#fresh scarification

[freshexsanguination]

the scars on my neck spell your name, it’s pathetic.

[omegaverse-anthropologist]

bites

this post is inspired by @beta-adjacent’s post about bite marks. i got really emotional thinking about friends exchanging bites and wanted to say more about it lol

bonding bite facts

bite scars, like all other scars, vary in visibility and permanence from person to person. in historical practice, various substances (clay, ash, or ink, most commonly) were applied to a fresh bite to improve visibility and permanence. modern practice uses ‘bite powder’ or ‘bite ink’ for those who want a more permanent, easily detectable scar. this is the most common scarification practice, present in most cultures globally.

bites can be exchanged in various locations on the body. claiming or mating bites tend to be found at the scent glands on the neck, but can be left anywhere on the body. marking other locations are considered nontraditional—it would be akin to wearing a wedding ring on a finger other than the left ring finger (in cultures where that is the traditional location).

healthy bonding bites do not typically affect a person’s inherent scent. a person may release more detectable ‘happy pheromones’ after exchanging bites with a loved one, but these tend to fade after a few weeks. conversely, a person may release more detectable ‘distressed pheromones’ after receiving a bite under duress, and these tend to linger much longer.

biting someone who accepts under duress is no different from biting someone who has clearly rejected it. in the US, forcing a bite is considered felony assault and battery

mating bites may be administered in a variety of settings. a traditional practice between omegas and their alpha or beta mates is to exchange bites during their first heat after the pair has agreed to mate. some cultures practice ‘claiming ceremonies,’ where the mated pair exchanges bites in front of their families and friends, community leaders, and/or religious leaders.

bite types

mating or claiming bites - most commonly located on or around the scent glands at the nape. historically, alphas were not marked when mating with betas or omegas, but in current society bites tend to be exchanged between mates of any sex rather than used as a tool for alphas to stake a claim on someone of a so-called ‘lower sex.’

pack or bonding bites - most commonly located on or around the scent glands at the wrist. in some more traditional or long-established packs, either the pack alpha or chief omega administers pack bites to new members. popular culture treats this practice as old-fashioned, with some young people referring to it as a ‘boomer bite.’ in younger or more progressive packs, any member may extend the bite to an unmarked pack mate.

camaraderie bites, also called ‘bestie bites’ - may be located anywhere on the body. a more recent practice, only from the last 60 years or so, stemming from the free love movement and sexual revolution of the 1960s and 70s. these bites are exchanged between close friends, but are not typically an expectation. to share a camaraderie bite with a friend is a mark of profound intimacy. in many young adult novels, a life changing experience shared between friends is punctuated by the exchange of camaraderie bites. some groups have expressed displeasure with this trend, as they feel it cheapens the significance of the camaraderie bite.

bite perks

mated pairs report increased happiness in their relationship, though causality between the bite’s presence and relationship satisfaction is unclear.

bite-bonded packs demonstrate a similar phenomenon with similarly unclear causality

friends who exchange camaraderie bites tend to report a stronger sense of connection, satisfaction, and contentment in all of their friendships, not just the bite-bonded one.

individuals in healthy bite-bonded relationships of any type report a stronger sense of self and belonging, which is associated with positive health outcomes, job satisfaction, and overall happiness

bite-bonded married couples and unmarried couples with registered mating bites receive the same social and legal privileges

global acceptance for same sex (i.e. a-a and o-o) mates is increasing rapidly, with legal recognition for these mating arrangements in over 85% of countries

[vaporwavebeach-writes]

Kinktober Day 18 (Body Modification)

Victor Zsasz x Reader (NSFW)

(1,152 Words)

Summary: Zsasz makes his mark

Warnings/Tags: 18+, female reader (I got self indulgent sorry LMAO), knifeplay, bloodplay, scarification, penetrative sex, love confessions (yeah, I got REALLY self indulgent), aftercare, fluff (SLAYYY)

Notes: God, I love him. I got SO self indulgent with this one bc I’ve been having a shitty week. All my mutuals should’ve seen this one coming LMAO anyway, enjoy the fic!!!

-

Victor Zsasz loves to make his mark. Most infamously known, are the vast array of tally marks that are carved into his skin. Every mark, a symbol of every life he’s ever taken; every light that’s been snuffed out. In his mind, the marks serve as mementos; being made in the moment as a reminder for a lifetime. It’s an act of permanence. It’s an act of devotion.

So to him, it only makes sense to mark you just as he marks himself.

Apprehension and anticipation linger all around you. You sit there, completely still. Your upper half is completely exposed to him, save for your bra, leaving every inch of your blank, unmarked flesh in his view. Your shirt is discarded, laying in a crumpled pile on the floor. The soft sound of Victor’s footsteps fill you ears, pacing slowly behind you. Suspense and excitement fill your stomach. A deep inhale makes its way into your chest when you feel the cold metal of his switchblade touch your skin.

“I’m not gonna lie to you,” his voice is honest, firm, yet comforting. “This is gonna hurt…” you can feel the warmth of his hand on your shoulder, smoothing down your arm. “…A lot.”

“I appreciate you doing this Victor,” you turn to look at him. “But honestly, I’m a little scared.”

He stands over you. The blade, lightly trails along your chest, just below your collarbone, where you assume the mark will be made, your nerves spike, but you choose to swallow them down, knowing this is how Victor expresses love, in his own, sick way- not that you minded. He kneels, making his way down to your level. His hand guides you chin down to gaze into his dark eyes, filled with reassurance.

“I can promise you,” you feel his thumb gently rub over your cheek, “The pain won’t last long.”

His gaze is intense. Taking a deep breath in, you nod. “I trust you.”

He lets out a grin, tucking your hair behind you ear. He plants a soft kiss to your cheek where he was caressing over it. “Attagirl.”

Your heart flutters at his assurance. For someone so keen on sadism, getting off on the pain of others, Victor was being surprisingly comforting with you.

You can feel his body looming over you, feeling his head look over you to find the exact spot where he would mark you. He makes contact with your eyes, giving each other nodded approval to do it.

The metal is cold and exceedingly sharp. You can hardly feel it when he cuts you. The sensation almost feels pleasant as the blade glides through your flesh. You feel yourself bite back a shriek when he digs the knife deeper into your skin, making sure the cut will leave a lasting scar. Your breath hitches in your chest as he continues dragging the knife into you. Fresh crimson spills out from the cuts being left in the blade’s wake.

“God,” Victor lets out a soft growl, “I wish you could see how beautiful you look right now.”

He’s in awe of the blood trickling down your chest. It coats your chest, running down, nearly dripping down to your bra. You let out an abrupt whimper, unable to hold in the increasing pain.

“Fuck!” you cry out. Your bra strap slips past your shoulder. You feel Victor’s body directly behind you, almost in an hug. His hand smoothes your shoulder firmly, comforting.

“It’s okay,” He hushes you. “I know, I know.”

Those next few seconds, the pain is excruciating. You get up, turning around and steadying yourself on him, wanting nothing more to be enveloped in his embrace. Your eyes meet his, gazing at each other for just a second before crashing your lips together.

You feel yourself being carried over to the bed, feeling Victor’s hungry grasp taking off your already disarrayed bra. You suck in a harsh breath, feeling his tongue lick up the blood that dripped down your tits.

“You did so well,” Victor praises as he devours your bloodied flesh, slowly trailing downward, “I’m proud of you, taking that like a champ.”

“Oh god, V-Victor,” you whimper. You feel your pants being slipped off from under you. Your cunt aches, dripping with arousal as Victor thumbs your clit through your underwear. “I fucking need you.”

Victor gazes at you, carnally. His eyelids are hooded, lust swirling within his eyes. He pulls out a condom from his pocket, tearing the wrapper quickly with his teeth. He urgently slides the rubber onto his cock and eases himself inside you.

You can feel Victor’s body on top of yours, being careful to avoid the cut-up area of your chest. He positions himself, leaning on his shoulders to look at you. He rocks into you slowly, feeling your soaked cunt clench around his cock. As he picks up the pace, he presses his lips to yours feeling yourself moan into his mouth. His tongue feels heavenly and you feel yourself melting into him, letting out a hushed breath when he bites your lip, pulling away.

“You like that?” He asks breathlessly

“Y-yes,” you grunt out tenderly. “You feel fucking amazing.”

Victor chuckled, rolling his hips. You feel your cunt flutter around him as he continues to fuck you. You grip onto him tightly, nails sure to leave some marks on his back. He lets out an amorous groan, enjoying the way you hurt him.

“I love what you do to me,” Victor moans. His pace is rapid, hitting the deepest parts of you, making it hard to keep yourself quiet. You can feel your orgasm swiftly approaching, and judging by his pace- utterly frantic, so could Victor. “Your my girl, and I fucking love you.”

You’re taken aback by his abrupt confession, but honestly? You feel the same. Your hand drops down to your clit, rubbing it quickly, desperate for release. You cry out after he hits a particularly sensitive spot, once again slamming your mouth to his as you ride out your orgasm. He thrusts himself deep into you, a guttural groan escaping his lips as his orgasm isn’t far behind yours.

When all is said and done, you’re completely fucked out, disheveled, and exhausted. The air grows thick, heavy around you as he crashes onto your uncut side.

“Thank you,” you breathe out. “You are so good to me.”

Victor smiles, pressing a loving kiss to your lips. He runs a hand through your hair, before holding out a hand, pulling you up. He turns around, grabbing some towels and antibiotics for the cut “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Hey Victor,” he looks over at you, head cocked curiously. “I love you too.”

You couldn’t wait for the cut to heal. The healed scar in the shape of a heart would soon be a testament to the love you have for one another.

[maybeelse]

She doesn't get a chance to understand before it kills her.

A month later, when her latest iteration wakes inside her latest descendant-clone, she's already cursing when she comes out of the nutrient broth. Technician-dolls cringe away from her fury, unpleasantly aware of how it distorts their witchwork hearts.

"—I should have had it that time! What went wrong? Which of you fucking rags lost hold of their wards?" None of them reply, of course. "Give me the damn readouts, useless things, I'll figure this out myself ..."

The path from the resurrection suite to her office is among the longest and least scenic on the ship, deep below stairs, full of all the unsightly necessities that keep lights on and bellies full. Even so, there's still slimy nutrient residue clinging to her by the end of it, slick-drying-to-sticky. Dolls hurry to clean the trail she left behind.

Her office is cleaner than she left it, a fresh pot of tea waiting on the sideboard. Her own custom blend. It's the best she can do out here in the uneasy void, and her best is very good indeed. Each sip coats her throat with hot honey and drenches her tongue in delicate, creamy flowers. By the end of her third cup it becomes clear that her failure has no easy culprit.

The mass of potential her ship is anchored to, the scar on the void, simply popped her existence like an unwanted pimple. Possibly this was in response to something she did—she's missing the final thirty seconds of telemetry and memory—but if so it would mean that her last iteration went off script. There's no trace of anything else.

She groans in frustration.

As if in response, there is a knock at the door. Tentative, uneasy. No wonder; her foul mood is palpable. "M-mistress?"

"Come in."

The door's hinges don't creak. They used to, in the old house she plucked it from, but somehow that was lost in transition. Perhaps in her absence the dolls have grown over-eager to oil them.

The face that peeks through is one she knows well; after all, she is responsible for most of its more distinctive features. The delicate scarification around its seven eyes, two sets of three packed close together and the last above, splitting its forehead into two smooth panels; the seams where she taught its lips to part further than it ever thought they could. And, most satisfyingly of all, the involuntary flush that creeps into its cheeks when it sees her. Her secretary.

Its body is no less pleasing to her, even hidden under space-ready overalls and behind a large manila folder. Her eyes linger; her crotch twitches. It takes her a moment to focus on what her secretary is saying—her new body's hormone balance must be off. Something to look into.

"... lost one substrate tank to a micrometeorite strike while You were away, but otherwise resource consumption was minimal. Hydroponic and solar arrays are both running at full efficiency, so that's good. The bad news is the ram-scoop malfunction, which this one already mentioned, and contamination in the soul-farm. Not urgent, but attrition will be a problem until it's fixed. Other than that," it trails off, "there's ... miss ...?"

It drifted closer to her desk while it was talking, its many-branched legs twitching almost involuntarily. It always moves like this: incidental, distracted, torso held perfectly steady. In low gravity, its hair slowly drifting around it, the effect is mesmerizing. Heat runs through her body, hundreds of strings plucked and vibrating, converging, focusing. The choice to stand is not wholly her own.

She prefers to be taller than her secretary, though not by much. Standing, its eyes are level with her collarbones; kneeling, its complex legs partially folded under it, it looks up at her from waist-height. She admires its eyes, lidded and dilated; its choice to kneel owes more to rigorous conditioning than conscious thought.

"... miss?"

She steps towards it, the flush in its cheeks deepening as her body's heat and scent envelop it—the chemical-sweet nutrient broth, the milky-sour undertones of fresh-grown flesh, her own tangy musk slowly building as her body makes its needs known. Her secretary's lips part.

"Good. Now, keep your mouth open for me ..."

She takes full advantage of how wide its mouth opens.

Later—much later—she's scrubbing her resurrection's last vestiges out of her hair, massaging the shampoo into her scalp with the same precision she'll soon apply to building a new exploration-craft. Putting her new hands through their motions. Her secretary lies on the tile floor, its body leaking, swollen, and utterly insensate.

This is her fourth attempt to get clean. It's entirely her own fault that her secretary looks so delicious every time it stirs back to life, just as it's entirely her own fault that they have had an intermittent audience of off-duty technician-dolls: when she designed her ship she didn't think to give herself a private bath suite, and the dolls weren't grown with enough sense to give their mistress her privacy.

Probably that's going to cause cultural problems down the line, if she doesn't remember to do something about it.

Another technician-doll freezes in the entrance to the baths, its soft curves already half-freed from its shapelessly utilitarian uniform. Its eyes flicker between her and her secretary; she can feel the way its gaze travels down her body, snapping to her breasts, the curve of her stomach, and her crotch, flushed and oversensitive and demanding no matter how hard she tries to calm it.

The doll's nose twitches; its cheeks flush; and she yells "get out, idiot!" at it just before it's too late. Her entire body twitches with predatory need as she watches it flee; an utterly inappropriate way to feel about a thing that is already hers, that exists only to serve her purposes, that would happily let her break it apart—and why shouldn't she? She vibrates with need, her body taking a single step before she swings back towards her secretary, so perfectly shaped to her desires—

She is starting to think that something went seriously, fundamentally wrong with her resurrection.

She's going to have to figure out how to fix it, soon.

But maybe not yet. Not with her secretary's body right there. She can afford to wear herself out first, just as a precaution. It's fine. And, as she picks up her secretary's limp body, she's careful not to acknowledge that she's not sure if she can stop herself.

[propertyofwhitney67]

I knew you'd like it

MTF Kylar x AFAB & AMAB Reader

Words: 634 & 605

Tw: Self Harm, Self Harm Fetish, Self Harm Scars, Blood, Scarification, Coercion?, Smut, Creampie, Anal

Note: For my beau @ur-fav-pet <3

I made two versions since I couldn't decide which one I wanted to do

AFAB Reader Version:

Euphoria rushed through my body as I cut into my thigh, but it was brief and fleeting. I’m always chasing that high and I fear one day I will no longer get it. That this blade will no longer be my friend. I sighed and played with the blade before gathering the courage to cut into my thigh again.

As I dug the blade into my skin, my window creaked open. I panicked and gripped the blade tight in my hand, thinking there was an intruder. I recognized the timid figure, “Kylar? What are you doing here?” She didn’t answer, just stared at my bleeding thigh. I watched the bulge under her skirt grow, is she turned on by this? “Kylar?” I asked again and watched her take slow steps toward me, her hands slightly shaking as her eyes didn’t leave my thigh.

She slowly dropped to her knees, tracing the fresh cuts on my thigh and smearing blood. “You’re so perfect…” She softly kissed the fresh cuts, licking the blood. “So perfect…” She whispered again in awe, making sure to trace and kiss every scar she could find.

My grip on the blade loosened and I tossed it onto my bedside table nearby, no longer needing it at the moment. “Kylar what are you doing?” I asked, quickly growing tired of her weird shit. I tried to shove her off my leg but she refused to move, instead pinning me down on the bed. “What the fuck!?”

Kylar ignored my questions, instead pulling off my remaining underwear and groping my chest for a few moments before picking up my discarded blade. The lust in her eyes was slightly unsettling. She was getting off on this more than I ever thought she thought would. “Can we talk about this?” I asked, gripping her plush hips when she finally let go of my arms. I knew there was no stopping her, but I wanted to delay it as long as possible.

She shook her head and hiked up her skirt, freeing her hard cock. It was freakishly large with precum beading at the tip. She hovered the blade over my hips. “I promise you’ll like this, my love.” She dug the blade into my skin, causing me to groan. I felt her cock twitch against my thigh, “See?” 

Oddly enough, I did kinda enjoy it. There was something personal and intimate about her cutting me, scarring me. I nodded breathlessly, “Yes…” That was all the confirmation she needed to spread my thighs and thrust her cock into my warm tight cunt with minimal prep. I moaned loudly, “Fuck!” and tightened my grip on her plush hips. 

Lost in the moment Kylar set a brutal pace, slamming her hips into mine with each thrust. “You were made for me…” She moaned in my ear, hovering the blade over my skin again. “You will wear my name for everyone to see.” My cunt clenched down around her cock at the thought alone. “I knew you would love the idea.”

She started to cut into my skin again, starting with the letter ‘K’. Her cock helped distract me from the pain, her pelvis rubbing against my puffy clit with every thrust. “Ah!” I groaned as she finished the first half of the ‘K’, this is gonna take a while.

Overstimulation eventual overpowered the pain after many orgasms, a ring of my cum forming at the base of her cock. “Just–ah–one more, my love.” She cooed in my ear, finally finishing the final letter. My skin now emblazoned with her name. “Per–ah–Perfect.” She licked the bleeding cuts and focused once again on my tight cunt. It didn’t take long after that for her to paint my walls white with her cum. “I love you...” She whispered, holding me close.

AMAB Reader Version:

Euphoria rushed through my body as I cut into my thigh, but it was brief and fleeting. I’m always chasing that high and I fear one day I will no longer get it. That this blade will no longer be my friend. I sighed and played with the blade before gathering the courage to cut into my thigh again.

As I dug the blade into my skin, my window creaked open. I panicked and gripped the blade tight in my hand, thinking there was an intruder. I recognized the timid figure, “Kylar? What are you doing here?” She didn’t answer, just stared at my bleeding thigh. I watched the bulge under her skirt grow, is she turned on by this? “Kylar?” I asked again and watched her take slow steps toward me, her hands slightly shaking as her eyes didn’t leave my thigh.

She slowly dropped to her knees, tracing the fresh cuts on my thigh and smearing blood. “You’re so perfect…” She softly kissed the fresh cuts, licking the blood. “So perfect…” She whispered again in awe, making sure to trace and kiss every scar she could find.

My grip on the blade loosened and I tossed it onto my bedside table nearby, no longer needing it at the moment. “Kylar what are you doing?” I asked, quickly growing tired of her weird shit. I tried to shove her off my leg but she refused to move, instead pinning me down on the bed. “What the fuck!?”

Kylar ignored my questions, instead pulling off my boxers and groping my chest for a few moments before picking up my discarded blade. The lust in her eyes was slightly unsettling. She was getting off on this more than I ever thought she thought would. “Can we talk about this?” I asked, gripping her plush hips when she finally let go of my arms. I knew there was no stopping her, but I wanted to delay it as long as possible.

She shook her head and hiked up her skirt, freeing her hard cock. It was freakishly large with precum beading at the tip. She hovered the blade over my hips. “I promise you’ll like this, my love.” She dug the blade into my skin, causing me to groan. I felt her cock twitch against my thigh, “See?” 

Oddly enough, I did kinda enjoy it. There was something personal and intimate about her cutting me, scarring me. I nodded breathlessly, “Yes…” That was all the confirmation she needed to spread my thighs and thrust her cock into my ass with minimal prep. I moaned loudly, “Fuck!” and tightened my grip on her plush hips. 

Lost in the moment Kylar set a brutal pace, slamming her hips into mine with each thrust. “You were made for me…” She moaned in my ear, hovering the blade over my skin again. “You will wear my name for everyone to see.” My cock twitched at the thought alone, “I knew you would love the idea.”

She started to cut into my skin again, starting with the letter ‘K’. Her cock helped distract me from the pain, “Ah!” I groaned as she finished the first half of the ‘K’, this is gonna take a while.

Overstimulation eventual overpowered the pain after many orgasms, “Just–ah–one more, my love.” She cooed in my ear, finally finishing the final letter. My skin now emblazoned with her name. “Per–ah–Perfect.” She licked the bleeding cuts and focused once again on my tight ass. It didn’t take long after that for her to paint my walls white with her cum. “I love you...” She whispered, holding me close.

𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

𝘒𝘰-𝘍𝘪

[quarantineddreamer]

Jyn Week Day 1: Home

I wasn't sure I was gonna post this, because it's really not my best work. But then again, with the way my brain has been lately not much is! And I wanted to participate and show our girl some love so. Fighting through the perfectionist in me and here's this little thing <3

Though the Rebels had breathed new life into the cave upon their arrival, the network of tight tunnels and sprawling caverns that made up Echo Base had a history that stretched back to a time long before the war. There were stars younger than the stone walls that surrounded them, buried beneath layers of ice so thick, it was unlikely the galaxy would ever uncover the secrets they contained.

It had not taken Jyn long to begin exploring the area, seeking hidden nooks and crannies to which she might escape. Within a week, she had formed a sprawling mental map, memorized the quickest routes to every exit, marked the nearest spaces to duck to when Draven was after her about her latest display of ‘irresponsible/reckless/unacceptable’ behavior–or, when she simply needed quiet. (Which seemed to happen more and more with each passing day spent trapped in this hellhole.)

Tonight, she was bundled in her warmest gear: every thermal layer she possessed, two sweaters, one parka, her hat and scarf, gloves, and four socks pulled one after the other till she could barely squeeze her feet into her boots, much less feel them. 

Clumsiness was the price to pay when you wanted to be up and about at this hour on Hoth–that, or frostbite. It was why, for the most part, no one on Echo Base left their beds after sundown unless they absolutely had to. In temperatures this cold, you’d have to be out of your mind to willingly leave the relative comfort and warmth of your room without very good reason.

Apparently, Jyn was out of her mind, because she’d woken from a dream–the one where the fires of Scarif blinded her one minute, and she was trapped in the cold bunker all alone the next–and crawled out from beneath her blankets. She’d dressed in the dark, moving by instinct more than anything, her skin itching and heart racing as the walls seemed to press closer and closer. Before she’d fully realized what she was doing, she had found herself fumbling by the dim yellow cast of a lantern to a place well-beyond the boundaries of Echo Base.

It would have been all too easy to take a wrong turn–and subsequently freeze to death trying to find her way back–but her body had taken care of her when her mind could not. Before too long she had arrived at a vaguely familiar antechamber, small and circular, with smooth, curving walls.

As she sat and leaned her back into their hard surface, it felt as though she were being held in the palm of some ancient, mysterious being. She took in her surroundings like someone waking up from a dream. Why had her instincts guided her here? 

Then she felt it: air, fresh air; the barest of hints of it brushing across the tip of her nose and suddenly it all made sense. She closed her eyes and drew it deep into her lungs–holding it for a moment with the gratitude of someone reuniting with a long lost friend–before releasing a slow, careful breath. It lingered in the air before her–the ghost of a scared and lonely girl—a swirling cloud of mist, glowing purple. 

Heart in her throat, Jyn lifted her eyes, seeking the source of the strange light. High above her, the chamber’s ceiling of ice and rock gave way, revealing an incredible sweep of night sky, dancing with color. Wind whistled across the opening of the cave…waves whispered upon a black-sanded shore…

“What are they, Mama?”

Her mother’s amused hum tickled at her back. “The Force paints a path home for those that are lost, my love.”

Jyn squirmed beneath the blanket, trying to find her father’s face amidst the orange, flickering shadows of the bonfire. “What are they really, Papa?” 

Mama’s head rested beneath his chin, his arms wrapped around them both, a shield from the wind. He gave her a smile; her favorite kind, the kind he gave her when he asked if she could keep a secret. “You don’t believe your mother?”

Jyn didn’t think her question had anything to do with belief, she simply wanted to know. Mama often told her stories about the Force; stories about love and anger, light and dark, and the threads that tied the world together–just like the ones her favorite blanket was made of. But Papa told her stories too; stories like what kind of soil made the plants on the farm grow, or why her skin turned red after too much time in the sun, or how to fix Stormy when his arm fell off. Mama’s stories were stories she saw and felt on the inside, while Papa’s were ones she held in her hands. But they were both a part of her, pieces she carried with her wherever she went. 

She studied the sky again, following the splashes of purple and green and blue as they wove their way between clusters of stars. She wondered what it would feel like to stand on one of the rippling bands of light; tried to imagine stepping one foot after the other across the horizon as her mother had described. Maybe it would be warm, like sand in the sun, or maybe it would be more like waves lapping at her feet, cold and tingly. 

“A scientist’s daughter through and through,” Mama laughed. “I recognize that look in her eyes…”

Jyn wasn’t sure what exactly she meant by that, but she tore her gaze away from the lights in the sky and turned towards her father instead, ready for his answer.

His skin shimmered green, then blue, and back again, the same colors as the ones that hung in the air above them. “The path your mother spoke of is made of particles, shed by our planet’s suns.”

Jyn frowned at this. “But it’s nighttime.”

“Just because we cannot see something, does not mean it is no longer there,” Papa explained, reaching over to tug the blanket back over her shoulders. “Tonight, the aurora reminds us that the suns have not left us, and they will rise again tomorrow.”

She twisted to face Mama again. “So the suns are the Force?”

“The Force is the suns,” her mother murmured reverently, “and the wind, and the waves, and the sand beneath you. It’s the salt on your tongue when you breathe in and…” she smiled as she poked Jyn’s nose with the tip of her finger, “that means it’s a part of you, and me, and your Papa too.”

Jyn settled into her parent’s arms again and shut her eyes, feeling for the Force her mother spoke of. She wasn’t sure what it was supposed to feel like. 

But she thought there might be some truth to her parents’ words, because though she could not see them anymore, she could sense them there beside her. The comfort of her mother’s heartbeat under her ear, the warmth of her father’s breath as he bent to press a kiss to the top of her head. 

And if she were to find herself lost and standing amidst the aurora, she felt certain this was where they would bring her.

The colors of the sky began to blur and run together. Jyn wiped roughly at her eyes, urging tears away before they could turn to frost upon her cheek. Hoth was more than a far cry from the beaches of Lah’mu, yet she felt closer to it now than she had in a long time.

“Beautiful,” a voice murmured, echoing quietly off the stone around her. 

Jyn started, turning towards the rasp of footsteps. “Cassian…” Leave it to the spy to find her in the middle of a labyrinth in the dead of night.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked warily, taking one last self-conscious swipe at her face with the sleeve of her coat. 

“Not long,” he answered, lingering at the entrance to the cavern.

But long enough… Jyn figured. She heaved a short sigh and returned her gaze to the aurora, an ache in her chest. “There were lights like this on Lah’mu,” she murmured, an explanation of sorts–though Cassian had not asked for one. 

He ducked past the icicle that hung in from the tunnel’s opening and silently came to sit beside her, his shoulder brushing against her own. Though it barely made a difference in a cold this numbing, Jyn found herself drawing comfort from the warmth of his body beside her. 

“How’d you find this place?” he asked softly. 

She glanced at him, but he was looking at the lights above, granting her a reprieve from the weight of his stare. “How’d you find me?” she countered. 

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but his eyes were serious when they landed on her again. “I went to your room and you weren’t there. For a moment I thought…” he shook his head and took a sudden interest in his boots.

“You thought I’d left?” 

“I didn’t know what to think. I checked the infirmary next.” There was an odd strain to his voice, something she couldn’t quite place. “No one had seen you there either, so I headed towards the perimeter,” a small smile crossed his lips, “I’ve noticed you wander to the edges of Base when you’re trying to avoid Draven.”

“Of course you did,” Jyn remarked. “Then what?”

“I followed the light…” 

“And it led you here…” The memory of her mother’s story–still fresh in Jyn’s mind–began to mingle with words Cassian had once spoken to her. The kyber crystal she wore seemed suddenly heavier than it had a moment ago, a hand resting over her heart. 

She thought of Bodhi, Chirrut, Baze, even K2. Of all the people who she had gotten to know because of the Rebellion. People who had her back. People who might not understand all of her, but who accepted her nonetheless.

“Hoth is the first time we’ve really slowed down since Scarif,” Cassian said, ignoring her sudden glance at the mention. “I know it can be hard to adjust to life in the Rebellion.”

A tentative smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Yeah,” she replied, catching a ripple of light and shadow as it wandered across his face. “I've been feeling lost…but I think I’m beginning to find my way.”

[navire190413]

haha i got drunk and wrote like 2,000 words about my experience with learning japanese. read it sober and just sat in front of my computer like 😐

you know when old people talk a lot and sometimes its hard to tell if they’re trying to pass on wisdom or are just kind of full of themselves and want to talk about themselves? what i wrote was definitely the latter. i’m just an おじいさん who wants to drink and smoke and talk about myself and my hard work lol

one of my favorite 居酒屋 to visit on my way home from work is closing for good this weekend. its open 24/7 so it was always great for stopping by after drinking at the bar until morning. their squid and shrimp 串カツ are soooo good. i’m actually here now typing this on my phone. this izakaya is in a basement so i don’t have signal. i just end up scrolling through my photos or blogging in my notes while sitting here alone for an hour until my favorite bar opens at 7.

the last time i came here a server ive become acquainted with hit on me, and i didn’t pick up on it at all, so my reaction was kind of dull. i only realized he was hitting on me when he turned around and all the other servers were laughing at him bc they were all eavesdropping. he probably mentioned he was gonna do it beforehand haha. i’m so sorry. i would be totally down to grab drinks if i realized sooner 😂

he always makes me turn around and show him my backpiece when im wearing tanktops and croptops. and hes always basically yelling カッコいい！！its cute how not normal tattoos are here. i would never get these reactions in america but sometimes it can be annoying. yes yes i have a lot of tattoos. yes. expensive. yes painful. and then they find out about my scarification, which honestly most people in the states have also never seen, so then its a weird balance of explaining my love for body modification and not self mutilation.

money has gotten TIGHT lately. im literally courting my ex and bringing him to izakayas and nice restaurants every week and im going broke from it so i gotta stop hahaha. we did have a really good time last night, though. and hes always really grateful and respectful when im paying. he also initiated a lot of kisses and kept kissing my cheeks last night which was weird and not like him at all. im not gonna think about it anymore tho.

i am super excited about where we’re going on saturday. its an 青森県 restaurant and i guess they get fish delivered daily from there, so i hope its super fresh and tasty 😤. i unfortunately booked too late and couldnt get a private room, but i think sitting at the counter will be nice since we’re doing the all-you-can-drink course and itll be faster to get our drinks if we’re not in a secluded room.

my go-to drink for the past 2 years living here has always been highballs, but lately theyre way too strong for me. ive become obsessed with lemon sours, but because its not whiskey in them like highballs i become drunk super super fast. good for cost performance purposes but dangerous since im used to my highball drinking pace. i usually dont black out if i only drink for 2-3 hours on a work night but the other day i drank my usual amount, just this time they were lemon sours and not highballs. i was on the verge of blacking out returning home at only 9pm on a monday 😂

i can’t stop thinking about the guy who asked me to be his girlfriend two weeks ago. he’s american and he’s nice enough, but he’s been living in japan for over a year and cant even say すみません to get a server’s attention. he also doesnt eat meat, so i cant introduce him to yakiniku and yakitori which are my go-to. everytime we hungout i had to translate everything and guide him around tokyo. i brought him to an izakaya for his first time and had to teach him the words for squid and octopus. which he promptly forgot 2 minutes later. its literally taco and ika!!! we got lost in a department store one time and i had to ask for directions while he just stood there. it always felt like i was with a child who knew nothing when we were together. as friends, im more than happy to introduce tokyo and translate. but as someone who was obviously trying to be appealing to me, it was honestly a massive ick. i have no preference when it comes to what ethnicity or cultural background someone is, but i cant date someone who knows less about japan than me. it was a good realization actually! i always say i dont have a type, but i think im slowly starting to realize my type. he doesnt have friends so he would always say “lets go out and explore tokyo together!”dude i have been experiencing tokyo for 2 years. i have my favourite spots and my favourite neighborhoods and i know how to find good restaurants and i regularly go out and just do shit by myself because i can navigate it by myself. he also was expecting me to teach him japanese which was just soooo….

when you get to a level where you’ve lived somewhere long enough and can speak the language a lot of people expect you to be a free tour guide. when it comes to strictly friends with no expectation of me, im more than happy to plan a day of sightseeing and introductions but sometimes when i make friends with foreigners it feels like that’s all they want out of me. i mean it goes both ways. a lot of japanese men just view me as a fetish object. omg a white girl who i can actually speak to!!! maybe she can teach me english!!! ive never fucked a 6 foot tall white girl with tattoos!!!

for my established friends, i happily translate stuff for them and give them english lessons but man it feels like theres a lot of expectations of me meeting people here. from foreigners and native japanese people.

i have a lot of foreign friends who have lived here longer than me and dont speak a lick of japanese and dont have any plans on learning. i dont really feel one way or the other about it. theyve been here long enough and know they can get around and have fun without knowing the language. i cant imagine how tough that is sometimes so more power to them. but its always the people complaining they want to learn and want to understand and communicate but still for some reason just dont sit down and study or make an effort to make japanese friends so they can atleast pick up conversational japanese that i dont understand. why are you not studying???? sure its hard but just do it??? you dont even have to use textbooks. apps kind of suck once you get past the basics but its at least something you can do while riding the train and then atleast i wouldnt have to order for you at the bar after youve been living here for several months!!!

im a princess and a brat and am obsessive so studying is super easy for me. i studying during my lunch breaks and anytime im riding the train. i understand thats not the case for everyone, so i try to take the time to teach my friends who want to learn japanese important phrases for day to day life. maybe textbooks and studying isnt their thing, which is fine. okay i’ll teach you as we go. but even then they dont retain anything 😂 dont complain to me about not being able to speak japanese if you’re not going to put in a little bit of effort to atleast order a beer by yourself!!!! and if youre over thinking the difference between ください and お願いします before you can even say [名前]と申します, youre thinking too much!!!!! japanese is hard. theres a lot of info. if you start getting into super specific japanese before you can do self introductions, its gonna be a long long road. so im super happy i learned japanese in america where i went textbook step by step instead of being surrounded by confusing japanese all day long. when i try to teach my friends japanese they always somehow ask me about n2 grammar. and its just like. stop. ignore that. that does NOT have anything to do with you at this time. i was N2 before N3 grammar even made sense to me (i did get full points on n3 test despite none of it making sense to me though 😂) because i finally had context for it and could make the connections. without those building blocks and going step by step id be lost. and thats why you should study the language before coming to a foreign country.

god im judgmental.

[shadowmaat]

username FIC game

Heya, @bluemaskedkarma I see your "choose a song for each letter of your name" and raise you "choose a FIC for each letter of your name." It's still a "get to know me" thing, but with the bonus of boosting other fic writers. SO!

S- Stonebrook by @sl-walker (Bail saves a young Maul from prison and takes him home to Alderaan. Lots of depth to this one. Doesn't shy away from things, though later fics in the series can be funny too.)

H- The House Built on Fresh Snow by @tiend (Jango/Shmi, AU where Shmi is an engineering slave on a ship where Jango is added to the ranks. Neither could predict what happened next. It's interesting to see these two thrown together and how they complement each other.)

A- After the Storm by SpaceWall (post-war AU, everyone is struggling to move on after the war. Cody joins an agricorp mission to Mandalore and tries to cope with putting his General in a coma. Heavy stuff at times, lots of angst, but there's a hopeful ending.)

D- Dawnbreak Accord by AugustArchon (Din/Leia, Leia defends one of the Mandalorian delegates and amid paperwork and political headaches, an unexpected kinship develops. These two really click, and it's wonderful to watch it develop.)

O- Out with Lanterns by Skyebean (AU where Mace is Ahsoka's Master, how that changes things... and what it doesn't. Some fun things, some serious things, and of course O66 still happens. This time Ahsoka is in the middle of it.)

W- Why Not's and How To's by @trixree (unadulterated crack AU where Obi-Wan is a lawyer who sets his sights on emancipating the GAR. Not yet complete. SO much silliness. But also, y'know, someone fighting for Clone Rights, which is always good to see.)

M- Mand'alor Cabur by @nautilicious (slow-burn Bobadin featuring lots of foundlings, growing a family, growing a community, and growing a brain to recognize the clues. Not yet complete. Din is an absolute idiot, but luckily Boba is incredibly, incredibly patient and forgiving.)

A- All Is as the Force Wills It by felurian (Rogue One escapes Scarif by the skin of their teeth and begin the long road to recovery. Distrust and uncertainty lengthen the road, but hope remains. Some good Chirrut/Baze stuff and Bodhi angst. "Everybody lives" doesn't mean things are magically all better.)

A- and your people shall never be destroyed by @bitebackbaby (Palpatine dies. The entire Corrie Guard has disappeared. Cody and some of the other Commanders investigate. One-shot. Cliffhanger. Heavy on the Corrie whump and Commanders guilt. I'm intrigued by the possibilities left out in the open.)

T- The 212th Attack Battalion's Guide to Staging Rescues by antigrav_vector and @quarra (de-aged clones and Obi-Wan get flung into the past to Korda VI and Jaster Mereel's camp. Chaos and mass adoptions ensue. Lots of humor, lots of competence. Gosh dang did I love watching the mini-clones (and Obi-Wan) running around and being amazing.)

This shit's trickier than you think, but anyone who wants to give it a go, consider yourselves tagged!

[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.” 

[obitohno]

[ k i n k t o b e r ]

sincerely

haruchiyo sanzu x reader

synopsis ⤸

sanzu thinks that you look your best with his name carved into your skin. 

themes ⤸

fem! reader, 18+, knife play, scarification, marking, blood kink, descriptions of blood, masochism, sadism, pegging, sex toys, anal sex, hands free orgasm

word count ⤸

1k (unedited)

a/n ⤸

this is my first ever sanzu piece, so i hope that i don't disappoint any sanzu fans with this... i had fun writing this one, especially bc the pegging wasn't planned at all, but as i was writing, i just couldn't help but think of how pretty he'd look... sooo, here we are, hh

reblogs are appreciated ~

it is the taste of iron that sanzu licks over the flat of your tongue, tired lungs wheezing with a strained groan, the silky rose strands of his hair knotted around your knuckles. 

bowed above him, you’re a sight for sore eyes, panting just as heavily as he is, your brows pinched together, wincing when the tip of his iridescent-coloured blade—a gift from you—pinches yet another line of crimson that seeps to the surface of your skin. from between his legs, your thighs shudder, your groan of approval sung from out of your kiss-swollen lips, choking on your breath when he accidentally nicks over the sensitive space beneath your breast. 

in return, the apology that forms on the tip of his tongue now falters on a stuttered breath of his own, caused by the roll of your hips that has him trembling beneath you. 

you gasp along with him, fingers tightening among the locks of his hair, the ocean blue of his eyes glazing over as he exhales roughly, nostrils flaring as he does so. his thighs spread open like this, your hips roll backwards this time, emptying the pink ring of muscle that winks at you, a sight that has saliva pooling on the tip of your tongue as you watch, enamoured, his chest heaving when your pelvis snaps forward once more, plunging the length of the flesh coloured toy deep inside him. 

the hyperrealistic dildo is one that you hadn’t been particularly fussy about, but it was he who had been adamant, insisting on commissioning an artist to specifically match the fleshy tone to your own. awed, you watch the bulbous tip—slick with a generous amount of lube that you’d spilt all over the place in your excitement—disappear, inch by inch, as his puffy hole greedily suctions it inside him. 

in hindsight, you can now appreciate his vision, something akin to pride churning within your gut. hidden beneath the strap, your clit throbs, the leather sodden with the unique flavour of your sap that he’d tasted just an hour before. the memory has your cunt clenching, desperate to be impaled by the very cock that teases you with the sight of the translucent secretion that is making a mess of his toned abdomen. the muscles ripple beneath his skin, tensing in time to each push and pull of your hips as you fuck him at a dizzying pace that he’s subjected you to many a time. 

the lube is now stained an interesting shade of pink, a thick, foaming ring gathering around the base of your make-pretend cock, intermingling with the steady trickle of blood that dribbles its way down your body, his skin just as soiled as your own. splayed before you, the pale expanse of his left thigh proudly bares your name, the raised, white scars now long healed. 

and by the end of today, you’ll have one to match. 

the bedsheets are a crumpled mess beneath him, the sodden fabric now soaked a tantalising shade of maroon as it begins to dry, and the blade slips again, purposely shaping another letter, a fresh shine of scarlet following in its wake. the sting bites, but it is one that you welcome—one that you’d begged for—a quiet moan escaping you, eyes rolling shut as you exhale another breathy mewl. beneath you, his brows pinch together with a forced concentration.

‘almost done,’ he promises, forcing the words out from clenched teeth, his eyelids fluttering when a sharp thrust has his free hand scrambling to find purchase among the soiled sheets, a loud keen bursting from the curve of his mouth. 

‘oh?’ 

you’re smirking, the flat of the blade skimming over your skin as he fumbles, almost dropping it in his haste to grasp your forearm with his spare hand. your spine bends over him, your mouth moulding to the shape of his, greedily inhaling the metallic tang that dominates his breath. this angle has the tip of your specially made cock kissing at his prostate, and the affect is immediate. 

his jaw slackens, the length of his spine arching, and he wails. 

you coo his name, hips stilling when you feel the all-too familiar splatter of his seed smattering a wet, gooey mess across your stomach, his cock—blushed an angry shade of pink—showering rope after rope of semen all over your skin. between your legs, your pussy shows its appreciative approval in a series of flutters that have you expelling his name—yelling it this time—the flood of juices that pulse from your sopping slit, now wasted. 

teary eyed, he gapes at you, watching as you carefully move to sit upright. the dildo remains seated within his gummy walls, and he struggles to come down from his high, the sight of your soiled body only furthering his bliss, his prick weakly twitching against the crook of his thigh. you’re smiling at him, fingering at a glooping micro of semen and blood that is dribbling its way down your navel. the bridge of his nose has been kissed with a rosey shade that matches that of his hair, the strands a few shades darker now that they are dampened with sweat. his eyes glisten as he gapes at you, his lungs inhaling air just as rapidly as they are expelling it. the insides of his thighs are a bloodied mess, the blotches of crimson now smeared, congealing on the width of his softening cock. 

you think he looks lovely, and you voice it so with a gentle murmur that has his blush darkening furiously. his blade reaches for you once more, scratching the final letter of his name just beneath your ribs—a ‘o’, poorly constructed because of the trembling of his fingers. 

his heavily lidded gaze is fixated to the proud stretch of your smile, your own stare glued to the crudely formed signature that will now forever mark you as his. he feigns a scoff, the shadow of his jaw accentuated by the tilt of his head.

‘just not ‘s’pretty as you, eh?’

© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works. 

[illithidactivities]

tagged by @hungerofhadarr !! thank you!!

Name: Miz'ri Jhalavar

Nickname(s): None other than whatever pet name falls out of Astarion's mouth at any given moment. She may have a Folk Hero background, but it wasn't one that garnered her a hero name (she broke up a slaving ring out near Neverwinter shortly after she left the Underdark, and then took up monster hunting)

Pronouns: she/her

Star Sign: no idea lol

Height: idk like 5'5" probably

Orientation: biromantic demisexual

Race: Drow

Romancing: Astarion

Fave Fruit: She's extremely fond of grapes and oranges. Things that really require the sun and remind her of summer.

Fave Season: Spring and Summer. She loves the sunshine, though fall is a close second with the colors. Winter... meh. Each of them have their own merits, though, to someone who grew up without seasons.

Fave Flower: Lotus flowers. She thinks they're so pretty on the water.

Fave Scent: Summer rain. A good roast cooking over a campfire. Honeysuckle and fresh spring grass. Fresh mint.

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate: Hot chocolate. It's the one thing she looks forward to in winter.

Average Sleep Hours: Depends, but probably around 4 hours. She may be an elf, but she likes to sleep when she can.

Dogs or Cats: She's a cat person at heart, but Scratch is her best buddy.

Dream Trip: She wants to see everything. All the realms and all the planes of existence. She wants to walk the world with someone she loves.

Amount of Blankets: When she gets to lay in a bed, she nests. Mountain of pillows and blankets.

Random Fact(s):

She has scarification marks from her youth. Her family were part of a particularly zealous sect of Lolth-sworn drow, and her grandmother was a High Priestess. Her family practiced scarification to show their devotion, so she has a whole back and both arms full of intricate spider web scars carved into her by her grandmother's hand. The biggest one, gifted to her on her coming-of-age birthday, starts at her nape and drapes down her back and over both shoulders like a shawl.

Her right eye is forever a slightly lighter shade of pink after the damage done to it by her half-illithid transformation. The scars on her face from various monster hunts are also slightly different--less deep than they had been.

Tagging: @seldaryne, @whynotsableye, @mypunkpansexualtwin, @meishuu, and @ottobooty!

[theunkn0wn-0]

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

GENDER-NEUTRAL READER ✕ DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

╰➤ ⌈ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name. ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶��𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑬 | 3 FIRST CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 | 1

TRIGGER WARNINGS: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF TORTURE & SCARIFICATION!!! Mentions of DEATH/DYING & SWEARING!!!

Prologue - BETRAYAL | 4

❝Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we are still alive.❞

•◉◓☆◓◉•

In the dimly lit confines of my prison, a place that felt more like a crypt than any semblance of humanity. I was trapped in a metal room, a prison. The cold walls pressed in around me, devoid of windows, depriving me of any connection with the outside world. The air, thick with the scent of sterile chemicals, clung to my senses like an unwelcome shroud.

Victor Arrenberg, the CEO of BioThera Corporation, his company is a monolith of scientists and doctors wanting to unravel the secrets of existence itself. A pursuit for the betterment of humankind now felt like a twisted ideal of dread.

Victor, a man of a lean stature, stood at an average height, his slender yet well-maintained physique. His once-ashen long, blonde hair had aged into a wispy cascade of silver hair that was pushed back, a stark contrast to his warm ivory skin and clean-shaven beard.

It was his eyes that sent a cold shiver down my spine. His chocolate brown eyes, containing an unsettling mix of hunger, curiosity, and astonishment, felt as if I were an anomaly, a specimen waiting to be studied, a puzzle to be solved. My first encounter with Victor dated back to his youth. Now, as the sands of time flowed, he stood in his fifties or sixties to the decades I'd lost within the cold, unforgiving walls of BioThera.

As I lay on the cold floor, tightly strapped, the metallic room echoing with the hum of machinery, my senses were deprived of the warmth of sunlight or the crisp embrace of fresh air. The last remnants outside the world that seemed distant and elusive.

My existence had become a tapestry of fear and sleepless nights. The restraints on my body anchored me, confining me to a reality trapped in this facility, workers aged around me, their changing faces the only calendar I had.

Three, perhaps four decades—it was a blur.

My sanity teetered on the edge as I fought the urge to close my eyes. Sleep was a gateway to their next round of experimentation, knowing they would move me when I was unconscious and weak. Staring at the ceiling of my metallic cell, I continued to battle the exhaustion threatening to pull me under.

My eyes were heavy with weariness and begged for rest, yet my body rebelled against my slumber. The memories of past experiments flickered in my mind – flashes of the pain, my insides were torn out, limbs cut out, killed countless times that made my body twitch involuntarily. Each session etched a permanent scar on my mind.

I was a prisoner of Victor's insatiable desire to unlock the secrets of my immortality. I was nothing more than a guinea pig. I was a living, breathing guinea pig in his relentless pursuit of knowledge along with the rest of the scientists. I clung to the last shreds of my humanity, hoping for an escape from this lab.

And, dear god, I don't know how much I can take.

Drifting into my slumber, my consciousness succumbed to the enveloping darkness. As my body went slack, surrendering to the embrace of sleep, it wasn't long before my eyes fluttered open, assaulted by a searing brightness that forced them shut. Slowly, I coaxed my eyes open, the room slowly coming into focus. I was met with a stark reality that sent a shiver down my spine. 

Panic seized me as my eyes darted around the sterile experimentation room, my naked body bound by unyielding straps to a clinical hospital bed, lying in a vulnerable position. I strained against the restraints, dread twisting in the pit of my stomach, my mind racing what experiment I would face today. A feminine voice sliced through the air with a cold tone, the words echoing in my mind.

"Test subject, 1008. Experiment, 1823: Water with electricity."

I refused to meet the eyes of the person, knowing all too well that she was one of Victor's workers. Desperation clawed at me as I struggled against the restraints, a futile attempt to escape the impending torment. The digits 1008 echoed in my mind as the woman continued, her words dripping with an unsettling, curious tone that only fueled the trepidation in my chest.

"Twelve minutes it took for you to die, the time of coming back to life was a minute and nineteen seconds, time of full recovery was forty-four seconds. Let's see how far you can last and do, Subject Number: 1008."

My defiance bubbled to the surface. "To hell with you," I spat, lips contorted into a snarl, my tone mixed with anger and desperation. A low hum responded, unamused by my protest. In an instant, cold water cascaded over my bare flesh, a shock that caught me off guard. I coughed as the liquid invaded my mouth, a bitter reminder of my helplessness.

"Timer starts now."

A surge of electricity coursed through my drenched body, a violent shock that twisted my limbs in involuntary spasms; no screams escaped my lips, only guttural grunts of anguish from my tortured frame. My body convulsed; each jolt felt like fire racing through my veins. The water amplified the agony; it felt as if my eyes were going to pop out. I arched my back, my brain sizzling as my regenerative abilities fought and healed my wounds.

Yet, I feel the pain.

I lost track of time as I lay there; my body, though limp, remained conscious, trapped in a persistent ache that accompanied the healing process. It felt like a vessel for pain, every cell throbbing with the aftermath of the experimentation.

As my senses gradually returned, the room came into focus. The harsh lights seemed to sear into my eyes, and the acrid scent of antiseptic filled the air. The nurse, a figure in white, engaged in conversation with another worker. My ears rang, and my breathing was ragged with distress.

"The government?"

I strained to hear, my senses slowly returning. "Yes, one of their special agents is here now. Hide the subject and clean this mess. We don't know how much the man knows, or doesn't, we should not take the risk."

"Of course."

The worker departed, leaving me alone with the nurse. The mention of government agents stirred a flicker of hope within me. Perhaps this was my chance at salvation. The nurse turned her attention back to me, a syringe in her gloved hand. With a swift motion, she injected it into my neck, the world succumbing to an inky abyss.

Save me.

My words echoed into the void, a plea for deliverance from the torment that awaited me each time the light seared through my eyelids. In the abyss of unconsciousness, time lost its grip on me. A respite from the anguish, a temporary escape until the light forced its way back into my eyes. Panic, dread, terror, anger, and despair—a storm of emotions awaited me each time I woke up.

Would the agent discover me? Would I ever escape from this fucking nightmare?

A sudden jolt pulled me from the depths of unconsciousness. Eyes wide, I grappled with the burning discomfort that coursed through me. Strapped to the hospital bed, my naked form had a fresh wound across my stomach, slowly knitting itself back together. The pain receded, leaving me in a state of uneasiness.

Then, a raspy and thunderous voice shattered the silence. "As you can see, here is my proof! Such a being does exist."

My head swiveled towards the source, my heart sinking at the sight of Victor. But beside him stood an unfamiliar figure – an average-tall man with soft honey-toned skin, cold gray-blue eyes, a man seemingly in his mid-thirties with medium champagne-shaded hair neatly parted at the side, dressed in a medium well-tailored suit.

Was that the agent?

Hope flickered within me, a small flame in the dimness of despair. Yet, as quickly as it ignited, it was extinguished. Confusion took its place, a bitter taste on my tongue as I remained bound to the cold hospital bed.

Why wasn't I free at the moment?

The supposed agent, with his cold gray-blue eyes, observed my naked form, a mixture of curiosity, wonder, and a hint of amusement coloring his gaze. Unsettledness crept over me, my mind racing to understand the situation as I pondered about why there had been a gash on my stomach a moment ago—

Then it clicked in my brain.

Did he know I was immortal? What did Victor do to me in my sleep?!

"Tell me, Dr. Arrenberg," the man's voice, deep and authoritative, resonated through the room, "are there any more beings who possess this power? Where did you find them?" His calculating gaze shifted from me to Victor, awaiting an answer.

Victor, a slight frown creasing his lips, responded, "Unfortunately, no, Mr. Kane. They are the only ones who have it. As for where I found them, it was an investigation one of my subordinates took an interest in. There was a legend or myth of a being with the power of immortality, supported by historical articles and pictures of them in the past."

My heart pounded as Victor's words triggered flashes of memories – tales, titles, and the weight of being something more than human. A myth. A legend. A being dismissed as mere fantasy. I didn't think much of it, assuming no one would believe I was immortal.

Yet here I am.

Victor's eyes sparkled with a twisted joy as he continued, unraveling the fragments of a portion of my past. "I don’t know much. All I know is they were a hitman or assassin when I met them. My team captured them, and here we are. In my possession."

A knot tightened in my stomach before I could say anything; Mr. Kane, however, interjected, capturing our attention. "I have a proposition to make," he declared, the weight of his words settling over us like a shroud.

"The evidence you have provided, and documents of the test results you have shown me what they are capable of. I would like to make them more beneficial for the country and for the government. I believe you understand what I am saying, Doctor."

Dread clung to my chest as the realization set in like a heavy blow. Mr. Kane didn't see me as a mere experiment, a lab rat for scientific pursuits. In his eyes, I wasn't just a being to be dissected and probed.

He saw me as a weapon.

“Or, if it is possible enough to utilize them to create an army of immortal soldiers by their blood. If it does not work, then I am afraid to say we will take immense measures.”

Mr. Kane's words hung in the air, a heavy cloud that cast a shadow over my already shattered world. The anxiety inside me swelled, and horror clawed at my senses. My body shuddered involuntarily, a silent plea for the man not to suggest what I feared.

Victor's surprise was fleeting, replaced by a curious gleam in his eyes as he processed the implications. "Agent Ethan Kane, are you saying what I believe you are saying?"

"Yes, using their body. Ever since World War Two wreaked havoc, and neighboring countries armed themselves with nuclear bombs, I consider them to be very beneficial to protect our country. We will never know if there will be another war outbreak or someone to threaten us."

Agent Ethan Kane, the supposed savior of my torment, instead brought me more misery. My heart pounded, echoing the misery and despair that filled the room. The discussion between them left me utterly broken, shocked, and slowly descending into madness.

"Now, now, Mr. Kane, I believe I had them first. I still have much more to study and further test out the medicines I have developed. This can change the world and save many lives. Don’t you see? This is the peak of science and medicine!"

“Dr. Arrenberg, I do appreciate and admire the ways you want to save people from diseases. I congratulate you on creating treatments that saved thousands from cancer. However, I need you to understand how they would be even more beneficial if they joined our military ranks.”

Their voices clashed in my mind, drowning me in a sea of despair as they argued. Victor insisted I stay in the lab, while Ethan wanted me to join the government. As they deliberated on how to come to an agreement, I stared at them in alarm, bound and strapped to the hospital bed, exposed and vulnerable.

They discussed their plans and ideals in front of me, stealing glances that sent shivers down my spine. Victor's assistant entered to report, but Victor dismissed him, and Ethan requested drinks.

My dignity and honor had been stripped away, leaving me feeling like a captive animal. They discussed using me as a weapon, a test subject, or a super soldier, all while completely ignoring my presence. The smell of coffee mixed with the acrid scent of alcohol, permeated the room as the employee served the two men.

My feelings didn’t matter; my existence was just for their benefit. They stood sipping while discussing their disagreement, I was simply a tool or an object to them, not even a human. They sipped their drinks, their eyes scanning my naked form as if I were a specimen on display.

The least they could do was carry their discussion elsewhere, but no, they revealed it in their discourse right in front of me, discussing my future as if it were a casual topic like the weather.

I was terrified, uncomfortable, and in despair. I had believed the agent would help me, but it all came crashing down. I was feeling so many emotions at once—shock, discomfort, despair. I couldn't find words to scream, protest, or say anything. I was at a loss for words.

In emotional distress, the agent made no effort to conceal his actions, which horrified me even more. I felt so utterly small and helpless. Ethan's voice, deep and authoritative, resonated within me as his cold gray-blue eyes bore into mine, finally acknowledging my existence.

"Tell me, what made you like this? How long have you lived? I know Victor theorized you can possibly live for thousands of years; however, I need you to give me an honest answer."

His questions pierced through the haze of my confusion, and my gaze darted away, unwilling to meet the intensity of his stare. Thoughts raced through my mind like a tempest, each one a potential storm threatening to worsen my already dangerous situation.

The realization hit me—the Stone Era, over a million years ago. Victor was unaware of my full history; he was far obsessed with unlocking my immortality. If Ethan discovered the vast expanse of my existence, the wars, battles, and centuries of warfare experience, the extent of my knowledge and wisdom, I would become an irresistible prize. 

I knew it would be the end for me if I say anything.

So, I clung to silence, wary of the consequences that lurked in the shadows. The silence stretched, an unspoken tension enveloping us until Ethan broke it. "Hmm… not going to respond? Dr. Arrenberg, I would like to propose a deal that would benefit us in the end."

Victor's amusement waned, replaced by a subtle flinch at Ethan's words. "Oh?" he responded cautiously, "What would you like to propose? I said already, I will not hand you to them."

"I have the documents, evidence, and reports. Enough to shut off this company and throw you in prison." Victor's eyes narrowed, a flicker of vulnerability surfacing as Ethan continued his ultimatum.

"I cannot stay here for long and babysit you. So, I will hire a man, and you will do everything that he says. If you show any signs of betrayal or fail to follow orders, he will report to me."

"And who is he?" Victor demanded, and Ethan's response hung in the air.

"Lascell Guerrier."

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

This man named Lascell Guerrier, hired by Ethan, a scientist and psychologist in his mid-twenties with fair ivory skin and a towering figure that loomed above six feet. Dark blue, straight hair cascaded below his shoulders, but it was his eyes that stole my attention—pinkish magenta. An oddity that I didn't let distract me, given the circumstances.

In the chilly lab room, I found myself perched in the corner of my cell, the cold metal walls and unforgiving bulletproof glass offering no solace. The chill in the air was palpable, and my unclothe form shivered in the frigid environment.

“So, you’re the subject?”

Lascell's voice resonated, a deep and composed tone echoing through the sterile atmosphere. Lascell observed me from behind the glass like a caged creature; his magenta eyes, cold and calculating, locked with mine. With Ethan's departure, Victor's reign over BioThera ended, being under the control of Lascell who is in charge of continuing my experiments.

"My name is Lascell Guerrier," he announced. His gaze lingered, probing my defiance. "And what is your name?" His question was a moment of odd vulnerability, my breath hitched, and my body tensed.

Did he genuinely ask for my name? Instead of calling me by that subject number?

A fleeting moment of humanity surfaced before I remembered his alliance with Ethan and Victor. My eyes narrowed in suspicion as I hesitantly answered, "[First Name]." Silence lingered as he waited for more, "And? Any last name?" Shaking my head, I had no last name, or it was lost to the relentless march of time.

"Dr. Arrenberg told me you have been an assassin once. Before you were captured, was that correct?"

A solemn nod was my reply, the futility of hiding my past evident when Victor held the damning records and documents of that incident. How did a mission to save lives lead to this horrifying life?

"When Mr. Kane told me the agenda and why I was hired, never have I thought to see an immortal being. Immortality does exist after I saw the footage of you coming back to life," Lascell admitted, a glint of curiosity and something resembling pity in his magenta eyes and moved closer to the bulletproof glass.

"Does it hurt? When you're killed and come back to life?"

His question caught me off guard, and there was a hint of sympathy in his tone or concern. I snapped, my frustration bubbling to the surface and a scowl etching my lips.

"You don't say? Of course, it does!"

My fists thudded against the bulletproof glass, a futile attempt to break free. His composure remains unshaken, leaving me to grapple with the complexities of being a living anomaly in the hands of a man who appeared more curious than malicious.

"I may be immortal, but that doesn't mean I am immortal both in mind and heart."

Silence filled in the room, the weight of my existence and the torment I endured echoing in the stillness, the insanity eating me inside. Lascell's magenta eyes held a glint of understanding or perhaps something more profound beneath the surface.

“How long have you been here?”

Lascell's voice cut through the sterile air, his calm tone carrying an unexpected softness that tugged at my frayed emotions. The emotions, long suppressed, churned within me, threatening to spill over. "What do you think?" I snapped, the distress evident in my trembling words.

"Didn't that bastard, Victor, tell you? I was stuck here for maybe three or four decades. I don’t know!?" Frustration clawed at my mind, and I found myself uncontrollably scraping my fingers against the glass wall as if trying to break free from the suffocating reality that imprisoned me.

Calm down, calm down. I’m going to say something that would expose my history even more if I am not careful.

Despite the internal plea, I was losing the battle against the storm within. My fists pounded against the bulletproof glass, my breathing erratic, my teeth gritted, and my heart thundering in my chest. Each strike was a release of pent-up frustration, a futile attempt to break free from the reality I was in.

“Calm down—”

“How can I?! When you are here trying to get information about me for Ethan Kane. I will never escape, will I?!”

I interrupted Lascell before he could complete his sentence, my outburst met with a momentary spark of pity in his eyes. I dismissed any hint of sympathy, convinced it was an act for his true intentions.

“Breathe, breathe in and out, follow me.”

Lascell's voice, a calm undercurrent, penetrated the chaos. I glared at him, skeptical, but obediently followed his lead, fingers still trembling. The metallic scent of the walls and the sterile air entered my nose with each inhale and dissipated with a slow exhale. The rhythm of my breathing synced with Lascell's breathing. I followed the steps, focusing on his voice behind the glass.

“Keep doing that, I want you to imagine a place you call home, a comforting place, a safe place.”

A safe place.

Do I even have a place to call home?

His words stirred a realization, a tidal wave that swept away anger and replaced it with despair and sorrow. The realization that I never had a place to call home, or a safe haven washed over me. Memories of Jiro Griffin, my deceased comrade and lover, surfaced—my only solace in a tumultuous world.

But that home was gone.

"Home is gone," I whispered, the weight of those words settling heavily on my shoulders, and I hadn’t realized tears streamed down my cheeks. The cave where I grew up, even with the memories of my mother, only brought loneliness after her passing and I never met my father.

“I don’t have one.”

The admission slipped out; a raw truth bared in the air. My goal in life, to find happiness and joy through saving lives and serving justice, had led me to this desolate lab, teetering on the edge of insanity.

Lascell's eyes softened, a fleeting pang of hurt crossing his features. He maintained his calm and composed facade, a professional demeanor masking any personal emotions. Despite the need to stay detached, the sight of my tears made him pause, a momentary crack in the armor of his professional exterior.

The abrupt slam of a door jolted me from my thoughts, a harsh sound reverberating through the cold confines of my cell. Instinctively, my feet stumbled backward, seeking refuge in the corner. Tension gripped my body, muscles coiling with a reflex born from the countless instances of fear and trauma.

"I apologize, Mr. Guerrier for interrupting," a male voice intruded upon the stillness, instantly recognizable as one of Victor's associates. "However, it's time for Subject 1008 to proceed to the next stage of testing. We hope that their blood would be able to produce immortal people—”

"No, that won’t be necessary." Lascell's authoritative and calm voice cut through the worker's words. Confusion laced the worker's response. "Pardon?"

"Set up a new schedule time for their testing. Move it to another day." Lascell's unexpected intervention left me in a state of disbelief.

Was he genuinely caring, or was this a manipulation to gain my trust and extract my secrets?

My mind raced with conflicting thoughts, each possibility unfolding like a twisted puzzle. Regardless, a wave of calmness washed over me; however brief, from the upcoming experimentation for the next day.

At least today... I can take a breather. But not yet, I’m still trapped. They were going to find a way to get information from me. One way or another, it would be extracted out of me.

Was there any hope left?

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Trapped in the never-ending cycle of experiments, I found a peculiar solace in the arrival of Lascell, the man who took over BioThera. Strangely, the torturous tests seemed to lessen under his watch, becoming less frequent and mercifully less lethal.

On those rare solitary days in my prison, Lascell would pay me a visit, attempting to initiate casual conversations that left me on edge. It was hard to discern whether his friendliness was genuine or a cunning ploy to break down my defenses.

The uncertainty played out in my mind, a relentless tug-of-war between the kindness he displayed and the distrust that simmered within me. Lascell's questions about my preferences and interests.

What's your favorite color? What food do you like? What animals do you think are cool? What's your taste in music? I answered, guarded but willing to engage in these mundane conversations. Decades of torment had left me unaccustomed to kindness I hadn't experienced for a long time.

As the days unfolded, I discovered the uniqueness of my blood that those scientists tested. It was a failed experiment to create immortal beings. Failed attempts to create immortal beings only intensified the dread. The fear of the thought of Ethan ordering Victor to use my body as a breeding stock intensified with each experiment's failure.

Time blurred into an indistinct haze, but with Lascell's visits, I managed to anchor myself in some semblance of reality. Forty-four years had passed since my imprisonment, four of which I'd spent with Lascell.

His friendship, or whatever it was, brought a cautious warmth to my otherwise desolate days. I lashed out in paranoia, unsure if his kindness was a guise for manipulation. Despite my wariness, I found a strange comfort in our interactions, a brief escape from the cold, clinical reality of my surroundings.

Whenever I snapped at him, a storm of emotions churned within, yet he persisted, offering moments of normalcy amid the chaos. The scientists treated me like an object, but with Lascell, I tasted the flicker of hope that I thought was extinguished.

Talking to him, even in trivial exchanges, offered a reprieve from the insanity of isolation and the dehumanizing experiments. Gradually, my outbursts subsided, and emotional turbulence found stability, Lascell helped me regain fragments of my sanity.

An idea sparked in my mind – If I continued these conversations, walking the tightrope of revealing nothing about my secrets or history while rebuilding my composure and sanity, perhaps a sliver of hope remained. A hope, a possibility of escape. I would just pretend to trust him and use him for my benefit.

That was the plan.

But not the plan to grow attached to him.

That was not the fucking plan.

•◉◒☆◒◉•

Finished: February 3, 2024

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑬 | 3 NEXT CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑯𝑼𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑰𝑻𝒀 | 5

LINK TO THE BOOK [WATTPAD]: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 If you're interested in stories like these, here is my 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[bxrningblack]

ϟ (🥺)

Scars // Still Accepting @peranarkia

Infection. The thing about the underground was that it really wasn't the cleanest place. Mixed with 'atonement' and every once in awhile she was wracked with fever and a general miserableness. Lonnie was on perhaps one of the shortest lists in existence when it came to asking for help. If it was in a more convenient place, she'd redress the bandages and put on the ointment herself.

So, that's how she ended up in a racerback tee, tugging the middle strap over- revealing more of the angel wing scarification in progress. Most of its long healed. Faint white, just raised. But a fresher line just left of her spine was far more red, inflamed, and slightly oozy.

It's so quiet as she feels the gentle trace of her upper lines. Up and down, lining the feathers. Silence dripping like adrenaline into her heart. There's some part of her genuinely worried that maybe this air is what people mean about a gentle person's rage. The last thing she wants from this is Lonnie to go on a rampage.

"If you have a good lecture planned, I'd rather not." It's half a joke, and half a plea to fill the space while the open wound amongst the scars gets the medicine and fresh bandage. Once done, Cassie was quick to turn back with a grateful smile, wrapping an arm around their shoulders. A quick cheek kiss is the least of a thank you she can do. If she wasn't so sleepy and miserable, tea would already be going.

"Wanna just read to me awhile? Can't promise I won't fall asleep, but I'm sure Yap will stay listening."

[atlas-library]

I know we all say Toge has tattoos on his cheeks and tongue, I do too— However, it'd be much more ominous and fitting to the secretive Inumaki family if instead, the symbols on his face were scars.

trigger warnings: branding via burns, branding via cuts, scarification, Toge is a child when it happens (child abuse?)

The symbols are very specific, not necessarily complex but they could definitely 'require' burning to scarify, instead of cutting. Maybe the lines linking the circles on Toge's cheeks to his lips are made via cutting, though.

Scarification in communities usually means this is where you belong, but can also serve as a way to identify something specific (or prove something, for example your ability to endure pain if you're an adult)— Toge's scars identify him as an Inumaki, but maybe they also show he has the cursed speech ability? Or maybe it's the specific scar on his tongue, the one that was burnt there when he was barely a child, that shows it.

Toge doesn't remember the pain, but he does remember the dread.

He has to keep quiet the entire time; it's too solemn, it feels right but also wrong— A part of him says it's normal and wants it, yet another one screams it's barbarous to do such things. He's torn.

Tattoo ink was rubbed into the fresh scars to add its violet colour. It's clear those aren't tattoos, though. Maybe that's why he always hides his lower face.

Toge gets defensive when his friends try to talk about this— Maki once said it was "stupid and sadistic". Toge's angry gaze stopped her before she added anything else.

He's torn. Only he can dislike the ways of his family; it feels insulting whenever outsiders judge it. Does this make him a hypocrite?

[sydneyadmu]

13 for rebelcaptain pls

thank you for your prompt! 💛

#13 - things you said at the kitchen table

notes: this is supposed to take place about 8 months after scarif (because of course they lived). I’m open to nice constructive criticism and feedback since I’m not much of a writer but I’m trying my best. I also apologize for any eventual grammar mistakes!! hope you like it

The first mission day in Ord Mantell was a nice one: the rebel contacts were there just in time with no surprises and the supplies they came for would be ready in a few days. The most surprising part (and a very welcome one) was the safe house they were offered to say: a very cozy apartment in a quiet part of the city, with a large bedroom, ‘freshers with real showers and hot water, and a well-equipped kitchen.

Jyn excused herself to clean up while Cassian stayed in the kitchen, organizing the food they both brought from the market near their place and choosing some ingredients to cook dinner. He was delighted to see the large space there as well as all the items that he could use: there's been a long time since he was able to cook a real meal with fresh vegetables and he was looking forward to getting to work.

Cassian told Jyn a few times how much he enjoyed cooking but he never had the time or the place to do it properly. While she was showering, he set himself in the kitchen and started to prepare one of his favorite dishes (and he hoped she liked it as much as he did). He gave her a soft smile as she entered the kitchen a few minutes later with her damp hair out of its usual bun and her face with a soft shade of pink from the hot water.

She looked relaxed and comfortable while sitting on the little table near the stove, asking him about how he learned to cook, what are his favorite dishes and also if he could ever teach her how to do some stuff since she never had the opportunity to learn. Cassian told her he would teach her some things while they were staying in the safe house since it would not be possible in the rebel base and the happiness in her eyes during their conversation made the situation look so domestic. He wondered, for a moment, how things would be when the war was over. Would Jyn want to live in a quiet place and have a nice house? Would she have anyone else teaching her how to cook?

His divagations were interrupted by the smell coming from the pan, informing him the food was ready. He got two soup plates from the cabinet and served them both, joining her on the table. Jyn’s eyes went wide as she saw the food and she spend a couple of moments in silence contemplating it with her spoon in hand without saying a word.

“Jyn? Is everything okay?” Cassian tried to sound casual but he couldn't hide the little worried tone from his voice. He wondered if something was wrong, if maybe he said something that made her upset or if she was suddenly feeling unwell.

When she looked up, he could see that her eyes were a little teary as if she was holding back some tears, and hearing her unsteady voice, he was sure that something happened to her.

“It's fine. I... it's just that I don’t remember the last time I did this. I mean, just sat down in a nice place and ate a home-cooked meal someone made for me. I think I forgot how was it. To be honest I thought it would never happen again for a long time and now I got a little... Sorry, I promise you it's okay.” She gave him a sad smile and finally began to eat.

They both ate in silence and the weight of her words was soon getting to him. He knew Jyn had to live on her own for years and her life has not been easy but the thought of her not having a nice place to stay or a good meal to eat for so long broke his heart. Cassian couldn't promise her many things but he wanted to make her happy, to make her feel cared for, no matter if it was about gathering an army for her mission or just making her dinner. He wanted her to feel at home.

After a few minutes, Jyn was the one to break the silence with a satisfied smile and a playful tone. “This is delicious, Cassian. But now that I really know how good you are at this, I'll ask you to cook in every opportunity we have.”

Without thinking, he grabbed her hand that was laying on the table and looked at her eyes. “I would love to cook for you anytime, Jyn. And I'll be happy to teach you a couple of things as well. I enjoy cooking for myself when I have the chance but it's always so much better to share with an important person, you know?”

Jyn just locked her gaze at him for a moment, as if she was thinking about her next words but, in the end, she just nodded and smiled, gently caressing his hand. They ate the rest of their meal in silence still holding hands and enjoying each other’s presence and Cassian hoped she had the same feeling of home he had whenever they were together.

[quarantineddreamer]

Yours to Hold

For Fluffbruary Day 13 (Choice)

To be perfectly honest: my brain is still not quite with it these days. But, I'm holding out hope that the fog will clear at some point soon (plz) and in the meantime here's a little one-shot I managed! Hope it's enjoyable 💜 (Click above to read on AO3 or see below the cut)

It had been months since Scarif. Most of it he had spent recovering from his injuries. All of it, he had spent wondering why he could face death more easily than he could face life, face her and all she represented. Hope. Happiness. Home.   He had come outside to think, hoping the bracing cold might clear his head and deliver an answer. He knew how he felt about her, knew what he wanted. What he was searching for was the courage to try–to choose a future that extended beyond the next mission; something permanent and lasting and full of possibilities. Something not for the Rebellion, but for himself. Something to be shared…

Of all the planets Cassian had been sent to during his time with the Rebellion, Hoth was by far his least favorite.

Maybe it was because it was frigid as hell.

Or maybe it was because the loose snow sliding beneath his foot had a tendency to remind him of sand…

Or because sometimes, when a storm blew in, the horizon disappeared, a blinding white, returning him to the awful edge of oblivion; a planet devoured before his very eyes…

Already, dark clouds were beginning to encroach upon the brief glimpse of blue sky he had managed to snatch. By his estimate he had maybe fifteen minutes left in the fresh air before he would need to retreat back into the gloom of Echo Base. He dreaded the thought, his head aching in memory of the harsh halogen lighting, chest tightening as he pictured the maze of tight, winding tunnels leading to crowded and too-small ‘rooms’.

Sure, on Yavin 4 he had been forced to check his bed every night in case a poisonous Yavinian centipede had wandered in, but it had also offered places to turn to when he sought solitude–jungle trees that he could lean against instead of the frozen rock wall at his back now.

At best, Hoth could offer him a barely habitable tundra to wander onto that–conditions permitting–would host him for maybe thirty minutes before the threat of frostbite drove him back into the Rebellion’s cramped quarters. 

“Cassian?”

Even through the harsh whispers of the rising wind he recognized her voice–three, barely audible syllables and suddenly the icy air didn’t seem quite so cutting. 

Jyn marched towards him, head ducked low against the wind, arms crossed over her chest, hands clutching her elbows in a tight self-embrace. A gray hat covered her head and a scarf to match was wrapped around her neck, the end of it tucked into the parka she wore–standard-issue blue, and seemingly at least a size too large–the sleeves hanging well-past her hands. 

She stopped when she reached him and peered up at him, cheeks turned scarlet from the burning cold, loose strands of hair blowing across her face and over her brilliant green eyes. 

He’d come out here to be alone. To think. And yet, suddenly all the thoughts in his head seemed out of reach, as did any semblance of speech. 

“What are you doing out here?” she asked incredulously. 

Cassian cleared his throat and gestured upwards. “You just missed it.”

“Missed what? I didn’t know there were any new arrivals scheduled today…”

He shook his head. “No, not a ship. Sky.”

Jyn tilted her head back, eyeing the infinity above them skeptically. “Pretty sure it’s still there, Cass,” she commented. 

“Clear sky,” Cassian elaborated. “Blue sky. Remember that?”

“I’ve heard of it,” she laughed, and the sound was meant for his ears (as all sounds are), but somehow it wasn’t something he heard so much as felt–winding its way through him, leaving warmth and energy in its wake, before settling somewhere against his heart. 

“Cass? Hello?”

“Sorry.” Cassian blinked, snow from his eyelashes melting against his cheeks and blurring his vision. “What did you say?”

Jyn rolled her eyes. “I asked if it was worth it, but I think I have my answer. The cold’s clearly gone to your brain.” She turned her back to the wall and leaned against it beside him, looking at him expectantly. 

It wasn’t the cold making him so addle-minded, Cassian knew it wasn’t that. No, it was something far more daunting, far more potent, and definitely not as easily shaken.

Jyn looked away from him, out onto the increasingly hazy landscape. “Were you really just out here to look at the sky?” she asked quietly.

She knew the truth, or at least part of it. She always did. He didn’t know how, but she did, the same way he knew he didn’t have to answer her–that she didn’t expect him to. His silence would say enough.

“It’s suffocating in there,” she murmured. “Not enough light, not enough air.”

“Too many people,” he added quietly.

She nodded. “Too many,” she agreed. “But out here it’s…”

“Quiet. Gives you a chance to think.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Sometimes.”

She peered at him from beneath frost-covered lashes. Lips quirked in a pensive, knowing smile. “What about today?”

Today? Today his eyes had been drawn to Jyn the moment she entered the mess hall; had followed her every step with a sort of dizzying wonder that was at once exhilarating and terrifying. Today Chirrut, sitting beside him, had nudged him pointedly and asked, ‘What are you waiting for, Captain?’

But there wasn’t a single answer, there was an entire swarm of doubts that continued to plague him. 

It had been months since Scarif. Most of it he had spent recovering from his injuries. All of it, he had spent wondering why he could face death more easily than he could face life, face her and all she represented. Hope. Happiness. Home.  

He had come outside to think, hoping the bracing cold might clear his head and deliver an answer. He knew how he felt about her, knew what he wanted. What he was searching for was the courage to try–to choose a future that extended beyond the next mission; something permanent and lasting and full of possibilities. Something not for the Rebellion, but for himself. Something to be shared…

“Today, it was a good thing,” he said at last. It was a good thing because having Jyn in his thoughts, even if they were anxious ones, was still having Jyn there, with him–a sudden, strange, and unexpected source of strength and light. 

She pushed herself off the rock wall and stepped in front of him, so close he could see the individual hairs that were caught up in her eyelashes, fixed in place by her hat and the wind. “Tell me about them,” she said. “The good thoughts.”

Waking up in the infirmary to find her there, resting at his bedside, arms folded beneath her head… 

Hearing her laugh for the first time, a proper laugh as he and K2 bickered over something inane; he’d forgotten the fight the moment he heard the sound, caught himself automatically smiling in response… 

Her surprising patience during his recovery, tempering his own frustrations; the way she’d always been there to sit with him in silence after a particularly trying day… 

A quiet corner of the galaxy, somewhere verdant and warm and free of war; Jyn standing beside him,  always beside him…

Instead of answering, he found himself pinning the fingertips of one of his gloves between his back and the rock and tugging his hand free. His breath caught in his chest as he slowly reached towards her face, gently sweeping a finger over the surface of her forehead, sliding the hair away from her eyes. 

He should have dropped his hand after that, should have pulled away, but instead, his palm moved instinctively to cup her cheek, the softness of her skin serving in stark contrast to the bite of the air around it. 

Jyn stared at him, something unreadable in her eyes as she searched his face. “Your fingers are cold,” she said softly, even as she slowly removed her own gloves and reached for his hands, tugged his remaining glove away. “Let me warm them up…”

Time seemed to slow down as she folded her hands over his own, squeezing lightly, before bringing his fingers to her open mouth and breathing onto them, the warmth of her seeping into the chilled surface of his skin, setting fire to his stuttering heart. 

“Jyn…” he murmured, but anything he might have thought to say to her stuck in his throat, forgotten and useless. 

He leaned closer, till the breath that had been warming his hands was ghosting across his lips instead. And for a moment, that was all there was, just the sound and feel of their breathing: a whispered question so powerful, it blocked even the howl and bite of the rising storm. 

Their eyes locked and held, the beginning notes of a song hanging in the air between them…

Cassian answered the call, tilting forward to press an eager kiss to Jyn’s lips. 

A pleased hum buzzed against his mouth, matching the pull of her forming smile. She released his hands and leaned her weight against him as she rose to her toes, reaching to wind her fingers around his neck and into his hair.

He wrapped his arms around her, tightened the embrace, a wild melody tearing through him like thunder through spring air, full of promise. 

When they parted, they did so slowly, scattering short kisses across cheeks and noses, and unable to resist one last deep, lingering kiss, before finally leaning away, just enough to clearly see each other’s faces. 

The smug grin Jyn was giving him forced a soft laugh from Cassian. “What’s this look about?” he asked. 

“Took you long enough,” she said softly as she stepped backwards, dragging the start of a trail in the deepening snow. “Now come on, you’ve been out here long enough–and I’ve got some ideas on how we can get warm.”

The plummeting temperatures didn’t seem capable of reaching him–not with the shadow of their kiss persisting on his lips–but Cassian didn’t bother to resist. 

Jyn tugged gently on his arm, and he gladly followed