#So I've also been in a bit more pain than usual the past few days

[galactichelium]

I'm very not good at making icons for myself, whether it be an edit of an already existing drawing or drawing it myself. And it sucks man. When will I finally have an icon with the exact right vibe I want it to have

[binniesbooks]

hi fayebae(again), clearly our convo from insta got to my head, once again feeding ur soobin delulu(that's what I'm here for) bf!soobin x reader! (soobin and reader is dating and are living together)

it was mayb a few days before your cycle, which meant that you were hornier than usual. you waited for soobin to get home from work until you fell asleep. let's say your horny thoughts were really apparent as while you were having wet dreams, your moans were also happening in real time. and that's what soobin came back to. you moaning his name, asking him to fuck you deeper.

soobin couldn't hold back his thoughts either, and ended up joining you in bed. he starts leaving kisses along your prominent jawline, which he loved so much, until he reached your mouth, giving you soft pecks to wake you up from your slumber.

you were shocked when you realized that everything happening in your dream was happening to you in real time.

"wanna tell me what you were dreaming of? i heard you moaning my name and I want in on it." soobin said

(you alr know!! SMUT SMUT SMUT LETS GO hehe i hope it awakes smth in you gahh <33) enjoy~

• ENGAGEMENT RING

SB 000 .F23 2024

wc 2.9k

pairings officeworkerbf!Soobin x ovulatingfem!reader

warnings slight fingering, edging, marking, breeding kink, cum play, mention of marriage (+ anything I've missed)

faye's note this would be special for my fellow moas who has sharp features like me. (I think this fic would come out a little bit biased than the others, please don't roast me 😖 I have a prominent jawline, and she's just feeding my delusions these past few weeks 😭😂) I just had to do it. Nevertheless, I hope you still enjoy this one, please just disregard the personalized features 😖😖😖)

"Bin, seriously! My back hurts so damn much," you groaned as you tried massaging your back for the nth time today.

Your body has been aching for a while now as your cycle was nearing. And there were no other symptoms to check, other than your aching lower back and a pounding headache.

Soobin was panicking, again. He doesn't know what to do first. Should he check on the food that he was cooking, answer the ringing phone, or attend to your needs?

You chuckled as you watched him pace around, not knowing what to do.

"Turn off the stove first, loverboy. Then answer the phone." You were now sprawled out on the couch. You tried your best to stretch, straighten, and relax your back. It just felt like you were being torn into two.

"Yes, I sent it already. All right. Let's check it tomorrow." Soobin was speaking to someone on the phone. Maybe his manager?

"Is something wrong?" you asked when he hangs up.

Soobin hums, sitting down on the couch in the free space just above your head.

"I think my manager misplaced, no, probably deleted the file I sent him," he said, gently stroking your hair.

You moved up a bit, making his thigh a makeshift pillow as you nuzzled your face against his abdomen.

"You're gonna go out early tomorrow then?" Your voice muffled with his shirt as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

"Looks like it," he sighs. "Lay on your stomach, I'll give you a massage," he adds.

"Dun' wanna," you pout, burying your face more in his abdomen.

"Come on, little bun," he coos, still running his fingers through your hair.

You eventually gave up. Especially since you were feeling so sore and achy in your lower back. Soobin gave you a massage just enough to ease the pain in your back. Not too much pressure, not too little.

After eating dinner and watching him do the dishes—he doesn't want you to do it, of course—you trudged your way to the bathroom. You wanted a warm bath. And a warm bath should be shared by two, right?

"Soobin," you warned. Soobin was planting wet kisses on your shoulder as you two were soaked in the water. The tub is overflowing as you two move.

"Yes, little bun," he answered innocently as he grinned.

"I wanted to relax," you said, rolling your eyes as you leaned on his chest, your head resting on his shoulder.

"Relax then. I know you're cycle is near, I just want you closer to me," Soobin muttered under his breath as he wrapped his arms around you. Your eyes were closed, relaxed from the steam coming from your warm bath, until you felt a wet, cold, slimy thing touch your skin.

"Hmm, Soob..." Your voice came out soft and whiny.

Soobin continued kissing and licking your shoulder. His kisses became open-mouthed as they traveled up to your neck.

"Fuck, Bin h-hah..." you squirmed, clutching his hand that was wrapped around you, tilting your head sideways to give more access to your neck.

"Ahh!" You yelped as you felt him sucking on your skin. His tongue is dancing across the red mark on your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

"Bin, please..." He knows you want more. He could feel it. Five years of dating isn't nothing, he totally knows you now. What you want and what you don't.

Soobin pulled away, rubbing the mark with his finger. "Let's go and dry up, we might end up catching a cold," he announced.

"Soobin!" You screamed when he got out of the tub and grabbed the towels. He was silently smiling to himself. He got you all worked up, only leaving you wanting more.

After slipping on your pajamas, you quickly buried yourself in bed. Creating a huge distance between the two of you, pouting at what he just did.

Soobin stretched his hand out to reach your waist, trying to pull you closer. You swat his hand and place your pillows between the two of you. "Don't get any closer, I hate you," you pouted. Soobin only chuckled at you. He didn't move, and you fell into a deep slumber.

You woke up with a warm feeling on your cheeks. You snuggled closer to what you thought was your pillow, but weren't pillows supposed to be soft? They are in no way hard at all. You couldn't remember a time when you had a hard and warm pillow.

You opened your eyes to meet a shirtless man—your boyfriend. You were snuggled close to him, with his arm acting as your pillow. But his arm wasn't on your waist, it was just laying on his own waist.

"Hey Mr. Bunny, didn't I tell you not to get close to me?" You gently poked his chest, causing him to groan as he woke up.

"Hmm?" Soobin hums, clueless as to what was happening.

"I said, I told you not to get close to me, and you're even shirtless," you nagged.

"Excuse me, Miss Ma'am, you were the one who snuggled close to me, in this hot season at that." He yawns, his voice deep, hoarse, and sleepy.

"Why would I do that?" You questioned, still angry about last night.

"You don't believe me, don't you?" he chuckled, "Check the CCTV."

Your eyes flew towards the CCTV on the corner ceiling, flashing a small red light, almost invisible to bare eyes. You clicked your tongue, you know that CCTV footage could stand as big evidence.

"I hate you, Bin," you muttered, burying your face in his neck as you ran your hands along his fairly toned chest and abs before wrapping your arms around his waist.

"Mhm, I love you too, little bun," he said, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head.

"What do you want for breakfast?" You asked, still feeling his body warmth radiating off of him.

"Little bun, I want some morning sex," he whispered, gently stroking your hair.

"Don't joke around like that. You're not the one to want those types of things." You pinched his waist as he chuckled, wincing from your pinch.

"You need to get up now, you're going out, right? I'll cook something for breakfast real quick." You sat down on the edge of your bed, fixing your hair. Soobin only sprawled his whole body on the bed. "Wake me up when breakfast is ready, I still want to sleep." His lips were pouty as he uttered his plea.

You gently tapped Soobin's shoulder to wake him up. "Bin. Wake up now, you're gonna be late," you whispered. Soobin grunts and only stirs for a bit before continuing to sleep.

"Loverboy, wake up now." You dipped your head down, kissing his shoulder.

Soobin's eyes flutter with your warm lips touching his fair skin. He smiles to himself, realizing you're giving him shoulder kisses.

Soobin turns, pulling you in for a kiss and a tight hug. Getting up to start preparing for the day.

"I'll get going now, little bun. Take care of yourself, 'mkay? I love you, sweetie," Soobin kissed the tip of your nose before closing the front door. You heard the car engine switch up and the faint sound as he drove away.

You plopped down on the couch, watching your favorite show, when your doorbell rang.

It's not Soobin, you're sure. He never rings the doorbell.

You peeked outside from the window, and you saw a delivery guy standing in front of your house. You open the door slightly, keeping the chain lock intact, just to be sure. You don't want your boyfriend to come home and find you dead.

"Ma'am there's delivery for Mr.... Choi Soobin?" The delivery guy reads the package. It was a small box. "Please sign here as you receive the package," he added.

You thanked the delivery guy and watched him stride away before locking your door.

You sat on the couch once again, turning off the TV as you searched for a cutter or a pair of scissors in the drawer just beside your couch.

You carefully cut the package. It's not yours, but Soobin never questioned you, even when you kept opening his packages. At least he knows it's safe.

You opened the small box, and a shiny little piece of jewelry was neatly sitting inside the box. Your initials and his surname were written in small letters, on a pendant.

You smiled, chuckling to yourself as you wore the necklace and took a picture of yourself. Your jawline was prominent as you looked sideways, taking multiple shots to send him.

Loverboy <3

You: I just received a package, loverboy. I love you :* [5 image attached]

Loverboy: Oh, I even forgot that. That's supposed to be my gift to you, but it was shipped so late. It looks pretty on you, little bun. You're so pretty. I love you so much :)

You felt so excited wearing the necklace, however, your shared apartment always felt empty whenever Soobin was out. It was boring. It was plain. It was just a building whenever he was out—a complete contrast to a home whenever he was with you inside.

After you've completed the chores you were supposed to do, eating your late lunch, and sneaking in an ice cream, the food coma kicks in.

You felt so sleepy, so you headed inside your room. "I'm just gonna take a small nap and wait for him," you muttered, scrolling through your phone to shake off your sleepiness.

You stopped scrolling when you saw a video in your gallery—it was Soobin, and it was a mirror shot. He's shirtless, only wearing his work slacks, and you were on his lap, his dress shirt only draped over your shoulder.

And you were reminded once again about last night. How he kept on fueling your heat only to leave you unsatisfied.

Your ovulation wasn't helping either. Feeling a lot more horny than usual. Especially with your boyfriend being as hot as freshly made bread.

You're body felt on fire as you clicked the video, he was moaning as you kept grinding above him. You played it so many times that it even served as a lullaby to you, slowly lulling you to sleep.

You didn't know how long you were asleep. It was only supposed to be an afternoon nap, but you haven't woken up yet. You didn't even notice the sound of the engine turning off in your garage. Nor the click of the key on the front door. And even the opening of the door to your bedroom.

Soobin watched your sweaty figure sleeping on the bed. Your brows are creasing, your fingers are twitching, and you are clutching the sheets. Small whines and soft whimpers are coming out of your mouth.

His eyes caught the phone warning for a low battery. Soobin swiped on the phone, almost throwing it back to the bed with how hot the phone was. The short video is on replay.

"Soobin..." His head snaps towards your figure as he watches you squirm.

"B-bin... More. N-need you..." You were whimpering. Soobin felt his tiredness suddenly melt away as he felt his cock twitch underneath his pants.

"Please... Deeper ohh, fuck..." Your moans were so soft that they made his stomach twist. You sounded so subby.

Soobin sat beside your sleeping figure, gently caressing your cheeks. Carefully putting away your hair strands, that were stuck against your sweaty forehead.

"Mmmph!" Your head turns to the side, as you rub your thighs together.

Soobin couldn't hold it any longer either. He dipped his head down, kissing your exposed and prominent jawline.

This was only one of the things he really loved about you. Your unique features. Your sharp facial feature completely contrasted with your soft heart.

Your breathy moans made the hair on his nape stand up, it felt too arousing for him. Especially how your lips were being caught between your teeth as you kept on clutching on the sheets.

Quickly slipping out of his buttoned shirt, he bends down once again, gently grabbing both of your wrists to pin them above your head as he continues to kiss your jawline. Soobin left pretty marks on the junction of your neck and shoulder, making him more worked up as your moans got more high-pitched.

His lips move back to your jawline, and he pulls back a little to hover above you, giving you small pecks on your lips as he slowly grinds above you. His hard and throbbing cock felt choked inside his pants.

Your eyes flutter open, grunting at the heavy feeling. Your eyes are meeting his pretty ones.

"Wanna... Wanna tell me what're you dreaming about, little bun? Hm?" Soobin asked, staring down at you, brushing his tongue over his red lips.

"You keep on moaning my name, it's making me feel aroused, you know," he grunts, bucking his hips.

"B-bin?" Your eyes widened, realizing this was not a dream. The real deal was already in front of you, no, above you, rather.

"Yes, pretty. The owner of the name you k-kept on moaning, hah..." His hips started rolling again as his eyes caught the dainty chain wrapped around your neck. "You look beautiful, it suits you," he muttered, barely above a whisper.

"Please," you whined, feeling his hardness pressing on you.

"You don't have to beg this time, I'll gladly give it to you." Soobin pressed on your wrists above your head with only a single hand, while the other travels down your body, feeling your curves.

"My beautiful lady." You bit your lower lip as you looked at him in the eye, doe eyes pleading for more intimate skin contact.

"L-let's get married, soon. I n-need you to carry my babies," he stutters as blush crept on his cheeks.

You nodded, wanting to be with him forever and build a family together.

"Are you on the pill?" he asked, unzipping his pants with a single hand.

"N-no," you whispered. "There's a condom in the draw--"

"Can we do it raw? Fuck, please." His hand is now pulling your pajama shorts away. "Please, baby. Let's do it raw, please," he begs.

You felt the swirl of butterflies in your stomach. You haven't seen this side of Soobin yet. It feels new yet excitingly familiar. Being with Soobin, he had always practiced safe sex. Begging you to take the pill every time and always check to see if there's still a condom left.

"O-okay loverboy. Let's have it your way." You smiled at him, nodding.

Soobin lets go of your wrists, making you wrap one hand around his nape and the other on his back.

"You can be as wild as you want, bun."

Soobin slides in slowly, making you feel raw for the first time. It felt so different. You could feel every vein and curve of his cock. His warm shaft felt hot inside your wet cunt. Your head thrown back to the pillow as he pushes, reeling in the new feeling.

"H-hah! Fuck, S-soobin!" You let out a wanton moan.

"Mhhmp!" he buried his face in your neck as he thrust slowly, loving the new and raw feeling too.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, as you pulled him impossibly closer to you as your other hand clawed on his back.

"Hell..." Soobin winces at the pain from your nails clawing against his back. Maybe it was just him, but they felt sharper against his skin. Multiple long red marks are now visible on his back.

His thrusts were painstakingly slow. He was obviously living in the moment.

His lips and tongue wander on your skin once again. Leaving wet kisses and hickeys along your shoulder and chin. One of his hands sits under your head, holding you still. The other carefully massaging your mound.

"Lil bun... Baby..." he whispers, his pace slowly getting a bit faster.

Your answers turned out to be moans, whines, whimpers, and groans. You couldn't form coherent words.

"Will," he pauses, giving you one harsh thrust. "Will you marry me?"

You were lucky you could even let out a chuckle after receiving a harsh thrust.

"W-will you marry me, y/n?" He asked once again, his thrusts became harder and faster.

"Fuck, ahh! Y-yes!" You held his arm tight, jaw clenching at his fast pace.

"Mmmph! Ahh.." he tried muffling his moans by keeping his mouth closed and just letting out breathy moans.

"B-bin, I'm c-close..." You whined, your hands flying towards your mouth to cover it.

"Be loud," he commands, prying both of your hands away from your mouth.

One more harsh thrust pushed you to the edge, cumming and creaming on his cock, as a wanton moan of pleasure and overstimulation washed over you.

The hot and sloppy feeling made Soobin reach his own orgasm, spurting inside your walls.

He sweeps his hair back, still thrusting inside you from time to time, making sure you'll carry his babies.

Soobin pulls out, some of your mixed essences spilling through your hole. Soobin swipes a glob of it.

He then grabbed one of your hands, swiping the glob of cum on your ring finger in a circular manner.

"I'll ask again, will you marry me?" he chuckled.

"You're really dirty, Choi Soobin, but yes," you answered, smiling ear to ear, still catching your breath.

"Let's see who's the dirty one," he taunts as he swipes his finger once again on your seeping hole, making you suck on his digits.

"My pretty and dirty wife," he smirked as you looked at him with eyes full of lust. Deliciously sucking every drop from his fingers.

@binniesbooks 2024

[always-andromeda]

𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 2,685

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ A lull in your relationship with Javi leads to some revelations about both of your interests.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ so this was a new one for me. this piece is part of @iamasaddie's kinky writing challenge for May and my pairing was Javi G with impact play. I am happy to report that I enjoyed researching this more than I thought I would? I found some really interesting kink blogs that kind of walked me through safe practices and it started to paint the picture in my mind that would become this fanfic. big disclaimer: I've never practiced impact play in real life. my depiction of it comes primarily from the research I've done and what I know of my own personal preferences and I've tried my best to depict a healthy dynamic. so if I'm getting something wrong or I'm depicting anything in an unhealthy way, feel free to let me know!! divider credits go to @saradika-graphics!!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ smut (minors, do not interact), impact play, oral (female receiving), aftercare, pet names (hermosa, baby), reader is given no physical description aside from being able bodied, allusions to past negative experiences with sex (nothing specific is described), a little bit of soft!dom/switch Javi, please let me know if any more are needed!

It’s not that you weren’t satisfied with Javi. The sex had almost always been fine. Hell, most times it was fantastic; better than anything you’d had before. There certainly wasn’t any love lost between you and him. You’d always adore him and the beautiful life you’d built with him by the sea in Mallorca. 

At first you thought it might have been the passing of time that spurred this particular…yearning. After all, don’t most couples go through these patches after a few years? But it quickly became apparent that this wasn’t a fleeting desire. Days passed and you kept going back to the same blog: Impact Play For Beginners.

The first time you’d stumbled across it, you hadn’t paid it much mind. You were looking for ways to spice things up with Javi. But it didn’t seem like him. As your eyes flitted over images of paddles, whips, and canes, all you could think of was how uncomfortable he’d most likely be. The idea of that turned you off, of course.

But you didn’t stay off for very long at all.

Perhaps it was the fact that he felt so safe that made the idea so enticing to begin with. You’d never been with anyone who approached sex as healthily as Javi did. He’d always been fervent with his desires. At the same time, he’d never made you feel like you had to do anything. There was always foreplay, regular check-ins, aftercare, and the ability to say no to whatever, whenever.

It was refreshing. Relieving. And that’s what made it so rough, thinking about possibly bringing something new into the equation. But, Javi had always been big on communication. You trusted that the same principles would apply here. So that’s why you brought it up.

Javi had been open but hesitant about it. At face value, this kink really wasn’t his style. He favored a softer approach. He couldn’t imagine laying a hand on you and causing any sort of harm. But in all honesty…the idea excited you.

The more you looked into it, the more you began to draw some hard lines in the sands of your mind. First and foremost, no toys. As exciting as a crop looked, you weren’t sure if you were prepared for that. At least not yet. For now, you were sticking with the advice of various kink blogs you’d scrolled through and starting off with hands only. Not only were those the instruments that piqued your interest in the first place, they also put you the most at ease. It felt poetic somehow; his usually gentle hands delivering both pleasure and pain this time.

Another aspect you started to delve into were on and off limit body parts. That was the moment Javi set a boundary of his own. “Nothing with your face. I’m not touching your gorgeous face, hermosa,” he’d said with the softest puppy dog eyes. And you didn’t argue. You weren’t feeling comfortable with that either. 

No, you’d start out in the safest zones possible, the places that would be least likely to get injured: your ass and thighs. 

Then came the scheduling. You both agreed on a weekend night just so there was an adequate amount of time for recovery before either of you had to worry about work.

You stand in front of the vanity mirror in your bedroom. Part of you feels like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff as you stare at the lingerie clad figure being reflected back at you. With the night that’s ahead of you, you figured it’d be safest to wear something you’re familiar with sans the bottoms for easier access. It’s a simple chemise that’s comfortable enough, yet it hugs your body in a way that you know both you and Javi enjoy. You try to focus on that thought as you think.

The most reassuring part is that you aren’t afraid. As much as you’d wanted this, you’d also wondered if you would be. Instead you’re all raw nerves. And the electricity thrumming from them only calms when Javi appears in the mirror behind you.

You watch his dark eyes trace over your body in the mirror. It’s a sight he’s seen probably hundreds of times at this point, yet he still looks like it’s the first time he’s laid eyes on you.

“You are so beautiful, hermosa,” Javi breathes out in genuine awe. “Gorgeous.”

Your cheeks warm at the dose of flattery.

Javi’s hands start at your shoulders and you relax into them. The heels of his palms knead the muscles that seem to be perpetually knotted up. You close your eyes and picture that taut tissue slowly and carefully unwinding itself. A small sigh escapes you. It sows hope within you knowing that he’s willing to step out of his comfort zone for this. But it also brings you comfort; he’ll always take care of you just like this. 

“Are we doing okay, so far?” Javi mumbles.

You stifle a small laugh and the urge to say, “We’ve barely started anything.”

Because you know this is new for him. You try to remember that you’re new at this too. Don’t go too far, too fast. Pace yourself, you say internally.

“We’re alright,” you finally assure him.

“Promise me you’ll use your safe word if you need to.”

You meet his gaze in the mirror. He eyes you with furrowed brows and his lips in a thin line. His hands still work at your shoulders; work you into the most soothing rhythm that makes you want to fall asleep. But the fire that fills your bones makes you feel more alive than ever.

You nod and then turn to face him. “I will. I promise.”

Your hands find his cheeks and cup them. In that moment you’re holding your entire world. And you’re trusting him to fulfill some of your most vulnerable fantasies.

Your lips meet his and it all starts to fall together. He’s warm and tastes vaguely of citrus. His hands land on the globes of your ass and he gives them a good squeeze. A moan slowly rises in his throat. If there was one thing you knew Javi was looking forward to, it was paying more attention to that part of you. Besides, there was no way you could miss the way he looked at the pictures on one of the kink blogs you’d scrolled through together. Shots of a woman’s back. Bright red marks in the shape of a hand on her ass. 

His eyes had been so wide, simply staring at them as you read through tips for beginners.

“You wouldn’t want marks like that…would you?” he’d asked then. 

The note of hopefulness in his voice was palpable. He’d never been good at concealing his emotions, especially around you.

“I don’t know…maybe,” you’d replied coyly before admitting, “I kind of like the idea of it. Of having that reminder of you.” As if everything else wasn’t enough. As if you needed to see the evidence of his love represented by blemishes on your skin. That was the thing about Javi though, his whole being was so infectious. You needed him to inhabit every part of your life. You needed to see his handprints on you like you needed to breathe.

Anticipation sends a shiver up your spine as you lay on your stomach along the foot of the bed you share with him. Propped up on your elbows, you arched your back in order to better present your ass to him.

He takes a moment to lean over your form. You already feel a bit of a bulge poke the back of your thighs. At least he’s starting to enjoy himself, you grin.

“Are you ready to begin?” Javi asks. You hum absently only to be met with a brief pause before he adds, “Words, hermosa. Words.”

“Yes, sir,” you say, voice raised louder this time. You don’t see his expression, but you can imagine the way it stutters based on the silence that follows.

Javi thankfully doesn’t leave you with too much time to second guess yourself before you hear his chuckle, “Very good job. I’m already so proud of you.”

He stands again and continues gentle ministrations on your upper thighs. Once again you feel as though you could simply fall asleep. And there’s something secure in feeling like you could. You’re safe. 

A pleasant flush builds on the surface of your skin. You can feel the blood coursing through your veins as Javi warns, “I’m going to give you the first strike. Then we’ll go from there, alright?”

“Alright. I’m ready,” you affirm. And you mean it.

A few seconds later, you feel a light slap on your ass. It’s almost playful. And it doesn’t satisfy the craving within. You start to squirm, hoping to suppress some of the restlessness brewing in your chest.

“Easy, hermosa. Good girls stay patient,” Javi says. You’re not quite used to hearing such language come from him. But it’s perfectly in line with his desire to care for you. It’s how you feel confident that you’re both on the same page. He doesn’t want you overwhelming yourself either. So despite the soft start, you don’t feel any disappointment.

You do what you’re told and stay patient. 

The slaps don’t startle you until one leaves a particular sting that awakens a heartbeat in your core. For the moment it lives, it means everything to you. The initial jolt, along with that expectant throb, subsides a little too quickly for your liking. You fist the silk sheets beneath you just to find purchase in something.

“Keep going like that,” you whisper breathlessly, wanting to chase that feeling to the ends of the Earth.

And Javi lets you. He slaps your ass once, twice, three more times and each one builds the heat that crackles along your flesh like thunderclaps. On the fourth slap you finally gasp a small, “Fuck.” You feel yourself clench around nothing. But Javi still groans as if he was inside you. 

“You like this, hm?” he growls.

“So fucking much,” you whimper.

Smack.

The impact is hard enough that it makes you jump. More importantly, you feel that throb once more. Your belly fills with butterflies as you start to realize that it’s fucking working for you. 

You try to imagine what you must look like from his point of view. Ass up, head bowed, gasping between blows. You bet that based on your position, from where he stands, he’s probably getting a peek at your cunt too. And if it looks anything like it feels, you’ve got to be glistening. You’ve got to have the most inviting look about you. And the fact that that vulnerability still doesn’t scare you…your head feels lost in the clouds.

You feel Javi’s fingers drag over the curve of your ass before they stop just short of your cunt. He says suddenly, “Fuck, I need you. I need to taste you. Please?” he begs. 

All you can manage is a whine along with a swift nod before rolling around on your back. Just as quickly, Javi is on his knees, dragging you down the bed by your ankles until he’s almost face to face with your cunt. You can feel just how swollen your lips are. And as he begins to lap at your slick, you know that you haven’t gotten this wet in a while. It fulfills something inside you that you hadn’t expected.

Your thighs and your ass burn, but it only adds to the pleasure gradually filling your belly. The pain and pleasure come together in a gorgeous harmony that has your hips rocking along against Javi’s mouth. His warm tongue fucks you as your clit rubs against his nose. It’s a classic position that’s only heightened with the knowledge that when you wake up in the morning, his handprints are going to be on your ass.

You’re shamelessly rutting against him now. Fingers knitted through his hair, you ride out the mounting pressure like you’ll die if you don’t. And Javi – being the pleaser he is – enjoys it. Between breaths, he groans, sending vibrations through you that seem to rattle your bones.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whine.

“Mhm,” Javi hums desperately. “Go ahead, you can get there, hermosa. Just use me, please.”

Tears start to slip down the sides of your temples. Flashes of all the men you’ve been with before fill your head. You think of all the times you weren’t in control. All the times you felt you didn’t have a say in what was going to happen to your own body. And those memories only remind you that none of that is true anymore. Right here and right now, you’re with Javi. And he’s indulged in something you would’ve been too afraid to express to anyone else. All he wants is to please you. And that only makes your tears flow faster.

You’re going to combust. Javi Gutierrez is going to make you fucking explode and you don’t even care. You’ve gotten yours. As long as he too gets to feel the impact of his kindness, you’re satisfied.

Just like that, the bomb goes off and you’re on fire as pleasure rips through you. You’re in pieces. Legs wrapped around Javi’s upper half, heels digging into the muscles of his back, and hands keeping him held in place; keeping what’s left of you together in a shaky embrace.

It takes a few seconds for the shock to melt away. Somehow you catch your breath and finally remove your hands from Javi’s curls to wipe away your tears. If you weren’t tired before, you’re exhausted now. More than the physical satisfaction, you couldn’t have foreseen the emotional release. 

Your ass and your thighs don’t quite hurt anymore. It’s more of a soft ache; a rolling wave you ride on until it passes, leaving your head floating in a placid ocean of bliss. This naturally comes with some swirls of catharsis and sentimentality. They both buzz in your mind and you're only distantly aware of it when Javi gets up to wet a washcloth.

When he returns, he cleans you up the way he always does. Asking if he’s alright to touch you in various places and letting you know before he does so you’re not startled. You pay just enough attention to hum in agreement as he carefully parts your thighs to wipe up the remnants of slick and spit. 

Javi finishes the job a minute or two later, leaving once more to add the washcloth to the laundry basket in your closet. Then you feel the mattress dip as Javi lays beside you, looking spent without even taking off a shred of his own clothing.

You return to your own mind for a moment. Enough to turn, lay on your side, and send him a worried look. “Oh, I’m so sorry, baby. Do you need me to take care of you?”

Javi laughs lightly, “No. It’s alright, hermosa. You don’t need to take care of anything for me.”

“Are you sure?”

A soft smile forms on his face. “You’re happy, right?”

You nod.

“Good. I’m happy too. We don’t need anything else.”

Javi tenderly places a hand on your lower back and pulls you a little closer towards his chest, his grin growing. “Besides, I can’t wait to see those marks in the morning.”

His expression is so contagious you can’t help but return it before placing a kiss on his nose. “Me neither,” you whisper. Within a few days those marks he most certainly left would start to take on a purple hue before fading into a yellowish undertone. The prospect of seeing that progression fills your stomach with butterflies once more. Surely you both prepared enough that they wouldn’t take long to heal. But that doesn’t bring you down in the slightest. Because as long as Javi is willing to, when those marks do go away, you and him get to make them all over again.

Thank you so much for reading!! If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging; it's massively appreciated!!

[mandiemegatron]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕞𝕪 ℍ𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕤

𝙴𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝙺𝚒𝚍 𝚡 𝚈/𝙽 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚝

Eustass being a bully, Y/N being a silly goose by having 3 brain cells, soft adoration and love because our boy deserves it! We love him!

A/N: I've been mulling around with this for the past few days so I finally beta'd and finished it up today so I hope you all enjoy !! Something a bit softer this time around, I was in my feels and this is what happened lmao 😭🙈 if you see any mistakes, no you fuckin don't!! 🥰

Enjoy, my cute lil tangerines! 💖💖💖✨️✨️✨️

It was a quiet night, thankfully. Most days on the Victoria were rowdy, overwhelming and drunken, so for it was a blessing in disguse for the night to be so quiet for you. You leaned on the railing of the ship, eyes watching the moon lit waters as a content sigh left you. 'How peaceful,' you thought, bringing your beer to your lips.

You'd just finished your beer when you suddenly heard a shout from behind you, turning from your spot at the railing to see your redheaded Captain stomping his way over to you, a confused but amused grin washing over your face as you asked,

"The hell's wrong with you?"

The second he got close enough, he reached out and flicked you in the forehead with his warm hand. You couldn't dodge in time and yelped at the sudden pain, reaching up to cover the spot as you gave him the finger with your other hand.

"You cocksucker, what the fuck was that for!"

He gave a quick, sharp laugh and yelled back,

"I was standin' over there SHOUTING for you for years, you deaf-ass bitch!"

Your eyes narrowed as an even more confused expression came over you, your tone annoyed and accusing as you bit back,

"Oi! It's not that I'm deaf, I was just zoned out - AND besides the point! Why didn't you just come over here instead of shouting at me like a fucking child?!"

He gave you the finger and barked back,

"Fuck you, you were ignorin' me and I don't appreciate that shit!"

It took you a moment to collect yourself but after a few breaths, realization kicked in as you asked,

"You seriously thought I was ignoring you? Kid... come on man."

Your Captain also took a moment, crossing his mismatched arms over his chest as he huffed. He watched you the entire time, watching as you fiddled with your empty bottle and finally spoke when your gaze softened.

"Uh... yeah? I was fuckin' screamin', Y/N."

You ran a nervous hand over your face and sighed, giving a slight nod as you accepted your fault.

"I'm sorry Captain. I really was just so into the silence that I just... tuned everything else out."

You glanced up at him with a tight smile, hoping he could see how genuine your apology was.

"...Forgive me?"

He scowled at you for a good few minutes, your heart pounding in your chest as an uneasy feeling came over you, your smile twitching as you wondered if he was actually mad enough to keep yelling or if he'd stomp away like a child like he usually did when you fought.

Surprisingly, when he did neither, your anxiety washed away with a sigh through your nose, grinning at his response of,

"Ah, I uh - I'm sorry, you brat. I just, I want your fuckin' attention, and it pisses me right the fuck off when I don't get it."

You couldn't help but give a soft "aww, Eustass..." as you closed the space between you, wrapping your arms around his middle and squishing your face to his chest as his arms wrapped around you warmly. You hugged him tight for a moment before pulling away to look up at him, your eyes bright and honest as you reminded him,

"You know you always have my attention. Sometimes though, it takes more than words to grab it but that's not your fault, it's mine. It's hard to pay attention to anything outwards when you're so... inwards, I guess." Your words grew soft by the end, a small frown on your lips. It was hard to explain but judging by how Kid was staring down at you, you had a feeling he understood to an extent.

"I'm sorry, lover. How can I make it up to you?"

His eyes suddenly glinted with mischief at your words, his hands moving down to cup your ass tightly, pulling a surprised "Oi!" from you as he almost purred out,

"You can apologize on your knees."

Your body vibrated at his words, pupils blowing wide as your breath catches in your throat. This was the man you loved, the one to take charge and tell you exactly what he wanted and how. You must have had a look on your face because that stupid, shit eating grin he always wore when he won something slid over his features in an instant.

"Sound good, lover?"

His tone was mocking as he said the word, his fleshy fingers gripping at you with an intensity the fueled the fire inside you.

"Y-yeah, sounds good."

The next thing your mind registers is the soft bed in the Captains room, his warm mouth nipping and devouring you from the outside in. You're both naked, hands roaming over skin as his name falls from your lips as you consume each other, body heart and soul.

His eyes are so gentle as he presses into you, his warm hand cupping your cheek as you hiss at the sudden filling pain, the sound turning to a soft moan as you shift your hips to grind against his.

The way he breathes out your name, pressing the softest kisses to your face and neck as he takes you, your heart overflowing with love for him as it hit you that this was his way of apologizing. Words were never his strong point but his actions more than made up for the lack of verbal communication. Though he teased that you were the one to apologize, he felt he needed to prove that he could accept his faults and be better, for you.

While you had yet to put a label on what you two had, this moment solidified your already immovable loyalty to him as you poured your heart out to him, sobbing into his shoulder as he murmured sweet nothings into your ear. Tears stained his skin as he thrusted into you, hoping to prove to you that he loved you more than anything.

Your foreheads met as you both began to reach the edge, your gaze warm and loving as he kissed you, his lips wordlessly whispering his unashamed adoration to you. He wiped away your tears before gripping your hips tightly, flesh and metal biting into your skin and sending your senses to heaven as you tumbled over the edge, sobbing out his name as your fingers gripped into his shoulders and back.

"Such a beautiful girl, my perfect girl, I love you, God you're so beautiful,"

His words fell from him like the softest prayer you'd ever heard, feeling like your hands would never be big enough to hold all the love he had for you in your palms. You clung to each other as he sloppily thrusted up into you, bringing you closer to a second orgasm as he chased his own high.

Your name met your ears multiple times in a hurried whisper, Kids lips pressing hotly to your collarbone as he jutted into you a few more times, groaning loudly into your bitten and bruised skin. You came with him, your eyes rolling back as you pressed mindless kisses to his shoulder.

The silence was heavy and thick, though comfortable, as you both sat in each others arms, neither of you willing to be the first to move. His thumbs pressed small circles in your hips, his lips pressing into your throat softly, moving up until he took your lips in his. You could feel him shaking and your heart felt like bursting, his energy almost suffocating you with all his unspoken emotions.

It was a while before he finally spoke, his voice the softest you'd ever heard as he asked,

"Did I hurt you?"

You smiled so gently, your expression warm and loving as you responded just as softly,

"No, my love."

His expression brightened at your words, looking like a kid in a candy store as his heart did backflips in his chest. He said nothing, only pulling you back to kiss you deeply, his soft hand tangling into your hair as his metal one remained on your hip.

You both only moved when sleep came knocking. Tucking you into him, he curled around you like a warm cage, desperate to protect you from the outside world. You caved into him, feeling the safest you'd felt in a very long time, knowing in your heart this was where home was.

It wasn't long til you could hear Kid breathing softly, exhaustion slowly overtaking you as your lips pressed soft kisses to whatever skin you could reach. As the darkness overcame you, you swore you heard him murmur,

"I'm gunna marry your crazy ass one day."

But you told yourself that your imagination was just playing tricks, unknowing that his tired eyes watched as you pressed into him as you finally drifted away.

In that moment, Eustass Kid felt like king of the world.

For the first time in his life, he finally felt like he had everything.

I love u all my lil tangerines! Be good ! 💖💖💖✨️✨️✨️✨️ smooches 4 u all 💖💖💖💖

A/N: AWWWW, okay, so I loved writing this I won't lie, the feels were flowing and I felt the need to write something sickly soft for our crazy man. This was so much fun, I hope you all enjoy this as much as I did writing it !

[hollandsfavbabe]

Where Do We Go Now

pairing: peter parker x stark!reader

synopsis: in which the death of y/n's father leaves her determined to bring him back and her boyfriend peter determined to save her

warnings: endgame aftermath, death, parental loss, isolation, suicide attempt (but magical?), it gets better - I promise

word count: 7.1k

masterlist

a/n: Hey guys. This is going to be a bit longer than my usual notes, but I feel like I should explain why I've been gone for so long and why this story is a lot sadder than my usual ones. My community has been riddled with tragedy recently as we've lost a lot of people to suicide this past year, some of which have been as young as middle school age. One of my friends died by suicide a couple months ago. I can't express to you guys how hard it's been trying to deal with the pain and the guilt his death has caused me and my loved ones. So many days have passed where I wish I could've been a better friend for him while he was here. It hurts more knowing that other people are hurting too. Writing this was the best way for me to cope for many reasons. I wanted to write about how I'm feeling and honor my friend in some way even if it's through a silly little fanfiction. I know I'm late, but I also wanted to honor one of my favorite characters, Tony Stark as he canonically died this past October. That being said, if you are struggling please, I implore you, talk to someone. There are so many people on this planet who would be so torn without you. My dms are always a safe space if you need anything at all <3

Also I'd like to thank Gracie Abrams for her music that I had on repeat the entire time I was writing this. I hope you like it!

“I am Iron Man.”

The words replayed in your head, over and over like a broken record with no one to turn it to a new tune. That’s exactly how you felt. So alone in your grief that even if miraculously every wish you'd ever made in the whole of your existence had been granted, it still wouldn’t be enough to make you happy again. To make you feel anything besides the constant regret and incessant grief that anchored you down as you wasted away in your bed.

It had been exactly a week since the passing of the great Tony Stark. Everyone else in the compound had mourned their coworker, riddled by a somewhat lesser version of your sadness for only a few days after his death. It’s not as if their grief had been washed away as if it never stained their cheeks with tears or weighed down their hearts with sorrow, but it eased much quicker than yours and before long they could continue their duties. Everything was so much harder for you because Tony hadn’t just been a coworker. He was your father.

You relieved every memory you had of him like bittersweet torture. You remembered when he held you as a little girl, wiping up a bloodied knee. When he discovered you had powers and helped you control them. Later on when he banned you from joining in on the Avenger’s Civil War and afterwards when he thanked you for sneaking in to help anyway. You could almost feel his comforting embrace as if it was only yesterday that he was assuring you before a failed battle against the mad Titan Thanos, the same one that left you dusted and missing your father’s last five years on Earth. And finally, of course, you remember his last moments all too well. It played out before you like the tragic ending of a stage play. 

“Let me do it,” you shouted over the sound of war cries and carnage that surrounded you on the packed battlefield. “I can take it!”

You were almost certain that your power, your immeasurable magic, could handle the debilitating strength of the Infinity Stones making you the most reasonable choice for snapping Thanos and his army out of existence, but your father refused to risk losing his eldest.

“No,” he breathed, the metal plate shielding his chest rising and falling from the heat of the action. There was only one way to succeed, only one way to put a stop to the destruction of the universe. It had to be him. “I won’t risk losing you, not while you’re still so young. You have so much life ahead of you.”

“Not without you!” you cried, a tear streaming from your eye.

There wasn’t much time for your conversation as the world was moments away from being wiped of its human history, but despite the odds your father pulled you into a tight hug, as if he knew it would be the last. You both did.

“You are the strongest person I’ve ever known and I’m so proud of what you’ve become already.” he smiled when you finally pulled apart.

“I need you dad,” you sobbed, still reluctant to let him leave you. With the threat of his death, suddenly Thanos’ defeat didn’t matter anymore. Not nearly as much as having your father by your side. “I’m not ready.”

Your dad looked down on you with the saddest of smiles, but if any part of him was upset about his decision, he made no other hint toward it. He just held you close for as long as possible and comforted you in the way that you could always count on him for. In the way, it hit you, that you could never count on him for again. But yet, in the face of death, he cradled you close and spoke in his signature fatherly tone: assertive yet on the edge of softness.

“No one’s ever ready -,” he answered truthfully. “- but I know you can handle it. You always do.”

You looked up at him as he finally pulled away and headed towards the purple giant, but not before turning to you for one final declaration.

“I love you, junior, to the edge and back again.”

And then he was gone. You never got the chance to say it back.

Yours was the last name he uttered before his heart stopped beating and the light on his suit went out. By then Pepper had already said her goodbyes and you both were huddled close to his body, weeping as the other Avengers knelt around you in honor of your father. Peter was hunched behind you, one hand on your shoulder while the other worked to wipe away his own tears. Oh Peter, you had your father to thank for him.

It was Tony who was credited with setting you up with your long term boyfriend, Peter Parker, even if it was a complete accident. You two had gotten acquainted on a fateful plane ride to Germany and eventually ended up together after many failed attempts at confessing your feelings. There was something about him that had you smitten with him from your first encounter, your liking only strengthened when you learned that your father approved. He’d been with you through thick and thin and even now, Peter was the only person who could even remotely share your pain besides Pepper. Tony was like his father too.

He’d taken care of you ever since the incident. Brought you food and water, helped you dress in your black attire for the funeral, laid with you in your bed each night to calm you whenever you awoke in a nightmarish terror. He showed his love for you prevailing over his grief in the most selfless of ways and yet all you had managed to do since you father’s funeral was stand to use the restroom every once in a while. It piled on more weight that your poor soul could already take. You were nothing, but a miserable burden now.

The door to your room opened with squealing hinges as Peter stepped in, returning from school where he had spent the morning reuniting with your shared friends and finding out when the official return date was. You were supposed to join him, but instead you hadn’t moved an inch since he left. It wasn’t as if you wanted to waste the entire day in your lonely sheets again. You yearned for everything to go back to how it was; when Peter was happy and you could share it with him. When your father used to smile upon the two teens he didn’t mean to bring together. When your father was alive.

“Hey,” he said, softly as if not to startle you from your endless torturous pondering. He set something down on your dresser, a small stack of papers he must have gathered from the school, and removed his fall coat before sauntering over to you. The bed creaked and shifted under his weight as he took a seat next to you. “Good news, we don’t have to go back until the next semester so we get a break until January. Ned was asking about you. He wants to know how you’re doing.”

You turned your head to look at him, your eyes red-rimmed from all of your crying and your lips cracked and dry.

“What did you tell him?” you croaked, your voice hoarse from under use. There was little to talk about and no one else to talk to whenever Peter wasn’t around. Pepper had visited you once, but with Morgan to look after, she couldn’t spare much time for her late husband’s grieving daughter. You’d seen Happy a couple times as well, but he needed his own time to recover and reflect on his past time with his best friend.

Peter was gentle as he tucked some of the hair strands snot cemented to your jaw behind your ear and cupped your cheek in his palm. He was cold from the autumn chill outside, but his hand ignited the same soothing heat that his touch always brought forth.

“I said you were recovering,” he answered truthfully. “And that it’s different for everyone. And no matter how long it takes, I’m here for you every step of the way.”

The ghost of a smile graced your lips and had it not felt like it stopped beating after losing your father, your heart may have fluttered in its cavity in your chest.

“Thanks Peter,” you curled closer to him in the most sincere of ways. “But I’m afraid it’s going to be a while before I can get up to see Ned again. Give him my best.”

“Take your time. I’m sure he understands.” Peter assured before pulling off his flannel and laying down beside you to wrap you in his arms, allowing you to tuck your face in his chest. As unhappy as you were, all the swirling emotions of suffering were always suppressed by the sound of Peter’s heart and the feel of his body around yours. You stayed like that for a while, holding each other before Peter broke the silence as it neared time for your midday meal.

“I think you should come with me today,” Peter suggested, rising to run his daily lunch retrieval before running a loving hand through your hair. You couldn’t understand how he hadn’t gotten sick of you yet. You hadn’t been able to wash in over a week. “It’s not good for you to stay here all day long. You need to start moving.”

His voice was full of worry, though he wasn’t overbearing. He wanted the best for you, it’s all he ever wanted really.

“I don’t know Peter, I don’t think I can.” you sighed as tears started to fill your eyes again. How could anyone stand to be around you when you were being so pathetic. You wished there was a way to erase your pain, anything to bring you to your normal self again.

“It's okay baby,” Peter hugged you into a tight embrace, kissing your tears as they fell in slow salty streams. “I know it hurts, I feel it too. But I read somewhere that the best thing to do is keep a consistent routine. Maybe you should start today. Come get lunch with me.”

You wanted to agree, but there was no part of you that could move from the weight of your grief. It pressed you down, gravity multiplied by the mass of your sadness as it consumed you. It felt as if only a miracle could save you now.

“I’m so sorry.” you stated with remorse, but Peter made no move to share his disappointment if he had any at all. Instead he leaned down from his seated position and placed his lips on your forehead, a gesture as if to say that all was alright.

“Please don’t cry, y/n. It’s okay.” he assured you before standing to leave and get you something that you figured you probably wouldn’t even eat very much of.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised, turning the handle of your door to leave before looking back at you sprawled on your bed. Suddenly, as if he had recalled the cure to the rainiest of days, he expression shifted to one of great excitement as he stopped back into your room.

“I almost forgot,” he began. “Doctor Strange was here earlier. He wanted me to tell you he’s offering some meditation sessions for you if you’re interested. He said they’d be good for your powers and that they might help you feel better if you want to think about it. He’s free at 8 tomorrow.”

You nearly perked up at the sound of the man’s name, picking up your head to cast a last longing glance at Peter as he waited for a parting word.

“Thanks,” you managed. “I’ll let you know.”

And off Peter went to get you both something to eat.

You weren’t sure if he knew how dangerous it was for you to be left with your thoughts, how the mention of the magic doctor sprouted a myriad of mystical ideas all aimed at the same goal that would erase your eternal lonesome aching. How to bring your father back. By the time Peter returned with his hands full of two homemade sandwiches and more sweets than the two of you could ever finish in one sitting, your mind had been made up and you were ready to set the plan in motion.

The following evening was your first time out of the confines of your rooms for days. Peter had helped you greatly with all the tasks you did not have the mental power to do all on your own. He had brushed your hair and made your bed and before you left in one of the less expensive cars held on Avenger’s campus, he sent you off adorned with one of his favorite sweatshirts, a peck on the forehead and enough I love you’s to last more than a lifetime.

You pulled the sleeve of Peter’s sweatshirt over your palm as you drove off, using the cloth to wipe away fresh tears that had fallen after you left your boyfriend’s loving gaze. You’d always been an overthinker, but your bad habits crept up on you worse in your unbreakable stage of sadness. Especially in your father’s favorite car.

You didn’t understand why he hadn’t left you already. Maybe he would. Peter had offered to join you at Strange’s, but after you insisted you had to go alone, he made plans to go help his Aunt May figure out their apartment situation as the pair had been inadvertently kicked out after being gone for so many years. You’d almost forgotten he used to split his nights between the compound and his own bedroom. Recently he’d only stay with you.

He promised to be back before dinner so that the two of you could keep up your progress, but an unsolicited voice within you convinced you that he wouldn’t want to return. You weren’t good enough for him anymore, not like you used to be. Your plan was better for the both of you and as you pulled up to the familiar building on Bleecker Street, all the pieces started to fall into place.

You stepped up to the door, raising your fist to knock only for the door to crack open by itself as if to invite you in. You waited for the familiar sternness of Doctor Strange’s voice to greet you once you were past the stone floored foyer, but only wisps of the autumn breeze caught your ear. 

“Strange?” you called, your voice still not stable enough to be louder than a whispery dialogue. You were met with no response. It was just like you had planned. The wizard wasn’t home.

You felt a strong tug towards the room of your desires, the forbidden library. It was as if fate was leading you or some other force from above, another sign that you were meant to do it.

Your steps were more sure than they had been in days as you made your way to the self, passing any magical fire walls with the sheer unfiltered strength of your powers. Strange once told you that they were guided by your emotion, the quintessential essence of every magic holder even to people like you and Wanda Maximoff who were outside of his world protecting wizard cult. It was easier than it should have been, like slicing paper with a katana, you broke each enchantment until all that was left was the cool leather cover of the book you were looking for. The book with every answer you needed inside its ancient yellowing pages, but you only needed the spell that would revive your father. Locating it near the middle of the book, your tore out the page and turned back to your car, leaving the Sanctum with the same unhurried pace you had entered it with. There was no stopping you now.

Peter was only an half an hour late for your agreed meet up time when he arrived at the campus. He expected you’d be in your room as per usual and as he made his way to your door, the excitement of getting to hold you and talk about your first day out of the campus since the funeral built up in his chest. He wasn’t sure if any accomplishment in the world could make him as proud as he was of you. With two brown paper bags of groceries in his hand, he couldn’t wait to shower you in the affection that you deserved with all of your favorite snacks, enough to share of course.

“Y/n,” he smiled, using his webbing to open your door handle only to find, much to his disappointment, that you were nowhere to be found.

He checked all over campus, leaving the bags by your bed. No one had seen you since you’d left and the spot where the car you’d taken was still empty, the normally pristine concrete covered in fallen crisp maroon leaves. It didn’t make any sense. Where could you possibly have gone?

“Y/n!” he called, circling the perimeter of the campus looking for you. There was still no sign of your reappearance. “Y/n- oh. Hi Ms. Maximoff.” Peter forced a strained smile as he nearly bumped into the woman.

“Peter, we’ve been over this,” Wanda answered, her voice calm. “You can call me Wanda.”

Like you, the witch hadn’t been doing the best in recent days as she had lost something just as valuable as a father: her partner. While she occasionally had days where the ground would’ve been lucky to feel the grace of her step, her superhero duties had kept her from spending each day hidden from society. She had a different way of coping, but like others, she seemed to start getting back into routine again.

“Right, sorry Wanda.” Peter apologized.

“What are you doing out here?” inquired the witch in her native Sokovian accent, always intuitive. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s y/n. I can’t find her anywhere and we agreed to meet back here nearly - an hour ago!” Peter pulled up his coat sleeve to check the time on his watch, the face of which bore a picture of him and your father from only a few months before the snap. It had been a birthday gift, one of his favorites in fact, though it couldn't top what you had given him the same year: a lego set and your first kiss.

“I didn’t know that she got out of bed. That’s a big step!” 

“Yes it is and we were going to celebrate tonight, but she hasn’t come back yet which is really not like her.” worried Peter.

“Where did she go?”

“Strange’s. He was going to give her a meditation lesson for her powers.”

Confused, Wanda's eyebrow furrowed and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Doesn’t she know how to use them already?”

“Yes, but he thought it would help her manage her grief. Working out is a pretty common method, but she hates going to the gym so he figured some meditation would be better for her and -“

“Wait, hold on. Did she go to him this morning?”

“Yes and she was supposed to be back around noon, but it’s nearly six and she’s still gone.” Peter explained.

“Peter!” Wanda chided. She couldn't believe he could make such a grave mistake.

“What?”

“Strange hasn’t been at the Sanctum all day!”

“What?! Where is he?”

“Do I look like a wizard to you?" the witch gestured to her casual leggings and cardigan pairing that drastically differed from Strange's usual eccentric costumes. "How should I know?”

As if summoned by the topic of conversation, a figure appeared in the distant grass, hovering over the blades until he was close enough to be able to walk. His cape that flowed in the breeze like a blood red stream with a mind of its own was a dead give away. Doctor Strange had indeed arrived in the flesh.

“Parker,” he greeted, though he did not smile. “Is Ms. Stark ready for our lesson?”

Peter’s eyes went wide as he realized his mistake.

“Oh no.” he muttered, shaking his head in defeat. He was met with confusion from the wizard.

“No?” Strange repeated. “We agreed upon 8 didn't we? I know I'm a little early, but I assumed she wouldn't be busy. Didn’t you let her know I was coming?”

“Yes,” Peter confirmed. “I told her to be ready and then I sent her off to your place at 8… am.”

“What?!” Strange exclaimed as he summoned a portal to appear leading directly to his found home on Bleecker Street. He stepped through the fiery ring, a silent invitation for the others to follow as he hurried passed your car, up the steps, and into the door which did not part of him the same way it had earlier. Inside he was met with the most frightful of discovers accompanied by the looming feeling of doom as the situation became clear.

The Sanctum, unguarded with his absence, lay littered with books that had fallen from their homes on his shelf’s yet one stood out from all the others. It laid on the floor open with its pages to the ground while every other book was shut. Levitating it with the simple flick of his wrist, a horrifying sight awaited Strange as he turned it over. One of the pages in the sacred book was missing.

“Do you know how serious this is?!” Strange exclaimed and although Peter at first took it as a barbed criticism aimed directly at him, he was able to distinguish Strange’s tone from when he was reprimanding. This was a separate kind of worry, the sort of tone that he had used heavily on the fated spaceship you three had been stuck in until you landed on Titan, Thanos’ home world, nearly five years ago. Treachery was afoot and if your powers were involved, the whole fabric of your current reality could change.

“Which one did she take?” Wanda pointed to the book, clearly noticing the giant tear in its center.

Strange’s voice answered, heavy with concern. “The revival spell.”

“You don’t think she knows, do you? She can’t possibly know how to conjure it.” asked Wanda, the same concern for their future written all over her face.

“That’s exactly what I think.” Strange confirmed.

“What?” Peter asked. “What are you guys talking about?”

“There are many types of magic, Parker, and the Sanctum, the building where you sent your girlfriend, is full of all of them, good and bad alike. Every spell comes with a price, the bigger the spell, the bigger the price and the spell she took comes with one of the biggest prices there is to pay.”

“Think about it, Peter,” Wanda paled. “What does y/n want most in the world right now?”

It hit Peter harder than fresh fallen hail. You were going to try to bring your father back.

“We have to find her. Now.”

Strange tried to use his sling ring to appear wherever you were, but in your grief, the extent of your powers had grown massively. Intentionally or not, you managed to prevent even the most powerful of wizards from using his Sling Ring to access your location.

“She's blocked me out.” Strange frowned. “We’re going to have to track her on foot.”

“She can’t be far,” Peter agreed. “She always takes the shortest path whenever she wants something.” It was one of the many things he loved about you: your ability to turn any taxing task into something much simpler. You were one of the cleverest people he knew. He just hoped it didn’t work in your favor this time.

It was Wanda who had the idea of tracking your magic. She led them to the nearest withering woodland area, where trees with bare branches and dying leaves sprawled endlessly. It was the perfect place to perform dark magic, away from the unyielding eyes of society. The trio didn’t hesitate to run in.

The further they got, the closer you felt especially to Peter despite the fact that he was the only one without his own source of magic. If he lost you tonight, he feared he’d never feel any sort of magic ever again.

They were only half an acre in when Wanda and Strange called out in anguish, the witch falling to her knees while Strange stayed standing, pounding the air with his fist as his trying to break through an invisible barrier though it was to no avail. Whatever was holding him back, it wasn’t fading anytime soon.

“Keep going, Parker!” he shouted, urging Peter forward. “You’re the only one who can stop her. The spell will only allow that which she loves.”

“How do I do it?” Peter shouted. “How do I stop the spell?”

“The page,” Wanda replied, quicker than Strange could as his reply was easy for her to access. “You have to tear it apart.”

Without wasting a second more, Peter sprung back towards where he could feel you, running without fatigue as his superhuman endurance supplied him with plenty of energy.

It was only a minute later that he caught his first sign of you. There was a break in the tree line out of which a bright amber glow poured like an incandescent warning. It was a dramatic contrast from the normal comforting emerald greens of your magic, but it was you nonetheless and Peter didn’t stop until he was so close he had to shade his eyes from the light.

If it weren’t for the dark nature of what you were doing, Peter would’ve considered it one of the most beautiful events he’d ever seen take place. He wasn’t sure if the circle of trees that surrounded you had been a natural formation or one you made for the sake of the spell, but he was sure the way they seemed to bend to your will, despite the hard wood of their birch trunks, had to be because of your power. In the center of it all was you and the page you had stolen atop a pile of purple and golden leaves. You stood before it, eyes closed as you whispered some sort of incantation. Your powers spread above you in orange flickering flames as you outstretched your arms and summoned what looked like the beginnings of a portal, though it was hard to peer through like a bride covered in a veil of night black.

Peter shouted your name, screaming for you to stop, but you didn’t so much as flinch as the portal grew. You couldn’t hear him over the force of your will. He could start to feel what Wanda and Strange were trapped behind. There was some sort of invisible wall that threatened to push him back from you, but he couldn’t be defeated. He had to stop you. Step by step, he got closer and closer to you, watching in horror as your body was lifted from the ground and floated in midair. A new energy started weeping through the fabric that covered your chest, soft and white like a sheer glittering fabric. It drifted towards the portal and as Peter neared you he could make out the outline of a face forming from it in the black center of it. It started to take shape, growing a neck and a body and becoming more concrete than a fragmented part of your energy. He became more unmistakable as the color grew back into his face. Tony Stark, in the flesh. Peter hurried towards the page.

You opened your eyes to gaze into the face of your father, tears flowing down your face partially from the exhaustion of bringing him back and from being able to see him again.

You tried to say something, tell him how much you had missed him, but you were left rendered without a voice. Your words came out as mouthed nonsense, though it seemed he had regained his voice.

“Y/n,” he uttered, though it seemed more like a warning than a greeting after being torn from you for so long.

You mouthed something you knew he’d understand. I love you too, dad.

Some other force called your name, but you ignored it. You couldn’t focus on anything else, but the father you had lost regaining life right in front of you. With every part that he gained, you felt a part of your fade. It wasn’t painful, more numbing than anything like the final dose to end all your sadness. You couldn’t help but relish in it. You were bringing back one of the greatest men to ever live.

You were so distracted, you missed the web that landed on the page below you and pulled it away.

“Y/n,” your dad said again, nearly having enough of one of his legs to step out of the portal when suddenly, the inky blackness swallowed him whole again and dissolved in the forest light, taking back the only thing you ever wanted.

“NO!” you cried as your voice returned to you and you fell back down to the dry grass and dead leaves, crumpled on the forest floor as all of the magic you had summoned faded away save for the glittering cloud that returned to your chest with such force it made you cough. You had failed.

“Y/n!” someone called and you shuddered away from their hand on your shoulder as loud sobs erupted from you. 

“Leave me!” you begged. “Just leave!” Peter refused to leave your side, tossing behind him the page he had shredded into tiny scraps of paper as he knelt beside you, careful not to touch you again. “Why did you have to do that? Why did you take him from me?”

“You were going to die! I couldn’t let you di-“

“I WANTED TO DIE!”

Peter froze as you whimpered, the truth spreading above the both of you in the cold air like storm clouds as you cried to him.

“I want him back. Everyone wants him back. No one cares about his depressed daughter and I don’t want to hurt anymore, Peter.” you paused to take a deep breath. “It- it hurts so much.” you could barely get the words out as you were choked by your sobs. “It hurts knowing I could’ve saved him. It hurts knowing it should’ve been me that snapped those stupid stones. And I don’t want to live with that anymore. I had to try to bring him back for the world. It needs him more than it needs me.”

You brought a hand to your face, wiping away some of your tears, though it was no use as more came pouring out.

“I need you.” uttered Peter, looking into your glossy eyes. The sight of your tears and the echo of your screams couldn’t deter him from you. You can’t be repelled from the ones that you love.

“But you miss him, don’t you,” you argued as hot tears coated your face. “You want him back too.”

Peter nodded in agreement.

“I think about him everyday. Our moments together. Like this one time he saved me from drowning in a lake. Or-“ Peter grinned. “- remember when he caught us making out that one time before we told him we were together. He was so mad.” Peter smiled to himself, looking fondly on the memory until he began again.

“I miss him so much and it makes me so sad that I'll never see him again. But I wouldn’t trade you for him. I wouldn't trade you for anyone. You’re worth more to me than anyone else in the universe.”

Your sobs slowed yet the tears did not cease as they still cascaded down your face.

“It hurts me so much.” you restated.

Peter opened his arms. “May I?” he asked. You nodded and before you knew it, you were engulfed by a warmth unlike any other as Peter hugged you tight enough to make sure you wouldn’t try to leave him again.

“I know you do,” he related. "And I wish I could take it away. I wish I could just bag all your pain and throw it all away. But it doesn't work like that. It's going to hurt. It's going to be painful, so much so that you won't move from bed for days and days. You haven't." 

"But I feel like everyone else has already moved on. Why can't I?" you shivered.

"No one else was as close to him as you. Everyone else lost a friend. You lost a father. There's a big difference. You can't expect yourself to move on from it. That's not healthy. It's just like I said, I'm here for you no matter how long it takes. You have to take your time with it, don’t rush the process." Peter pressed the lightest of kisses to one of your dampened cheeks.

"I just don't know what to do."

"Breathe."

As silly as it sounded in its simplicity you did as he instructed and inhaled deeply, allowing the air to coat your lungs that hadn’t been exposed to so much fresh air in a week. As you exhaled, you let out another sob in his arms, but somehow it felt better than all the others. You were not rid of your pain by any means and sadness still corroded your core, but for the first time in so long, you didn’t feel so hopeless. Peter placed another gentle kiss on your cheek, encouraging you as you took several more slow breaths and quiet cries until you found the strength to speak again.

“Was it like this for you when your parents died?” you wondered aloud as you pulled away from Peter to look into his chocolate brown eyes that you almost forgot you loved so much, yet not so far that he couldn't keep his arms around your frame that was still bearing his sweatshirt. You hadn’t spoken much about them before and while you weren’t sure where the question had arisen from, it felt like the right thing to ask.

“I was so young when they passed, sometimes I feel like they were never mine to begin with,” he admitted. “I took a couple days off school when it happened, but I don’t remember crying all that much. It’s tragic and sometimes it makes me sad that they’re gone, but I’m glad that it does. It’s a reminder that they were there for me in the first place, that I knew them enough to miss them. The grief is proof that I loved them while they were here.”

You were both silent for a moment as you thought about his words in relation to your situation. All your pain was put into perspective. Everything you had been through since he died, all the days you wasted away in bed, it was all the proof that you had loved him so much when he was alive and that you were still carrying the love you had left for him. You missed your father so much you were willing to die to get him back and for a moment, you almost did.

You parted from Peter’s arms to stand though you still grasped onto his hands as you weren’t strong enough to be upright on your own. You closed your eyes again and listened to the sound of the forest, the swaying of the leaves that still clung to their branches, the faint twittering of birds, and the calm of the sky that was oddly cloudless for autumn. The sound of your name falling from your father’s reformed lips was still faint in the air and for a moment you felt as though you were with him again.

You remembered when he taught you how to ride a bike one evening when you were only four. You remembered the day he pulled you from public school and started teaching you at home. You remembered the look of shock on his face when you showed him your powers for the first time and even more, you remember his pride when you completed your first mission with the Avengers (that he'd approved ahead of time to avoid any more Germany -like surprises). He wasn’t there, but at the same time he was everywhere. And you missed him, but at the same time the absence he left in your life felt less empty.

The tears came out in slow smooth streams, flowing down in slow trickles as you finally sat back down. You didn’t say anything and neither did Peter, but you knew he could feel what you felt. He could feel your father too and minutes slipped by as you sat and cried together.

There was a sudden rustling in the distance and soon enough, Doctor Strange and Wanda had arrived at the scene, no longer held back by invisible barriers. They rushed to you bringing flooding guilt through your system as you began to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” you cried. “I’m so sorry.”

Strange opened his mouth to speak, but he had nothing to say. You could tell by his expression that he was disappointed, but there was more to it. He had empathy.

It was Wanda that leaned down to place a friendly hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s get you home.”

The months following were some of the hardest of your life. Every battle you faced was uphill, but you no longer felt like you were fighting alone. You started going out again, first to visit Pepper and your half sister Morgan who lived in their cabin home. Peter joined you of course, but he played with Morgan for the most part while you and Pepper talked. You cried with her, but you laughed a lot too. She shared with you so many of her own memories, times when your father didn't know what to get you for your birthday, when he had managed to mess up cooking dinner in the strangest of ways, and when he’d accidentally burned your favorite stuffed animal in the drying machine all of which Pepper had to remedy. Though she hadn’t raised you, she was the mother you never had and through her stories you learned that your father had been just as good raising Morgan with her as he had been with you.

You hung out with Ned and MJ again shortly after that. While Peter had suggested a brief check-in at a cafe so you could go home quickly to rest, you surprised him with a much more time consuming idea: laser tag. The four of you had the best time targeting each other, you winning more rounds than any of the others. You ended the day with smoothies, talking as you drank and making plans for the next time you would all see each other. MJ made you promise you would text her if you ever needed anything and Ned gave you a whole plate of his Lola’s ensaymadas, your favorite dish of hers.

Finally, though he was locked up in his house and avoiding humanity, you visited Happy. Peter offered to join you like all the other times, but you assured him it would be best if he stayed home, promising you would return later. Happy was in a similar state of dismay to you when you saw him and while he was able to care for himself and continue with his personal routine, you could tell he was hurting.

You didn't say much when you first entered his apartment, but there was comfort within the silence. You sat with him on his sofa and watched whatever mind numbing program he had turned on to distract his thoughts until you had both worked up an appetite for lunch. It was there, in the middle of a random Burger King in Queens over a plate of cheeseburgers that you both broke down. You told him what you had nearly done, trusting him with the sensitive information as he was almost a second father to you. You took your time telling him the story of how you had nearly died to bring back your father.

Happy cried as you did and when you were finished, he told you how much you meant to him. He traded your story for one from your father after he returned from Afghanistan where he had famously been kidnapped.

"You could tell he was shaken," Happy began. "He told me he wasn't scared to die, but he was scared of losing time with you and leaving you alone. Pepper and I had been so busy trying to get him back, he was worried you had been neglected while he was gone. But when he came home and he saw your room clean, your toys put away, and a fridge full of leftovers from meals you prepared yourself, he was so proud. You inspired him to turn his life around. It was after that he told me that he knew you'd be okay if he was taken from us one day."

You both cried after that.

Long after you had finished your food, Happy drove you to the Parker's new apartment with the promise that he would be okay too, eventually. He also admitted that he was starting to develop quite the liking for your faithful boyfriend after hearing all that he had done for you, though he’d skin you alive if you ever told Peter.

It was that night in Peter's new bedroom that you knew you’d be okay. It still hurt to think of your father and you knew you’d never entirely recover and that the pain would never fully leave you, but there was a certain comfort in it now. You knew Peter felt it too as he snuggled half asleep into your side, his arm slung around your body in a protective manner, but also to keep from falling of the twin bed you shared as he let you sleep on the side with the wall. There were still days when you didn’t want to leave your bed, but there were also days when you felt more elated than ever. You could feel your father in those moments the most, like the shine of his smile took form in the light from the sun. You couldn’t see him nor could you speak with him, but you knew he wasn’t really gone. It was love that kept him around. And it was the love you carried for him that would suspend you for lifetimes, through light and dark until the end of time.

“I hope this grief stays with me because its all the unexpressed love” - Andrew Garfield 💙

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Hello my maggots (especially the tumblr maggots whom I haven't seen on Discord recently), I've missed you so much and I'm sorry I haven't been posting the past few days.

It appears I used up all my XP in being a Funny Little Guy and left none for health (I'm not a gamer. I don't know why I tried that joke. The most experience I have with XP is learning Italian on Duolingo).

And I'll probably be taking a break for a few days more. Why?

Well, no, unfortunately, not love.

It's that stupid motherfucker, Tommy the Haematoma of my ankle.

But Asmi, you ask, didn't you fall down the stairs more than a month ago?

Why yes, yes I did. And out of that, two weeks were spent in bedrest/floorrest/whatever you call not being allowed to walk at all.

But thanks to the wonders of our Lord and Saviour Bildaddy, I am now resigned to two more weeks of bedrest.

WELL FUCK YOU TOO, BILDADDY. TO THINK I USED TO HAVE FAITH IN YOU.

But yes. A bloody fracture would have healed sooner than this. But no no no not Tommy and his buddies called weakened and swollen ligaments and heightened nerve sensation (not as catchy as Tommy, are they?) who are here to overstay their welcome like a couple of Indian aunties dropping in during festival time to gossip.

Now, I'm not someone who exercises, okay. Au contraire. I'm more sedentary than the coins that Crowley superglues to pavements.

But I did like being able to at least walk around my room to pick up my art supplies. Or go to the kitchen for a snack without maneuvering a cane (Kaz Brekker era coming up for realsies) (but less sexy and more legless chicken style). I also now can't really go outside unless I'm staying in the car. The car hurts, too. So I have only attempted that once. All hail.

So that is how I have come to be resigned to spending two more weeks (after already spending two) in bedrest and pain during the month before my birthday in the year 2024 of our Lord and Saviour Bastard and Damner Bildaddy.

It does tend to lower morale a bit. And I'm kind of active on the Discord server (I need to be, because otherwise my social interaction comes to a grand net total of 0) (just like the number of times Crowley and Aziraphale talked after Season 2) (ahaha sorry).

But being on Tumblr I feel like I should be making posts and I start getting stressy about notes even though I know I shouldn't. And thus my absence the past few days, and probably for a few days more.

C'est la vie. So it is farewell for now (I say dramatically about a few days break).

But don't worry my maggoty loves, I shall return with chaos. As usual. And I'll still be on Discord unless the pain gets really bad. I love love love love love you so much.

At the end of 2023 I wished so bad that I wouldn't be alone anymore and now I'm not. And so neither are any of you. Like that meme said, we're not a fandom, we're a deeply unwell family. Applies both to the Good Omens fandom and to my own. My fans are rather more incestuous, but that's part of our, er, charm.

Sending you all the hugs and forehead kisses and love that you're okay with. I'll see you soon.

Meanwhile, I want you to promise to cause chaos on my behalf. Keep the Good Omens tag trending. Make cursed headcanons. Try not to murder anyone. Byebye, my little maggoty fly larvae.

[omo-queer]

hi! tysm for your answer 🥺 i looked up "rapid desperation" online and based on my own understanding, this is how it works:

1. drink the same specific amount of water every 15 mins within an hour (you can pee within that 1 hour).

2. after that first hour, you should continue doing it but this time, the hold starts. bathrooms are not allowed.

after this, what shall i do next? do i just keep drinking until i can't hold it anymore? or should i set a goal (for example, wait for 2 hours until i can finally pee)?

thank you so much for helping a beginner out! 💗 also looking forward to more of your blogs

- 🩰

the rapid desperation approach i've seen and used a variant on myself is:

drink at least a glass (350ml/12oz or about that) every hour. this works best if you start this at least an hour or two before the hold, and pee as normal. this part basically gives your kidneys the heads-up that they're gonna be moving water fast bc you keep drinking it.

then do what you're implying—drink a glass every 15 minutes for a hour during which you can pee regularly

after that, you're holding. continue drinking at 15 minute intervals, and keep going until you lose control—the idea behind rapid desperation is that it makes this part go quickly because you've told your body to make pee faster, essentially.

this takes more planning than just like. not peeing for a long time. but it can get some interesting results. i would honestly recommend you try a couple regular holds before you go for rapid desperation, making sure not to go past the point of pain (discomfort is fine but pain you have to be careful about), because rapid desperation is one of the easier ways to have to worry about electrolyte balance (salt/potassium stuff) if you do it way too hard or way too fast. that said, i mentioned it because you were asking for specific challenges and it's a very fun one, just as long as you listen to your body.

remember, your safety comes before anything else—holding is good fun but it's important to learn what your body can and can't do, and to listen when it gives you signs to stop. you're very unlikely to hold so long you seriously hurt yourself, because the body usually gives up trying to hold it in before that's likely. but in rare cases you can experience water toxicity or overwork the muscles around your bladder if you go way too hard right out of the gate and don't listen to your body. try not to hold two days in a row when you're first starting out, and give yourself longer breaks of at least a few days between intense holds (where you actually lose control or get really close) to give your bladder and your muscles time to recover.

ok. that's the safety lecture over. it's not really that risky a kink, i just really wanted to stress how important listening to your body is when holding.

if you haven't done any holds yet, my first recommendation would be to drink liquids as normal, maybe slightly more than normal, and wait until they catch up to your bladder—eventually, if you keep drinking normally, you won't be able to hold any longer and will begin leaking or even wet yourself. even getting close to this is really thrilling. coffee/tea and other diuretics help get you more desperate, too. i typically wait until i'm right on the edge of wetting and then either go to the bathroom or (if i have the situation to) keep holding until i lose control. setting a timer that's a little overambitious usually also works for me because i tend to have a bit more bladder strength than i assume... but i've also been recreationally holding it for a pretty long time, all things considered.

thank you for reaching out! i hope my answers are helpful. i'm glad you enjoy my posts—might do a hold tomorrow or the next day or something, and it seems folks have been submitting anons for bladder control (which i love!!) so there will no doubt be more posts on the way.

i'll be asleep for a while once i post this, but feel free to send in any other questions you have via ask or dm! and of course, i always welcome talking about holds/experiences in my inbox!

[clownery-and-fuckery]

LAST LINE CHALLENGE !!!!

I was tagged by @collophora (thank you btw!!!) and while I haven't been able to write an awful lot because of life stuff (I GOT INTO COLLEGE !!!!! IVE BEEN SO BUSY THESE LAST FEW DAYS/WEEKS AIW AOANOAB)

Anyway!!!! I've got some snippets from TBB and Disco Elysium (which I'm so excited to write about wjaiqnq) so you're getting BOTH !!! :D rant over LETS GO !!

"He's gone because of me, Echo!" Tech's voice was rough as he pushed away. He winced at the stinging tug of his injuries, looking up to see Victor's stricken face, and Echo's pitying frown.

Tech's breath came ragged, harsh as he panted, and they just... watched. He looked away, unable to handle their sad stares any longer. They burned him.

"Crosshair's gone because of me." He repeated coldly, quietly, feeling something inside him tighten and harden. Protective, shielding the pain that threatened to spill with the admittance.

He stood taller, shoving past the two clones to limp towards the cockpit. "They'll regret it," Tech swore, more to himself than them as he pulled his armour back on. "I'll make them regret it."

This is from an upcoming chapter from "The Hecatomb Initiative" !!!!! Haven't stopped writing for it just yet >;] (totally recommend that fic btw I'm really proud of it :D)

Next up- Disco Elysium snippets !! I've never written for them before so I'm so, SO excited!!!

Kim cleared his throat. "Yes, it will be a..." He gave Harry an affectionately apologetic look. "–a nice change of pace. Thank you for the opportunity, Officer Minot."

Judit opened her mouth to shrug off the thanks, to say it was no problem, but the sudden warmth in the Lieutenant's expression caught her off guard. Kim gave her a small, almost unnoticeable smile.

She felt a rush of.. something, and she blinked. "Of course, Lieutenant Kitsuragi." She nodded, giving Harry an odd look.

Maybe that was why he sought out Kim often. This warm affection was definitely something she wanted to feel again. She supposed it was its rarity that drew Harry in. It definitely seemed to pull her.

Kim is everyone's favourite, this fic captures that. I think. Love a bit of Kim Kitsuragi myself ngl. Anyway I've got three Disco Elysium fics in the works at the moment, one of them is multichapter though so that one might take a while to get out !!!!

This is so long omg, I feel bad for not posting as often as usual !! I hope these will make up for that until I get proper fics back out!!!!!!!!

ALSO!!! NPT: @lifblogs, @keef-a-corn, @moss-tombstone, @shortriver0 and any other mutual who wants to take part !!

[curryfury13]

KHOC Week Day 6 - Journal

This has been a prompt for @khoc-week that I've been so excited about. Hinata keeps journals of her adventures as a way to keep track of her memories. She's forgotten large chunks of her past before and wants to make sure that can never happen again.

Her journals, however, are a bit different from a normal diary. She writes them like a story and also draws pictures in them to show where she is. She's not an incredibly gifted artist, but learned a few things from her time with Namine.

This is an excerpt of her journal entry during a short stay on Montressor. In Chapter 41 of "The Forgotten Traveler", Hinata and her team find themselves back on Montressor in search of information on Sam's dad. It leads them back to the Benbow, where Sam's mom holds the missing piece.

The actual chapter was written from Sam's point of view, but this journal entry is Hinata's take on it all. I'll post the entire entry below:

----------------------------------

The Benbo Inn was filled with warmth and life. Sarah Hawkins always did have a way of making people feel welcome. She kept our booth open. I remember sitting there after my shift, or whenever Sam and James would come during my work day and convince me to take a break. Tonight though, it lacked the usual excitement it used to.

While the rest of the inn bustled and chatted, we were there for something different. Sam needed to talk with her mom. It wasn't going to be easy and it made me queasy to think about. Jenna was someone I couldn't figure out. Her eyes showed a vast emptiness, yet I could sense something deeper. It made me sad for her. Though I could understand the anger Sam held towards her. Two years of isolation… What could that do to someone? I went crazy during my month alone on Treasure Planet. Well, mostly alone.

As Ben and I took our seats, Sam went to her mom. Her words were short and terse, telling her they needed to talk after closing time, then she came back to the booth with us. I wish I could have said something to help. Part of me wished I could have taken care of the entire thing for her. But that wouldn't help anything. It was something she needed to face on her own.

Knowing that, I asked if she wanted us there during the discussion, which she said yes to. All that remained was for us to eat dinner and wait. But even with the great food from Sarah, I didn't have much of an appetite. Sam didn't seem to either. While Ben kept the conversation going, mostly with himself. I'm glad he was there.

It was agonizing to wait. I kept drumming my fingers against the table and I'm pretty sure my leg wouldn't stop shaking. Then closing time finally came. I helped Jenna and Sarah clean up. It was just like I was working there again. But then it was time to talk.

Jenna brought over a chair and carefully folded her apron over the back of it before she sat down. She sat on the edge, her back straight. It was like she was trying to seem stronger than she felt. Sam brought out a locket. It looked similar to mine but was made from a bluish metal. I didn't recognize the engraving on top, not that it entirely matters. Jenna seemed to though. I noticed her shifting in her seat at the sight of it. Did she know what was inside it?

Sam asked if she'd seen the vision and Jenna just nodded. Not a word came out of her. Sam continued to pry and Jenna's entire demeanor shifted. Her posture slumped and that distant glaze came back over her eyes. There was more to this. Even with the possibility of getting Jarith back, she didn't react. It only made her retreat further back into herself. What was really going on?

There was something deeper. Something even Sam didn't seem to understand and realize. The raw pain between them was palpable. It didn't take long for Sam to lose her temper. She slammed her hands against the table, demanding answers. Jenna begged her not to look into this and got up from her seat to leave.

I couldn't sit by anymore and got out of my seat, while Lupe took care of calming Sam down. Jenna could hardly stand. She leaned against the tables for support as she walked away. I moved to stand in front of her and all I saw was a broken woman. Everything she did… she abandoned her children when they needed her most, ignored them when they pleaded for help and even for something as simple as love, and locked herself away for nearly two years. Why didn't I share Sam's resentment towards her? There had to be more to it. More that we didn't understand about Jenna.

All I had to say to Jenna was acknowledge she was trying to protect Sam. She broke down. Sam was all she had left.

Sam cried that if that was the case, why did she never care?

It was a valid question. One Jenna didn't have an answer to. Whatever is going on with her, maybe Jarith will have the answer. We have to find him.

Lupe and I calmed Jenna down enough to let Sam back in for another chance to talk. We promised her that we'd get him back… Maybe that was a foolish thing to promise, but it seemed like the only choice at the time. I know I'll do everything in my power to do it. We all will.

Sam tried again. She knelt in front of Jenna and offered the locket once more. She pleaded softly, begging for any information about her dad. And Jenna did… she told us the name Glee Anselm. That's where we'll find Sam's dad.

We have quite the journey ahead of us.

[clatoera]

Picket Fence is Sharp as Knives Chapter 9: I am what I am cause you trained me

Heeeeeeeey besties. I've been WAITING for this one. I've looked forward to it for a while now!! The next chapter is obviously thee chapter so this is the one we had to do. We had to get here. We have been waiting to get here for a LONG time. And here we are.

To start, I actually fuck up the months transition in this a few times I think. I dont think in months. I think in weeks, and so while the months may be off the weeks would be correct (part 1 is 12, part 2 is 16, part 3 is 34, and part 4 is 36). Much of this is accurate in terms of the physiology as well as some of the complaints.

Clove has a lot of anxieties and fears that we really otherwise don't see and so theres a lot more vulnerability on her part here than any other prior chapter so that is a bit different.

Thank you for sticking around I'm very very excited to get this out into the world!

AO3

masterpost

Title from T swift as usual

As always, thank you to the besties, especially @kentwells who has heard me ramble about this for months, and also @bodyelectric77 who doesn't hear me ramble as much about it but still is a victim to my senseless thoughts.

xoxo

From the time she was fifteen years old Clove had one, and truly only one, fear. Prior to fifteen it had been a non issue as far as she had been concerned–it’s not like anyone looked at her like that (or rather, if they did, there was someone large, blonde, and violent threatening them for even daring to do so).  

Dying in the Hunger Games didn’t even dredge up the same feeling of terror and peril. If she died in the games, well at least she went out fighting. It wasn’t like there was going to be anyone back home disappointed in her.  

Okay, maybe during her time in the capitol with blood filled joints and flayed skin, she had one greater fear. Even then, she didn’t fear death itself, considering that sometimes death would have been a welcome relief. Her fear, then, was deeper than death and more so in an eternity of that. 

Of note it wasn’t like she ever actually thought this particular fear had come true, save for once. But that was years ago, literal days before the Quarter Quell and well- she clearly never got an answer either way on that one. 

Even now, with her right index finger teetering on her teeth, shaving the nail down to the bleeding quick, she wasn’t entirely sure until right now either. The only thing she’s been positive about is that she could  actually feel her heart trying to escape the safety of her bones so that it can run off and let the fear dissipate like heat in a nuclear explosion. 

Now, well, there's two things she’s pretty positive about. 

To be fair she wasn’t necessarily doing anything to prevent living her biggest fear– she never needed to (save for a one year stint between Cato’s games and her own). She just..assumed she was very very lucky.

Who could blame her for the uncertainty, in her defense. It’s winter– and if the past three winters have taught her anything it’s that winter fucks her body up.

It had been so simple to justify.

Sure, she’s absolutely exhausted. Exhausted in a way that she can only relate to those last few months before her games, where she was training nearly sixteen hours straight. Yeah, it’s odd for her to want nothing more than to lay in bed for hours and hours a day– but she’s fucking tired. Winter always makes her tired, the cold always drains her. That’s not suspicious, right?

And sure, she’s starving. All the time. But again…it’s winter. Winter means burning more energy just to stay alive of course she’s absolutely starving. And well, when she gets sick when she goes too long without eating, it’s winter of course. She probably caught something from one of the girls. 

Even the body pain– that of course is due to the winter chill deep in her bones. Nothing more sinister, of course not. Everything that’s off about her recently well..things are off every winter after the war!

But…the one thing about Clove? She is not stupid. 

She is not stupid, but as Clove forces herself to look her reflection in the eye she notices the bleeding nails, the red ringed eyes, and the tears already trying to escape, she knows she is not stupid but she is very very very scared. 

The heart that was pounding in her chest to escape now feels so loud in her ears that it deafens her, the nails that now have no edge try to dig into her palms to ground her. She is unsure how she finds the ceramic ledge of the bath to sit on, but she somehow does. For a minute she thinks that she’s dying, that her brain is screaming for air with the way her vision blurs from the periphery inward (she always knew this would cause her death). It’s not until she can hear her own breathing, coming out in desperate, choking gasps that she realizes she’s crying.

Her hands don’t shake– her hands couldn’t shake, that would have meant her death– but as she tries to press the heels of her hands into her eyes she realizes that oh maybe they do as her body fails her in yet another way. 

She didn’t even have a mother. 

How could she be someone’s?

She doesn’t know how long she sits there on the ledge, how long her heart tries to run away from her.  It’s long enough that the skin of her cheeks run raw from the assault of tears, enough that the blood under her nails dries, long enough that her face is drained of any and all color. Her mind is both simultaneously empty and racing, as she barely processes which handle of the faucet to reach for. In her haze she manages to turn on the cold water, and her quivering hand can barely cup enough water to splash on her face. It’s barely enough to bring her back to reality, but it is enough to quell the stinging of her eyes. 

When she catches her appearance again, she almost doesn’t recognize herself. The angry red around her eyes, the stark lack of color even for her. Even her hair falls loosely in her eyes, plastered to her skin by the salt and tracks of her own tears. Looking at herself like this doesn’t even feel like she is seeing her own reflection.

Clove can’t help but think of her mother. 

Did her own mother cry herself raw, when she discovered her existence? Did she bite her nails to nubs, did she think Clove was her worst fear manifested?  Did she know that she’d be on her own within days, did she know not a person in the world was going to stand beside her for the next years of her life? Did she know that Clove was going to be her downfall, did she know that she was the only person in the world who would care if Clove lived or died?

Clove feels another tightening in her throat, another rush of warmth down her cheeks. She stares at herself, unblinking, as the tears continue. 

She knows she isn’t crying for herself, this time, but instead for fifteen year old Sevina Kentwell. The Little Girl, because she really was nothing more than a child, that was her mother. 

“You’re not a teenager.” Clove reminds herself, gripping the edge of the sink until her hands hurt. She is not a fifteen year old, she’s a twenty three year old woman. 

“You’re not alone, he won’t leave.” Yes, her father left her mother, but Cato would never. Could never, and would never. 

“I already won.” She tries, bringing her ice cold hand to her chest, desperately trying to regulate this meltdown before Cato gets home and finds her this way. “I won, I won, I won. I can’t die and leave it behind.” 

Even if she died, there was Cato. Cato, who no doubt, would do anything for even the theoretical baby they did not actually have yet. There was Cato. If something happened to him, well, there was Enobaria. Enobaria and then Glimmer and then Marvel and then, well, beyond that didn’t matter. 

“I won’t die. I won’t die. I won’t die.” Clove manifested, clenching her eyes shut as tightly as she could. “I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. ”

She catches herself off guard, her eyes snapping open as fast as the word slipped out. We. How quickly she’s shifted, how quickly she accepts that she’s not even alone in her own body anymore. She’ll never be alone again. 

Somehow, though, that doesn’t send her spiraling. It was never the child part that scared her. 

That wasn’t her fear, it was not the baby part that she was so frightened of. 

It was the fear of perpetuating a cycle of death and abandonment. It was the near guarantee that she will be a bad mother, with none to model herself after. 

Still, despite that near guarantee of her own impending failure, Clove catches the hint of a smile in her reflection. 

Sure, she may not be good at it, but Cato will be.  In the back of her mind she can still see the look on his face, half a decade ago after her games, when he absently mentioned how he imagined their children to look. 

Even now she herself can't help but wonder if she’ll see her own freckles on her son, or have a dark haired little girl to break up the sea of blondes and redheads that are the children of their friends. 

Hers. It’s her kid. Which, as scary as it is to stomach, is somehow a lot less frightening than she had ever expected. 

She’s normally so aware of her surroundings, hyper attune to any shift in the floor, to the point that nothing can surprise her. Somehow now, she is so in her head, that when she hears the kitchen door slam she practically jumps out of her skin

Clove can hear the heavy steps (stomps? Is he in a mood? What the fuck she’d normally be able to tell) as Cato climbs them two at a time, giving her quite literally just enough time to step into the hall to meet him at the same time he hits the top floor. 

“Was no one going to tell me that pink comes in multiple shades. Apparently saying I need it in pink doesn’t mean much when you’re buying something for toddler girls.” Cato mumbles, pulling out the little paper receipt and bringing it up to eye level. He squints, holding the little sheet a few inches from his face. “I got one..Carnation? And the other one…bubblegum. I thought they were the same color but I was corrected many many many times.” Cato rubs his hand on the back of his neck, heading in a quick right towards their room. “What time do we need to leave?”

Fuck. She was out of it today. Of course, they had to go to District One today (very soon actually) for the twins' first birthday party. Great. She’d feel fantastic after that train ride, for sure. Well damn, was she supposed to wait to tell him after now or-

She doesn’t hear him say her name again, truly locked into her own mind again, when his hand engulfing her shoulder brings her back to her body.

“Clove? Are you okay? We don’t have to go if you aren’t up to it, I know you’ve been really tired lately and it’s okay! We don’t have to-” His voice is just so soft, with concern that is not patronizing but truly genuine, and by the time she glances up to meet his eyes she can’t help but let the words just come out before she has a moment to process what she’s saying. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

For all Clove is not a crier, something in her snaps the second she looks up at him and sees the look of outright love in his pretty blue eyes. For all the times in her life she had been terrified of saying those exact words to him, she had never once expected the way he’d look at her like this. 

She doesn’t give him time to even react before she’s back in tears, fully pressing herself into his chest before he has the time to respond. Or rather, she misses his soft “...really?” when she burrows herself against him. She feels one hand on her back as she feels the other on her face, wiping away the streak of tears over her right cheek bone. That same hand tilts her face up so he can look down at her directly. 

“...are you okay?” Even with the hesitation in his voice Clove can’t miss the absolute joy barely hidden below the surface. As soon as she gives even the slightest nod, she watches as maybe the brightest smile she’s ever seen breaks across his face. It must be infectious, because she can’t help her own in return. 

“I’m okay. I’m really really okay.”  Clove promises, leaning her face into his hand, laughing just a little through her now obsolete tears. “You don’t seem surprised?”

“You don’t cry, I had to ask.” Not just that– Cato knew her better than even himself sometimes. He knew, more than absolutely anyone else, just how scared of this she was. “I don’t think we have any right to be shocked, Clove.” 

Fair enough. 

“It’s like…everything you ever wanted, right?” Clove uses her own hand to wipe the other side of her eyes, before slinking both of her arms around his neck, fully just letting him take the bulk of her weight. 

“Clove, I already have everything I wanted. This is just… beyond that.” It wasn’t a secret that yes, Cato had always imagined his children with Clove, even more so in the last couple of years. Even still they’d been through enough, Clove more than most. It wasn’t something he was going to push her on. “Do you know how long or-”

“Uh like twenty minutes ago-” Clove starts, audibly sighing and rubbing at her eyes when she realizes that's not quite what he meant. “Sorry. Just..I’m not thinking straight today. But no. Sometime between…December and now. Zero to Three months, I don’t actually know. There are…many..many many…many many..many many..many…many times this could have happened, so. We’ll find out.”

Cato’s hands both slide down to her waist, and he lifts her to his height with practiced ease before he kisses her in a way she isn’t sure he has in the seven years they’ve spent with each other, but that she hopes he replicates again and again. She laughs against his lips, as she brings her fingers to thread into his hair slightly, just toying with the base of his neck. 

“On second thought we don’t have to go..” Cato mumbles, barely even pulling away from her to talk, still so close that their nose and heads touched. 

“We have to go. Glimmer will kill us.” Clove sighs in response, but stays impossibly close to him. 

Cato lets go of her with audible annoyance, letting her feet hit the floor before he actually huffs. 

“Fine. But we’re only going because we need to make sure our kid has friends.”

She would be lying if she didn’t say it felt like warmth spread through her chest when she heard the word ours.

Later that evening, they’re standing in the corner of a pink glitter and balloon covered living room. He’s behind her, his arm around the front of her shoulders holding her flush to him, whispering in her ear silly jokes about how they will not be adding a glittery, heart covered, pink wall to their house for the sake of a birthday party next year. 

Between their own little jokes and her stifled giggles, she can’t help but watch their friends. Glimmer, who for the first time in her life freely accepts the swipe of icing on her nose from one of her children or the man she made them with, all the while smiling and laughing without a care in the world for the way it would affect her makeup or her dress size. Or Marvel, carrying around the girls who look nothing like him but look like everything in the world that he loves. 

It dawns on her then, that maybe the reason it is a lot less scary that it is her baby, is because it’s his too.

____________________________________________________________

“You’ve slowed down.” 

Clove quite literally jumps when she hears the voice from directly behind her, and if she didn’t know any better she most definitely would have yelped too, if she didn’t recognize that tone of dissatisfaction immediately.

“Oh for fucks sake Enobaria, don’t sneak up on me like that!” Clove pauses, coming to a full stop so she can bring her heart rate back down to earth. She pulls her head band down over her ears, now even colder without her own adrenaline to ward off the biting cold of late District Two winter. “It’s March, Enobaria, give me a break. It’s always hard to get back into it after the snow melts.”

“Don’t give me that shit, Clove.” Enobaria rolls her eyes as she catches up to her fully, grabbing her by the upper arm and pulling her over to the side, off the same path back to Victors’ Village they both take every day. 

The sense of Deja Vu is intense, and Clove swears for a minute she’s seventeen again, being pulled into the woods on her way back to the Academy on what Enobaria had always so lovingly called her “run of shame.”

“Are you still slutting yourself out, Clove, or did you come to your fucking senses?” Enobaria had truly hissed in her ear, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her forward with her nails in her skin.  “Don’t even answer that, I’m not as stupid as you think I am Clove. I know what you’re still doing.”

‘Still’, meaning in the past couple of months since Cato returned from the Seventy Second Hunger Games. Enobaria had, naively mind you,  assumed it was just a phase. Teenagers and their little hormones and all that. She figured it wouldn’t last that long, maybe a couple of weeks, as the novelty of victory wore off for Cato. 

Surely he would have a whole crowd of girls after him, but she didn’t think Clove was dumb enough to be one of them. Unfortunately, apparently, she was very very wrong, judging by the way Clove showed up at the academy every morning in clothes that were far too fine to be Academy issued and far too big to be her own. 

Nevermind the fact that some mornings she could literally see her seventeen year old mentee cooking breakfast across the street, playing housewife when she should be playing future victor. 

“I’m not slutting myself out, it’s just Cato-”

“Shut it. I always told you I wasn’t going to let what happened to your mother happen to you. And do you know why, Clove? Because I will kill you and Cato both before you ever step in that arena, got it? Don’t fuck this up for yourself.” Enobaria didn’t even give her time to respond, before she let go of her arm and truly pushed her forward, watching as she stumbled the first few feet before nearly falling to the ground. “Get to training.”

“I’m serious, Clove. You usually get back to the house by nine eighteen if you do six miles. You’re not making it back until Nine thirty. I know you aren’t at seven, you always said the number seven freaked you out, and frankly  you’re not fast enough to do eight at that pace. Never have been.” Enobaria narrows her eyes, giving her solid full body once over, practically an inspection for any obvious injuries. “You aren’t eighteen, Clove. You’ve been through a lot. It’s okay for things to be different, but don’t push yourself to the point you’re hurting. Six may be a lot for you right now, don’t risk it. It’s winter, I know everything hurts you, Clove. But that's a significant time change, I’m just a little concerned–”

“‘Baria. I’m not hurt. I promise. It’s just the beginning of the warm season, and it hurts a little bit but nothing that bad–” Clove tries, putting her hands on top of Enobaria’s wrists as she looks her over. Enobaria clearly means the concern with love, nothing less, nothing with anger.

“It’s not just that, Clove, your form has changed, you seem hesitant and skeptical when you hit the ground, you look hurt. You can tell me if you’re hurt, we can change something, just tell me. You’ve been through a lot, Clove.” Enobaria offers softly, bringing an uncharacteristically gentle hand up to Clove’s upper arm where she rubs random circles. 

Clove goes to defend herself and her body when she is taken off guard by Enobaria’s observation and gentleness, narrowing her eyes as she gives her mentor a once over. “...why are you paying such close attention to me?”

“It’s my job, Clove. It’s my responsibility to make sure you’re in the best condition I can get you in. I always watch. And I know something’s changed, I know what they did to you Clove, and we can modify things to make sure you’re not going to get hurt–”  Enobaria insists, once again leading her back up the path to their homes. She’s whispering, because if there is one thing about a Career victor that they cannot seem to shake after everything, is that their public reputation matters. They make it to the steps of Enobaria’s front porch where she eases them both down to the bottom step where many of their longest conversations in Clove’s life have occurred. 

Once upon a time someone overhearing this conversation would have been catastrophic. 

“Oh..Enobaria.” Clove whispers softly as she realizes this is her showing her love. This is how they always showed their concern– tough love.  She is gently grabbing at Enobaria’s upper arm now, giving the lightest little squeeze.. “I’m not hurt, not any more than usual. It’s not that. I know i’m slower than I used to be–”

“What’s wrong, then, Clove? It’s not a big deal, we can fix whatever it is.” Enobaria tries, doing her best to relay genuine concern rather than passing judgment. It’s been her sole responsibility, to keep Clove healthy, for twenty entire years now. 

And yes, maybe she had some guilt over not being able to keep her safe during the war, and needed to make up for it somehow. 

“...I didn’t want to tell you.” Clove whispers, and when Enobaria looks up at her she swears her blood runs genuinely cold at the fear (and tears) in the younger girl’s eyes. “You’re going to be so disappointed in me, Enobaria, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what, Clove, I’m not disappointed it’s okay to be hurt, it’s not your fault–” She immediately tries to ensure, holding Clove by the shoulders before the freckled girl turns to the side, looking at the sky to blink back her tears before they can freeze to the pale expanse of her skin. 

“I don’t even know how to tell you, you’re going to hate me. I’m so sorry, Enobaria, please I didn’t mean to disappoint you–”

“Clove, I’ll never hate you, now what’s wrong.”

Clove swallows the lump in her throat, before she rises from the step, taking a few steps forward out of Enobaria’s reach. She wipes at her face with the sleeves of her coat before she unzips it. Clove turns to the side as she fingers the hem of her– Cato’s– shirt, before she tugs just the bottom up. 

Enobaria raises an eyebrow, eyeing Clove’s incredibly toned and extremely flat lower abdomen. “Are you trying to show off the abs of a sixteen year old or–”

“What? No? You don’t see it?” Clove glances down, confused as to how she could miss it. Okay, maybe there is absolutely nothing to miss, with years and years of intense workouts to thank, but Clove most certainly notices a difference when she looks at herself in the mirror. “Please don’t make me say it, I can’t say it to you.”

“Say what Clove?”

“Enobaria…I’m..well… No, baria, I can’t say it, I can’t watch you hate me, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Clove rambles, shaking her head rapidly to insist she did not mean to bring such shame on herself. “You’re the only person I’ve ever been afraid of disappointing, I’m so sorry. But please, don’t kill me, I want this.”

“Clove what are you talking about–” Enobaria nearly rolls her eyes, but something about the tears, the fear, and the now dropped shirt click all the pieces into place and she actually gasps as her brown eyes go wide. She feels her lip fall so softly into a sigh, and she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it as she opens her arms to her. “Oh. Clove, honey, it’s okay.”

Clove visibly hesitates to come towards her, frozen like prey deciding if she has a chance to run before she is torn to pieces. That's new, too, that in Fight or Flight her instinct has become flight. “....are you mad at me?”

“Just come here.” She offers one last time, gesturing her forward with her hands. “I’m not mad, Clove. You just look terrified.”

“You always said you’d kill me.” Clove explains warily, one foot planted behind her as if she is ready to haul it across the street to her home as fast as she can. “Do you still want to kill me?”

“Clove, you were a teenager. That was the best threat I had, and it worked. You knew I was capable of it.” She offers with exasperation, dropping her offer of any sort of physical comfort. “You’re not a little girl anymore. I don’t control what you do. I don’t have to worry about getting you in and out of an arena now, you’re an adult.”

“...but are you disappointed?” 

“No, Clove. I’m not disappointed. I’m a little disappointed that you seem actually scared of me right now, but that’s my own fault.” She frowns, dropping her hands completely to her side to take away any threat Clove could be left to perceive. “I’m not going to hurt you at all, Clove. I promise.”

Clove lets her stance relax, and hesitantly takes a step closer to her mentor and practically sister at this point. “I just… I want this, Enobaria. And I want that to be okay. But I also know it killed my mom and..”

“You’re allowed to want to be a mother Clove. You’re not upsetting anyone. You’re an adult. You survived a war. You have absolutely earned and deserve whatever life you could possibly want.” Enobaria cocks her head, and against her better judgment just steps forward to pull Clove into a hug whether she wants it or not. “Clove. Being pregnant, having you.. That isn’t what killed your mom. The games killed her..Snow killed her. It wasn’t you. It was never you. You were never the reason your mother died, and I am so sorry anyone has ever told you differently.”

If Clove’s grandmother weren’t already dead and rotting, she sure would be after today, Enobaria would have seen to that. 

Clove’s only response is a weak nod as she buries her face in Enobaria’s hair, needing more than she realized to hear those exact words. “You’re really not mad?”

“Of course not, Clove.  I promise. You’ll be a good mom. You already take care of everyone else.” Enobaria assures her, bringing her hand up to run over the length of Clove’s long dark hair where it’s come out of the pony tail. “When are you supposed to have it?”

“September.” Clove mumbles into her hair, relaxing until Enobaria gently pushes her back so she can look at her with a quizzical expression as the calculator runs in her brain. 

“...you’re four months pregnant right now? Were you planning on ever telling me?”

Clove nods, brushing her fly aways out of her face with the sleeve of her coat. “I only found out last month. We haven’t told anyone. You were first on the list though, I just wanted to wait a little longer. “

Enobaria just nods, looking her over with the new lens. It made sense now, why Clove seemed so hesitant and careful, and of course slower. “...you’re four months pregnant and you still look like that?”

She gives another nod, the slightest smirky smile taking over her face. “They said it’s ‘cause it’s my only baby. And because I have worked so so hard for such a strong set of muscles in my torso. Thanks for that.”

“Oh good. I guess the Cato genes didn’t kick in then. Not that would fuck you up.”

“Thanks for the reassurance, Baria.” Clove laughs, anyway.

_____________________________________________________________

“Well aren’t you just a little ray of sunshine today, Clove!”

“Can you shut the fuck up, Sparkles?” Clove snaps from her end of the couch, elbows on the arm rest with both her hands on her face, holding up the weight of her head. 

“Oh what an absolute joy we’re going to have together!” Glimmer rolls her eyes playfully from the opposite end of the chair, not even bothering to look over at her truly miserable friend, instead content with focusing on the intricacies of the floral embroidery she is adding to the fabric in her hands. “Remind me again why I'm here if you’re going to be a bitch to me?”

“Because.” Clove groans, stretching out one leg towards Glimmer’s side. “I made one joke that I was just going to have this baby in the bath tub and now Cato won’t let me be alone. He’s just being a scared little pussy bitch baby.”

“Ah. Right. I’m babysitting you.” Glim taunts. “You know, we could just go outside and enjoy the pool with the fathers of our children and my daughters. Cato definitely doesn’t have a shirt on and we both know how you feel about that so…”

“I am not going outside like this.” Clove hisses, shifting yet again in her seat, searching for even the slightest relief of her permanent discomfort at this point in her life. “Cato is safer if I can’t see him or get a straight line to him. My center of gravity may suck but he’s big and an easy target–”

“Clove I’m sure the pool would feel so good, it’s like being weightless, and it’s nice and cool–”

“Have you ever been excessively pregnant in the middle of July? With a giant fucking baby? No? That's what I thought.” She snips at her friend, before once again shifting her legs back and forth over each other. 

“No, but I had two babies at the same time. So I think I get the discomfort part.” Glimmer sets down her handiwork, craning her upper body to look at her incredibly uncomfortable friend. “Go ahead. Just let it out.”

“What?”

“Just say it. Whatever’s on your mind. It sucks and you look absolutely miserable. So. Just…let it out. Say whatever you have to say. Complain. Whine. Whatever. You’re miserable and we’re alone. Just let it out. But remember. I grew two. And I can out complain you.” 

Glimmer clasps her hands in her lap respectfully, giving her full and undivided attention to Clove.

Clove doesn’t even bother to hesitate, being given a free stage to complain to somehow who was not going to take any of her slights personally. She sighs loudly before beginning. 

“I fucking hate this. This sucks. I’m so fucking tired. All the time. But I don’t even get to sleep because this kid just moves all. Fucking. Night! Sleeps all day but then it’s like gym class in there the second I go to sleep! Not to mention I can’t even get comfortable, it’s like she’s crushing my spine in here. Or he. Whatever. She’s crushing my spine, he’s crushing my spine, whoever it is is absolutely fucking my back–” 

“Okay, pause, do you want suggestions as we go, or when you’re done?”

“Glimmer. Just let me talk. You can keep the joys of motherhood talk until the end.”

“That's not what I was going to say, but okay, keep going.”

“Where was I? Oh! The pain. I am in agony. All the time. I can’t go in a hot bath because i’ll boil him in there, but holy fuck does this hurt. Sometimes it hurts so bad I can’t breathe, Glimmer. It’s like every joint in my body is being ripped open especially here-” Clove runs her hand over her upper back. “I just hurt all the time and I never want to do this again. I can’t. I just hope this kid is a boy so Cato won’t want me to do it again–”

“Has he said he wants it to be a boy, Clove?” Glimmer raises an eyebrow with disbelief, her eyebrows pulling together in confusion. “He seems pretty happy with the girls, I don’t think he’d be that upset either way. You know you can find out–”

“No he’s never said it but I assume that’s what he’d prefer. And I never want to do this ever again.” Clove absolutely insists, twisting back to her other side still entirely unable to get even the slightest bit comfortable. “Oh, and I’m fucking hungry all the time. That’s great. All I fucking want is a sandwhich, all day every day. But I can’t even have one. Because I can’t have that sandwich meat. I’d actually slit someone’s throat for a turkey and cheese sandwich right now, Glimmer. I would sit and eat mozzarella cheese balls with a spoon, and I don’t even like Mozzarella cheese, but I can’t have it so I want it. I hope this kid knows that it is SPECIAL.”

“...are you done?” Glimmer prods gently, turning to face Clove before she gently pats the couch in front of her. “Come here.”

“Yeah, I actually feel a lot better after that.” Clove admits, before she actually scowls at Glimmer. “Come where? You’re not messing with my hair right now..”

“Put your head right here, if you let me touch you, I can help.” Glimmer offers, once again touching the couch in front of her. “As long as you don’t bite my hands off…”

“I don’t know, Glimmer-”

“Clove! Lay down! Right now.” Glimmer insists, actually just reaching across the couch and grabbing her by the hand before pulling her down practically into her lap. “Lay on your..left side.”

“My side? I’m not a side sleeper-”

“You are now, lay down.” Glimmer rolls her eyes, before she leans just a little bit forward over Clove. “You probably hurt extra because you’re literally letting her crush your back and everything in it. It helps a lot to put all that weight to the front. Now two things, the first one I’m going to touch your back okay?” 

Clove nods as Glimmer’s fingers find the small of her back, and all she does is press in before Clove lets out an actual soft gasp of relief. 

“See? Now, wrap your hands under your stomach, okay?” Glimmer instructs kindly, before putting her hands on top of clothes and pulling up towards her face just a little. “See? It takes all the weight off-”

“OH my God.” Clove breathes in very clear relief, some of the tension truly melting off of her face. “Okay, scratch what I said, you’re an angel, Glimmer.”

“You could just tell Cato to do this, it really will help–”

“Oh absolutely not. I never want him to touch me ever again in my fucking life. I hate him for this. It’s his fault.” Clove snaps right back to her anger, but doesn’t dare flinch too much out of Glimmer’s very intentionally placed hands. “Seriously, If he ever tries to touch me again I’ll cut every one of his fingers off. He’s lucky I let him sleep in the same bed, but he has to stay on the complete opposite side. Seriously, I’m not built for this like you are. That asshole tries to take pictures of me, too, and I about broke his hand yesterday morning by ripping the camera out of it.”

“Hmm, that's unlike you.” Glimmer teases, but there is a softness in her voice that is not quite patronizing but not dreamlike either. “What do you mean like I am?”

“I don’t know Glimmer, you seemed so happy, and you were just so glowy and beautiful and you just were so peaceful and grateful and I feel fucking horrific. I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive another six weeks of this.” Clove mumbles, though her eyes are closed and with her head against Glimmer’s leg there is a lot less malice in her tone. “I’m not you.”

“Oh…Clove, I'm sorry. I don’t think I was very honest with you.” Glimmer admits, glancing down at her friend. “Clove, I cried every. Single. Night. I’d wait until Marvel was asleep, and then I’d go sit in the girls room sometimes for hours and just…cry.  I was terrified, like legitimately terrified. Every single night. For hours. Do you know why I was okay with not telling anyone the twins were twins? Because I was convinced one of them wasn’t going to make it. Aurelia, specifically. She was always so much smaller, always. I didn’t want to tell anyone in case she didn’t and then no one would ever know. And looking back, I can’t imagine pretending she didn’t exist. It would kill me. There's pictures of me, too, every single week, and I can’t look at them either. They’re hidden so I won’t burn them, because I can’t see myself that way even now. No, I was not in as much pain as you are, I know that. But I was scared. I was so so so scared.”

“Glimmer, I didn’t know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that–”

“No, Clove. You should know.” Glimmer insists, shaking her head briskly back and forth. “It’s not fair to you to think that you’re experiencing it wrong. Because you aren’t. I was terrified. Everything else you mentioned…I get some of it. The reason it moves more at night when you’re trying to sleep is because when you walk around all day you like rock her to sleep, so when you lay down it’s not keeping her asleep anymore. If you talk to it, that might help–”

“What do you mean talk to it, it can’t hear me, Glimmer?”

“...of course he can hear you, Clove. Don’t you like..talk to him?”

“Well, no, I didn’t think he could hear through everything between us.” Clove shrugs slightly, trying not to let any of the guilt she suddenly felt slip into her face. Add that as another check as to why she’s an unfit mother.

“...there is literally nothing between you. It’s quite literally as close to you as another human could ever possibly be. The girls didn’t know their names, because they obviously couldn’t differentiate who was who, but when I didn’t know which one was doing something I'd just call them sis, literally just sis, and they did respond to that.” Glimmer can’t help her smile at the memory of her tiny girls in the earliest days of their lives. “They knew when I talked, and they knew Marvel too, because he used to lay in bed and talk to them for hours. I sometimes wonder how they became such chatty little girls, they use real words now, but it’s not actually a question. They get it from him. Now they wake me up with these little hands on my face going ‘Hi mama’ over and over until I wake up. Sometimes I pretend to be sleeping a few extra minutes just because their little voices are so damn cute.”

“You’re just meant to be a mom, Glimmer, that’s what I mean. You just talk about them like that.” Clove explains, running a hand over her face in exhaustion. “How do you just love like that? So freaking effortlessly. I’m fucking terrified I won’t know how to love it.”

“...because that’s just what happens, Clove. It just happens. I promise, Clove. It is effortless. I’m not worried about you not loving your kid, because you will. It’s the easiest thing in the world to do, not having one, but loving one.” Glimmer promises, with such a soft edge in her voice Clove feels like she is being talked to not by her friend but by a mother. “I do think you need to be kinder to yourself. Let Cato help you, Clove, that's why he’s there.”

“No, I can’t tell him.”

“Tell him what, Clove? That you’re uncomfortable? That's a given. You’re tiny and you are sharing your body with another human. You went through things no one can understand, of course you’re uncomfortable.”

Clove rolls further on her side, not wanting to face any passing judgment from Glimmer. “I don’t want him to see me as weak, Glimmer.”

“OH stop RIGHT there, Clove. He would NEVER. I mean that, never in the entirety of his life, is he going to see you that way. I’m sure of it. I will never forget the months he worried about you, and weak was never a word he associated with you. He thinks you walk on water, there's not anyone who’s ever going to be stronger in his eyes than you Clove. I know that without a doubt. He will never see you as weak.”

“But this is different, Glimmer. I should just be good at this, too.” Clove insists half heartedly, dropping the hand under Glimmer’s but actually letting out a whine at the immediate loss of relief followed by the familiar tugging ache. 

“You need to let him help you. He wants to. Besides, he’s got big hands. Make him hold up the baby so you can sleep, you deserve it.” Glimmer promises, gently brushing over Clove’s upper arm. 

“You know, you mentioned how Marvel likes to talk. Back, you know, when we were in the Capitol? Sometimes they’d just drop me back off in this cell and I'd be just…i’d be bleeding and I was in so much pain I couldn't even see straight. And it could be the middle of the night, it could be the morning, I never knew we didn’t know time, but he would sit there and talk to me through the wall for hours. I don’t even know about what. But I think he was afraid that if I fell asleep I wouldn’t wake back up, and so he would keep me just awake enough…he’s good, Glimmer. I know you two had it rough, but he’s good.”

“I know he is. They both are, somehow.” Glimmer gives the softest smile in return, brushing her now free hand over Clove’s hair over and over. Clove isn’t looking up at her, her eyes closed in contentment and genuine relief, allowing her to actually relax. “...and that's why I'm ignoring the fact I can see them throwing my sixteen month olds back and forth in the pool right now.”

_____________________________________________________________

“Cato….Cato…babe…Cato.” Clove nudges impatiently, which soon turns to grabbing his shoulder and shaking slightly. “Cato…Cato!”

“Hmm?” His voice is muffled by the pillow where he buries his face, not even bothering to lift his head from the dead of his sleep. All Clove can really see of him is the broad expanse of his shirtless back, and the mess of his hair facing upwards on the pillow. Even his arms, where they are buried under the pillow to hold up his face, do not move with her insistence. 

“You better learn to wake the fuck up when this kid gets here, I’m not going to be the only one losing sleep.” Clove warns, but fishes his hand out from under the pillow and brings it to her side. “He’s moving a lot right now.”

“Could it be because you’re talking to him at-” Cato raises half his head, just enough so he could see the bedside clock “...two in the morning, Clovey?”

“He was moving before that, too, Cato.” Clove murmurs, moving the dead weight of Cato’s hand around until he relents and turns on his side to face her. “Feel him.” She absolutely insists, leaning back on her hands to prop herself up. “Or her, I guess. I think he’s a boy though. Just a feeling.”

“I think so, too.” Cato admits, and with a sly smile he slides his hand under her (his) shirt, just to feel the smoothness of her skin under his fingertips. There was something about it, even in the dead of the night, about Clove’s little body engulfed by his clothes. He was, as always, obsessed with her, a fact he never let her forget. 

Even if she insisted it’s because nothing else fit her– bold, considering this still looked like a dress that hit her knees. 

“We need to figure out what we’re gonna name this baby, Cato. We’ve got a month if we’re lucky.” Clove put her hand on top of his, guiding it around to the most opportune place that their kid seemed to be hanging out at any given moment. 

“Well you rejected naming him Cato so-”

“Absolutely not, your ego is bad enough, I do not want to live with two Cato Hadleys.” Clove warned, but the soft look in her eyes betrayed anything but annoyance. She strums her fingers on top of his gently, giving them a little soft squeeze. “I love you, you know.”

“I know. You wouldn’t do this if you didn’t.” Cato acknowledges, shifting his head over to lay on her other hand. “I know it’s not easy, It’s been a lot on you. I love you, and somehow I love you more every day, even when you’re threatening to cut off my hands.”

“Well I kind of need you to have hands now, so you’re safe.” Clove teases, but brushes her fingers over the mess of his hair. “You know, I’m going to do all this work and it’s going to come out looking just like you.”

“Hey, I did some work too-”

“Like five minutes of work nine months ago.”

“That’s cold, it was way more than five minutes.”

“Okay, eight minutes.” Clove can’t quite lean down to kiss him, so she settles for squeezing his hand instead. “I’m kidding. You know that. I wouldn’t survive this without you, and I wouldn’t have done it for anyone else.”

“I know, babe. And I never forget that.”

She huffs impatiently as their child has seemingly decided it’s no longer time to play now that Cato’s been woken up, but the reason why hits her like bricks to her chest and the softest little “oh” comes out first. 

“Keep talking to him.” She softly demands of him, holding his hand to her while she so carefully shifts to lay on her side to face him.

“Huh?”

“He stopped when you started talking. He knows you. Keep talking to him, so I can sleep.”

“Are you serious? What should I say?”

“Do I even look like I’m slightly kidding? Goodnight, Cato. Bond with your child.” 

[1eos]

May I have some lovely book recommendations on this day <3 😁😁 I'm trying to read more this next year

you sure can!!!!! i'll list my fave reads of the past few years:

convenience store woman by sayaka murata -one of my fave books of all timeeeeee. its basically about a woman who just doesnt fit in into 'normal' society and even tho she's happy ppl feel like she shouldnt be bc she's not progressing w everyone else. if you've been the weird girl ever this book will

ring shout - p djeli clark. a historical fiction novel where the kkk are like demons and theres this organization of black hunters. its action packed but what makes it so amazing is the emotional growth of the characters :') an all time fave

the vanishing half - brit bennett. another AMAZING historical fiction book. its abt family lines....and colorism and twins and what it means to be white passing and privilege and generational trauma. it honestly has toni morrison core vibes where there's a lot of pain but thru love all is healed!

there's no such thing as an easy job by kikuko tsumura. a bit of an eclectic read. this woman takes on different jobs and they each give her grief in a new way. very relatable esp if you hate your job 😭

the vegetarian by han kang. THEE GOAT. i will recc this book until the day i DIE. and even then. its technically a horror story abt the fallout after a woman has a dream/vision and decides to stop eating meat but its sooo much deeper than that. its such a great look at how, as a woman, everything abt you is subject to critique down to what you eat

parasite eve. thee classic scifi horror the video game was inspired by! think frankenstein but there's a love story underneath. but also you question if it was love at all bc what if the mitochrondria inside of us are just manipulating everything we do? i loved it! writing style is a bit clinical but idc

my sister the serial killer by oyinkan braithwaite...i read this one in a single day it was THAT GOOD. sister is a serial killer and the fucking implications and fucked up shit that comes from lookism and family expectations and misogyny tbh. love it~

annihilation by jeff vandermeer. the first in a series but you can just read the first one. its sooooooooooooooooooo good. its a scifi book about this mysterious barrier off the coast that's slowly expanding and inside nature is reclaiming its space and most everyone that enters the barrier never returns.....another quick read bc it will have you HOOKED

yellowface by r f kuang. i don't usually enjoy satire but r f kuang really TOOK IT THERE. this is the most infuriating book you'll ever read but in the best way. this white author w an inferiority complex objectifies her friend that she secretly hates and then steals her friend's book. only thing is the friend is proudly asian and her book is abt specific cultural history so the white girl does diet yellowface and is just a massive bitch

beloved by toni morrison. how do you sum up beloved? i cannot sum up beloved. if i had to sum up beloved i would say 'love is a haunting but not every haunting is love and the only thing that can clear a haunting is love'

in the dream house by carmen maria machado. god probably the best prose i've read all year. a really beautiful but bittersweet autobiographical novel about a bisexual woman's experience with a fucked up abusive relationship and how subtle abuse can be. heavy subject matter but handled soooo beautifully.

the only good indians by stephen graham jones. WHEW. this is a horror......and this book will take you for a fucking ride i'll tell you that. its abt a group of native american men who were childhood friends and due to one mistake they're all haunted by...something that wants to get revenge on them. this book had me going 'DID THAT JUST HAPPEN?' multiple times

[randomlonelymusician]

Legacy of Lacey: Cooking Rabbit's Exploration of Mental Health and How Life Sometimes Sucks

Digital horror has exploded within the past few years, especially thanks to the Lacey Games series. Lacey's exploration of trauma and abuse set the stage for a new landscape of digital horror influenced by personal experiences. One such series that fits this new subgenre, though not actually inspired by Lacey, is Mononiiz's Cooking Rabbit series.

As of now, August 2023, there are five installments in the series: Cooking Rabbit parts 1, 2, & 3, and Dressing Rabbit, Pretty Rabbit. They follow Percy, a rabbit working as a chef at a restaurant. As the game's instructions say: "Percy the Rabbit needs help! He needs to prepare food to feed his very hungry customers! Follow the arrows to help him prepare today's specialty!"

The installment goes pretty normally, with the player helping Percy make a pizza. But when he goes to put it in the oven, things start to go a bit wrong. Dark clouds start to appear around Percy, and things become more distorted than usual.

The second upload follows the same gamplay, but with more distortion. (And cool animations start to appear, too!) But when Percy goes to put the food in the oven again, things cut to a different screen.

This is where a major theme of the series is revealed: Percy's struggle with mental health. The quick sequence of images and animations after this illustrates his self-worth issues, depression, and suicidality.

The next installment adds to the themes of suicidality and loneliness, using a voiceover as Percy's inner negative thoughts. But each day, despite all his struggles, he goes to work and puts on a happy front. He's stuck in this cycle of loneliness, fear, depression, and self-hatred. He's constantly miserable and blames himself.

The next two uploads follow a similar theme, but in a different way. Dressing Rabbit's gameplay is normal until black pixels start to creep in from the side. And when the player is tasked to dress Percy in an outfit for work, things go downhill quickly. Percy is quite literally being chased by his demons, and even after all his cries for help he still has to return to work the next day.

Meanwhile, Pretty Rabbit opens with saying Percy hasn't left his room in 5 months, adding again to the theme of depression. But when you go to brush Percy's teeth and he doesn't want you to, the game sedates him and a gory sequence follows. After, Percy is sent back to what looks like a screen out of Cooking Rabbit. But when the player clicks on "settings", they're brought to a screen reading: "It's so painful I'm so tired it's so painful..." over and over again.

I've been really loving the influx of flash game inspired series with great storytelling and a focus on lesser talked about topics. The Cooking Rabbit series, in my opinion, is about a young adult struggling with his mental health also trying to keep up with his work life and social life. We watch Percy fall apart, and have thoughts of suicide and self-harm. It's something a lot of people can relate to, and it's great this subgenre of digital horror could bring us something like this.

Here's Mononiiz's channel, where all the installments are! Also her Twitter! Please support the series and heed the trigger warnings!

[jynrso]

some of it remains (but your love is unmoved)

hey all! this is the fic that i've been working hard on over the past few weeks. it's the first fresh piece i've written in over a year – the oneshot i posted a few weeks ago ("not without me / not without you") had a rough draft and outline so i had a bit to go off. this was a completely new story and i didn't intend for it to be this long. . .13.5 and 6k words later, here we are! jyn's experiences are based on my own. i got a concussion about 3.5 years ago and i still get icepick headaches to this day (that i never got before). while i don't get migraines, they are pretty bad. when i was thinking to myself about jyn's role as a brawler, i figured she'd get hit in the head pretty often –– and from that, this fic was born. title from "as it was" by hozier read it on ao3!

Jyn Erso has always had a remarkably thick skull. 

Not in the sense that she isn’t intelligent. Rather, ever since she’d learned how to fight, she’d quickly found that she could bounce back from blows to the head quicker than her comrades. Hits that would render other Partisans unconscious usually only dazed her; if she got knocked down, she pushed herself back up in seconds, returning to the fight with her brutal efficiency hindered only slightly by slight dizziness and a burgeoning headache. 

As a brawler, with the reach of her truncheons keeping her in close contact with her targets, she’s more exposed than a long-distance soldier. Though her armor absorbs many of the hits she takes, by favoring hand-to-hand combat, it’s not uncommon for her skin to be littered with various bruises and abrasions from hits she’s doled out and ones she’s taken in return. Even with her gloves, her hands often take the brunt of the damage; out of every place on her body, her hands are the most heavily scarred. 

But despite her fighting prowess and experience on the battlefield, she’s had her fair share of close calls. Even she isn’t completely unaffected by someone slamming the butt of their blaster against her skull. The scar snaking up from the top of her forehead into her hairline speaks to that; a few years ago, she’d been hit so hard by a stormtrooper that it had not only knocked her out but also needed stitches –– ones she had to do herself without the credits for proper medical care. It had never healed right, the scar angry and raised to this day, but she’d escaped with her life . . . and only a few consequences. 

The chronic headaches ––  the bad ones –– had begun during her stint in an underground fighting ring, just after Saw abandoned her on Tamsye Prime. In an attempt to earn enough credits to survive, she’d played her strengths to her advantage and fought numerous other sentients for money. Though she’d won more fights than lost, her opponents usually got in a hit or two; and, with the lack of protective gear, the blows she’d taken had often been more debilitating, especially in the aftermath. 

But in the middle of a war, a headache here or there is hardly her biggest problem.  

It’s not like she’s bleeding out or has any open wounds. A stim shot usually takes care of the worst of the symptoms and dims them to a more manageable level. And when that doesn’t work, in the years after Saw, she’d hole up somewhere dark and quiet and ride it out for a few days by herself. With her high pain tolerance, she can push through just about anything, even if it means spending a few hours incapacitated. 

Her last . . . episode had been right after Scarif. She doesn’t remember much of what’d happened after Bodhi had picked her and Cassian up from the beach but she recalls moments of blinding pain. The agony from her burns from the blast had only just been overshadowed by the splitting in her skull, feeling as if someone had taken an axe and cleaved her in two. 

Ever since, however, she’s managed to keep her headaches under control and everyone else in the dark. But with the recent destruction of Alderaan and the move from Yavin IV to Hoth, it’s only a matter of time. With the amount of pressure and stress slowly building up on her shoulders, she just hopes that she’s alone when the inevitable happens, and strong enough to ride out the pain when it comes.

When Jyn wakes, unusually bleary-eyed and out of it, Cassian’s no longer in bed next to her.

The sheets on his side have long gone cold. Faintly, in the back of her mind, she remembers him leaving earlier that morning; before his departure, he’d briefly woken her up with a kiss on the forehead and a whispered urge to go back to sleep. Not recalling much more than that, she assumes that she’d fallen back asleep and pushes herself up into a sitting position. 

As soon as she moves, a slow, heavy ache makes itself known in her left eye, radiating back toward her skull. She curses softly, rubbing her forehead with the palm of her hand, hoping that the pressure will help ease the oncoming pain, but to no avail. Even when she presses harder, digs her fingers into her hairline, the steady throbbing beats in time with her heartbeat. 

A pit sinks in her stomach. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, the pain of it a distraction. Even though her head doesn’t pound badly now, she knows from experience it’ll only get worse as the day goes on. And if this is one of those headaches. . .

Fuck, and she actually has shit to do today. She and Cassian are flying out in the afternoon for a surveillance and scouting operation at the abandoned rebel base on Dantooine. Bodhi’s swinging by later ––  shit, maybe sooner than she thinks, glancing at the chrono and seeing what time it is –– to help her get the ship ready while Cassian takes care of the pre-flight briefing with Draven. 

Okay. Okay. She exhales, throwing her arm over her eyes as she lays on her back in the messy remnants of their bunk. It’s not the ideal situation but it could be worse –– she just has to get out of bed and get ready while her pain is still manageable. Then she just has to meet Bodhi, get to the ship, and take off for Dantooine without indicating something is wrong, then find somewhere hidden and quiet to ride it out by herself. 

(There’s no way in hell Cassian is going to let her get away with that, a small voice in the back of her mind reminds her but she pushes that thought away for now. Once they get into the air, she can figure out an excuse. She just has to get there first. )

Groaning, Jyn hauls herself out of bed, wincing when the simple movement jars her already tender head. Without bothering to flip on the lip, she fumbles around in the dark, picking up random pieces of clothing they’d scattered across the ground the night before. 

In the bathroom, biting back a curse as the cold finally begins to hit her, the warmth of sleep finally wearing off, she quickly gets ready in the relative silence and dimness of the ‘fresher. 

There’s a basic medkit under the sink, equipped with bandages, a few bacta patches, and hyposprays. It’s meant for the occasions when either of them has minor injuries but doesn’t want to go to the medbay. Though it’s here for this purpose –– and she knows she should grab something –– she still hesitates. It’s not that bad (yet) and she’s pushed through worse. And there’ll be times in the future when they have a greater need for these supplies. . .

With her thoughts feeling like static, it’s difficult to concentrate enough to make a proper decision. Before she can, someone knocks on the door and shakes her from her daze. She flinches at the sound, wiping a shaky hand down her face as her head protests the sudden loud noise. 

“Fuck,” she mutters, rocking forward on her heels and leaning forward against the sink, so far that her forehead nearly touches the smudged mirror. The medkit looms in her peripherals but she ignores it, convincing herself that she’ll be fine. (She’s always fine –– she has to be ). 

In a burst of strength, she pushes up and away out of the bathroom, heading toward the door. 

“Jyn!” Bodhi brightens when it opens, then almost immediately falls when he looks at her properly. “You –– you look like shit!”  

“Thanks, Bo,” she mutters, leaning against the doorframe as she pulls on her boots. “Good morning to you, too.” 

Frowning, he rubs the back of his neck as he peers in closer, head dipping down and wide eyes scrutinizing her disheveled appearance. “Well, it’s actually closer to afternoon, now, but –– ” 

“Still morning,” she grunts, straightening. The edge of her vision goes fuzzy for a few seconds, threatening to white out completely; she steadies herself on the wall once again and exhales heavily, then forces herself upright.

“Do you –– do you need to go to the –– ” 

“No,” she bites out forcefully. Her voice harsher is than she intends but the pain makes her feel brittle, fragile even, and she can’t help but overcompensate. “Just –– I just had a bit too much to drink last night. That’s all.”  

Both of them are keenly aware of just how well she holds her liquor and Bodhi is much more observant than people give him credit for, especially around the people he cares about. He frowns, eyebrows tugging together, and while his expression tells her exactly what he’s thinking, he’s also picking up on the hidden details in her own. 

But for whatever reason, either her voice or the stubborn look in her eyes, he doesn’t comment on her flimsy excuse and nods instead, perhaps not wanting to put up a fight when it’s clear she’s looking for one. 

She doesn’t miss the concerned look in his eye when she walks out of the room a little slower than usual. He stays close to her as if expecting to catch her if she falls, arms nearly brushing as he keeps her pace. 

His intense attention makes her uncomfortable, her ears reddening from the unfamiliar notion of having someone care about her. She’s fine. A headache isn’t anything to make a fuss over, and really, he’s making a big deal out of nothing.  

“I checked out the ship you’re taking this morning,” he says, keeping up a steady stream of chatter as they navigate through the halls of Echo Base. She only half-listens, occasionally offering up hums of agreement as he speaks, but it’s growing more difficult to keep her focus solely on him. “There isn’t too much to do but . . .”

After a few minutes, they reach their destination. When the noise and brightness of the hangar bay hall hit her full force, Jyn sways on her feet, eyes closing as nausea swells low in her stomach. Bodhi grabs her elbow to keep her steady but she just barely feels the touch, the hammering in her head overshadowing every other sensation. 

“ ––yn! Are you okay?” 

Bodhi’s voice grows louder and more nervous with each passing second she fails to reply. Jyn barely manages to clamp down on her flinch, forcing her eyes open and gritting her teeth as her head protests. 

“Fine,” she rasps, then licks her dry lips. Just one more hour, at most, and she can lie down; she just has to get to the ship first. “I’m fine. Where –– where’s the shuttle?” 

He pauses, scrutinizing her once again. “Listen, if you’re not feeling well, we can––” 

“I said I’m fine!” she reasserts, a bit harsher than she intends. Her head throbs at the raised tone of her voice. She sighs. “Look, can we just –– ” 

It’s clear he doesn’t entirely believe her. With all the time they’ve spent together since Scarif, he knows what her normal behavior looks like –– and this isn’t it. “Jyn, you really should –– ” 

Her eyes flash in irritation. She doesn’t need to be coddled. “If you want to stay here, be my guest. But I’m going to finish up packing the ship.” 

Once again, he must see something in her face that ends any possible argument. For him, this is a losing battle. Sighing, his shoulders slump in the face of her stubbornness. “All right. Come on.” 

Leading her to a ship in the back of the hangar, she focuses on putting one foot in front of the other and pushing down the pain as best she can. No matter how lightly she steps, the impact of her boots against the ground sends electricity radiating up from her legs to her head, a dull thumping that seems to grow the longer she spends in the hangar bay. 

She blinks and then they’re there. Almost robotically, she nods as Bodhi’s mouth opens and he begins to talk, only catching the tail end of whatever he says. He gestures toward the remaining crates of supplies that need to be loaded onto the shuttle and Jyn doesn’t bother to respond, turning toward them and setting her shoulders in preparation. 

(With her back turned, she misses how his mouth thins, how he reaches out for her but drops his arm after a few seconds. She misses the determined set of his eyes, the way he seemingly comes to a decision before setting to work himself.)

It’s easy to lose herself in the repetitiveness of the task. With only the pain in her head to keep her company, she tunes out the rest of the hangar bay and loads up the ship. At least in there, the lights aren’t so bright and the noises around her are muffled some by the thick durasteel walls. 

A blink and it’s done. It’s been –– how long has she been doing this, so lost in her head? 

For a few seconds, she stands in the cargo bay and looks down at the crates without really seeing them. Her hands flex at her sides, fingers still primed to hold a box. But then a particularly painful jolt of pain goes through her eye and she hisses, pressing the palm of her hand against the socket. When it eases, her brain recircuits and she remembers her purpose, rocking back on her heels. 

She turns to look for Bodhi, not finding him in the cockpit as expected. Instead, when she heads down the loading ramp to look for him, she sees him a few feet away, looking in her direction and talking in hushed voices with Cassian. 

Jyn scowls in irritation, hands curling into fists at her side and marching over to them. She has a good idea of what Bodhi’s telling him –– that she’s been acting weird, that there’s something wrong with her, that she isn’t capable enough to go on the mission. All those thoughts jumble in her head at the same, overlapping and intensifying what’s already there. 

“I’m fine!” she barks when she makes it over to them, putting her hands on her hips and tilting her chin up in defiance. Her jaw tightens, the muscles in her body bunching up and tensing. “I don’t know what he’s telling you but –– ” 

Cassian holds up his hands and Bodhi takes a step back when faced with her sudden burst of rage. “We’re just going over take-off protocol since Bodhi isn’t coming with us on this one,” he explains gently. 

Her anger deflates from her as quickly as it’d arrived and she closes her eyes briefly as her skull throbs in protest. Embarrassment at her outburst curls low in her gut but she refuses to let it show. 

“Great,” she mutters, shoving her hands deep in her pockets and turning away from them. Her cheeks redden, ears burning beneath her hat. “I’ll be on the ship if you need me.” 

If her behavior hadn’t been a cause for concern before, it certainly is now. She hunches in her coat, keeping her head down as she stalks to the shuttle, the snarl on her lips acting as armor to repel any stares from overly curious recruits that she gets on the way back. 

Cassian isn’t far behind. She’s only been on the ship for a few beats before he joins her, standing close enough that there are only a few inches between them. When she looks back into the hangar bay, Bodhi’s still there, his body language anxious and worried in the distance. 

She scowls, feeling betrayed and like they’re ganging up on her. She’s clearly fine –– she’d gotten everything on the ship quickly and efficiently. What complaints could they even have? When she turns away, she determinedly keeps her gaze focused on her datapad and makes a point not to look at Cassian, even when his presence 

Finally, he breaks the stalemate, not bothering to pretend he doesn’t know something is wrong. “Bodhi says you’ve been off all morning.” 

“Did he,” she says flatly, her eye twitching. Her mouth twists and she resolutely stares down at the datapad but not truly seeing the words on the screen. 

“I’m not going to push you,” he replies steadily, his voice not changing despite the derision in hers. There’s no judgment, nothing but concern despite her growing frustration. ( Stars, she doesn’t deserve him. ) “But if something’s wrong, you can tell me.” 

If he hasn’t picked up on it, then she must be successfully hiding the worst of her pain. When she turns to face him, she lets a little bit of her raggedness show, exhaustion written on her features. It’s not a lie, not truly, but a misdirection instead. Let him think this is the root of the issue. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.” 

One of his eyebrows ticks up, likely remembering how she’d barely moved when he’d left their bed that morning. He doesn’t believe her, not entirely. But whatever he must see in her face must be enough to convince him that she’s all right for now. 

He nods slowly, brows tugging together as he considers her words, but doesn’t drop the matter entirely. “You can sleep once we make it to hyperspace.” 

It feels like an order rather than a request but she knows the decision is ultimately up to her. Too exhausted to disagree, the throbbing pain on one side of her head sapping all of the fight out of her body. 

Cassian hesitates, giving her a chance to pull away, then reaches out to cup her cheek. She closes her eyes when his thumb brushes against her cheekbone rhythmically; it doesn’t relieve any pain but his touch soothes her, comforts her in a way that only he can do. 

“Let’s finish getting the ship ready,” he says softly, and, eyes still closed, she nods once again. 

It doesn’t take long for them to finish; apparently, Bodhi had gotten more done than she’d realized while she’d lugged crates of supplies back and forth. Feeling almost as if in a trance with only a dull throbbing pain to keep her company, before she even realizes it, they’ve completed everything else and prepped the shuttle for take-off.  

(Dangerous, Saw’s voice barks in her head when she blinks in confusion, her body acting on auto-pilot as she buckles herself in and mechanically pulls on a pair of headphones. Just because you’re with someone you trust doesn’t mean you’re safe. Focus, my child.)

With one last wave to Bodhi, she closes the cargo bay door without another word and joins Cassian in the cockpit. Her limbs feel heavy, eyes squinting against the bright lights flashing on the dashboard. It takes her more than one try to get her seatbelt buckled in. 

Numbly, she forces her awareness out of the cave in her mind and does her best to pay attention when Cassian completes the pre-flight checks. It only takes a few minutes ––  she thinks, her thoughts feeling as if they’re moving through sludge –– before they’re up in the air. 

“Calculating jump to hyperspace,” he says. She clenches her jaw, nods, and prepares herself. 

The jump to hyperspace is worse than she’d expected. She presses the back of her head into her seat in an attempt to keep it steady and her white-knuckled hand gripping the armrests so tight she shakes. Against the roar of the engine, she inhales and exhales short puffs of air, eyes squeezed tight. It feels as if her brain is rattling against her skull, sharp pinpricks of pain hitting her through the eye in full force. 

One particularly bad pulse through her head has her biting down so hard on her tongue that she draws blood. The sharp sting at least provides a distraction, the coppery, metallic taste now filling her mouth becoming something to latch on to other than pain. 

But it’s getting more and more difficult to keep herself together. The combination of the lights, the noise, and the jerky movements of the shuttle around her have flayed her control almost entirely. She can’t do this, she can’t do this, but she has to, she has to keep it together for just a few more secon––

The ship stills. 

The only sound in the cockpit is her sharp, rapid breathing that she struggles to quiet and the hum of the engine underneath her feet. Though she can’t see him, she’s acutely aware of Cassian at her side. She hears him take off his headset and set it down on its hook above the dashboard, then hears the creak of his seat as he turns, presumably to face her properly. 

Hears the low, comforting sound of his voice when he tentatively asks, “Jyn? Are you okay?” 

“`m’fine,” she mumbles after a beat, her brain taking longer than usual to comprehend his words properly. Even though it’s very clear that she’s not, she can’t quite abandon the ruse just yet, still hanging onto rapidly disappearing threads of composure. “Just. . .” 

She trails off, swallowing down a wave of nausea. In the silence that follows, her stomach churns, due both to anxiety and her migraine; if she moves, even slightly, she’s going to throw up all over the floor. To tamp down on that, she focuses on her breathing: ragged inhales that catch before they make it to her lungs. 

Cautiously, she cracks her eyes open, just a slit, to see Cassian leaning forward in his seat, gaze tight with worry. His fists are curled against his knees, his body tense with the effort of not reaching out to her. She imagines he wants to check her over himself and see what’s causing her pain but not without her permission. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks. She can hear the desperation in his voice, likely compounded by the fact that he hadn’t pushed her to tell him what’d been wrong earlier. “Jyn, please. Did someone hurt you? Are you––” 

“Fine,” she cuts him off weakly, ignoring his growl of frustration at her protests. He’d reluctantly taken her by her word earlier but that’s not going to work anymore. The ruse is up; it’s so incredibly clear that she isn’t fine, the jump to hyperspace having rattled something loose in her brain. “It’s. . .” 

She pauses, licks her lips, then decides ––  what the hell. She can’t physically keep her walls up much longer. Her eyes flutter close, the pressure in her head abating only slightly with the lack of light. Finally, she says, “My head.” 

“Did you fall? Jyn, let me check––” 

“No,” she swallows, fumbling with her words. Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth, her thoughts slow and sluggish. “It’s –– it’s a migraine. I think. I, um, get them. Occasionally.” 

When Cassian doesn’t reply, she opens her eyes to see what he’s doing, feeling nervous and exposed. She watches as he gingerly stands and reaches over her, flicking off the lights in the cockpit and dimming the space as much as possible. While it isn’t completely dark, with switches on the dashboard still blinking, it’s a marked difference from how bright it’d been before. Her breath leaves her in a stuttered exhale as her shoulders relax slightly. 

His voice is quiet when he asks, “Better?” 

“Yeah,” she rasps. It is. “Thanks.” 

A beat of silence passes between them before he tilts his head to the side, in the direction of the back of the ship. Though it isn’t large and not meant for long-term travel, there’s a small bunk room and galley just behind the crew’s quarters. Though he doesn’t say anything, Jyn knows what he’s asking. 

“No,” she grits out. She keeps her head still but follows him with her gaze. It’s a struggle to get the words out. “I don’t . . . need to rest.” 

“Jyn. . .” 

“No.” It feels like her last line of defense. It’s a stupid hill to die on but she can’t seem to let it go, barely clinging to what little she has left. Even though she knows that Cassian would never treat her differently  –– and he never has when she’s come to him injured or in the aftermath of a nightmare –– she’s not unlike a feral animal when hurting, flinching away and attacking the hand that tries to help.

He’s seen her at her worst, has held her through it, has seen more of her than anyone in this galaxy ever has. But used to a lifetime of sharing a bunk and never truly being alone, she’s learned to keep her pain quiet, to remain small and unobtrusive in moments of true vulnerability. Cassian and the rest of Rogue One have slowly broken down some of her walls but there are some things she doubts she’ll ever be able to shake fully.

But then Cassian whips out his trump card. 

“Please, Jyn? For me?” And if his saying please hadn’t been enough, he adds softly, “My back has been sore all morning. Lay down with me?”

“Just for an hour,” she relents ––  barely. “And you have to actually lay next to me.” 

His eyes soften. “`course. Come on.” 

She stands slowly to try and offset the dizziness that she knows will come, but it doesn’t work. She bites the inside of her cheeks and closes her eyes when it washes over her, her head throbbing in time with her heartbeat. For a few seconds, she worries once again she might throw up all over the ground but swallows it down. Fuck, it hurts so badly. 

There’s this urgent, wild urge in the back of her mind to cry out for her mother –– she feels like a child again, scared and in pain, and wanting nothing more than Lyra’s comfort. 

Finally, when it passes, she opens her eyes again, breathing heavily. Cassian stands a few feet away, one arm outstretched in case he needs to steady her. He’s not even trying to hide his worry anymore; she’d reassure him in any other situation but she’s just so tired. 

Slowly, she makes her way to the bunkroom with Cassian close behind. It’s not far, and soon, she’s perched on the edge of the small cot, shoulders hunched forward. 

He reaches out and touches her arm gently. That one small gesture eases a knot of tension in her body and she sags like a puppet whose strings have been cut. “I’m going to grab you some water. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

Feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable, she doesn’t like the idea of him leaving her sight right now. But at the thought of water, she swallows, her throat dry. Slowly, she nods, her head heavy and protesting the jerky movement. 

She keeps quiet and doesn’t move until he returns with a glass of water in hand. Despite the position likely being hell on his back, he crouches next to the bed, offering it to her. 

Silently, she reaches for it with a shaky arm, just barely managing to take a few sips without spilling before handing it back to him. He takes it, but not without a small sigh and a look of concern. 

“You need to stay hydrated.” As quiet as it is, his voice is still too loud. 

Not having eaten anything all day, she’s keenly aware of the hunger and thirst steadily growing in her stomach. But it’s no match for the pain in her head and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to keep anything more than water down if she tries. “No,” she manages. But then, to appease him, she adds, “Later.” 

“All right,” he says finally, setting the glass on the small desk a few paces away. A pause. He shifts on his feet, and she’s just about to order him to move from his uncomfortable position when he speaks again, “I grabbed a hypospray. It’s yours if you want it.” 

There’s a protest on her lips that dies when he interrupts, anticipating what she’d planned on saying, “We have more than enough supplies. It won’t be missed.” 

Jyn licks her lips, then dips her chin in a slow nod. 

Cassian’s jaw works briefly, clenching and unclenching before his expression finally smoothes. He knows her better than she knows herself, she thinks –– and they both know how stubborn she can get about soldiering through her pain until the last possible moment. For her to give in now without too much complaint tells him exactly how bad her pain is, what she’d been trying to hide from him all day. 

Without a word, he waits until he catches her half-squinted gaze before slowly bringing the hypospray to her neck. She tilts her chin to the side slightly and closes her eyes; her breath stutters in her lungs when his warm hands brush against her skin, looking for the artery. 

“Dispensing now,” he murmurs and she doesn’t have the energy to hide her flinch when the cold medicine enters her bloodstream. 

The small, barely there movements of her body send shockwaves of pain through one side of her skull. Her whole body tenses, muscles rigid. She keeps her eyes squeezed to better ride out the wave washing over her, ebbing and throbbing; even as she feels the hypospray beginning to take effect, it isn’t immediate. 

Now that she’s sitting, with no more tasks left to complete, she properly takes stock of her pain, it feels as if someone is repeatedly taking an ice pick to her head, stabbing her eye socket with each throbbing beat of her pulse. Before she can stop it, a small whimper leaves her mouth before she presses her lips tightly together so no other sounds can escape. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he says softly. She feels him brush her cheek with his fingers lightly, then moves some of her hair off of her face. “You don’t have to hide from me, Jyn. What do you need?” 

She doesn’t have to do much to convey it. Without speaking and moving as little as possible, she finds his arm in the dark and pulls him toward her. Gingerly, Cassian stands –– she can hear his joints popping as he does so –– and maneuvers himself over her and onto the cot. 

He settles stiffly next to her with his back to the wall; at first, he doesn’t move, likely not wanting to cause her any more pain. But as soon as she feels him at her side, she reaches for him immediately. He is, as always, a lifeline for her, an anchor in the middle of the storm. She turns onto her side, curling into him, desperate for some sort of comfort, a distraction from the pain, if only for a few seconds. And even though it must be hell on his back for him to curl over her like this, he does so, anyway, his body a shield between her and the outside world. 

Forehead pressed against his neck, her fists gripping his shirt with a white-knuckled grip, he quietly murmurs nonsense into her ear. All she can do is cling to him in a moment of uncharacteristic weakness strength and breathes. 

Hours later, Jyn opens her eyes, slowly waking up. She doesn’t remember falling asleep but the combination of Cassian’s presence and the hypospray’s effect eventually lulled her to unconsciousness. She blinks once, twice, feeling a hundred times lighter than she had earlier; the pain in her head has abated to a manageable ache –– still there but not as debilitating. 

She tilts her head upward, the tip of her nose brushing against Cassian’s face. He’s in the same position as he’d been in before, curled around her protectively. Still asleep, his face is relaxed, his breathing slow and even. 

As much as he needs the sleep, she’s unable to resist her next impulse; she tilts her chin slightly, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his mouth. It’s short and sweet, lasting only a few seconds; and even though it’s a selfish want, her heart skips a beat in her chest when his eyes open, warm and brown, blinking down at her. 

It’s a testament to how much he trusts her that he doesn’t tense upon awakening. Rather, his expression warms, mouth tugging into an indulgent smile. “Hi,” he murmurs, voice rasping. 

“Hi,” she repeats, her smile a mirror of his. When he moves to brush his lips against hers again, she meets him eagerly, basking in the afterglow of the morning and the relaxed feeling that only sleep can bring. 

“How are you feeling?” 

She hums. “Better.” 

“Good.” His arms tighten around her, firm but loose enough that she can pull away. She doesn’t. “You scared me, you know.” 

She stays silent as he continues. “When Bodhi told me he didn’t think you were feeling well, I didn’t think it was that bad, not when you marched over to us a minute later. But then, after we jumped. . .” he closes his eyes briefly, licking his chapped lips. She wants to smooth the wrinkle between his brows with her thumb. “I thought you would have told me that it was that bad.” 

Is that disappointment in his voice? Shame curls in her gut. Had their positions been flipped, she would have felt just as helpless. “I know. I should have.” 

“Why didn’t you?” An open question. If he’s judging her for it, he keeps that out of his voice. 

“I don’t know,” she says finally. “It’s. . .It’s not that I don’t trust you, because I do, but. . .” she shrugs with a shoulder as best she can while lying on her side. “Just habit, I guess.” 

A habit formed after years of being alone, exacerbated due to Saw’s abandonment and how quickly her ties to the Partisans –– her foundation of self, her family –– had been ripped out from underneath her. It had been necessary to hide the vulnerable sides of herself for survival, instincts that she hasn’t quite shaken now that she once again has a team she can rely on. 

He licks his chapped lips. “Have you . . . seen someone about this? A medic?” 

“Once.” After her symptoms had lingered long after a particularly bad head injury, Saw had forced her (not that she had much choice with how sick she’d been) to see one of the Partisan’s medics. “With how many concussions I get, this sort of thing. . .happens, they said.” 

Cassian hums. “Will you see one of the Alliance’s medics when we get back?” 

“I don’t think there’s anything they can do,” she argues. She can handle it –– not to mention that, with how many injuries those doctors have to deal with on a daily basis, she’d just be wasting their time. 

He stays silent but the look in his eyes tells her he doesn’t like her answer. “There might be medicine that could help.” 

“The hypospray worked well enough,” she retorts grouchily, cuddling closer to him so she no longer has to meet his gaze. His heartbeat beats a steady tempo against her cheek. 

He brushes her bangs back behind her ears, his hand lingering on the side of her face. Perhaps reassuring himself that she’s still in one piece, that she’s no longer in as much pain as before. “To prevent this sort of thing from happening so often.” 

She scowls. “It doesn’t happen that often.” 

“Jyn. . .” he sighs. “What happens if we’re out on a mission and you’re like this? If –– if something happened to you, I couldn’t. . .” His jaw clenches, eyes flashing at the thought of the hypothetical. 

Knowing he’s right –– it has happened out in the field but never to this degree –– she stays silent. 

“Let’s make a deal, all right?” She remains quiet, listening. He continues, “You go to the medbay when we get back, see what they can do. I’ll come with you. And then, in return, when my back is bothering me, I’ll go. But we tell each other, all right? When we’re hurting. Trust goes both ways, remember?” 

“Trust goes both ways,” she echoes softly, tipping her head back from his chest and onto the pillow so she can better look at his face. Her headache has been subdued to a dull throbbing, a far cry from the agony she’d felt earlier. “You promise you’ll go?” 

“If you do, I will,” Cassian says. “And you’ll tell me next time your head hurts, yes?” 

“Fine,” she concedes with a grumble, though her displeasure fades when he gathers her back up in his arms and kisses her forehead gently. Her breath hitches at the feeling of his lips against her skin. 

“We have a few more hours before we reach Dantooine,” he tells her softly. “We should get up, grab some food. When’s the last time you ate?” 

Even though she hasn’t eaten anything all day, the remnants of nausea still remain in her system. She makes a face, wrinkling her nose at the thought of leaving the bed and Cassian’s embrace. 

“You said your back was sore,” she says instead. Regardless if it had only been a ploy to get her to bed, his back bothers him more often than not. It won’t hurt to rest a little more, especially not when they’ll be in hyperspace for a while still. “Lay here with me?” 

The corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles down at her. It’s the type of true smile she so very rarely sees outside of when they’re alone together, the one that never fails to make her heart swell in her chest with a type of love she’d never thought she’d ever feel. “Always.” 

[thisworldisablackhole]

Hyperion, by Dan Simmons - 4/5

Long time no see. I have been extremely distracted by video games lately. Helldivers 2 has consumed the past few weeks of my life, and I also just decided to take another stab at Elden Ring, so this book took me much longer than usual to get through

Hyperion's format of storytelling actually lends itself to longevity though, as it's essentially a collection of short stories. This worked out nicely for me because I didn't have to worry about forgetting any details after not touching the book for a few days in a row. To sum things up quickly, the stories are shared by a group of pilgrims who are travelling to the Time Tombs on Hyperion to request council with the Shrike; the mysterious Lord of Pain and/or bloodthirsty murderer who's intentions are unknown. All the citizens of the Web know is that the Shrike holds insurmountable power and secrets. That alone was enough to hook me in.

Each character takes turns sharing their backstory of why they decided to join this potentially fatal pilgrimage, and it is through these stories that the world of Dan Simmons' immense universe comes to life. Hyperion takes place in a distant future where Earth has been destroyed and humans have officially become an interstellar species. Almost every planet in the galaxy is not only inhabited, but connected by "farcaster" portals (a technology passed down to humans via the AI conduit) which makes access to these planets almost instantaneous. These planets are part of the "World Web", which is governed by the Hegemony (because of course the entire universe is going to be ruled by one totalitarian government). Hyperion is the only planet that sits outside of the Web, and it's incorporation into the Hegemony is highly debated due to the absolutely violent, maniacal God that roams it's plains.

Time is a very important aspect of this book. Not only are the Time Tombs themselves very central to the plot, but there is also the problem of time debt. To put it simply, people who often travel in space ships at a speed faster than light experience less time than those who don't. 9 months of space travel for one person could be 10 years of local time for their family back home. This makes the universe quite unique, because as citizens of the Web experience time at different speeds, the cultures and technologies of past and future begin to bleed together. The result is a book where the exact time period is really hard to pin down. Descriptions of 19th century peasants are contrasted by space ships and laser guns, and it gives the whole book a really special vibe that is equal parts confusing and exciting.

If I have one gripe with this book, it's with the inconsistency of the writing itself. Hyperion often shifts in and out of sci fi genius in one moment, and then eye roll inducing space opera pig fodder in the next. Some of the pilgrim's stories are really imaginative and unique, and then others read like something I would have written when I was 12. I don't fault Simmons for letting his inner child run rampant throughout the novel, but some of the romance and power fantasy action scenes were just a bit too shallow. Regardless, the world building is so fun that even the most shallow stories climax with intriguing information and a foreboding twist that will engage you further in the plot and make you feel more connected to the individual characters.

Overall I'd say this is an essential read simply due to the innovative ideas and masterful storytelling. It's genius is sometimes bogged down by adolescent fantasies, but it's not enough to detract from the central plot, which is definitely meaty enough on it's own to keep you engaged. From what I've been told, the second book doesn't follow the same format of storytelling, so I am really excited to jump into it. As much as I enjoyed getting to know the characters through their individual sub plots, I am looking forward to a more straight forward story arc. I must find out more about the Shrike.

[fl4mb0y4nt]

Transition Diary #2

Another month has passed which means it's time for my second post closely documenting my ftm transition (for context: I plan on making such a post every month). You can find my first diary entry, where I documented being 1 month on testosterone, here:

https://www.tumblr.com/fl4mb0y4nt/737546124761694208/transition-diary-part-1?source=share

I'm excited to share that, being two months on T (full dose, i.e. 12.5mg creme), some changes have become even more visible, whilst others have become less noticeable as I'm getting used to them - which I both find very positive. I do want to start with the most significant/visible change to me, which is my

Facial features: As mentioned last month, I especially see a (now much clearer) difference in photos, but even when looking in the mirror I feel like there has definitely been progress in the past few weeks! Also, after asking them, people have told me that my face looks more square-shaped now, rather than round, even if it's just slightly. I also had an interesting experience when I tried on the one wig I own, because instead of it making me look super-femme (as it's a long wig with bangs and it's what this wig usually did for me), I looked like some guy that someone slapped a wig on. This was so mind-blowing to me (and extremely affirming!) as it showcased that things actually have changed quite a bit.

Body composition: I feel like my body shape is slowly starting to change too. I've always had an extremely defined waist and, while it is still undoubtedly very pronounced, I feel like I'm slowly becoming a tad more square shaped there as well.

Voice: I feel like my voice def has been changing, however, this change is extremely gradually. On the one hand, I am kinda thankful for this fact because, as a singer, I was really worried about losing my ability to sing due to voice drop. But so far, I'm fine! And it seems that by keeping on practicing and due to the very gradual change, I can prevent any significant loss in singing ability. On the other hand, however, I also wish I'd sound more like a guy faster because voice dysphoria is real. All in all you could say that, after 2 months on T, I'm still left excited for sounding more like myself in the future.

Bottom growth: ...is still happening! It seems like I left the painful and hyper-hyper-sensitive phases in month #1 (for now), so now I get to enjoy my newly acquired micro-penis more - and it's really staring to look like a penis! However, cleaning it is a bit of a hassle, because gunk tends to gather up in the skin folds/foreskin, and I am still quite sensitive so washing it feels uncomfortable. However, it is still one of the most fun changes for me, as I really enjoy the sexual aspects of this change (i.e. the feeling of getting hard; being able to jerk it instead of just rubbing; and generally just feeling like something is actually THERE which is not only affirming but also sexy asf).

Body odor: Whilst this was undoubtedly one of the most puzzling changes in month #1, it seems like I have completely gotten used to my new odor because I cannot smell myself anymore (i.e. I just smell 'normal' to myself again). I also feel like the amount of sweating is still similar to my pre-T level, however, I feel like I don't get cold as fast these days.

That's it for this month. Cheers to HRT!

[loxare]

A game I've been playing in early access for the past half year, Immortal Life, came out fully wednesday, and I love it so much and think that everyone should play it. Anyways I wrote a thing

Mu Xia hummed as she carefully placed the plate of dumplings in her basket. They were a new recipe, pork and chive, and she really hoped her shijie liked them.

Carefully balancing her basket on her arm, pushing aside the kitchen curtain with the ease of long practice, she nearly dropped everything when Ji Yaohua’s voice called out, “Mu-shimei! I was just speaking to your mother about importing things for the inn. She told me to ask you about anything you needed for the kitchen.”

Basket balanced once again, Mu Xia smiled. “Oh course, Ji-shijie, thank you. It will be our usual list, but could you see if you can get more of the chives? If these turn out, I think they’ll be a hit with the customers.”

Yaohua leaned in, curious. “What are they? They smell good.”

“Pork and chive dumplings! I have some extra in the back if you want, but these are for Shijie!” In this context, there could only be one Shijie. The farmer of the Misty Valley was the reason she was even a part of Guiyun Sect after all.

Li Mengqing appeared from around the corner, summoned by the call of a new food to try. “I’ll get them! Just on the serving table?” Not waiting for an answer, she slipped into the kitchen.

“What’s the occasion?” Yaohua’s eyes narrowed slightly. “If it’s her birthday you have to tell me. She refuses to say.”

That sounded like Shijie. “No, not at all. I just haven’t seen her in a few days, so I wanted to check on her and make sure she was eating well.”

A strange look crossed Yaohua’s face. It looked pained, but also glum and mischievous for some reason. “I see. I think she’ll enjoy those a lot. Say hi for me.”

“I will!” Ji Yaohua’s strange moods wouldn’t deter Mu Xia. “See you later Ji-shijie, Li-shimei!”

After Mu Xia was gone, Mengqing came out and passed Yaohua a dumpling. “Ji-shijie. If Shijie hasn’t been seen in a few days...”

“Yes.” Yaohua took a bite of the dumpling. It was very good indeed. She’d have to research where to obtain chive seeds. The Misty Valley could support nearly any kind of plant in its soil, so it was just a matter of sourcing. And having Shijie grow them would be much cheaper in the long run than importing chives. As for Mu Xia... “She’d have to find out sometime. Besides, if it’s been a few days, Shijie could probably use the food.”

“Hm. True.” Mengqing ate another dumpling. “Hey, do you think it’s possible to make a red bean dumpling?”

She’d never had a sweet dumpling before. “I’m sure you can convince Mu-shimei to try.”

The walk to the Misty Valley was pleasant. The weather was warm, and a bit breezy. There was rain on the horizon, but it wouldn’t hit until tonight. She spoke briefly to Zhou Qian’er about the day’s catch, and to Chen Yuanzhou about fishing her up a few puffer fish for an upcoming banquet.

The Misty Valley hummed with power as it always did. She could almost see the crops growing as they absorbed the spiritual energy, cycling it and sending it back into the earth, stronger. That was one of the things that had surprised her, after she’d started cultivating. Mu Xia had been to the Misty Valley before, usually on her way to the Sunset Forest to pick scarlet sage, but never before had she been able to see the energy she had always felt in the place. It had always felt alive to her, vibrant in ways that she hadn’t been able to comprehend. It was no wonder that Shijie was so strong, if this was where she lived, worked, cultivated.

Speaking of. “Shijie? Are you here?” She checked both fields, poked her head into the Blessed Land, knocked on the door of the freshly renovated house. But she was nowhere to be seen.

Then, suddenly, a flash of light. The same as the others when they teleported somewhere else. Mu Xia couldn’t wait to learn that technique. “Shijie, you’re home! I brought- ” She stopped short.

It... was Shijie. She could tell. But the usual flowing robes and perfectly styled hair were in horrible disarray, and covered in... substances. Mud was the least egregious of the substances, but Mu Xia could also see some sort of green-grey plant sap that smelled horrible, more green goop, and blood (?!) in various shades and consistencies. “Shijie?!”

Instead of asking for help or something, Shijie wobbled and mumbled, “whatimezit?”

“I...” Mu Xia checked the position of the sun. “Almost dusk.”

“Mmm,” Shijie nodded. “Worms.”

And she teetered off, in the direction of her silkworm hut. Mu Xia followed helplessly. As Shijie pulled a large bundle of mulberry leaves from her storage ring, Mu Xia asked, “Shijie, are you alright?”

Shijie nodded again. “Jss tired. Still got,” she paused, trying to visibly count up her remaining tasks.

That wouldn’t do at all! “No, you’ve got nothing to do until you’re cleaned up and rested!” Mu Xia spread the rest of the leaves over the worms, grabbing Shijie’s arm and pulling her towards the house.

Shijie pulled away before they could enter, detouring to the waterfall. To Mu Xia’s shock, she stood under it for a few minutes, allowing the water to wash away the substances. Then she stripped her clothes off, replacing them with a clean, dry set from her ring, while Mu Xia went “Eep!” and turned around.

Finally, Shijie sat down at her table, Mu Xia across from her. The waterfall had woken her up enough to speak in full sentences, so when Mu Xia set down the basket and opened the lid, her eyes lit up and she said, “Dumplings! Thank you Mu-shimei, I was starting to get hungry.”

“Aren’t you capable of inedia?” It wasn’t healthy, to survive on inedia for too long, but at the very least it prevented the feeling of hunger. Shijie didn't usually rely on it, but it was useful when she went to the secret realms and didn't want to fill up her storage rings with food.

Shijie made a noise of affirmation and swallowed her dumpling. “Yeah, but not for more than a few days. Maybe once I hit Core, but not yet.”

Mu Xia subtly pushed the plate closer. “What were you doing anyways?”

“I needed more golden disks. I used them all up learning spells, which means I don’t have enough for research and development, or to upgrade my axe.” Shijie ate another dumpling. Jin Li crept off of his nest and sniffed at one, then wrinkled his nose. “If I can do that, I can get past those ironwood tree roots that are blocking the path to the eastern forest, see if I can find out what’s in there. Maybe there’s a great treasure that we can use to rebuild the sect.” She looked critically at the half of a dumpling she was holding. “Do you think I can get seeds for chives? I’d like some more aromatics to work with, and these are good. Do you have the recipe?”

Mu Xia nodded. “I finished developing it today. If you liked them, I was going to introduce them to the inn menu.” Shijie had very good taste. If she liked something, odds were it would do well with many customers.

“The usual arrangement then.” Ingredients, to repay the time Mu Xia spent developing her recipe, and to thank her for her generosity. “Assuming I can get chive seeds in.”

“If you can, I’ll see about getting more recipes with them in.” Mu Xia fidgeted with her sleeve. “Shijie, is that. Is that how you usually look when you leave town for a few days?”

Shijie huffed, offended. “I wasn’t gone for a few days, I have to be back every day to feed the worms. They’re very important Mu-shimei.”

“Of course,” she said, conciliatory. “But why didn’t I see you yesterday then?”

A long moment of silence. Shijie was more awake, but still not to her usual calibre, it seemed, as it was taking her a minute to think that through. “Oh, I guess I did feed them at 3 in the morning yesterday. And the day before. And then it was straight back to the desert.”

“Shijie! How long has it been since you slept?” Another long pause, that Mu Xia didn’t let her finish. “Go to bed! Right now!”

“But I have to sweep the forest for flowers, and then I have to schedule some classes for tomorrow, and I need more krill so I have to fish some of those up tonight, and having more pearl dust is always useful and -”

“Go to bed!”

It took another few minutes of corralling her, but eventually Shijie was laying in her bed, Jin Li curled smugly on her chest, preventing her form moving. In just a few seconds, she was asleep.

Mu Xia breathed a sigh of relief. Then she got out her paper crane talisman. Shijie did so much for them. They could do a few things for her, at least for tonight.