brushing against blades of grass up ahead, burst into her mind. (Y/N) smirked to herself, tiptoeing forward. A black jacket and black hair wordlessly backed into frame, she quickly pouncing forward and wrapping her hand around their mouth, dragging them back down into her. The person shocked sounds were muffled against her palm as the tiniest sound of blades moving had her whipping around, person still pinned against her chest. (Y/N) pointed her blaster at the wide eyed person who attempted to sneak up behind her, “Gotcha” she grinned. The person quickly held up his hands in resignation. She removed her hand and arm from her prisoner, the man groaning loudly. 

“How do you catch us every time?” Poe demanded turning to face the girl, Finn laughing in the background. (Y/N) only shrugged holstering her blaster back onto her hip. “It’s like you can see the future or something!” (Y/N) shoved Poe laughing as the three turned back, exiting the tall grass and onto the landing strip of the new Resistance base. New recruits jogged past them, sweat making their uniforms discolored. “I’m serious (Y/N), how can you find us every time?” Poe interrogated.

 “I don’t know, maybe you’re just too predictable.” Poe gasped mockingly hurt at (Y/N)’s teasing words. 

The setting sun illuminated a golden C-3PO who shuffled over to the motley crew, “Mr. Dameron and Miss Stryker, the General is looking for you.” Poe and (Y/N) turned to each other questioningly, wondering what they both were needed for. Departing from Finn, the two entered the main building, jogging down the steps and into the command center. 

The General was going over information on a data pad with Lieutenant Connix. “General, you wanted to see us?” Poe questioned leaning against a surrounding table. Leia looked up at the two, some of the best Resistance Fighters in her opinion, and quickly dismissed the Lieutenant and turned her full attention to them. (Y/N) smiled at the woman, who had become like another mother to her since she had recruited her over 9 years ago.

(Y/N) was 19 and bustling with desire to join the Resistance as the First Order rose from the ashes of the Empire to threaten more of the galaxy in the last year. The General had come to Hosnian Prime to discuss urgent matters with members of the Republic, that had included (Y/N)’s adoptive parents. (Y/N) had been carelessly wandering around the palace, waiting for the end of the conference, when she had accidentally bumped into the General. “I’m so very sorry ma’am!” (Y/N) had rushed out steadying the woman before her. 

“Oh it’s alright dea-” The General had looked up at the taller girl, her words dying in her mouth. The General was quiet as she took in the girl before her. She wore dark terracotta colored pants, a white blouse with a long trail, a purple crystal necklace hanging from her neck, and white boots. Her hair was loosely spilling over her shoulders, attempting to hide a pink scar on her neck, (Y/E/C) eyes bright and young.

 “Oh Leia, it seems you’ve met our daughter, (Y/N).” Pryon Stryker spoke up, coming from behind the two. Leia snapped out of her shock and turned to face the Senator. 

“Your daughter?” Leia was dumbfounded, it was not possible. 

“Yes, well adoptive” Yuiera Stryker spoke up, arm intertwined with her husbands. Leia turned back to (Y/N), smiling awkwardly. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Ever since that day, (Y/N) had never left the General’s side, working closely with her and the Resistance, even when the First Order destroyed Hosnian Prime, her adoptive parents with it. (Y/N) had become close to Poe too, the two meeting back in the early days of their training, the two becoming good friends and getting into their own little spurts of trouble. “Yes you two are heading back out on a sensitive mission.” The General informed, both of them relieved to be going back into action and finally getting off of desk duty. 

“What’s the mission?”

 “You two are being sent to a small planet on the outer rim of the galaxy, it’s known heavily for its allegiance to the First Order so-” 

Poe cut the General off with a snide remark, “Let me guess we’re going to have to act like a bunch of First Order sympathizers.” Leia only rolled her eyes and ignored him returning to her plan.

 “There you two will need to try and go undetected and locate and old Rebellion fighter, who claims to have information on the First Order’s new plans.” (Y/N) and Poe nodded stiffly, this mission could either go two ways. “You two will leave at the first sign of daylight.” 

The General dismissed the two and they walked slowly down the far right corridor to their rooms. “So do you think it will be dangerous and daring?” Poe quipped.

 “You’ll be there so we’re bound to find some trouble” (Y/N) smirked, her hand mindlessly going up to trace her faded scar, a constant reminder of her missing life. 

“You think you’re real funny don’t ya?” Poe taunted as the two reached their rooms, directly across from each other. 

“Goodnight Poe.” (Y/N) simply answered before stepping into her small dimly lit room. 

The door slid down behind her as (Y/N) examined the sparse concrete room consisting of: a small dresser stocked with clothes, a small table with a few belongings, and a small bunk. Most members of the Resistance were bunked up with other people, but under certain circumstances (Y/N) was allowed to always be alone. The young woman quickly changed out of her attire and into a faded ivory nightgown and clambered into the small bed, pulling the blue fleece blanket over her. (Y/N) leaned over to turn off the small table lamp and shuffled down into the bed, a restless sleep falling quickly over the girl.

(Y/N) awakened to the smell of smoke and shot up in her small cot. She glanced to the door, hearing the sound of crumbling wood. Quickly she jumped up and rushed outside, her lungs filling with smoke instantly. The temple ahead was engulfed in red and orange flames, screams coming from inside. A dark figure stands in the field, surrounded by bodies lying limp in the grass, “What are you doing? We need to help them!” She screamed at the person, running to aid the burning people. 

(Y/N) was suddenly yanked back by a pair of long arms, “No (Y/N), I can’t lose you too!” A male voice shouts from behind her. She cannot see who he is, but she begs and pleads for him to help the dying soul. She eventually shimmies out of his tight grip and runs inside the temple, the smoke and bright flames overwhelming. She heard the unknown man shout her name from outside, before suddenly a large creaking was heard. (Y/N) looked up to the noise as the roof came tumbling down onto her.

“(Y/N/N) wake up! Wake up!” Someone shook her body roughly when (Y/N) suddenly woke, jolting upwards in bed. She examined her small room, eyes wide with tears, eventually landing on a concerned looking Poe, eyes still heavy with sleep. “You were screaming again.” He frowned quietly. (Y/N) sat quietly for a moment, trembling as she fought back her tears. Her heart was racing and her head pounded, why did she keep having this dream?

 “I’m okay just the nightmare again” (Y/N) whispered hoarsely, eyes looking down at her death grip on the sheets, embarrassment flooding through her. “It’s okay, just breathe” Poe comforted, smoothing down her wild hair.

 “I’m sorry Poe, go back to bed.” She finally looked up to her friend again, trying to smile convincingly. She was not positive if he truly bought it or if sleep was calling him back to his own room. Poe stumbled back towards the door, it shooting upwards to reveal the quiet hallway. He moved to leave, but hesitated, turning back to face the shaking girl. 

“Do you ever remember anything?” The question floated quietly in the night, a tear escaping down (Y/N)’s face.

 “No, I only know what the man told me.” Poe nodded solemnly before leaving, the door closing in his absence. A gutted sound left (Y/N)’s parted lips as she fell back onto her pillow, hot tears rolling down her face. The first memory (Y/N) had was when she was 18, covered in black tar and reeking of smoke, and waking up on a cold steel bench.

She was on the outskirts of a gleaming city, the early morning sunrise casting a golden hue along the towering buildings. Before her, squatting down to her eye level was an older man with his sandy colored hair, gray strands peppering through that and his short beard. Green eyes were intensely watching hers. Panic had began to rise in her, her mind empty, not a single memory or sense of identity within. She could not even remember her name. 

Thick tears began to roll down her ash covered cheeks, “Who am I?” She choked out to the man. 

He let out a small sigh, almost in relief of something, “Your name is (Y/N). You will be safe here I promise.” The man stood to leave, a ship waiting just behind him.

 “No,” She reached forward and caught his cloak with her blackened fingers, “Please don’t leave me”.

 He refused to turn and face her, simply yanking the cloak from her hands, “This is the only way” he whispered and stalked away. 

(Y/N) was left on the bench sobbing for hours, trying to bury herself in her white cloak and hood. The sun was at the high point of mid morning, when an olive skinned woman dressed in a rosy dress, detailed in rich gold colored vines, approached the distraught girl. She had bent down before her, gently wiping away the wet black tears from her face, “What’s your name sweetie?”

 “(Y/N).” 

The woman smiled softly, “Do you have anywhere to go?” 

(Y/N) shook her head more tears spilling out, “I don’t remember.” 

The woman’s eyebrows raised in surprise at that before gesturing for the girl to stand with her. “Come with me darling, everything will be okay. My name is Yuiera. Yueira Stryker.”

[sevi007]

In the morning (there is meaning)

Rating: General Audience

Pairing: Eva x Sparda

Warnings: None, bare captivities from all the sweet fluff

Summary: Eva has known all kinds of mornings, good and bad. These, however, might have been her favorites: The ones where the ones she loved most where right there with her, greeting her before the dawn could.

I will post the link for AO3 in a reblog, since tumblr apparently doesn’t show posts with links in them anymore in the search results? I heard.

Little something I pieced together on my phone, at night, whenever I couldn’t sleep the last week. Pointless fluff in the form of morning cuddles, purring husbands and baby twins.

(I apologize in advance for typos, I’m not really great at typing on my phone. XD)

_____________________________________________________________

Eva couldn’t have said what had woken her when she sleepily blinked her eyes open. One moment she had been deep in dreamless slumber, and the next she was awake, slightly disoriented by the abruptness of it.

Yet it only took her a blurry second or two to note the change in the body pressed up against her.

Familiar warmth, a secure arm resting over her hips, was usual.

The rigidness of muscles and breath held tight in the chest next to her ear, was not.

All the signs of an animal readying itself for the jump.

 Adrenaline rushed through her, pushing away the last threads of sleep still clinging to her mind. Forcing herself to keep her breath even as not make noise and disturb Sparda’s sharp hearing, she waited, ready to get her feet in a moment’s notice if he gave any sign that there was something amiss. While her body kept still, her mind raced – remembering if she had put her weapon well within her reach, figuring out how fast she could be down the hallway and there to protect the twins.

 Then, Sparda realised the breath he had held in a great rush, body gradually relaxing next to her again. Only then did he gaze down to where she was watching him intently. He blinked once, eyebrow arching, - the only sign of surprise she would get - before his features softened and he whispered, “Just the boys.”

That was enough to send a flood of relief through Eva and she sighed, all but collapsing back to the mattress and his side again “Oh, thank god.”

Quiet laughter shook her, and a hand rose to stroke reassuringly through her hair. Soft and comforting enough it would have lulled her to sleep any other time, hadn’t it been for the way her heart was still pounding after that shock.

 Cracking one eye open, she craned her neck to see the window and almost sighed again when she noted there was little to no light streaming in yet. Before sunrise, then. Well. There had been times when the twins hadn’t slept through more than very few hours, so she supposed it was slowly getting better.

The caresses had stopped and she turned to look up and meet Sparda’s gaze. There was a wry smile curling around his lips, and she could tell he was thinking something similar to her own train of thought.

 Before she could comment on it, however, she heard it too, this time – a soft creak outside in the hallway, wood shifting under light steps, the hint of hushed voices.

The door opened with a squeak of its hinges, and a mop of white hair popped up in the gap. Followed by a second one, moving a bit too quickly, the motion knocking the two together. A pained hiss, some shushing, more whispering. A last, decisive hiss. Grumbling that sounded definitely a tad sulky.

Eva and Sparda exchanged a fond look, both barely keeping quiet instead of bursting into laughter.

 “Father?”

The polite voice had both adults shush each other, laughter twinkling in their eyes, before Sparda spoke up, “Yes?”

“Is Mum awake?” This question was slightly louder than the first one, causing more hissing from the twin who had spoken first. “Ah. Sorry.”

“Why don’t you ask me that yourself, boys?” Eva asked, the laugh seeping into her voice. Propping herself up onto her elbow so she could peer over Sparda’s shoulder, she waved at the children. “Good morning!”

“Mum!”

Both small faces fairly glowed with happiness as they spotted her – before dropping into matching frowns, much to Eva’s surprise.

“We didn’t wake you…,” Vergil asked, exchanging a quick, worried look with Dante, “Did we?”

“Can’t be,” Dante insisted, though he didn’t look quite convinced, “We were quiet!”

“Perhaps…”

 “Boys, boys,” knowing this could degenerate into a full-blown discussion if she let it, Eva soothed them instantly, albeit confused. “You didn’t wake me. Why would that be a bad thing, anyway?”  

The boys sobered up immediately, looking extremely serious all of sudden – and Eva almost broke down laughing when she noted just how similar to their father they could look when they wrinkled their noses like…

Yes. That, she thought fondly as Dante sniffled, a picture of offense. “Dad said we’re not allowed to wake you up when you’re sleeping.”

“It’s the rule,” Vergil emphasized, nodding very seriously.

 Hearing that had Eva raising her eyebrows in surprise, blinking. It wasn’t often that Sparda set up rules for the children, something they had agreed upon after his own request. He was convinced, and she understood, that what little he remembered from his own upbringing would not be what they wanted for their children.

It seemed odd now, how this trivial little thing was something he had insisted upon.

Unable to catch her husband’s gaze since he had rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillows, Eva mentally shrugged it off and smiled at the boys instead. “Well, I was awake already. Was there something you two needed, boys?”

A quick glance was a shared between the boys, silently communicating. Dante was the one to turn and pipe up, bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet. “Can we stay here?”

“We couldn’t sleep anymore,” Vergil chimed in. “And will be really quiet.”

“Please?”

 Eva had already started to smile fondly after the first question. Drawing a soft caress down Sparda’s neck with one finger, she waited until he purred, tilting his head back to look at her. The curl of his knowing smirk was all she needed to decide. They were thinking along the same line, as they did so often.  

Pushing herself up and a bit away from her husband, opening up a space between the two of them just big enough for two little boys, she gestured to her sons. “Come here, you two.”

 Given the permission, there was no hesitation from Dante’s side anymore. A brilliant smile stretched over the boy’s face as he rushed across the room, bare feet going taptaptap, before scrambling up onto the mattress and crawling across it, all flailing limbs and pure enthusiasm. He even settled on the direct route to his mother, meaning that he climbed all over the prone form of his father without any consideration.

The distinct, muffled sound of tiny knees and elbows hitting the man was met with a half-hearted grumble from Sparda.  

Even though she knew this was nowhere near something that could actually hurt him, Eva winced sympathetically for her husband. “Sweetie, be a bit more careful with your father.”

Pausing in his climbing, perched atop his father’s broad back, Dante considered that, looking curiously from his mother to his father. As if to prove a point, he jumped one more time up and down – Eva winced again, even though she had to bite back a snort, this little rascal – and wondered, “Why? I don’t think he even noticed me!”

“I did,” came the reply, muffled by the pillow Sparda didn’t lift his face from, “And you would do good to remember that I know quite well how ticklish you are, little one.”

 It was almost comical, how quickly Dante’s grin fell off his face, replaced by a look of wide-eyed horror and sheer offense. With a squeaking yelp, the boy basically leapt from his father’s back straight onto the mattress next to his mother, scrambling to curl into the safety of her arms. “Mum, don’t let him tickle me!”

“Don’t worry, you’re safe,” Eva promised, wrapping one arm around the dramatically whining boy while she faked a glower at her husband. “We ticklish people have to stick together.”

There was laughter in those bright eyes when Sparda turned his had enough so he could blink at the two of them lazily, cocking an eyebrow. He seemed to consider pursuing the subject – with more joking threats most likely – but when he meet the two offended gazes directed his way, he snorted quietly, features softening.

Dante watched warily over his mother’s arm as his father reached out, only to burst out giggling when his nose was tapped gently by one long finger. “Ey!”

“Keep your elbows to yourself, little one,” Sparda’s voice was nearly a purr, deep and lazy. “And I will desist from all tickling.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

 A sudden weight dipping the mattress had all three of them looking down. Vergil, more considerate on some subjects than his brother, had crawled from the foot of the mattress up between the two adults. Kneeling between them, he pondered something, before grinning brightly. “I’m not ticklish.”  

Instantly, Dante pouted again, drawing Eva’s arm tighter around himself as if for comfort. “I don’t want to be, either.”

“You get that from your mother.”

“Oh, it’s Mother’s fault?”

“… Thanks, Mum.”

“Hey!” Eva protested while all her three boys started laughing at her offense, ranging from deep and quiet to high and loud. Rolling her eyes dramatically towards the ceiling, she grumbled, “Oh sure, now I’m the one to blame.”

“Well…”

“Oh, shush,” she ordered the man, snorting loudly when she heard him scoot away from her in jest, as if fearing her wrath.

 Tiny hands tugged at her sleeve and wrapped gently around strands of her hair, drawing her attention from the ceiling back to her sons.

“Don’t worry, Mum,” Vergil started, petting her hair gently.

“We still love you!” Dante declared, tugging insistently at the cloth in his grip.

“Lots and lots!” They both chorused, matching grins stretching from ear to ear.

Warmth and love spread through her, and there was no way Eva could have held onto her playful pouting while met with such earnest affection. She rolled around to have both arms to use and pulled the giggling and laughing boys into an embrace, dropping dozens of kisses all over their faces in rapid succession. “And I love you, lots and lots!”

“Muuuum!”

“I can’t breathe!”

Despite their giggled complaints, both twins enthusiastically met her affections, grapping onto her as best as they could. Once she released them, they both pressed an exaggerated kiss to her cheeks with a loud “Mwah!”.

 All three collapsed onto the mattress in a heap, all sprawled limbs and breathless laughter. They glanced up when a quiet rustle sounded. Sparda drew the previously discarded blanket over them, then simply dropping his arm on top, effectively trapping the twins beneath it. There was more laughter, closer to breathless huffs by now, as Vergil latched onto his father’s arm to keep it where it was, Dante chortling happily while he more distracted his brother than really helped by latching onto Vergil like a teddy bear.

“Enough, now” there was no real sternness in Sparda’s voice, only a fond smiling tinging the words. He indulged the two once more by pulling back just so, nearly lifting both straight of the mattress and into the air, only to let the arm drop again and holding them still where they squirmed, snorting. “You were supposed to be quiet when staying here.”

“Awwww. Okay.”

“Sorry, father.”

Eva watched the whole exchange with a heart ready to burst with affection, smiling widely. Once they had seemingly settled, she leaned over the two boys - Vergil with wide-eyes and a huge smile, Dante basically squirming in excitement - pressing a gentle kiss to each their foreheads.

Low words to rest and sleep well were whispered as they all lay back down and peace set in once again.

 Eva waited, half-drifting off, half-pondering, lulled by the sound of the twins slowly dropping off again, quiet giggles and whispers quieting down to soft breaths.

Finally, she couldn’t hold back anymore, whispering the question still on her mind in the space between them.

“Why that rule?”

It was difficult to whisper low enough to get past the sharp little ears between them, yet she was saved by the fact that the twins had apparently dozed off already, content and in deep slumber in the safe cradle their parents provided.

 A low hum, sounding thoughtful. Then one bright blue eye cracked open, meeting her curious gaze. “We already confirmed that they require less sleep than you do.”

Eva was already about to ask again for the deeper meaning of that ominous answer before it hit her – recalling how tired and dead on her feet when the twins had been little and astounding energy reservoirs, far beyond a human’s already, had kept them going when their mother was already exhausted. Remembering Sparda’s alarm when he had noticed, despite her tries to reassure him, just how close to falling over she had really been.

He hadn’t forgotten a single bit of that.

 Her heart fairly melted and the smile spreading across her face very nearly hurt. Once again, she was utterly enamoured with how thoughtful and kind her partner could be, despite all his struggles to understand human wants and needs.

Reaching under the pillows, she searched for the hand he had slipped under there, interweaving their fingers and squeezing. Even in the dim light, she could see his eyes soften and his lips curl up, thumb rubbing slow circles over the back of her hand.

 “I love you.”

Often said words, yet she meant them every time anew. Perhaps even more so each time she said it.

“And I, you.”

Answering with the same ease as breathing, a fact, cemented by the look of tenderness and wonder in his eyes.

 The arm which had rested protectively over the sleeping twins rose, a gentle hand tucking the blanket further around her as well before Sparda murmured lowly, “Now, try to get some more sleep. These two will wake soon enough and demand attention again.”

Eva laughed soundlessly, snuggling closer to her family and settling back in. “Yes, yes, try pretending you don’t absolutely love it when they want your attention.”

“Why, Eva, I never said anything about not liking it.”

 It was very hard to lie there and not kiss him then, with his grin wide and mischievous and making his face look so much softer and younger, but she managed, barely, aware that she would jostle the boys and wake them up if she tried. So she kept still, squeezing the fingers linked with hers, and returned each caress over the back of her hand with one of her own in an attempt to communicate what she felt.

If the look she received for it was anything to go by, she was understood perfectly well.

 Eva fell asleep again soon after, cradling and being cradled by the ones she loved most, a quiet purr and twin-sounds of easy breathing a lullaby only for her ears, a soft smile on her face.

Her dreams were full of warmth and light, just like her heart right then.

[havecourage-darling]

Rictusempra

Words: 2,037 

Warnings: None

Pairing: George x Reader

A/N: As I said previously, I have a lot in mind for this little mini-series. Hopefully they’ll all be able to read as stand-alones, although they do probably read better in order. I’m a bit sick at the moment so I’ve stayed home from work and watched Sorcerer’s Stone and was inspired to write more and got this out in like five minutes. So, excuse any grammar errors. 

*As a reminder, please note - I’m no longer posting on Tumblr. If you want the continuation of this story, you can find it on AO3 or on my Masterlist.

1. Previous, Diagon Alley | Next, 3. Lightning has struck

“Happy Christmas!” A pair of voices shouted, startling you.

You smacked the closest one to you and Fred yelped.  

“Oi! Woman! Watch the goods!”

“You two promised to stop frightening me after I dropped my cauldron in September!” You reminded them.

George and Fred turned to each other and grabbed their heads, remembering the smell of burnt hair. “Right, right, sorry!”

You rolled your eyes and offered them a candy cane. “Happy Christmas, you two going home?”

“Yeah! Charlie’s coming around for a visit too!”

“Aw man,” you frowned.

“You could still come you know.” Fred tossed an arm around your shoulders. “Mum and Dad love your parents.”

“It’s a bit much really,” George joked.

It was true, your parents had struck up an unlikely friendship with the Weasley family. They’d already written to you about their visits to the Burrow. Your mother had introduced Molly to all her favorite novels while your father took Arthur out on excursions in London.

Molly had already invited you all for Christmas dinner but, you’d already promised your grandparents that you’d be over for a visit.

“Maybe next year? Or on summer holiday?” You suggested and they’d brightened up.

“’Course! You’d be able to meet Bill then,” Fred said.

You grinned. Charlie and Bill are the only two Weasleys you’d yet to meet.

“See you later!” Someone called out. You turned towards the sound and spotted your friends. You waved back to a few of them who’d gotten up from the table, giggling, and hurrying off to the common room.

Your friends always giggled when Fred and George hung around you, pranking you and talking about the latest Quidditch match. Apparently, not many first years regularly became friends with third year students. 

“There they go again, giggling,” you joked, waving again.

“Aw, they’re just little first years!”

You frowned. “Hey!”

George smiled. “I remember being that young Freddie, we had so much planned.”

“Good pranking year that was.” Fred nodded.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re both ridiculous. You’re barely two years older than me.”

“Barely?” Fred stood, mock outrage evident on his face. “I don’t know if you remember but our birthday is in April, badger.”

You only just stopped yourself from wacking them with your bag. Fred and George had greeted you during the welcoming dinner, George grinning and cheering when the hat had shouted – “Hufflepuff!” – with it barely having touched your head.

They’d found you the next morning, a little lost and trying to find your way to Charms.

“Aren’t Hufflepuffs supposed to be good at finding things?” George asked.

“Maybe the hat made a mistake,” Fred grinned, both of them herding you towards the third floor.

“It’s a big school!” You said defensively.

“Come on badger, can’t have you be late for your first class,” George pushed you forward.

“Don’t call me that,” you huffed, climbing the stairs.

“Yeah, come on badger,” Fred said, ignoring your quip, “or else Mum’ll have our heads!”

Since then, the nickname had stuck.

“Will you stop with that-” you started for the thousandth time.

“Oi!” A new voice had shouted.

The three of you looked up and you realized that it was later than you thought. The Great Hall had emptied out, with only a few students lingering behind.

“Can I help you?” You asked as a group of Slytherins walked towards you. You recognized Marcus Flint, a fifth year, who loved scaring and frightening first years.

His nose turned up and his mouth twisted in an unpleasant snarl. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

You felt yourself flush and Fred stood up quickly, standing close to your left shoulder.

“Yeah?” He asked, an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. “What do you want Flint?”

George came up behind your right, hand on your shoulder, as if reassuring you. Flint’s eyes immediately zeroed in onto his hand and he snorted delightedly.

“Of course you two are hanging around the likes of her,” he said, his two friends laughing as well.

“The likes of me?” You asked,

“A dirty mudblood! The Weasleys were always known for having more kids than they can afford and even worse, being blood traitors,” he spat.

You hadn’t understood much of what he was saying, but by the way George and Fred gasped you’d gathered that it was an insult. The Weasleys had always been kind to you and more than welcoming. Your blood boiled at the thought of someone being rude towards them.

“How dare you!” George shouted, outraged in a manner you had never seen before.

“Now you’re in for it-”

“Mr. Flint! Mr. Weasleys!” Professor Flitwick’s voice came from the entrance.

You turned to see Fred and George beet red and expressions furious. You took advantage of Flint’s distraction and launched yourself at him.

He shrieked and went down like a rock. You sat on his stomach and whipped out your wand.

“Stop that!” The professor’s footsteps quickened but you were faster.

“Rictusempra!” You shouted and both of Flint’s friends went down, laughing and clutching their sides.

Flint was busy trying to buckle you off him but you started wacking him with your books.

“You!” –wack- “Do not!” –wack- “Insult!” –wack- “The Weasleys!” –wack- “In front!” –wack­- “Of me!”

“Young lady! Get off him this instant!” Professor Flitwick demanded.

Instead, you started hitting harder.

“Get ‘er off me!” Flint yelled, arms around his face, trying to push you off him.

“Mr. Weasley! Grab a hold of her!”

Fred stayed where he was. “But Professor – he does deserve it – he called her a-”

“Don’t say it or I’ll join her and crack his big head open,” George scowled.

“Mr. Weasley!”

“He called her a mudblood!” Fred exclaimed.

At that, Professor Flitwick inhaled sharply and Flint had finally managed to buckle you off him. You landed by George’s feet and he helped you stand.

“All of you, in my office, now!”  

///

You all received a long and stern lecture from the Professor. Once he’d seemingly tired himself out, he dismissed you all. “Mr. Flint, I do expect you to show up promptly to detention!”

You winced, you’d all received detention up until the holiday break.

Flint scowled but nodded as he and his group scrambled out. You three turned to walk out but Professor Flitwick called out your name. “Stay behind for a moment.”

Fred and George turned back to look at you but you waved them on.

“Yes, Professor?” Your eyes focused on your shoes.

“Professor Sprout and Professor McGonagall speak very highly of you, you’re on track to be top of your year. I daresay you’ll be Prefect and Head Girl one day. I would hate to see that ruined by anymore bad behavior.”

“Of course,” you said, chagrined. “I really am sorry Professor, I just – they said such horrible things about the Weasleys and I couldn’t just stand there-”

“About the Weasleys?” He asked, brows furrowed. “Mr. Weasley said Mr. Flint had-”

“-he said awful things about them Professor!” You crossed your arms. “We weren’t bothering anyone, honest, and he started-”

“Violence is never the answer,” he said calmly, interrupting your rant, a knowing look in his eyes.

You deflated and nodded, eyes back onto your shoes.

“That being said,” he said slowly, “I would like to commend you for standing up for your friends. I’ll award ten points to Hufflepuff for the expert use of an advanced charm. I’ve never seen a first year take so quickly to Charms like yourself.”

Your head snapped up and you saw Professor Flitwick’s small smile.

“Thank you Professor! It’s because I have a great teacher-”

His face turned bright red and he huffed, pleased. “Alright, alright, that’s enough. Go on, straight to bed.”

You grinned and jogged towards the doors.

“-and take Mister Fred and George Weasley with you! I don’t want to hear them roaming the halls this late!”

As predicted, Fred and George were waiting for you by the end of the corridor.

“Did he yell at you some more?” Fred asked worriedly.

“A little,” you smiled and lowered your voice. “He congratulated me on performing an advanced charm.”

“Wicked,” Fred said, eyeing you with respect. “I always knew you’d be a wild card, thought you’d just be a Gryffindor to be honest.” You rolled your eyes. “How’d you know how to do that anyway?”

You grinned and shrugged. “I read a lot of books. Professor Flitwick always let me stay after to practice my wand work – so does McGonagall and Sprout.”

Fred and George rolled their eyes at you and you laughed.

“What? It’s all new to me! I can’t imagine what it’d be like growing up into a world like this.”

They laughed and you smiled. “I’m sorry they were so rude, does that happen a lot?” You asked.

You occasionally hung around the twins or studied with Percy when you were both in the library but, being a first year didn’t allow for your schedules to match up often. This had been the first time you’d seen Flint around them, so you weren’t sure if he was a constant bully.

“I couldn’t believe how rude he was about your family.” You were getting worked up all over again.

“Flint’s a moron – wait, what?” George said, both of them stopping.

“What, what?” You turned around and looked at them. “What do you mean?”

“We’re angry because of what he said – what he called you,” Fred sputtered. “Why were you angry?”

“Because of what he said about your family,” you said, eyes narrowing. “What was that he said? Blood traitors? I don’t know what it means exactly but, you both looked so offended I knew it had to be bad.”

They stared at you in silence for a beat until you grew uncomfortable.

“Guys!”

George laughed, a little incredulously, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Will one of you tell me what’s going on?”

Fred smiled. “We weren’t upset about that, they’re really uncreative with their insults those three.”

“You numpty. You went crazy on them because of what they said about us?”

You nodded and then a light when off in your head. “You’re upset because of what he called me – what was it?”

Their smiles dropped from their faces. “It’s a foul word, he crossed the line.”

“What was it?”

They shook their heads and you huffed in frustration. You tried to think back and remembered after a moment. “Muddle? Mudblood?” You said uncertain.

George scowled and Fred sighed. “It’s a horrible term for someone who’s muggleborn. Someone who hasn’t got magical parents or a magical family.”

“Oh,” you rolled your eyes and shrugged.

“Oh?” he said, voice high in outrage.

You shrugged. “I don’t care what they call me, silly. I’m not ashamed of my parents or of being muggleborn,” you smiled. “Anyone who does care – doesn’t need to be around me. Besides, it’s just a word of a mean fourth year.”

Fred and George stared at you uncertainly. “Well, you took that well.”

You smiled and walked back to link your arms with theirs. “Come on you two, I’ll teach you how to sneak into the kitchens.”

Fred grinned, excited. “I knew you’d come in handy!”

You rolled your eyes and he cheered, running a few feet ahead of you.

George, however, dropped his arm and took your hand in his. You furrowed your brows and tilted your head back to look at him. “Alright?” You asked.

He shook his head at you. “I can’t believe you took on three fourth years on your own. You didn’t even use magic on Flint - you – you’re something.”

You grinned and squeezed his hand gratefully. “Hufflepuffs aren’t such pushovers huh?” You joked.

George threw his head back and laughed. You couldn’t help but be warmed by the sound of it.

You both stared at each other for a moment, your stomach fluttering, when suddenly a blush rose from his neck. Before you could say anything – Fred’s voice boomed down the hallway.

“Will you two walk faster? The kitchen is calling our names!”

You laughed and walked forward, feeling flustered yourself.

“Come on Georgie.” You turned back to him and smiled. “Let’s go before Fred wakes up the entire castle.”

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: Vol. 5 A Perfect Storm

This is a re-posting from January 20th, 2018 in an effort to get all my recaps fully on tumblr. Thanks!

It might not seem like it given that it's already late January, but one of my New Year's resolutions is to post more consistently on this blog, starting with the RWBY recaps I've been severely neglecting. Today was Volume Five's finale, so I'm desperately behind, but I figure everyone could use a refresher, right?

"A Perfect Storm" picks up with Cinder, Watts, Emerald, and Mercury invading Raven's camp. Raven herself is sitting all alone while sharpening her weapon—an isolated, depressing shot that rises up to show us the space and splendor of her tent, making Raven appear rather small in comparison—though honestly I've got no sympathy for her at this point in the series. When Vernal arrives and relays the situation, Raven's only response is, "Salem... okay,” and a comment that they’ve prepared for this moment. As she mentioned to Yang, Raven is thoroughly convinced that Salem is both impossible to beat or outrun—at least for forever. Unlike our heroes she's resigned herself to the supposed impossibility of victory and isn't even willing to put up a fight beyond what it takes to keep herself and her tribe safe from day by day.

Raven tells Vernal to grab her helmet, an order I originally read just as an intimidation tactic given that Raven has no intention of fighting Cinder now. After the events of “Vault of the Spring Maiden” though… boy was I fooled.

More on that in the twelfth recap though.

Now I can't recall if I've mentioned this in previous posts, but I think it’s worth pointing out that Raven reminds me of Roman a great deal. Both of them abide by the old saying of, 'If you can't beat them, join them,' though Raven is more concerned with the lives of family and friends than Roman ever was, with the exception of Neo. Still, RWBY isn't a show that has much in the way of middle ground: the good guys are thoroughly good and the bad guys are thoroughly bad. Even if some characters (like Ozpin) make choices that we see as cruel or self-serving, the narrative itself usually doesn't present them as such. We've seen hints of ambiguity elsewhere--in Sienna, Emerald, Iilia, and Hazel--but Sienna was (presumably) killed off, Emerald's shock over the Grimm's creation quickly turned back to devotion for Cinder, Iilia turned 'good' in the span of two episodes (more on that in the next recap), and Hazel's non-violent approach is really just a smokescreen; as we see later, he's very willing to fight and kill provided that it's in his interest. So really, the characters that can't be neatly slotted into black or white moral categories are few and far between, so despite my own dislike of Raven I'm very glad she's on the show.

She's RWBY's Snape: you're a terrible person, but a terrific character.

Raven reams out her followers for not attacking the intruders and Cinder plays the role of a humble guest, claiming that Raven shouldn't be too hard on them, they simply "recognize the power of a Maiden when they see it." Ha. Another fantastic line after Episode twelve's reveal. Still, can't blame the camp for holding back on attacking four of Salem's finest when, you know, they recently got their asses kicked by a teenager.

You gotta love Yang.

After giving an order to pack up camp, Watts comments that it's a little late to be running. Raven has been on "their master's list" for some time. I really enjoy the titles associated with Salem. She's the arrogant Watts' "master," Tyrian's "queen" and "goddess." Language has always been a powerful tool and by positioning herself as their superior not just in displays of overt strength, but in smaller ways like how they address her even outside of her presence, Salem helps to cultivate the kind of fear that has paralyzed Raven. She can still roast the underlings though.

"Two children you've tricked into following you, a disgraced Atlesian scientist, and a Fall Maiden with a surname so appropriate she probably picked it herself."

They literally can't come back from that.

Speaking of egomania, Watts feels the need to point out that he was also a doctor, which is... a rather fascinating comment. Now granted, we don't have any actual evidence for this yet, but a lot of people are theorizing that he may have been the one to perform surgery on Ironwood. We already know that Watts is creating a new tail for Tyrian. And though plenty of characters have lost limbs in RWBY, Ironwood is the first person we've seen with half his body just gone. Dust and technical advances aside, I can only assume that a surgery like this comes with a huge amount of risk, and a doctor/scientist with a willingness to play fast and loose with morals would be the perfect guy to attempt such a staggering feat. If this comment is a nod towards Ironwood's past, it has a lot of great implications: was Watts once respected enough to perform surgery on a general? Does Ironwood feel indebted to him? Or, perhaps, did Watts achieve something that Ironwood may not have wanted?

Whether any of this is true--or has anything to do with how Watts became "disgraced"--remains to be seen.

There's some more threats thrown about until Raven calls out Vernal.

Cinder: "So this is the long lost Spring Maiden."

(What was that about recognizing Maidens? And I'm sorry, but they JUST got done admitting that Cinder most likely chose her last name herself--Ozpin's magic isn't choosing Maidens based on whether their names appropriately synch up with the power they're given. So isn't she just a little bit suspicious that the Spring Maiden is named Vernal?)

(Apparently not.)

(Cinder isn't nearly as smart as she thinks she is.)

Of course, Raven has Vernal display a bit of her power and I have to be frank here, I was pretty disappointed. Yes, this was just a demonstration--proof more than anything else--but after all the cool stuff we've seen Amber and Cinder do (and after the lack of battles so far this Volume) the most we get is Vernal summoning some clouds and wind? I found it rather underwhelming. Although I did appreciate the separate reactions: Watts, Mercury, and Emerald all bear down when the wind picks up, hiding their faces from what's supposed to come across as extreme power. Cinder, meanwhile, can't take her eyes off Vernal, a rather hungry smirk on her face. Regardless of how her story turns out, there's little doubt that Cinder's lust for power will ultimately play a part in her downfall.

"Vernal has done well under my guidance." That has a rather different meaning post-episode twelve. This episode is chock-full of twists and turns. This also becomes a rather significant line post-finale...  

For now though Raven makes it clear that if they want a fight they're not going to go down easy, and Cinder makes it clear that her little threats aren't scary and Salem is all powerful, blah blah blah. Each insists that the other shouldn't underestimate her and yet each continues to do so. They're both rather arrogant, huh?

Cinder says they've come with an "olive branch." What, there are Greeks in Remnant? A community where olives are such an influential part of the economy and culture that the branches of their trees became symbols of peace? I’m joking of course, though I do find it rather fascinating where we draw the line at fantasy. Can you have déjà vu in Remnant if there’s not a France to derive the term from? A faux pas, an hours d’oeuvre, lingerie, or even cafes?

(We’ve borrowed a lot from the French, obviously.)

Anyway, Cinder's olive branch is a flimsy offering at best. If Raven uses Vernal to help them steal the relic in Haven--their true goal, rather than getting the Maidens themselves--she'll let her and her tribe go on their merry way, left alone from here on out.

Yeah right.

Raven doesn't believe it for a second either. Notice her, "Backed me into a corner, huh?" and how Raven actually steps back, as if scared. Please. Raven is not the type to show fear, ever, which means that this little display is all for show. She wants Cinder to think she really is backed into a corner, that she's desperate, scrambling, all to hide the fact that Raven has a trick of her own up her sleeve...

She says that pacts like this are built on trust and since she doesn't trust them she'll need a bit more incentive. Raven announces that she wants her brother dead and this is the most unintentionally funny moment in all of RWBY for me. Just look at them.

Yes, Qrow is a fearsome Huntsmen. Yes, he's proven time and time again that both his skill and his tenacity are not to be underestimated. But still, the fact that we have two extremely powerful fighters, an egotistical scientist, and a Maiden all freaking out at the prospect of fighting what's essentially a drunk birb is pretty hilarious to me. It gets even better when Emerald points out that it won't just be the four of them against Qrow, "The students will be with him--he has Ruby!"

You know your evil league needs a bit of work when you get this nervous over a handful of kids and the two years younger half-pint with a sunny disposition.

Team RWBY/JNR are making a name for themselves and it's excellent.

The solution to Watts' worry about this drawing too much attention is to "wait until the full moon" when the White Fang attacks. This implies that 1. they were indeed originally planning to just slip into Haven one random day, securing the relic before the fight for the school even begins--which is smart considering that after the fact, when Ozpin realizes that the relic has gone missing, he would have assumed it happened during the White Fang's attack. But 2. ... why the full moon? We already know that there's something up with that poor, astronomical body, but could a full moon provide some sort of advantage? A power boost? Or is Salem just a glutton for drama and fancy aesthetics?

I mean she obviously is, I just don't know if the moon has other implications.

Surely there must be something to the "I May Fall" lyrics:

When the moon is gone / And we've reached our ends / I may fall...

Watts believes firmly that this isn't about securing Raven's help or even causing general chaos among the side of the light: Cinder just wants the chance to fight Ruby again, given her "grudge against the child." I'm inclined to disagree a bit based on what we see in later episodes. Cinder seems to have moved beyond a specific vendetta and into the realm of a generalized, 'let the whole world burn so long as I have power' mentality. Either that, or she's far better at hiding her emotions than I'm giving her credit for, but we'll dive into that later.

She literally burns Watts for talking back to her though lol - "Fly back home and tinker with your machines." This is a wonderful little moment that reminds us of the hierarchy at work here. Cinder has no problem ordering Watts around in the same manner she would Emerald or Mercury, despite the difference in age and expertise.

As a handshake solidifies the supposed trust between Cinder and Raven, we cut back to Iilia's attack on the Belladonna household. A shot of the palace with muffled gunfire inside... never a good way to open a scene.

We finally get to see Ghira in action and I have to say, I'm a big fan of his fighting style. It's an excellent blend of a tank's technique and an animal's instincts, moving between throwing a spear with precision to literally climbing the walls. We've already seen that the Faunus do possess traits intrinsic to the animal they represent--Blake is obsessed with fish, is easily distracted by a laser pointer, etc.--so this 'wild' style isn't coming out of left field. The Faunus are certainly discriminated against for not being human, yet it's their non-human characteristics that remain one of their best assets.

In short, Ghira kicks the brothers' asses, even if his aura does take some hits along the way.

Not that he can do it alone. Yes, Sun shows up just in time to keep the random White Fang member from shooting Ghira while hidden behind a pillar. Doesn't mean I suddenly like him in this arc. Ghira himself says that Blake keeps "reassuring him that your friend [Sun] isn't a complete waste of space. Let's see him prove it" and honestly that line reads as a direct address to the audience. Yes, please prove that the side-character you shoe-horned into the main plot isn't as useless as he's appeared for two Volumes running. Please.

"I won't let you down, sir!"

"Shut up."

"You got it."

Well, at least he listens to Ghira's requests if not Blake's...

As the two charge full-speed at the brothers we cut back to Raven in her tent, a parallel to the opening scene, here the imagery is tight--claustrophobic--and Raven herself is bent with head in hand. It's also notable that beyond the artifacts near the foot of her bed we have a large, empty bottle of alcohol right by the pillow. You can see four more bottles a few cuts later. Looks like Qrow isn't the only one in the family with a drinking problem.

Vernal comes back from following Cinder and the others--an example of talent I wish the show had a chance to explore more. Raven confirms that of course Salem isn't going to leave them be once she has the relic in hand, "Once our purpose has come and gone we'll be discarded." Either Raven is just paranoid, or this says a lot about Salem's motivations. She doesn't kill people because they're a threat, she kills them because they're useless and she can.

They plan to steal the relic for themselves as it's their best defense at this point. Why is a little unclear. Certainly possessing the relic will force Salem to come after her with more vigor than she would if Raven was just another discarded pawn, but perhaps possessing it has some offensive power? There's certainly been much speculation that Ozpin in one of his previous reincarnations won the war through the use of a relic.

Vernal is warned that this won't be an easy path and she says that she'll do whatever it takes. Famous last words, folks. Raven remains a hypocrite here, satisfied at the unwavering courage yet refusing to take a true stand herself.

We get a shot of Raven in her bird form flying over the camp, the familiar sound of her portal, and then she's in Mistral, her flight taking us to a shot of Qrow drinking alone at the house. He perks up at the sound of a raven's caw. Wouldn't you?

Our adorable farm boy pops in just long enough to say that Ozpin needs to speak with him and Qrow sighs like much of the fandom sighs. As much as I’m enjoying the characterization, this really is the Volume for long-winded discussions.

Luckily we end on a more energetic note. I have a lot to say about Iilia's upcoming redemption, but I'll admit that the details here are well done: she's hanging in the library away from the battle against Ghira or Kali, implying that she might be willing to lead the attack, but she's not willing to get her own hands dirty. Yet. She also resists drawing her weapon until Blake draws hers. In short, she's conflicted.

Iilia's arc is messy though and ultimately I think it's one of the weakest aspects of this Volume, if not the whole show, but we'll delve into that in the next recap.

Until then <3

Other Details of Note

"Oh yeah, tell that to--" I’m curious as to who Mercury was going to list as evidence for why Raven should fear him. His dad? Yang? Ozpin or any of the others who fell at Beacon? Getting that full sentence would have given us a clearer look into the roll Mercury thinks he's playing in all this.

Given Raven's hatred of Ozpin, specifically for how he recruits kids to fight a war she thinks is impossible to win, I wonder if Raven has any sympathy for Emerald and Mercury, the two kids that were "tricked" into following Cinder. Maybe she and Hazel will get the chance to chat sometime.

Raven says she doesn't want any part in helping Salem or Oz, but "that ship sailed when you decided to harbor a Maiden." Ooooh. Another loaded sentence in retrospect...

We obviously know by now that eye color in RWBY is incredibly important, be it in connection to lineage, magic, or semblances. It wasn't until this episode that I noticed what a peculiar green Watts' eyes are. At this point I don't think it means anything, just a notable detail.

I love Blake's use of ice dust in this fight, letting the brothers attack her while planning to get them stuck in her shadow-clone. We rarely get to see Blake's technique beyond using Gambol Shroud to launch Yang at the nearest target, so a bit of creative strategy is great to see. And the picture of her shadow crumbling with a smile on its face... nice touch

Oscar is calling Ozpin 'Oz' now, aww. Nothing like the friendship achieved through forcing two souls to inhabit one body!