#also i love rhyme and reason so much.
celebrated my birthday w/ my friends today & felt possibly the most loved i have ever felt in years. maybe life IS worth living <3
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waterborne poetry you will always be famous
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soooo. that new big time rush album huh
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ik im talking a lot abt the books im reading rn (this is due to the fact that after eons of not having the time or energy i am once again reading books) but theydies i can happily announce that after 2 unsuccessful weapons and wielders books soulbrand has truly captured my enamoration once again i’m kissing keras lovingly and tenderly (the only way to kiss him)
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what kind of music do you like?
Songs that go bee boo boo bop boo boo beep boop boop bop
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i am about to sleep but i wanted to ask what your favorite poem is? will you tell me about it? what you love and why it’s your favorite? do you like any of its translations? i love you. i hope you have a good day 🥰
(〒﹏〒) beloved thank you for the question!!! As per usual I am incapable of choosing just one of a thing, so I actually have two favourite poems, one in french and one in english (because poetry in french and in english can be pretty different since the codes and models and expectations aren't always the same!) They're the two poems I can recite and know by heart haha.
The english one is Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost. I really like the last stanza (like everyone else) but also just the way when you say it out loud it does feel like a quiet moment watching the snow fall all on your own. I found it recently accompanying a fic (two different fics actually but the second time I knew it) and it entranced me!
The french one is Chanson d'Automne by Paul Verlaine. It's a classic in France, some of its lines were used as a signal for saboteurs during WWII and there's an urban legend it was used to signal the landing in Normandy. I personally had to learn it by heart in primary school (I think in 4th grade?) and it just stuck with me. I like it for the way it feels to me and the images it evokes, but also just because it was the first poem I learnt by heart and being able to recite a poem is an easily overlooked comfort of life (insert those posts and quotes about art being vital and what we need to be able to turn to in dark or light times)
Other poems I like include Remords Posthume and L'Albatros by Baudelaire, Le Dormeur du Val by Rimbaud, Le Déserteur and Je Voudrais Pas Crever by Boris Vian, Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden, and Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath. The french ones I studied in school, and I found the english ones on my own (I feel like I found both in Johnlock fics?? but I might be wrong about Funeral Blues, it's been years) I included english translations where I could for the french ones, and they're not necessarily incredible but they should let you get the vibe. If one of them speaks to you I can try to explain what makes it tick! My personal anecdotes with those because that's half the fun: we had to analyse Remords Posthume for literature class with my best friend K, and what's really cool about it is the last line, "et le ver rongera ta peau comme un remords", because it plays on the homonymy between ver, the worm, and vers, the line of poetry, meaning she will be devoured physically by worms since she'll be dead but also that his verses, his poem, will make her feel remorse; I like the albatross analogy because I was a weird kid who felt comfortable with books but not with my peers; Le Dormeur du Val is extremely extremely sad and beautiful and I think Rimbaud was a very interesting guy; technically Le Déserteur is a song and not a poem but I first saw the text without knowing that so for me it's a poem forever now, and I love talking about the original versus final ending thing; the YouTube channel Le Mock did an excellent reading of Je Voudrais Pas Crever and it's a jewel, I love it so so much; Funeral Blues was the first english poem I ever liked (or maybe read honestly) and I wrote it on the cover of my 10th grade english notebook (because the teacher was great and said that if we forgot to do our homework he wouldn't punish us if we could recite a poem for him, so I wrote it down and tried to learn if by heart in case I forgot my homework); and Mad Girl's Love Song features in a fic I read a few weeks ago and I just think it's neat. I probably forgot some but those are the ones I remember right now (edit: ADA LIMÓN!! I FORGOT ADA LIMÓN!!! Accident Report in the Tall, Tall Weeds (the I can't help it, I love the way men love poem) hit me in the chest the first time I read it and it's so so good)
My favourites (and most of the poems I like actually) are pretty popular because I'm not really into poetry that much on my own. I get attached to poems once I see how they work inside and analyse them, but I don't sit down and decide to analyse some poem from Les Fleurs du Mal at random because it feels like homework, and I don't go looking for poetry because I'm very hit or miss (I get bored at long winded descriptions in those 4-part 7-pages poems and a lot of things trip up my instinctual Pretentiousness Radar™, and while it's not necessarily accurate it does turn me off poems). So I just stay with the basics, but that's fine, because the comfort of carrying poems with you is there whatever the poem is y'know?
Also question, do americans learn poetry in school? I assume you must analyse some in literature class, but I don't know if you learn poems when you're young. I know we also do lots of La Fontaine's Fables, though I personally never did, but learning poems to recite in primary school is a thing almost everyone has done here I think.
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Just finished The Book Eaters by Sunyi Dean for a book club and it was. Fine? I guess? Legitimately the most 🤷 book ever. It wasn’t bad at all—I actually thought that the writing style was pretty appealing—it just didn’t compel me
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I was all in for the end of this book, the twists feeling a bit chaotic but entertaining and reasonable, until the conclusion was a cop shooting an unarmed teenager holding a broken walkie-talkie. The text says she was "acting on instinct." The author is British, sure, but fuck almighty they have the news in the UK. They know what's been happening in the US. This narrative choice is irredeemable, no matter how many times the author had the officer say, "What have I done?" after the fact. You don't get to co-opt real struggles of Black Americans to make a big bombastic pop for the end of your novel. And you sure as hell don't try to make the cop sympathetic after the fact.
I am incredibly disappointed.
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While we’re on the subject of names, is there an explanation for how traditional nicknames came about that are seemingly unrelated to, or have little in common with, the original name?
ie- John/Jack, Richard/Dick, Henry/Harry/Hank, Charles/Chuck, Margaret/Peggy/Daisy, Sarah/Sally, Mary/Molly, Anne/Nan, etc
I am actually over a week into researching a huge follow-up post (probably more than one if I’m being honest) about the history of nickname usage, so I will be going into this in much, much more detail at a hopefully not-so-later date - if I have not lost my mind. (Two days ago I spent three hours chasing down a source lead that turned out to be a typographical error from 1727 that was then quoted in source after source for the next 150 years.)
As a preview though, here’s some info about the names you mentioned:
The origins of a good portion of common English nicknames come down to the simple fact that people really, really like rhyming things. Will 🠞Bill, Rob🠞Bob, Rick🠞Dick, Meg🠞Peg.
It may seem like a weird reason, but how many of you have known an Anna/Hannah-Banana? I exclusively refer to my Mom’s cat as Toes even though her name is Moe (Moesie-Toesies 🠞 Toesies 🠞 Toes).
Jack likely evolved from the use of the Middle English diminutive suffix “-chen” - pronounced (and often spelled) “-kyn” or “kin”. The use of -chen as a diminutive suffix still endures in modern German - as in “liebchen” = sweetheart (lieb “love” + -chen).
John (Jan) 🠞 Jankin 🠞 Jackin 🠞 Jack.
Hank was also originally a nickname for John from the same source. I and J were not distinct letters in English until the 17th Century. “Iankin” would have been nearly indistinguishable in pronunciation from “Hankin” due to H-dropping. It’s believed to have switched over to being a nickname for Henry in early Colonial America due to the English being exposed to the Dutch nickname for Henrik - “Henk”.
Harry is thought to be a remnant of how Henry was pronounced up until the early modern era. The name was introduced to England during the Norman conquest as the French Henri (On-REE). The already muted nasal n was dropped in the English pronunciation. With a lack of standardized spelling, the two names were used interchangeably in records throughout the middle ages. So all the early English King Henrys would have written their name Henry and pronounced it Harry.
Sally and Molly likely developed simply because little kids can’t say R’s or L’s. Mary 🠞 Mawy 🠞 Molly. Sary 🠞 Sawy 🠞 Sally.
Daisy became a nickname for Margaret because in French garden daisies are called marguerites.
Nan for Anne is an example of a very cool linguistic process called rebracketing, where two words that are often said/written together transfer letters/morphemes over time. The English use of “an” instead of “a” before words beginning with vowels is a common cause of rebracketing. For example: the Middle English “an eute” became “a newt”, and “a napron” became “an apron”. In the case of nicknames the use of the archaic possessive “mine” is often the culprit. “Mine Anne” over time became “My Nan” as “mine” fell out of use. Ned and Nell have the same origin.
Oddly enough the word “nickname” is itself a result of rebracketing, from the Middle English “an eke (meaning additional) name”.
I realized earlier this week that my cat (Toe’s sister) also has a rebracketing nickname. Her name is Mina, but I call her Nom Nom - formed by me being very annoying and saying her name a bunch of time in a row - miNAMiNAMiNAM.
Chuck is a very modern (20th century) nickname which I’ll have to get back to you on as I started my research in the 16th century and am only up to the 1810s so far lol.
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And so, the stars aligned. Pt. 2
Azriel x Archeron!Sister reader
Summary: Azriel knew you can't read. And he knows you would never admit it. So he tricks you into taking reading lessons.
Warnings: Slight mentions of nightmares.
part one part three, Part Four
Masterlist
Requests are open!!
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You had come into your room to grab something. And had lost every train of thought as you saw the note neatly placed on top of the book you carted around for show- not quite sloppy hand writing but it was clearly male and in a rush. A...stick figure drawing of you? Clearly Feyre had not drawn this. But there is an attention to detail, your hair is colored correctly, and your eyes also the right shade- or as close as you could get in crayon. Truthfully, it could have been anyone female but since it was in your room, it was safe to assume. And then a book- the library? Is that where this mystery would be solved. You were far too curious now to just not go.
And so, you folded the note up and put in into one of your pockets. Heading down there quickly. The only sound as you enter is the clicking of your shoes. Looking around you, and making your way over to Clotho's desk. The priest doesn’t look up at you but quickly writes, 'Ah, y/n to what do we owe the pleasure?'
You smile and pull out the note to show it to her. "It seems- I was summoned." Clotho's amusement oozes off her and she simple writes.
'Go down to level five and you should find what you're looking for.' Squinting suspiciously at her for just a second you debate listening. But that is your inner Nesta speaking, and as much as you loved your oldest sister you didn't want to be completely like her. So, complying with a general order wouldn’t be an issue.
Thanking Clotho quickly you make your way down to the fifth level. And you could have throttled Azriel as he looked over at you with a set of children's books, letter sheets and pencils. He was leisurely sitting there, legs crossed, his ankle resting on his thigh. Arms crossed as he looked at you. And knowing him, while his face remained neutral- he had a feline smirk just like Rhys’s on the inside. Stomping over, crossing your arms and glaring down at the Illyrian man you hiss, "What are you doing?"
"Teaching you how to read." He answers simply, not even slightly phased by your intense gaze. The shadows that normally linger around him aren’t there, instead- as if to mock how little of a threat you are- they pool at his feet like a dog. You'd have to talk to Nesta about getting that icy glare down pat.
"You're still on about that?" You scuff, turning on your heel to leave him with his silly ideas. But before you can get far, a gentle but rough hand grabs your elbow.
"If you can read, then I'll accept I was wrong and even buy you dinner." Azriel compromises. But he knew better, he saw the way your eyes glazed over when they looked at your book and there was no rhyme or reason as to when you flipped the page. Normally people had consistency when they were reading, You had none. Even when Nesta was reading smut there was consistency to it- albeit the page turns got faster but it was still consistent.
You were convinced you could do this. You didn't need him to know this about you. Not even your sisters knew- sure Nesta and Elain probably had inklings to it but you were just six when poverty struck. They were just kids too, it wasn't there job to teach you. Sitting down at the table you looked at the page. It was easy- just trace the letters. You could do that. So you picked up the pencil and started. And once you were done you slid it over to him. "See?"
He nods, taking the sheet and looking it over. Nodding as he examines the work. Then he sets it down and meets your intense eyes, but he doesn't shy away. He takes the first book off the stack. It was a young child's book- it should be a breeze for someone of your age. Prick. You think as he slides it over and folds his hands on the table. Watching the way your eyes widen. Your breathing hitches and there's a slight tremble to your hands as you take the book. He knows that look in your eyes- it's the one Feyre gets when she's calculating a plan. And he couldn't deny that he was slightly excited to see what you'd come up with.
Flipping open the book you know what he's probably looking for is some sortive consistency, so you'd let your eyes look at each word and then flip the page. And so, that's what you did. Finding it hard to keep up your little deception with his eyes focused so intensely on you. But you got to the end of the book and closed it with a triumphant smack. Looking back up at him- before you can open your mouth to speak, Azriel looks at you and asks. "What was it about?"
Shit. Fuck. You didn't look at the pictures! You quickly look down at the book and see a dog and a young boy on the cover. "Its about a dog and his owner." You say as evenly as you can manage for how fast your heart was beating. Azriel raises an eyebrow. Silently waiting for more. "When did you get so expressive?" You ask to quickly change the subject.
"I don't have to be on guard here. There is no one else around. And the priestess won't judge me for showing an emotion." He addresses your question simply, smoothly. Damn him and his stupid sliver tongue. He was the Shadowsinger! Of course he knew how to evade topics and questions to redirect to what he wanted! He taps the book in between the two of you again. And you look at his hands, scars running all along them, and of course you had know that. But it was the first time that you saw them this clearly. And as much as you wanted to get out of this situation- you knew that question was out of the question. "What is this about?" His voice remains gentle, but slightly stern.
Azriel watches you for any signs. He had seen many of them- you were a bad liar. Your emotions written all over your face. Your eyes, they showed everything. How no one else saw it astonished him. And for a second, as he watches how you look down at the book with apprehension and sorrow, that you quickly wash away once your gazes meet again...he sees your resolve break.
"Fine." You say quietly. "I can't read." Your cheeks heat at the confession- it felt so...so...mortifying that you were now twenty, an immortal High Fae and had no idea how to read. "Please don't tell the others." The last thing you wanted was for your sisters to look at you with that pitiful look they always seemed to give you when you mentioned something. Let alone, how awful it make you feel if Nesta fell back into her vices. Granted you knew Cassian wouldn’t let that happen.
He thinks his heart might just burst for a moment. Seeing you so somber. Azriel had watched you from the second you were dumped out of that Cauldron. Shaking, crying, gasping for air. The first thing you did was try and push it over so your sisters wouldn’t bare the same fate. And for the first few weeks after, when he heard your screams in the middle of the night. He'd make sure you were alright, given you the space to talk to him if needed. You rarely took the opportunity. Pushing him away despite him reaching out. Keeping him at an arms length for reasons he didn’t understand. Time, though. Everyone kept telling him with time, you’d come around. But you pushed him right into Elain. Not that he hated your older sister. No, far from it. They were good friends, they could talk for hours about anything and everything. But she wasn't you. She wasn't his. She had her mate, and Rhys has made it clear to him that despite his feelings toward her- they could never be. Lucian wouldn't accept it until she flat out rejected him, and even then they had no idea what the other male would do. Rhys didn't want to loose his brother over a girl. And while Azriel grumbled and snarled at him, deep down. He knew that he was right.
But watching you, moving through the Night Court with a smile that didn't reach your eyes and a grace that rivaled Elain's...Hearing your laugh in a crowed room and smiling into his drink. He knew that you made yourself seem happy, chipper, played the part of the sweet younger sister for everyone. So looking at you now, as your cheeks burn red and tears threaten to spill out of your eyes. He'd do anything he could to make sure you'd never look like that again. Azriel gently takes your hand, letting his thumb swipe over your knuckles as you look up at him. "I won't tell a soul."
And you believe him. The sincerity in his eyes, he's got no reason to lie to you. But you can't help the smile that creeps up. "Thank you."
And a comfortable silence falls as you both continue to look at each other and let your thoughts run free. Before Azriel clears his throat- and you were about 87% sure that there was a blush creeping in. "I can continue to teach you, if you'd like."
Looking down at the book in between you, where your hand was still in his. Tracing the lines of his scars gently, you nodded. "I think i'd like that."
Azriel didn't bother to hide his smile.
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a/n: This got very long, very fast. But I hope you all like it! Let me know if there is anything else you guys wanna see! And if y’all wanna be added to the tag list, let me know! :3
tag list: @sidthedollface2 @cat-or-kitten @impossibelle @brunette-barbie1220 @scatteredstardustt @sammanna @cherry-cin @tele86 @judig92
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yandere jjk thoughts
warning:: nsfw! i’m eighteen and you should be too! hints of kidnapping, non-con, and coercion. nothing is ever really explicitly stated but - still.
a/n: there’s no real rhyme or reason behind this - winter is just my favorite time to snuggle up and read about crazy ppl. also i wrote this in lowercase originally so u see a spot i missed, no u didnt. u can leave requests for different characters if u wanna
Gojo Satoru
In no world could I ever imagine Gojo Satoru treating you like a real human being.
He is the strongest. There is no one who could destroy him. He can see all. And the issue isn’t just that he’s the best, it’s that he’s been told that since the day he opened his bright eyes. He has a big ego and it’s justified because there is no one better than him.
And sure he’ll indulge you. He'll laugh at your jokes and console you when you cry. But in the back of his mind, in every kiss to your forehead, in every smile, there will always be a domineering aspect. Because he knows that you are insignificant in the grand scheme of the world. you are only important because he deemed you worth something.
You’re not quite a toy or a pet to him. You’re more like - an indoor plant to him. Something that needs nurturing from his caring hands, watering and sunlight granted to you by him. You adapt and grow according to his needs and his conditions. But at the same time, you are to be cherished. never handled too roughly, case you begin to wilt. You don’t have to do much but sit and be nurtured and be pretty while he gives you whatever he deems necessary for your survival.
It fascinates him, really, how simple your little life is. How much you don’t know and never will know because as a flower, all you need to understand is that water and sunlight and love are given to you before you’ll even realize that you need it.
But you still have a job to be pretty and sometimes that’s sitting on the bed, still, as he observes you or bouncing on his cock. It just depends on the day.
Geto Suguru
Suguru is a calm man, a quiet man. He makes decisions based on logic. He is not exactly one for emotional outbursts, and even at his angriest, he rarely raises his voice.
But you.
A little non-sorcerer that can’t even see curses somehow made him look twice. Little unimportant you constantly runs through his mind. What you’re doing, what you’ve eaten, what places you’ve gone to. Who you’ve talked to, who your friends are. Your hobbies, your interests. Your lips and your eyes and that special something between your legs.
Just thinking about you, even innocently, makes him harden. It’s uncomfortable, it’s infuriating, it’s maddening.
He thought, surely someone in your family was a sorcerer, a powerful one at that. But no, your family is normal. You are, genetically, as average as they come.
He doesn’t treat you softly at first, doesn’t have a mind to. You’re a filthy little nothing, after all. When he fucks, he fucks without care. Suguru treats you like a doll, not made of porcelain but made of cloth, one he can throw around and still be in decent condition. He keeps a hand pressed to your mouth, to keep your voice down. A blindfold around your eyes so he doesn’t have to look into them. Your hands are bound behind your back so you don't touch him even by accident. Flat on your stomach, unable to see or feel or say anything is how you find yourself every time. He doesn’t even come inside of you, the only thing you’re grateful for.
It’s scary, how roughly he treats you. But it’s downright terrifying when he begins to lay softer hands upon you, begins to kiss instead of bite, caress instead of pinch.
Nanami Kento
He is a very traditional and stern man.
You are, silly, to him. stumbling and bumping and in general, unsure of yourself and what to do. But he sees potential. Even when you’ve tripped over thin air or broken something by accident, there’s a certain grace to your movements. A grace he wants to harvest and invest in.
And while he wants to give you direction, he also doesn’t have the patience or time to teach you like he wants. So, it’s best to ‘learn on the job’ when it comes to Kento.
Learn how to cook his favorite meals and bake the sweets he loves just right. When he’s okay with speaking and when he needs quiet. Remembering to kiss him goodbye every morning and remove his coat for him every night.
Learn how to suck his cock right - which vein is most sensitive, when to suckle and gag and slurp, what noises to make, and remember to always always swallow. He hates messes after all.
Learn his favorite positions. The lingerie sets he like best. How loudly he wants you to be. Accept his cum in your tummy with a smile.
It’s not hard - please him and you will be rewarded. Rewarded with pleasure, with time outside, with gentle hands.
And if you stumble or forget, he will easily remind you of your job.
Mahito
You’re his personal entertainment. You’re an experiment.
Mahito is incredibly laid-back, even lazy to an extent. He lets you roam and explore and fall. He doesn’t care what you do as long as you stay within the four walls he’s placed you in.
It's hard to understand him. For a curse, he’s always laughing, finding almost child-like joy in the most odd things. Whether that’s watching an animal documentary or wondering if a human’s neck can extend like the turtles on TV.
One thing you do know is that he likes games and he likes playing with you. The only problem is you don’t when the game starts and ends, the rules or even if you’re playing right. Oftentimes, you find yourself playing a game that you don’t know the rules of and Mahito has named himself the gamekeeper.
He usually starts by asking a question. Something simple like “What time did you wake up?” or “What did you eat today?”. You find out the hard way that no matter what you say, you’re always wrong.
Say you woke up at ten? Then you’ll find yourself pressing into the mattress, drooling on your pillow as he drills you, punishing you for waking so late in the day. You had a slice of cake earlier? Then don’t be surprised when you’re in the kitchen licking icing off his cock as punishment for an unhealthy lunch.
Itadori Yuuji
He's the jock that gave you a chance. That made you feel special and pretty and popular.
He's sweet. He gives you his hoodie when you’re cold. He drives you home after school. Buys you lunch when you can’t afford it. Takes you on nice dates.
He wants you sitting front row at all his games, wearing his varsity jacket so everyone knows you’re his girl. He twirls you and kisses you in front of the whole school when he wins, the whole thing right of a cheesy rom-com.
But, surely, you didn’t think he was doing all that for free? No, he wants compensation. He deserves a reward for treating you so sweetly. It's only fair.
It doesn’t matter if you’re ‘not ready’. No, no, you’re just nervous, sweetheart. But he’ll be gentle with you so calm down. Yeah, calm down when he slides a hand up your skirt on a date to the movies. Be quiet when he asks you for head in the janitor’s closet between classes. And don’t make a fuss when he slips his cock inside of you, raw, even though you begged him to use a condom.
‘Rubbers hurt,’ he says. ‘It feels better raw’,’ he pleads. ‘Don’t worry - I'll pull out.,’ he promises.
And you better be understanding when he comes inside of you. Afterall, he’ll buy you a plan b.
Choso
Whatever you do, do not stress this man.
He’s going through enough as is. The last thing he needs from you is any attitude or ungratefulness. Even an upset face will have you with your knees pushed beside your head and Choso making you scream, all while watching you with that same tired expression.
Choso is the oldest of ten siblings. He is used to dealing with bratty behavior. He handles your tantrums with grace - once you’ve finished throwing things and screaming, he’ll only ask if you're finished. And then he will be upon you.
But, beyond punishment, he is caring and quiet. He prefers it when you speak, likes it when you prattle on about your day or your favorite show. He likes it when you’re happy.
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The more I dig into the Voyager rewatch, and the more I see Janeway is giving in more and more to the Valkyrie she's always inside. The more intriguing Janeway is. I already think she's great but digging deeper into Janeway is amazing.
I keep thinking of how Janeway holds on to the Starfleet regulations and it makes me think of that Doctor Who quote and how she fits the description to a tee:
"Good men don't need rules. Today is not the day to find out why I have so many."
I feel this is Janeway -- she has rules for a reason, she's not evil but she also knows she can go very, very far.
Janeway has been through a brutal border skirmish in the conflict with the Cardassians. She downplays it but, how Kate Mulgrew, it feels like there was a lot more there.
She ranked up from Lieutenant, not because of being a Science Officer but because she's a decorated vet in a bloody siege, where they won.
As we've seen from Sige of AR-558 and the episode in Strange New Worlds ground combat is a whole different beast from ship-to-ship battle.
(Tom looks like a zombie in the last one btw)
Also, IMO, she's one of the more inventive tacticians in Starfleet-- the way she used the torpedoes in Year of Hell as a mine was amazing!
That's a great naval tactic shit. Hot girl navy.
But also, Janeway fits so much the Doctor Who, Good Man Goes to War rhyme:
Demons run when a good man goes to war. Night will fall and drown the sun, when a good man goes to war. Friendship dies and true love lies, night will fall and the dark will rise, when a good man goes to war.
It's also true of Janeway that when the three people that form the basis of Janeway's mental health died and/or became very sick, Admiral Endgame Janeway happened. And then she destroyed the Borg.
Janeway needs rules for a reason.
/edited
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ahh hi tella!!! so happy that ur writing for obx :) i need to see how rafe would handle a latina sweeetheart 🎀 maybe she’s kie’s cousin? i just know he’d probably be such a cocky jerk ughhhhhh thx babe
omg i am blushing just thinking about this xo
you were laid on the warmed surface of your towel, leaning on your forearms as your sun kissed skin continued the drink in the intense rays, your white, cherry covered bikini clashing perfectly against your tanned complexion, you loved days at the beach, i mean, what better way to kill time, than to eat fresh fruits and listen to your favorite music, while taking in the stunning north carolina sun for all of its glory?
you continued to lay back, your sunglasses shielding your eyes as you hummed along to the amy winehouse song that flowed through your speakers. the sudden shadow that overtook your vision, now causing you to remove your sunglasses, your eyes squinted as you took in the sight of your cousin - kiara carrera.
your chest visibly rose and fell as you sighed, your squinted frown fading into a gleeful smile, “what’s up, kie?” you asked, your wispy eyelashes batting as she hastily dropped herself onto the sand beside you.
she quickly looked over her shoulder, rolling her eyes as she returned her attention back to you, her arm reaching over you stomach as she grabbed a red grape that sat in the sweaty sand-covered container that rested by your waist, “nothing, it’s just jj being — jj,” she sighed, popping the small fruit into her mouth.
you liked jj, platonically, of course.
“he seems nice,” you chirped, turning onto your stomach, the cherry decorated bikini bottoms that you wore, now wedged between the plush cheeks of your ass as it faced the warm sun.
kiara shrugs with a slight shake of her head, you could tell that she wanted to say more, but decided against it, the moment her eyes fell on your back.
your nails clashed against one another as you undid the knot that secured your bikini top, and concealed your perky breasts, eager to get as much of an even tan as possible, “why are you looking at me like that?” you questioned, reaching for a grape.
“i dunno — maybe it’s because you just undid your top?” kiara countered sarcastically.
you stuck out your tongue, placing the grape into your mouth, soft biting into the crispy fruit before resting the side of your cheek against the surface of your hand, “but, i hate tanlines,” you pouted with a laugh.
you and kiara were thick as thieves, and sure, the reasoning for why you had to live with your cousin wasn’t the most pleasant — but she loved having you around. you were raised as sisters, both of you holding the most intimate details about the other. and boy, did you both balance each other out well! you were bubbly and were quick to let anyone in, which served to be a detriment to you at times, nevertheless, you were a hopeless romantic who made it her business to find beauty in even the most mundane of things.
as you would say, you loved everything that was pretty. your blown-out hair was always shining, wispy eyelashes always curled immaculately, supple lips glazed in shimmery gloss, acrylic-enforced nails always painted in varying shades of pink or a simple french design. you loved wearing clothes that would show off your lower back and midriff - why? no rhyme or reason, you just like how it looked.
you had a heart of gold, wrapped in a bow, making it easy for those around you to be pulled into you and your dreamy ways.
it also made it just as easy for you to end up hurt and taken advantage of.
you and kiara remained engrossed in each other, laughter emitting from the both of you, “so, are you going to stay for the kegger or are we going home for dinner?” kie questioned, a smile remaining on her lips as she watched you try to tame your overwhelming fit of laughter.
you spoke with a giggle, “i don’t know, i promised tio that i’d help him with dinner, one of these days,” you whined, your innocent eyes searching kiara’s for any kind of pull towards your decision.
“okay, well we need to decide soon, before-” kiara began, her words ceasing as a large shadow suddenly towered over the two of you.
you straightened your neck, looking up through your lashes as the tall guy crouched down, your eyes following as he leveled with you. fuck, he was hot.
“shit, kie, y’didn’t tell me you had a secret hot sister,” the guy spoke, his bright blue eyes cutting into yours as swallowed thickly, your glossy lips now running dry.
you tried to remain as still as possible, your eyes widening at the realization that your bikini top was still untied.
“fuck off, rafe, she’s my cousin,” kiara scoffed with disgust.
you remained entranced by the guy, rafe, who kept his bright eyes on yours, a smirk tugging on his lips as he took a quick look over your shoulder, tilting his head at the sight of your untied top and barely-there bottoms.
“ah, cousin?” he asked mockingly, licking over his lips, “does this cousin of yours have a name?” he pushed, the glint of his chain peeking out from his crisp t-shirt now catching your eye.
you sweetly revealed your name, your oh-so slight accent spilling through as you subconsciously batted your pretty lashes up at rafe, “and you are,” you smiled, a toothy grin.
“rafe cameron,” he spoke sternly, ignoring kiara’s protests with a roll of his eyes as he leaned closer to you, until his lips reached your ear, “i’d shake your hand, but i wouldn’t want everyone at this beach to see what you got under there,” he cooed, his condescending tone like silk in your ears.
you couldn’t help but blush like a schoolgirl, much to your cousin’s dismay.
rafe decided to make push just a little bit more, “may i?” he spoke rhetorically, his large hands sliding down your shoulder blades.
“rafe, what the fu-”
you remained still, refusing to make eye contact with kiara as rafe tied the strings of your bikini top into a secure knot, “relax, kie - m’just making her decent,” he pulled away, standing firmly of his feet.
you’d be lying, if you said that you rafe’s hands against your warmed skin didn’t excite you. his touch was oddly tantalizing for you as you were forced to ignore the subtle ache that pulsed between your legs.
you pushed yourself off of your front, now standing directly across from rafe, his eyes shamelessly drinking in the sight of your chest as he was especially intrigued by the tan line that was revealed by the shifted cup of your bikini top.
“thank you, rafe” you spoke softly, holding out your hand as you took in the staggering height difference between you and the man before you, his buzz cut hair causing you to bashfully bite down into the sticky swell of your bottom lip.
rafe accepted your hand, the sound of his name rolling off of your tongue causing blood to rush to his length as he let out a dry chuckle, enclosing his fingers around your hand, watching closely as your breath slightly hitched from his subtle grip on your hand. you two remained like this for a beat as rafe sized you up — he could smell just how genuine and sweet you were, his mind carelessly wandering to how you’d look under him, taking him for all he has. you were much smaller than him, and it ticked a region in his tainted mind that suddenly ached to have you around in any way possible.
the sudden cut of a deep voice calling out didn’t even faze rafe as his lips curved into a smile, “yo! rafe, i’ve been looking everywhere for you man,” a taller blond guy appeared beside rafe.
rafe softly released your hand, before wiping the corners of his mouth with his index finger and thumb, exhaling sharply as he faced the blond, “well, top, i’ve been busy catchin’ up with good ol’ kie, and her pretty little cousin that’s she’s been hiding from us.”
the taller blond glanced at you, he was quicker to size you up, before redirecting rafe back into his original conversation. kiara softly grabbed your arm, carrying your speaker and container of grapes.
“let’s go home,” she nudged her head towards the street, completely privy to how dumbstruck rafe had made you. she could tell that you liked it and refused to ever allow rafe to get his hands on you.
at least, not when she was around.
“oh, okay,” you mumbled defeatedly, reaching down to grab your towel from the sand, quickly turning to face rafe who watched intently as you walked away.
“bye,” you mouthed with a small wave, before turning around to catch up with your feverish cousin.
rafe continued to feign interest in whatever the fuck topper was talking about, his eyes set on your body as you walked farther and father away from him. god, he loved the way your ass bounced with each step you took. in his fucked mind, he knew that kiara was right to keep you hidden, but now since you weren’t hidden, at least not from him, he knew that it would only be a matter of time before you were his, and his only.
of course, you being such a willing sweetheart made it all the more easier for him.
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