#set my sights on what is unattainable

[xvysarene]

𝔽𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕐𝕠𝕦

Pairing: Zayne x Fem!Reader Prompt: Inspired by the quote “I love you in every timeline”, but with a twist Words: ~870 Genre: Eventual fluff Notice: Spoilers of Zayne’s ‘Tower of Secrets’ myth & ‘Still in Dark’ anecdote

[ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST]

Throughout his entire existence, Zayne believed that Astra’s punishment condemned him to eternal separation from his true love; forced to either sacrifice himself or spiral out of control upon her death.

But was this truly his punishment, or merely an obstacle? A cruel way to derail him from finding the one.

Thus, when he managed to save his childhood friend without any further complications—without having to give up or lose himself because she survived—he should have felt relieved.

Felt a sense of completeness that he had dreamt for so long.

Instead, the hollowness, the whisper of something just out of reach remained.

“What more do you want from me?” he cursed Astra. Cursing His sick, twisted game.

And so, as he ventured back through his memories, aside from the occasional encounters with others, there was always one person who inexplicably found him.

You.

You, who managed to pick up his broken pieces as he lamented.

You, who brought a sense of comfort like no other.

You, who always mysteriously disappeared in the end, forgotten by him.

“Zayne?” a surprise gasp left your lips.

His fingers remained wrapped around your wrist, stopping you from walking out of his life for the umpteenth time.

The setting sun accentuated your silhouette, as if emphasising the answer he had blindly missed in every other timeline.

“Am I Astra's punishment for you?”

And you, condemned to stay by his side, an unattainable man whose eyes and life were always set on another woman.

“What exactly is His punishment to you?” he pleaded, begging to understand. 

He would be damned if he let you vanish again this time, not when he had finally found the one he was destined to be with.

A pang of remorse washed over him as he heard your answer: “To be the fleeting pillar for the man who never looks my way, destined to forget me eventually.”

Just like him, you bore different personas in every alternate universe.

While everyone had forgotten the Foreseer and the Tower of Thorns, they had also forgotten about you—the only other person who had befriended the Foreseer and kept him company in his loneliness.

It was your laughter that thawed the icy hallways of the tower, just to be silenced once a woman intent on stealing the Creatio Protocore arrived.

He then remembered the surviving nurse, living in the same decaying city as Dawnbreaker, patching him up after every chaotic fight with the Abomination and Wanderers, and comforting him as he washed away Georgie's blood from his hands.

“Every time she appears, your memory of me will fade,” you whispered, eyes searching his in disbelief. “How have you not forgotten about me now?”

Oh, how bittersweet it was to continually forget the one who first taught your heart to love.

Unable to resist any longer, Zayne tugged you into his embrace, fearing that you might slip away.

In his arms, you fit perfectly, like the last chapter of a series, completing him.

“How could you remain so kind, when all I ever did was take, and take, and take from you?” The growing lump in his throat nearly choked him.

“If anyone needs a shoulder to lean on, it's you, Zayne. I've never regretted being there for you.” With a gentle touch, your palm came to rest on his heart. “There must be a reason I'm meant to stay by your side, even if it’s momentary.”

For the first time, he felt warm. A different kind of warmth that spread through him like a soft flame kindling deep within his heart.

“All my life, I've always set my sight on the wrong woman. My punishment is to be separated from you, not her.” Gazing at your eyes, bright with unshed tears, was like a punch to his sternum. “I wish you hated me now.”

“Why?” you murmured.

Lifting your chin, he lowered his gaze to your lips, closing the distance between you slowly. “Because then you’ll push me away, knowing that I am unworthy of this.”

And as your eyes fluttered closed instead, mouth already anticipating his, every fibre of restraint shattered.

Both of your lips locked without hesitation, releasing pure longing that had been confined for so long, now unleashed in a wave of intense emotions.

The world dissolved into the intoxicating sensation of lips moulding together. One of his arms pulled at your waist, fingers gripping your curve, drawing you even nearer. 

He realised right then and there that he would never have enough of your taste.

“Do you think this is Astra’s wicked scheme? That you still remember me after all this time, yet impending misfortune awaits us?” Traces of doubt were evident in your hushed whisper, lips lightly brushing with his still.

“Astra be damned.” The condemning words rumbled deeply from his chest, causing you to look at him in surprise. 

“He may test me, but he’ll not take you away from me. Never again.” Strong hands cradled your face, trailing gentle kisses from your forehead, down to your nose, and finally to your lips. “As long as I draw breath, I'll spend every moment fighting for you.”

In every possible timeline, he had loved you first, and in this moment, his love for you remained unwavering.

[freesia-writes]

Bad Batch Prompt Event #1

Much love to @arctrooper69 for making this official, and I can't wait to see what anyone else has written for these prompts! I'm gonna post the SFW part one here and NSFW part two over on @spicy-clones.

Hunter x F!Reader WORD COUNT 3000 my bad! Content: some basic medical descriptions, reader gets her butt smacked at 79s, and a wee bit o kissin. GONNA USE MY SEXY DIVIDERS WITH @pinkiemme's art since it's HUNTER! :D

“Seriously?” you sighed. “This again?”

“This is completely different than last time,” came the smooth reply, earning both a snort and an eyeroll from you. 

“It’s almost exactly the same.”

“Different arm.”

“Oh my gosh.” Your almost-laugh was overshadowed by concern and frustration as you made quick work of the injury and carefully wrapped the gauze around his bicep, trying not to pay too close attention to the gentle curves of the muscles and tendons, the light dusting of hair, the scars and bruises… You cleared your throat, shaking your head minutely and looking back up to his face. That wasn’t any better. His sharp eyes gazed steadily at you, framed by his distinctive nose and the strands of hair that brushed the sides of his face.

“Well thanks as always,” he said quietly, the hint of a rare smile touching the corner of his lips, which were almost always curved in the ghost of a frown from the burdens he carried. You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest, instead nodding and picking up your datapad abruptly to see what else was on the agenda for the Kamino medical bay that day. You looked back to him, offering a small smile and an honest exhortation.

“Take care of yourself, Hunter.”

* * * 

You were surprised to see him only a week later, stepping into line behind you in the mess hall with the rest of his squad. They were normally a boisterous bunch, but there seemed to be a heaviness upon them as they moved rather listlessly. Perhaps a mission gone awry, perhaps the regular wear and tear of being mere property in a seemingly endless war. You caught Hunter’s eye as he moved to the front of his group, setting his tray on the shelf beside yours as you slid down the food line. 

“You alright?” you asked softly, startling yourself with the gentleness and vulnerability in your own voice and cringing at the fact that you didn’t even lead with a “hello”. 

“Yeah,” he said automatically, his flat affect provoking more anxiety than you’d like. You left it at that, unable to stifle the simultaneous warmth and concern emanating from you. You didn’t know what it was about his mere presence, but he exuded both competence and compassion, intelligence and wit, and you perceived the weight of responsibility that hung over his head, both a gift and a curse of his engineered fate. 

You’d come to enjoy his med bay visits more and more, although it was never the ideal circumstances to meet. The elaborate fantasies you concocted as you drifted off to sleep were far more appealing, consisting of stargazing cuddles, fancy galas, coffee shop chats, and many other situations you’d want to share with him. As corny as it seemed, more than all of it, you simply wanted to know him, to know the inner workings of his mind, his joys and worries, the things that made him laugh, the way he liked his caf… It wasn’t the first time in your life that you’d harbored a crush for someone who was as unattainable as they were oblivious of your affections, so you settled to daydream and enjoy the times you did get to share. 

It helped that your occupation allowed you some quiet moments and gentle touches here and there. Although, perhaps “helped” was the wrong word. 

* * * 

“We need you in room 6 immediately,” crackled the voice on your commlink, and you set aside the instruments you’d been cleaning and adjusting, heading that way with urgency. When the door slid open, you felt a jolt of electricity run through your body at the sight of a hulking clone on the exam table, covered in dried blood and haphazardly-wrapped bandages. You knew who it was without seeing his face, which was almost entirely obscured, and before your emotions could catch up, you snapped into work mode.

“What are we dealing with?” you asked the others, who were moving in smooth synchronization to free his head and scan him head to toe. 

“CT-9903. Explosion and shrapnel, blunt force trauma, multiple lacerations…” your assistant reported, eyes flitting across the scanner screen.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” your other colleague said, stuffing the wads of bandages into the garbage and pulling on a fresh set of gloves. 

“Let’s get to work,” you muttered. 

A few hours later, he was cleaned up and sleeping comfortably, one eye closed serenely beneath a spiral of neatly-wrapped gauze that covered the rest of his head. You slipped into the room and tapped the screens, confirming the notes your assistant had entered, then rested a hand on his broad forearm, watching his chest rise and fall and sending out all the comforting and healing vibes you could muster. 

“He seems alright,” came a smooth, low voice from behind you, making you jump and emit the tiniest squawk. You whirled around to see Hunter in a chair in the corner, reclining with his legs crossed out in front of him. He’d phrased it as a statement but the inflection of his voice indicated a question, and you exhaled in an attempt to regain your composure.

“First of all, hi. Next time, can you greet me when I come into the room instead of scaring the crap out of me?” you said, accompanied with a little laugh that sounded forced. 

“We’ll see,” he returned evenly, keeping his face straight despite your smirk.

“That’s an order, Sergeant,” you attempted, delighting in the slight spark in his eyes as he raised his eyebrows.

“Oh really,” he said, lowering his chin just enough to bring some hair across his forehead as he regarded you with a stare that you could have sworn held a hint of smolder. But perhaps you were seeing what you wanted to see. Your fingers twitched at your sides, yearning to stroke the tufts back from his face… and other stuff…

“Yeah, anyway…” you said suddenly, clearing your throat and turning businesslike all of a sudden. “He should be fine. We’ll run some more tests when he wakes up to check on his hearing. The lacerations should heal easily, and he was lucky enough to avoid any serious contusions, somehow. I don’t know what you all were doing out there but this guy needs a thicker helmet.”

“I’ll make sure to request that from the armory.”

“I’m sure they’ll be wildly helpful and accommodating.”

“Always.”

A silence fell for a moment, then he rose to his feet, stretching to his full height and picking up his backpack.  He slung it across his shoulders, along with the concerns and duties that awaited him, and gave you a cordial nod. 

“Thanks for taking care of him,” he said with genuine sincerity, regarding you with fondness as he stepped closer. Your heart skipped a beat and you felt frozen to the spot, mind racing with a million scenarios you’d envisioned that started out just like this. 

“Just doing my job… sir,” you said feebly, swallowing hard as he moved the tiniest bit nearer. You gazed at his eyes, brown at first glance but peppered with pale green and gray upon closer inspection. You could swear you felt the sparks flying between the two of you… until he spoke, shifting slightly to your side. 

“Gotta… head out…” he muttered, and you suddenly realized he had actually been trying to get past you. Flushed with hot embarrassment, you moved aside in a flash, turning away to hide your reddening cheeks. 

“Sorry, I didn’t sleep too much last night,” you explained quickly, trying not to stutter. “The old brain isn’t working quite so well today.”

“I’m glad you performed cranial surgery on Wrecker, then,” Hunter observed, and you buried your face in a hand.

“I mean, it wasn’t really surgery, but good point,” you laughed, thoroughly mortified now.

You didn’t see the pursed lips hiding his smile as he turned and disappeared out the door. 

* * * 

You were deeply saddened at first when you were transferred from the Kamino medical bay to the general medical center on Coruscant. But, as your fellow clone-obsessed friend reminded you, you would be able to go with her to 79s on your nights off, where you could enjoy the company of the types of men you’d come to prefer. It had been a hellish week, with too many patients and too few staff members, and you had worked yourself to the bone. It was as good a time as any to blow off some steam, so it took only a little urging from your friend for you to change into some going out clothes, fix up your hair a bit, and hit the town with her. 

Typically one for softness and gentleness, you felt an edge to yourself that night. Perhaps it was the build up of all of the frustrating situations at work, but whatever the cause, you didn’t feel like putting up with any kind of BS. So when the first trooper you walked past tried to smack your butt, you turned on him with the raging fury of a thousand suns and gave him a piece of your mind. Your friend stared at you, dumbfounded, and you heard some chuckles and comments from the crowd. Turning away before you melted into an apology, you stalked off to the corner booth you had left your stuff in.

“That was brutal,” a smoky voice said, and you were floored at the sight of Hunter sliding into the booth next to you. Your friend winked at you from where she stood at the bar, still flirting with a couple of troopers. You stared at him, speechless, and he held his hands up in surrender. “I’ll clear out if you’re going to chew me out like that guy. Just wanted to say hi. Haven’t seen you in the med bay in a while.“

“No, stay!“ You said, more eagerness in your voice than you would like to admit. “They transferred me here…”

“And you just had to get your clone fix?”

You blushed, palming your face before taking a long swig of your drink. It was a stiff one, and a fitting way to end your week. 

“Just kidding,” he continued, “We both know you just miss yelling at people.” 

“Oh, I’m such a yeller,” you rolled your eyes. You had never been anything but gentle and kind with him and the other patients. And he knew it.

Before long, you both found yourselves lost in conversation, and it felt as though your dreams were coming true. Details of his life and thoughts were flowing freely, well, as freely as possible considering the covert nature of most of his experiences, and the two of you settled into a comfortable rhythm as you nursed your drinks and regarded one another. You shared about your training days, mishaps and mayhem, and your goals for the future. He was happy to listen, answering questions but also content to simply sit. You didn’t want to admit just how much you were thrilled by the entire situation. 

“Refills?” You asked, gesturing to the empty glasses on the table. He nodded, but then followed you out of the booth. As the two of you leaned against the bar, waiting to be acknowledged, you tilted your head at him, feeling slightly emboldened for a moment, but it quickly melted when his eyes met yours.

“Yes?” He asked, a smirk on his own face. 

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he teased. “Looks like you’ve got something you want to say.”

“Maybe there’s lots I want to say,” you clapped back, putting your hand on your hip. “But I don’t think I’m going to.” You gave him a sassy smile in an attempt to hide the complete and total whirlwind of thoughts raging for consideration within you. 

He took a step closer, coming into your personal space, and his hand that rested on the bar counter was dangerously close to your waist. You could almost feel his touch, without any contact being made at all. His eyes were dark beneath his brows, his sharp profile illuminated by the colorful lights all around, and your heart skipped a beat. 

“You sure?” he purred, a smug look on his face as though he knew the effect he had on you. “Nothing at all?”

“You’re the worst,” you stammered, dropping your chin and fixing your stair on the ground beside you.

“Yeah,” he conceded with a snort. “Well, you still like me.”

Your head flew up faster than a ship jumping into hyperspace, and you stared at him in utter shock as your stomach plunged. Your mouth fell open a little bit as you frantically searched for words, coming up with none and snapping it shut again. He shifted the tiniest fraction closer, looming over you now in a way that would be intimidating if your veins weren’t coursing with adrenaline and the sheer desire to grab his shirt and show him all that you couldn’t say. 

“Thought so,” he said with a satisfied rumble of laughter that made your knees weak.

“I don’t… I mean, I couldn’t…” You fumbled hopelessly, turning away a tiny bit as you grappled for any kind of response.

“Hey lady,” a clone voice said from behind you. “ This guy bothering you?” You turned around to see a trooper with his head closely shaved except for some intricate designs along the sides. He was standing tall, an inch or two over Hunter, and had a warm intensity to his gaze that showed genuine concern more than creepiness or bravado.

You looked back to Hunter, who was still leaning on the bar, relaxed and unbothered. He lifted his eyebrows at you, uncharacteristically playful, and said, “Well?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” you said to the blue-armored clone, who gave you a polite nod before leaving with one last suspicious glare at Hunter.

“So… you were saying?” Hunter poked, tilting his head at you and fanning the flame. Was he flirting? For real? Or just trying to make you flustered, for his own fun and entertainment? 

“Now you’re just being cruel,” you whined, and he laughed, an authentic, deep sound that made you swoon. 

“I would never.”

“Hunter, we’ve got to go,” a pert voice broke through your fantasy, and you turned to see a bespectacled man with a serious face standing beside Hunter, who looked at you with an unreadable expression as your heart sank and disappointment lay heavy over the two of you.

“Well. Hope I see you again,” he admitted, a wistful tone to his voice as he brushed his fingers across the back of your hand, sending a jolt of electricity through you, and dipped his head in goodbye before disappearing out the front door. 

You went home to your “personal massager” that night. 

* * * 

You were finishing the patient notes for the day as you bent over your screen at work, tapping away with diligence as you looked forward to freedom for the evening. It had been nearly a week since you’d seen Hunter at 79s, and you’d been kicking yourself for not speaking up more, or flirting more, or making a move, or something. You doubted your paths would cross again, as your friend shared that she’d only seen Clone Force 99 at the bar once before, and she was quite the regular. Bringing your thoughts back to the present, you groaned inwardly as your comm pinged with an incoming message, and you considered not looking at it to avoid any calls to stay late. But curiosity got the better of you, and you took a look at the screen. 

//18:42//-ENCRYPTED- {Chewed out any regs lately?}

Your mouth fell open, brow furrowed, as you studied the message. It wasn’t an internal memo, nor was it from any sort of source you’d seen before. It couldn't be… Could it? You smirked, curious to try something that might seem inconspicuous if it were, in fact, an error, but might be playful if it were him.

//18:43// - {Unfamiliar source number, identification needed.}

The response seemed to take ages.

//18:47//-ENCRYPTED- {Identification can be provided in the maintenance alleyway of the med center.}

You were embarrassed how quickly you got there. 

The door swung open into a long, narrow gap between the large hospital buildings, filled with random parts and trash chutes, and your heart leapt in your chest when you saw his gray and red armor.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, positively thrilled and unable to hide it.

“I… Well… I don’t know,” Hunter admitted with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I haven’t been able to get you off my mind since we had to leave… So I thought it might need some medical attention.” 

Now it was your turn to laugh, the sheer delight of it all cascading over you. “Oh, and a crusty alleyway seems like a very sterile environment.” He grinned, shaking his head, and you caught a glimpse of his own vulnerability, realizing that he, too, was fairly out of sorts when it came to smooth talk and flirtation. Somehow, that made you feel better, and all the regrets and “what ifs” of the last number of days began a relentless protest in your mind. “Well, let’s see what I can do,” you murmured, stepping closer to where he leaned against the wall. His eyebrows climbed up his head, giving away his utter surprise, and the sight gave you tingles. 

“I… ah…” he began, but you leaned into him a little, fueled by months of daydreams and a lifetime of self-loathing for all the opportunities you were too cowardly to take hold of. Plus, his sheepishness and his admission were all you’d needed to hear, and there was an undeniable affection in his eyes that melted you to the core. 

“Let’s see if we can help you out a bit?” you offered, simultaneously cringing and delighting at the complete and total ridiculousness of it all. But then he tilted his head and lifted a single, curled finger to your chin, tipping it up toward his face and sealing your fate as hopelessly enthralled. His dark eyes glittered with warmth and trepidation, and the next thing you knew, your lips were pressed against his, eyes closed, arms around his neck. 

It was so soft, so absolutely mind-blowingly perfect; your entire body was electrified as his own arms wrapped around you. You felt him exhale, his nose against your cheek, and you were overwhelmed with joy at his closeness, his vulnerability, his all-consuming presence that filled your senses. His body formed around yours, his mouth still gently nestled against your own, and you melted a little further into him, wishing that it would never end. 

When you finally did separate with a soft smack of the lips, you left your faces close, your eyes darting to his, which remained closed for an extra second before slowly opening with a relaxed warmth that had you feeling weak all over again. You couldn’t resist leaning your forehead against his own, reaching a hand up to caress his cheek for a moment before begrudgingly pulling back a bit. 

“Thank you,” you whispered lamely, and he exhaled through his nose.

“Thank you,” he echoed, sheepish and disarmed. 

“Please contact me anytime you need any sort of medical attention,” you continued, wrinkling your nose at just how terrible it all sounded, but he snickered, slowly releasing you with a nod.

“My job is quite harmful.”

Are you 18+? Interested in a smutty part two? Click here. ;)

Tag List: @littlefeatherr @foreverdaydreaming1 @littlemissbshine @dreamie411 @skellymom @followthepurrgil @the-hexfiles @1vlouds @ughhhhfoff @coraex @gt13tbbart @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @secondaryrealm @hellhound5925 @thew0nderer2342 @cloneloverrrrr @clonethirstingisreal @kimiheartblade @mooncommlink @stardusthuntress @starstofillmydream @eyecandyeoz @dhawerdaverd @ladylucksrogue @thiswitchloves9904 @eternal-transcience @cw80831 @adh-d2 @techmexicanvieja @ezras-left-thumb @trixie2023 @sleepycreativewriter @nonsenseandm3mes @mlichaelm @nahoney22 @mary-on-the-contrary @sverdgeir @roam-rs @starsaboveclones @falconfeather23435 @lightwise @solstraalaa @chishiyas-favorite57 @hipwell @lamiliani @catoo @smw-on-kamino

Click here to join or leave the tag list.

[cielcius]

bakugou x g/n!reader. drunk!fic, established relationship, injury, more crack than less hurt/more comfort, good ending (i promise)

if there is one thing katsuki has ever gotten mad at you for, it’s ripping his clothes.

he’s not talking about his pro-hero costume, no, they have multiple copies of his costume and the patterns down to the secret inside pockets kept on the inside of his pants. he’s talking about his regular clothes, “civilian clothes”, not all particularly that expensive and nothing really all that special, but certain clothes tend to go out of style.

it just so happened that you ripped the one shirt that went out of style years ago, now unattainable, and completely heart-wrenching for katsuki to watch through the tears in his eyes. and it all started with a guys’ night out:

“y/n?” you hum into the speaker of your phone, confusion slowly starting to cloud your mind when you hear todoroki’s voice contrary to the caller id showing your husband. “um, do you think you can come and pick bakugou up? he keeps... crying.”

a silent gasp falls from your lips, almost in disbelief. not that the sight of katsuki crying was unheard of, but in public? “oh my, i'm coming now but what happened?” you can hear todoroki sigh into the receiver, and it’s a long sigh. “uh, i think something with wanting you. everybody else is too drunk.”

“and you?”

“i wish i was.” ah, so todoroki is driving. “ok, i’ll be there in a bit. watch him please.” you hear something like a noise of protest as you’re putting on your shoes. “it’s kinda weird to watch bakugou cry but i’ll try.”

— 

arriving on the scene—the bar located halfway across the city—you’re greeted with the sight of katsuki on the ground, a beer bottle still in hand and his jacket acting as a blanket as he slumps back against todoroki’s legs. as you walk closer, you can hear the low drunken murmurs of your husband as he rambles to todoroki.

“’m miss y/n. wanna go to them. wan’ some ice cream. rocky road, no, mint chocolate. who eats sorbet? how do you even pronounce sorbet? where’s y/n?”

you can’t find yourself suppressing the smile that crawls onto your lips at katsuki’s drunken monologue, nodding at todoroki once he spots you. “oh good. you’re here.”

“who’s here? shut up, icyhot. ‘m talkin’ here.” kneeling down to katsuki’s line of sight, you watch as his eyes grow wide, brimmed in red and slightly swollen from the tears that had been spoken of over the phone. “katsuki,” you smile. “let’s go home.” nodding to todoroki again, you watch as he makes his way back into the bar while you make the venture back home with your husband slung heavily over your shoulders.

— 

nearly gasping for air, you toss your keys into the dish placed by the doorway, setting katsuki down before working on getting both your shoes off. “y/n,” you hum in response. “are we home yet?” you huff in amusement. “yes katsuki, we’re home and need to get you some water.”

“mm. ‘m thirsty.” with a little help on katsuki’s behalf, you get him into a chair at the table before grabbing a glass of water and setting it down in front of him. that was your first mistake.

the glass falls at the attempt katsuki makes to grab for it, shattering into pieces against the hardwood floors. “oh no, katsuki, are you okay?” without answering your question, katsuki starts to reach down at the pieces, grabbing at the large pieces before he winces.

blood, lots of blood. the palm of his hand starts to bleed an unrealistic amount of red, dripping onto the floor slowly. letting the piece of glass fall from his hand, katsuki, almost comedically, falls out of his seat and onto the ground. you quickly make your way around the broken glass in a frantic state of panic. that was your second mistake.

not wanting to lose any more blood, you rip a strip of cloth off the bottom of katsuki’s shirt and quickly wrap it around his palm, paying no mind to the onslaught of tears that were soon to come with your actions. 

“you,” you look up at katsuki, eyes searching his and widening when you find them glossy with tears. “you ripped my shirt. my shirt...” you open your mouth, but you’re speechless.

slowly, you come to grasp your senses. “i'm sorry, katsuki, but you’re bleeding. we should go to the hospital in case there’s glass in your hand.” you stand, about to help katsuki up until he turns his head away with a hmph. you raise your eyebrows in disbelief. did he just “hmph” you?

“no. ‘m not going with you.”

“but katsuki, you’re bleeding.” crossing his arms, he looks back at you with hellfire in his eyes. “i. don’t. care.” as if he was reviving his teenage rebellion, katsuki narrows his eyes into a glare, challenging you to talk back, and talk back you did.

“you’re hurt, katsuki. i outta leave you here if you keep acting like this.”

“then do it!” your jaw drops at his response and you swear your eye is twitching, ears not believing a single thing you were hearing and yet you watch as your husband gives the sass to go along with his attitude. before you can act further, katsuki stumbles to his feet, the cloth around his hand covered in clouds of blood but he walks it off as he makes his way to your bedroom.

following him, still in disbelief, you watch as katsuki pulls out your duffel bag before throwing in an odd mix of his and your clothes. “are we going somewhere? like the hospital.” at your remark, katsuki shoots a glare at you once again before going back to packing. “no, me. ‘m going to kirishima’s cause at least he won’t rip my clothes.”

with a bag full of who-knows-what, katsuki gets to the front door, picking up a shoe to go on the opposite foot before his nose scrunches up at the discomfort.  “katsuki, kirishima is the one friend most likely to rip your clothes.”

“then i'll go somewhere else. even if it has to be icyhot’s place.” though contrary to his words, you see katsuki shiver in distaste at having to stay at todoroki’s house. the sight makes you laugh tiredly. “katsuki,” you bend down to where katsuki is seated, trying to get his other shoe on. “i'm sorry i ripped your shirt.” at your apology, katsuki stops and sits limp with a pout.

“’s my favorite shirt.”

“i know.”

“they don’t sell them anymore.”

“i know. but katsuki,” he looks up at you. “your parents made that shirt.”

“my parents made it.” his pout grows deeper, shoulders sagging.

“and i'm pretty sure they can make one more for you.” like a spring, katsuki bounces back with a small smile and a glimmer in his eyes. “really? you think they’ll make me another one?” you nod, quietly laughing at your husband’s boyish giddiness. “of course. you’re their son, and they love you very much.”

katsuki’s smile lasts for a few seconds before faltering. “but, i love you.” you pat his shoulder. “i know, katsuki. i love you too.” even then, katsuki begins to sport a small pout. “but, i yelled at you.” you smile, almost sadly.

“it’s okay, katsuki. you didn’t yell but you were mad and it was my fault. no matter what, as long as we can apologize and own up to our mistakes, we’ll always be okay.”

“always?” you nod. “always.” you smooth the bangs of his hair back, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “let’s go to the hospital to make sure you’re okay, and then we can sleep in all day tomorrow. okay?” nodding quietly, katsuki lets you put his shoes on the right feet, grab the keys, and guide him to the hospital, smiling as you take his hand in yours with a smile.

[hyperblue]

‘Baby you need to get some sleep.’ not kon spoke from just over his shoulder, his hallucination was eerily detailed. Right down to the stitching on kons leather jacket, the dimples in his cheeks, the texture of his hair, the way he cared deeply and endlessly. ‘You wont be any good to anyone if you carry on like this, wont be any good to him.’ Tim hummed in acknowledgment.

‘I’ll sleep in a minute, i just wanna watch him for a while.’ He’ll sleep when he’s viable. Tim was currently sat on the floor in front of a large glass tube full of slightly luminous green liquid. Suspended in the middle of the tube was a foetus, soon it would be a baby. Their baby. He just needed to watch it a while longer, just until it was old enough to be viable outside of its growth medium. His son, his half kon half him miracle. ‘What should we call him do you think.’ he turned but not kon had moved, his hallucinations always hovered on the edge of his vision just out of proper sight. Just out of reach. a reminder they were unattainable, a dream.

‘Baby I don’t think anything, I’m not real remember.’ He sighed deep and long.

‘I know, i know you aren’t real just make something up. Tell me what i think he would’ve wanted. Let me pretend we’re doing this together.’ Not kon was stood on the other side of the tube now, image warped by the growth medium. He put his hand on the glass right over their son. ‘Just tell me anything, anything at all.’ He was suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of deep sadness, of bitter cold loneliness. All he wanted in this moment was for real kon to tell him what to do, to guide him out of this mess. Not kon would have to do.

‘Well, i like the older all American names. Even though you always found them silly.’ He closed his eyes and huffed out the smallest laugh, this was unfortunately very true. ‘If it was a girl it’d be easy, Wendy Wayne! Wendy Wayne-Kent?’ The laugh was more real this time because not kon (his brain?) was correct. Their daughter would’ve been named for Wendy the werewolf stalker and he would’ve let it happen. Not their son though. He sat quietly for a few minutes just thinking.

‘How about Ward? Old school, American, has some meaning too it, not horrifically long or embarrassing, suits all life stages.’ He tried to look up at not kon but he was back behind him in his peripheral vision. Shame. Not kon nodded.

‘Yeah i think I would’ve liked that, or you think I would’ve liked that whatever. Maybe Edward, ward for short.’ Tim nodded, a sensible name. Something he could grow up with. A small gift he could give to his son.

‘Edward Jonathan Kent-Wayne. Big name for such a little thing.’ He put his hand on the cool glass and stroked over where his baby was growing stronger by the minute. ‘Big name big shoes big legacy.’ He felt a phantom touch on his shoulder, there and gone in a second, his brain filling in a gap. But it was enough. Enough to feel like kon was with him. He hoped not kon didn’t know what he planned to do after their son was born, hoped he could be ignorant where tim couldn’t be.

Ward slept peacefully in his car seat where its set on top of a metal table a ways behind him, not kon is hovering over him humming something soothing and quiet. Tim sits down with a couple pieces of printer paper and sets about writing his son a letter. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be gone for, how long he’ll leave ward with Bruce so he fills the letter with information about himself, information about kon, information about how ward was created. Stories about his daddies he wants his son to know, not battle stories not tales of superheroic glory but dumb inconsequential little memories. Tiny shining pieces of the complexity that was Conner Kent, about how they met, how they fell in love, the short months they got together. He fills ten pieces of paper front and back with memories and love and whatever tiny pieces of wisdom he has to pass on. He signs it off like this.

‘My ward, my miracle, i hope you have never once doubted my love for you. I hope you know the only reason i left you with your grandfather is because I’m very sick right now and wouldn’t be able to keep you safe and happy like he undoubtedly has. I wouldn’t have been able to surround you with family or give you the stability you needed to thrive. One day when I’m better I’ll come back and hopefully you’ll want to know me, but if you don’t i’ll respect your wishes. You are the most perfect, beautiful and impactful thing I’ve ever created. You are my heart outside my body. In my minds eye you are the spitting image of your daddy and whatever you do you’ll be a credit to his legacy, i know this as well as i know anything. Know that i love you now, and i still love you whenever you read this again.

Your father,

Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne’

He slips the papers into a Manila envelope seals it and addresses it to ward, he writes another much shorter letter which is sealed in a regular envelope addressed to his dad.

‘Bruce,

Im sorry for the stress this surprise and my disappearance will cause you, but i am not sorry for either the surprise or my disappearance. His name is Edward Jonathan Kent-Wayne and he is my son, look after him while I’m gone. Im not fit to look after myself right now let alone a baby so i entrust him to you - you kept us all mostly alive and none of us where invulnerable quarter kryptonians. By the time you read this ill be long gone and I’m not coming back until I’m better however long that takes, if he gets old enough to start asking questions give him or read him the letter I left addressed to him.

I know I’m asking a lot but there is no one else i could or would trust with him, he is and i suspect will always be my greatest triumph. Love him, embrace being a grandfather, get Alfred to help you adjust. I hope i will be back soon, i doubt i will be.

Your son,

Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne’

He slips the Manila envelope, Bruce’s letter, and the birth certificate listing both him and Connor into a bag with some clothes and supplies for ward. It is legitimate if of illegal creation - not that anyone will be able to tell.

Tomorrow he will drop ward off with a very discreet nanny who has been paid through the nose to keep him for three days and then drop him off at wayne manor. Tim has $17,000 last minute round trip first class flights leaving from Newark landing in Bordeaux that he only intends to use one way under the name Manon Alarie, hes got one of his mothers Chanel skirt suits from the 80s - its a black white and grey tartan material with shoulder pads, hes got a cashmere sweater shirt, black stockings, a circle brimmed sort of shallow trilby hat thing to obscure his face, a skinny black leather belt and gloves, a pair of punishing black so Kate’s and enough gold and diamond jewellery that he hopes he can pull off ‘wealthy teenager dressing up in mummies clothes from the 80s to seem older’ well enough that no one will question anything. After he lands in France he will shed manon and adopt someone else. He speaks french well enough maybe he’ll stay there maybe he’ll go somewhere else. He has near unlimited resources from his destruction of the league and all the time in the world.

He wont stay in Bordeaux for long though, he has faith in Bruce’s detective skills to be able to track him to there. But France is large and he is adept at disappearing into the crowd. Oracle will know where he is but he trusts babs to know what he needs to do.

Kal arrives in less than an hour. He’s dressed in a suit and tie and his glasses are askew on his face, he stares at the baby and at the dna readout back and forth again and again for ten minutes. Finally he breaths out a long shuddering breath and slumps into one of the batcomputers desk chairs. ‘Well shit Bruce.’ His sentiments exactly. ‘And he’s definitely kryptonian? for sure kryptonian?’ He’s staring at the dna test again.

‘His overall dna structure is an incredibly close match to kon-el’s and about a 45% match with your’s and other full kryptonians. The stuff that went in is 50/50 from both the parents but the structure is more kryptonian than you would expect. In layman’s terms he got more of kons kryptonian stuff than his human stuff.’ Kal scrubs his hands over his face and sighs.

‘How did no one know about this until the baby showed up, and where the hell is Tim? And what’s the babies name? And how am i supposed to tell my mother.’ The last few words were hissed out as if ma Kent was going to teleport behind them and start berating them for hiding a grand/great grand baby from her affectionate clutches.

‘I currently have little information about the nature of his creation or the wearabouts of my son, you were the first call after i ran his blood work. Had to make sure he was actually Tim’s baby and not just, you know, a random baby.’ Kal nods. ‘Tim left some documents with him, there’s a letter for me and for the baby and a birth certificate thats either real or a very impressive forgery. He’s called Edward Jonathan Kent-Wayne but we’re to call him Ward apparently.’ Kal smiled at that.

‘Pa might actually cry when he finds out, i might’ve taken a while to step up with kon but they loved him as soon as they found out about him. They’ve been doing worse than they’re willing to let on to me i think, a great grandbaby is about the best news they’ll have heard all year.’ He reaches out and strokes the sleeping boys downy cheek ‘god hes gonna need a kryptonian name isnt he.’ Bruce nods and clears his throat.

‘Kons not around and it only feels right that a kryptonian does the honours, what do you say grandpa Clark.’ Clark groans and punches his leg a little too hard.

‘Do not call me that grandpa Bruce, yeah see how it feels.’ It feels not good. He feels older than he ever has looking down at this baby, his son’s baby, his grandson. His latest blue eyed black haired boy. Kal thinks for a minute before smiling all teeth. ‘I didn’t do right by your daddy when i named him, but I’m gonna do right by you.’ He puts a single finger into wards hand and shakes it up and down a couple times. ‘Welcome to the house of El Kyn-El. Son of Kon-El son of Kal-El son of Jor-El.’ He turns to Bruce and translates. ‘Kyn has the K like me and Kon and it means gift, Kyn and El he’s a gift from the stars.’ It’s a good name, a beautiful name. He hopes Tim would be ok with Kal giving it to him. He needs to go lie down in a dark room with his grandson.

‘Ok Clark take a picture and tell your mother she can have as many as she wants if shes on call for any baby kryptonian emergencies.’ Clark laughs but does as hes told. Before he leaves though he turns to Bruce one last time.

‘You sure you’ve got this, i could take him or ma and pa could probably if its too much. It wont be easy if hes got powers like kons.’ Bruce nods, solemn and grave - all batman.

‘I need to do this Kal, Tim is. He’s the smartest of us besides Barbara, we wont find him until he wants to be found. Oracle could but she’ll respect his need for distance and wont tell us where he is unless he’s trying to get himself killed. I need to do this for him, for my son, i need him to know his trust in me was not misplaced.’ Clark claps him on the shoulder, gives him a sad little smile, and is gone before he can blink. Ward is an eerily quiet baby, he probably gets that from tim, and he thinks some lying down in the dark time would be fun and beneficial for them both.

Three scenes from a clone baby fic I’ll probably never finish, idk i just wanted to share the burst of inspiration your clone posting gave me x

okay but what if you actually finish it?? pretty please??? 👉👈

the writing is so good, we LOVE tim hallucinating kon, i also love the way you've gone with this, especially tim leaving for the sake of his child (i'm sure nothing would go wrong! there's absolutely no way this decision would backfire later!); i know a lot of clone baby au enjoyers are "tim would NEVER leave his child" truthers but honestly i can definitely see him not breaking the cycle of leaving since, you know. leaving was all he's ever known for his own parents

thank you so much for sharing this, hope you'll find time to finish this fic bc we need ALL the clone baby fics we can get

[nayelixz]

A Mediocre Date?

After the marriage between Yugo and Amalia, of course they’d want to spend all their time together, though this desire is almost unattainable, due to the amount of work and pick up needed after the Necromes had attacked the World of Twelve. But tonight, Yugo has set up something that he hopes that’ll relieve Amalia from her stress.

————————————————————————

“Oh Sadida, Yugo! You cannot believe how tired I am! I’m almost drained from helping out almost half of the kingdom.”

“Well I hope you’re not too drained, because I have a surprise for you!”

Amalia raises her head off the bed, wondering what surprise her husband has in store.

“But first! You gotta close your eyes.”

“Are you being serious? If I close my eyes I’m falling asleep.”

“Come on Ami, just close your eyes. It’ll be worth it.”

“Alright, but you better lead me there quick or bonne nuit!” (little french joke there… IM ONLY IN UNIT 4 ON DUOLINGO BEFORE YOU SAY ITS NOT FUNNY 😭)

“Oh, It won’t take long, we’ll be there before you can say tofu.”

“To-“

In the blink of an eye, they were there.

“Alright you can open them in.. 3… 2… 1… okay, now!”

As the princess opened her eyes she saw the most beautiful sight she’s ever seen, even more beautiful than the sunsets she watches everyday. They were nearby a waterfall hidden within the Sadida forest and flowers that were shaped into a heart shape, white, yellow, and pink flowers as fireflies filled the air. It was quiet, and quiet was perfect.

“Wow.. Yugo this is.. very childish but surprisingly romantic.”

“Thank- Wait, how is this childish?!”

“Well the flowers in a heart shape? Not saying it isn’t cute because trust me it’s adorable, but it reminds me of something a teen would do!”

“Oh..”

The eliatrope looked slightly upset, he didn’t know that this wouldn’t be enough.

“But, this, it’s beautiful. The waterfall, the fireflies, and the flowers, they’re all beautiful.”

While saying this, Amalia pecks Yugo on the cheek. Making his frown fade away, and turn into a soft smile.

“That’s not all, I got more for tongiht.”

“Really? What is it?”

As soon as Amalia said that, the eliatrope has grabbed her by her waist and pulled her in, to where their bodies are touching, as Yugo leans in and kisses her on the lips. The passionate kiss between the two lasts almost forever, until Amalia pulls away, gasping for air. Seeing the is makes Yugo chuckle, even though he has no place to laugh, his wings are stimming like crazy.

“You need air?”

“Well if I knew that this kiss would last that long I would’ve made sure to take a moment to gather myself! Plus, you can’t be talking, I know you’re way much more happier about this than me.”

“How do you know?”

She points at his hat, his wings still going crazy as ever, making him a little embarrassed himself.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to hide the fact that you loved it.”

“Would I be wrong to say I did?”

“No, I think the only reason you liked it that much is because it’s me!”

He rolled his eyes playfully, of course he’d enjoy it that much, it’s his wife! He hasn’t been apart of any other relationships since. Amalia is his first.

“Yeah, come with me..”

Yugo had grabbed the princess’s hand and had created a portal to the INSIDE OF THE WATERFALL?

“W-Wait YUGO IM NOT-“

Before she could finish her sentence, they were there, BOTH soaked in water, but behind the waterfall looked like a secret hangout, there was two porch swings, one covered in green and white flowers, white cushioning with a beautiful white fluffy pillow, and the other one with black cushioning, with a blue pillow, it seemed less decorated than the other swing, but it still seemed comfortable. There was flowers on the top sides of the roof of the cave-like rock shelter and a little wooden coffee table with the little wooden figures of the gang, Dally, Eva, Yugo Amalia, and of course, Ruel.

“YUGO! Come on! I told you I wasn’t ready to enter the waterfall!”

“Oops.. sorry”

The princess started pouting, after a hardworking day, she didn’t want to get SOAKED by a waterfall. She just wanted to lay down and relax. But then she looked around and saw the hangout area, once again, not over the top but, peaceful.

“Sorry, I- Amalia…”

“Yugo, I know, you tried and thank you for that, but what is this supposed to be?”

“I just wanted to show you this hangout I made for the two of us, just us two, and nobody else.”

“Nobody else?”

“Nobody.”

Hearing this, the princess got a little bit shy.. *He wanted to be alone with me?*

“Now whenever we are doing all that paperwork, we can do it together in the same area, where it’s quiet, and where nobody can find us.”

“Oh Yugo… I really don’t deserve you. You’re an amazing guy and you’re just too good for me!”

“Well I can say the same for you to Amalia.”

“You’re such a dork! A very caring dork..”

The two settled down in the blue and black swing, with Yugo laying in Amalia’s lap as she rubbed his head.

“I love you Amalia.”

“I love you to Yugo.”

((this is my first time writing a kinda fanfic, but yeah i hoped you enjoyed it!))

I JUST NOTICED I PUT PRINCESS THAN QUEEN IM SORRY IGNORE THAT 😭

[stressfulsloth]

What do you think of the like “It won't put smoke back in her mouth...” from Harry’s dream on the third day?

I took it somewhat literally and thought maybe Dora smoked, maybe she smoked with Harry specifically, but not on her own. Maybe she quit shortly before they split, or maybe he just had a fond memory of her smoking. Harry does seem to go for smokers (Klaasje, Kim, The Smoker on The Balcony, Tommy Le Homme according to some- which I didn’t pick up on but I’m pretty dense) which is pretty much the only thing that lends any credibility to my interpretation.

But I was curious if you (or anyone else) had any other interpretations or if I’d missed something completely.

So I think there are multiple implications to that line, although ofc I could be way off base! Smoking as a literal piece of Harry's life, something that actually anchors a lot of his remaining memories, and also as a pretty layered metaphor for love under capitalism. That line is a continuation of this section:

"The smoke in her mouth," sounding a lot more literal in the first section. These are concrete memories, sight memories- potted flowers, faces in a crowd, a half-remembered woman always mid way through breathing out a lungful of smoke- and the smoke lends them a kind of ephemeral half-obscured quality. It sounds likely in these half-remembered scenes that Dora was a literal smoker and was from the beginning- maybe to impress him? It's something that she refers to in the final dream- she saw him "smoking in the bus stop" and thought he was the *coolest* (as has been pointed out, a parallel to Harry's reaction to Kim smoking on the balcony!). You're right that Harry goes for smokers, and they are not in short supply in Martinaise. Smoking is a stress reliever, an appetite suppressant, a crutch for people struggling to get by- Martinaise has few places to buy proper food but does have a kiosk to buy cigarettes. Perhaps Dora's smoking started like their relationship, as something she thought looked impossibly cool, and slowly became an unhealthy coping mechanism tangled up in stress and poverty.

I think because Harry's fragmented memories are so steeped in cigarette smoke, he also associates cigarettes with longing for the unattainable, with things lost never to be regained, with his youth. He calls the smoker on the balcony the "god of youth and cigarettes". The smell of cigarettes triggers a wave of "warm nostalgia," invokes a time before he became ground down by life and by his job. Dora smoking, mouth full of smoke, sets her amongst these unattainable desires.

I think Dora smoking symbolically has a lot to do with the "lungs are for love" idea, too, with smoking being a slow corruption of that love. Glowing lungs slowly filled up with tar, idealised love slowly succumbing to the pressures of capitalism, of poverty, until there's barely room left in the lungs to draw breath. It's another shadow cast by Dolores Dei and her glowing lungs, glowing because "the world loved her and she loved it back!" (although I think it's fair to say that given the war crimes committed by her "army of humanity," her love for the world can be called into question somewhat). Obviously there are a lot of Dora-Dolores parallels and so I think that if Dolores' lungs are significant then Dora's are too (not even touching on the supernatural subsuming of Dora's self within Dolores, the literal consumption of her via the historical embodiment of white bourgeois femininity). Where Dora and Dolores have become irrevocably tangled in Harry's mind, he fixates on her glowing lungs, her love and her unattainability. Her smoking in that initial flash of memory is something very innately human, compared to the symbolic thing that she warps into later on, more "inhuman," more "unsettling." Putting the smoke back in her mouth- putting the Dora-ness back in her? Rewinding the clock to before this all-consuming unattainability.

Anyway! I am sure that's a much longer and more rambling answer than you wanted, and I apologise for that! But yeah, I agree that Dora probably was literally a smoker 😅

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 26 – ROM-COM

AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT: inukagome15

I really love how inukagome15 writes bashful, hopelessly in love at first sight Stony and their awkward flirting. It's super cute, and both the fluff and humor are amazing. They also write incredible smut and some really fun team dynamics with meddling friends and betting pools. I love their fics, and I hope you enjoy them as much as I do!

Here's some of their work that I think you should check out:

Coffee Shop Love

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: G Words: 4,302 Tags: Coffee Shop AU, Blind Date, Mutual Pining

Summary: Tony Stark did not like coffee shops, but he could make an exception for the one with the cute barista who had smiles that were to die for. If only Steve wasn't so unattainable...

Reasons why I love it: Awww, look at our pining idiots in love, they're so cute! I love how Pepper and Nat take the initiative to pull Steve and Tony's heads out of their asses and give them what they want. Plus, Tony rambling his way through an awkward confession is super cute. I love this one, and I bet you will too!

Mistletoe Kiss (And More)

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 3,997 Tags: Christmas, Matchmaking, Smut

Summary: Tony was not some poor schmuck who would get caught under mistletoe with the man of his dreams. Until he does.

Reasons why I love it: The Avengers being utter vent-crawling trolls and still somewhat helpful matchmakers just feels right in my universe. I love how Steve and Tony go from zero to a hundred in two seconds flat, and how Bucky instantly nopes out of there. Also, the smut is superb. This fic is wondeful, and you should definitely read it!

Matchmaker, Matchmaker (Or A.I.M. Tries Matchmaking)

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: G Words: 6,815 Tags: Identity Porn, Pre-Relationship, Flirting

Summary: Fed up with the rampant destruction Iron Man wreaks on A.I.M. and the outrageous flirting between Iron Man and Captain America, M.O.D.O.C. decides that the only way to deal with them is to set them up in a romantic relationship. The plan is flawless, after all.

Reasons why I love it: I never thought I'd see the day where MODOC gets invested in Stony's relationship. This fic is hilarious in concept alone, but inukagome15's writing takes it to the next level, it's so good. I love it, and I bet you will too, so I hope you'll check it out for yourself!

The Best Form of Flattery

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: M Words: 5,398 Tags: First Kiss, Awkward Flirting, Steve's Beard

Summary: They say imitation's the best form of flattery. Steve would disagree, but then it's his fault for trying out Tony Stark's signature goatee style in the first place.

Reasons why I love it: I don't know why the thought of Steve with a Tony Stark goatee makes me laugh so much, but I can't get it out of my head. I'd love to see Chris Evans rock that, I bet it would look bomb. But since that's unlikely, I am very happy that this fic exists. It's amazing, and I highly recommend you read it!

The Chemistry of Love

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 9,739 Tags: College AU, Developing Relationship, Humor and Fluff

Summary: Chemistry: the science that deals with the composition and properties of substances and various elementary forms of matter. Or, alternatively, the interaction of one personality with another, e.g., Steve Rogers and his absolutely pathetic crush on his chemistry TA, Tony Stark.

Reasons why I love it: Oh my god, poor Steve, that's gotta be one of the worst first impressions you could make on your crush. Thankfully Tony is completely on board with it. I love this verse and all of the other Avengers' appearances in it, but especially the Stony romance – they're so cute. Definitely check this one out, it's awesome!

[dilf-lover99]

The Secrets We Keep | P.P.

Pairing: Tasm! Peter Parker x Reader (no pronouns mentioned)

Summary: Reader and Peter have been together for over a year, but lately Peter’s been acting strange. When a rumour goes around that he’s cheating, will Peter finally confess the secret he’s been keeping?

Warnings: angst (with a happy ending), major miscommunication(s), spreading of a rumour, mentions of cheating, a kiss or two, like two swear words i think?

Word Count: 3.4k

a/n: this has been in my drafts forever but better late than never i guess ! happy reading besties<3

There are certain moments in time, you believe, specific junctures in which you can unambiguously determine a person’s character. 

For instance, when Peter Parker magnanimously rescued you from being the quintessential misplaced new kid on your first day of school, shattering your momentary apprehension with a series of epigrammatic jokes, you knew he was good. He was the type of person you could trust with anything, with everything.

Including your heart.

You never intended for it to happen. For the mere sight of his gentle crooked grin to set loose a thousand monarch butterflies within the environs of your stomach. For his lambent mahogany eyes to elevate the beating of your heart to a near-incomprehensible speed each time they came into contact with your own. For your fingers to itch with envy each time he ran a slender hand through the tousled strands of chestnut resting contently atop his head.

You never intended to fall for him, but you did. 

And somehow, to your outright unabridged relief, he reciprocated your affections.

Peter Parker was no longer the unattainable fantasy that consumed hours of your thoughts with visions of stolen kisses or illusions of whispered devotions. He was your boyfriend.

Perfection is a counterfeit concept; An unobtainable title which countless people have fallen short attempting to procure. But the first year of your relationship with Peter was exclusively comparable to the word perfect.

Peter was the resolute characterization of what a partner should be. Patient and understanding, affectionate and gentle, always there with a witty joke and a whimsical grin on your good days, or a comforting embrace and sibilations of reassurance on your bad ones.

Recently, things have been different. Peter has been different.

When you see him, on the rare days he’s not preoccupied with matters he neglects to inform you of, he’s perceptibly distracted, his fascinatingly intricate mind absorbed with thoughts of something else entirely.

You’ve contemplated bringing it up with him, yearning for some reassurance that you’re still what he wants, but each time your words attempt the journey from your brain to your lips, they get stuck in traffic. How exactly does one ask their boyfriend why he’s avoiding them like an umbrella-wielding pedestrian in an unusually heavy stretch of rainfall?

In all fairness, you’ve been avoiding him too. Since Friday night. Harry Osborne had thrown a party that night, ‘The Party to End All Parties’ according to the entirety of your peers. Extravagant house parties and overflowing crowds aren’t your preferred circumstances for socialization, but you seized the long-overdue opportunity to spend some time with Peter.

You wish you hadn’t.

You can’t pinpoint the precise origin of the conversation, only the ending which resulted in your premature departure from the Osborne residence, neglecting to mutter so much as a goodbye to Harry while the biting sting of unshed tears filled your eyes.

“I just- I wanted to spend some time together. I feel like we hardly see each other anymore.” Your voice trails off at the end, becoming a mere shadow of its former self.

“We see each other all the time! I was at your dorm the day before yesterday.” Peter’s voice holds firm in both volume and pitch, he’s not yelling but you can sense his tone’s underlying urgency as his hand weaves its way through his auburn tresses.

“That was Monday, Pete.” 

“Okay, then we saw each other on Monday. Can you just give me a little space? Please? Just for a couple hours. I’ll come find you after and we can talk, okay?” His chocolate eyes soften near the tail-end of his sentence, making it evident how blissfully unaware he is of the internal war now waging behind your eyelids.

It takes more strength than you knew you could muster, to prevent the plethora of melancholy emotions from overtaking your being as you mutter, “You know what? I actually have that Chem lab on Monday morning, I think- I’m just gonna’ go home and study.” You don’t wait for his response, uncertain if it would only cause you more heartache, turning swiftly on your heels and making an abrupt exit.

You’re adrift in the memory, wondering if you should have reacted differently, explained to him the impact that the nuance of his words had on you. An unyielding hand on your shoulder seizes your attention, graciously preventing you from vigorously overthinking any further.

A single glance informs you that the impeccably manicured hand belongs to none other than Penelope Marsh, designated campus gossip. You can count on one hand the amount of conversations you’ve had with Penelope since you started university that didn’t include her spreading a rumour like a wildfire. You’re certain this encounter isn’t likely to take up another.

“(y/n), I just wanted to say that I’m so sorry. About what Peter did to you at that party. It was so messed up, seriously. Nobody deserves that.” There’s a discernible undertone of pity to her voice, though she wasn’t sorry enough to hold off commencing the conversation to begin with.

“How did you-?” You cut yourself off with a gentle shake of your head, a chuckle of acknowledgement breaking through. A magician never reveals their secrets and a Penelope never reveals their sources; You’re wondering if there’s not a trace of magic in the girl alike, the speed with which she seems to possess other people’s secrets is borderline wizardry. “Never mind,” You simper amusedly, your outward cheeriness fading as you continue, “It wasn’t a big deal, really. Every couple has disagreements, right? We’re fine.” You aren’t entirely sure which of you it is you’re trying to convince.

She’s looking at you with a mixture of pity and confusion, though you haven’t the faintest idea what she could possibly be confused about. She opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again, akin to that of a gulping fish in the sea, “(y/n), whatever you said in the argument doesn’t justify him hooking up with some rando! There’s no way you guys can be fine after that!”

What?

You want to call her a liar, or tell her that she’s wildly mistaken, but you don’t. You’ve been driving yourself near the brink of insanity wondering what Peter’s been hiding from you. Though you could never imagine him doing this, how can you immediately deny the only answer you’ve been offered?

You have a plethora of questions, each one violently clawing at your trachea with its talons in an attempt to be the first one out. The words never make it past your lips, though the burning sensation remains in your throat. Articulation ceases to be within the realm of your current capabilities, because, how does one verbalize the breaking of their heart?

Penelope, with all of her ill-timed metaphorical bomb-droppings, is perceptive enough to read you like a storybook, “Oh my god. You had no idea, did you? Oh I’m so sorry! I thought- Actually, scratch that, I wasn’t thinking at all.”

Had these been any other set of circumstances, you’d find great amusement in watching the typically put together Penelope Marsh stumble over her words in a misguided yet well-meaning attempt to soothe you. But the verisimilitude of the situation persists like the unceasing violence of a thunderstorm without the assurance of a tepid luminous addendum.

Peter didn’t want to be alone that night, he just didn’t want to be with you.

Suddenly, the mere idea of sticking around for the Chem lab you’d spent the remainder of that Friday night studying for, turned the tides in your stomach. You have to get out of here.

And so you do.

Wallowing.

That’s the only activity you’ve partaken in since Penelope told you about Peter’s supposed cheating scandal this morning. The logical part of your brain knows you owe it to him, or at the very least yourself, to have a rational adult discussion about everything before mourning the loss of a relationship that hasn’t actually ended yet.

But the acerbic heartbroken part of you isn’t keen on having a conversation with him at all.

Neither part of you knows the appropriate way to react when Peter shows up at your dorm holding a charmingly disheveled bouquet of flowers.

“Hi.” His eyes take their time searching each carefully crafted feature on your face before stopping at your own eyes, a timid smile resting on his delicate lips.

When you don’t answer, Peter takes a modest step inside, softly closing the door behind him without breaking eye contact. “I’m a jerk.” He states resolutely, knowing it’s best to usher the elephant out of the room before it causes any severe damage.

You let out a sardonic chuckle at his words, believing they hold an air of truth to them now more than you ever thought previously. “You can say that again.” The sound of your own voice takes you by surprise, you were honestly unsure wether you were going to speak or not.

“I’m a jerk,” He repeats with a heart-shatteringly beautiful smile, making things even harder than they were before.

You can’t take it anymore, the bitter resentful part of you can’t, at least, “Penelope Marsh.” You state simply.

It’s unfair, truly, how Peter manages to look so handsome, even now, sporting a look of outright confusion. “What?”

“Penelope Marsh.” You say again, as if you’re adding any level of clarification.

“Gossip Girl?” He jokes, “What about her?”

“A year and a half, Pete! We’ve been together for a year and a half, and I have to find out you don’t want me anymore through Penelope goddamn Marsh.” Woah. You said that.

The words hit you harder than they did when they were simply thoughts. But you don’t ignore the minuscule tinge of pride you receive for finally verbalizing your feelings.

Peter’s face has paled significantly, he’s trying to convince himself that he couldn’t have possibly heard you correctly. Doesn’t want you anymore? You’re the only thing he wants anymore. That’s why he’s hardly seen you these past few weeks. Keeping you safe is all that matters to him, and if Spider-Man’s enemies found out about you? There would be no more you to want.

But he can’t tell you that.

Because keeping you safe also, painstakingly, means keeping you in the dark. He knows you, better than he knows himself, and he knows how you would react if he told you he was Spider-Man. You would panic first, dismayed at the level of danger he often finds himself in, then you would get angry that he kept this a secret so well and for so long, lastly you would bargain with him, tell him that you were proud of the work he’s done but he’s too young to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders and that he should give it a break, at least until after college.

And as positively relieved as he would be to finally unload the burden of harbouring this secret from you, he’s not ready to give up being Spider-Man, no matter how dangerous it is.

But he also can’t not tell you that.

Because the only thing worse than not being Spider-man anymore, is not being yours anymore.

“(y/n),” He starts, taking gentle determined steps toward you, “You know that’s not true, right?”

You swallow in a futile attempt to rid yourself of the burning feeling that’s once again made itself at home in your throat. “How would I know that Peter? Was I supposed to know you wanted to be with me when you spent all month avoiding me like the plague? Or was I supposed to figure it out when you were hooking up with somebody else at Harry’s party?”

You’re not sure how your brain has finally decided to work in tandem with your vocal chords but you’re glad to rid the words from their endless loop inside your brain.

“What?! (y/n), what the hell are you talkin’ about? I didn’t touch anybody, okay? I swear,” His voice is equal parts frantic and confused, “I would never do that to you! You gotta know that by now.” He takes another step in front of you, the perfect distance to reach out a gentle hand and caress your cheek, though he resists the urge, wanting to give you your space.

“I want to believe that Pete…”

“Okay, so believe it.”

“Then you have to tell me why.”

You both know the meaning of your words, yet he asks, “Why what?”

“Why do we hardly see each other anymore? And when we do, why are you a million miles away? Why are you keeping whatever this secret is? If you didn’t do whatever people are saying you did at that party, then why the hell can’t you just, please, tell me what’s going on?”

There’s an inkling of relief you feel, finally releasing the tiresome burden you’ve been staunchly carrying around for weeks, but there’s also a legion of salty unshed tears waiting to be freed from the surface of your eyes.

Simultaneously, Peter’s eyes well up with their own tears. His brain is shouting at his throat to vocalize the truth, the whole truth, and assure you that you couldn’t be further off the mark.

But it’s like he’s frozen.

The glacial sub-zero temperatures biting at the tips of his fingers prevent them from making contact with your own. The snowstorm waging within the arctic blurs his vision, keeping him from seeing reason.

Sensing a lack of response, you continue with a final desperate plea, “Please, just tell me the truth, Pete.”

Belatedly, the ice thaws, melting away his doubts along with it. You want to know the truth; You deserve to know the truth. And so he makes up his mind. 

He’s going to tell it to you.

His sparkling umber eyes look at you with a mixture of sorrow and determination as he takes one more step, inching ever closer to you, a gesture that conflicts each of the thoughts jumbled together in your head. Closing his eyes briefly, Peter releases a subaqueous sigh before reopening them and fixing them on your own.

“Promise you won’t hate me?” His voice gives its best attempt at a facetious tone, but is quickly overtaken with nerves.

“I could never hate you, Pete.” You admit honestly, reaching your fingers out and resting them gently upon his arm, giving it a tender squeeze of reassurance.

And now he knows that he’s making the right decision.

Because even when you mistakenly think that he may have done something incomprehensibly horrible to you, you’re still comforting him, still vowing to be there for him no matter the circumstances.

Respiring once more, he braves himself as best as he can, and, eyes never wavering from their heavenly contact with your own, utters “I’m Spider-Man.”

You’re not entirely certain your ears have processed his words correctly. They couldn’t have, right?

“You’re what?”

“I’m Spider-Man.” Peter repeats, voice laced with disbelief. He’s shocked that he actually managed to get the words out, twice no less. He’s tried telling you before, a multitude of times in fact, but he’s never managed to come close until now.

Of the myriad of ideas circling around in the confines of your cranium pertaining to the secret that your boyfriend’s been withholding from you, none of them resembled anything similar to the truth.

He’s Spider-Man?

It made no sense. And yet it made all the sense in the world.

How had you not discovered it before?

The plethora of scrapes and bruises being smoothly swept away with a ‘Guess I’m too clumsy for my own good.’ The times he’d been hours late to a date or a study session only to turn up sweat-slicked and out of breath with an ‘I’m an idiot, I’m so sorry.’ The time you attempted to grab a hoodie from his closet only to be stopped by a panic-stricken, ‘No! I’ll get it. It’s- It’s messy in there.’

“You’re Spider-Man.” You murmur, eyes wide.

“Yeah.”

“What the hell, Pete!” You innocuously swat at his arm with your hand, drawing a soft ‘ouch’ from Peter as you continue, “You’ve been Spider-Man this whole time and you’re only telling me now?”

“I didn’t want to put you in danger, (y/n)! Do you have any idea what could happen to you if bad guys find out you’re dating Spider-Man?” Peter’s voice is a plea, desperate for you to understand that he kept this from you because he loves you.

“You should have told me sooner.” You mumble, frustrated, as you know he had a hell of a good reason for keeping it a secret so long.

“I know,” He moves his hand to cup your face, tenderly rubbing shapes into your cheek with his thumb, “I just didn’t know how. I couldn’t-” He rests his forehead against your own, sighing contentedly at the warmth, “I can’t stop being Spider-Man, (y/n), I won’t.”

“I would never ask you to do that, Pete.” You pull back, confounded that his assumptions would suggest otherwise.

“You wouldn’t?”

“No?” Confusion seeps through your utterance.

“It’s not exactly the safest job in the world.” He explains facetiously.

“Oh really? They don’t give you health insurance and monthly check-ups?” Your sarcasm holds a teasing undertone that makes the corners of Peter’s mouth twitch upwards; The early stages of a masterpiece in the making.

Your voice becomes serious once more as you gaze into his eyes, your hand moving to rest over his own on your face, “I don’t doubt it’s dangerous, Pete. But Spider-Man helps people- You help people. That’s pretty amazing.”

There are more words to be shared, further concerns to be addressed, but Peter can’t be bothered to think about anything but kissing you in this moment.

And so he does.

His tender pink lips brush themselves gently upon your own. His hand remains on your face, the opposite one making it’s way up to your other cheek as you wrap both your arms around his waist. The kiss deepens, your lips moving together leisurely and deliberately in synchronous ebullient harmony.

When you finally part, reluctantly requiring the catching of your breath, you’re both donning blindingly luminous smiles.

“I just kissed Spider-Man.”

“Woah, what? Where is he? I’ll kick his ass.” Peter’s blissed out smile remains on his face, widening tenfold as he registers the sound of your laughter originating from his bad joke.

“Hey, what do you think Penelope Marsh was talking about? At the party on Friday?” Your curiosity returns, without the presence of anguish, knowing whole-heartedly that your boyfriend hasn’t broken your heart.

Peter cringes slightly, resting his forehead against yours once more with a diminutive chuckle, “I might have had a small Spider-Man emergency. That’s why I sorta blew you off that night, which I’m still really sorry about, by the way. I snuck out through one of the guest room windows, but when I came back, my hair was all messy and someone opened the door and saw me putting my clothes back on. Not my finest hour.”

You can’t contain the laughter bubbling in your throat, Peter laughing along with you once the sound breaks past your lips. The two of you remain like that for a while, sharing laughs and gentle caresses.

“Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really sorry.” You mutter earnestly.

“What? What’re you sorry for?” His eyebrows are drawn together in confusion while a small pout plays upon his lips.

“For believing that stupid rumour, I know you’d never do anything like that. And I should have told you how I felt sooner, instead of holding it all in until I blew up at you.” Communication is the key to any healthy relationship and you’re frustrated with yourself that you appear to have lost sight of that over the last couple of months.

“Hey,” His voice is velvet as he tenderly grabs hold of your face in both hands, steadying your gaze into his sentimental chestnut eyes, “It’s okay. We’re okay.” He smiles a contagious smile, “I’m sorry too. About everything. Let’s make a promise, okay?”

You nod your head perceptibly, an amiable smile resting contentedly on your lips.

“Promise that, from now on, we’ll tell each other everything, okay? Even if it’s hard, or dumb, or one of those weird facts you always seem to have about the moon.”

“It’s earth’s natural satellite, Pete!”

Your smile widens as Peter chuckles affectionately at your quick defence of moon, “Yeah,” You start, still smiling brightly, “I promise.”

“Good. Me too.” He pulls your body closer to his own, kissing you once more with sincerity.

“I love you.” He mumbles against your lips.

“I love you too.” You murmur bringing him in for another kiss.

You’re veritably certain that you were right, all those moons ago, in your decision to entrust Peter Parker with everything.

Including your heart.

[saintarc]

♰ BEAUTY OF AVALON, artoria pendragon.

about. a beauty decaying in the garden of avalon.

notes. the first piece of the dollbruary series, and of course it has to be my all-time favourite girl. hope you'll enjoy the series!

avalon, often depicted as an island, or a garden that is home to the most ethereal magic. island or garden, beautiful or ethereal, magical or not, there is always some darkness in the light. avalon has this beauty that none other places can compare to. it holds this piece that is unattainable. one's hands cannot just grasp it like that, nor can they even graze the surface of it.

the beauty of avalon.

the most beautiful and magical piece that lives within the lush meadow-like green. the dying body of a beloved king taking a seat out of pure tiredness, his most loyal servant with him, watching and feeling hopeless at the sight of his king.

once artoria gave her beloved weapon to her most loyal knight and he set off to carry out her will or that sort, the pendragon was left there to decay within the magic that was all around her.

but she did not decay.

her beauty remains unscratched and untouched. not even the magical energy dares to roam their essence around the skin the her face. avalon wanted to keep her just as she is, young and beautiful. the isle wanted to preserve her and keep her there as their greatest treasure. artoria is the beauty of the avalon. but at what cost should she be the beauty of avalon?

the cost of hardening her skin into mere glass, pretty and fragile. on the lush dewy grass, laid there with her honey blonde hair flowing gently when the wind blew. her eyes remained open, lips sealed tightly in one straight line and the blood on her knightly attire still fresh and visible.

until you came along, a visitor of the isle of avalon. and there, your eyes set on the most beautiful piece of avalon, artoria pendragon, the beauty of avalon.

© SAINTARC. DOLLBRUARY SERIES.

[wordsandrobots]

Wishing on Space Hardware update . . . no, hang on, let's do this properly. *pulls giant comedy lever*

2023 final update

As of writing, I have just finished Epilogue 4 of fic #19 in my 20-part Iron-Blooded Orphans continuation. This leaves one remaining interlude and the final epilogue to write, and I have next week off work so it's looking very likely I'll be in a position to start posting at the end of January (following a full beginning-to-end edit).

With that in mind, this is a 'please read my two-and-a-half-years of fan-fic' post for anybody who hasn't checked it out so far. There are thrills! Spills! Terrorism! Smut! Mind-screws! And a considerable number of sundry dramatic happenings as the entire damn cast utterly fails to get over what happened in the series itself.

In short: I fix one (1) thing and run away cackling with the consequences for what will ultimately be around 650,000 words. I'm really quite proud of it. Comments etc always 100% welcome.

As for the rest of you, my dear, lovely readers who have waited patiently for the past six months, sharpening your pitch-forks over what I did at the end of fic #17, I'd like to present you with the following token of my appreciation: an early preview of the prologue to fic #19. I feel this could stand as a intro to the whole story, so it's only spoilers for Iron-Blooded Orphans itself. Nevertheless, I'll put it behind a cut to keep things tidy.

Your comments, kudos and readership in general has made this hyper-fixation utterly worth it. I wish you all a happy, healthy new year and hope to see you again when I next start posting.

Ragnarök in G Minor

Prologue – Wish

verb: to desire something unattainable

You know how the story goes. You know how it ends.

Once upon a time, there were two little boys who wanted to be kings.

For one, this was everything – the very reason of his existence. For the other, it was merely the next step on the path to some better place. They both did terrible things in pursuit of their dreams, driven onward by a blue-eyed demon whose own desires ran no deeper than the dirt beneath his feet or the new sights to which he was led. Voices that spoke against them were cast aside. Others flocked to their cause, dazzled by hope. Together, they set out to transform the world itself.

But the world refused to bend. And no matter how many lives were spent in their names, death would not take their side.

McGillis Fareed passed away in silence, so that his best friend needn't forgive his treachery.

Orga Itsuka fell in the street, back where he began, his blood in the gutter.

Their crowns were mirages, impossible to grasp. For the harsh truth is, lost little boys do not get to become kings and those who already sit upon thrones show no mercy towards challengers.

So the story goes. So it ends.

Yet, what is an ending except the point where one chooses to stop telling the tale? The storm of change McGillis craved lashes still at the pillars of all he deemed stagnant and corrupt. By Orga's final choices and upon his last command, his family continues forward into whatever comes next.

Is it failure, to snatch what remains from the ashes? Is it victory, to not see where the rocks pitched into motion come to rest?

The meaning may be judged in the moment, or years hence, by those who gained and those who lost, the bitter and the blessed. It flexes with time and place and circumstance, until the only thing that may be said of the matter is this:

Once upon a time, there were two little boys who wanted to be kings.

They knew not what they unleashed.

I saw two shooting stars last night I wished on them, but they were only satellites It's wrong to wish on space hardware I wish, I wish, I wish you'd care

From 'A New England' by Kirsty MacColl

[krikeymate]

you're the flame that keeps my soul alight

fire fic. it comes with art!!

- - -

Heat.

An acrid taste sticking to her tongue, her teeth, her lips.

Her throat is an arid wasteland.

Breathing becomes choking.

Eyes burn through closed lids.

The floor is hard and bruising beneath her bones.

She wants to move, tries to move, but there’s a stickiness coating her body, her hands, her face. It leaves her stuck to the floor. Her skin tingles, alight with a warning she can’t quite grasp. Her head is so heavy and there’s a voice in her head telling her it’s ok little one, you can rest now, you can sleep, I’ll watch over you.

But there’s something… wrong with it.

The voice in her head usually sounds a lot less like her mother and more like…

Sam.

Where’s Sam?

Find Sam. She’ll help.

Tara struggles to open her eyes; drowsiness had set its hooks in deep. But eventually, she does, and regrets it immediately.

Around her a fire rages, the room ablaze and coated with a fog of heavy smoke.

Well shit.

Not for the first time, Tara feels the urge to just lay down and die. Why not? I’m already more than halfway there, it would be so easy, she thinks, head rolling to the side.

Ah, that’s why.

Her vision narrows in on the shape of her sister through the smoky haze, slumped unconscious against a wall with her arms pulled upwards and tied at the wrists. Whatever would you do without me? Tara muses, rolling onto her stomach.

The effort of climbing to her hands and knees feels unattainable to achieve, but regardless, she persists, spurred on by the sight of her sister. If she doesn’t help her, who will? And Sam deserves a better death than this. Preferably one very far into the future, surrounded by people who love her as much as Tara does. A part of her hopes she isn’t around to see it, she doesn’t even want to think of a world without Sam Carpenter in it, let alone live it again.

The slow crawl forward feels eternal.

Breathing feels impossible, but she doesn’t have a choice. She has to breathe, to keep moving, to help her sister. She can’t focus on the thumping in her head or the tackiness of her hands as they cling to the floor with each step. Just think about Sam, focus on Sam.

3 meters feels like a marathon in the desert.

Despite the circumstances, Tara finds herself relaxing at the feeling of Sam under her hands; a reflex as inconvenient as it is a lifeline. She pushes herself upwards with what must be a bruising grip on Sam’s shoulders and reaches for the bound wrists.

Fuck.

The knot is unyielding between her clumsy fingers.

She doesn’t have time for this. The room is on fucking fire. They are choking to death.

FUCK.

Ok. Stay calm. Stay calm. Cut the rope. Find something to cut the rope.

She can barely see, barely think.

Propelled on by only the thought of her sister, Tara manages to survey the room for salvation.

The world must not be done with them yet, because she finds it.

A jagged piece of something, hot and sharp and perfect. She won’t risk Sam’s wrists, if the fresh blood flowing down her palm says anything about its suitability to the job. She saws at the rope tethering Sam to the ceiling pipe instead, cutting into her own skin all the while. It takes too long; her body slow with lethargy. She can’t stop coughing now; the blade slips through her fingers and clatters to the floor.

Sam’s arms fall and Tara barely manages to catch them. She lowers them gently and reaches for Sam’s shoulders to pull her away from the wall. Her sister’s stature is usually a comforting presence looming over her like a protective shadow, but right now it was nothing but a nuisance and a hindrance as Tara tries to drag her across the room. She doesn’t get very far, Sam slipping from her hands as she falls to her knees, unable to find the strength to carry on.

“Sam.”

Tara throws a lazy slap to her sister’s cheek with one hand, leaving a bloody handprint behind, and does her best to shake her with her other. “Wake the fuck up.”

No dice.

The flames feel closer. She can barely keep her eyes open.

It feels hopeless.

“Sam,” she cries. Her fingers lose their grip.

“Please.”She won’t wake up. Her knees buckle below her.

“I need you.” She’s so tired.

The last thing she recalls before the darkness takes her once again is the feeling of Sam beneath her.

- - -

Sam wakes up gasping.

A thump to her stomach had pushed the air from her lungs, it seems, if the weight across her abdomen and the sting in her chest were anything to go by.

There’s an old familiar fogginess in her head and a dryness to her throat, one she hasn’t missed. It’s been, what, 7 years, 8? Since before she ran away, anyway. The mixture of booze and pills certainly feel good at the time, but the comedown is always its own special brand of hell.

Sam wishes she could remember why she had relapsed. She’d been doing so well.

What was the last thing she remembered?

Tara.

She was smiling at her. They were… dinner? They’d ordered takeout, right? Celebrating?

Shit.

Why was this so hard. How can she think with the temperature this high? It’s always higher than Sam would like; Tara feels the cold so easily, but this is ridiculous. She knows her sister doesn’t want to waste their money on new clothes, but she’s going to have to draw a line. She’s going to buy her some new warmer threads whether Tara likes it or not.

It’s only when she tries to move that she remembers the weight pinning her.

It takes a surprising amount of effort to lift her head, and she just about recognises the figure of her sister sprawled out on top of her through her blurry eyes.

Oh. That’s right.

They had been celebrating Tara’s 3-months-of-therapy-versary. Her sister had rolled her eyes and told her she was being ridiculous, but the blush on her cheeks and the shy way Tara had avoided eye contact and fiddled with her hands told Sam she was doing the right thing by making a big deal out of it. She wanted Tara to know how proud she was of her, to know her efforts hadn’t gone unnoticed, to begin to make up for all of the achievements she knew had been unobserved and disregarded after she left.

How the hell did they end up like this?

A heavy cough escapes her lungs and Sam finds herself curling to the side from the harshness of it. Tara slips from her lap and that’s when Sam begins to realise that something is very wrong here. And not just because her hands are tied, although, that is a very concerning discovery.

Blood? There’s blood. On Tara’s hands, on her face, down her neck.

Sam scrambles to get up off the floor in her rush to put a hand on Tara’s chest.

Heart beating? Check.

Breathing? Check.

Thank fuck. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

Later, she’ll wonder how it took her so long to notice the fire raging all around them.

Needless to say, the revelation is quite a shock.

The deafening popping from burning wood triggers Sam into action. She begins to pull at the rope around her wrists with her teeth. When that fails to budge the knot or fray the rope, she frantically scans the room instead. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Just a whole lot of fire.

Fire.

She stares at the flames for a moment before glancing down at her wrists. Ah, fuck. She makes her decision. It’s not even a choice really, it’s the only option available if she wants to get out of here alive. Or, more importantly, if she wants to get Tara out of here alive.

Sam clambers to her feet and sidesteps her sister, heading towards the nearest flames – an on-fire couch. The heat is extraordinary, she feels like she’s burning alive just in its presence. Taking a deep breath – a mistake, she realises, as her lungs protest – and shoves her hands out towards the fire.

She bites her tongue as her jaw clenches from the pain, blood filling her mouth. With a scream, she rips her hands apart, the burning rope withering away as it drops to the floor. Fuck, let’s never do that again. Sam quickly spins on her heel, turning back to her sister and crouching down. She takes a moment to breathe through the pain, head bowed, before pulling the smaller girl into her arms.

With one hand under Tara’s legs, and the other cradling her back, Sam heaves herself upwards. Her hands throb where they hold her, skin red and wet and already swelling. She grips Tara tight regardless and pulls her in close. The way to the door is mostly clear, but she finds herself stumbling clumsily around alight furniture on the way. A misstep has her tripping, leading her too close to the flames. She barely has time to react, turning away to protect her sister. The move leaves her back burning in a way that can only be described as agonising. She doesn’t even try to hold back her tears.

Sam almost kicks the front door down before she remembers how much that could be a terrible idea. Bracing Tara against her, she reaches for the doorknob with the back of her hand and prays.

It’s hot.

But it’s not ‘there’s a fire on the other side of this door’ hot.

Probably.

Hopefully.

She wonders if she has time and somewhere safe to put Tara down before she opens the door, but the ceiling is beginning to collapse far too close to where they’re standing, and Sam knows she’s out of time.

Trust in your instincts. Her intrusive thoughts are beginning to sound a lot like Tara these days, and irritatingly affirmative. She wouldn’t have it any other way, her sister outshines her father in every way, even in her head.

Sam kicks the door open and steps out into the blissfully fire-free complex hallway.

She almost collapses in relief.

Free from the roaring of the fire, she can now hear the sound of sirens and raised voices from outside the building. She begins to carefully make her way down the steps, leaning heavily on the wall as she descends. Her breath catches in her throat at every movement.

She’s halfway down when she meets several firefighters on their way up. One tries to take Tara from her, and Sam lurches backwards, determined to stop them. The movement has her falling, back hitting the wall and sliding down. She finds her legs no longer want to cooperate, and her tongue feels too heavy to speak. She thinks she manages a “no.” They’re talking to her, maybe, but she can’t make out what they’re saying. It’s hard to hear anything over the white noise blaring in her ears, the pain in her back is excruciating.

Sam’s so tired it makes her feel delirious, she can feel laughter bubbling up inside of her. All she can think about is how Tara won’t be able to complain when Sam buys her new clothes now.

The last thing she feels before the darkness takes her is Tara’s hand slipping out of hers as the weight disappears.

- - -

Sam wakes up to the smell of antiseptic and soap. The hospital. She hates how familiar she’s becoming with this environment.

There’s a brief moment of panic where she remembers Tara being pulled from her arms, before she recognises the small hand cupping hers, and the familiar weight of a head against her legs.

The position can’t be comfortable, Sam notes. Tara’s leaning on her right arm, facing Sam, hunched in a way that gives Sam back pain just looking at her. Her right hand is bandaged – as is her head – and her left clings to Sam’s. An orange inhaler rests on the bed, nestled safely between their bodies.

Sam’s helpless to do anything but smile as Tara mumbles in her sleep, head nuzzling against her leg. She concentrates on that, on her sister being here with her, instead of the pulse from her wounds and the way the bandages itch against her sore and burning skin. She doesn’t think of their apartment, now destroyed, or of their lost possessions. Tara is here, and that’s the only thing that matters. She’ll lose anything else, everything else, so long as she still has her sister.

[triviareads]

i just finished a novel you recommended (bed me duke! excellent!) and moved on to my usual annual re-read of northanger abbey and do you have any recommendations for romance novels for each austen couple? i think that would be pretty cool!

I love that! the Bed Me series has never failed me so far, and I'm very excited for book 4, Bed Me, Baronet (the hero's a blond and possibly a virgin based on ALL his friends speculating about him in each of their books lol). As for romance novels based on Austen couples, I'm gonna be a little selective here because I haven't actually read Sense and Sensibility (but I vaguely remember watching the movie) or Mansfield Park:

Pride and Prejudice

There are lots of romance novel adaptations of Pride and Prejudice, and there are even more claiming to be inspired by the "enemies to lovers" aspect of P&P EVEN IF IT'S NOT AN ENEMIES TO LOVERS ROMANCE. So my best recommendation would be Pride and Protest by Nikki Payne; it's a modern adaptation set in Washington D.C.; Liza is a local radio DJ and activist who meets Dorsey (a Filipino adoptee) and realizes they're on opposite sides of the gentrification situation occurring in DC. I loved how the book dealt with the class difference along with the added layer of race. It also modernized the "proposal" aspect really well imo because randomly asking a gal to marry you without even dating wouldn't necessarily work in the modern era BUT the proposal Dorsey put out there still felt inherently degrading to Liza even if she'd hooked up with him already (another change from the original, and an appreciated one).

Persuasion

Again the Magic by Lisa Kleypas: I'll forever recommend this; McKenna and Aline were childhood sweethearts before they were separated by her father the earl, because McKenna was a stableboy. Now he's uber-wealthy and resentful about what happened all those years ago BACK for REVENGE and by revenge I mean he's going to seduce Aline and... that's about it lol. Never has a man come back with more loathing/self-loathing with a plan that's so half-baked even his drunk friend is like "but are you sure buddy".

Full Moon Over Freedom by Angelina M. Lopez: Another second-chance romance; Gillian asked Nicky to take her virginity when they were teenagers and teach her about sex stuff before leaving for college. Now she's back and divorced, and they're skirting around each other and having multiple clandestine encounters even though they think it's all temporary. While there's not much of a class difference, you get the sense Nicky thought of himself as her bit o'rough and she was an unattainable princess-type to him.

The Legend of Lyon Redmond by Julie Anne Long: Second chance romance with love at first sight; There were a couple aspects that really reminded me of Persuasion; there's very similar language to Anne where Olivia is described as having "withered away" since Lyon left, and she refuses all other suitors. And! Lyon is a sailor like Wentworth except, well, not on the legal side of things lol. It's also just super romantic when they do reunite years later.

Emma

Bed Me, Baron by Felicity Niven: George and Phoebe are long-time friends who've known each other since she was a baby. She asks him for sex lessons so she can help her please her future husband who she's engaged to (not George lol). While there's not much of an age gap in this one (4 years), George Danforth is daddy so that should square you away there.

Olivia and the Masked Duke by Grace Callaway: Here's an Emma/Knightley-ish age gap, plus, Ben and Livy were family friends/friends since she was a kid. Later on, she sees him having sex with another woman in the stables and it's basically her sexual and romantic awakening, so she spends a lot of the book chasing after him while he's running for his life.... until he isn't. Sex-wise the vibes are daddy dom/mildly bratty.

Sense and Sensibility

The closest I could think of in terms of Marianne/Col. Brandon was Rosalind and Torrington from A Recipe for a Rogue by Kathleen Ayers. Like Marianne, Rosalind is initially horrified that an *older man* like Torrington might want to marry her (the number of old man-girdle and secretly balding hair jokes.... hilarious) and Rosalind avoids every attempt her mother makes to match them. Torrington is attracted to her from the get-go and slowly woos her by way of exchanging recipes, baked goods, and licking food off her thighs.

tbh I have no idea who'd fit Elinor/Edward's vibe.

Northanger Abbey

It's actually very hard to find heroes who have Henry Tilney's playful irreverence paired with Catherine's sweet naivete so I'm holding off on this one for now!

[noco7]

nocovember prompt 2

they’re in an arcade, and i changed my writing style in an ode to “A Concert for Twenty Fingers” a noco fic I read early into my noco obsession

It’s the 27th of June, 2009, and I’m in a lousy arcade, everything neon, loud, and overwhelming. "This one's for you babe," Cody repeats for the millionth time. There's a mini basketball in his hand, obnoxious red sunglasses perched on his head, and an unearned grin on his face.

Maybe I’d be appreciative if he hadn’t missed every shot he's taken.

I snort. "Unless your aim has magically gotten better, doubt it.”

Cody shoots. The basketball bounces off the rim and thuds against the cracked plastic base of the machine, rolling back down pathetically - like it too knows how futile it is. Cody scoops it back up. 

"Okay, maybe not that one. But this *next* one's for you babe," Cody promises again. 

I just let my arched eyebrows answer for me, and lean against the machine. You might be wondering why I’m here, and that’s a good question. I don’t like arcades. Which might seem odd, given my well-documented love for video games. But there’s a huge difference between playing a challenging game in the comfort of my own home with a fascinating and complex story, and spending a few miserable minutes playing one cheap tacky game after another, surrounded by chattering children and their screaming parents. So no thank you. The actual answer to the question is that my boyfriend dragged me here, and since I had chosen the last date location - a respectable library filled with soft lights and even softer sounds, it was now Cody’s turn. And of course, he would choose something as juvenile as an arcade. The only blessing was, and not to be unbearably cheesy, that Cody was here with me. It was entertaining to see him fail every game he tried, in a sort of America’s Funniest Home videos way. But even Cody’s slapstick humor had its limits. I’d gotten bored after his first five throws. Hopefully, this whole ordeal would end soon, and we could go back to better things, like making out. Hey, just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m not a teenage boy! But instead of doing anything fun like that, I was left tapping my foot, a spectator to failure. If I had been the one throwing the balls, it would have ended after the first missed throw. I don’t have much tolerance for my own failure. Which sounds a little perfectionist, but I’m far from being Courtney. I just know when to stop. Cody doesn’t. Yet, paradoxically, seeing my boyfriend fail almost made me want to try. It was probably the lack of real competition, I decided. Jocks, with their lean-and-mean dispositions and their unattainable strength, had always left me a little intimidated. But Cody, sweet pathetic, Cody was reassuring in his mediocrity.  No matter what the red SUPREME logo on his shirt says, there was practically nothing supreme about him. And that was comforting. Perhaps we could try this game again, and I might actually win something non-academic for the first time in my life.

Another miss, another thud. Cody’s grin falters, only to return as quick as it left. It’s good to know that my boyfriend isn’t completely oblivious to his own failure, but I can’t help but feel a little mournful. This is probably how it felt to see Icarus’s wings melt. He shoots again, and the kids walking past us laugh. I’m filled with the growing dread that I have gotten with a *loser*, and worse that people can tell. It’s not that I’m one of those pretentious twinks who set their sights high on the most alpha of men, and for all his flaws, Cody satisfied me well enough in that department - *but*, and this was a big one, it was something different when other people commented on it. I might be satisfied dating a wannabe, but it was another to have people *think* that it was the best I could do. And I know, I know, that when it came to worries, this was one of the most shallow, that I should be grateful to have a guy into me in the first place, let alone a cute one. Still, I stepped away from the machine, distancing myself. Another promise, the words faltering this time. Another miss. It’s as if Cody wasn’t aiming for the machine at all, but my heart. For a moment I consider if this is some pity play level of manipulation, and just as quickly I discard the thought. Cody isn’t the type. There are only a few seconds left. At this point, I’m not quite sure if Cody actually believes he can achieve something, or is just falling victim to the sunken-cost fallacy. The line between dumb optimism and stubborn determination is a bit blurry when it comes to my boyfriend.

Cody rubs the next basketball into his jacket, caressing it like a good-luck charm. As if that’s going to do anything.

I can’t bear to look. "I DID IT!"

I have only a millisecond to take it in, to recognize that satisfying swish sound for what it is, to realize that Cody has indeed ‘did it’, and then I’m being grabbed by Cody’s hands, my sides squeezed, enveloped in the warmth of success.

The sudden rush of happiness takes me off guard.

"Put me down!"

Cody beams at me, and I’m compelled to smile back. It’s hard not to give in to instincts, when, and forgive me dear readers once again for being corny, my boyfriend smiles with the force of the sun. Eventually, he puts me down though I could have used more time in the air.

"Congratulations,” I say. “You landed one shot and now you think you're LeBron. Should we get out the gatorade for you? Really celebrate the-" I look past him and at the scoreboard. "Three points you got? The top score is 54 by the way." I know I’m being mean, but I can’t help it. I can’t stay long in the garden of Eden, no matter how much I try.

Thankfully, Cody is used to it. "Yeah yeah,” he says, still high on glory. “Scoff all you want, but I still got the points. And *you* didn't."

"Because I wasn't trying." I point out.

"Miss every shot you don't take," Cody says, wagging a finger. "It's my personal motto."

I scoffed. "With your history, I think you could stand to take a little less shots." Gwen is a stunning example.

Cody frowns, but he doesn't say anything and for once, I choose not to elaborate. We’ve argued about Gwen too many times already, and it gets personal fast. Besides, we’re surrounded by people. If we argued about it here, we’d look like one of those couples, one month and already on the brink of divorce, so full of hatred that it seeps out of the private and into the public. I don’t want to be one of those people.

"You know," Cody says finally. "As your champion-"

"As my champion?" I echo. Champion? It was one shot.

"As your champion," Cody repeats, and that’s his stubbornness coming through as always, - "I think I should get a kiss." He waggles his eyebrows. "You know, as a reward."

"We're. In. Public." I say, gesturing at the space around us. It couldn't be clearer. Even if Cody was blind, which he wasn’t, it'd be hard to miss the demented chatter of children and their high-pitched screeches of laughter. I had to wonder if parents had stopped teaching their kids manners. The newer generation was truly lost.

"Riight," Cody says, and then he grabbed my wrist, steering me behind a nearby machine, and oh. It's darker here, where the neon lights can't reach, and it’s like the world has slipped away.

Cody's blue eyes meet mine. It’s hard for them not to, not in a space like this where there’s nothing else to look at, and there’s hardly any room between us.  "No one can see us here," he says, voice low, before his eyes dip even lower.

I feel like a virgin. I’m not, for your information. I’ve kissed guys and girls alike, and I’ve even kissed Cody a few times too, and yet butterflies still flap their wings in my stomach. It’s the taboo delight of doing something you shouldn’t, and I’m human enough to recognize it. 

"Okay," I said, my voice coming out more breathy than I liked. I darted forward to kiss my boyfriend, who rises up to meet me. Did I mention that he’s still shorter than me? Because I should. My boyfriend is a manlet, or as he prefers to call it, a ‘short-king’. But he proves his worth, his hands moving instantly to pull me close, clutching me tight as if I were planning to escape. But I’m not, and I don’t want to, not when his lips are pressing against mine, not when his hands are warm and roaming my body. My champion, indeed, I think.

Still. We’re in the middle of an arcade, so I break away before it can get too steamy. Cody pouts - like always, but I’m not going to give in. Unlike some people, I don't want to get charged with public indecency.

"When you think about it, I got three points,” Cody says, already leaning back in.  “So I should get three kisses, total. Just makes sense."

I give him my best unimpressed stare.

"It makes mathematical sense," he protests, flinging his arms out in dramatic flair, only to bang his hand on the back of the machine.  “Ow!” I snort. "And now you're going to say that you're injured, and I should kiss it better?"

Cody pauses. "I mean you said it, not me."

“The lighting must have gotten you confused Cody.” I roll my eyes. “This is an arcade, not a nightclub. We're here to play games, not play with each other."

Now it's his turn to laugh. "I mean you weren't playing much of anything back there. Come to think of it, you don't play most games at all. I mean remember the dodgeball?" "Be quiet." I hiss. Not the dodgeball episode. Not that stupid episode.

"Make me," Cody smirks. "With your mouth, preferably."

My boyfriend is a menace. Strike out dumb optimism, it was now sheer gall.

"I mean, you said I had no aim," he continues. "But I did get two girls out. And Harold didn't hit anyone with the ball, and he still-"

I kiss him just to shut him up, and I can feel Cody's smile against my mouth. Bastard.

"Keep talking,” I say, “and I'll never kiss you again."

"Yes sir!" Cody salutes.

Have to maintain order somehow.

"Can’t help trying to kiss my boyfriend whenever I get the chance. “ He smiles, showing off the gap between his teeth. “Sorry." Despite the cocky nature of the words, his look is a little too earnest for it to be some joke.

The sincerity makes me stumble over my own words. "I - I guess. Whatever." I avert my gaze, making sure he can’t see my cheeks, just in case they look less like normal human skin, and more like ripe tomatoes.  As if Cody needed any more proof that I liked him. And that made me doubly glad for the privacy of our dusty little nook - *no one* could tell. I didn’t need people thinking I was some blushing anime boy, or a tsundere, or anything else saccharine and banal that fangirls liked. As if! When I looked back up, I was met with Cody’s smile. "Whore,” I blurt out.

Cody chokes in laughter.

"Let's get back to playing those games," I state. Maintain order. I brush my hair out of my face and head back into the rest of the arcade. "Can't wait to spend fifty dollars in tokens to get three stickers and a temp tattoo of a mouse."

[whimsicalpoet44]

What's your observations on Aqua sun, Virgo moon, Cap rising combo?

Yeah! I'll do each placement individually and then give you my analysis for the three together.

Aquarius Sun ☀️

They're very smart and analytical. They see the big picture of situations. They walk to the beat of their own drum, and they have a really unique approach to life. Many might see them as eccentric because they have really niche interests. They value their individuality and they are considered the humanitarians of the zodiac.

They like solving problems and they're the person you would want on your team or committee. Many could doubt their vision, but it always pays off in the end. They are accounting for factors others miss.

They don't like being perceived. They like social situations, but only on their own terms. And they can identify themselves strongly with their individuality. Sometimes this is so strong that it can impede their ability to lean towards progressive thinking at times. Which is odd because Aquarians are usually super progressive and forward thinking.

For example, if you're in a group of people and everyone says they think a skate park should be built, an Aquarius Sun might argue in opposition for the skate park. This is because they pride themselves in being different. This doesn't always happen, but it is a trend I've noticed. Specifically for Aquarius men. I feel like they'll argue about anything just to seem "unique." However, this could apply to anyone. (That's just been my experience with all my guy friends that have an Aquarius Sun. Including my brother lol. I haven't had this same experience as much with my non-binary and woman friends).

Overall, this is a fantastic placement.

Virgo Moon 🌙

They like to fix things. They have an abundance of resources and they're so organized. Almost to a fault. And this doesn't mean the traditional sense of organization. They could be externally messy, but have their feelings categorized. They could be messy at home but not at work. There's hundreds of variations and possibilities available with this placement.

They can be overly critical of themselves and others. Their standards are extremely high and they always aim for perfection. They must remember no one is perfect and perfection is unattainable. They may reject this, but they must find a way to hold space for themselves.

They're so kind and helpful, and they're great listeners.

They likely have anxiety and stomach problems. Which is a stereotype, but I have yet to meet a Virgo placement without anxiety and stomach problems. 😂

Capricorn Rising ⬆

They're business oriented and can make themselves extroverted if needed. They always have a plan for their back up plan, and not a single person in this world can tell them they can't do something. (As a cap rising, the only reason I finished college was out of pure spite 😂)

They probably had a really tough childhoods and can have a more difficult time navigating life until after their Saturn return.

They're responsible, analytical, and calculated. They're incredibly stubborn and firm. However, they are also full of anxiety. They just have a perfectly crafted poker face.

Conclusion

These three placements together can make you unstoppable in reaching your goals. As a combination of fixed and cardinal placements, when you set your sights on something you want, you get it. No matter how long it could take.

You may be riddled with anxiety and struggle with being hard on yourself. Tap into that Aquarius energy and embrace your individuality. Remember that failure is a part of success and if you fail, you can change your approach. Your path is unique. Follow it.

You're also likely an introvert with an extroverted exterior.

House placement would give me more insight. But with just the sign, I think this could be an excellent pairing as long as you learn to give yourself grace and learn some good coping skills.

You might find that you want to rebel against authority from time to time, but your Virgo Moon keeps you in check. Listen to your intuition. Push back against authority isn't always bad. (But don't listen to me. I'm a Sag stellium with Uranus | Neptune in the 1st House. I make it my job to make life hard for authority figures 😂)

Also, learn some good anxiety coping skills. They'll be super helpful.

[sweetlog]

The Myth of the Perfect Partner: Why Unattainable Standards Are Holding Us Back

Have you ever found yourself scrolling through dating apps, swiping left and right, searching for that perfect match? We've all been there. Society paints a picture of the ideal partner: attractive, intelligent, funny, with a shared love of [insert niche interest here]. But is this unattainable standard really doing us any good?

The truth is, there's no such thing as a perfect partner. Everyone has flaws, and that's what makes us human. When we set our sights too high, we risk missing out on perfectly good relationships. We become so focused on finding someone who checks off every box that we forget to appreciate the qualities that truly matter.

So, why do we keep chasing this elusive ideal?

Societal pressure: From movies to TV shows, we're constantly bombarded with images of fairytale romances. This can create unrealistic expectations about what love should look like.

Fear of rejection: If we don't have a clear idea of what we want, we may be more likely to settle for less than we deserve.

Need for validation: Sometimes, we may seek a partner to boost our self-esteem or to make us feel more complete.

But what can we do to break free from these unattainable standards?

Be realistic: Accept that no one is perfect, including yourself. Focus on finding someone who is compatible with you, not someone who is flawless.

Communicate your needs: Don't be afraid to be honest about what you're looking for in a relationship. Open communication is key to building a strong connection.

Focus on self-love: Before you can love someone else, you need to love yourself. When you have a healthy sense of self-worth, you're less likely to settle for anything less than you deserve.

Remember, love is a journey, not a destination. It's about finding someone who makes you feel loved, accepted, and supported, not someone who meets a checklist of criteria. So, let go of the unattainable standards and embrace the beauty of imperfect love.

[chloeeb3]

Week 1: Reflection (April 17, 2024)

Currently it is April 17, 2024. It is still early in the spring quarter, and I am just now getting adjusted to my classes. This is my first time out of the past two quarters where I am attempting to take 4 classes: LS7C, LS40, Psych100A, and Cluster. Although I know that I am the one that took upon this responsibility, knowing myself, I have noticed that I have a tendency to get overwhelmed. 

Based on my experiences in the past, I have learned that setting enormous goals for me is counterproductive. Having an overwhelming, ambitious objective loom over me turns a motivational encouragement into a dreadful fear. It also makes it harder for me to bring myself to work towards it, because it seems so unattainable. Therefore, I will start with a simpler goal: to be organized.

Taking things day by day is my first approach towards this goal. Looking at my spread for the whole week is especially overwhelming and can tend to cause me to spiral and shut down. To combat this, I figured that I should start taking things in smaller portions. With the start of a new year, I began to bullet journal, keeping track of memories, emotions, and most importantly, my schedule. Especially since the beginning of this quarter, I began to meticulously plan out my day, starting with cemented events that I have along with the times they take place, to the detailed little assignments that I have to complete. I also began getting into the habit of writing down what I have to study, because otherwise, I know that I will not get to it. 

Aside from writing down my events and assignments, I also make sure to write one thing that I am grateful for at the end of each day. This is to help keep me grounded. Unfortunately, being overwhelmed easily also comes with the downside of losing sight of things. By writing down one thing that I am grateful for every day, I am able to bring back gratitude and appreciation to my life, allowing each day to feel more humanized than I might feel at the moment. 

It definitely is a work in progress, but I have to remember that things take time to achieve. Taking things day by day for now! Until next week. [3:40pm]