#World PCOS Day

[fatphobiabusters]

That person the other day who said they love seeing photos of thin people holding up 3XL jeans to show all of the "hard work" they put into living "the life they want," there's so much I could say about that.

I could explain that any fat person you see has almost certainly put in that same amount of "hard work" to become thin and then watched as their body refused to stay that way.

I could explain basic, unbiased weight science proving that weight loss is only temporary for the 4 millionth time.

I could explain that fat people are human beings who deserve to be treated with dignity, respect, and humanity, again for the 4 millionth time.

I could explain and explain and explain, but I'm tired of explaining to people who don't listen and pull their views out of their ass. So instead, I think we should applaud photos of fat people holding up the jeans they temporarily wore as a thin person.

Let's celebrate the fat people who once were a size small. Let fat people hold up their old tiny jeans in celebration of:

Beating an eating disorder

No longer experiencing food insecurity

Recovering from an illness that had caused weight loss

Accepting their fat body instead of abusing themself to become thin again

Leaving an abusive family/living situation where they were starved and/or forced to conform to prevent abuse

Having the genes of ancestors who survived famines

Knowing that there is not a single scientifically-proven method of weight loss

No longer wasting time fighting their body's weight gain from health conditions that cause weight gain, like PCOS

Accepting their body that changed due to pregnancy

Accepting their body that changed due to puberty

Accepting their body that changed due to transitioning

Allowing themself to take the medicine they need to treat mental or physical illness no matter the weight gain side effects

Not listening to harassment from bullies, friends, family, or anyone else who demanded they be thin to deserve peace from mistreatment

Literally just getting older and having a body that has changed with time

Loving themself despite the entire world believing that fat people do not deserve love

Existing, because fat people do not need to justify their body and existence to anyone

And so much more

-Mod Worthy

[cutielando]

comfort | oscar piastri

synopsis: in which he helps you deal with your pain

a/n: based on this request!

pairing: oscar piastri x girlfriend!reader

my masterlist

You’ve always been good at hiding it. At school, at work, even with friends—no one ever seemed to notice how your body wasn’t quite right.

But it was harder to hide it from Oscar.

He had a way of seeing through your walls, reading your face when something was off, always managing to catch the tiniest change in your demeanor.

It had been a long day—one of those where everything felt heavy, and every movement was a struggle.

The dull ache in your lower abdomen had intensified this morning, but you powered through, like you always did.

But now, sitting in your living room, you were curled up on the couch, trying to distract yourself with a book, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the discomfort.

The cramps, the bloating, the mood swings. The things you never really talked about.

Oscar had been busy with Formula 1 preparations all week. He had barely been home, and you knew it was hard for him to balance his intense schedule and the time he spent with you.

But when he did have free moments, he always made it a point to check on you. His texts were constant, his concern never lessening.

"How are you feeling?" he’d ask. And you’d always reply with a simple "I’m okay," hoping it would be enough to keep him from worrying.

But today… you weren’t okay. You felt like you were falling apart.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. You groaned quietly, not feeling like entertaining anyone.

But when the door opened, there he was, your tall, handsome boyfriend, with his signature grin that always made your heart flutter.

"Hey" Oscar said softly, stepping inside and locking eyes with you.

His smile faltered when he saw your slumped posture, the way your eyes were barely open, and the way you clutched the blanket around you like it was your lifeline.

"Hey" you whispered, trying your best to sit up straighter.

He didn’t say anything at first, just set his bag down and walked toward the couch, his eyes never leaving you.

He bent down to check your forehead, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face.

"You’re burning up," he murmured. "What’s going on? You look pale."

"It’s just… my body," you said quietly. You didn’t want to burden him with your health issues again. "I’ll be fine."

Oscar wasn’t buying it. He leaned in, his hand resting gently on your shoulder.

"No, you’re not fine. You haven’t been fine for a while. Talk to me, please. I want to help you"

You sighed, looking away for a moment, feeling the familiar weight of shame settle in your chest.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him—Oscar had always been so kind, so understanding—but it was hard to let someone in when you felt like your body was betraying you.

"I have PCOS," you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. "It messes with my hormones and causes pain, bloating, weight gain... and sometimes I just feel so... tired. I try to push through it, but today it’s just too much."

Oscar’s face softened with understanding, and he immediately sat next to you on the couch, pulling you into his arms without hesitation.

You felt the warmth of his body against yours and, for a brief moment, the pain eased. His arms were a safe haven, a comfort, and the world outside seemed to slow down.

"I’m so sorry you’re going through this" Oscar said gently. "Why didn’t you tell me sooner?"

"I didn’t want to worry you" you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t want you to think that I’m weak."

Oscar tilted your chin up, making sure you looked into his eyes.

"You’re not weak," he said firmly. "You’re one of the strongest people I know. And I’m here for you, always. You don’t have to hide this from me."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, the tears threatening to spill. You didn’t know why you had been so afraid to open up to him.

Maybe it was because, in a way, you didn’t feel deserving of his care.

But now, wrapped in his arms, with his warmth surrounding you, that fear began to fade.

Oscar’s fingers gently brushed through your hair, the soft caress grounding you.

"What can I do to make you feel better? I hate seeing you like this"

"You’re already doing it," you whispered, leaning into his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Just being here helps."

He smiled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"I’m glad. But I’m also going to make sure you’re comfortable. You need rest, and I can help with that."

You pulled back slightly to look up at him, surprised.

"You don’t have to do anything. You’ve got your own things to deal with."

Oscar shook his head, his eyes serious now.

"No, I’m making it a priority to take care of you. You’ve been taking care of me, of everything else. Now it’s my turn."

With that, he stood up, offering you his hand to help you stand.

"Let’s get you into bed, yeah? I’ll make you some tea, maybe a warm compress for your stomach. You just relax. I’ll take care of everything else."

You let him help you to your feet, and as he guided you toward the bedroom, you felt a small but important sense of relief.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t managed your condition before, but having someone who cared so deeply, someone who didn’t shy away from your struggles, made all the difference.

As you settled into bed, Oscar busied himself in the kitchen.

You could hear the sound of water boiling and the faint clinking of utensils as he prepared everything you’d need.

When he returned, he had a cup of herbal tea in one hand and a warm compress in the other.

He set everything down beside you on the bed, carefully placing the compress on your abdomen.

"This should help with the cramps," he said softly, sitting beside you once more. "Drink your tea, and I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep."

The warmth of the compress, the scent of the tea, and Oscar’s presence all combined to make you feel more at ease than you had in days.

You wrapped your hands around the warm cup, savoring the heat that seeped into your cold fingers.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "For everything."

Oscar smiled down at you, his eyes full of love and understanding.

"Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime."

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[formulaonecrumbs]

how about one where she had a long working day so ocs helps with her migraine and flare up bub turning off lights and takes care of her after a nap by feeding her and braiding her hair. hope it is not too hard to write. btw love ur pcos pieces.

keeping the lights low

Oscar Piastri x PCOS!reader

summary: oscar takes care of reader after a long, painful day.

warnings: pcos mention, migraine, chronic pain, flare up

A/N: hiyyyaaa i’m so glad u enjoy this series, it’s my most written 😭 i hope this is to ur liking and expectations. ENJOOOYYYY!!!! ❤️

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

the door clicks shut behind you, the quiet thud of your bag hitting the floor following right after. your head’s pounding, legs heavy, and every part of you feels like it’s been wrung out, body screaming from a full day of moving, thinking, pushing through.

oscar’s already crossing the room before you can say a word.

“lights,” you mumble, wincing.

he’s got you — one hand guiding you to the couch with a soft, “sit down, baby,” and the other flicking every switch until the room falls into a warm, safe kind of darkness. the curtains get drawn, too, until there’s just the softest amber spill of light from the hallway.

you don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel him kneel in front of you and brush your cheeks dry with both thumbs. “migraine?” he asks quietly.

you nod, curling in on yourself. “and a flare up. and i feel gross. and—”

he kisses your knee. “no need to explain. you’ve done enough for one day.”

his hands help you out of your shoes, easing them off like he’s holding something fragile, and he whispers, “lean back,” guiding you gently to lie down. he covers you with your favorite blanket, tucks it around your shoulders, and presses a soft kiss to your temple. “nap for a bit. i’ll be right here.”

you fall asleep to the sound of his quiet breathing and the occasional hum of him scrolling through his phone at a distance, making sure nothing’s loud, nothing’s jarring, nothing disturbs you.

when you wake up, it’s to the smell of something warm and sweet. you’re still fuzzy when oscar crouches beside the couch again, thumb brushing your cheek.

“hey, baby,” he whispers. “made you some soup.”

you blink at him, sluggish. “you didn’t have to…”

“shh.” he slides a pillow behind your head and lifts a spoon to your lips. “you don’t lift a finger tonight, yeah?”

you let him feed you, let him wipe a little broth from your chin when you miss your mouth. his smile is fond, soft as his voice. “there she is,” he murmurs, like your whole world fits in the space between each breath he takes.

later, when your stomach’s full and your body’s still aching, he helps you sit upright between his legs, back against his chest, and starts combing his fingers gently through your hair.

“gonna braid it for you,” he says into your shoulder. “keep it from tangling while you rest.”

his fingers work slowly, carefully — the braid’s a little loose, a little uneven, but it doesn’t matter. it’s from him, done with love, done with care.

you whisper, “thank you,” voice hoarse.

he kisses the back of your neck. “anything for you, baby.”

and he holds you there, arms wrapped around you tight, both of you quiet in the dark. pain still there, but somehow smaller now. somehow lighter. all because of him.

THE END :>

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

the order of which this series will be written has not yet been decided. this series is currently on hold. Trust me I love this series and I plan to come back to it and finish. But this is a very very HEAVY series to write if do it properly and I don’t half ase any of my writing on my blog. That being said, currently I don’t think I am not mentally in the current headspace to do give it justice. Give me some time, but I promise I will finish it. 💜

Is today a dark day? - Cole Caufield (depression)

For the first time since you started dating Cole, your depression seems to be coming back to kick you in the ass. Scared of how Cole will react, you do the only logical thing and pull away.

Quinn Hughes (ADHD)

Can you tell me what hurts? - John Marino (PCOS)

Always struggling with having a abnormal menstrual cycle, and doctors not seeming to care. It sort of became the norm for you to just not really know what's going on with your body. After meeting John, you were worried if he would get scared with how sick you really got so often and run. Or would he be the one to stick around and try to help you figure out what's wrong?

Jack Hughes (OCD) (requested)

What are you trying to say? - Trevor Zegras (Dyslexia)

In the talking stage with Trevor Zegras you're not sure how his joking personality will respond to your struggles that you have with being an adult with dyslexia, especially since it doesn't affect you how media expects it to.

Why do you think that? - Nico Hischier (Body Dysmorphia)

Y/N was happy with Nico, he made her feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. But what happens when an old friend of Y/N visits and they start looking back on old pictures. Or how does Nico handle Y/N pushing away when her body dysmorphia seems to finally catch up to her after so long of it being pushed to the back of her mind.

Brock Boeser (Anxiety)

Matthew Tkachuk (PTSD)

Luke Hughes (Binge Eating) (requested)

Auston Matthews (Anemia) (requested)

Borderline Personality Disorder (player undecided) (requested)

I am open to the idea of adding players and different disorders or health issues to this list if you have any ideas please send in an ask.

[widowsofchaos]

Buckynat

𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

—- even the unloveable can be loved.

pairing // bucky barnes x brown!fem!reader x natasha romanoff

warnings // dom/sub smut (Shibari), cheating, mention of pcos, stretch marks, and hyperpigmentation. mention of an unnamed omc.

a/n // read it here on ao3. I hope whoever requested this, sees this. sorry for taking so long. wrote this in a low point in my life. hope you enjoy. <3

It’s methodical.

A routine well practiced, it’s recited in your footsteps. Auto-piloting through the lavish apartment corridors, a secluded area in the compound that always leaves you in a daze, coordinating footfalls that felt as a maze—- with keys digging in your grip.

The rigid craved curves dig into the flesh of your thumb, wedging the copper tip underneath your fingernail, edging on subtle pain.

The path to the secure living spaces of the earth’s mightiest heroes is a familiar one. The billion-dollar compound is secured and shrouded in silence.

The ideal timing, when the majority of the avengers are in their own worlds. Some are on a mission, and some are just —- not here.

The walk of shame isn’t something you want. Despite being a lab technician for Tony, you don’t try to rub elbows. You’re use to being alone, casted in the shadows—- and just because you warm the bed of two avengers doesn’t mean, you yearn to fuck your way to the top.

Another turn in the hallway, and right at the end of the corridor, is that familiar sterling gray door. Just beyond it is your solitude.

Copper ridges twist and unlock, the crisp air conditioning fans your face as the door opens, relaxing your nerves.

Slipping out of your flats, by a whisk of your ankle, the shoes are perched at the door. Smoothly you glide your wedding ring off—- hide it away in your pocket, all its value is nothing more than a stranger now.

Steadied steps inside the spacious apartment. Pristine, with cool tones. Perched on the polished flooring is a rich violet pillow.

Well versed motions, mutely, you remove each article of clothing. From the flaps of your beige blazer, to your white button blouse, each button snapping open with anxious aggression, to your unzipping your black skirt—— the anticipation of the zipper splitting open against the flesh of your thigh.

Folding neatly, fabric on top of another, resting on the pristine couch.

It’s all arousing.

To be owned. To be eaten carnally. To be degraded, reduced to nothing. Some days, the aftercare is merely an afterthought, you think you don’t care for it, because it’s a belief of not deserving of it.

Some days, you depress yourself, thinking that you’re just a sex toy to a bored couple. But, when they touch you, caress you—- your heart settles, and you feel safe.

Grateful to them, for once —- in all the years of your life, you never once accepted your sexuality, nor explored regions of intimacy. Embarrassed of extra flesh you carry, and scars, finally, to have anyone adore these flaws.

To be taken care of is still a foreign concept, a notion that even your boyfriend doesn’t even entertain so often.

A few kisses here, and a stroke against the meat of your thigh there—- no, he doesn’t clean up the rawness, the humanity of facing the aftermath of sex.

Nor does he want to. He doesn’t want to touch the darkness that casts upon your inner thighs.

Rarely any relationship birthed from obligation promises a happily ever after.

Now you sit, kneeling on the lush readied cushion, just for you. Awaiting for the touch, the manhandling. The silence prevails in the apartment space. Enveloping you with bated breath.

The walls have eyes.

They’re watching you. You can feel the forest green and icy blue hues stalking you akin to predators in the wild, awaiting their vulnerable prey.

Goosebumps form on your flesh, palms resting on your knees. Skilled and lethal, years of expertise—- they tread in silence. All the more erotic, to be caught off guard, knowing that you can never win. Never hide from them.

They can sniff your soul a mile away.

They need control. After decades of being subjected forcefully to commit heinous acts —- even still seen as criminals, despite saving the world numerous times.

Used as puppets, with no autonomy. Both learned through each other —- even in the most violent environments —- that safety isn’t impossible, if it's through tender intimacy, or communication.

Mastered the art of speaking with just their eyes.

A moment passes, and you wait, as a loyal dog. It turns them on. To see you obedient, even when you’re trembling in your skin, to be touched.

Staring at the wall ahead, fingers fidget against your bare thigh, your bum seated against the soles of your feet.

You didn’t even hear him.

“Privet, moy pitomets.” Hello, my pet.

The vowels slip from his lips with ease, only a few words have been taught to you routinely, but the language remains foreign.

“Let me see your nails.” It’s not a request. Bucky inspects each nail closely. He sighs disappointedly to see swollen red cuticles.

“You’ve been biting.”

“More like ripping.”

Bucky gently smacks your fingers, with his right hand. “What did I tell you?” He chastises, his breath warm and wispy against the shell of your ear.

“Not to do that.”

Your head bows submissively, a twinge of genuine shame birthes itself, all your thoughts consume your mind, yes, yes, punish me, I deserve it.

“And yet, you deliberately disobey us.” A silky, Russian accent that edges on a moan with every vowel. Not daring to turn your face, gracious legs step into your eyesight.

Mindless picking relieves your mind from the small stresses. You don’t tell them the personal issues, just enough to indicate that there is a broken marriage, that was already fractured before the consummation.

“I want the pain.”

You are nothing, you are void of all that is pure. You deserve it—- “Pain, moya lyubov'?” My love. Natasha asks, kneeling to your eye level, but your eyes are downcasted.

Her index finger glides under your throat up the slope to your chin, sending a shiver down the terrain of your spine. Her finger curves, lifting your gaze to hers.

“Is that all you want?” Natasha speaks with silk on her tongue. Smooth metal fingers tread and engulf your throat, a caressing fist.

Bucky’s soft pink lips shower your check in tantalizing kisses—- feathery. Leaving you wanting more, his flesh hand weaves in your hair, stroking your scalp.

Pulling you to him, controlling you, handling you his way. Natasha hums, with that smug smirk she always dons.

“No.” You wheeze a whine, eyes dazed.

“Bucky hasn’t even touched you yet,” Natasha teases, her eyes catch your hip lifting just a bit, craving to be touched, “—- and already you’re cock drunk.”

You whine a whimper.

-

Swinging mid-air, bondaged with a blindfold shielding your eyes.

Washed in cold water, and oiled. Soft and flexible—- intricately hemp tied around the ceiling’s hook, and clings to your anchoring body.

Mischievously, you’re tied in a position that splits your legs apart, arms bent back as a bird’s wing, and digging into your torso in pretzel knots. Heavy breasts hang freely as the hemp is tied akin to a bralet, roving between the hills of each tit.

It’s been hours. Three to be exact. A few breaks in-between.

A gust of breath escapes you, panting as your body settles from another orgasm. Vibrating from your skin, if you could, you would melt within these knots.

Bucky’s thumbs caressing and digging into your hips assuring you.

But, some moments, you cringe at the sensation of his fingers stroking your spilt thighs. Fleshy, and darkened—- you swallow that tightness in your throat with soft moans.

Eye-lids wrinkling behind the shrouded fabric, but you swallow the brewing prickles in your throat. Masking the cringe deep inside.

Natasha is completely naked, unbuckling the leather strap from her hips; smugly staring as Bucky has been ravishing your soppy cunt. Your skin is coated in a dew of sweat, as faint purplish handprints bloom on the swell of your hips.

Both of them have been taking turns on you. Natasha fucking you deep with her strap, and Bucky with his cock. Having you eat Natasha out, her finger gripping your hair as Bucky savored you, thighs split. Just a moment ago, Bucky stuffed your mouth full as Nat’s long smooth pink dildo had you crying with pleasure.

“Hmm,” Nat hums to herself teasingly. Her slender ivory fingers caress your chin, lifting your head. She can see your chest heaving, you’ve been wrung loose. “Maybe we should stop.”

Bucky’s teeth nip at the rope, his lips gliding against your shoulder blade. “Maybe.” He taunts. “You probably had enough.” He whispers in the shell of your ear.

You mumble, but the words just can’t fall out.

“What was that?” Natasha’s brows lift, “We couldn’t hear you.” Her fingertips tapping the underside of your chin.

“Please fuck me.” Wringing your hands against the tight rope, a low whine stretches. Bucky tsks. “Please.”

Both chuckle. Insatiable, Nat mumbles with a lazy grin.

Bucky’s fingers glide against your split mound, fondling the empty connection between you both. With gentle ease, he readies himself inside you, following with a smooth thrust.

Bucky pauses for a second, and sighs. He looks down at his cock with realization, a lazy smirk. You turn your head over the slope of your shoulder, despite being blinded, “What’s wrong?” you pant.

“I guess we forgot a rubber.” Bucky laughs. Natasha breathes a chuckle, murmuring that she’ll get another one real quick.

Adrenaline rushing to your ears. You utter a small no, their smiles fade a little, but you don’t see it. Your skin feels the shift in the air, the quick silence.

Like vomit, your words spew.

“I can’t have children…. it’s okay.” You gesture over your shoulder, tugging on the knots. Not enjoying the silence, you swallow.

“Cum in me, please!” You wail, brows pinching. Tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

Curls stuck to your face by the sheen of your sweat, nearly tangled, and tears kissing your lashes. “You don’t have to be so cautious.” You laugh through a squint, blur of gray cotton. Laughing to guise the bitter twinge, making your words softer.

An odd glimmer passes through Natasha’s face. But it’s gone as fast as it came. Soothingly caressing your cheek, a flutter of her gaze catches Bucky, who nods so tenderly. Speaking through the silence, the need for the rush now dissipates to a kinder pace.

Natasha retrieves another condom, as Bucky’s thumbs caress you in circular motions. One part of your mind enjoys it and the other is sinking into itself, reminding you that he is touching your fat.

Bucky leans down, kissing the arch of your spine, “Remember your safe word—-” another kiss, “we’ll stop if we have to.” Two more kisses, and he gently adjusts by your waist, so his tip is just at your entrance. Curved and hung, stroking through your lips.

Natasha’s hands cup your cheeks, “Remember to breathe.” Your skin yearning with lust, and desperation. Just as your lungs expand, Bucky slowly sheethes himself inside you, earning a breathy sigh from both of you, his eyes fluttering.

Moaning low, as an odd sense of comfort. That he is meant to be here, inside you. A reminder that you are wanted. The taste of Nat lingers on your tongue, and it feels like home.

Starving for that high, reaching for it one more time. Your body can feel every thrust, but your mind is drifting. Stifling the thoughts, you try to focus on the pleasure.

Your body is a spongy blob, in need to be used. You are nothing, and the void must be filled. With a cock, or a strap. Replace the sorrow with the crack of a belt, or a striking hand.

Bucky fucks deep inside you, your breathing becoming heavy. Nat holds your cheeks, kissing you, swallowing your sounds. Her warm tongue slipped inside, dancing against yours.

It’s all so suffocating. To be between their presence. Bucky hit a curved angle, making you cry out.

Yes—- the familiar knot is tightening. The curve of Bucky’s cock stroking and punching that spot, that delicious spot—- his balls slapping your swollen clit.

Soft moans and guttural grunts dance together in the air. Natasha’s slender fingers gripping your throat, no doubt, she’s touching herself. To see her husband fuck animalisticly their third.

String of slick connects between Bucky’s sac and your swollen clit, spilt and weeping on his cock.

The pit in your belly is tightening, so close. Swirling thoughts plague your mind, distracting you from your approaching high. Trying to pay attention to Bucky’s grunts, and gripping hands, but the thoughts of ugliness and shame rip at your skin.

Closer… closer … closer…

A gasp and …. nothing.

“I didn’t … cum.” You spoke in a hush. Eyes moon-wide, lashes blink against the cotton, disbelief eroding within your veins. Staring through the barely mesh blind-fold. Your breathing becomes short.

“That’s okay.” Nat says, caressing your scalp. She’s a slight blur in your hazy vision, coming forth to you with gentle ease.

But all you feel is the rush of blood flooding your ears.

“I — didn’t cum.” You repeat, breasts heaving, the cage of your ribs erratic with breath.

“And that's—- okay.” Bucky repeats. His lips kisses your cheek, caressing the skin with his thumb. Bucky moves around you, being careful with your body. Blood rushes to your ears, dissociating into the void, as their footsteps fade from your mind.

Your head hangs low, eyes watery, and humiliated. Expecting at any second for them to cut you down, and make your grand escape. Ensure that you must resign, never show your face again, pretend you never existed—-

Soft hands gently start cutting at the rope, as another pair grabs at your body, making sure you don’t fall. With kind precision, Bucky pulls you to his warm body. Natasha flicks at the rope, splintering fibers into split ends. A white towel wrapped around his torso.

He caresses your body into a hug, and you’re speechless. Nearly sinking into your skin, like being swallowed by a black hole. Cringing at the realization of being naked. Trying to muster the words, to tell them that you don’t need help, and you’ll be leaving, but Bucky just carries you as a feather.

“Where—-” your words die in a groggy grunt, “—- where are you taking me?” Your eyes are bleary, brows knitting in frustration. Bucky chuckles, “You need a bath.” His lips curl into a smile.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to—” your words are snuffed by a shush, Natasha’s fingers stroke the hairs clinging to the sweat of your brow.

“We’re going to take care of you.” Spoken with such firmness, as if saying you’re not winning this. With such declarations in their tones, it’s enough to shut you up.

And they did. They took such care of you.

Bathing you with gentle hands. You can feel they were deep in thought, a shift now in the air. Silently cursing at yourself for being so compulsive with your words, sitting in the bath with empty eyes.

Pampered you with a soapy scrub, and comforting silence. Naked among each other, but not sexual. Bathing one another, as you slip inside the bubbles. The water is warm, and it nearly lulls you to sleep.

All you can feel is hands holding you gently, and the blur of the dim bathroom lights.

-

The phone is stuck in the grip of your palm, blankly staring at the screen. Desperately your thumb hovers over the keyboard, itching to just rip the band aid off.

You peek over the hill of your shoulder, making sure Nat and Bucky are sleeping. Fiddling with the hem of Bucky’s shirt, you always loved wearing his clothes— spacious and big to conceal your fluffy body; plus, it smells like him.

You couldn’t sleep. Restlessly your mind raced. The pit of your belly pinches, as you set your eyes back on the screen.

His contact picture mocking you.

Let him know. It’s over. No more enduring the humiliation of being nippicked, for what you can’t control. Why continue being with someone who doesn’t love you for yourself? Who always makes you feel less than dog shit?

A soft hand glides up from your shoulder blade to the cusp of your neck, earning a gasp from you.

Your eyes flit to your side, to see Natasha’s sharp eyes staring into your screen. It’s hard to read her face, it’s … void.

“I can’t have children either.” Nat whispers. Her eyes shift to you, a small smile lifts. “Doesn’t make us any less of a woman.” Her eyes blink with sympathy, unflinching.

No quivering in the truth. That’s one of the best aspects of Bucky and Natasha. Neither one lies. It’s always been pure honesty, never looking away from shame.

You wish to master that. To not let shame eat at your core, till it’s festering. To the point of crippling anxiety, falling apart at the idea of being perceived.

And yet, these two, have cracked you open, physically and emotionally—- has seen every bit of you with no judgment clouding their eyes. Found beauty and value within you—- but is it love? What if they found another?

You wouldn’t find this connection again—- “Don’t get lost on me.” Nat’s voice pulls you back, her knuckles grazing against your forearm.

“We can help you pack your things.”

Your brows pinch with confusion. Nat breathes a laugh. “While he’s gone, we can help you move in.” The light of the phone dimmed, but Natasha can still see through you. Her observant eyes unblinking.

“You want me… to move in?” Your voice floats on a whisper, feeling that anxious drop in your belly.

“We’ve been wanting that for so long.” Natasha says. Her eyes flew over to Bucky’s sleeping body, “I had to stop him from just taking you.” She smiles, laughing a bit.

“He was ready to tear the door down.” The image of Bucky barging in your home, and just taking you sent a jolt to your core—- so rugged. Natasha’s eyes gaze back to you. Her shiny nails softly graze your forearm.

“We love you.”

Those three words nearly make you cry. Yet, you have no love for yourself. It felt compulsive to ask—- “Why?” the question just spews. Natasha’s brows pinch.

“How can we not?” She asks, as if it’s the most ludicrous question. Your eyes filter away, staring down in shame. The light of the phone screen goes out, the darkness becomes your veil.

“Because my body is ruined.”

Natasha remains silent, you can only see a glimmer of her through the dark, not even the night slipping through the blackout drapes.

Soft fingertips graze the outline of your shoulder, it was the warm flesh fingers you are so familiar with.

“You’re not ruined.” A soft husk whispers behind you. With how he moves in silence, it should have startled you, but it didn’t. You felt Bucky’s breath fan the skin of your shoulder, caressing you with a shiver in its wake.

You have no doubt he was listening to the entire conversation— nothing could ever be hidden from either. You shake your head, your lips caving into your mouth into a tight lip.

“A lot of people would disagree with you.” You say, it’s second nature to speak with such defeatism, to never accept a compliment. It was always a rare occasion to be told that you were beautiful.

“Many people can fuck off.” Natasha snips. Her finger curls under your chin, making you look at her. A swirl of frustration and sympathy tastes her ivory-skinned features, illuminated by the dim darkness.

“I wish it was that easy.”

“It is.” Bucky hisses low, “You’re making it difficult for yourself.” His words sting, but the truth is all too bare.

He exhales a sigh, so soft you barely hear it. Your eyes staring into the void, straining to see your lap before you.

By now, the light of your cellphone is gone.

Bucky’s flesh knuckles stroke your shoulder blade, you can feel he wants to speak more; but he graces you with the chance to swallow his words.

“What would the team say?” Unshed tears sting your oculus, filtering from your left to right. Your head shakes in disbelief, trying to find words; but the vowels seem to limp from your tongue.

“What— wh…” you stammer, nose flaring to keep the tears at bay. “The three of us…” your lips wrinkle, “I don’t fit…”. Your entire face prunes in despair now.

“How would that look?” You speak hastily and anxiously, your throat feels raw, chest rising and falling rapidly. You can feel their eyes piercing through your entire body, the rush of blood and heat captures your ears.

“It doesn’t matter what people think.” Natasha says, her tone is edged. Her face leans in closer, her breath fanning your face.

“It matters to me.” You sniffle, your fingertips pointedly hitting against your chest. “I have lived my life by everybody’s opinions…their taunts… I… I don’t know how I…” you begin to fumble over your words again.

“None of them would be against us.” Bucky says softly. “Or mock us.” He takes your fingers into his, interlocking. You can feel his warmth encasing you, from his thumb stroking your knuckles.

“We wouldn’t let them get the chance.” Bucky’s voice is low, an edged husk.

“I don’t want to embarrass you.” You spoke in a whisper, grinding your teeth, restraining the itching in your throat. Droplets of tears rain down your cheeks, soaking the jut of your chin, down underneath your neck.

“We’re not embarrassed.” Natasha’s fingers guide your chin. “Far from it.” She kisses your scalp, earning just the softest hint of a smile.

A pregnant pause.

“I would love to live with you…” you speak as soft as a baby’s breath, “to feel loved for once…”. A resignation rests on you, weighing heavier and heavier. A battle of resistance, to grasp violently onto the sadness, and on the other side, is acceptance.

Just give in. Don’t you want love?

It’s not important what I want.

It’s all here… in the form of two souls… doesn’t it feel nice?

It does feel nice.

“What do I say… to him?” The mention of your boyfriend back home stirs an odd tug in your belly. “How do I tell him? A fight can break out—”

“How about you sleep on it.” Bucky interjects, as Natasha’s open fingers stroke your spine. You nod, trying to swallow the harshness in your throat, muttering an okay under your breath.

A fight won’t happen, Bucky thinks, he won’t let it happen. He can sense Natasha feeling the same. A silent agreement that if anyone tries to hurt you —- it would end quickly and six feet deep in dirt. But, your anxiety vibrates too loud at the moment, it’s best to just rest now.

Laying down between them, sinking into the sheets. Natasha and Bucky encase you, as Bucky puts your phone on the nightstand. Out of sight, out of mind.

You let your last message to your now ex-boyfriend be your white lie of sleeping over at your mother��s. Now, your bones melt into the mattress, tucked between two bodies—- you can start anew in the morning, till then, you just want to rest with the two people who make you feel safe.

[genderqueerdykes]

this is just my experience, but i think some cis women with PCOS have a hard time accepting that it's under the intersex umbrella because like. ok. so i grew up getting bullied for my appearance (including sometimes by teachers!). most of us do. bad enough that i was an icky stupid girl, but i was a Wrong girl, i was Ugly (hairy arms, big head and feet, broad shoulders, strong jaw). so to find out that what i experienced wasn't just ("just") bullying growing up, that i was essentially experiencing discrimination. um. it was a lot. i actually cried on and off about it for a week if you can believe it, haha. especially after i remembered asking my mom when i was like 8 if i had "really been born a boy", because of what i was experiencing at school. i guess it's just retroactively processing all the shit that happened to you when you were younger that didn't have to be that way if the world wasn't so perisexist and cissexist? sorry to butt in if this is annoying, have a good day

i think so too, i think i've met a lot of people who have that experience. it also feels like a form of retroactive processing to me as well

[xxfaithlynxx]

Bridge to Somewhere

Word Count: 5.9k

- Ao3 -

Hearts in The Static

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Isekai, OC insert, Polyamory / Polyamorous Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Chronic Illness, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Found Family, Emotional Healing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, body image issues, Unreliable Narration, Protective Male Characters, rivals to lovers (sort of), past trauma, Everyone Loves Her But She Doesn’t Know Why, Heavy Angst, Fix-It Fic (but of the soul) Mental Health Themes (Depression, ADHD, pcos, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome), Suicidal ideation (past), Self-Harm Mention (Non-Graphic Flashback), Emotional Abuse (Referenced past) - Freeform, Body Dysmorphia, Trauma Recovery, Discussion of Medical Symptoms, feelings of worthlessness, Slow Healing & Difficult Conversations, themes of death, Survival, and identity

Image found on Google.

╰──────༺♡༻──────╯

Chapter One:

The wind doesn’t care that I’m here.

Neither does the world. I figured that out a long time ago.

It’s the kind of cold that settles under your skin—not sharp enough to sting, just… dull. Familiar. Like the way people’s eyes slide past me on sidewalks. Like silence in a crowded room. Like how the world pretends you don’t exist until you disappear for good.

I’m standing on this bridge, fingers curled around the railing. It's chipped, rust-stained, sticky with the faint smell of old metal and exhaust. Below me, the river reflects the city lights in broken lines. Pretty, in a way. Shattered things always seem to catch the light better. I wonder if I will, too.

My name is Aven Vale.  Not that it matters. No one calls me by it unless it’s to mark attendance or remind me I’ve been forgotten again. Sometimes I hear it in my own head and it sounds like someone else.

The cars below sound muffled, distant. People pass behind me on the sidewalk, but no one really looks. I could be a shadow or a lamppost for all they care. I breathe in the cold and let it settle in my lungs. It doesn’t burn. I wish it did.

My coat is thin, and the zipper's broken. I pull it tighter anyway, more out of habit than anything else. The stillness tonight is eerie—not peaceful, just hollow. Like a stage after the show is over.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it. There’s no one left who would call me for a reason that matters. Just reminders—bills, shift changes, people pretending to care. I already silenced everything important.

Except one thing.

The pinned notification from Love and Deepspace is still there. Of course it is.

I swipe it open. Not because I want to, but because it’s automatic now—like breathing.

The soft theme music plays. God, it hurts. It really hurts. It’s the only sound lately that feels like it sees me.

Five men appear on the screen, backlit by stars, smiling like they know me. Fictional. Digital. Designed to fall in love with someone else. But they looked at me when no one else did. They said the things I’ve never heard in real life. Things like you matter, you’re not alone, I see you.

I finished the last route yesterday, Sylus' and Zayne’s newest story. After that, I just sat on the floor. Lights off. Arms around my knees. Empty.

Today, I woke up knowing I didn’t want to do it again.

"Thank you," I whisper. It's not dramatic. Not poetic. Just honest. That game… those voices… they gave me something. Not enough to fix me. But enough to keep me here for a while.

I close the app.  Lock the screen.  Place the phone gently on the edge of the bridge beside me, like an offering. Like a goodbye letter without words.

Then I climb the railing.

It doesn’t feel brave. Or tragic. It feels like exhaling.

I don’t shake. I don’t cry. I don’t look back.

The stars overhead don’t blink.  The wind doesn’t move.  No one calls out.

And for the first time in my life, the silence feels like permission.

So I let go.

╰──────༺♡༻──────╯

Two Days Earlier

The register light flickered above me like it couldn’t decide whether to die or hold on.

Kind of relatable.

I wiped the countertop for the third time in ten minutes, not because it was dirty, but because it gave me something to do with my hands. The smell of burnt espresso and old fryer oil clung to everything—my uniform, my hair, even the skin under my fingernails. No one tells you that depression doesn’t look like tears or screaming into the void. Sometimes it just looks like over-wiping a clean counter while customers pretend you don’t exist.

"Can I get a half-sweet, oat milk, double-shot, no-foam cappuccino?" a woman snapped her order at me without looking up from her phone.

"Sure thing," I said, because that’s what you say. Even when your throat feels like sand and your chest is a locked box of glass.

The barista next to me—Tasha, or maybe Tanya, I could never remember—gave me a pity-smile when the woman walked away. I hated that look. The 'oh honey' look. Like people could sense you breaking but wouldn’t ask.

My manager yelled something from the back about an inventory shipment. I didn’t catch the words, just the tone. Sharp. Dismissive. Like always.

I stared at the order screen. My brain fogged over. I forgot the steps.

Milk. Steam. Pull shots. Cup size.

It was a stupid cappuccino. Why did my hands feel heavy?

"Aven, you good?" someone asked. Maybe Tanya. Maybe God. Didn’t matter.

"Yeah," I lied, forcing a smile. "Just zoning out."

She nodded like she understood. No one ever does.

I made the drink. I gave it to the woman. She didn’t say thank you.

It was just another shift. Just another day where no one noticed I was fading.

I told myself I'd walk home later. Sit in the dark like usual. Maybe open Love and Deepspace, just for a little while. Let someone—anyone—pretend I mattered, even if they weren’t real. Then I’d close the app and stare at the wall until the stillness inside me was louder than the silence outside. And maybe, if I was lucky, I’d sleep. If not, well… I’d just lie there and breathe until morning made me do it all again.

"Order up!" my manager barked again from behind the kitchen window. I flinched, even though I knew it wasn’t really for me. That didn’t stop my heart from jumping like I’d been caught doing something wrong.

I glanced at the clock. Three more hours.

The line surged. A dozen new faces. All of them looked through me like I was glass. I moved automatically—smile, nod, take the order, punch the screen. My jaw ached from clenching. My head pounded beneath the café lights. Everything smelled like desperation and caramel drizzle.

Someone spilled something. Another customer yelled about a wrong order. My manager scolded Tanya for chatting too long. Through it all, I just moved cups, wiped counters, filled syrups.

When I finally took my ten-minute break, I sank into the hard plastic chair in the back hallway like I could dissolve into it. I didn’t even pull out my phone. I just closed my eyes and breathed like I could exhale the weight pressing into my ribs.

When the shift ended, I clocked out in silence. No goodbyes. No see-you-tomorrows. Just the beep of the finger scanner and the door clicking shut behind me.

Outside, it had started to pour. Not just a drizzle or a moody mist, but a full, heavy downpour—like the sky was finally feeling something I couldn’t let out.

Fat drops soaked through my coat in seconds. My hair clung to my face, water sliding down the bridge of my nose like tears I hadn’t cried in years. The sound of it hitting pavement was deafening and still not loud enough to drown out my thoughts.

I stood there a moment, blinking up at the sky like it might offer some sort of answer. The clouds were thick, swollen, heavy with something unsaid. Like me.

But I didn’t break. I didn’t scream or sob or fall to my knees like in the movies. I just kept walking—soaked, exhausted, and invisible.

I tugged my hood up against the rain, not that it helped much. The downpour pelted my shoulders like it was trying to bruise me, like it was asking why I hadn’t broken yet. The world was grey, every streetlight and car headlight smeared behind a curtain of water. I slipped my earbuds in and hit shuffle, letting music drown everything else out—industrial beats, sad synthpop, anything with enough bass to push the thoughts away.

My breath fogged in the cold, catching on the fabric of my jacket. The puddles soaked through my shoes. Every step felt like dragging myself through mud and ghosts.

Halfway home, I felt a familiar tug. My jacket’s zipper, old and cheap, had snagged near the middle. I tried to adjust it with numb fingers, and the whole slider snapped off in my hand.

"Of course," I muttered.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t curse. I just pushed the jacket tighter with both arms and kept walking through the storm like a ghost pretending to be a girl.

My apartment building came into view at the end of the block—a squat, grey thing with flaking paint and windows that stared blankly back at me. Third floor, corner unit. A place that was too quiet and always smelled faintly of damp drywall and whatever my neighbors were reheating at 2 a.m.

No one waited for me there. No lights left on. No voices calling from the kitchen, no pet bounding to greet me at the door.

I used to have a cat. A fat solid gray cat, named Ragnar. He died four winters ago from kidney failure. I couldn’t afford to do anything except hold him and apologize as he went.

Before that, I had a rabbit. Then a fish. All gone. I stopped trying after Ragnar.

The silence inside my apartment used to ache. Now, it just existed—a constant presence like background static. Something you don’t hear until it swells.

I pulled my keys from my bag with hands that barely felt anything and climbed the cracked stairs one at a time, music still pulsing against my ears.

Still soaked. Still invisible.

I stopped outside my apartment door and just stood there, dripping onto the carpet like a leaking pipe someone forgot to fix. My keys felt too heavy in my hand. The music had ended in my ears, but I hadn’t noticed. The hallway was dim, too quiet—the kind of silence that presses in around your ribs and dares you to break it.

There was no one inside waiting for me. No laughter, no footsteps, no warmth behind that door. Just cold walls and an old couch and two bedrooms I barely used. The second one was supposed to be for guests or crafts or something domestic. Instead, it held boxes of things I didn’t have the heart to unpack.

I thought of Ragnar again, of how he used to greet me at the door even if he didn’t move much toward the end. How his motor like purrs had once filled this silence.

Now, even his ghost was gone.

I finally slid the key into the lock and turned it. The door creaked open, releasing a gust of stale air and the familiar emptiness I knew too well.

I stepped inside. Kicked off my shoes. Shut the door behind me.

And the quiet swallowed me whole.

I peeled off my soaked jacket and let it fall in a crumpled heap by the door. The zipper clattered against the tile, useless now. My jeans were plastered to my legs. My socks made that awful squelch as I stepped out of them. Every part of me felt heavy and raw, like I was dragging a storm inside my skin.

I undressed in the hallway without bothering to turn on the lights, making my way to the bathroom where I threw everything into the laundry hamper and stood in front of the mirror for a second too long. My reflection looked ghost-pale in the dim glow from the hallway—wet hair clinging to my cheeks, eyes ringed with shadows. I didn’t look broken. I didn’t look anything.

I changed into an oversized hoodie and threadbare sweatpants. Dry clothes didn’t make me feel any better, but at least I wasn’t freezing anymore.

The living room was dark except for the faint glow of the router lights. I didn’t bother with the main light switch. I knew where everything was. The couch groaned under my weight as I sank into it. It was too small to stretch out on, but I curled into the cushions like I belonged to them anyway.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket. My fingers hesitated.

Then I tapped the screen and opened Love and Deepspace.

The screen faded to white, and then the familiar black lettering appeared: Loading... 0%... 7%... 21%... 43%... My eyes followed the numbers without thinking. 67%... 82%... 99%...

100%.

The first thing I saw was that white chair in the backdrop—the interior of Destiny Cafe bathed in warm, ambient light.

And then he appeared.

Sylus.

Wearing his Magnum Opus 5-Star card outfit—a slate gray sweater that clung just right, light pleated dress pants that made him look like he belonged in some perfect, distant dream. He was casual and cinematic at once, every line of his figure gentle but deliberate.

He looked at me with that lopsided smile that had unraveled me more than once.

"I could've made a lot of things disappear while I was waiting for you," he said softly, voice low and velvet-smooth.

I stared at him a moment longer than I should have. Then, like always, my thumb moved almost on its own. I navigated out of the greeting screen and into the event tab. Caleb's birthday event was still running. I hadn't won the birthday card. I probably wouldn’t.

I sighed through my nose and moved to the Agenda tab. Log-in. Done. Core Hunt. Skipped. Interact with him, complete a Bounty Hunt, upgrade a memory. It was a ritual now. Familiar. Comforting. Empty.

When the checkmarks were filled and the gems and items were collected, I scrolled through the memories archive until I found it.

Valleydream Bloom.

I tapped the icon and let the scene unfold. His voice came through the speakers in a hush, low and warm like embers.

A mountain breeze. Late spring. That sweater again.

"This is the perfect place for dragon tales," he started off saying onscreen, the camera just barely swaying like the breath of wind between them.

I clutched the phone that much tighter.

His voice continued to thread through the stillness of my apartment, filling it with something that wasn’t noise. The screen softened—the wildflowers swaying in slow motion, a golden hue kissing the edges of Sylus’s expression.

"If a dragon knows it will die soon," he said, gaze flickering down to something just offscreen, "It flies to a valley far from its kin and waits alone."

The wind rustled through his hair in the video. His smile didn’t seem programmed. It seemed… tired. Kind.

I already knew the lines. I had looked them up once on the fan wiki. This card, Valleydream Bloom, wasn’t about grandeur. It was about peace. About quiet, grounded things.

The scene shifted—flowers blooming through sun-bleached bones, the vast skeleton of a dragon resting beneath an open sky. Sylus moved slowly through the overgrown grave, reverent, the petals brushing his hands like memories.

"If a dragon knows it will die soon," he said, voice low, "it flies to a valley far from its kin and waits alone. But even in death, life finds it again."

The screen panned to the nest of blossoms around the dragon’s ribcage. Sylus turned to the camera—turned to her—his smile soft but weighty.

"If every petal could receive this kind of reward..."

He leaned in, brushing a kiss to a pink flower petal that had landed on the MC’s forearm, then another to her cheek.

"Then this dragon will wait every night longing for the wind and petals to arrive."

The music swelled as the sky turned brighter—clouds drifting lazily across soft blue. The final shot was of Sylus kissing her in the center of the dragon’s nest, wildflowers blooming all around them.

My throat tightened. Something deep and aching curled tighter beneath my ribs.

I watched the whole thing through without skipping. Not because I believed in the fantasy—but because for a moment, in a dragon's grave blooming with wildflowers, it felt like someone saw the softest parts of me and didn’t flinch. Like longing was allowed. Like love didn’t have to be earned, just quietly waited for. Even if it came from pixels on a screen, the ache was real.

And that ache was better than nothing.

And tonight, that was enough to keep the worst thoughts waiting at the door.

But I didn’t stop there.

I scrolled back through the archive, fingers hovering before tapping into the others.

Painful Signal — Caleb’s 5-Star memory.  A sterile room bathed in cold overhead light. Caleb sat on the edge of a medical bed, turned away from MC. His shoulders hunched, the soft, broken, "...Stay back" spilling from him like breath he didn’t want to release. Cords and mechanical tubing trailed from a machine beside him. A dispassionate, mechanical voice said, "Repair complete."

He exhaled slowly, not turning around as she approached. “I almost forgot... you never listen to me during times like these.”

When MC stepped closer, he didn’t move—just sighed again. “I didn’t mean to hide it from you. I just didn’t expect you to find out like this.”

She sat beside him and asked, gently, if it hurt.

“I barely feel any pain. Unless it’s under repair. But…” His cybernetic hand lifted, hovering uncertainly. “I can’t even feel you anymore.”

Her fingers wrapped around his.

“I sometimes wish you were always in pain,” her response text said—not cruel, just honest. He looked at her, startled.

And then he took her hand in both of his—his real and synthetic fingers intertwining with hers.

“If that’s what it takes to feel you, I’ll accept it.”

She smiled through the ache and told him she wished, mostly, that his pain could be lessened.

MC stood to leave, and he followed her. His voice cracked.

“It’s even more painful… when you take risks for my sake.”

She turned back. In a blink, she was in his arms, pulling him into a hug he hadn’t expected. He stumbled slightly, arms going around her as if it hurt more not to.

“You’re the only one... who can ease my pain,” he whispered.

And something in me just… broke.

Because I knew what it was to be stitched together by someone’s voice. To hurt quietly, until the only solace was knowing someone would choose your wounds. Not run from them.

My fingers shook as I gripped the phone. That kind of pain? The kind you accept because it’s the only way you can still feel something real?

That was mine too.

And I had no one to say those words to. Or hear them from.

But for a few minutes, through flickering pixels and aching dialogue—I wasn’t the only one.

Outcast’s Voyage — Xavier’s 5-Star memory. A distant forest, pulsing with ominous light. Xavier stood in the heart of it, consumed. His eyes were blank—haunted by something that didn’t belong to him. The forest around him seemed to breathe, its hunger thick in the air. MC gripped his shoulders, her hands trembling as she cupped his face, trying to pull him back.

His eyes flickered. That dull lifelessness cracked open for just a second—light returning. And then he collapsed, her arms barely catching him.

She whispered if he was hurt. He tried to push her away.

“Run,” he told her, voice breaking. “Before it takes you too.”

Her evol flared, desperate, trying to reach him—but it didn’t work. He looked up at her, barely holding on.

“...It’s okay. Starfall Forest… will stop once it has enough power… It will…. I couldn’t… I didn’t protect you before. At least… it chose me this time.”

And then the scene shifted—MC pouring all of herself into Xavier, into the forest. After Xavier called her reckless, he collapsed against her shoulder as the camera panned out slowly, Xavier unconscious in her lap, her power a halo of grief and determination.

I couldn’t hold it together.

My hand covered my mouth, eyes stinging. That desperation—of being the reason someone suffered, of being helpless to stop it—that was mine. That had been my every day growing up. Watching someone unravel and knowing you were the excuse, or the witness. Or worse—the one who couldn’t do anything.

The way she held him. The way she refused to leave.

I wanted someone to stay like that. Even once. Just once.

My body shook with a sob that barely made a sound.

He wasn’t real. But that pain was.

Everlasting Wish— Zayne’s 5-Star memory. The city skyline glittered across the river, fireworks blooming silently in the distance. Zayne stood beside the MC in a red plaid suit, the sparkler in his hand trailing light as he drew a four-leaf clover in the air. The date hadn’t gone as planned—but they were still here, still together.

The scene shifted. They were walking hand in hand along a quiet pier, their steps in sync. The MC turned to him, asking him how the night had made him feel.

Zayne looked up at her, “I don’t want this to end,” he said, the words soft and almost boyish. “And I don’t want to go home.”

He wrapped his arms around her middle, burying his face against her stomach from her higher vantage. “I don’t want to leave you.”

The final shot—MC sitting at the edge of the pier, staring out at the water as Zayne stepped behind her. He reached down, gently lifting her chin. “Wait, there’s still something to say…”

His voice cracked slightly. “I want to spend the next decade with you.” As he leaned in and kissed her.

My chest clenched. The kind of ache that wasn’t pain—just longing, deep and tender. I wrapped my arms around my knees tighter, the warmth of the blanket not enough to fight the chill that bloomed in my ribs.

He hadn’t said it to me—but it felt like someone out there believed I was worth staying for. Worth holding. Worth a future.

And God, that almost broke me.

Sparkling Traces — Rafayel’s 5-Star memory.  The shoreline of Whitesand Bay shimmered in the background, soft waves rolling in under a sky just beginning to melt into dusk. Rafayel walked beside the MC with that effortless charm he always carried, his hands tucked casually in his pockets.

"I'd like to exchange my voucher for every one of your bad moods in the future," he said lightly, but his eyes held something more.

There was a pause. A silence as MC's response texts flit over the screen.

Then he added, softer, "Don't worry. No matter how many there are, I can take them, because... just seeing you smile is enough to brighten my day."

My breath caught. It wasn’t about romance. It was about being carried when you couldn’t carry yourself. About someone choosing your worst days, not just your best.

I pressed the screen like I could hold on to that.

And for a flicker of a moment, I felt a little less unlovable.

Each video ended, but I stayed where I was, curling into the silence like it might hold me tighter if I didn’t move.

Back on the home screen, Sylus still stood—pixel-perfect in that gray sweater and pleated slacks, his silver-white hair falling just right, those crimson eyes seeming to peer past the screen and directly into me.

There was something in his stare that always made me hesitate. Like he saw more than I let on. Like if I spoke, he’d know exactly how hollow I really was.

I stared back.

What was I even doing?

I was so tired of being alone. Of being the afterthought. The girl who smiled so no one would ask why it didn’t reach her eyes.

If only things had been different.

If only someone had stopped me when I needed them to. If only someone had cared enough to pull me back.

But they didn’t.

And now here I was—clinging to pixels and scripted comfort because it was the only thing that didn’t look away.

My fingers hovered over the screen, then fell away into my lap.

╰──────༺♡༻──────╯

I must’ve fallen asleep sitting up. The weight of everything pressed into my spine, my head slumped forward. The cheap throw blanket I’d pulled over my shoulders had slipped halfway to the floor. My phone rested against my chest, screen down, still faintly warm.

Outside, morning didn’t so much arrive as creep in—gray light filtered through rain-streaked windows, just enough to blur the edges of the world. My body ached like I’d been holding tension even in sleep.

But for once, I had the day off. And for a fleeting second, I actually felt it—relief. Not joy. Not peace. Just a soft, empty space where dread usually sat.

I peeled myself off the couch, joints creaking as I stretched. The shower took a while to heat up, the water clunking in the pipes like it resented being summoned. I stepped in anyway, letting the spray hit my face until I could breathe again.

When I got out, I wiped the fog off the mirror and stared. Splotchy skin. Tired eyes. A frame just shy of 5'2", a little pudgy in places that clothes always tried to smooth out. I wasn’t ugly, not exactly—but I wasn’t the kind of girl people looked at twice either.

I ran my hands over my face, then down my arms, grounding myself in the feeling. The morning routine wasn’t glamorous, but it was mine.

And today, at least for now, I had time.

I wandered barefoot into the kitchen and opened the fridge, standing there for a long moment like the light might offer answers. It didn’t. I cobbled together something vaguely resembling breakfast—half a piece of toast, a bruised banana, and the last few swallows of milk from the carton. Pathetic. But it was something.

The kettle clicked off behind me as I reached for a chipped mug when my phone buzzed sharply on the counter.

I jumped, nearly sloshing the water.

My boss’s name lit up the screen.

Anxiety twisted in my gut as I answered. “Hello?”

“Aven? Where are you? You were supposed to be in an hour ago.”

My stomach dropped. “What? No, I—today’s my day off.”

“No, you swapped with Kelsey last week. She said you agreed to cover her shift this morning.”

Ice bloomed in my veins. “I never agreed to that.”

“Well, she says you did. So now we’re short-staffed and scrambling.”

My mouth went dry. I didn’t even have the energy to argue. Of course she did. Of course no one checked.

“I—I’ll be there soon,” I said, throat tight.

“Make it quick.”

The line went dead. I stood there, blinking, toast in one hand, dread curling like smoke through my chest.

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes—unbidden, unwanted. I bit down hard, forcing the breath through my nose, holding it all back like I always did. There wasn’t time. There was never time.

I tossed the toast onto the counter, half-eaten and soggy, then turned and bolted toward the bedroom. My hands moved on autopilot—grabbing my wrinkled uniform off the hook behind the door, my phone, my worn wallet, and the damned jacket with the busted zipper.

Everything felt louder—my heartbeat, the ticking of the kitchen clock, the rain still falling outside.

I shoved my arms into the sleeves, muttering curses as the zipper caught and jammed halfway. I didn’t have time to fix it. Didn’t have time for anything.

The weight settled back over my shoulders before I even made it out the door.

I locked the apartment out of habit, the click of the deadbolt loud in the hush of the hallway. Some part of me scoffed internally—there was nothing in there worth stealing. Just leftovers of a life no one wanted, least of all me.

The stairwell was dim and slightly musty, the kind of place where the lighting always flickered and the paint peeled in corners no one bothered to fix. I trudged down all three flights, the rubber soles of my shoes hitting each step with dull finality. No elevator, of course. Just more stairs and the same old silence.

The rain hadn’t let up.

I pulled my hood up again, even though it barely stayed put anymore, and started toward the café. The usual route. The usual emptiness.

My face stayed neutral, unreadable. A wall. That same quiet complacency people always mistook for being 'fine.' Let them. Let them all keep thinking I was okay.

It was easier that way.

By the time I stepped into the café, damp around the edges and barely holding it together, my manager was already fuming.

"You're late," she snapped before I’d even crossed fully into the lobby. "Again."

My jaw clenched. “I didn’t know I was on today. Kelsey—”

“I don’t care what she said,” my boss cut in, waving a hand as if brushing me off like lint. “It’s your responsibility to double-check. You screw up again and we’ll be having a different conversation—one that ends with you jobless.”

She turned away before I could say anything else, already barking at another employee.

I stood frozen for a beat. The heat in my face wasn’t from embarrassment. It was fury and helplessness and the ache of being treated like a mistake just for existing.

I didn’t cry. I just turned and made my way to the staff room.

My locker was tucked into the back corner—the one people always mistook for the broom cupboard. More than once I’d caught a mop or cleaning supplies shoved inside. No name tag. No one remembered it was mine.

Fitting, really.

I changed quickly, stuffing my things into the cramped metal box, the door creaking on its hinges as I shut it. The moment I stepped back into the front, it was like a switch flipped.

Everything was already a disaster.

Customers were lined up out the door, voices raised, complaints spewing like steam from a boiling kettle. Someone was furious over the foam on their cappuccino. Another was yelling about an order mix-up that hadn’t even been mine.

Behind the counter, the other staff member was dragging their feet, half-wiping down tables and ignoring the growing pile of dirty dishes.

My boss’s eyes found me constantly, like lasers tracking a target. Every small mistake—real or imagined—was another strike. The register glitched. She glared at me. Someone spilled their drink near the cream station. My fault somehow.

Then came the worst part.

The bathroom backed up. The stench wafted into the hallway, sharp and unmistakable. I’d barely started mopping the spill near the pastry case when she snapped her fingers at me.

“Handle the bathroom. Now. And keep the lobby clean while you're at it.”

My hands stilled on the mop.

Was I supposed to be in two places at once?

But I nodded. Because what else was there to do?

I wasn’t allowed to say no.

As I wrung out the mop head with aching hands, something strange happened.

The radio, which usually buzzed in and out with static or played mindless top-forty drivel, suddenly shifted. A soft piano intro filtered through the crackling speakers, delicate and familiar. I froze, recognizing the melody before the vocals even started.

“Till I Meet You.”

It was from the game. Love and Deepspace.

My throat caught. Of all the songs to play in this dump of a café, that one?

For a brief second—barely even a full breath—I felt something lift. Like my heart had remembered it wasn’t always broken. That someone, somewhere, had once said something beautiful to me, even if it was only scripted. Even if it had only ever been pixels and fantasy.

Then the mop bucket tipped over.

Water spread fast across the tiles.

A customer shrieked about slipping.

And my boss’s voice cut through the music like a knife.

“Are you kidding me, Aven? Get it together!”

The weight slammed back down, harder than before. But the song lingered in the background, soft and persistent. Like a voice I couldn’t quite forget.

By the time my break rolled around, my body was screaming for rest, my hands raw from bleach and the mop handle. But instead of retreating to the back room for ten quiet minutes on my phone like I usually did—headphones in, world off—I was handed a plunger and a pair of gloves.

“Bathroom’s still a mess,” my boss said without even looking at me. “Use your break to finish it.”

I wanted to scream. Or cry. Or just curl into the mop closet and not come out.

But I just nodded, teeth clenched.

So instead of hiding in a corner and losing myself in something soft, I spent the entire hour scrubbing floors and trying not to gag from the smell. The door kept opening, coworkers popping in and out without a word, like I wasn’t even there. Like I was just another fixture to ignore.

When I finally emerged, my break long gone and my arms aching, I didn’t even look at the clock. I just walked back behind the counter and resumed taking orders.

Because what else was I supposed to do?

It all unraveled quickly after that.

A customer dumped their drink on the counter and demanded a full refund—never mind that they’d already finished half of it. The espresso machine jammed mid-pour. The other employee took a smoke break and just... didn’t come back. And my boss? She hovered. Always watching. Always judging.

I was juggling too many tasks when a tray slipped from my hands and shattered across the floor—ceramic shards skittering like angry little ghosts. Gasps echoed around the café.

My boss stormed over, red-faced and loud.

“Jesus, Aven! What the hell is wrong with you today?”

Something snapped.

I stared at the mess, breathing heavy, the sharp sting of bile clawing at the back of my throat. My hands trembled. My chest tightened.

And then I stood.

“I’m done,” I whispered, too soft at first. Then louder. “I’m done.”

I untied my apron, dropped it onto the counter, and walked—past the spilled drink, the gaping mouths, the stunned silence.

Out the front door.

Into the rain.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t care who was watching.

I kept walking. Past the café windows, past the flickering streetlamps and shuttered storefronts, my footsteps splashing through puddles like I had somewhere to be. But I didn’t.

I didn’t go home.

I didn’t want to.

The thought of unlocking that empty apartment, peeling off this soaked jacket, sitting back down on that too-small couch with the silence pressing in from all sides—it made my chest constrict.

So I marched. Nowhere in particular. No direction. Just motion. Just away.

Rain poured from the sky in sheets, soaking through what little my jacket still covered. But I didn’t stop. Didn’t flinch. My face stayed numb. My thoughts buzzed with the echo of shattered ceramics and shouted words.

I walked until the streets blurred, until headlights shimmered like stars in puddles. I walked because stopping meant feeling. And I couldn’t afford that. Not tonight.

I don’t know how long I wandered before the metal rails of the bridge came into view—tall, weather-worn, streaked black by decades of storms. My feet had brought me here without permission, without thought.

The wind picked up near the water, cutting through my soaked jacket, slicing into skin that already felt numb.

My feet dragged to a stop, and I moved to the railing, palms braced on the cold metal, rain dripping from my lashes. The wind whipped past my ears, drowning out the noise of the city behind me. Below, the river churned in slow, black ripples, reflecting fractured bits of streetlight and clouded sky.

╰──────༺♡༻──────╯

[blingblong55]

Funny feeling - König

Not a request but my own need for this:

141&Konig find out (same time as you do) that you have PCOS. You of course are sad because of the fertility issues and all the problems this condition brings, but not to worry, your partner is here to help and uplift you.  ---- F!Reader, reader with pcos, fluff, angst, comfort, established!realtionship, tw: self worth issues ----

A/N: I needed comfort and well I figured you might too so.. here's this

141 part here

When you step inside, the shadow of worry descends upon your home. Your spirit dimmed, and ever since the truth emerged and you withered, your mind came crashing down like a bird in flight. This diagnosis shook not just you but of course him. You now drown in a sea of despair and self-blame. It's a heavy burden to bear, one that threatens tears to roll down and make you walk away from König. You blame yourself as flawed, broken, unworthy of the love he gives you and you so cherish.

But König, ever the steadfast husband, refuses to lose you this way. He mustn't let you slip away. Not ever, Schatz.

One day, as he finally watches you open up, he sits down and listens. He clings to every word you say. You pour your heart out and all of your fears and insecurities. "What if you leave? What if this is the beginning of the end of us? I don't want to lose you Bär," your voice shaky. With gentle understanding, he wiped away your tears, promising to stand by your side through every trial and triumph. "Oh, meine Schatz," he says as he holds you close.

Now, he sought to educate himself about the condition, attend appointments with you, read up on diets that can help you and is now determined to be your unwavering support.

It's not just words where he shows you his undying love. No, that is basic and for the woman that owns his heart, actions must be shown to prove that he means it. He cooks your favourite meals, filling the shared home with the aroma of comfort and care.

He takes your hands one day and leads you through the meadows, reminding you of the beauty that exists in the world outside the window. And in the quiet moments, he simply holds you, his presence so warm.

"Life is not always fair, I know that and I also know that you don't believe that I mean it, that this won't change and��you're lying to yourself. I do mean it and this might change our lives a little but not for the worse. I love you, sweet girl, and I'll be here like you were for me," he kisses your forehead and keeps holding you close.

In the quaint Austrian countryside, where the hills whispered tales of old, lived König and you. Life is nothing but beautiful, especially now that he is retired. With changes and lots of cuddles, you slowly become used to this new part of yourself.

A/N: I think this part was shit...sorry..

Tags:

@shadofireshinobi @kit-kats06 @joyfulmarvelofavengers @luvecarson @hilmiponken @asgardswinter @141swhore @miscfandomwrites @itstrabunnybubbles @rockcollector3000 @certifiedcodbabygirl @eicee @liyanahelena @theineandonlyidiot @johfaam0 @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @rvivienner @frazie99 @spicypicklesoh @viomast @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @undercover-smutlover @Juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @defnotlpuluvyou @enarien @luvecarson @willowaftxn83-87 @saoirse06 @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @Llelannie @Macnches2 @bbyfimmie @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @honestlyhiswife @ikohniik @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @kaoyamamegami @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @asianbutnotjapanese @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @anonxasian @born4biriyani @thegreyjoyed @mychemichalimalance @marshiely @tuihiatus @iruzias @sleepyycatt

[girl-speaks-ghost]

My mom watches dnp with me and after a long discussion brought on from watching today’s video together, we have come to the conclusion that Phil would 100% deal with having a period better.

Dan? Would get so thrown off. The moment that first twinge hits he’d be mentally checked into survival mode. Every plan for the next week would be cancelled in case of something drastic. Cramps bad enough to make it hard to even stand? End of the world. Random mood swings would take him out since they’d be so much less explainable than his usual ones. He’d be on the verge of tears for about 12 different reasons the entire time.

Phil? Is up all night fighting for survival while still managing to a.) not wake Dan up, and b.) still want to go along with all the usual plans the next day. He’s so used to the migraine game that it wouldn’t phase him. He wouldn’t tell anyone and no one would know until it was a plot device for a story he wants to tell. Might have a hypochondriac fit the first day or so because of his last infamous near death experience, but you tell him he’s doing it for girls and the trans folks that man will be on board. Give him a midol and he’ll conquer the world.

(This conclusion has been drawn by an RN and her chronically ill daughter, both of whom have raging PCOS btw)

[shelb2112]

Posting this here as well.

I nearly died from a ruptured appendix Thanksgiving 2019. It changed my entire life. This is when I went all in on AEW. In the hospital while I was recovering I spent every day watching old footage of MJF and Kenny Omega, listening to podcasts about wrestling, checking out the Dynamites every week. It helped me recover. Today, I'm still alive, still chronically ill, and still watching Dynamite. Omega and MJF are still my favorites. MJF has not only helped me stay alive longer but he's also my inspiration.

I figured out in the hospital that I was trans. I hated being referred to as a woman. The fact I had PCOS made me not even realize I was dying. The dysphoria was at an all time high. I couldn't shave and I couldn't wear my masculine clothes in the hospital. Ever since then, I've started to become more and more comfortable being myself.

Here's where MJF comes in. He is literally the life I wish I could've had. A man who despite being bullied for being Jewish and having awful ADD, he became the champion of one of the biggest wrestling companies in the world.

I idolize him, not because I want to be with him, but I want to be like him. I want to be him. I have a mole on my left side of my neck, brown curly hair, ADHD, I'm at least halfway there! I'm half joking.

I hope and pray no one gets the wrong idea about my accounts. I'm just trying to pay tribute to the man that's made me the man I'm trying to become. If he never sees my posts or my replies, understandable! He's a busy guy.

I'm glad all of you have given this little freak (myself) the confidence to finally speak my truth. I'm happy when I get just one like or reblog on any of my posts.

Better than every other MJF stan online and you know it,

Shelb aka Simon Kaplan

[amkalus]

Looking for Potential Audience

Heya, I'm new to Writeblr world and willing to give it a try. Would anyone be interested in reading an adventure fantasy YA novel set mostly at sea? After being rejected 50+ times, I am considering potentially self-publishing it (and wondering if it'd be worth the trouble).

I have longed to have a heroine who represents this technically incurable health issue, given it affects one in every ten women. And I've longed for a story that encapsulates what it feels like to be hopelessly in love with the sea... so I wrote one.

The Sea Whisperer features:

FMC dealing with symptoms of PCOS [severe acne, suicidal depression, infertility etc.]

Enchanted lighthouse with a mysterious lighthouse keeper [there is sea magic involved]

Thousand-year-old prophecy and sea monsters

Old maps, leather-bound journals, and a pet sea hawk

Tall ships! lots of sails and ropes action

Friendships between women

Extremely subtle F/M romance

Sea Shanties

Island kingdoms and castles with opulent ballrooms [Anti-Colonialism Theme]

Here is the premise: The fishing village of Galacair has been the only home Earwyn’s ever known. Between the mysterious illness that plagues her and the villagers who consider her cursed, surviving gets harder with each dreary day. But there are whispers coming from the sea which ceaselessly beckon her, and an ominous vision of a calamity that haunts her dreams. Earwyn fears they could be a part of her illness too, and that madness has befallen her. The only one who seems to know something about it is Galacair’s lighthouse keeper, whose tower is as strange and remote as he is.

While I mainly wrote this story in dedication to all the PCOS women out there like me who are struggling to live with this and often failing, I also wanted it to be a personal tribute of mine to a lifetime spent by the sea, and to a family history filled with the adventurous spirit of mariners.

[formulaonecrumbs]

Junie I need a part two to the unexpected pregnancy pcos! reader fic!!!

(ofc only if you’d like), much love

togetherness 🤝

part one

Oscar Piastri x PCOS!reader

summary: oscar and reader start preparing for the pregnancy despite doubts and fears.

warnings: pregnancy anxiety, pcos mention, chronic pain

A/N: helloooo thank u anon for the request!!! i think this might be complete garbage 😭 idky i just couldn’t get it right, no matter how many times i rewrote it. also i wrote the whole fic just using ‘osc’ so i had to go back in and edit it to his name SO with that being said, if u see osc anywhere it shouldn’t be ignore it for my sake :) thanks bb. love uuuuu 🥰

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

the weeks that followed the positive test were a whirlwind of emotions, both exciting and terrifying in equal measure. the first few days after you found out, you couldn’t stop thinking about it—oscar had been nothing but supportive, holding your hand through every moment of uncertainty, but the weight of it all felt heavier than you ever imagined.

oscar, though, had been unwavering. he kept telling you how proud he was, how he couldn’t wait to raise this child with you, but in the quiet moments, you’d catch the flicker of worry in his eyes. you knew that look—he was scared too, but he was too focused on comforting you to let it show.

your emotions were all over the place. some mornings, you woke up feeling like you could conquer the world, full of excitement and hope. but most days, you were consumed by the overwhelming thought that things might not go as planned. that maybe your body, the same one that had fought against your pcos for years, wouldn’t be able to carry a child the way you’d dreamed.

oscar never let you believe that. even when you felt physically exhausted or the cramps would kick in unexpectedly, he was there. always there to hold you close, to remind you that it wasn’t about how perfect things would be—it was about you two, and what you could build together.

one evening, as the two of you sat together on the couch, oscar’s hand resting on your lower stomach, you both started discussing the future. the idea of naming the baby, figuring out a nursery, what the first few months would look like—small things that felt too big to wrap your mind around, yet comforting at the same time. osc was always so calm, so level-headed, making the decisions you didn’t feel ready for.

“i’ve been thinking,” oscar said softly, turning to face you. “maybe we can get a small house outside the city? somewhere quiet, where you can feel more relaxed… and the baby could grow up away from the hustle and bustle.”

you smiled weakly, your fingers lightly tracing the back of his hand. “that sounds perfect, osc. i want the same—somewhere peaceful. i don’t want to be in the city while… everything’s changing.”

he nodded, and the two of you sat in silence for a few moments, letting the weight of it all settle. oscar could see that something was bothering you, though. you always wore your feelings on your sleeve, and it wasn’t like you to hide them.

“hey,” he murmured, pulling you closer. “what’s going on, love?”

you sighed, your head resting against his chest. “i just… i’m scared. i’m scared that i won’t be able to do this. with everything going on inside my body, how am i supposed to carry a baby? what if my body rejects it?”

oscar’s voice was calm, but it held a deep tenderness that made your heart ache. “you’ve been through so much already, babe. you’re strong. and i’m here. i’ll never leave you to do this alone.”

his words were like a balm to your frayed nerves, but there was still that lingering doubt inside of you. oscar’s hand gently rubbed your back, his fingers working to soothe you. “we’ll figure it out,” he whispered. “together.”

days passed by, and the uncertainty didn’t fade. if anything, it grew heavier. the visits to the doctor became more frequent, blood tests, ultrasounds, discussions about what your body could handle—it was all a blur of appointments and checkups. osc was right there with you, even when the doctors’ words didn’t ease your worries.

one afternoon, after a particularly long ultrasound, you were sitting in the waiting room while oscar paid the bills. your legs were restless, and you couldn’t help but feel the panic bubbling up again. you hated feeling so out of control, hated the feeling that you weren’t in charge of your own body. the pcos had already taken so much from you, and now it was threatening to take this too.

but then oscar was there, sitting next to you, holding out a cup of coffee. “i don’t care what the doctors say,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “we’ll do whatever it takes to make this work. if we need to see someone else, we’ll do it. if we need to change our diet, we’ll do it. i’ll be here every step of the way, love.”

you tried to smile, but the tears were already in your eyes. you couldn’t stop them. “i don’t want you to regret this,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

“regret you?” oscar shook his head, gently lifting your chin so you could look into his eyes. “i could never. i love you. and this baby, whether it’s here tomorrow or in a few months, i’m already in love with them.”

the sincerity in his words washed over you like a wave, and for the first time in days, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you could do this.

later that night, after the long day of appointments, osc pulled you into bed, his arms wrapped tightly around you. “sleep,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “you’ve been through a lot. we’ll get through this together. no matter what.”

you melted into his embrace, letting the warmth of his touch comfort you. and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to feel hopeful, even though the road ahead was uncertain. you weren’t alone anymore. and that made all the difference.

THE END :>

[anabdaniels]

Cowboytober Day 1: Feederism

Paring: Agent Whiskey x Plus size female reader

Word counting: 2k

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Self-fatphobia, minor eating disorder (if you read between the lines), reader has PCOS, unprotected sex, creampie

Main Masterlist | Cowboytober Masterlist

Calories, a lot of calories. That used to be the only thought on your head when you ate anything aside from fruits and vegetables, had grown up as a fat kid didn’t help at all with your relationship with food.

God or whatever above knew how much you tried to fit a size 0 jeans, how many crazy diets and fasting methods you tried all your life, but your genetics were inclined to the weight gain and the late diagnostic of PCOS assured you that the size 0 would be almost, if not impossible to reach. You hated to look at yourself for a long period, until you realized that it was pointless, being so mean to yourself wouldn’t make you skinny and it made you feel horrible for nothing.

On the complete opposite side of all this was Jack.

At the very moment you extracted from Ginger the names of Jack’s exes and went a bit too deep on their social media, you hadn’t a single doubt that he wasn’t truly interested in you and all that was a joke, because, in your mind, there was no way he would look at you after have dated girls that easily could be on the Victoria’s Secret fashion show.

What you didn’t know was that it had an explanation. While living in Bardstown, his hometown, he didn’t have many possibilities aside from skinny girls, both the fact that the small town hasn’t been dominated by the big city’s bad habits or because there, as in a lot of rural towns, girls would be taught since the early age that their lifetime goal could only be getting married, and no man would want a fat wife. When he got into Statesman, despite being in Louisville, Kentucky’s most populated city, the social circle in which he had been inserted was the high-class one and Jack knew very well that rich ladies would spend 90% of their lifetime on a doctor’s table if it was necessary, doing absurd amounts of plastic surgery just for the sake of remaining on that humanely unreachable skinny frame.

And then the night you met happened.

Jack got immediately interested as his eyes laid on you and when the common friend of you two told him cowboys weren’t your type, it didn’t prevent him from taking his chances with you, ending with you two getting married around five months later.

If anyone got to search for the meaning of happiness, the result would probably be an image of Jack randomly looking at you during the day. Not only were you the best wife he could ask for, loving his country life and dear animals as much as him, but you also made him feel loved and cherished for the first time in his life and looked like a damn walking dream in front of his eyes.

Jack always knew he’d be completely obsessed with every curve of your body at the moment he put his hands on you, what he didn’t expect was all the rest that seemed to awake inside him. It wasn’t just your plump body that drove him completely feral, but the idea that he could put a bit more weight on you casually making your favorite meals or buying your favorite snacks or candies and that he would get to see you eating every crumb of it got the man almost climbing up the walls.

His thoughts on that late morning weren’t so different from that as he cooked lunch while you were grooming and playing with the dogs. As you entered the kitchen, the warm smell of food felt like a caress on your nose. You approached Jack with a curious gaze, unable to suppress a smile when you saw that he had made gyoza, one of your favorite foods.

“You’re not from this world, cowboy.” You joked while wrapping your arms around his waist, hugging him from behind.

“What’s so shocking about a man pleasing his wife?” he turned his head slightly with a smirk, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead, then holding one gyoza for you “Try it, my love.” You didn’t hesitate before doing it, chewing it slowly so you could savor every little taste your palate was able to identify. Jack couldn’t help but smile at your pleased expression.

“Damn, this is amazing.” You said after swallowing all the food “I’ll take a shower, then I’ll get back to smash these gyozas.” You chuckled and kissed his cheek before following upstairs.

You took a good time in the shower to get rid of all the fur from the dogs that was on you, when you walked back to the bedroom, you found quite a scene: the lights were turned off so the only lighting was from the windows, which wasn’t much considering the cloudy day; your favorite soft comforter on the bed, your all-time-favorite movie ready to be played, and the plate of gyozas on the nightstand.

“What did I miss?” you questioned approaching the bed and looking at Jack with a smile.

“Well, we have no work for the rest of the day, so I thought you might enjoy a little rest.” He said with that charming smirk, sitting on the bed and taping his thigh. You promptly moved to nest on his lap, smiling like a happy kid as he coed you in his arms.

You got quite entertained by the movie, even being the thousand time you watched it, having to worry about nothing but chew the gyozas since Jack was making sure to feed you. Being distracted by the TV, you didn’t promptly notice Jack’s fascinated expression observing you eat.

If he was asked to, Jack would be unable to explain that feeling, but the simple image of you savoring food so unworriedly made him feral; your jaw moving as you chewed, the soft motion of your throat muscles as you swallowed, the way your belly got rounder when you got carried away and ate too much. Every single detail of that made him completely out of his mind, and it just got worse when he causally found some pictures of your wedding and confirmed that you had put on some pounds since then.

Jack got absorbed in his thoughts, still feeding and petting you, unable to suppress everything going on in his mind. You were clueless about everything until you shifted slightly to settle better and felt something pressing against your leg. At first, you assumed it would be the belt buckle, another second passed and you remembered Jack was wearing sweatpants, then it could be just one thing. You turned to look and confirmed what you already expected while seeing that familiar budge.

“Did I miss anything?” you questioned both curious and confused.

“I haven’t lied when I said you look adorable while eating.” Jack shrugged while caressing your neck. Despite his sincere tone, you got slightly self-conscious as you realized how many gyozas you had eaten, looking down with your cheeks flushed. “Hey” Jack grabbed your face between his hands “Don’t get shy, little bee.” He leaned to press a soft kiss on your forehead, moving his hands down to your stomach, caressing it gently, and taking a sigh from you. “C’mere. Let me show you how much I love every inch of you.” Easily he manhandled you to straddle his thighs, leaning to kiss your shoulder while caressing your hips.

You could only melt on his hands, enjoying how he grabbed handfuls of you, massaging and squeezing your plump flesh, leaving no doubts about how much he desired you. Being a smooth lover, Jack got you so entertained while kissing and groping you that it took a moment for you to realize he had taken off your nightgown, making no flourishes before sitting you on his cock since you were already dripping wet. It felt like your brain was turned off, your thoughts were a complete blur as your husband’s strong rough hands held and caressed your hips, keeping you comfortably in place as he fucked you slowly, his eyes never losing sight of every little detail of your plentiful frame.

Jack intended to hold his wider desires, but at the same time, he couldn’t control his imagination, so he decided to feed his thoughts, more exactly, feed you. Your wandering mind was brought back to reality as you felt a gentle rub on your bottom lip and you opened your eyes, finding Jack looking at you with a satisfied smirk, like a mischievous cat observing a fish. You didn’t quite understand what was the matter as Jack grabbed one gyoza from the plate on the nightstand but wasn’t hard to figure it out as he approached the delicacy to your mouth.

You weren’t totally surprised, was an open-spoken fact that Jack loved to see you eating, but yet you didn’t expect something that exotic. Yes, you knew it wasn’t that peculiar, but was a novelty between the two of you. Enjoying the idea and curious about how it’d come out, you parted your lips and sighed while, once more on that afternoon, Jack fed you. If you thought about that in another moment, you would have found the idea of eating during sex kinda strange, but somehow it was surprisingly good. The boozing feeling of having to process the amazing taste in your mouth and the marvelous steady thrusting on your cunt was unexplainably good.

And surely you weren’t the only one enjoying it.

If separately, having you on his lap while buried inside you or watching you eating was enough to get Jack out of his mind, both things happening simultaneously was almost too much for him to deal with. You were so pretty being all soft and letting out your pleasured noises, but doing that while chewing and swallowing food produced an overwhelming feeling in Jack that he would never be able to explain; the satisfaction of seeing you well-fed and the expectation that it might give you a couple extra pounds always made his brain shut down for a brief moment.

Somehow it was like both of you could read each other’s thoughts: you knew that Jack loved to keep you eating every chance he had and, despite your occasional self-conscious thoughts, you were aware of how much Jack loved and worshiped every part of your body, and, in the other hand, Jack knew you enjoyed to feel cared and accepted in his arms, getting rid of your concerns about anything and no less important, he knew you loved his food, so why not join it all?

At the pace another gyoza was carefully placed in your mouth, things started to get hard to manage, and you chewed the food with more strength than necessary since your body was starting to get slightly out of control. Realizing that and feeling his control vanishing, Jack gave up on his thoughts, grabbing your jaw with one hand, smirking as he felt you doing the best you could to chew the gyoza while his free hand sneaked between your legs, giving you a little push through the edge. You grabbed his arms, sinking your nails in his skin and hiding your face in the crook of his neck as you dived into pleasure, finally reaching that satisfying release while Jack pulled you closer, nibbling on your shoulder as he filled you up. The two of you remained like that for a moment, a total mess of softened limbs.

You mumbled quietly when Jack settled you better in his arms, caressing the chubby folds of your side and planting a couple of kisses on your temple. You looked up at him with a soft smile, closing your eyes as Jack pressed a soft kiss on your forehead, reinforcing your wish to not get out of that comfortable spot.

“I have a question.”

“Tell me, sugarcube.”

“Do you already have plans for dinner?” you did your best to hold back your laugh as Jack raised one eyebrow looking at you.

“I didn’t, but now I’m starting to have some ideas.” He answered in that cocky manner and leaned to press a soft kiss on your lips.

Tagging: @missladym1981 @alex-does-art-things @beefrobeefcal

[thatgentlewife]

Balancing Your Hormones in a World of Chaos

We are living in a time where the natural design of a woman’s body is under constant assault—from endocrine disruptors in our soaps and plastics, to stress-filled lives, poor diets, and even spiritual imbalance. And many of us are silently suffering: irregular cycles, PCOS, infertility, anxiety, weight gain, burnout, and fatigue that no amount of coffee can fix.

But I want to remind you of something powerful: God did not create your body to live in dysfunction.

Our hormones are beautifully orchestrated by the Lord’s design. And while the world pushes pills and bandaids, the Lord has already given us tools in nature and truth. You don’t have to live in survival mode. There is a path to restoration.

Here’s how to begin:

1. Ditch the toxins

Switch to natural, non-toxic products where possible—especially for skincare, cleaning, and cooking (glass over plastic, cast iron over Teflon, clean beauty over endocrine disruptors). What goes on your skin goes in your bloodstream.

2. Support your liver

Your liver detoxifies excess estrogen. Support it with dandelion root tea, milk thistle, and leafy greens. Hydrate. Reduce caffeine. Prioritize sleep.

3. Embrace nourishing herbs

God gave us medicine in the earth. Try:

• Vitex (chaste tree) for progesterone balance

• Spearmint for testosterone regulation (especially in PCOS)

• Red raspberry leaf for menstrual support

• Ashwagandha for stress + cortisol regulation

• Nettle for mineral-rich nourishment

4. Eat like a woman

Prioritize whole, God-made foods: healthy fats, grass-fed meats, seasonal veggies, and plenty of protein. Don’t starve your body—it’s not punishment, it’s your temple.

5. Honor your rhythms

God created you with cycles on purpose. Learn your cycle. Track it. Rest when you need to. Don’t force productivity every day of the month. That’s not weakness—it’s wisdom.

6. Pray, worship, and rest

Anxiety, stress, resentment—they are hormone wreckers. Surrender them at the feet of Jesus. He restores your soul, and yes—your hormones too.

The road to hormone health isn’t instant, but it’s worth it. You are not “crazy,” broken, or alone. You are beautifully designed, and healing is possible when we return to the simplicity of creation, wisdom, and God’s heart for wholeness.

With grace,

thatgentlewife

[bougiebutchbinch]

honestly i still think about your Crocbuggy omegaverse idea where theyre both alphas and Croc seeks to “fix” Buggy by knotting him and making him an omega but the act kicks off deeper hormonal transitions in both of them that Croc didn’t foresee cause bonding goes both ways idiot. You just rewired yourself to be chronically enamored with the world’s most pathetic pirate. You’ve entwined your relationship into your biological sex and personal sense of gender. Idiot.

And for Buggy its like getting PCOS hormonally treated? Like wow his issues with irregular rutting are *gone*. More powerful than ever.

And crocodile is now like, mentally blocked from being too rough or angry with the clown, in the way that people are mentally blocked from biting off their own fingers. They are hormonally inclined to act as a unit. Its like a whole second puberty Crocodile didn’t think about the ramifications of triggering. Just how hot he found the idea of putting a pathetic alpha in his place. Oops your body now responds to Buggy like he is an extension of *your* body.

Just surging with instincts and hormones telling him to keep Buggy safe and happy and to be as close as they can physically tolerate as often as possible.

OH MY GOD BLAST FROM THE PAST

my buggy bitching fic days............. goddddd that is such an important headcanon. I think for full exploration Crocodile should be trans!Alpha, but with zero qualms/self-confidence issues and only unremitting, brutal confidence. He's gonna bitch and impregnate Buggy with his strap if he's gotta - that silly little clown simply doesn't deserve to be an Alpha. Wouldn't he look soooo much better clinging to Croc, his thighs trembling on either side of Croco's broad waist, little feet kicking about as Croc forces him to cream his cock, over and over again?

He doesn't get a choice in this. He can cry and whimper all he wants - but he's Croc's little Omega now, and Croc's gonna treat him like one.

.....................of course, Buggy is actually really, really into it lshdfghsdfkh

[crowfem]

•*Current Beliefs and Stances*•

hello and welcome to my blog! i am new to radfem but I am not new to feminism. i have been reading more and more and just want to put my beliefs and stances at the top of the blog. this will be updated as I learn and grow more.

note: if you wish to talk in comments, asks, etc. i will be willing to answer and listen as long as everything comes from a place of mutual respect and desire to learn/grow

‧𓍢ִ໋☕ ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪

there is a fundamental difference between female and male socialization (especially in fundamental religious spaces!) sometimes i lean towards more misandrist views and live by “don’t trust a man until he proves himself”

i am anti-porn, anti-sex work, and kink critical as i know that these spaces can be used to victimize women and children. this does not mean that i think women should be attacked for being stuck in porn or prostitution and we need to work together to help uplift all women

i include men somewhat in my feminism as i know that the patriarchy harms and grooms young boys. my personal belief is that to stop the cycle we need to heal men as well. however, i will always prioritize women and their voices, writing, etc.

gender stereotypes need to abolished. women and girls need to know they can do and enjoy traditionally masculine things without being a man. vice versa for men and boys

i have a complicated view on trans discussions. i think my beliefs could be labeled as “truscum” because that is what i have been taught from the trans people in my life. while i may have some harsher views (such as how the idea of “passing” reinforces gender stereotypes and that gender non-confirming may eliminate the need to transition) i sympathize with those that have body dysphoria as i know how crippling that feeling can be and i do not wish for them to suffer.

i advocate for mental health care and services. i advocate for services for the homeless population. i see the inherent value of all human life especially when we are in community with one another

anti-capitalism and anti-war - this includes genocide and the fascists that attempt to take over our world and bodies

i center myself in a “eco” worldview instead of “ego” - this planet is our home and we all need to do our part to keep it safe. AI and the like can rot ‼️

i work in the education field and i aim to get my Phd one day. i believe that education is one of the aspects of true liberation

i am always willing to learn - i know i may be wrong on some things based on personal experiences and am open to respectful conversations

feminism MUST be intersectional. i have learned a lot of from the woc in my life about misogynoir and the differences we go through. all women must be free or none of us are

i have learned through my own life that medical professionals do not focus on women with any sort of medical issues - including but not limited to pregnancy, pcos, mental health issues, and much much more. any post highlighting this and research on it will be boosted here

no one is free from criticism, including me. if i post about something harmful or factually incorrect please let me know

extra:

i love to learn - i have lots of special interests besides feminism/social issues

media of all kinds (books, movies, tv shows, theater, etc)

writing! i hope to be an author one day and am greatly inspired by the women authors who have come before me

fantasy, dnd, and video games

animals!

aesthetics and art

lesbian history (proud wlw and love my gf 🥰)

that’s about it! i will be working on making a resource post to link to this in the future •*