#I also want to get a tattoo on my thigh but if I want laser I have to do that first

[anurarana]

I've been seriously considering laser lately, well honestly for years now, but I'm stuck in a loop of will this improve my quality of life, or am I just submitting to beauty standards ?

[overtake]

5. Flushed Cheeks?

This got a bit long (2.9k), so you can also find it on AO3 instead of having to read it on here! This is a tennis AU I started ages ago, and this prompt finally gave me the motivation to finish.

Daniel’s skin is still damp from ice baths and sweat-soaked towels when Max catches him.

“Nice win,” he says.

It wasn’t a nice win. It was hard-fought and ugly to the final serve. Daniel could feel his age reverberating through every joint and muscle. He knew Max was watching with laser precision, carefully noting every time Daniel’s face twisted in pain as he lunged for a shot. He’ll have studied the match five times over before finals, preparing to systematically rip Daniel apart on court and expose all his faulty wiring.

Still, it was a win.

“Thanks,” Daniel says, and doesn’t return the compliment. It’d just delay the real point of this conversation. “Coming over?”

“You’re coming over,” Max corrects. He drops the serious competitor facade and breaks into one of his crinkly-eyed smiles. “My room is nicer.”

He hasn’t seen Daniel’s, but they both know it’s true.

Without Daniel having to ask, Max hands over a bottle of water as soon as Daniel falls into the pillows. It’s that in between kind of temperature you only get from a hotel fridge — enough condensation to call it chilled, but not cold enough that it feels like you’re freezing the inside of your chest cavity with a long sip.

Max plops down on the bed, already in nothing but a too-long shirt and briefs, and heaves his head onto Daniel’s lap. His overgrown hair tickles along his thighs where Daniel’s shorts have ridden up, dark blond against the tattoos peeking out from underneath.

Daniel swallows a few sips, then leans over to put the bottle on the hotel carpet. Max makes a cute, disgruntled noise and separates himself from Daniel to lie on his side.

When Daniel lays back down, he puts himself nose-to-nose with Max. The lights are dimmed, but he can still see the sweet freckle dotting the top of Max’s lip. He leans in to kiss it once, twice, three times, until they’re just kissing.

Max subtly grinds himself against Daniel’s thigh, and Daniel slips a hand underneath back of Max’s shirt and tucks Max’s body in tighter against his. He closes the last inch of space between his front and Max’s torso, then pushes his leg tight to Max’s groin until he can feel his dick pressed against him.

“These are in the way,” Max says, his fingers lightly tugging at the waistband of Daniel’s shorts.

Daniel’s brain isn’t online enough to respond to the tease with words, but he moves his hand back enough to tug at the material.

“No,” Max says, gripping Daniel’s wrist hard enough to leave temporary red marks, exactly how he likes. “Let me.”

He extricates himself from between Daniel’s legs and waits for Daniel to turn his back toward him, then begins to shimmy off Daniel's clothes. Max slowly trails kisses down the expanse of Daniel’s spine, lingering an excruciatingly long time at his tailbone.

The hotel air conditioning is forming goosebumps on his exposed skin and Max is rubbing the outline of his dick against Daniel’s ass instead of his thighs when Daniel decides to speak up. Now that the promise of Max’s cock is right there, he wants nothing more than to feel the tip push inside him, maybe even filling him up all the way. Based on the wrist grab, Max is likely up for more labour-intensive sex.

Daniel tries to hide the desperation in his voice, but he knows Max can read right through it. “I’m up for it if you are.”

Max hums, separating enough to grab a handful of Daniel’s ass. He whines at the sudden loss of Max’s hard-on against him.

“It’s early enough in the night,” Max muses. “We’ve got the time.” He takes his hand off then, leaving Daniel’s body entirely. In one fluid motion, Max flips Daniel onto his back so they’re face-to-face again, Max hovering over him with a calculated expression.

“Even before a final?” Max asks. Daniel nods.

Max moves a hand up Daniel’s stomach, outlining his ribcage. Daniel retaliates in kind, zig-zagging his fingers across Max’s torso above him and finally landing at his nipple. After a second of contemplation, he twists the pink bud.

Max let out a shuddering breath. His nipples are remarkably sensitive, especially exposed to the cold of the room and being the only area stimulated by Daniel’s touch. Because he's not a total dick, Daniel lavishes his mouth over the area after, sucking softly until the nipple is pebbled in his mouth, then moves to put a purple mark at the juncture of Max’s shoulder and neck.

“Daniel, are you sure?” Max checks again, soft and sweet. The Max above him right now is unrecognizable from the equally hot, very intense Max who will face him tomorrow.

“I’m starting to think you don’t want to,” Daniel teases. He licks Max’s cheek, revels in the little scrunched nose it earns him, then turns himself over. As much as he likes to soak in Max’s expressive face and rosy cheeks, he can’t do that tonight. He can’t have Max’s wet, teary eyelashes from sex at the top of mind when he watches beads of tennis sweat soak them instead.

Daniel sees Max’s clothes land on the other side of the bed, then hears the rip of a condom packet. That’s when he twists his body around, briefly admiring the broad outline of Max behind him before returning to the real issue. “Do we have to?”

Max pauses, a little uncertain.

“We’ll shower anyway.” Daniel pauses, bites his lip, and says fuck it. “And I’ve really only been with you.” It’s damning to admit, and scarier still that Max might not say the same.

Max’s face relaxes into something Daniel can’t quite identify. Contentment, maybe, written into the tiny curls at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t say anything, but he chucks the condom to the floor, and it’s as good as a confession to Daniel.

Daniel faces the wooden headboard and adjusts his body so his ass is higher in the air and more accessible to his Max’s fingers.

The lube cap is the next sound, then the cold touch of lube against his hole. Max used to warm it up for Daniel carefully, pampering him because he knows Daniel hates the cold, until Daniel admitted he likes the temperature difference sometimes - the shock of cold lube versus Max’s warm heat that follows.

Max doesn’t hesitate, immediately sinking in one finger, then two. He takes pleasure in this part, ensuring he crooks his fingers at all the right angles that make Daniel squirm. He always preps Daniel more than is strictly necessary, because Daniel’s a baby about pain, and Max enjoys the way Daniel fidgets and moves on Max’s fingers.

“Can we make this quicker?” Daniel asks, desperate now that he finally has some of the stimulation he’s been craving. To his dismay, it only makes Max’s fingers drag more slowly inside him, stroking him with increasing patience.

”Max,” he whines again. This time, it earns him no fingers. Max pulls them out and swats lightly at Daniel’s ass.

“Behave,” Max orders him. He probably means to sound a little stern, but the amused fondness in his tone stops it from spilling into something sexier, more dominant. He’s too delighted in his teasing.

He begins playing with Daniel’s hole again. One finger this time, which feels like it’s intended as a cruel punishment for Daniel’s begging. He keeps his mouth shut this time, opting to accept what Max gives him instead of making a scene.

Quickly, Max adds back more fingers until he finally brushes them against Daniel’s prostate and earns himself a loud moan. Daniel doesn’t have to twist around to know there’s a satisfied smirk lining Max’s face.

Max pulls his fingers out. Daniel sees his hand reaching again for the lube. The hairs that creep onto his hand are now dark and slick with lube.

“Are you good?” Max asks one more time. The bottle lets out a little farting noise, and Daniel laughs, replicates it with his own mouth until Max giggles too.

“Very good,” Daniel confirms, wiggling his ass closer to Max’s body.

“Eager,” Max says. The less-lubed fingers reach around to tweak at Daniel’s nipples. Daniel stops them, pushing up off an elbow to redirect the path. Instead of letting Max’s hand cup his pecs, he draws them into his mouth and begins sucking.

He forgot to take out his retainer, he realizes in that moment, as Max’s fingers hit hard plastic instead of the roof of his mouth. Max’s fingers run along the edges of it, tracing the shape of his protected teeth before he pulls out his spit-soaked fingers.

“You’re obsessed with that retainer,” Max says. The laughter is gone from his tone. He just sounds strained now, like the effort of keeping his dick anywhere but inside Daniel’s body is causing him physical pain.

“Are we seriously talking about my teeth right now?” Daniel asks.

“Pushy, pushy.” Max moves his hand down to still Daniel’s hips and wrap his pale fingers around the tan, sharp lines of it. He presses tip of his cock against Daniel’s hole. Daniel can feel it now, slowly being guided inside until just the head is resting there, waiting to be pushed forward.

“Aren’t you going to say please?” Max asks.

Daniel lifts his head from where he’s buried it into the pillow. “Fuck you,” he says, clearly and loudly.

Max’s laugh turns into stuttered breaths when he finally pushes in.

Max always knows exactly how to angle himself inside Daniel. Their rhythms are in perfect harmony, slowing and speeding up without either of them needing to say a word. Daniel can read exactly when Max gets closer, and Daniel stops the lazy strokes over his dick to begin a more rapid pace.

“Inside me,” Daniel orders when he senses Max is about to ask. “Please.”

Max comes with a groan, burying his teeth in Daniel’s shoulder to muffle the noise. Daniel wants to beg to hear every one, but it’s too late. Max is already gently pulling out from Daniel, carefully adjusting Daniel’s hips to limit the amount of come that’s dripping from him, trailing down his legs, and dotting the sheets.

Daniel wishes, insanely, that he could preserve Max’s come inside him forever, decorating his insides like an art exhibit dedicated to the godly way Max fucks him. He imagines lifting the trophy after sweating off the remaining traces of Max’s come on his thighs. He pictures falling to his knees in triumph, winning his final Wimbledon in a blaze of glory, and Max angrily fucking his throat right there on the court.

He spills into his hand before Max even has a chance to touch him.

He and Max wake up face to face. The tip of his nose rests in the M-shaped line of Max’s upper lip.

It’s a rather unusual wake-up position for them. It’s all down to a science, this routine. Normally, they have to wait for an alarm. Daniel will groan, roll over from the edge of the bed, and shake at Max’s freckled shoulder. He’ll usually makes some funny face at Max just to see him huff out an exhausted laugh, and then he’ll bury his head into Max’s chest for another five minutes as Max plays with his hair or etches nonsense words into his spine.

When one of them reaches dangerous snoozing territory, Daniel will sit up enough to disrupt them and force Max into the shower. Max will always goes first, because they learned from experience that Daniel showering first means Max just falls back asleep.

It’s a constant for them at tournaments, especially when one of them makes a final round. Occasionally, when Daniel is in a different country and sleep escapes him, he calls Max and lays his phone beside him on the bed. Sometimes they talk, but usually they just rest alongside each other until Daniel falls asleep. It’s not the same as waking up to Max’s groggy eyes and tousled hair, but the soothing repetition of his soft snores is as familiar as breathing.

Today, there’s time. Light is only just beginning to soak through the half-closed curtains.

He reaches out, stalling his hand right over Max’s pronounced cheekbone until he confirms that Max’s breath remains sleep-steady. He trails a path down his face until it finds the collarbone peeking out from the too-large shirt that Max must have thrown on in the night.

Max’s long lashes flutter open, sandy eye crusts bordering sea blue. Daniel pulls his hand back then, clutching it to his chest. He still feels the tingles racing across his knuckles, burning memories of the warm cheek pressed against the outside of his hand. The flushed face, the piece of hair that fell inside the small crack between the gaps of his fingers and the warmth of Max’s sleep-puffy face. Max brushes that tuft from where it sticks to his forehead.

“Your hand is sweaty,” Max says in a raspy voice, lazily reaching out his own until he wraps it around the delicate bones of Daniel’s wrists and pulls the offending limb back to his pillow-creased face anyway.

“Your face made my hand sweaty,” Daniel retorts. Max just rolls his eyes and shoves at Daniel’s chest a tiny bit. It’s true, though. Max always keeps the room warm for Daniel when he sleeps over, even though it sometimes makes his shirts damp with sweat.

Max lazily blinks at him with half-asleep eyes, and Daniel knows he only has seconds to get him before Max is back in dreamland. He squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn't have to examine every minute expression on Max's face when he makes this admission.

“This is my last Wimbledon. Last major at all, probably. My physio doesn’t want me to play, but I’d rather hobble around a bit than leave without beating you one last time.”

“Are you telling me this so I’ll go easy on you?” Max’s tone is light, teasing. He knows how to perfectly land this banter on the tightly strung tennis strings of Daniel’s anxious brain. Daniel would be resentful and bitter if Max tried to throw it for real - not that he ever would. Max cares too much about winning to sacrifice himself for anyone.

“Hmmm,” Daniel fake contemplates, tapping his hand on the blades of Max’s sunburnt shoulders. He never wears enough sunscreen, even this many years into his career. “Maybe just forget how to return a backhand for a few sets, and we’ll call that good.”

“Would probably be a fair exchange for the soreness,” Max says. He traces his finger down Daniel’s spine until he reaches Daniel’s ass and lightly kneads at the muscles.

“Yeah. If I lose today, be sure to tell the press it’s only because you fucked me so well, not because I suck.”

“Do you ever think about it?” Max asks after a pause. “Not telling them, because it’s of course not their business, but maybe not hiding it?”

Daniel isn’t sure what exactly he means — Daniel’s sexuality or their relationship, however much they dance around precisely defining it — but the answer is mostly the same either way.

“I guess it doesn’t really matter if they know once I’m retired and never have to do an interview again.”

Max smiles into Daniel’s pec. “Going to hide on the farm forever?” 

“It’s not hiding if you know where I am.” 

“Do you still have the dirt bikes?” 

Daniel thinks of Max drenched in Australia's golden sun at 23 — his smile blinding as he took the bikes over jumps with the same ease he uses to swing a racquet. He'd spent days inventing funny backstories for the cows, befriending the evil poodle at the nearest grocery store who Daniel swears is plotting to chomp off his leg, and diving off a boat into the ocean with reckless abandon. He’d taken enormous glee in teasing Daniel from his spot in the water. Daniel always dipped a toe in and searched for anything that could kill him before he jumped.

Max hasn’t been back in the years since, but Daniel sometimes imagines Max in the mundane parts of his long, lazy days at home and subconsciously reaches out to find him in all the places he should be.

Daniel finally meets Max's eyes again. There's nothing bad there. He sees no upset or judgment or frustration, none of the things he feared but should've known Max is too inherently good to feel. “There’s a dirt bike for you any time you want,” he promises. “Plus, Monaco would miss me if I didn’t come back for a friendly match with you every so often.” 

Max presses a gentle kiss over the tan skin where he rests his chin. Daniel holds him tight to his chest, and they fall back asleep in the last dregs of morning. Daniel dreams of the ball popping between them: sweet touches turned into death grips on their racquets; orgasmic moans shifted into effortful grunts.

If Daniel squints, he can see the faintest edge of purple at the collar of Max’s white shirt. He doesn’t let his gaze linger. He shifts into position, adjusts his hands along the bumpy outlines of tape, and matches Max’s hard, determined stare.

The ball slams into play with a loud pop, and they both smile.

[general-nerdy]

Jesse Cromeans/Chromeskull NSFW Alphabet

I had a lot of fun getting these all down, and thank @sinfulwrites for being my editor haha! Go read her Asa NSFW alphabet. It's fantastic!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jesse couldn't care less about your comfort if you're laying in one of his coffins. He relishes in your discomfort. His camera gets a fantastic view of the tears streaming down your face, and your soiled body is a work of art. He'll go back and watch the footage again to see you squirm.

When you are someone he is closer to, Jesse is more of a gentleman. You are held in his massive tattooed arms, though you will be subjected to waggling eyebrows and suggestive, teasing messages about your time together. When you regain some energy you are free to use his elaborate bathroom, his multifunctional bidet and huge walk-in shower making it more than a pleasure to clean yourself. He will follow you in and watch. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He's not picky. Jesse can admire every part of you, though he has a weakness for thighs. Your face however is something he will watch intently. He loves to watch your expressions change through it all. 

Jesse loves every part of himself. He's great and he knows it. You don't need to tell him. 

After his incident at the market, he's much more sensitive about his face. But he took it like a champ after some therapeutic mental breakdowns and property damage. It's okay, he can pay to replace the mirror. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jesse has a bad habit of cumming inside. Why should he sacrifice his pleasure, after all? Does he not deserve it? He also loves to have you swallow his load, again watching your face as you do. Though if you're one of his victims he probably wouldn't risk putting his penis in your mouth. He doesn't want anything happening to Lil' Jesse. 

If you are a victim he might force your mouth open and cum inside, or just cum on your face. That makes a great phone background. Yes, he would do that. Your memory would live on in his home screen. At least until he finds another piggy. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Believe it or not, Jesse would love it if you played with his ass. If you topped or pegged him, even better. His late wife never indulged him. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Jesse had quite a few partners, both men and women, before marrying his late wife. Even after the fact he had encounters outside of his marriage. So he's very much experienced. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Overtop of you with your legs in the air. That way he can see everything; his cock disappearing in and out of you, your body moving with him, and your face of course. His camera also captures more from there. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

When Jesse likes you he's quite the funny guy. He teases and plays with you in a humorous way. If you farted or queefed during sex he'd double over in his wheezing laughter. Jesse is here to have a good time. 

When you're a captive, he's brutal. He makes you look into his camera. He makes you look at yourself reflected in his mask, watching yourself be violated. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Jesse is completely bare, save for his eyebrows. After the incident at the market and his surgeries he doesn't even have those. He likes being hairless, and he's spent a lot of money to get laser removal done. Sliding into his satin sheets smooth as the day he was born is one of his great pleasures. 

He doesn't mind at all if you have hair, wherever it may be. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Jesse's ability to take anything seriously is severely inhibited by what I'd call 'affluenza'. He has so much money he can do what he wants, when he wants. Sex is a fun time for him, sure, but most of the time that's just it; a fun thing to do. Unless you're someone he really, really cares about. Then he will make more of an effort to take things seriously and be more romantic. 

When he makes that effort, he goes all out. Expensive dinners. Trips to foreign countries on one of his private jets. Rose petals on the bed. New lingerie for you. He will spare no expense. You will be wined, dined, and dicked. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Jesse loves to watch his tapes and jerk off. He basically has an addiction, but it's limited to his own recordings or live footage of you. Yes, he's always watching. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Filming: He's got a camera on his shoulder for a reason, and he saves every single tape. He makes backups too. 

Phone/Cyber/Video Sex: Jesse does all three. You're getting dick pics. He will ask for nudes and videos, even if he already has them. There is never enough in his collection. You will receive some in return. He will barrage you with dirty texts. He feels no shame. He doesn't know what it is. More than once he's FaceTimed you, only for you to open the call and see him with his dick out. It's a common occurrence. 

Mirrors: He has huge ones across the way from his bed, just so he can watch your face when you're in a position where he can't see it. Jesse also likes to make you look at your reflection, whether it brings you shame or pleasure.

Period Sex: Jesse does not fear Aunt Flo. Only cowards do. He'll eat you out too. He thinks it's fun to show you your blood all over him. 

Bondage: Keeping people trapped in his coffins watching them squirm is a huge turn-on. Jesse will get right up on the lid to watch through his camera screen. If he's riled enough he will grind against it. He will also use ropes to restrain those he's got his eye on. 

Public Sex: Jesse will shamelessly pull you away to bang. He'll reach under the table if you're at a restaurant. Is it a fancy one? Even better. His fingers will play with you as you try to order from the waiter. Sometimes he'll even reserve the place so you two can have your fun in peace. In the car? He'll unzip his fly, pull out his cock and gesture to it while he's driving. Or he'll just pull to the side of the road and throw you into the back seat of his Chrysler. Did someone see? Good, Jesse wants to show off. 

Necrophilia: IT'S TRUE. NO I WON'T CHANGE MY MIND. We all saw him lick Princess's corpse in the second movie. He was keeping the bodies all around. He humps coffins. Jesse will have his way with his victims just after killing them. The poor interns from his organization have to clean up the mess. It's not a great job, but it pays very well and the benefits are outstanding. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Jesse loves his mansion. He had it built to his own specifications, and his bedroom has a massive California king-size bed. He loves to show off himself and his affluence. Where else better to do it than there? His car is another favorite. Give him some road head or a handy and he's on cloud nine. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You exist. He exists. You have holes, he has a penis. That's really all Jesse needs. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Poop. He likes to be clean. Even psychopathic murderers have standards.

No vomit either. You can gag on his weiner, but please don't puke. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jesse loves receiving oral. He could sit there for ages and watch you suck his dick. It makes him feel like a king, which he is. 

If he likes you, he will more than happily attack you with oral. Being cute? Being a brat? Bent over? Spread those legs because he's going in. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Jesse does not rush. He is slow and powerful. His size doesn't let him jackrabbit into you, but he doesn't need to. By the time he's done, you'll feel like you have no bones. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Of course! Jesse may be slow, but he is more than willing to whip out his cock and slip in and out. He knows just how to touch you, so making you cum quickly is easy. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Jesse fears nothing. He could buy off anyone if he got into trouble with you. He has public sex for a reason, and that reason is he doesn't give a single shit. He's willing to try most anything if you're down to clown. He's here to have a good time. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This man can go all night. No problem. He may need a break, but he'll pick right back up in no time. As long as you're willing he's ready. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Jesse has plenty, though not as many as other people he knows. He prefers quality over quantity. They're not competition. They're for enhancing the experience. He'll happily use them on you, and let you use them on him. He has a prostate massager that he loves. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jesse is actually not that much into teasing when he likes you. He'll do it playfully, but never to deny you pleasure. Though if you're being bratty he just might to teach you a lesson. He'd rather not wait to have his fun with you. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Jesse can't speak. His vocal cords have suffered some kind of damage during his life and left him mute. The only noises he can make are raspy grunts and groans during sex. Though he is limited, Jesse is not shy about making these sounds when fucking you. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Jesse is good friends with Asa Emory, the Collector. The type of friends with benefits. Asa is more often than not the top, despite their size difference. Jesse doesn't mind at all. He finds it quite cute, but he'd never say that to Asa. 

He often helped to fund many of the Collectors endeavors. Jesse thought that Asa's traps were hilarious. 

Jesse is more than willing to have a threesome between you and the Collector, if Asa is feeling agreeable. He might even just sit and watch…

Jesse's late wife was a huge Karen. He hated every minute with her and dreaded becoming a father. 

If you do marry him, he actually is a doting husband. His late wife wasn't lying about that. 

He does not want children. Ever. He'd rather die. 

His aesthetic is very important to him. If there's something with skulls or skeletons, he wants it. Even better if it's chrome or silver. We all saw his cute little skull briefcase. He has cute skull slippers. Skeleton boxers. All of it. 

His late wife hated his aesthetic. She made him stop wearing a lot of it. Once she died Jesse had a field day putting back on all of his skull themed jewelry. The man has rings for days. 

Jesse has a difficult time going to places he considers low-brow or 'poor'. He was raised rich, so he was never exposed to such things. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Seven inches and uncircumcised.

Large low hanging balls. 

The tip of his dick is pierced with a Prince Albert. And yes, it has a silver skull on the end.

He named his penis Lil' Jesse. He will never stop calling it that. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jesse always wants you. All you have to do is look at him suggestively. Or just look at him. He'll ask if you're ready to bang. 

The epitome of "So we fuckin' or what?" 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Jesse will fall asleep with you. He's not one to pass out as soon as he nuts. He's too proud for that. His ego couldn't handle the shame. 

[defilerwyrm]

Hey, trans guy here, and while I’m not personally interested in getting bottom surgery, I am interested in writing t4t erotica involving guys who have. Do you have any writing tips on that front or just stuff you wanna see from what I imagine is a pretty underserved niche?

Howdy and that’s awesome!

One thing that would be cool to see represented: not everyone who gets bottom surgery is a top! I’m sure not, though strangely my interest in playing that role has increased since I had the work done. You can be the biggest anal queen this side of Pornhub and still get bottom surgery. Only makes sense, right—if we can accept that having a dick doesn’t automatically make a cis man a top, the same is also true of trans men & transmascs.

Some things about a healed-up phallo dick from my experience, under a cut:

The head is VERY sensitive, and the base is very sensitive. Everything in between that has erotic sensation but in an “Mm that’s nice” kinda way until you add pressure too. Once it’s healed up, it is definitely possible to orgasm from stimulating it. How long that takes will vary, though. I was told it might be up to a year, but I have a crazy healing factor and had it back in like 2-3 months.

If you couldn’t successfully kill the hair follicles on a permanent basis via electrolysis and/or laser prior to surgery, there’ll be hair. (It’s not THAT weird. Plenty of cis men out there have hair on their shafts too!)

If you had a tattoo on your donor site, you’ve got a tattoo on your dick now, lol. It might be unrecognizable depending on where it was originally (especially on the inner wrist/forearm).

There’s a scar up the underside right in the middle and all around the base. The scar up the middle of your scrotum will look similar enough to the natural seam of an OEM scrotum that it’s not really notable.

The scrotum won’t have all the wrinkles an OEM one does at rest.

No foreskin, more’s the pity, but the head looks VERY much like a circumcised OEM penis once it’s healed.

Different donor sites tend to produce different results. The non-dominant forearm is preferred because they take a stretch of nerve with it and it’ll typically have the least subcutaneous fat, so you tend to get the best sensation and shape. With the back or thigh, bigger guys might end up with a Coke can cock, which cis men THINK they want but it’s a different story when it’s always that size.

Yep, it’s always the same size. Which means you’ve got something the size of an average-for-your-height erection at all times.

Without an implant, it’s quite floppy as you can imagine. If you manspread at all, you might have to shake a leg out when you stand up ‘cause your dick’ll go between your thighs, and you’ll notice real quick as soon as you start walking. Masturbation can be awkward depending on how you do it, but “double bagging” (wearing two condoms at once) will keep it stiff enough to top.

There are two types of implants you can get: a flexible rod made of silver encased in biostatic silicone that gets sutured to your pubic bone to make sure it stays in place (how metal is that?!), or an inflatable rod that has a pump & release in the scrotum. Look for “erectile dysfunction implant” if you’re researching these. With the former, you basically always have an erection, but it’s posable; not great if you wear a lot of Speedos, as my surgeon put it. With the latter, you choose when it stands up and when it lies down. These implants, along with testicular implants for those who get them, are always done at least 6-9 months after the initial surgery.

Recovery can be rough. I took 3 months off work and needed it. The first two and a half weeks were the worst because I had a suprapubic catheter in, and dear gods I hated being cathed. Felt like I had to pee at all times, even right after emptying the bag. Worth it, though, absolutely worth it.

If you do radial arm flap, you’ll end up with two scars aside from the ones on your groin: a rectangular graft that goes most of the way around (NOT all the way around; that leads to necrosis!) the forearm from the wrist to about halfway to the elbow; and a less-obvious rectangular scar shaped like an open book on the top of one thigh where they take a split-thickness (meaning, only part of the way down) skin donation for your arm graft. The graft is pretty obvious, especially if you’re chubby, but my leg scar is extremely subtle and continues to get fainter as my skin cycles itself out.

The graft will be forever hairless.

People will probably glance at the graft, and they might stare if they’re rude, but in the…what’s it been, almost two years I’ve had it, exactly one person has actually asked about it and that was when it was still fresh and extra gnarly-looking. I told her “It’s a graft, it’s not as bad as it looks” and there were no follow-up questions.

Because there’s nerve harvested from the inside of the forearm, sensation comes to the penis faster than it comes to the graft. The cut nerve DOES regrow! But for the first…I’d say 6-9 months? Ish? I could only feel pressure on the tissue UNDER the graft. Sensation is still duller there, but at this point I can feel temperature, moisture, and texture well enough.

Recovery includes physical therapy for the donor arm. The more you move that wrist early and consistently, the less stiff it will be when it heals. I’ll never be able to touch my thumb to my wrist again, but I also can’t do that on the right either now, so I think that’s more to do with my age than the surgery (I used to be a lot more hypermobile, but I am no longer a spring chicken).

Learning to pee standing up is a messy affair that involves cleaning the toilet and doing laundry a lot. Once you’ve got it down, though, it’s pretty awesome.

Chasers will now ghost me the instant they find out I am not biologically available to be their sexual experiment.

There are a LOT of other options for bottom surgery, but I only have passing familiarity with them based on hearing firsthand accounts and what I learned from my surgeon. Personally, I weighed meta vs phallo heavily; being able to get a natural erection with meta or Centurion was a very attractive prospect, but it just doesn’t produce a size that I would find satisfying in terms of my own self-image, so I went with phallo. There was never a question in my mind as to wanting vaginectomy with it. Beyond the unbelievable convenience of being able to pee standing up without an STP device, I fuckin’ HATED my front hole, and I REALLY hated being pressured about having things done to it (mostly by cis men, but not always) all the time.

[zooophagous]

coverup anon here

My entire life I've been extremely against home tats. Like brutally against. But last year around December I discovered a scar from an abuser and in disgust of this scar I desperately wanted to cover it up.

I knew this guy through a friend who did decent home tats. Some were awful but some were even great! So I contacted him and saw him a week later.

(Coming there was a shock, I won't get into it because it's not entirely relevant. But I felt sick to my stomach and wanted to leave but was too scared to do so.)

Anyway to begin with the final stencil was way bigger than we originally had agreed on, but it looked good, so I said okay.

But the result was... At a distance it looks acceptable but the lines are thick and deep and wobbly as all hell. I've been considering doing a coverup but honestly I'm not sure how successful it's going to be, considering the depth and thickness of the lines. I'm also worried it's gonna cost me way more than I was estimating what a professional would take for the size I was originally considering.

But do you think it would even be possible to cover up something that covers most of my thigh and is deep and thick?

Sorry this got way more rambly and descriptive than I expected when I first wrote to you.

I'll begin by saying that I'm so sorry this happened, a tattoo should always be a situation where you feel safe and comfortable enough to speak up. I'm also sorry that you have a piece you're unhappy with. It can be a very defeating feeling.

Without seeing the piece, it's hard to say how difficult it is to cover. In general, you have to go bigger and darker than the original to cover it. That's why popular cover up options often include "the sick ass panther," or a raven, as these large black shapes cover things easily.

While only black can cover black, a talented touch up specialist can also disguise the shapes and break them up by strategically incorporating the underlying dark portions into the new tattoo.

I'd recommend finding an artist who specializes in covers, you'd be amazed at what can actually be hidden and how well it can be disguised. Things I never thought could be fully hidden totally disappear with the right artist.

As far as cost goes, see if your artist can break it down into sessions. It's often easier to afford one stage at a time instead of all at once. So two $300 appointments with space between versus one $600 appointment up front.

One thing to consider, if your piece is quite large and has a lot of black, is doing one or two laser sessions to lighten it first. Many times laser removal is used to lift out ink with the purpose of making it easier to cover, as opposed to totally obliterating the old piece. It doesn't have to be all the way gone. Laser is expensive but the prices on it have really improved in recent years.

The laser option is the more expensive option, so I'd find a coverup artist you like first and take their advice before going that route.

[youtastelike-sunlight]

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, and 25 for the tattoo asks! Thanks! 🤪✌️

Katey for the love of god just tell me you want a video call where I strip down and show off my ink 🤣

(Also, the number of times I checked this list absolutely convinced you would have skipped ONE for the lulz)

1. How many tattoos do you have?

Uh. Somewhere around 35-ish? There's been a lot of, like, building out on existing ones and making them cohesive, so it's really hard to say. 40-50 sessions in the chair, for sure.

2. What is your favourite tattoo you've gotten?

Stop asking pansexual ADHDers to pick favourites. Actually, speaking of, that joke on Dropout's Breaking News a few weeks ago about how Dropout fans are "pansexual nerds with drama mask tattoos and anxiety disorders" called me the fuck out, four for four baby, so maybe right now it's my drama masks with a Shakespeare quote 😅

3. What is the most meaningful tattoo you've gotten?

Any of the multiple memorial tattoos for deceased family members, or the matching tattoo I got with my spouse after our wedding

4. What is your dream tattoo?

I'm hoping to get something cool on my chest post-top surgery, but that's a long-ass way away yet.

5. What was the most painful tattoo?

I fully used numbing cream when I got my inner thigh tattooed, but I missed a spot. Ask me how I realised.

Also my knuckles, jfc. Fully cussed my tattoo guy out for that one, it was his idea to extend the design down to cover a couple of knuckles in the first place lmfao.

6. What was your first ever tattoo and how old were you when you got it?

My uncle's initials after he died when I was 17. I had this deal with my mum that I could get all the facial piercings I wanted, dye my hair all the batshit colours I wanted, as long as I didn't get a tattoo until I turned 18. And I'm grateful for that, because I wanted some tacky-ass shit at 15-16. But we negotiated for the one at 17, which there was little to no chance of me regretting.

7. What is your most recent tattoo?

An envelope with a piece of paper coming out of it that says "wish you were queer xo" for a flash day fundraiser for RainbowYOUTH.

8. What does your family think about your tattoos?

My mum is fucking petrified of needles, so her objection isn't to the permanent ink on my skin so much as willingly subjecting myself to being stabbed lmao. I hid them from my paternal grandparents until my wedding day and then said 'fuck it they can't yell at me today!' and they have never, ever mentioned them since. My maternal grandmother hated my first few, offered to pay to get them laser removed when I was at about 4 or 5, then begrudgingly acknowledged that some of them weren't terrible, and when she went into hospice in 2017 she gave me a list of the sorts of things she wanted included in her memorial tattoo 🤣

9. What meaning do your tattoos have?

Everything from very personal connections/memories/experiences in the memorial tattoos down to "I rolled three dice and got three words and the artist designed something based on that and slapped it on my body", and everything in between.

10. How many tattoos do you want?

As many as I have good ideas.

11. Where is the most painful place you've been tattooed?

Is this a different question to #5?

I will say - back of calf tattoos are surprisingly difficult. Not the MOST painful place, but probably the longest I've been really genuinely uncomfortable? (Though, again, sans numbing cream on my inner thigh this would be a VERY different convo)

12. Where is a place on your body that you will NEVER get tattooed?

I dunno... butthole? Eyeball?

I'm unlikely to do a face tattoo, but who knows, really.

13. What is a design you love on others but would never get for yourself?

I can't think of a specific design!

14. What is your favourite style of tattoo?

New School, for sure. Though I have a bit of nearly everything 🤣

15. Would you trust a friend to choose the design of your tattoo?

Depends on the friend. Katey, you will not be designing a Fiona/Dragon tattoo for me, soz.

16. What are some tattoo assumptions you think need to die?

That having ever gotten a tattoo in the past means you have a ton of disposable income now (the amount of "omg they're on a benefit but they have tattoos" I've heard from dipshits how the fuck do you think tattoos work?????), that it's not a valid and fucking impressive form of artwork.

17. Do you have one tattoo artist who does all of your art or a stand out tattoo artist? Hype them up!

These days I do! Only since I moved back to my current city in 2017, though, so a lot of my older stuff is by other artists. His name's Steve, he's a fucking delight, every day I'm in his chair is a fucking party. When my grandad died I just booked him out for the day and chatted to him about my grandad for the morning until inspo struck him and then he turned his iPad around with the loveliest design on it.

18. Is there any artist you would love to get work done by? Tell us about them!

There are lots of incredible artists out there, but I don't think I have, like, one bucket list person.

19. What is your worst tattoo experience?

I had an apprentice go too deep on my pansexual tattoo and I still have a bit of raised scar tissue there lmao

20. What has been your best tattoo experience?

Getting my grandmother's memorial tattoo designed and tattooed. Per #8 I went in with a bit of a chaotic list and what the artist put together was just fucking stunning. It's my whole upper arm and every single element of it has really personal meaning.

21. Do you have any matching tattoos with people?

Yep! My spouse and I got matching Doctor Who tattoos after our wedding. I'm a DW fan of old, got my spouse into the show after we got together, and we had a reference in our ceremony but without discussing it, we'd both put references in our individual vows as well lmao.

I also have a few like... standard tattoos, for lack of a better word? As well as a few flash sheet designs. So I definitely have matching tattoos with strangers 🤣

22. What is your opinion on face tattoos?

Follow your bliss, babes, but you know the society we live in and you're accepting the potential bullshit. (I have hand tattoos!! I'm not saying it's RIGHT I'm saying it IS.)

23. Do you think tattoos make people look less professional?

No, but I know people think they do. Where's that tweet about how tattoos make you perfect for corporate culture because it shows you can sit through the most painful bullshit and that's every corporate meeting ever?

24. Post a picture of your favourite tattoo.

It me, the Dropout fan.

25. Give us a tattoo tour!

Katey I will absolutely get booted off tumblr if I do that.

[tattoo asks... except katey's already asked them all so]

[lightxsheep71]

Hi sheep! Its StrawberryWritezz! I have a few questions for you

1. How do you feel about fanart? :0

2. In relation to art question, can you describe what N and Uzi look like for reference?

3. Whats your writing process?

1. i LOVE fan art! i've gotten a couple of pieces of fan art inspired by tiny angels already and i've been absolutely floored by it every time. you honestly don't even have to ever ask my permission to make art inspired by my fics, all i ask is that if you're posting it somewhere you include a link to the fic.

2. nolan: 6'2, white, same curly hair as he has in canon but more of a pale blond than straight-up white, amber eyes, heart-shaped face, muscular (he's not like, ripped, but he ain't scrawny either)

uzi: 4'11, asian (japanese/mongolian), olive skin, also the same hair colour/style she has in the show, grey eyes (but a very dark grey, like, almost black), round face, slim body type. it's also mentioned a few times in the fic that she's heavily pierced and tattooed, so here's specifically what i imagine her to have -

piercings:

left eyebrow

right side of nose

septum ring

snake bites

tongue

she has a lot of piercings on her ears too but i haven't thought specifically about what she'd have so just take some creative liberties with that i guess

she used to have her nipples & belly button done too but unless you're drawing her naked it isn't really relevant lmao

tattoos:

octopus on left shoulder/upper arm

gothic cathedral sleeve on right upper arm

vampire bat across chest

laser gun on lower stomach

constellations on the top of her foot (specifically the ones for cancer, sagittarius, capricorn, and gemini - yes this will make sense later. she also gets more constellations on her other foot at some point)

deftones "white pony" album cover on forearm

a crow somewhere (i'm thinking right below the octopus maybe)

patchwork sleeve on her thigh of caps from various anime/manga she likes (eg. serial experiments lain, oyasumi punpun, & junji ito's uzumaki, to name a few)

the date of her and n’s wedding anniversary on her left ring finger

a really ugly poorly done stick n poke of a skull and crossbones on her wrist that she did in high school but has never gotten removed or covered up despite how shitty it is because she sees it as a part of her that tells a story

at some point after her daughter is born (since pregnant women can't get tattooed) she gets an american traditional style portrait of her late tarantula on her shoulder blade. she also gets a tattoo for her daughter buuuuut i can't say what specifically it is because #spoilerz

she probably has way more, these are just the ones i've put thought into, however most of these would probably be a complete bitch to draw so if you wanna give her different tattoos or even forgo the tattoos entirely i would not be mad LOL. n and uzi's marriage in my fic is so funny to me... a goth baddie and the most normal guy ever

3. this is a pretty vague question haha but i'll try and give a generalized answer. the number one rule i have for myself (and the biggest piece of advice i can give to other writers) is to only write when i feel like writing. the reason i've been able to update tiny angels as frequently as i have (idgaf what anyone says, 100k words in 3 months on top of grad school and a job is damn productive) is because it's a fic i feel excited about and have a lot of ideas for. on average i'm able to post a new chapter within 2-5 days, but there's also been a few incidents where it's taken me a week or two. when this happens, it doesn't always mean i've been too busy to write, it usually means i either A) didn't know what i wanted to write or B) didn't feel like writing. or both.

if i feel excited about writing something (and this could be anything, from fanfic to essays for school - yes i am that nerd who gets genuinely excited to write essays), i will shit it out in no time at all. i see a lot of posts by other fic writers about being excited to write only to then open and stare at a blank google doc for hours on end, and i can sympathize with this to an extent but can't relate to it at all, because if i'm looking forward to getting my next chapter out there, the words will literally just flow from my fingertips and onto the document. sounds cliché, but it's true. if i'm forcing myself to write when i don't actually want to, then i'm putting out something that's less than the best work i can do. at the risk of sounding selfish and ungrateful, i'd much rather keep my readers frustratedly waiting for a new chapter and have it turn out great than deliver a lackluster, mediocre chapter just because people got tired of waiting. think of it this way: if you wake up early enough in the morning, you'll have time to make yourself a nutritious, filling, and tasty breakfast. bacon cooked to perfection, eggs prepared whatever way you like them, a stack of fluffy pancakes doused in maple syrup, a bowl of fresh fruit, coffee with just the right amount of milk and sugar (or tea if that's what you prefer, or freshly squeezed orange juice if caffeine's not your thing). if you wake up late, you'll throw a slice of bread in the toaster, slap some butter on it, scarf it down and head out to work, school, or wherever it is you need to be. both options are edible, sure, but one probably sounds much more enjoyable than the other, right?

something else i do is never coming up with an excuse not to write, even if i'm in a situation where i'm typically not "supposed" to be writing. as creatives, we can't control when or where inspiration hits, and if we don't log our ideas immediately, they can leave us just as quickly as they came to us. i have these little mini-notebooks that i bring with me everywhere along with pens, so that if inspiration strikes when i don't have access to a computer, i can just physically scribble down whatever i'm thinking and transfer it to a google doc later. this especially comes in handy when i'm at work - i don't think i'm exaggerating when i say probably about half of tiny angels was written while i was on the clock, LOL.

also: i never don't proof read. proof reading is helpful for not only catching grammar, spelling, and punctuation mistakes, but making sure i'm effectively conveying whatever it is i want to convey. i can't tell you the amount of times i've re-read a chapter before publishing it and decided to throw in an extra sentence or even just an extra word because even the finest of details can make a HUGE difference in impact. it also helps me to realize if i've repeated the same word too many times in a single chapter - for example, before publishing chapter 18, i read through it and noticed that i had used the word "completely" about 5 or 6 times. so i went back and swapped out some of those instances of the word for a different word with the same meaning - something like "utterly," "definitely," "totally," "entirely," etc. now, the word "completely" only appears twice within the chapter (and it's within the same sentence, which is intentional). a varied vocabulary is so, so important!

on that note: DESCRIPTIVE LANGUAGE. SIMILES. METAPHORS. these things are your best friends. use them, but don't over-use them. not every single sentence of your fic needs to be poetic prose, there's no shame in the occasional simple "He sighs." or "She shrugs." but a total lack of poetic language isn't going to make your story memorable and it sure as hell isn't going to evoke strong emotions in your readers (which is exactly what you're trying to do as a writer). for example, take this short paragraph from chapter 18:

Jade's eyebrows twitch up briefly and her eyes flash with something that almost looks like anger, as if she can't believe her brother would dare to challenge her like this. But just as quickly as it appeared, the indignation in her expression evaporates, her face frosting over with indifference instead.

now imagine if i had written this instead:

Jade briefly looks angry, but her face quickly becomes indifferent instead.

both betray more or less the same thing - that jade is mad at nolan, but is pretending not to be by pulling a poker face. however, the first one is much more immersive, and actually gives the reader an accurate glimpse into how jade is feeling during this moment. every word i've written here was carefully cherrypicked to make a statement about jade's character. "flash", for example. what else flashes? lightning flashes. ambulance & police lights flash. flashing indicates danger. the indignation in her expression doesn't just "go away," it "evaporates." evaporation is the process of a liquid turning into a gas. gases can be toxic. jade is toxic to nolan. her face doesn't just become indifferent, it "frosts over." frost occurs in the coldest months of winter, when temperatures reach below freezing. jade's personality can absolutely be described as cold. she assumes an unfriendly, emotionless demeanour here to conceal her true feeling, which is anger - thus, the word "frost" is appropriate. that post about how "the author just meant that the curtains were blue" couldn't be further from the truth - every word that went into this line had at least some layer of intent behind it.

that was a really fucking long winded answer. i'm sorry. tldr: write whenever you feel like writing but ONLY when you feel like writing, proof read, try to avoid repetition, use poetic devices but don't abuse them.

oh, and lighting either a scented candle or some incense while i write. i have no clue why it helps, but it does. 👍

[probablyaparadox]

Midnight Headcannons for Hiveswap/Friendsim Characters (Part 1)

These may be very well liked, or very controversial idk. If you write a fic (unlikely but who knows) based on any of these then PLEASE lmk. Part 1 because some I may feel uninspired + I don't wanna do all of them in one post. Xefros Tritoh: THE BOY HIMSELF.

He is a semi closeted midwest emo (I mean look at him) and a fully closeted stereotypical emo aesthetic enjoyer.

Ever since he started the Grubbels with Dammek, he's actually gotten quite good at singing, and rapping. (this is based on the line that Dammek passive aggressively hinted that Xefros needed vocals practice, and If I were Xefros my insecure ass would start practicing REGULARLY.)

If he were not plagued by constant anxiety he would sleep a lot, and be a very sleepy person (Sloth lusus). Or rather he requires more sleep than the average troll, and when he gets it he's very energetic. Because of his training with Dammek to "sleep anywhere" this would result in him frequently falling alseep while standing if he didn't get his proper sleep.

I want him to kill Trizza with a baseball bat. Off with their heads and hit a home run. Preferably with a baseball bat covered in nails.

He's trans. That one's not from me I've heard it tho and it's cute as hell imo headcannon immediately accepted.

His crush is a tealblood "reporter" (hobbyist photographer and blogger) who wears rollerskates (manic pixie dream boy.) I say this purely because Idk what traits Idarat and Tegiri have over Tagora besides being more masc and having glasses. And they are both not rat men unlike Tagora (/aff). Anyway because of lack of information I say what I want.

Last one because I genuinely feel like this was in the game but I'm not. Certain. Anyway Xefros looks so generic that so long as he isn't wearing his sign it would be genuinely impossible for any drone to find him based on his face. Dammek:

He got most of the parts for the weapon off of trolls craiglist

he will either instantly obliterate Jude's sense of self and self worth and have to work up from there to realize he needs to be nicer or he'll lose his moirail (he already has) or he will be shockingly ok to Jude and just be closed off and he will have to work up to expressing affection normally instead of survivalist training.

he's a little robotics geek he will get his hands on a cell phone and fucking destroy it when he gets to earth./joking to early. He MAY destroy a tv. I think based on his building skills he would be fascinated by earth technology.

the cameras installed in Xefros' hive have lasers. Xefros does not know this.

He gets his fancy normal disks from mallek (I've also heard this from another person- I would credit but I can't find it at the moment) Mallek:

Has 13 piercings. (IF YOU KNOW YOU KNOW)

he's either a part of the rebellion already, or will be soon enough

He actually knows a mutant which makes him being "cool with mutants" an even weirder more awkward thing to say

he bullies people on 4chan. The homestuck earth equivalent of 4chan. But still earth. he finds it informative and he likes giving their computers the types of bugs that will make them only play slitherio.

His strife specibus is a serrated curved dagger (snake fang like almost)

He has a snake tattoo on his right thigh.

He intends to get sleeve tattoos, he just hasn't perfected the design yet, or found someone he trusts to do it.

Hey you know that character who we've gotten like 1 concept art of. Yea Jerann him. They're boyfriends. Sorry I don't make the rules but he gets a fish nerd boyfriend.

He keeps oblong meat products in his house in case Diemen ever wants to crash.

He's going to give Xefros a piercing when Xefros becomes an emo boy /hj Joey: (I know she should've come first but she's not one of my favouritesss-)

Joey would lose her shit if she saw the barbie movie or Murdoch Mysteries

On a similar note, she would do barbenheimer for/with jude

She has a slight fear of clowns now (reasonable)

when she gets scared while on alternia, she looks up at the sky, and the stars, and thinks of her mom

I think that Joey and Marsti have an excellent opportunity to get along. A vet is just a doctor for a different species after all, and I'm sure just as Joey would be eager to learn Marsti would be eager to teach and get a bit flattered and someone respecting her aspirations and knowledge. Marsti:

Has the nickname Mars

If Marsti could dress up more she would go for a steampunk streamlined vibe.

In the route where Marsti ditches the player at Gahlek's house, she steals a book on her way out

Marsti survives the train crash floating in her bucket.

Marsti wanted to go to Jeevik week because she liked the challenge cleaning up after it might bring.

[answersfromzestual]

Do you have any advice for preparing to get phallo/the process leading up to it? Also any advice on staying stealth while getting the surgeries done? I'm currently stealth and am looking to get phallo if/when I can afford it, but I don't know where to begin or how to not out myself to people during the whole thing.

Okay, lots to answer here. We will start with phallo prep. Alright, so one of the first things you have to think about is your donor site. You have a few options: forearm, lower back, and thigh. You want sensitive skin because this will form your member. And if course making sure you are healthy, no smoking, etc.

I chose my forearm. No matter where you pick, hair removal is important. For example: check the inside of your non dominant arm and see how hairy it is. They use the inside of your forearm to make the urethra. We don't want fissures, so most important for hair removal is your inner forearm. You can easily stay stealth while prepping your donor site with hair removal. Lots of people "don't like body hair". Or "I really want this tattoo to be perfectly visible". You don't need to offer a lot of information, people really dont care. "I want to prep my arm for a tattoo sleeve, and i dont want the hair to grow back and wreck the design". But lets be honest, they are in the busy of hair removal and they want you there. They dont care why lol. Explaining the scarring on the forearm after phallo: I say I burned my arm working at one of my first jobs in fast food. People have never questioned me. In fact, they usually will take it upon themselves to tell me some sort of burn story of their own to relate? I guess. Either way, it's chill. dont sweat the scarring. Definitely look up places that laser or electrolysis in your areas, or if you're worried in a city over. The point is: your skin will continue to grow hair, whether it's thick or teeny soft ones. You don't want that inside you. Same goes for the outside, your member will grow hair if you don't get the hair permanently removed.

It hurts, I'm not going to lie to you. But you'll be very happy with the results in the future. It's worth it. So... look into some hair removal places.

Exercise is important. Wrist exercises to strengthen are good if you choose forearm.

I'm not sure if you've had any surgeries. But you will need to get a hysterectomy and an oophorectomy as like the first "surgery step" of phallo. It's important to have these surgeries, especially if you've been taking T for longer than 10 years. If you don't remove the uterus and ovaries but keep taking T... you have a very high risk of getting cancer. So please, if you can try to see an endocrinologist at least once to get some basic knowledge on the effects of the hormones in relation to the inner workings of the human body, that would be good.

Stealth wise: it's your body and you can be rid of whatever innards you want lol. Meaning: tell the doctor you don't want the uterus and ovaries, and you want them removed. When asked "why...are you sure". "Yes, I am absolutely sure. I could go into surgery today if you have an opening" They won't have one open obviously but the point is: be insistant and strong and stern. If the doctor needs reasons here are a few: I don't want kids. I am in pain because of my period and it's affecting my quality of life". USE SPECIFIC LANGUAGE: "this affects my quality of life"

When you're in the process of phallo to stay stealth I used the excuse of needing to have corrective surgeries on my penis. Honestly. I was staying with my inlaws for the last two surgeries and they do not know at all. And I told them I had issues with my urinary tract (for me i have kidney stones and I said one tore me up inside so I needed to fix it). And honestly you won't be up and moving a lot after the first process of phallo, I don't really think you'll have an issue having to hide that. I want not just you but every dude to know men pee sitting down a lot more often than you think. After your first stage chances are you will have too much swelling to do the urethra surgery at the same time (but it can be done, I've heard people tell me). Basically the internet can provide you with medical excuses and stuff to tell others if they get too "intimate" with you.

Hopefully this helps a bit. If you have follow up questions, you know where to go!

[dianthus-is-moving]

Describe your F/O to the person who may not know them well! Then tag 10 people to do the same.  I invite any followers who want to fill this out for their f/o(s), I’m always too shy to actually tag people 🙈 If you wanna do it, feel free!!

Thanks for the tag @ungalobrando!! Get ready, I have lots of thoughts about this man, some of these are headcanons because he deserves better

NAME: Hiromi Higa / Shadow

SOURCE: Sk8 the Infinity

TITLE(S): Lord Shadow, Anti-Hero of S (also dad and peepaw)

PET NAME(S): Honey bear, Romi-bear, punkin pie, piggie, sweet boy, my man (last one is almost always said in weird babytalk voice)

STATUS: Alive

SPECIES: Human / clown

GENDER: Male

SEXUALITY: Questioning / Bi (there’s no way he’s 100% straight)

PRONOUNS: He/him (sometimes she/her)

AGE: Twenty-freakin-FOUR!! (Though I’ve heard season 1 of Sk8 possibly takes place in 2019... So I guess he’d be around 27-28 now?? Good - our age gap is less than I thought 😅)

HEIGHT: 178cm / 5′10″ (looks taller as Shadow due to hair / boots... also I think this show pulls a Jojo sometimes and character heights are subjective to the situation bc he looks HUGE compared to the other characters at times)

WEIGHT: Only 73kg / 160lbs canonically but I refuse to believe that... there’s no way a hefty dude like him weighs so little. I think 170-180 AT LEAST is more reasonable for him, considering his size.

BODY TYPE: HIM BIG. Brawny and top-heavy. Broad-shouldered, muscular and somewhat toned but still a bit of chub - think rugby player build. Finding pants in Japan is a STRUGGLE cuz he’s tall and he ass too big. Skating is probably great for the buns and thighs tho

SKIN: Sorta medium beige with cool undertones. Would be SO cute with a farmer’s tan 🥺 Paints his nails sometimes. No real tattoos or piercings because he's too babie (I think he has a tongue ring only bc he lost a bet or had a rebellious streak when he was younger)

HAIR: Fluffy ginger undercut/mohawk. The depth of red in his hair changes with the lighting.

EYES: Gray, but very reflective and expressive

ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good/Chaotic neutral... I think...

INTERESTS: His manager 😂😭 flowers, flower language, gardening, music, board games, fitness / body building, makeup, drag, shoujo manga / anime, skateboarding, wrestling, languages (he speaks both English and French to some degree, and knows some Latin... I will not be convinced otherwise)... also kinda nosy and likes to learn about people. Dude’s got the gossip.

PROFESSION: Florist 💐

SKILLS: Skateboarding, makeup, creativity, sarcasm, costume design, minor pyrotechnics, acting, heavy lifting, customer service, flower arranging, driving (apparently drifting / rally style? Skrrt skrrrt?? WHERE DID YOU LEARN THAT SIR???)

He definitely can also touch his nose AND elbows with his tongue (... Is that a skill?!)

WEAKNESSES: Baseball bats 😂😭 poor baby, but for real... Insecurities, confidence, quick temper, inferiority / feeling like he has to prove himself, overthinking

COMPANIONS: Them boys!!! Aside from his own crew of followers at S, he serves as a brotherly figure / uncle / bruncle to the younger boys. Probably closest to Miya out of the main character group. Friends with Kaoru, idolizes Joe a bit and wants to be closer with both. Reki and Langa have tried to push him closer to Oka 👀

ENEMIES: KAZU (I genuinely hope Hiromi absolutely fucked his shit up and put him in the hospital too)(”Yeah I look bad, but you should see what I did to the other guy”)

PETS: No animals, but lots of house plants. I could see him having fish if anything, especially an aquarium with plants. Probably a fan of marimo moss balls 🥺

WEAPONS: 💪THESE GUNS💪 firecrackers (haemanthus bomb), laser pointer (gladiolus laser), snake ribbon things (violet spider) and apparently 80+ other secret attacks... I guess you could also count his board and the spikes on his costume??

SUBSTANCES: Alcohol (kind of a lightweight), he had cigarettes in the host club drama??? 😬 Hopefully smoking's just an occasional social thing

DRIVER LICENSE?: See above (yes - and he does deliveries for work in that car. Skrrt skrrt.)

[ilikemesometaetaes]

Don’t Hold Your Breath ~ jjk

Chapter Six (M)

•••> Author: @ilikemesometaetaes​

•••> Summary: As the CEO of an international government security company, you have the world at your fingertips. Living life lavishly and extravagantly has become the norm. Behind closed doors, however, you host a past that renders you lonely and, quite frankly, miserable. It’s only a matter of time before your past comes back to bite you right in the ass.

•••> Pairing(s): Jungkook/Reader, Taehyung/Reader (slight)

•••> Inspo: This fic is inspired by the song “SAVAGE ANTHEM” by PARTYNEXTDOOR. Thank you to @dariangarcia​​, @btssmutgalore​, and @junghoseokit​​ for supporting my work. To my mamas, Kaitlin, Adora, Lauren, Lanie, Lu, and Sher.

•••> Word Count: 7.81k

•••> Rating: 18+

•••> Tags: Jungkook x Reader | Tattooed!Jungkook | angst | smut | ceo!au | rockstar!au | CEO!Reader | Rockstar!Jungkook | AU!BTS | Exes to Lovers

•••> Warnings: angst, dirty talk, sexual teasing, heartbreak, cursing, pining, depression, breakup, emotional instability, arguing | Warnings are written specifically to chapter.

Copyright © 2021 ilikemesometaetaes. All Rights Reserved.

Taglist: @dariangarcia​​​ @apurpledheart​​​ @itsgottabeyoo-ngs​​​ @hytibm​​ @namjinsbaby​​ @ggukkieland​​ @fan-ati--c​​

If you’d like to be added to the taglist, say so in a comment to this chapter or the DHYB Main Page, or send me an ask!

NAVIGATION: Chapter Five (M) <- | -> Chapter Seven (M) -> Mini-Masterlist -> Series Masterlist

•••> Official Playlist 

~#~

“I put the dirt into dirtbag. Still got your jacket in my bag.”

THEN.

“Kookie!” You screamed in between breaths, eyes watering at the struggle. “Stop! Please!”

“No way!” His laugh was buried in your hair as he pressed his face against the back of your head. “Apologize!”

“For what?” You wheezed, attempting to get away from the curling fingers that tickled your ribs relentlessly. His long legs were wrapped around your body, restricting your movement and effectively taking away almost any opportunity to escape.

“For calling me a singing demon!” His hands continued their assault, sending you into another laughing fit. You fought helplessly against his tattooed arms.

You wanted to bite back, but the lack of air in your lungs prevented you from doing so. Your heart beat wildly, adrenaline spiking and arms flailing against his grip. Desperation flooding your mind, you wrapped your hand around the one that caged your neck and dug your nails into his flesh in hopes that the pain would get him to weaken his hold.

Jungkook only laughed again and hummed teasingly. “Oh, just like that. Harder, baby.”

Squirming didn’t help much, but when you shifted your hips and felt something poking into your spine, you huffed with defeat on the horizon. His obvious boner signified that he liked your struggle- a clear indicator that there was no way he was letting you go any time soon.

Unless…

With another shift of your hips to grind your ass upwards on him, seating his dick between your clothed ass cheeks, you let the situation take over your body with your brain rewiring into a horny mindset in order to distract him.

“Jungkook,” You whispered through a gasp, hoping the change of pace would throw him off. It was a stunt you always pulled; whether it be during an argument or sex, changing the pace would unfocus your boyfriend’s attention and give you the upper hand.

Sure enough, Jungkook’s embrace around you loosened so that he could give himself more room to slide his manhood against you.

“Oh, baby...” He grunted into your ear with a sliver of surprise tainting his lust.

Slowly, so as to not trigger him, you slid one hand down his stomach and slid two fingers below the waistband of his shorts. With your body on top of him, you couldn’t go further inward, so you settled on harshly scraping your nails across his hip while you dug your other hand harder into his forearm.

“Please.” You said with more air in your lungs. Finally, you could breathe.

“Are you begging for me to fuck you?” His dick twitched against you, desperate to bury itself between your thighs. “Or are you pleading for mercy? Tell me, Y/N,”

Jungkook flipped the two of you over so that your chest pressed into the bed and his entire body pinned you to the mattress with a swift cant of his hips. “Which one is it?”

For a moment, you rolled your eyes and struggled to look at him from your compromised position. It wasn’t until your eyes caught sight of the numbers on the clock sitting on the nightstand that you began struggling with a new burst of concern in your mind.

“Jungkook!” You wheezed. “The time!”

“Answer my question, Y/N. I can stay here all night. The stage can wait.”

“But you’ll be late!” Your voice increased in volume.

“Only if you continue avoiding my question…” Jungkook trailed off for a moment before he leaned down to murmur softly in your ear. “Well, I’ll only be late if you refuse to let go of your pride to ask for mercy and beg for my cock instead. I will rearrange your guts if that is what you’re asking for.”

You huffed in frustration, the desire to fuck your boyfriend dissipating with his words. You knew that Jimin would be through the roof by now, searching high and low for the lead singer of BTS to dress him properly.

“Mercy.” You finally grumbled in defeat, not wanting to delay him any longer.

Almost disappointedly, Jungkook grunted as he removed his weight from on top of you. “Fine.”

“I’ll go turn on the car.” You got up and swiped the keys off of your dresser, thankful that you were still dressed in your internship clothes.

“You go do that.” Jungkook chuckled whilst sliding his shorts off of his body to reveal a very obvious boner tenting his boxers that you pretended to be oblivious of. “You’re a master at turning me on so I trust you with that.”

“Ew.” You grimaced at the poorly-delivered joke. “That was terrible.”

“No, it wasn’t. It was clever.” Jungkook chided.

“Not at all.” You quipped. After you watched him slide a pair of jeans up his muscular legs, you turned to leave. You just needed to make sure he got dressed. “I’ll be in the car.”

~#~

Jimin’s knowledge of art always mystified you. His prowess wasn’t the type of intelligence like knowing how Picasso depicted the loss of innocence in Guernica or how the melting clocks of Dali introduced surrealism to the world of art- no, that was Taehyung’s strong-suit.

Jimin knew how to create his own version of art that left viewers wistful and in absolute awe by making a stage the vessel of his masterpieces.

As you sat on the balcony, overlooking the crowd while they all thrashed and jumped to the beat of Hoseok’s bass drum and the duo of guitars that was Namjoon and Jungkook, you just had to sit back in your chair and stare at the composition that was Jimin’s show.

Flashes of blue and red lights swept across the crowd, printing themselves temporarily into the crowd’s retinas so that when the opposite color came back, a light hue of purple was brought into the experience for a fleeting moment. Short puffs of fire whenever Namjoon strummed a power chord warmed your face, even from the distance in which you sat from the stage, and lasers shot through the crowd every time Yoongi penetrated the sounds of his group with the keys of his keyboard.

Graphics on the jumbotron behind the band, which were also of Jimin’s creation, outlined each member with curls of dark, tentacle-like wisps that matched the purple hue of the crowd with its raven color.

The last song of the setlist, Blue and Grey, was one you were all too familiar with. The lights faded to a soft blue for a moment as Taehyung began the first strong notes with his bass and the crowd in the venue whooped and hollered in excitement- Blue and Grey was BTS’ most popular song. A year and a half into their journey of being a band and they already had a crowd favorite.

As Taehyung continued his bass line with his guitar and tattooed strumming arm put on display by Jimin’s spotlight, Jungkook leaned into the mic and began strumming his own guitar.

“Where is my angel?”

You sighed and leaned forward in your seat, loving the way Jungkook’s voice carried throughout the performance hall.

Taehyung accompanied Jungkook with the intro until Hoseok joined in to transition into the first verse with his high hat and snare drum.

Once the chorus hit, you couldn’t help but stand from your seat as you began to feel the power of BTS’ music rocking the venue.

“I just wanna be happier. To melt the cold me.”

Jungkook’s neck veins bulged from his skin as he belted out the notes, sweat dribbling down his temples from exertion. Even as he huffed for breath in between his lines, the image of him dressed in all black and owning the stage while ripping his fingers through his guitar strings was one you could never get tired of.

The songs were full of angst- the dark, unspoken feelings that not many people talked about- and you loved how you heard them from Jungkook through music. If only he were this honest when it was just the two of you.

“Don’t say it’s okay, ‘cause it’s not okay.” Jungkook closed up his lines with a heartbreaking tone that every fan in the crowd sang along with as Namjoon prepared to sing his part. For a brief moment, your boyfriend met your eyes across the large venue.

“Please don’t leave me alone. It hurts too much.”

~#~

NOW.

You walked into your building, grateful for the warm protection it offered against the freezing winter of New York City.

Noticing the lack of staff around, being that there was only the elevator operator and the receptionist sitting behind the marble counter, you glanced at your watch to check just how long you spent working.

20:17, your watch read. You had been working in front of computer screens and reading contracts for almost 9 hours.

“Greetings, ma’am!” The receptionist stood from his chair. “May I be of any service to you this evening?”

You shook your head to the man and continued on your path to the elevator where the other employee in the lobby waited to take you up. “None needed. I’ll be leaving momentarily.”

“Very well. Please let me know if you need anything.” He sat back down and turned his gaze to the computer in front of him.

The sound of your pumps echoed against the vast but empty room until you stopped in front of the elevator where the woman already had the doors opening in preparation.

“Good evening, ma’am.” She said lowly.

“ ‘Evening.” You responded, stepping inside without another word. The woman kept the conversation at that, which you appreciated, so you smiled at her in gratitude after you placed your key in the penthouse slot. She returned your smile with her own before the doors closed to encase you in silence.

The ride up was quiet, warranting you to pull out your phone so that you could read over your conversation with Taehyung again.

Why am I wearing think socks? I hate thick socks.

Read at 8:01 pm

Trust me. You’ll regret it if you don’t.

Is that so? Why?

Read 8:03 pm

Just wear the damn socks, Y/N.

Are you gonna tell me where we’re going?

Read 8:04 pm

Negative, captain

Tf

Why am I a captain now

Read 8:04 pm

Cuz I said so. Now stop talking or you’ll make me give away my position

Alright.

Read 8:05 pm

I said stop talking

…?

Read 8:05 pm

Fucking hell.

You let a small giggle slip past your lips at how normal the text conversation was. It was as if you never stopped talking to him, slipping into the normalcy of having Taehyung back in your life as quickly as it had been to cut him out of it. You zoned out for a moment in thought.

The strange sensation of friendship didn’t take any getting used to as it settled itself back into your bones and filled your heart with warmth like it never left- like the ice covering the beating organ was only temporary. As you stood alone, staring shallowly at the increasing floor numbers, you smiled in content.

The elevator slowed as the cabin came close to reaching the top floor, bringing you back to your senses. Sliding your phone back into the pocket of your slacks, you looked up once the elevator doors opened, only to drop your briefcase to the floor loudly.

Jungkook sat against the wall beside your door with his knees tucked under his chin and his arms wrapped around his legs. At the sound of your clumsiness clattering on the ground, his gaze snapped to you as he scrambled to stand up.

Anger flooded you immediately. You wanted to backhand him and rip his hair out. You wanted to scream and cry and lose your shit. However much you wanted to hurt him, though, you could not afford catching an assault charge on the man who defaced you once before.

There was a break of silence as you stood staring at him, unsure of how to handle the punch in your mood while the memories were forced to surface in your mind.

“Y/N…” Jungkook trailed, breaking the tangible barrier of tension. He took a step forward whilst obviously hesitating. “I-”

Instead of screaming at him, you went for the more sophisticated and controlled route to keep your lividity at bay whilst stopping his sentence in its tracks.

“How did you get up here?” It was a sensible question to ask. You just wanted to prevent him from deepening the conversation.

“I pulled some strings.” He murmured, looking down almost shyly, before piping up with more confidence. “But listen, I-”

“Save it.” You cut him off again, unable to control your facade much longer. “Get the fuck out of my face.”

His anxious expression turned worried- desperate. You didn’t miss the way his eyes became more expressive than you’ve ever seen them. “Please, Y/N.”

“Please what, Jungkook?”

“Please just give me a moment to speak.”

For a beat, you pondered his request. Taehyung’s words weighed heavily on your mind. We needed to talk.

Fuck talking. You have been done talking for ages.

“Wow.” You scoffed coldly, ice barriers slamming back into place over your heart. Taehyung had been able to melt them away, but Jungkook put them right back with fierce determination to completely ruin you. “You just want to take everything from me, huh?”

“Y/N, what-“ He blinked cluelessly, caught off-guard by your sarcasm.

“I gave you years to speak, Jungkook. I gave you everything.” You stepped forward, the boiling rage overtaking your body, and came to a stop in front of him with the fury of a charging bull. You wanted him to feel small and vulnerable.

“What else could I possibly give you? I have nothing left.” He took everything. The veins in your body were emptied and exhausted of every single ounce of energy to fight for someone.

You were unaware of the way Jungkook’s fists were clenched so tight that his knuckles turned white and his nails dug into his palms.

You failed to notice how much he trembled under your gaze, physically struggling to protect his butterfly from your wrath.

Your vicious swings at the dainty being of hope were nothing compared to what he, himself, had done to it. Jungkook found it ironic that you gave him an aspect that he was just barely strong enough to protect yet took the darker things from inside him and destroyed them as if they were mere placeholders- as if you were his puppeteer.

You were too stressed to realize the toll it took on Jungkook to keep his act together. He needed to keep the door open long enough to be your friend. Anything to prevent losing you. Earlier, his demons swooped in and overtook him, suffocating him to silence once again, but for the first time, they ebbed away at the mere thought of you.

As he walked down the street with his stage persona flowing, the simple thought of your name empowered his butterfly to beat its wings so fiercely that it blew away all of the impending smoke and dark tentacles of smog that threatened to overtake his vision.

Once he thought of you, he thought of everything.

Your anger was justified. He understood that now. Watching you huff breath after breath following your question was somehow relieving- you still cared enough to be pissed off. Jungkook forced himself to look on the bright side of the encounter with you; he made himself see that you were still passionate about the past. You were passionately upset and he couldn’t be happier.

He had seen you with Taehyung. He saw the way you were happy again. Jungkook wanted a part of that because he was too selfish to back off and stay dormant in your life- too determined to make you silence his demons.

Even if it was just as a friend. He could deal with that.

“You’re right.” Jungkook stated.

You paused in your tracks at the concession. Anger no longer blazing- staying right where it was- you quirked an eyebrow at him. Any time the two of you fought, he would never come even close to alluding that you were right.

“You’re right and I’m sorry, Y/N.”

An apology.

Words always seemed minimal to you. Unless to communicate information, you found that words filled with feeling didn’t mean much from someone you didn’t know.

After Jungkook, anyone that told you they loved you was promptly deemed a liar. Kate worked hard to make sure you were aware of the fact that she would actually take a bullet for you because of how much she loved you. She spent moment after moment proving to you that she cared deeply even though she didn’t have to put up with you.

Your parents, despite not talking to you much, expressed their love and gratitude whenever you sent them money. You knew they were hard workers like you and didn’t have time to worry about trivial things like words. Instead of taking the easy way out by simply telling you that they loved you, they showed you.

But Jungkook, who claimed to love you in the way that a lover would- the only person to actually do so- lied.

You could never trust the words in that way again.

Still, you couldn’t help but be taken by surprise.

“I’m right? Really?”

“Y/N, you’ve been right since the beginning. I took and took and just stopped giving back. I understand that you’re angry and I want to fix it so that you don’t hate me anymore. I want to make it right.”

You were silent. You hadn’t expected him to admit his fault so easily. Jungkook changing the pace of your conversation ruined your momentum, sending you stumbling and scrambling for thoughts.

Jungkook sighed for a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line as he let his eyes drop to the floor in your silence. He wasn’t about to lose the opportunity to elaborate further, though.

“Look, I know I fucked up. Bad. I know you can’t possibly forgive me right now, but I want you to know that I’m sorry for the things I’ve done to you.”

Your automatic reaction to being emotionally pushed came back, closing you down and disguising you as a cold woman.

“What the fuck do you know? What the fuck do you know about how badly you fucked up? I don’t need your lame-ass apology, Jungkook. I don’t know you and you don’t know me. Stop pretending that you do. Sure, we fucked a little and kissed a few times, but that’s all that it was.” You grit out the last few words, lying through your teeth. “Now please move. You’re blocking the door.”

Shockingly, Jungkook obeyed. He stepped aside and clasped his hands behind his back without another word, allowing you to walk to your door and open it.

Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

No matter how many times you repeated the words in your head, commanding yourself to abide by the mantra as if it were law, the emotions in your head managed to break through and force your head to turn back after stepping through the doorway.

Jungkook stood as still as a statue, staring at you with a blank expression that was almost eerie. You glanced down quickly, unable to maintain the eye contact, and noticed that his knuckles were clenched.

It was almost as if he was a completely different person because of the fact that his appearance was drastically different from that of BTS Jungkook. The man that stood in front of you was no rockstar. He was not an idol nor a role model that millions looked up to.

He was a scared boy. The fear that riddled his eyes was extremely difficult to miss and it made him seem almost small whilst standing in the small junction between the elevator and your penthouse.

You shut the door in his face impulsively, hoping that you wouldn’t have to see him again.

Backing away from the door slightly, you waited until you heard the elevator signal that its doors were closing before going to look through the peephole. You finally released your breath and slumped against the door when you saw that he had left.

Without his presence putting you on edge and keeping you on your toes, you could finally reflect on the conversation that just transpired.

He admitted his wrongdoings and apologized for them. He showed you his belly and became vulnerable. He admitted defeat.

Jungkook wasn’t an apologetic person in the slightest; he wasn’t a forgiving one either. In all the years that you had known him, he was headstrong and stubborn- if you looked past the part where he closed himself off and cheated, of course.

This Jungkook, the one you had just spoken to, was not the one you remember. Maybe you were right. Maybe you didn’t know him anymore.

Your phone vibrating in your pocket distracted you from pondering any further over the epiphany, prompting you to pull it out and fumble with it to get away from the confusing subject. You were thankful for the distraction.

Kim Taehyung (BTS)

I’ll be out front in 15 mins

Cursing internally, you left the idea of Jungkook behind you and rushed to change into clothes better suited for the cold weather.

It was a given that a small smile pulled at the corner of your lips when you slid thick tube socks over your ankles. You hadn’t actually worn tube socks in ages because they didn’t exactly go with your usual professional style of suits and heels.

You zipped your coat up about three-fourths of the way before turning to look at yourself in your mirror with a huff.

Suddenly, you were bombarded with a memory as it flashed before your eyes.

“You know you look good, babe.”

You giggled as Jungkook came up behind you to look at you in the reflection, setting his chin on your shoulder while he used his tongue to toy with the hoop pierced into his lip.

“Thanks, Kook. Just want to look my best is all.” You met his eyes in your bedroom mirror, smiling softly.

“Well, you look beautiful.”

You were left staring at the empty space where his face was, unsure of how to react as you stumbled back from the intrusion. Another meaningless scene came barging into your senses before you could process the first.

“Wow…” You trailed off as you looked at the angry red spot on Jungkook’s chest. A brand new tattoo, the size of your hand, raised out of his skin and shined under the luminescent light of the tattoo parlor. With the tattoo artist cleaning up his station behind the two of you, you were left to admire his beauty in his reflection.

Jungkook stood shirtless in front of the full-length mirror as he smiled brightly at the last tattoo to complete his set. Your eyes drank in the way each exhibit of inked art contrasted with his smooth, caramel expanse of skin while you stood behind him.

The new piece, which was almost large enough to touch the Chinese characters stamped onto the side of his neck and the back of his ear, was a depiction of an angel falling from the heavens. The detail in the blackening feathers attached to the angel’s back was mesmerizing, drawing all of the attention from the rest of the tattoos covering Jungkook’s chest.

“Is there any special meaning behind it?” You asked, knowing that your boyfriend had a few meaningless tattoos that were part of his ‘woke-up-and-it-was-there’ collection.

For a moment, Jungkook stayed silent as he studied the work of art in the mirror. It wasn’t until you called his name again that he answered your question while meeting your gaze in the reflection.

“Nah. It just looked really cool to me.”

You pressed your hand to your forehead and looked away from your mirror, wondering why- now, of all times- you just had to remember those small memories.

You didn’t miss him- you know you didn’t. But something within you twisted at the thought of being with him- the memory of how it felt to be his.

The disconnect between the feelings of your heart and the thoughts of your mind, ever so obvious, shifted. His apology was unexpected, to say the least, but it was also surprisingly heartfelt and pulling on your need to forgive.

Saved by the bell, your landline phone began to ring.

You rushed to the bedside table and grabbed the phone from its dock, pulling it to your ear.

“Ms. Y/L/N? It’s the front desk. Mr. Kim Taehyung is here and waiting for you.”

“Got it. Thank you. I’ll be down in a moment.” You hung up the phone and grabbed your wallet and keys before shuffling over to your desk to grab your briefcase on instinct.

“Wait,” you spoke aloud, laughing at yourself and withdrawing your reach. “I don’t need that.”

As you opened the door to your penthouse, the sound of something lightly hitting your door had you looking down.

A small, navy blue bag, the size of your palm, swung from the doorknob and hit lightly against the wood from the momentum of you opening your door. Confused, you unhooked the loop from the doorknob and looked inside the bag to find a familiar-looking box inside.

Gingerly, you pulled it out and opened it. In the way of the box’s contents was a folded piece of notebook paper with your name scrawled across the top in Jungkook’s messy handwriting.

You held your breath after reading the note and looked down at the small charm.

Since you gave me yours, I’ll give you mine. -jk

In the fabric of the satin display lay the familiar gold chain that Jungkook gifted you those few years ago, but, instead of the small J that you were so familiar with, lay your own initial.

You knew Jungkook’s way with words well enough to know that the small note connected his intentions to the chain. You were instantly pulled back to the night that he gifted the necklace to you in the first place.

“It’s beautiful. Happy one-year, babe.” You whispered onto his lips with a smile.

After you sat back into your seat, Jungkook walked to your side of the table to put the chain around your neck. “I obviously have the describe how much this necklace means so that you never take it off.”

You laughed. “I wouldn’t even dream of taking it off, Kook.”

“I still need to explain. It was like a message from heaven when I saw them in the jewelry store.” He pouted, returning to his seat. “So the idea with these is that we’re wearing parts of each other. You’re wearing the part of me that belongs to you and I’m wearing the part of you that belongs to me.”

Jungkook continued as he raised his glass. “So even though you think this necklace is yours because it’s your letter, it’s actually mine.”

You cocked your head in confusion, struggling to understand the concept. “What are you talking about?”

“It sounded so much better in my head, I swear.”

You understood the idea now.

Push off the emotions. Don’t think about them.

You were hellbent on ignoring the weakness, knowing full well what path you would go down if you let them get to you.

Instead, you made your way down to the lobby with the bag gripped tightly in your mitten-clad hands, heading to the desk with determination furrowing your brow. Even as Taehyung stood from the small sofa in the lobby upon seeing you, you did not spare him a glance.

Forcefully, you thrusted the bag into the receptionists’ face, internally wincing at your rude gesture.

“Please put this in the lost and found. I have no idea where it came from.”

The receptionist did well at hiding his expression, however, you could still see a sense of somber recognition behind his eyes. You decided not to press him seeing as you want to avoid the topic of Jungkook like the plague.

“Understood, ma’am.” He took the bag from your grasp before you had the chance to rethink addressing his slip of emotion, placing it in a drawer by his knee. He looked back up and gestured to Taehyung after locking the drawer. “Mr. Kim is here for you.”

You sighed in a mild sense of accomplishment, forcing yourself to shut out the regret and sadness for giving away a formerly precious memory, before turning to face Taehyung with a small smile to mask your inner turmoil. Your smile faltered when you noticed that Taehyung mirrored the same expression on his face that the receptionist wore.

“What?” You asked, walking to him.

“I just-” He looked down for a moment, scowling, and you noticed he had placed his small barbell back into his eyebrow. “-nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Why won’t you tell me anything?” The two of you had walked to the door, stopping before going out into the cold so that you could finish your conversation.

“Like I said before, it’s not my place to say or judge.”

Taehyung opened the door to an icy gust of wind before you could protest, chilling you into a mind-numbing stupor as you whispered, “Holy fucking shit.”

“Good god, it is freezing.” Taehyung mumbled, linking an arm around your body and ushering you towards his SUV across the sidewalk.

Once sat inside the warmth of the cabin, you shivered in satisfaction at the heat gracing your body.

“Please tell me we’re not going to be outside for whatever we’re doing.” You pleaded to him. The light from the city was filtered by the darkened car windows, however, you could still see Taehyung’s shoulders moving up and down when he chuckled.

“Unfortunately, we are, but fortunately, I brought some heat packs for us.”

You whined in protest, looking up to the GPS screen in front of the driver to see if you could identify where the two of you were going. Without a route plotted, you were left even more curious.

About twenty minutes of small talk and a brief roast session targeting Hoseok later, you sat in front of the ice skating rink at the Rockefeller Center.

“We’re ice skating?” You asked, suddenly in shock. You hadn’t been ice skating since-

No. Stop it. Your mind warred with itself as it suppressed the memory threatening to spill over into your eyes.

“You’re quite the detective.” Taehyung’s sentence was drenched in sarcasm, functioning as the perfect distraction, and prompted you to lightly shove him with a giggle as you exited the vehicle.

“I thought I was a captain.” You pouted against the cold, pulling your hat down on your head even further in hopes of retaining your body heat and warmth from the van.

“You are.” Taehyung laughed again. “Captain Detective.”

You only rolled your eyes at his playfulness before you turned to face the rink from the sidewalk. A person passing behind you and bumping into your back lightly had you cursing New York City’s busy and bustling population.

Seeing all of the people on the rink, you instantly remembered that you did not inform Jay of your whereabouts.

“Do we have security?” Worry riddled your brain as you turned to look at him with your eyes widening in a panic. You became hyperaware of all of the possible outcomes to Taehyung being identified in such a crowded place.

Taehyung sighed as he walked you up to the ticket booth. “We don’t. I just want to have a normal and plain but fun time with my friend- without someone glaring at me like they don’t want to be here while they breathe down my neck.”

Despite understanding his statement, you couldn’t help the automatic stress to being in public without any form of protection.

“Taehyung,” You warned, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Y/N,” He mocked your tone childishly before leveling it to his regular voice. “Relax, weirdo. We’re here to have fun and people are too busy having their own fun to notice us.”

“I doubt that.”

It wasn’t until you got your rental skates tightly secured onto your feet and began walking toward the ice that Taehyung mentioned a vital detail that he definitely should have mentioned prior to arriving at the center.

“You what?” You were baffled to say the least.

“I can’t skate.” He sheepishly brought his hand to the back of his head and adjusted his trapper hat under your scrutiny.

“Then why did we come?” You were almost yelling at that point.

“Because Brian told me that you liked ice skating!” Taehyung gripped at your fingers tightly, anxiety getting the best of him.

Fucking hell, Brian.

“Did he?” Your laugh was almost hysterical because of how wrong he was. You were becoming increasingly hesitant about giving your personal assistant a raise now.

Still, it was worth the effort. Brian was just trying to help the world’s most popular bassist when he came to him in need of information. It was a decent attempt.

“Yeah,” Taehyung huffed. “He did.”

“Well, Tae, I’ll have you know,” You moved towards the ice rink with determination. “I haven’t been ice skating in ages and I hardly like it. Hopefully, I still have muscle memory.”

“Oh god.” Taehyung groaned, tipping his head back as the feeling of imminent and utter chaos ensued. “Fucking hell, Brian.”

As soon as you stepped on the ice, you realized that you were still perfectly coordinated enough to complete the task.

Taehyung, on the other hand, clung to the walls like the world was attempting to swallow him into the ground. Dutifully, you stood next to him with a cautious hand on his back in the case that he went tumbling.

The sight was one to behold.

Kim Taehyung, hard core rockstar- the physical definition of a stereotypical ‘bad boy’- with tattoos littering his skin and a glistening eyebrow piercing that was winking at you from under his gray trapper, stood hunched over and afraid as he moved baby step-by-baby step to proceed further around the rink. You couldn’t help but giggle as the man who possessed the prowess of an elegant panther on stage adopted the likes of a stumbling newborn giraffe within the span of five minutes.

You were still concerned for him despite how funny it was. Tentatively, you reached your hand to grip his shoulder and urged him to look at you.

“Tae, are you okay? We can do something else if you’d like.”

“No, it’s okay.” He wheezed in effort. “I got this.”

Making a show out of how brave he was, Taehyung stood up straight on shaky legs and began progressing forward by attempting to walk on the ice.

“I can show you how t-” Taehyung cut off your offer before you could finish it.

“I’ve been shown countless times how to skate and the best I can do is walk and maybe slide forward a little. I’m a lost cause, Y/N.” Even though he seemed upset, Taehyung couldn’t help but crack a smile at how clumsy he was.

You smiled pitifully at your clumsy friend before you stepped in front of him. “Here, hold onto my shoulders and we’ll slide forward together.”

All Taehyung could do was begrudgingly agree, hating the idea of having to lean on you for support but wanting to remain close to you for the majority of the night. Once he placed his hands tightly on your shoulders, you moved.

At first, you skated slowly so that Taehyung could adjust to the feeling of being pulled forward. Once he got the hang of keeping his legs locked so that you could move around easier, you skated at a normal speed.

After about ten minutes of joking around and catching Taehyung’s slipping form a handful of times, your mind was left free and without defense.

You hadn’t realized how vulnerable you were because of it.

“Y/N, slow down! I can’t go that fast!”

Your breathing came to a halt at the voice that echoed in your ears.

“Here, hold my hand and we’ll skate together.”

Panicking, you rushed your mind to shut it out. No. Stop.

Unknowingly, the chaos in your mind and the desperate need to get away from the memories had you gradually increasing your own speed to subconsciously escape your thoughts.

Taehyung’s nervous laugh and call of your name in warning fell on deaf ears while you furrowed your eyebrows in concentration.

“See? It’s easy. Just step and lean. Step- and lean.” His hand clutched yours as if he was trying to squeeze all of the blood from your fingers but you only squeezed back in reassurance.

“Don’t let me fall, please.”

Taehyung’s skate crashing into the back of yours served as the perfect distraction, yet it only lasted for a split second as the two fo you went tumbling to the ice in a hauntingly familiar manner.

In the process of falling, Taehyung had managed to wrap his arms around your waist and twist his body so that he could take most of the impact from the ice. Landing on top of him with an ‘oof’ reminded you of the last time you went ice skating.

Even with your face mere centimeters from your friend’s, all you saw was him.

Taehyung’s small puffs of air against your lips were an indicator of how close you were to kissing him. Truly, you could kiss him if you wanted to, needing only to relax your neck and let your head fall to close the rest of the minimal gap between you. He looked up at you with wide eyes, holding onto your gaze with an unreadable expression on his face.

All you saw, however, was a small mole dotting the underside of his lips. Fuck, you wanted to kiss Taehyung and rid yourself of the nightmare, but you couldn’t shake the sensation of how wrong it felt to kiss anyone but Jungkook.

“Y/N,” Taehyung called your name cautiously and pulled you from your thoughts. Instantly, your eyes welled with tears at the realization of how fucked you were.

You yanked yourself from him with abandon, needing to get far away from the reminder that you couldn’t move on.

Kim Taehyung was mature. He was kind and respectful- everything you could ask for in a man- yet the thoughts of Jungkook and the good memories you had with him outweighed the bad, preventing you from truly letting go.

Before Taehyung could protest, you stood and left him on the ice, making for a quick exit. You wanted to go back and help him up so that he wasn’t in danger, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at his face in this setting.

Instead, you skated off the rink and walked to the skate rental area, plopping down on the bench weakly to untie the laces. Once you did so, you set them on the counter and waited for your boots with your eyes on the ground. You didn’t want anyone to see you on the brink of crying.

“Y/N!” Taehyung’s voice was loud and attention-grabbing. You had half the mind to be concerned that he would cause people to notice him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you finally got your boots and rushed to put them on. Taehyung was finally off the ice when you slid the first boot on.

“Y/N,” He called your name again, awkwardly approaching you with the blades still on his feet. “Please, talk to me.”

You could only sniffle in response and continue to put your boots back on, a fresh wave of tears welling in your eyes and threatening to spill onto your cheeks. You’d kept them at bay thus far but Taehyung was making it extremely difficult as his comfort approached you. The welcome yet heartbreaking aura he exhumed paired with your teetering emotional stability wouldn’t fare well in such a public setting.

Without hesitation, you stood and walked away once you were done securing your shoes back on your feet. Again, you felt the urgent need to be alone.

And again, Taehyung was right behind you as he ran without putting his shoes back on.

“Y/N!” He grabbed you as he called your name more sternly, forcing you to face him. Your eyes met his briefly before you looked back down to the pavement and cursed yourself once a tear slipped out. “Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Because I-” Your breath caught in your throat as it constricted due to the beginning of a sob building in your chest. You cleared your throat and struggled to breathe your way through your response- one you had trouble communicating. “-I just can’t.”

Taehyung grimaced, looking around with concern, before he ushered your body to begin walking away from the busy area.

Once you were a good distance down the street, he grabbed both of your shoulders and forced you to face him once again. Away from the well-lit area of the ice rink, the only light that shone in the middle of the dark night was that of the street lights. With bated breath, you looked up at your friend with your mouth closed tightly so that the sob in your chest wouldn’t come barging past your lips.

The pain was nearly unbearable. It anguished you, knowing that you were stupid enough to think that you could eventually move on from Jungkook. It pained you, being aware of the fact that Taehyung had offered himself to you and you did nothing but continue to look at Jungkook.

But most of all, it hurt that you still wanted Jungkook.

If only you could reach into your chest and tear your heart out so that you couldn’t feel anymore. If only you could shut off your feelings so that it didn’t agonize you like this. If only it were that easy.

Under the light of the street lamps with Taehyung’s look of pity- the one he held as he looked at you across the club on that dreadful night those few years ago- on you, you broke.

As you began sobbing, Taehyung pulled you against his body and backed up into the darkness to give you the privacy to cry without being seen.

The pain stabbed your heart repeatedly; quick blows, shallow at first, became increasingly deep as you drowned in the memories of what once was.

Falling so passionately in love became your biggest regret. For so long, you hated the idea. You hated the fact that you still loved Jungkook notwithstanding the things he had done. You denied the fact until you started seeing the good memories again- until it was an unavoidable and objective truth.

The truth that you still loved him.

As Taehyung held you tightly in his embrace while you held your hands to your face and dug your nails into your skin, you sobbed uncontrollably at how completely and royally fucked you were.

“W-why-” You blubbered into your palms. “-why do I-I still lo-ove him?”

“Because your heart wants what it wants, Y/N. You have no control over that.”

At this point, you had to tell him how you felt- how you truly felt.

“I w-wish that it wa-anted you. I’m so sorry, T-Tae.”

“Hey, now. Don’t say that. It’s a waste of time to wish for things that you have no control over. Don’t waste a wish on something stupid like that.” Taehyung pressed his face to the top of your head, pressing his lips there to leave a small kiss. “Besides, I have someone waiting for me back home so you don’t need to worry anymore.”

Instantly, you looked up at him in shock while still hiccuping. “You do?”

“Of course.” Taehyung laughed warmly, smiling down at you. “I wasn’t gonna be stuck on you forever. One way or another, you move on.”

“It’s been years since I’ve even seen him, Tae. The fact that I still haven’t moved on despite that has to tell you something.”

“Which is why I told you that you still need to talk to him. You can’t move on or do anything about the way you feel unless you communicate it.” He pulled back to bend his body to become eye-level with you so that he could look you in the eyes as he spoke. “There’s things you don’t know.”

For a moment, you weighed his words in your mind. If they’re things that Taehyung can’t tell you because they’re ‘not his place’ to say, then you figure that the matter must be a serious one. Your curiosity was getting the best of you. It wasn’t long before you gave in.

“Yeah…” You trailed off in hesitation, suddenly regretting shutting out Jungkook. “I guess I do need to talk to him.”

“Please just… take your time and be patient with him.” Taehyung winced slightly. “He’s hot-headed but he’s a lot better than he was before. I promise you that.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Taehyung.” You scowled as you backed out of his embrace.

“You know I don’t. I would never suggest that you talk to him if he was the same as he was before.”

A few beats of silence passed before you asked the question that had been nagging at your mind since your revelation of remaining love for the lead singer of BTS.

“Do you think we still have a chance?”

Taehyung answered immediately. “That’s not my place to judge. All I know is that you guys did something sad like being broke up even though you had life.”

“Good god, Tae,” You huffed out a laugh. “Are you quoting Lil Dicky right now?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Taehyung crossed his arms and let out a small ‘hmph’ as he lightly stomped his foot onto the sidewalk. “And you can’t stop me.”

For a while, Taehyung let you catch your breath and calm down while looking up and down the street. It seemed as if he was planning something.

Before you could process what he was doing, Taehyung took you by your arm, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, and began walking across the street. You looked up in the direction of your path and noticed that you were heading towards the quaint coffee shop that seemed to be the only open place at the current hour.

Your eyes hurt from crying. Your chest ached from sobbing and hiccuping. Your heart and head hurt as they came to blows with each other. You were slowly beginning to freeze as the calming of your emotions slowed your heart and cooled your body. It was so fucking cold.

You could use a coffee right about now.

~#~

Thank you for reading, reader! If you’d like to check out the rest of my work, feel free to visit my Masterlist!

[roman-writing]

no great revelation (3/8)

Fandom(s): The Haunting of Bly Manor / Star Wars

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Tyalor

Rating: T

Wordcount: 6,444

Summary: Jamie just wants to enjoy a drink after a hard day’s work on the Telosian Restoration Project. The last thing she needs is to get herself  caught up in a mysterious woman with a lightsabre at the local bar.

Aurthor’s notes: Please don’t expect anything from this story. I’m just doodling in between writing ch11 and ch12 of ‘bring home a haunting.’

read it below or read it here on AO3

III.

—

The only transport with availability they could find on short notice was a nine day trip through hyperspace on the Hydian way with a stopover on Coruscant to jump on another transport for the Byss Run. ‘Short notice’ actually being: a seven hour wait in the public hangar bays, during which both Jamie and Dani hunkered down on an unlit bench and attempted to look as inconspicuous as possible. By the end Jamie — who was not by nature a person inclined to sitting still — was ready to claw out of her own skin if it meant getting up and actually doing something. And to really make things worse, the last tickets on the transport were for eighth class quarters with only one sleeping cot. 

“I didn’t even know they had an eighth class,” Dani muttered. She tugged at the hood of her cloak as they were jostled down the crowded corridor that led deep into the belly of the ship. 

“The joys of being a Service Corps brat,” Jamie said dryly, then she grunted when she caught an elbow to the back of her knee. She growled over her shoulder at the huddle of little robed Jawas pressing in close behind her. “Hit me again, I fuckin’ dare you.”

The only response to her threats was a series of skitterish language and rude gestures. One Jawa even jumped up and down, miming hitting her again. Jamie was sorely tempted to get her handheld mining laser out and have a go, but there were about seven of them and the very idea of being dogpiled by a bunch of children-sized robe-rats was too much to bear. 

Dani seemed to not see this interaction at all, and was focused entirely on pushing ahead. She squinted at the faded room numbers over each of the narrow doors, and said, “I think this is us.” 

“About bloody time,” Jamie grumbled.

She and Dani scooched closer to the wall and as far out of the way as possible to let the mass of other low level passengers by. Jamie glared at each of the Jawas as they passed, and each Jawa in turn fixed her with their glowing yellow eyes, while Dani swiped the laminated card they’d been issued by the ticket officer. A light on the door flashed red. Dani muttered something under her breath and swiped the card again, and with a blink of green light the door hissed open.

The room inside was small enough that Jamie could hold out both arms and touch the walls on either side. The sleeping cot was little more than a slit in the wall with storage lockers built into the wall beneath. The most uncomfortable metal bench Jamie had ever seen crouched in the far corner, bolted into the wall as well to prevent theft. They hadn’t even bothered pretending there was space to make food; for the next nine days it was all dietary supplements or overly priced galley grub on the upper canteen deck. 

“Looks cosy,” Jamie said, peering in over Dani’s shoulder. 

“How long did that droid say the trip was again?” Dani asked, gripping the straps of her bag at her shoulder.

“Nine days.”

The two of them looked back, and marinated in the notion that they would be spending nine whole days in such close quarters that one could barely turn in a circle without hitting the other. 

“Where are the bathrooms?” Dani asked.

“Dunno. Let’s find out.” 

Jamie nudged at Dani’s back, and the two of them stepped inside. The door hissed shut behind them automatically and sealed itself with the blink of another red light. While Dani set down her bag on the bench, Jamie started hitting random buttons on the panel by the door to see what they all did. The first dimmed all the lights. Useful. She turned them back on. The second opened the door again, which she quickly shut. The third opaqued the tiny port hole that admitted a view of the cramped hallway outside. And the fourth slid back a wall panel opposite the cot.

“Found the toilet,” Jamie said. “And the shower.”

Dani, who had crouched down to open the storage lockers beneath the cot, straightened and turned around. She made a face. “All in one?”

Jamie poked her head inside. “Seems like it. Smells clean, at least.”

Indeed, the industrial-strength cleaning vapours were so overpowering they made her eyes water. Screwing up her face, Jamie leaned back. Dani came to stand beside her and investigate the ablutions closet as well. The moment she caught sight of the tiny mirror bolted to the wall inside however, she made a strangled noise and jerked her gaze aside. Jamie watched in puzzlement as Dani whipped back around and tried to pass it off as a cough.

Without a word, Jamie hit the button to shut the panel that hid the ablutions closet. “You all right?” 

Still facing the other direction, Dani nodded. She cleared her throat and said in the most unconvincing tone possible, “Yeah. Fine. I’m - I’m fine.” 

Carefully Jamie slipped past Dani so that they didn’t brush against one another. She dropped her own travel pack onto the bench beside Dani’s and unzipped the main compartment to rummage around inside. 

“Don’t reckon there’s much chance the menagerie will die down until well after we’ve hit hyperspace.” Jamie checked the time on her travel credentials chit, hitting a few buttons on the display until it was set to a standard self-regulating clock so she could actually remember to sleep on a decent schedule. “But if you’re hungry, I can battle my way to the canteen on deck 34?” 

“No. Thank you. The lunch we had at the hangar terminal was enough.” 

Peeling back the packaging of a dietary supplement from her bag, Jamie shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said, and tossed back the supplement with a dry swallow and a grimace. Another quick search around the room revealed a tiny spigot protruding from one of the walls, which delivered a dribble of fresh water when she set an open travel bottle beneath it. Jamie took a grateful sip, then filled up the bottle to the brim before capping it. 

“Wish they’d just knock you out flat for trips like these,” Jamie said. “But then they couldn’t gouge us at the souvenir shops, I guess.” 

Behind her, she heard a begrudging huff of laughter. When Jamie turned around it was to find Dani with her hands around her stomach, as though trying to give herself the galaxy’s most ineffective hug. Dani glanced up and shuffled her weight back and forth in obvious discomfort. Even now, standing as far from one another as they could, Jamie could easily reach out and touch her if she tried. 

“I - uh -” Dani made a feeble gesture towards the panel that hid the ablutions closet. “I thought I saw something. That’s all.” 

Jamie shrugged. “Didn’t ask. Not my business.” 

Beneath their feet, Jamie could feel a slight rumble as the engines hit maximum burn. There was a momentary feeling of weightlessness, and then the familiar pull behind her navel when they finally hit hyperdrive. Some ships — sleeker, more capable ships than this — liked to make an experience out of going into hyperspace. Like pushing in the throttle on a first rate speeder. This experience however could only be described as lumbering. Like an overworked beast of burden taking that first reluctant step towards its destination.

Letting out a long tired exhale, Jamie said, “Right. Nothing left to do, then.”

And without further ado, from her bag she pulled out a set of pajamas — the only set of other clothes she had brought with her, to be perfectly honest, apart from a heavy thermal jacket in case they got stranded on an ice-ridden hell hole like Hoth or some shit — and began to change. 

Unlike the previous nights, Dani did not avert her gaze or get flustered. Instead, her eyes traced the tattoo on Jamie’s shoulder, a series of vines and flowers curling down the bicep of her right arm and partway up her neck. A large enough piece to be eye-catching, while also easily concealed by clothing. Not that the Jedi Order cared about tattoos. Just that some planets had different rules than others, and when you hopped from place to place as often as Jamie did, then you hedged your bets. 

“Does it mean anything?” Dani asked, nodding towards the tattoo.

Pulling a soft shirt on, Jamie shrugged. “Means I was young and stupid. Seemed like a good idea at the time.” 

Dani didn’t have a reply to that, though the expression on her face said that she didn’t buy Jamie’s story for an instant. She squeezed by Jamie to start pulling out her own set of sleeping clothes, and Jamie had to hop out of the way while tugging a pair of sweatpants up her thighs. 

“Don’t suppose you have any you’d like to share with the class?” Jamie asked, giving Dani a quick once over. 

Dani, who had been in the process of taking off her cloak, froze, then continued what she was doing once more. “No,” she said, facing the wall so that her back was turned to Jamie. 

“Thought it was a fair question,” said Jamie. She stepped atop the first rung of the ladder built into the wall so that she could inspect the cot in all its glory. Thin sheets. Thin mattress. Thin pillows. Happy days. 

“I appreciate tattoos,” Dani answered, her voice muffled momentarily by the shirt she pulled over her head. “But I’ve never wanted one for myself.” 

“Fair enough.”

When Jamie had assured herself there were no unfortunate bugs or surprises in the bed, she hauled herself up into the cot. She had to lie flat to slip in, and the ceiling was close enough to her face that when she was on her back she could make out every scratch and detail in the panels. 

“Well, this is shite,” she muttered. Turning her head to one side, Jamie asked, “Do you get claustrophobic? Only that I can take the end nearest the wall if you’d prefer.”

Dani went very still in the act of pulling on a thicker set of socks. Then she gave Jamie a guilty little nod.

“All right.” Jamie shuffled over some more until she was wedged up against the wall. 

Padding across the small room, Dani dimmed the lights before she climbed up into the cot beside Jamie. It was so cramped with the two of them, that there was no way they couldn’t not touch, and there was no way for Jamie to plaster herself against the wall any more than she always was. Eventually Dani was lying flat on her back, sheets pulled up to her chest, and staring unblinkingly up at the ceiling, while Jamie tried her damndest to not move too much. 

A futile effort, in the end. With a muttered curse, Jamie wriggled around so she could reach up and scratch at her own tattooed shoulder. Dani frowned over at her quizzically, and Jamie answered, “Got a scar. It itches like mad sometimes.” 

Dani hummed a wordless note. When Jamie had finally stopped scratching, she asked, “Why are you helping me?”

Jamie adjusted her pillow and said, “I don’t like Czerka. And, well, I guess I’m stuck with you now.”

Through the dark, Dani’s expression was inscrutable. She rolled over to face Jamie, and the pillow obscured her partly so that the only eye that watched Jamie was the one that seemed to gleam golden in the deep shadows of her face. “You just left your whole life behind on a whim.”

“Jedi aren’t supposed to form attachments,” said Jamie. “Even Force sensitives are discouraged from it, generally. Especially at the Temple.” 

Dani blinked at her. “I’m sorry if I was too forward, or -”

With a snort, Jamie shook her head. “Not at all what I meant. Just — I move around a lot. And you’ve seen my apartment. Did it look like I was planning to stay long?” 

Rather than answer, Dani asked, “Do you not like the places you live in?”

“I like them fine. Telos IV is fine.”

“What about family?” 

Jamie arched an eyebrow. “What about them?” 

“Well -” Dani faltered over this for a moment. “I miss my mother. She’s awful and she drives me crazy, but I still miss her.” 

She said it like it was an example, an invitation for Jamie to give her own in return. 

“Don’t have one,” Jamie said. 

“What? Nobody?”

“Nope.” 

“But what about -? I mean -” Dani blew out a frustrated breath before continuing. “Surely there are people who care about you. You’re a good person.” 

“You’ve known me three days,” Jamie pointed out. “Less. Two and a half.” 

“Jamie,” she said in an admonishing tone.

With a sigh, Jamie rolled onto her back. She could hear their neighbours through the thin walls. Someone was playing thumping music and talking loudly amongst themselves in a language she did not understand, until they blended into a drone of white noise. 

“Attachments are forbidden for Jedi,” Jamie repeated, “but I’ve never been Jedi material. When I was still in training at the Temple, there were people in my group that I cared about. Sure. Formed an attachment with a youngling named Mikey. We weren’t related by blood but we might as well’ve been. I looked after him, and for a while things were good. But he was strong. Stronger than I could ever dream of being. And for people like him, people strong in the Force -” Jamie made a helpless gesture towards the ceiling. “They separated him from the rest when he was still so young. He’s a Jedi Knight now. We don’t talk anymore. He probably doesn’t even remember me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Dani said softly.

Jamie’s stomach swooped, and she grit her teeth against it. “I hope it is. It’s for the best.”

“And what about these other friends? The ones we’re going to visit on Tython?” 

“Just friends,” said Jamie. “Good friends, but friends. They’re actual Jedi, and they take that shit seriously. Or, well -” she huffed out a laugh. “One of them does. Sometimes I wonder if Owen takes anything seriously. Most people, though? No. No attachments. Most people aren’t worth the effort.” 

Dani's gaze was a dart of gold through the enclosed space, the two of them cramped together, their knees brushing despite their best efforts. Then, she said, "I'm glad."

Frowning, Jamie turned her head to look at her. "About what?"

"That this isn't an effort."

Jamie opened her mouth to retort but no sound came out. It hadn't been said with venom or sarcasm. It had been resigned. Matter of fact, even. 

And before Jamie could gather her wits about her enough to formulate a response, Dani rolled over and nearly took the rest of the blankets with her. Scowling, stomach churning unpleasantly, Jamie rolled over as well and tried to get some sleep. 

 --

Three days passed without anything noteworthy occurring, which — given the way Jamie’s week had been going so far — was a miracle in and of itself. And after three days of scouring the various lower and mid decks, Jamie could with great confidence say that no Czerka had followed them aboard this particular vessel.

Now, if only those weird fucking nightmares would go away. That would be grand.

Jamie was at the canteen bar on the mid decks. She was allowing herself to indulge in the vice of a foamy alcoholic beverage which resembled beer but which definitely wasn't beer. The location she would've preferred to drink at — a corner table with an excellent view of the whole room, and good access to one of the side exits — was already occupied by a group of surly looking humans, which meant that Jamie was forced to drink at the bar itself. She nursed her not-beer and tried not to think about how she still had six more days of sleeping beside a very attractive woman who was alternatively clingy or kick-y in her sleep.

Right when she was constructing ways of padding Dani's legs — more socks would do the trick, surely; and the woman was always bloody cold; she wouldn't complain — Jamie felt a frisson run down her spine. She straightened from her stoop with a frown, and looked around the room for any indication of new threats or danger.

Which was when someone stepped up to the bar beside her. He waved down the droid bartender and ordered himself a drink. Non-alcoholic. She looked at him, and went tense.

When it had seemed that she could finally allow herself to relax, to enjoy this leisurely cruise through hyperspace — as much as anyone could enjoy passage in their shit quarters — Jamie just had to go run into a Jedi.

An actual Jedi this time. Brown robes. Lightsabre. The whole lot. In fact, the last thing she noticed about him was his lightsabre. It was everything else that gave him away. The way he held himself. His clothes. The way he even breathed.

Immediately, Jamie buried her nose back into her glass and prayed that he wouldn't look her way.

He did. Of fucking course he did.

His sharp eyes promptly found the Service Corps dog tags hanging from her neck. Jamie was still mentally kicking herself for wearing them today, when he slanted his head sideways to read her Corps Assignment on the metal tags.

"And how is Telos?" he asked without preamble.

Jamie shrugged and stifled the urge to walk very quickly away. "Scarred," she said, "but alive."

He hummed. The droid brought him his beverage, and he murmured his thanks before turning his attention back to her. "And you're heading to Coruscant," he remarked thoughtfully. "Are you being Reassigned?"

Jamie shook her head. She bought herself some time by taking another sip of her not-beer. "Nah. Been three years since I've seen some friends on Tython. Thought I ought to say hello. They'll be sick of my pre-recorded postcards by now."

His answering smile was small, a thing barely there. Then there was a flicker of his brow. "You know," he said slowly, "I think I recognize you."

Well, that sure wasn't ominous. Not in the slightest. 

"Oh?" said Jamie. 

"Yes. You used to be ExplorCorps, didn't you?" He leaned closer, elbows on the bar, considering her. "My old Master was a Seeker. He showed me the proceedings of a smuggling bust he took part in about four years ago on an undisclosed planet near Nar Shaddaa. You gave the testimony that sent that Hutt crime lord to prison."

Jamie bought herself a second by buying her nose in her glass and taking a deep drink. So much for identity suppression. "Ah - yeah. That was me. Small galaxy, innit?"

He held out his gloved hand. “Pasha,” he said.

Switching her not-beer to her other hand, Jamie took his hand and shook it. “Jamie. And what brings you here?"

Setting his hand down, Pasha tapped his fingers against the bar top. Then he surveyed the rest of the room, as though checking for eavesdroppers. "I trust I can rely on your discretion?" he said in a tone that was too casual.

"Yeah. 'Course."

The droid bartender trundled by on its treads, and Pasha waited until it was gone. “I am investigating a murder."

It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over Jamie’s head. "Someone in the Order?" 

His expression was grave, and he nodded. "A young Consular by the name of Edmund. His body was found on a transport cruiser passing through Vurdon Ka. We believe it was the work of a Sith assassin."

Well, that was new.

"What? That close to the Core Worlds?" Jamie asked, and her voice was as incredulous as she could make it.

"Yes," he said and he was the definition of sombre. "You understand why this is so important. If the Sith have managed to infiltrate so deeply into the Core, then the risk to the Republic is far greater than we had thought."

"Well, fuck," Jamie muttered. Though not for the reason he probably thought. 

She really had to go and get herself involved in the biggest clusterfuck of the decade. No. Biggest clusterfuck of the century. 

“We’re almost finished making our sweep of the ship,” Pasha sighed as he lifted his glass for a sip. “I’ll be glad to be done. It’s tiring work, and this assassin somehow manages to slip through our fingers every time we get close.” 

Wait, wait, wait. Hold the holo. 

Jamie jabbed her finger against the bartop. “You think the assassin is on this hunk of junk?” 

He nodded, lowering his glass. “We’ve done a thorough check through the upper and mid decks the last few days. Just making our way to the lower decks now.”

“I’m down there, and I haven’t seen anything,” Jamie said, hoping she didn’t sweat straight through her shirt. “Now, I’m no Knight, but I think I would know a Sith assassin if I saw one.”

“Have you ever met a Sith before?” 

Jamie paused. She’d had plenty of dealings with Sith associates over the years — smugglers, crime cartels, weapons dealers, drug runners, you name it — but an actual Sith in the flesh? She shook her head. 

“Pray you never do,” Pasha said darkly. 

Jamie felt the hairs on the back of her neck and arms lift with a shiver. Then the sound of heavy boot steps approached the bar. Two masked Troopers in scuffed body armour stopped behind them, the Republic insignia emblazoned in blue on their left shoulders. They were walking talking weapon arsenals with more military tech between them than the rest of this sorry boat combined. One had a massive assault cannon strapped to her back and a bandolier of grenades clipped across her chest. The other was armed with a blaster rifle, a shielding pack, and an honest to fuck harpoon. Jamie sank down into her bar stool a little further. 

“Sir,” one of them said, her voice muffled through the helm. “We are ready to descend into the lower decks whenever you are.” 

Pasha gave Jamie a commiserating look and then drained his glass in one long pull. “Seems like the job is never done,” he said with a smile. “May the Force be with you.” 

Jamie lifted her own glass in reply, watching them go without taking a sip. The two Troopers cleared the path just by walking in a straight line. People scrambled out of their way. The three of them passed through a door, rounded a corner, and they were gone. 

Exhaling the breath she had been holding, Jamie slumped against the bar, letting her head rest against the cool and slightly sticky surface. She could hear the whir of mechanical treads as the droid bartender shifted position behind the bar. Jamie lifted her head. 

“Oi,” she whistled to get the bartender droid’s attention. 

It stopped cleaning a glass and gave her a low tired beep.

“Is there some sort of tech or maintenance shaft I can use to get to the lower decks fast?” Jamie asked. 

Another beep, and a spindly mechanical arm popped out of the droid’s flank to poke a button. The garbage chute sprang open from the wall. Craning her neck, Jamie wrinkled her nose as she looked down into the chute, which ended in a trolley full of rubbish that was just big enough for her to fit inside if she tucked in her legs and arms. 

With a deep sigh, Jamie bolted back the rest of her drink, then stood and started to round the bar towards the chute. “Fuck me.” 

 --

Jamie was still picking eggshells from her hair when she walked the corridors of the lower decks. At least the bar’s garbage had mainly consisted of fresh fruit rinds and nut shells, though she had a stimcaf stain on her pants that would take an age in the ablutions closet to get out later. She hurried along the hallway, pushing past clumps of other passengers who wandered about or chatted with one another. 

For the first time since stepping foot on this ship, she wished they’d gotten a room on an even lower level deck. This was only two decks beneath the canteen, and battle-hardened Republic Troopers weren’t exactly known for sitting on their hands. 

The door to their room was open, and Dani was nowhere to be found. Swearing under her breath, Jamie looked left and right down the hallway, hands on her hips. She checked the time at her wrist, and then continued down the corridor at a light jog. Every open room she passed, every tightly-confined communal space, Jamie poked her head in for a quick check, until finally she found her.

Dani was, of all places, twenty doors down with the Jawas. She was sitting cross-legged on the ground, nursing a steaming mug of something or another while listening intently to the surrounding seven Jawas chittering at her. Jamie stopped in the open doorway, slightly out of breath. 

“That’s extortion!” Dani remarked, and one of the Jawas nodded emphatically. Then she said, “I’m very impressed.”

This earned Dani a series of gratified chirps from all of the Jawas, one of which eagerly topped up Dani’s mug with more of whatever beverage they were all drinking. She thanked him, and several of the others began demanding Dani’s attention with small sharp hand gestures and fast-paced prattling. 

One of the Jawas noticed Jamie's presence and started making a high-pitched growl, like a territorial womp rat. The noise alerted the others, including Dani, who glanced up.

"Can we talk?" Jamie asked. She stepped further inside the room with a furtive motion for Dani to approach her.

Looking puzzled, Dani handed the mug to the Jawa sitting closest to her, then rose to her feet and crossed the room. “Is there something wrong? Why do you smell like orange juice?” 

“Long story.” Jamie smacked the button which shut the door and opaqued the tiny porthole that peered into the Jawas’ quarters. Lowering her voice so that the Jawas couldn’t easily hear her, she whispered, "There’s a Jedi on board and two Republic Troopers. They’re looking for you and they think you're a Sith assassin."

Dani stared at her. "But -" she spluttered, "I'm not."

"I know that. But they don’t."

Dani glanced towards the door, then at the Jawas. She worried her lower lip between her teeth. “What do we do?” 

“We hide and hope that once they’ve cleared this deck, they don’t come back,” said Jamie. “I don’t know how much time we have. They were making their way down here right as I left.” 

"Spike was telling me -"

"Who?"

Dani pointed to the Jawa she’d handed her mug to. "Spike."

"You learned their names?"

"They're cute!" Dani insisted.

Right as she said it, one of the Jawas snatched up what appeared to be a tiny live rodent from a container, and swallowed it whole. The rodent vanished into the impenetrable darkness of the Jawa's hood, until even its wriggling tail was slurped up as well.

"Yeah, they're fuckin' adorable," Jamie said dryly.

“Spike was telling me,” Dani repeated more firmly this time, “that there are ventilation ducts that they use to pressurise the cabins during take off and landing.”

“And what happens if they decide to de-pressurise the cabins while we’re in there?” 

“We’re in hyperspace. What are the chances we’re going to be boarding anything?”

“The way my luck is going,” said Jamie, “I’m willing to say the chances are pretty bloody high.” 

“Do you have any better ideas?” Dani asked, and there was an edge to her voice that from anyone else would have sounded angry, but which Jamie could already tell was just fear bleeding through. 

“I do, actually.” Jamie jerked her thumb towards the door behind her. “We ride the rubbish chute to the upper decks and lie low until they finish their sweep down here. They’re not going to retrace old ground, and once they’ve cleared the entire ship, we’re gravy.” 

“The garbage?” Dani furrowed her brow, giving Jamie a once-over. “Oh, I see. That explains it.”

In the background, a few of the Jawas had huddled around a small handheld screen and started chattering excitedly amongst themselves. Jamie and Dani ignored them until Spike scurried over and tugged at the trailing ends of Dani’s cloak. Both of them turned to listen, and Jamie felt her blood pressure tick up in real time. 

“What?” Dani asked, face going pale.

“They can’t have made it to this deck already,” said Jamie to Spike. “You must be seeing things.”

In answer, Spike motioned towards the cluster of Jawas, one of whom turned the little screen around to show the holo it displayed. They had somehow hooked into the security feed and on the screen, clear as day, was Pasha and the two Troopers, striding down the corridor towards them. 

Without peeling her wide eyes from the screen, Dani asked in a trembling voice, “Where did you say the garbage chute was located?”

“They’ve already passed it,” Jamie muttered.

Yammering in agitation, Spike pointed towards the ceiling, where a vent was located just above the sleeping cot. Jamie groaned.

“Oh, all right,” she relented. “C’mon.”

Picking their way across the Jawas’ quarters was like navigating a minefield. There was junk sprawled all over the place in piles. It was a mystery how they even managed to get it all in here. When Jamie climbed the ladder beside the cot, there were two sets of glowing yellow eyes watching her from the dark corner of the bed.

“‘Scuse us,” Jamie mumbled and pulled out her mining laser to cut the vent free just enough so that it swung open on two rusted hinges.  

If Jamie wasn’t in the habit of hauling herself up trees all day, she would’ve had a hard go at clambering into the crawlspace. As it was, she grunted and pulled herself up. With a bit of wriggling — her hips got stuck in the small vent opening — she managed to get inside. She held a hand down for Dani just as there was a knock on the door. 

“Let’s go,” Jamie muttered more to herself than anyone else, as she heaved Dani up and into the ventilation shaft with her. Dani scrambled in and Jamie barely had enough time to seal the vent shut before the door opened with a hiss.  

Jamie was squashed between metal on three sides and Dani on the other. The only light in this space shone through the slats in the grating. Every breath was loud, as loud as Jamie’s heartbeat. She couldn’t have moved much if she tried. At her feet she could feel the shaft turn a corner, and any attempt to crawl along after it would end in one or both of them getting well and truly stuck. 

“Pardon the intrusion,” Jamie heard Pasha’s cultured voice. 

"Official Republic business," said one of the Troopers, his voice sounding muzzy through the speakers of his helmet. "Your cooperation is appreciated and expected. Any opposition will be met with force."

The Jawas jabbered and quibbled, but the sound of heavy boots stepping into the room regardless of their protestations was unmistakable. One of the Troopers, the one with the harpoon strapped to his back, stepped into view right below the vent. Jamie watched him crouch down and open up the storage lockers beneath the cot for inspection. 

Dani’s eyes were squeezed shut. Jamie could feel the way she was trembling all over. Reaching up, Jamie took her hand, but Dani’s only reaction was to clutch it in a white-knuckled death grip. Jamie winced, the bones of her hand creaking, but she did not pull away. 

“What’s this?” 

The Trooper below had dragged something out from the locker, while his partner searched the ablutions closet. The Trooper nudged a large crate with the barrel of his blaster rifle, then turned to a nearby Jawa. “Open it,” he ordered.

The Jawa needed the help of two friends to heave the lid of the metal crate back. The Trooper had his blaster rifle tucked up against his shoulder, ready to fire, only to lower it once more, when the crate’s contents were revealed to be piles of more useless junk. Tangled skeins of wire. Dismembered droid parts. The works. 

“Have you checked the cot?” his partner asked. 

“Nothing but a litter at roost,” the Trooper replied. 

Pasha spoke up from the doorway. “What about the vent? It looks like it’s been tampered with.” 

Shit. 

Dani’s breathing started growing fast and shallow. She was a line of tense muscle pressed up against Jamie’s front, her jaw clenched so tight Jamie was amazed she hadn’t cracked a tooth. There was a groan of metal around them and whole sections of the walls started to flex and bend in an alarming manner, as though something were attempting to crumple the entire shaft in one massive fist. Meanwhile, Dani’s shaking fingers dug painfully into the skin of Jamie’s hand.

Double shit. 

“Shhh,” Jamie whispered. “Shh.”

Dani’s brow was furrowed and her breathing had shot straight past panting and into hyperventilating. The pipes beyond the crawlspace hissed and whined. 

Below them, the Jawas were crowding around the two Troopers, but Jamie paid them no attention. With her free hand, she cupped Dani’s cheek and said softly, “Look at me. Dani. Hey.” 

Dani opened her eyes, expression raw and panicked. Jamie could feel every sweeping exhalation as Dani struggled for air. 

“With me,” Jamie murmured, and she breathed in and out with slow exaggeration. In through her nose. Out through her mouth. 

Slowly Dani matched it, her muscles relaxing in the smallest of increments while Jamie coaxed her along, until they were breathing in synch, until Dani’s forehead rested gently against her own, noses brushing. 

“All right, all right,” Harpoon Trooper growled below them. “We’re going. You’ve made your point.” 

The Jawas were still talking over one another all at once and waving their tiny robed arms while the Troopers stomped out of the room. It was a small thing, the relief that burst like little fireworks in Jamie’s chest. She smiled, then breathed in sharply when that relief continued to branch out into something more, something alive, electric, and beyond herself. She gave Dani’s fingers another squeeze and shook her head quickly.

The Force retreated like a skittish hand reaching forth in the dark, but it was too late.

The footsteps below them had gone quiet. 

"Is something wrong, sir?" one of the Troopers asked.

"I thought I felt something,” said Pasha slowly. “We went too quickly through the deck above this one. I want to go back.” 

“But -”

“There is something above us, Commander,” Pasha insisted, and his voice was stern. “Ignore this floor, and let us go with haste.” 

When they had finally gone, Jamie allowed her body to slump with a beleaguered sigh. Then she began to laugh softly. One of her hands was still cupping Dani’s jaw, and she brushed her thumb over the round bluff of Dani’s cheek, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. 

“Well done, love,” Jamie said with a smile.

Dani’s gaze was surprisingly steady for someone who had just been in the throes of a panic attack. She swallowed thickly. “Thank you,” she breathed. 

It was an extraordinarily bad idea to glance down at Dani’s mouth. Jamie hadn’t even realised she’d done it until Dani blinked at her, tongue darting out to wet her lower lip. A nervous, automatic gesture, but one which Jamie could not ignore. 

“I think we can leave now,” Dani said. 

“Right.” Jamie cleared her throat and let go of Dani quickly. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t mind.” 

While she worked to open the vent again, Jamie had to sternly remind herself that Dani was a wanted murderer, and that the warmth pooling in her gut was a very very bad idea. Dani was silent as Jamie urged her to go first. One after the other, they squeezed themselves out of the vent and dropped down onto the floor below. 

When Dani did it, the Jawas caught her and cooed over her, patting off the dust from her clothes. When Jamie did it, the Jawas let her fall in a bruised and graceless heap onto the floor.

“Thanks, mate,” Jamie grunted at Spike.

Spike narrowed his yellow eyes, then offered Jamie a mug of that steaming stuff they’d been drinking before. Sitting up and brushing herself off, Jamie took it. The drink tasted like battery acid warmed over, but it filled her with such a mild and pleasant feeling that she drained the cup. 

“They’re not going to stop looking, are they?” 

Jamie ran a hand through her hair. “No,” she said. “Don’t reckon they will. He sensed that, so he knows now there’s something on board. He’ll be back.” 

Dani twisted her fingers together. When a Jawa offered her a cup, she demurred with a murmur. “So, now what?” 

Tipping her head back towards the ceiling, Jamie closed her eyes. She mulled over their options, then shook her head with a wry grin. “God. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this.” She waved the mug at Spike. “Don’t suppose you lot have a long-range transceiver I could borrow? Preferably untraceable, but beggars can’t be choosers.” 

Rather than hop immediately into action, Spike looked at Dani for confirmation. Dani nodded and said, “Please.” 

With a series of noises that could only be described as high-pitched grumbling, the Jawa rummaged around in the still open crate that the Troopers had inspected earlier. He unearthed a dented and ancient subspace transceiver, dusted it off, and handed it over to Jamie. 

“The hell is the range on this thing?” Jamie muttered to herself as she turned it on.

The transceiver blinked to life with a flicker of white noise. Hoping beyond hope that the frequency was still the same as she remembered, Jamie keyed it in and hit the transmit button. 

For two of the longest minutes of her life, the only answer was a blur of static. Then a familiar voice crackled to life. 

“Well, well. Jamie Taylor. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Jamie’s smile was more of a grimace. “Hello, Rebecca. Remember how you owe me a favour?”

[niuniente]

TATTOOING GUIDE FOR BEGINNERS

Congratulations! You have decided to take the leap of faith and have your very first tattoo! By this time, I assume you have already found your artist and made sure their style fits the tattoo you had in mind (you wouldn’t order a wedding cake from a bread bakery with no cake expertise, even when both do baking, right? So, choose an artist who naturally does the tattoos and the styles you want to have on your skin. A well chosen artist is better and cheaper than cover up tattoos or laser treatments)

Here’s a little guide for you to help your journey from the beginning to healed tattoo; from a tattooed woman who has also worked in a tattoo shop.

BEFORE TATTOOING 

- I recommend moisturizing the about-to-get-tattooed area daily for a week. Healthy, moisture skin absorbs ink better and is easier for the tattooer to work with. When tattoo heals, it will dry your skin anyway, so it’s nice if the skin already has some head start with the daily moisturizing.

-  Be healthy! If you are sick, do not go to get a tattoo. Contact your tattooer and change your appointment. This includes hangovers. 

- For ladies on periods, I recommend not to go get your first tattoo just before periods, when your skin is sensitive. It is possible (been there, done that), but it hurts far less without this extra hormonal burden. Of course, not all women get these symptoms and you know your body the best, so if your periods are easy ones, you might not hurt any more extra whilst getting tattooed on this time. 

- Take a shower! Seriously, go wash yourself. 

- Shave the tattooed area. Tattoo shops can do this for you but it’s faster if you do it yourself.

ON THE TATTOOING DAY

- Eat well before tattooing if possible. It is important to keep your blood sugar levels good.

- If you didn’t shower or shave the previous day, do it now.

- Take, if possible, ibuprofen before you sit under the needle. Ibuprofen prevents swelling, which makes you feel more comfortable, helps the tattooer’s work and also helps with the pain and healing afterwards.

- Put on comfortable clothes, which can be easily removed from the tattooed area. You can pack with you clothes which you change into when you get into the tattoo shop. The longer the tattooing takes, the more comfortable you want to be in your clothes. No one’s there to rate your looks, and if they are, the place is full of jerks. 

- Take sugary snacks and drink with you! Very important! Your body will naturally react to the pain with a panic, which causes jumps in your blood sugar. Have sips and bites of your snack whenever you start to feel uncomfortable, dizzy or nauseous, as it is the first sign your body needs some sweet help. Fruit juices, baby smoothies, energy bars and chocolate work wonders. 

- It’s OK to bring some entertainment with you, like a book, a tablet, comics or a handheld console. Would you prefer to watch a movie while your tattooer works on your tattoo, go ahead! 

- Let your tattooer know if you are prone to nausea or dizziness when you feel pain or are nervous. It is OK to admit this! The tattooer knows then to keep an eye on you and take breaks with you if needed. Your tattooer is there to serve you, not to judge or mock you (and if they judge and mock, they are an asshole and should have their tattooing machine pushed sideways up to their rectum)

- Would you get shaky while being tattooed, eat & drink something. If this doesn’t help know that it is most likely just your anxiousness/nervousness/fear leaving your body, as you have now faced the fear and are starting to relax. (Would you for some start to shake heavily while feeling really, really bad, inform your tattooer about it.)

 - Speak honestly about your tattoo to your tattooer! If you don’t like the tattoo size or its placement, inform your tattooer about it before you start inking. The place and the size can be fixed as many times as needed. There’s rarely need for more than tiny adjustments with a good tattooer, but if you want adjustments, ask for them. Remember, your tattooer is there for you. 

AFTER TATTOOING

- Follow the instructions you get from your tattooer and contact them immediately if something seems to be wrong. Would you get a full-blown infection (you need to be super uncaring and sloppy to get this), go first to doctor to get medication for it. 

- Wash your tattoo with a mild soap as often as instructed. I prefer organic baby soaps, as they are mild and often contains 100% or almost 100% natural ingredients only. 

- After washing, tap your tattoo dry. I prefer to let my tattoo air dry a little before I put on lotion. For lotion, I recommend Tattoo Goo’s products. Tattoo Goo salve is especially good for dry skin, but it takes time to apply it. Tattoo Goo products are available in multiple countries. 

- When you tattoo starts to itch a lot, you may apply pure 100% coconut oil on it. Coconut oil is antibacterial and very good for dry skins, like mine. But first 3 days or so I always use a proper tattoo salve.

- If itching gets really bad, take allergy medication. It helps some people. Would you tattoo itch a lot and be clearly infected, go to doctor. 

- Your fresh tattoo will sting and burn after you remove its cover. It is normal. Small redness with slight warmness is also normal. Below is a fresh tattoo of mine, taken yesterday. Notice the swelling and redness around left side of the pic. The area is also swollen from liquids. 

- Tattoos gather liquid around them, especially in legs. Your leg/arm might get swollen due this (the bigger the tattoo, the greater the natural swelling) and the leg tattoos tend to hurt when you stand up and go to walk. This is normal, too, and will go away from a few days to a few weeks. We all heal differently.

- It is OK to take pain killer if the tattoo aches a lot afterwards.

- LET YOUR TATTOO BE FREE WITHOUT ANY CLOTHING AS MUCH AS YOU CAN. Oxygen really does miracles for healing. Just avoid bumping your tattoo on different surfaces to avoid infection. Wash often. You can sleep without covers, too. I would recommend changing sheets before, though, especially if you have a big tattoo which comes easily in contact with the linen. 

- Avoid excessive drinking, smoking etc. if possible, as healthy life style -> a healthy body -> your tattoo healing faster.

WILL TATTOOING HURT?

Yes. It will. But I’d say mostly for the first 5-10 minutes. After that, your body’s natural alarm reaction goes off and at least gets more quiet. It’s like “OMG WE’RE GETTING KILLED WHY DON’T YOU DO ANYTHING OH NEVER MIND IT’S NOTHING”.

How much it hurts depends on the area, your personal pain endurance and are you are a man or a woman (and for ladies your hormonal cycle). For some reason, men tend to hurt more while getting tattooed. Sensitive areas for men are neck, chest, back,  stomach and sides, for some also back of legs. For women, there are generally no super sensitive areas aside the areas which are already sensitive naturally, like crook of arms, neck or groins. This is probably due childbirth’s evolution. 

Does it hurt also depends where the tattoo will be located. I have big piece done on outer side of my right leg, running from knee to ankle. I almost fell asleep while getting it done! However, the tattoo I showed you above is at the back of my leg, near angle, and it was a lot more painful! 

Good areas for a first tattoo are legs (esp. lower legs and outer thighs), arms (esp. lower arm and outer upper arm), shoulders and upper back if you are unsure of the pain.

When people, who take big tattoos like a sleeve, say that they can’t take tattooing any more but need to stop, it’s mostly not because it hurts but because it feels annoying. Like, ANNOYING. Like a sound which first alarms you, then you get used to it but eventually it starts to annoy you so much that you just want it to shut up. It is personal how long you can take tattooing before the annoyance gets too irritating. My first annoyance is after 3h, so I think I might survive to 4h-4,5h mark only. My friend can sit for 6-7 hours. It is OK to let your tattooer know if your limit has been reached or if you’d want to have your big piece done in multiple shorter sessions.

HOW DOES IT FEEL LIKE?

I saw someone comparing tattooing to a really tight and strong clothespin pinching you with only a tiny piece of your skin in between its hold, and I find that rather accurate. Stinging also happens.

I wouldn’t compare tattoo needle to any needles, not to doctor&nurse needles, not to vaccination needles, not even to piercing needles. It is really a feeling of its own!

HAPPY TATTOOING AND REMARK MY WORDS; YOU GET ONE AND AFTER THAT, YOU WANT TO GET 10 MORE :D

[ultrahamilham]

I hate to ask this but im hoping you don't laugh at me. How does bottom surgery work for FTM? Like how does the penis get there does it involve surgery like when a trans man gets their top surgery? Does it hurt once you get a penis? Does it function like it has always been there?

Don’t worry, that’s a valid question! I will tell you what I know, but it will not be a be all end all answer. I suggest looking into it as well, but this is what I’ve learned from researching the specific surgeon I’m going to. I will put it under the read more section!

So there are two types of bottom surgery for FTM. My surgeon offers both, but he requires that a hysterectomy (removal of the uterus and all things to go with that, including the cervix) be done at least 6 months prior to the surgery. Some surgeons don’t require that, but mine does.

Anyway, the two types of surgeries are metoidioplasty and phalloplasty. I will cover what I know of both and what not.

So metoidioplasty is the one I’m aiming for. It works with what you have. The clitoris is actually the penis, and it’s what the penis evolves from in the womb. So Testosterone lengthens the clitoris by sometimes three inches. Some people get less, some people get more. Either way, it grows. So that will be the penis with the surgery. They close the vaginal canal, and they do a clitoral release. They remove the skin holding it down or something and it gets a little longer. They then do urethral lengthening, where they take a skin graft from your inner cheek and create a urethra through your penis (I will now refer to the clitoris as the penis, as that’s what it is at this point) and then you can now stand and pee. They turn the labia into the ball sack. They will insert something to simulate testicles and the labia is now the sack. This will span over two or three surgeries, and it will be painful from what I’ve heard.

However, it’s very worth it. It will be a smaller penis, but it can function as one and get hard. There won’t be any ejaculation from what I heard, because that comes from the testicles and prostate and what not. I chose this surgery because I want minimal scarring, and I don’t really care about having a larger penis. Also, loss of sexual sensation is a very low risk for this surgery, or so I’ve heard. The only real con is the lack of bulge this choice can have. If you pack before surgery you might have to continue if the bulge isn’t large enough for your preferences.

Phalloplasty starts the same. Closing the vagina, releasing the clitoris and creating a ball sack and urethral lengthening. However, they create a larger penis by taking a skin graft from either your arm or your thigh (my surgeon does the arm). They use this skin to create the penis. You would have to pay for laser hair removal on that area, and it would be a scar there. I have tattoos on my arm, and I don’t really want a scar that large. I know some people don’t mind it, but others have regrets for not going for metoidioplasty so I strongly suggest thinking about what surgery you want. I think phalloplasty is cool, but I don’t really want to lose my tattoo.

You can’t get hard by traditional means with this surgery. You would need to get an implant put in to get hard, and that has been known to FALL OUT, so if getting hard is important to you, think carefully about this. Loss of sexual sensation is a greater risk, but still not too high with this surgery. Recovery is also a little more painful because of the skin grafts needed. It looks like a larger penis, and can create a larger bulge than the metoidioplasty.

Both surgeries have their pros and cons, and neither one is better than the other. It’s whatever you choose. I don’t care about the sex side of things, as I’m asexual and don’t have sex BUT I know it’s important to other people. I just want to look down and feel good about myself. Also standing up to pee is convenient so... lmao.

I really suggest doing your research on this, just in case. I told you what I know, but I might not have all the answers. Still, this is what I know!

[apheamoon]

Lonely Souls - Chapter 2

A/N: My second chapter!! Oh my gosh you guys, I wanted to thank all of you who read the first one! It had so much engagement towards it, which I did not expect in the slightest! Thank you all so so much, and please enjoy this second part ❤️

Warnings - based off the MCU (set directly after the events of Endgame), there’s going to be a slowburn to the relationship, love triangles, slight angst.

——————————————————————————

The Milano was silent; in front of the Guardians lay a figure, wearing a broken down helmet, a torn jacket that scraped just around their thighs and boots that looked like they were 3 sizes too big for them. The view to each of them was astonishing - even Thor was intrigued by what lay on the table. For once, the prince was silent, softly scratching on his stout belly as he looked down.

Mantis was standing at the head of the desk, her antenna softly twitching as she grasped onto the figures head. Closing her eyes, she went quiet for a moment, before a small gasp of shock escaped her lips.

“What?” Quill sighed, slightly frustrated that his search for Gamora had come to a sudden halt, “What’s happened?”

Mantis looked up to the others, her eyes glimmering with a familiar look of terror. Her already pale face washed over, and she soon had a ghost-like look plastered onto it. As if in a trance, she immediately turned back down towards the figure and went silent for another few moments, before her voice finally whispered out a single word: “Grief.”

The Milano suddenly corrupted into a chorus of whispers and remarks. Standing on Groot’s shoulder was Rocket, his paw latching onto his best friends wooden neck for support. His eyes narrowed as he looked down to the figure on the table, and his ears rolled backwards, like before. Something wasn’t right. Quill shared a look with the raccoon, and sooner or later found himself walking towards the figure on the table. His eyes filled with curiosity as he looked to the mask - familiar yet different in so many different ways. Even the way that this figure was dressed...it reminded him of something that could only be described as nostalgic. The mask was a big clue as to what this person (or creature) worked as too - a scavenger. Considering Peter worked as one for the majority of his life, he knew what one would look like, but this figure wasn’t familiar to him in the slightest.

“Careful,” Nebula was standing in a shadowed area of the ship, her arms folded across her chest as she looked to the crew surrounding the table. Her voice was quiet, but definitely loud enough for them all to hear her, “We don’t know what, or who, it is.”

“I am gonna be careful,” Quill pulled a face of sarcasm over at the blue robot, his hand reaching over and pulling the mask off of the figures face, “I am the captain, aren’t I? I’d say I made pretty good choi-“

With the scavenger mask now in Peter’s grasp, he and the rest of The Guardian’s could finally see what the figure was, and his sentence fell short of silence. On the table lay a woman, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly parted. She looked an awful lot like Peter - species wise anyways. And Quill hadn’t seen another human, in space, for a long, long time.

“It is a female dude!” Drax declared, his voice serious as he looked down towards her, “She reminds me of Quill. But not as stupid-“

“No, no,” Thor cut in on Drax’s comment, tapping his shoulder and grinning, “This is clearly a fair maiden. One of the best too, may I add. Very pretty!”

Hopping from Groot’s shoulder, Rocket made his way towards the girl lying down and took a long sniff of her hair. He then gagged and stepped backwards, covering his nose with his paw and shaking his head in disgusting.

“I am Groot?” Groot tilted his head over at Rocket, making the raccoon nod his head and choke out a cough.

“Yeah, buddy. She smells like she hasn’t showered in about 5 years!”

Quill was silent, likewise to Nebula. The two were waiting for Mantis’ comment. What else was this girl thinking, feeling? What had happened to her? Why was she floating through the sky?! And why was there another human in space after the snap? Walking backwards from the table, Quill scratched his beard and raised an eyebrow over towards Mantis, hoping she would give the crew some more information before this girl woke up.

Looking to Quill, Mantis tilted her head slightly before she nodded and looked back down towards the body on the table. With her antenna glowing, she suddenly trembled.

“She feels...confusion...pain...and sadness. Loss - she has lost people dear to her!”

A look of sadness washed over Peter’s face, but he quickly wiped it off. With a sigh, the thoughts of the snap rushed through his brain. All of The Guardians had lost someone to the snap, so this girl had clearly lost people to it too. Quill didn’t quite realise the scale that Thanos had achieved to reach, but he too was snapped out of existence...so, in some ways, he could sympathise.

“Wake her up.” He told Mantis, his voice soft, yet firm.

Nodding, Mantis closed her eyes and reached her head towards, her voice going down to a low whisper, “Wake!”

Bracing themselves for the worst, Rocket had already been around and taken any weapons from the woman. On her, she had a small bounty knife and a laser gun. Apart from that, the only mechanical things the woman had held onto was her mask, but that was already with Quill at this time.

As soon as the words, “wake”, left Mantis’ lips, the girl shot up on the desk, wide-eyed and confused more than anything. She scrambled up from the table she was laying on and staggered backwards, crashing into the wall and freezing, suddenly. She was in a room with complete strangers, on a ship she wasn’t used to and it was like her brain had completely stopped working on her. Turning slowly, the girl swallowed thickly and gave the figures a shaky wave, still trying to process what exactly was going on.

“W-w-who...?” She choked out, her back pressing firmly against the wall as she looked to the crew.

“You don’t have to make owl noises at us, we aren’t gonna hurt you,” Quill smirked, walking over to the girl and handing her the helmet.

Taking the helmet from Quill’s grasp, the girl nodded slightly and cleared her throat, trying to make sense of what was going on. She was on a strangers ship, with a raccoon, a tree, a yellow ant, a man covered with tattoos, a blonde Santa Claus and someone who looked like they just walked out of a thrift store. She tried not to act confused, but she really, really was. Her head was spinning, like someone was shifting through her thoughts or something, and for some reason she was finding it hard to catch her breath.

“This better not be the replacement for my sister.” Nebula sighed, walking out of the shadows and standing next to Quill, making the girl in front of her jump. She hadn’t noticed Nebula in the shadows, and she looked like the meanest one out of the lot.

“It’s not,” Quill fired, his eyes flickering from the new girl’s over to Nebula’s, “She’s not!” Looking back over towards the girl, he cleared his throat, almost flustered, and gave her a sympathetic smile, “Do you remember your name?”

The girl nodded, slowly, but she was still confused on what to make of the situation at hand. Placing her helmet on a small desk to the side, she took a step closer and watched the others carefully. They seemed nice enough - but she had to remember that this was space. Not everyone was as they seemed in these parts.

“Y-yeah, I do,” She replied, the shake in her tone remaining, “It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N? It sounds like a leaders name!” Drax whispered over to Groot and Mantis, and the two nodded in agreement.

Quill shot them a look as if to say, “oh, c’mon guys”. Even when a new person joined the ship, even if it was for a brief moment, it seemed his crew wanted a new leader every single time.

“I’m the leader!” He said, quickly, “This is my ship-“

“-my ship...-“ The grumble came from Rocket.

“-And I have lead this team to many, many victories!”

This was a lot to take in for Y/N. First, she was still confused. Although the others seemed somewhat comfortable in her company, the whole ship was ultimately foreign to her. She was used to her own ship, back with her own team. But they were gone, supposedly. Why else would she have been floating through the air? She gave Peter a dumbfounded look when he mentioned ‘victories’. It was one that Drax noticed, and he immediately jumped to her rescue.

“Quill saved the universe through a dance battle!” He told her, his voice having the same serious tone in from before, “I thought it was stupid, and non of us joined in, but he kept on dancing.”

“I am Groot!” Groot added with excitement, though his eyes were glued down to the same video-game console from before.

“H-hi Groot,” Y/N waved over to the youngest on the ship, not quite understanding his language but going along with it anyway, “I’m sorry but...I don’t understand how any of this has got to do with victories or...leadership,” Her eyebrows quirked with suspicion and she looked back over to Quill, “A dance battle?”

Peter was massaging his forehead at this moment, his body slouched and leaning against the table that Y/N was once laying on. He let out a long, frustrated sigh. It was something he was getting used to, naturally. The insults The Guardians would innocently throw at him. But he was a good leader. He was definitely a good leader.

“Yes, a dance battle.” He whispered, his voice pained with what could only be described as cringe.

“I heard he sung too,” Nebula added, “A song from his mixtape. He sung it to my brother, Ronan, so he could get the power stone for my father, who is now dead,” She turned to Peter with a look of disappointment, “My sister really did date an idiot.”

Y/N tried hard not to smirk during this conversation. Although everyone was having digs at this Quill guy, it seemed like they were all close. Like a family, some would say, but also as a team. It also felt like, to her, that they had been working together for a few years. It felt slightly wrong on her behalf, almost as though she was intruding their ship.

As she went deep into thought, she began to ignore The Guardian’s absent squabbling and she herself began to think about her past. What had happened for her to be floating through the air the way that she did? And why weren’t her crew looking for her? She must have looked as though she was in distress of some sort, because Thor soon shadowed her and gave her the smile of a goof.

“Lady Y/N,” He started, his voice deep but quiet, “If you don’t mind me asking, why were you floating through space?”

——————————————————————————

Tags:

@peterspideyy @hayadora

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Jensen’s daughter is a tattoo artist (I’ve been watching a lot of ink master videos sorry) and she goes on the show ‘ink master’ and wins

cinco de mayo/freebie drabble challenge

a/n: i love tattoos and anything that has to do with them so you’re okay :) i haven’t seen ink masters before, though.

This is the final round, and you’re one of the few artists left. Your dad came to see the winner be chosen, and you hope to God it’s you. All you wanted to do is make him proud, so winning would fo sure earn it. He’s already proud of you regardless, but this is something you really want to happen.

Your father always took you to his conventions and tapings all around the world. You got to experience many different people and admire many different tattoos which is how your love for them began. Your very first tattoo came when you were 16 because your dad allowed you to get one. It was small, it’s pretty, and it’s still on your body. You never covered it up or got it lasered off.

Now, you have over fifty tattoos that litter your body. Most of them are small but meaningful, but you also have big ones like the one on your back or thighs. Getting tattoos is something you love doing, so being on this show is making you very happy and excited.

They’re just about to announce the winner, and you look over at your dad and Uncle Jared to see them give you a thumbs up. You can see your dad’s bird tattoo peeking out from underneath his sleeve, and that brings you back to the day you put that on him. Of course, he let you tattoo him after seeing just how good your work is. In fact, most everyone on his show that has tattoos, you’ve done for them.

“And the winner is...” the announcer pauses for dramatic effect. Your heart races as you bite your lip nervously. “Y/N Ackles!”

“What?” you gasp as your dad and uncle cheer loudly for you.

This can’t be happening. All of the artists who made it this far are really good, so you’re just shocked that you’re the best out of all of them. Your competitors cheer and encourage you to get your prize, and you walk up to the announcer with a shy smile.

“Congratulations!”

“Thank you so much,” you get tears from true happiness. “I couldn’t have done it without the support of my dad.”

Jensen smiles proudly at the mention of his name, and a tear slips out of his eye because he’s just so damn proud of you.