#an expression of frustration and discomfort

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 25 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

Content Warnings: The last scene (Igris p.o.v.) contains some elements of gore—this is a work of fiction and I do not condone or glorify violence in real life.

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

"(Name)?"

Jinwoo’s voice pulled you back to reality, the ethereal images of your mindscape dissipating into the humid air of the jungle. The ghost of a father’s warmth vanished entirely, leaving behind an ache that felt too deep to name.

Under a canopy of branches and leaves shielding you from most of the rain, you sat perched on the uprooted trunk of a tree, the poor thing yet another victim of the battle that had raged mere moments ago. Its splintered roots protruding like skeletal fingers.

Your gaze trailed over the battlefield, past the litter of corpses sprawled across the muddy ground. The heavy downpour diluted the blood pooling in the soil, streaking crimson rivers through the uneven terrain. The dungeon’s boss laid lifeless in the background, and the shadow soldiers wordlessly harvested magic cores from the fallen. Even with the restrictions of a Red Gate, they worked tirelessly, ensuring nothing of value was wasted.

The quiet crunch of footsteps tore your eyes away, lifting your head just in time to see Jinwoo approaching.

"Ah, done already?" you asked, forcing out something that barely passed as casual. The scepter in your hand dissolved into the usual flurry of tiny luminous butterflies, the warm glow flickering briefly before vanishing entirely, tucked away in your pocket space of an inventory.

Jinwoo said nothing at first. He simply plopped down next to you on the fallen trunk, shoulders brushing against yours. The words were forming on your tongue before you even realized it.

“Jinwoo, I—”

Jinwoo’s eyes widened and he instantly caught you before you could completely double over, his hands steadying you by the shoulders.

“Hey…” He whispered worriedly when he saw your scrunched up expression, your lips glued tight.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” His voice was slow, careful, as though afraid that saying too much would only overwhelm you further. However, his expression darkened when he saw how your hand instinctively shot up, pressing lightly against your neck.

{The meeting with character < Sung Il-Hwan > cannot be shared.}

“It’s the system again, isn’t it?”

You nodded pitifully, eyes squeezing shut against the growing discomfort.

Jinwoo didn’t like this. Didn’t like seeing you in pain. Didn’t like seeing you hurt. The vulcan incident was a dead giveaway.

His grip on your shoulder unconsciously tightened, his fingers pressing down just a little too hard.

You flinched—just barely, just a small, involuntary reaction—but it was enough. Jinwoo’s body tensed, the barely-contained wrath inside him threatening to spill over.

He inhaled sharply.

Exhaled.

Pulled back just slightly, loosening his grip, his thumb instead beginning to trace light, soothing circles against your arm. Slowly, your breath steadied.

And yet—

When you lifted your gaze to meet his, the guilt was plain in your eyes.

That was when Jinwoo truly felt it. The unmistakable churn of fury rising in his chest.

Why?

Why were you looking at him like that?

“Sorry—"

“Stop.”

Without hesitation, his hands slid to your waist, pulling you into him. The movement was fluid, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if this was simply where you were meant to be.

Your heart lurched at the sudden proximity, but Jinwoo only exhaled, resting his head against your shoulder.

He sought warmth.

Not just any warmth—yours.

The warmth that had always been there, always within reach, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

And how funny, really.

Here he was, seeking comfort from the very person he was supposed to be comforting.

Because he knew—he knew that if he let his frustration take over, if he allowed his rage at the system’s interference to boil over, it would only hurt you more. And that was the last thing he wanted.

"Whatever it was that you were going to say, stop." he murmured into your shoulder, voice quieter now, "The fact that you still, always, try to tell me first—even when you can't in the end—is enough."

You fell silent at his words, thoughts hidden in depths of your mind.

Before you, the system’s interface flickered to life, displaying a tally of the experience points earned from your support during the raid. You ignored it, choosing instead to focus on the feeling of Jinwoo’s breath against your skin, his damp hair brushing against your neck.

Without thinking, you shifted slightly, tilting your head just enough to allow him more space. Your hand found its way to his back, resting there in a quiet gesture of reassurance.

The sound of rain filled the silence between you.

And then—

You hummed.

A quiet melody, soft and familiar, barely rising above the rhythmic patter of water against leaves.

“That tune,” he murmured slowly. “You’ve sung it to me before.”

You blinked.

“I did?”

The memory surfaced before you could even search for it.

A bleeding hunter in the abandoned corner of a dungeon.

His head resting on your lap as you healed his wounds.

“…Oh.” Realization dawned. “I guess I did.”

“Wait.” Your head turned to him, the motion almost robotic, though the position only allowed you to see his dark strands. “You were conscious?”

A slow, almost sheepish exhale.

"Barely."

There was a pause. Then, so quietly you almost missed it—

“You have a nice voice.”

Heat crawled up your spine before you could stop it.

Jinwoo shifted slightly, and the gesture was like he was nuzzling into you.

"What song is it?" Jinwoo asked, as if nothing had happened. "I can’t find it anywhere."

Your lips parted slightly.

"You searched for it?"

“Scoured.”Your heart tripped over itself when Jinwoo felt the need to emphasize. "I thought finding the song was the closest I could get to hearing you again."

“I—” Gosh. Did Jinwoo even realized how adorable he was being?

"It’s a song I also heard in passing… Can’t remember exactly where." A small, hesitant pause. “Maybe it just stuck with me.”

It was a song from your world.

“Mm.” Jinwoo scooted closer, if that was even possible. The front of his chest was already pressing flush against yours.

“Can you sing it again for me?”

Wow. Just… wow.

“Please?”

You yielded.

Your lips parted—

And you began to sing.

-----

Jinwoo’s gaze followed your hovering finger over the golden screen, observing as you clicked a dotted button. A new page overlaid the main menu.

“That’s new.”

“Nope.” You popped the letter ‘p’-sound. “It’s my second, and apparently the last, ascension quest.”

You scrolled through the <Final Ascension>’s list, skimming past the check-marked objectives: <Reach Level 200 – (200/200)> and <Ascend your summons to the final stage and maxed out their level – (8/3)>.

At the bottom of the page, an entry caught Jinwoo’s attention:

{ 3rd Requirement: ???

Progress: ---

Status: ---

Note: The last requirement will be revealed in due course as you continue your journey. }

“That’s vague.” Jinwoo huffed.

You just let out a sigh, flicking the interface away with a gesture. “Your <Key to Cartenon Temple> wasn’t exactly clear-cut either. At least the system isn’t playing favorites this time.”

His lips quirked into a brief smile, but it faded as you continued. “Besides, it’s not the first time the system’s pulled something like this. That first ascension quest was in the middle of our fight with Baran—”

You stopped mid-sentence as you felt Jinwoo stiffen beside you. The angle still prevented you from seeing his face fully, leaving only the top of his head and the curve of his ears in view. His sudden rigidity made your chest tighten.

“Jinwoo?” you asked gently, concern lacing your tone.

He didn’t respond, merely shifting closer, as close as possible, to ground himself in this quiet moment with you.

You lifted a hand to pat his cheek lightly, coaxing him to lift his head. When he did, you brought your other hand up, cradling his face gently. Leaning forward, your forehead pressed softly against his, your gazes locking for a moment before his shifted to where your hand rested against his skin.

“That time,” he murmured, voice low, “the black marks…”

You understood immediately.

“They were the result of contamination in the mana flow,” you explained, your tone calm and matter-of-fact. “Even after I managed to filter it out using the flowers, there were remnants left behind.”

It truly broke your heart when he tried not to flinch, eyes snapping to yours so briefly before looking at your hand again, while his voice held a note of incredulity, mixed with something deeper—hurt, perhaps. “You knew?”

“That absorbing it would cause my body to shut down? Not quite.” You admitted. “While I suspected something might happen, I didn’t anticipate the accumulation having such an effect. On our first trip there, the black marks on my hands didn’t do anything.”

Sensing the protest forming on his lips, you instantly added, “Precisely because they didn’t show any effect, I didn’t consider it urgent enough to mention.”

There were more important things to worry about—was what you thought, remembering his mother.

Jinwoo’s lips fell into a thin line, jaw tight.

"I made a promise to protect you."

“And you did,” you replied firmly, your thumbs brushing against his cheeks. “The best you could.”

You wasted the <Holy Water of Life> on me.

You didn’t remember it being mentioned that Jinwoo used all six of the elixir in the original story, only thrice. So, at the very least, you could rest easy knowing that you didn’t take the life of some character meant to be cured via that one bottle you had consumed.

“Not enough.” His eyes darkened, frustration seeping into his tone. “If I were stronger—”

“Would you say I’m a deadweight, then?” you interrupted, your voice sharper than intended.

His gaze shot up, horrified. "No! Why would you—"

“Because my powers are essentially halved—can even be less than half—in places like that.” Your gaze bore into his, unyielding. “I can’t change that. Neither could you.”

Your voice echoed faintly in the rain-drenched jungle, and his mouth opened, but no words came out. Instead, he bit his lip. His expression remained a storm of emotions—guilt, frustration, and a lingering vulnerability he seldom let surface.

“Jinwoo,” you said softly, your tone more tender now, “you’re doing more than enough.”

His lips parted as though to argue again, but you stopped him. “I was the one who decided to trust the system and go through with it.” Your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within. “It was a risky, split-second decision, yes, but it was worth a try to hijack Baran’s mana reserve.”

You would’ve succeeded even without my help—you wouldn’t doubt yourself like this if I’m not here.

“The system wouldn’t have given me the quest if completing it meant I would die, remember?” You tilted your head slightly, meeting his conflicted gaze. “If it didn’t need me anymore, it would’ve left me alone instead.”

Strange... ̶̧͗ ̶̖̫̔̾ ̵̧͗̊h̷̺̆̅ȯ̴͓̥̆w̵̘̿̒ ̵̫̂͘ͅc̴͍̼̃́o̷͔͉͑̓ȗ̵̯l̸̯̊d̸̘̫̊͘ ̸̫͓̏I̴͖̻͗̓ ̴̮̱͊̉b̶̤̝͌̀e̶̯̦͆͝ ̸͚̓͂s̴̖͝o̷̮̍ ̷̢̆s̸̗͙̾ṷ̸̜̓r̵̞͌e̴̹̽͜ ̵̣̇ͅȏ̵̰͎͝ḟ̵̪̤ ̷̣̯̈t̵̥͑h̸̝͌͋a̴̝͋́͜t̴̨̯̓?̶̩͆

{ . . . }

Jinwoo’s hands clenched faintly in his lap.

“We don’t know exactly what would’ve happened.” And you pushed aside the intrusive thought. “We don’t know how much it would take.”

“Jinwoo.” You gazed upon those kind, caring, stormy greys. Offering a small smile, gentle and reassuring. "We're in this together."

Don’t blame yourself.

The silence between you thickened, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. His eyes searched for answers in yours, and whatever he saw seemed to soothe the storm within. You watched as the tension in Jinwoo’s face began to melt away. The faint crease in his brow smoothed out as he exhaled a long sigh. The tight line of his lips softened into the faintest of smiles. The frustration that had etched itself into his features ebbed away like the receding tide. The weight on his shoulders seemed to lift slightly as he brought his hands to rest atop yours, still cupping his cheeks.

His skin felt somewhat cool against yours, a contrast to the warmth radiating from your palms. His fingers curled lightly over your own, as if anchoring himself to you, unwilling to let go just yet. Then, he closed his eyes, his expression becoming more relaxed, almost serene.

It was a rare sight—Jinwoo letting his guard down entirely. The tension that so often coiled within him like a tightly wound spring had loosened. He looked utterly vulnerable yet so at peace. There was something heartbreakingly endearing about it, the way he melted into your touch with such quiet trust.

A soft giggle almost escaped you; the sight was just too adorable. His usual guarded demeanor giving way to something boyish and sweet. The great and mighty Sung Jinwoo, leaning into your hands like a content cat basking in the sun. The temptation to tease him was strong, your palms pressing lightly against his cheeks in jest, but before you could act, he opened his eyes.

What greeted you made your breath catch.

His half-lidded gaze was heavy, made his pupils seemed dilated, irises that ethereal shade of bright blue. The droopy edges made him look drowsy, lazy, yet his focus was unwavering, almost hypnotic. There was a strange, dazed quality to his expression, as though he’d been lulled into a rare state of peace, so utterly content that he hovered on the edge of slumber, yet fought to stay awake, unwilling to look away and miss even a second of the sight before him.

It was as if the only thing tethering him to the present, the only thing he wanted to see in that moment—was you.

And oh, how that look did something to you.

A rush of warmth spread through you, feeling as if your body might catch fire. You instinctively tried to pull away, head leaning back just enough to create some distance, desperate for an escape. But before you could retreat entirely, Jinwoo’s hands tightened gently over yours, keeping them firmly in place.

Your eyes darted away, hoping to regain your composure, desperate for a distraction. They landed on the littering corpses of magic beasts scattered across the muddy ground. Before you could utter a single word in your attempt to change the subject—

“You don’t need to ask for permission,” Jinwoo beat you to it, his tone soft but certain. “They’re your spoils as much as they are mine.”

Your head snapped back to him, and you instantly regretted it.

Why? No, not just because of the whiplash you were experiencing. But also, because he was still looking at you like you were his haven. Achingly tender, almost worshipful. His gaze hadn’t softened; if anything, it had grown heavier, more intoxicated on you.

You thought this would end when he closed his eyes, but then he proceeded to shift his head just slightly to the side, tugging on your hand with just enough force to bring it closer. His lips brushed lightly against the inside of your palm, unhurried, halting your thoughts.

Then, with deliberate care, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your wrist, right above the spot where your pulse thrummed. Jinwoo took his time as though savoring the contact, the faint rhythm beneath his lips. When he finally lifted his gaze, glowing eyes locked onto yours once again.

A shiver ran down your spine.

Dangerous.

“Mother.”

You jolted, your hands yanking back so quickly you feared you might have pulled Jinwoo along with them, or worse, accidentally scratched him in your haste. Relief washed over you when you realized you hadn’t, ignoring the brief glimpse of disappointment in his grey eyes. As you cradled your hands against your chest, your fingers instinctively brushed over the spot he had kissed.

The palpable pulse was louder now, faster under your fingertips.

“Sire.”

Your head turned to see Red standing nearby, her posture straightening from a curtsy after greeting Jinwoo as well.

Jinwoo nodded in acknowledgment, though you didn’t dare look at him again. Instead, you made the discreet gesture of fanning yourself with one hand, trying to cool the rising heat out of view. Your other hand remained pressed against your chest, feeling your drumming heartbeat as it slowly steadied.

That was too much.

Red’s perceptive gaze lingered on you, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for her timely interruption. This composed child of yours had always been uncannily the most attuned to you among the others.

“Mother, may we begin <The Feast> ?” Red’s calm composure betrayed nothing, her tone remained measured, though the knowing glint in her eyes suggested she had seen enough.

My sweet, sweet child, you thought with fond exasperation. I’m going to spoil you to bits once we’re back home.

A private tea party with you would suffice, Mother, came the unspoken reply.

“Yes,” you answered, finally finding your voice. “Yes, you may.”

-----

Jinwoo was, understandably, a little unsettled.

It was just a flash of something sharp peeking past Red’s lips, glinting in the dim light, made all the more unsettling by the sudden, ignited hunger in her eyes at your simple permission.

He thought it might’ve been a trick of the light, some illusion caused by the jungle’s shifting shadows. But the smile that followed, fleeting as it was, left no room for doubt. If asked to describe it, Jinwoo would struggle between words like “alluring” and “unnerving”. It was a look that sent goosebumps rippling across one’s skin, like staring too long at a blade glinting in sunlight.

And as it turned out, that was only the beginning.

-----

Igris was, understandably, a little unsettled.

He was not a shadow who easily found himself at a loss for words. He had faced countless enemies, stood beside his Liege through most harrowing of battles, and witnessed displays of power that would render lesser beings trembling in fear.

Then again, this could very well be one of those newer experiences.

The shadows had just about completed their task of collecting magic cores for their Liege. Each of them was accompanied by your summons, the usual pairing: a soldier and a butterfly, the latter usually a personal dedicated support for that one shadow—a formation established early in their Liege's cooperation with you and maintained ever since.

As the last shadow soldier stepped away from a lifeless corpse, the number of red butterflies increased. This was not unusual. In most cases, the red ones were the most diligent in storing and distributing the energy gained from the living and the freshly defeated. Igris had learned this firsthand through observation during joint operations and later confirmed it through the many conversations his Liege had with you.

From a shadow’s perspective, these butterflies, when at work, siphoned an essence often resembled near-transparent wisps drifting from their targets’ bodies until none remained. Typically, the targets were already dead by this point, and since his Liege could still call upon their souls without issue, it became clear to Igris that souls were not exactly what the butterflies were feeding on.

Thus, it was an unspoken certainty: once there was no energy left to harvest, the red butterflies would leave their targets untouched.

So, imagine his surprise at the scene before him now.

The first clue that something was different came with the sound. It was subtle at first, nearly swallowed by the rain—a low hum, rhythmic yet discordant, like paper tearing. Then, the scent: the iron-rich tang of blood, thick and pungent, saturating the air more potently than it had during the height of battle. The atmosphere itself felt heavier, the damp earthiness of the rain-soaked ground mingling with something raw and visceral.

From Igris’s vantage point, the kaleidoscope of wings shimmered iridescent as they descended upon the battlefield, resembling curtains falling to signal the end of a play. At first glance, their movements seemed no different from their usual post-battle routine—fluttering, siphoning, the eerie white wisps floating around them as expected. But as the swarm enveloped the fallen beasts, it became apparent that this was no longer a mere routine.

It was a frenzy.

Limbs that appeared delicate, outwardly made to only be strong enough to support their own body weight, moved with unnatural strength. They dug into flesh and pulled, tearing through skin and muscle with the ease of a blade slicing through parchment. It was as though the beasts’ bodies were the fragile ones, not the little summons. With surgical precision, they ripped through tissues and chipped away at bones, the gleam of their tiny proboscises betraying no hesitation.

Igris didn’t know how such creatures, originally built for a liquid diet, could dismantle corpses with such efficiency. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Monster consuming their kind, eating humans even, was the norm. Even the shadows were no exception—especially beast-type soldiers like the ants and bears still indulged in the habits of their former lives, tearing into their enemies without a second thought. Even the orcs partook in such practices from time to time. Though they no longer required such sustenance, some instincts proved difficult to erase.

So no, it wasn’t the act itself that disturbed Igris.

It was the way they did it.

The simple and gentle flutter of their wings, the precise and calculated movements of their limbs, the effortless grace of each bite—it was all too deliberate, too synchronized. Pattern of movements, solo and with another, resembled silhouettes of performers. Each motion mirrored a meticulous choreography, rehearsed and perfected for centuries. And yet, the reality of this elegant display was a savage massacre. No beast was spared, no corpse favored. All were stripped away from their most earthly possessions—their bodies, their physical existence—with the same ruthless accuracy as the butterflies did not just eat, but also play with their food.

Igris had never considered himself a connoisseur of art. He barely remembered caring for such frivolities when he was alive, save for the artistry of battle. But if there was ever a performance deserving of the name danse macabre, this was it.

His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.

Who would have thought those delicate creatures were capable of such a thing? Capable of stripping sinew from bone with such efficiency?

It was all too easy to forget that the very same butterflies that provided healing and support had stolen that energy from the living in the first place. That fact too be damned; on most days, the wisps they harvested looked like nothing more than soft clouds they played hide and seek with, or a shimmering mist they weaved through.

Now, those same creatures just painted a more vivid picture. The grotesque scene be the fine wine spilling onto the ground, soaking into the canvas. The severed nerves and veins be the strands of an artist’s brush dipped in ink—dipped in blood. The rainwater, far from washing it away, acted as a solvent, softening the edges and blending the red into the damp earth. The colors bled together in a masterpiece of similar hues, framed by the black of their wings against the dull, muddied backdrop. The light reflected on each droplet, all over the scene, cascaded down ethereal wings and gruesome carcasses, gave off that finishing polished look, just like what varnish would do on paintings well-done.

What incongruity. And yet, somehow, how fitting.

Igris, who had borne witness to countless battles and their aftermaths, had walked through desolation, through carnage and destruction, had stood amongst the living, the dying, and now the fallen. And yet, it was his first time seeing anything quite like this—as surreal and 'lively', like moving pictures.

The jungle’s muddy terrain had become their stage, where the grotesque and the beautiful performed a duet to the orchestra of chimes and tearing flesh. The corpses strewn about were no longer remnants of battle. They were offerings.

No—bouquets.

Thrown at the feet of the dancers by the audience.

This was not a curtain-call anymore, this was an encore.

And the audience were the shadows.

So at least, Igris was not alone on this thought.

A quick glance at his fellow soldiers confirmed that much. They had finished collecting the magic cores, their task complete. But not a single one moved to leave. Not a single one spoke. The sight before them should have triggered some primal urge to flee—some lingering instinct, no matter how faint, to recoil at the sheer wrongness of it. But they did not move. They did not look away.

They were mesmerized.

Igris’s sharp eyes caught the subtle tremors in some of them. The telltale signs of unease. Fear? He recognized the ones most affected—those often paired with the red butterflies in battle.

Under normal circumstances, he would have deemed this a failure. A soldier trembling at the mere sight of their allies? A disgrace. One that would merit a harsher training regimen to ensure they never faltered again.

But this time?

This time, he supposed he could spare them.

Because for all his experience, for all his time spent serving under their liege, he had always believed that the dead had but one thing to fear: their king’s wrath.

And yet, this—this spectacle that blurred the line between beauty and horror, that none could look away from—this thing that played at the edges of death’s dominion—

Perhaps it was not quite fear. Perhaps it was something close.

Close enough that it left them frozen in place, wondering. Wondering when they become a part of it.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [30/01/2025]

Okay, so, I'm not too happy with how this chapter turned out. But right now, I'm out of words and ideas on how to fix it. Plus, I wanted to proceed to the next few chapters which I find more exciting to write. And, I'm also entering a new semester on the 17th, so I'm not sure when I'll be able to write and post again.

Also, I wanted to ask you all: since this my first time writing something close to gore, I wanted to ask if this much is already considered as gore, mild gore, or not at all?

While this chapter might not be my best work personally, I hope it will do well nonetheless.

Oh yeah, since I didn't put any lyrics in here, the song TP!Reader sung to Jinwoo is open to interpretation. Personally, I was listening to Rise Up by The Fat Rat while writing the past scene mentioned (referring to Chapter 4).

Feedbacks are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading. 🙏💕

[freeluigihesbae]

𝓫𝓾𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓭𝓮𝓮𝓻 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼 - 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 5

(1,200 words)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

summary:

luigi fell in love with you for those sparkling eyes where his dreams of falling in love first came true. but how did it happen?

𝗍𝗐: 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍

~

"Hey, watch your step." You're walking, sniffling as you drag your barely wrapped homecoming dress in the store's bag, before you find yourself stumbling. The rain is pouring down, making your clothes feel heavier as you're still walking and outside for god knows how long. Your ankle folds outward because of the raised sidewalk, prompting a foreign hand to grab your shoulder.

You turn around, reeling yourself in before you look into a new set of eyes. They look familiar, but you just can't seem to place them. Hazel and almond-shaped eyes consume your thoughts. Your eyes go wide.

"Andrew. Jesus-" You mutter before placing your hand to your forehead, blinking slowly as your temperature is concerningly high. Andrew immediately steps forward, grabbing both shoulders before bending his head down.

"I'm really concerned about you. I tried to reach out to you about our class project since morning and I didn't hear an answ-HEY!" He yells, catching you in his arms as you pant. This is not going the way you want it to. You groan in discomfort, grabbing Andrew's shoulder for support.

"I really hate to do this, but does it matter to you if I carry you? Your cast isn't making this any better?" He's bending his knees, cautious to keep you barely upright without touching in places he shouldn't afraid of taking the step. You nearly roll your eyes in annoyance whilst wanting to break down and sob.

"Need to get rid of this stupid dress." You whisper in a broken voice and Andrew nods, but doesn't change his position. "Can I-" "Yes, Andrew. Or let me go. Drop me like every- everyone in my life has been doing so far." Your words have a harsh bite to them but he pays no heed, only nodding his head in haste as he picks you up bridal style, heaving the soaked dress over his shoulder. You wrap your hands around his neck and bury your face into his shoulder, utterly ruined and feeling feverish.

Andrew looks down at you, gulping. He didn't think you were in such a bad state, but now its his job to take care of you.

"Dress." You let tears escape from your eyes and to your dismay, Andrew doesn't listen.

"You're more important than the dress. You're burning up. I'm taking you back to your apartment." He smiles a bit when he watches you head tip back in frustration. You give an unpleasant expression before letting your head fall forward, letting the small jumps that come with every step lull the discomfort away.

The rain is still pouring, but it's not so bad with Andrew carrying you as his head is now taking most of the droplets with the exception of a few streams of water falling onto your poorly made jacket.

You both walk through the treacherous for who-knows-how-long before he's stopping in front of your door, the familiar lack of paint and rattling door-knob piquing your interest as you try to pay attention.

"Where are we?" You shake your head as the details of your own apartment seem vaguely reminiscent of a place you think you live in.

"How long were you out in the rain?" Andrew is now looking at down at you and for the first time, you look directly into his eyes and gasp.

It shouldn't be Andrew holding you, it should be Luigi.

Suddenly, the memories of what happened come crashing down like the already pouring rain tries to flood your vision and judgement, making your breathing pick up. You help yourself onto the ground, stumbling and taking a few steps back before using the door to keep yourself up.

"Hey stop-" "No, no I-I-I-" You stumble over your words, trying to put distance between the two of you.

"What are you doing?" A new voice makes both of your heads turn and to your absolute horror, there he is. The man of your dreams and the root of your problems.

Luigi Mangione.

Of course, he isn't empty-handed. He's soaked, drenched in the rain, holding a bouquet of flowers and a neatly folded and closed up bag, tissue paper that once had structure now ripping from the weight of the water. You realize he's likely witnessed the entire thing and the thought itself makes you nearly pass out because it's getting across the wrong idea.

Andrew stands frozen, realizing something is going on and before he knows it, he's trying to get away from the situation.

"Just um-" Andrew starts speaking and Luigi takes a step closer, not interrupting.

"Take care." Andrew looks into your eyes before glancing and Luigi and scurrying away, giving a short glance back and making his way back.

You're still stuck in the corner, replaying every single moment that has happened so far and realizing this might screw your day even worse.

Your legs are shaking though, weak from pain and against your will, you slide down the wall, whimpering from helplessness as pain shoots through your broken leg.

You realize you forgot your meds for the day.

You hear a crunching of paper and a drop of something, as hands come around to hug you but as though it's instinct, you push Luigi away.

"D-Don't touch me." You sigh out but his hands don't move, making you push him. "Fuckin' worming your way back in after insulting me like this shit isn't happening to both of us." You laugh breathlessly, feeling shaky hands retracting from your frame. Despite your wishes, his body is still close.

"I-I'm sorry that's why I came over and then I saw that guy holding you and I thought you lost everything and forgot what we h-" "Really?" You tilt your head up to look at Luigi, crying as the words start flooding into your thoughts and within seconds, you're sending them flying into his face.

"W-What?" Luigi asks and you answer.

"Must feel like shit when someone you l-care about pushes you away." You laugh sardonically, swallowing the cold droplets the slip past your lips while watching Luigi eat away at himself.

"Some stupid fuckin' crush and it hasn't even been a week but I-I'm in so much pain and you push me away like I'm not going through stuff too. You think this is easy for me? You think I'm wanting this right now? Because I'll tell you right now, it's not. I'm not sure a degree at Penn would help you understand-" You cough before saying the last of your words and standing up to unlock your door.

"I just don't want to talk to you. I don't want your flowers. I don't want-" You hesitate, ready to say the word 'you' but stopping because that could shatter his heart. It could break the fibers of who he is and you know you're both stupid.

Why make this worse?

You swallow hard, turning your back to him and opening the door.

"I need to be alone. Alone like you left me earlier." You cock your head to the side before walking inside and slamming the door closed, quietly sobbing before regretting it all, the pain worsening as you think about his likely crestfallen expression.

~

if you want to join the taglist, please comment on my PINNED blog post!

taglist: @madkohi @iinfinitelimits-blog-blog @nosebeers @lorelaisg1lmore @poohkie90 @chariytz @alotofsomething

~

author's note: i'm sorry this chapter is so short. i had to write some angst because i'm not feeling well so this was a quick way to cope. this will be a lil longer than expected but enjoy!

[strawberryblue-blog]

PABLO GAVI fluff were he comfort the reader after their big argument please love your works 💫

Thanks💓

Our home —Pablo Gavi.

summary: request.

warnings: none. a little of angst, fight, discomfort, cute, soft, clingy.

words count: +2k.

#SEXYNOTE: Happy Valentine's Day 💌 Enjoy it, love you 🎀

The sound of your snort clashing with the overwhelming silence in the living room, interrupting the tranquility of the night. You're standing by the kitchen, hands on your hips and frowning as you stare at the pile of dirty utensils you haven't stopped noticing since you got home. Gavi, he doesn't even look at you. He's sitting on the couch, remote in hand and TV on, seemingly oblivious to your frustration.

"Really?" you ask aloud, turning to him with your arms crossed. "How many times have we talked about this?"

He looks up turning to look at you, surprised, but quickly his expression changes to a mixture of tired and defensive.

"I will do it later" he says nonchalantly as he resumes playing again.

"Yeah, like always" you mutter starting to pick things up. You shake your head as you turn on the water.

"I'll always end up doing it myself anyway" you whisper angrily.

"What are you talking about now?" he replies, setting the controller down on the table and turning to you again.

You ignore him, starting to wash the dishes in the sink. You don't answer because you know it will be in anger, you'd rather shut up again.

"Are you saying I never do?" his voice sounds closer and you can feel his presence.

Making him get up from the couch when he's playing video games is a reward for you.

"That then you don't do shit" you spit loud and clear. "You always say the same thing about the dishes, the laundry, everything you always leave lying around" you reply, pointing to the sink with an exaggerated gesture.

"That's not true" he shriek angrily. "I said I would do it later..."

"When were you going to do it, huh?" you ask interrupting him. "After I do it? Tomorrow when you finish training? When?" you shout.

Gavi frowns but you can see his features look angry. But angrier are you. You're not overreacting. These last months living together has become difficult, you fight constantly, Gavi doesn't help you enough and you understand that he's tired after training or whatever, but you also have your job and that's not why you leave everything like that.

This morning you had left with all the mess, dishes from last night, clothes on the floor next to the washing machine, garbage cans full and when you came back, everything was still the same. And Gavi had the day off today. You expected at least the simple, basic housekeeping. You didn't expect him to deep clean, just tidy up. But he'd clearly spent the day playing videogames.

"I can't handle this, you know? I work all day, I come in exhausted, and the last thing I want is to see the house a mess because you can't do your part."

"My part?" he retorts, stepping closer and facing you with open arms. "And what do you think I do all day? I'm not just sitting around doing nothing. I'm also exhausted when I get home."

"But I'm always the one who has to take care of everything," you say, feeling frustration rise from your chest to your throat. "The dishes, the laundry, the cleaning? When was the last time you even tried to pick anything up?"

He rolls his eyes and that gesture fires you up even more.

"Don't exaggerate the situation. It's not like I never do anything. I may not be as obsessive as you, but that doesn't mean I don't help," he says pointing at you.

Oh no. He didn't just call you that. He didn't just make everything worse.

"Obsessive?" you repeat, in disbelief. The word hits you like a slap in the face. "It's not obsessive, it's wanting our home to be a place where we can be comfortable, where I don't feel like I'm living on a battlefield." It comes out as an angry scream.

You can't believe it. Now you are the obsessive and exaggerated one who wants some basic order in your own home.

"It's not like that!" he replies, raising his voice. His tone is defensive, but also weary. "Just because I don't do things exactly the way you want me to, doesn't mean I'm doing everything wrong."

"It's not about doing it 'my way'!" you shout, feeling on the verge of tears. "It's about the fact that I can't handle everything by myself. I'm exhausted, and you don't seem to care."

That shushes him. Gavi turns his head in denial but you turn to continue washing through your eyes fill with tears. All that screaming, the desperation, the anger, it makes you feel bad. You've had a rough patch for a while now and you're afraid this could be the straw that breaks the camel's back. But you are so tired. You just want to finish and go to sleep. Arguments won't get you anywhere but you're exhausted from the same situation.

The atmosphere in the room is tense, charged with unspoken words and pent-up emotions. You don't want to cry because you don't want to look weak but you feel so fragile that if he says anything else, you will cry.

Finally, he sighs and takes a step towards you. You feel him coming closer but you won't move, you just want to finish.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he says, his voice softer this time. "I care a lot, more than you think."

Just then you finish rinsing and deposit everything in the dryer. You take off your gloves and dry the counter, leaving everything clean and ready.

"Then prove it" you reply, with a lump in your throat, as you turn around. "Because when I come home and see all this, I feel like you don't care about our home or the effort I make or even us."

You try to walk towards the room but he stops you, processing your words. He's still angry about the argument, you can see it in the way his brow furrows but you can't go on like this.

"If you cared, you would. I get it once or twice, Pablo. But not for months now, it's pure cohabitation, I'm not trying to force you into anything or ask you to be my maid" you spit out harshly, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes. "And I won't be your fucking maid either"

You release yourself from his grip and move for your room, looking for some quiet. Your bed seems to be waiting for you the moment you open the door and you quickly strip off your clothes, dressing in your pajamas. You just want to sleep. You crawl into bed and turn your back to Gavi's side, covering yourself with your warm blanket. Tears slide down your cheeks as you think about the argument, how vulnerable you are right now. You're scared, maybe moving in with Gavi was a hasty move and you've been thinking about it for weeks.

You love him. You love everything about him but you can't stand that your relationship is turning into what you hate the most. Maybe you are pushing him a little bit but he lives here too, each of you have your obligations and responsibilities and the only way to survive is to work together.

You're not so angry about the argument, you're helpless. Lonely and scared, what if he doesn't want to be with you anymore, what if Gavi is only acting this way because you are broken? The sobs come out of your mouth and you try to cover them but it's unavoidable.

A faint noise makes you swallow a sob and when you feel the mattress sink behind you, you cover your face with the whole sheet. Gavi comes up from behind and embraces you slowly, carefully, waiting for your rejection or acceptance. You say nothing, just melt into the warmth of his arms embracing you, as you sigh calming your little fit.

"You're right" he admits, with a deep sigh. His voice sounds weak, slowly. "I've been relaxing too much, trusting you to do it because you always do. That's not right and I'm really sorry" his words make your heart shrink.

You didn't want to make him feel that way, you didn't want him to be angry, maybe things got out of place all because of your bad reaction.

"It's not true what I said, you're not exaggerating, you're not obsessive" he murmurs hurt as his hand runs down your body, caressing you. "I care about you, about our home and I care about our relationship" he whispers close to your ear, resting his face in the crook of your neck.

Your heart softens a little at his words, but you still feel the weight of everything built up in your chest. You barely nod. You know he didn't have a bad intention and maybe it was you who took it to another dimension but you really wanted Paul to understand.

"I haven't been around much these days and I understand your approach, Y/n" he whispers again.

Your nose rubs the drops of tears and you sigh searching for air. Su cálido cuerpo comienza a calentar te y solo quieres saltar a sus brazos, como siempre lo deseas.

"Forgive me, okay? Please?" he asks in his hoarse, weak voice.

You turn barely, pulling your body out of the fabrics until you see him clearly.

"It's not just about the dishes or the clothes, Pablo" you confess as tears begin to escape your eyes. "It's because I want this to be a home, our home. A place where we can both be at peace"

"I understand" he says, looking you straight in the eye. "And you're absolutely right. I don't want you to feel like you're carrying everything by yourself. I promise I'm going to get better, I really am"

His hands take your face as you turn to him fully. He takes it upon himself to wipe away your tears, one by one, as he pulls you into his warm chest. Your heart aches for everything but you feel more relieved now.

"I'm sorry for exploding like this too" you admit hurt. "I just want everything to work out, that we don't have to argue about these things. And I thought that..."

Pablo looks at you seriously, confused.

"I thought things between us were breaking up, that maybe your pulling away was my fault and I exploded" you confess as the tears come again.

His eyes hold back the tears as his fingers tighten on your face.

"I would never do anything like that, nothing changed between us, I promise. It's just me, being kind of lazy" he says trying to blame homself but you deny.

"I'm sorry, Gavi" you cry exhausted. "I didn't mean to fight with you like this, just.... I'm tired..."

Your body hurts, your mind does too. Maybe you need more sleep than a day is enough and all this anxiety, nervousness, is driving you crazy.

"You are my home, you are my whole life, I just want to be here, for the rest of my life, with you" he says in front of your eyes.

"You are mine, Pablo" you assure with a laugh.

He smiles slightly and pulls you into a warm embrace.

"Let's promise something" he says, whispering against your hair. "Let's talk before things get to this point. If something bothers you, tell me, and I'll do the same"

You nod against his chest, feeling relieved to hear those words.

"I promise" you reply, clinging to him tightly.

His arms come around you again and you feel yourself melt under his touch. Gavi is soft, gentle and sweet. And you love that.

"And I promise I'll always wash the dishes from now on" he adds, with a touch of humor in his voice that manages to get a small chuckle out of you in spite of everything.

You both stay like that, hugging, letting the tensions dissipate. You know you still have room for improvement but you also know that, as long as you are willing to work together, nothing can affect what you have.

The silence in the room lingers as you are cuddled together. He watches you from above, his fingers stroking your back, your arms, your chest. He leaves little patterns on your skin, running over every nook and cranny of your body. You smile. He smiles back. The two of you look at each other and touch again. It is inevitable.

Your body is on top of his, one of his legs is wrapped around you and your hands rest on his firm chest, caressing his pecs. You talk for a while, then kiss, then just lie there. Pablo keeps running his warm hands up and down your arms, resting occasionally on your hip as he kisses your forehead or hair, then back up your back slowly. If touch burns on your skin, but it's the kind of fire that feeds the flame in your heart.

Then you apologize again, talk, joke and kiss again, in a loop. It's warm, perfect and beautiful. You two love and understand each other, yes, you argue but it keeps you stronger than ever, just like right now.

One of his hands goes into your hair, the other resists on your lower back, massages your scalp while your fingers move on his chest. That starts to make you sleepy, you close your eyes but you don't want to stop seeing Gavi, so you open them again.

He spots you and laughs. You lift your head and his eyes are waiting for you, loving, watching you.

"You can rest, baby" he whispers, leaving a kiss on the top of your head.

"See you tomorrow, Pablo" you whisper barely.

"Good night, baby" he kisses your forehead again affectionately.

You settle into his chest again, letting the sound of his heart soothe you. His other hand continues to stroke your hair, and you can feel how his caresses are slow and full of affection, as if he wants to make up for everything he has made you feel. His fingers press your skin to your waist and you feel filled with his love.

And in that moment, even though you know you still have things to work out, you feel that everything will be okay. Because you are together.

[magiclwritings]

Alexandria may not have been Cass' favorite person in the world but what had happened to her. Well, what they were assuming had happened, was awful. She'd just been another victim of the awful sub-society that their families all subscribed to. He wondered briefly if his and her's and Apollo's family's maybe had been afforded another opportunity there could have been different ways, different outcomes. Different thems. There were a lot of things Cas was wishing for in that moment, one specifically was to know how Orion was that damn powerful to be able to do that. Perhaps he's not just a junkie. He could ask all those questions of Oliver later on, he knew he'd answer now if he'd asked but they'd already lost enough time.

"So," He started softly, smoothing his hands gently along Oliver's back. He was mindful of how he touched him as he was still trying to piece together how the hell any of this was possible. He supposed that was the beauty and horror of magic. "W-what happened to Alex .. ?" He asked, knowing damn well he'd already known the answer. Apollo was absolutely going to lose his fucking mind when he found out about this. The blonde's head whipped towards the cellar door and another pang of regret washed over him again. This day could go straight to hell for all he cared. As a matter of fact, if he'd wake up right then and there and this was all a nightmare, he'd be so damn grateful but he knew that wasn't going to happen.

Cass immediately took to burying his head in Oliver's neck, apologizing as he did so for any discomfort he caused. How the hell could a little boy cry out like that? How could anyone hurt someone so vulnerable and .. his thoughts trailed off as Cass inhaled his boyfriend's scent and got as close as humanly possible. He had had it bad growing up. A backhand to the mouth every now and then and some truly disgusting words that a child should never hear but it hadn't been like that.

It was moments like this that had Isaac questioning whether or not he truly deserved the things that came into his life. And this one was about that beautiful little boy. But this was more to do with how he came to be in the world. It had been him. And if he expressed this thought to Apollo he'd assure that that wasn't the case and that Theodore would have always been. It would have been in the design. But as Isaac stood there, arms wrapped around his own middle he knew it had been his fault. Alexandria and Apollo were meant to get married. They should have been married and that little boy would have been Apollo's. But Isaac found a man following him one night and from that night on, he was never able to stop luring him on and towards their future. He'd been so good at it that he'd even managed to incorporate little bits of Apollo's bleed over now too.

Isaac was quiet, letting Oliver comfort Cass and vice versa. They all needed a minute he thought. And so he spelled up a basin of warm water a few wash clothes to clean the two up when they were ready. His gaze still hadn't really left the chubby little cherub face that had come to disrupt his whole life that afternoon. A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as Isaac took a wash cloth in one hand and wetted it. He wondered, briefly, if Alexandria had spelled the little boy to look like Apollo for that reason as well. Had she known what was coming for her? He hoped now. Even after everything, Apollo had assured him that he and her hadn't ended on bad terms. Even gave him life updates sometimes. But he was starting to wonder if it had been Apollo lying to him about this or her lying to Apollo and that whole slue of events.

"Di' ya see anythin' else, Oli'va?" Isaac asked softly, tearing his gaze from the child to the cellar door. Without a word, Isaac raised his hand and it popped open. Apollo needed to be up here. Isaac just hoped that Cassio knocking him out was enough to knock the veela magic from his system. For as frustrating as this day had been, at least he knew now for certain that that wasn't something they could play with in the bedroom. Which wasn't ideal but Isaac was not ready for repeat of whatever the hell happened today. "Apollo?" Isaac hollered, looking over towards Oliver and Cassio to see the daggers they were staring. "I will ta'e ca'e o' 'im if nee' be." He assured them, moving closer towards the door just in case. "Bu', was tha' all o' it? Not'in' else?"

Oliver tuned out Isaac and Cassio. He had to. He couldn’t focus on that situation when he had Theo before him and was almost ready to start the spell. His eyes scanned over everything one last time. The symbols he had drawn were correct; Isaac had muddled the paste into perfect condition. Oliver willed his hands to stop shaking. I can do this, he reminded himself. I have to do this. 

He dipped his fingers into the paste, drawing a circle on his forehead, then drew a line through it. He then reached for Theo, drawing the same symbol on his forehead. “Get behind me,” Oliver instructed them both. “Once I start chanting, the spell will start, and Theo’s mind will open up to me. Think about it like a pensieve, except I can see any memory he holds in his head instead of a specific one.” He turned to look between Isaac and Cassio. “But don’t touch me during the spell, no matter what, okay? If anything distracts me while I’m looking into his brain, I could damage it. I don’t know what will happen. I’ve never seen Orion perform this spell or what happens once I’m inside his mind, but even if I’m screaming in pain and begging you guys to pull me out, don’t. I can handle it.” 

Then Oliver only had eyes for Cassio—his brave, strong, wonderful boyfriend. A part of him didn’t want Cassio to be in the room, not when he didn’t know what the spell would do to him, but the more significant part needed the strength of his boyfriend’s presence. “Hey,” He spoke softly, puckering his lips and blowing the man a kiss. “It’ll be okay, Cass. I’ve got this.” 

“Okay,” He sighed, turning back to look at Theo. Oliver laced his fingers, bending them inwards and cracking his knuckles. When he opened his eyes, his mind was clear. He was ready. 

He started the spell; the Latin words fell from his lips softly. He repeated the phrase repeatedly as he slowly lowered his hands to press his fingertips against the sides of Theo’s head. The room grew warm as the spell started, and with a sharp air intake, Oliver’s head fell back, and his eyes went completely black. He found himself inside the boy’s mind. Memories, like film reels, circled him. He couldn’t see anything - not Isaac, Cassio, or even the room he had been in. Oliver studied the memories surrounding him and noticed quickly that they were blurry compared to others. He reached out and touched one and was transported into it. 

Theo was sitting in his bedroom, playing with his toys. He reaches for one, but his little arms can’t extend that far. He pushes himself harder but topples forward, smashing his face into another toy that comes to life. A song floods the room. Theo flinches and rolls to his feet, running into the closet and closing the door. He isn’t in the closet for more than a second before thumping footsteps approach, and the door slams open. Oliver flinches at the sound. A man is standing there, his eyes cold and evil. He’s looking around the room, searching. His eyes land on the closet, and Oliver’s heart races as he opens the door and drags Theo out by the back of his neck. 

Theo screams. 

Oliver screams. 

The next memory is the same. Oliver feels Theo’s fear as if it were his own, but he pushes through it, going from memory to memory. One constant in each of them: Theo ends up being hurt. Oliver ends up being hurt.

“Theo,” Oliver is pulled into a memory, unlike the others. This one feels safe. Theo is wrapped in his mother’s arms. He loves her completely. He just wishes they didn’t have to hurt all of the time. “I have to tell you a story.” He listens; stories are his favorite. This one is about a boy who grew up with two dads, and in this adventure, they were throwing a surprise party. Theo loves his mom, but sometimes he wishes to be the boy with two dads. They never hurt him. 

She’s planting memories in his head, Oliver recognizes. It hits him, and he knows what she did, how she protected Theo, how she gave him up. 

Oliver severs the tie between him and Theo’s mind. 

In the present, Oliver immediately wipes his face clear of the cooling tears. “I know what happened.” His voice is hoarse. Had he been screaming?  His body aches, and with a glance down, he knows why. Oliver was also injured in every memory he entered in which Theo was hurt. There are a handful of handprint bruises on his forearms; his cheek feels swollen, and the back of his neck is bruised. He turns to find Cassio, his breathing quickening and quickening until Oliver is grasping for air, but he can’t get anything in. He can’t inhale deep enough.

Oliver crawls towards Cassio, but his panic doesn’t stop until his arms are around his boyfriend’s waist. “Theo’s real dad is abusive.” He keeps one arm around Cassio and throws the other arm out so Isaac can see. “Insanely abusive. To Theo and Alexandra. I think it got to the point where she knew it would end up with them dead at his hands. Alexandra altered all of Theo’s memories to include you and Isaac. She would tell him stories about a little boy and his two dads. She was writing these memories in his head so he wouldn't be scared when she found an opportunity to get him away. He would know you guys, know us. Theo loved his mom, he loves her so much, but he was so fucking scared. He loved those stories. He wanted to be the boy in those stories. He…” Oliver closed his eyes as fresh tears slipped out. “He just wants a family. He wants to be loved. And she knew that. She didn’t think they could escape him, so she saved Theo. She sent him to the two people she knew would do everything possible to keep him safe, who would love him like she did.”

[ignitesthestxrs]

there's something about the way people talk about john gaius (incl the way the author writes him) that is like. so absent of any connection to te ao māori that it's really discomforting. like even in posts that acknowledge him as not being white, they still talk about him like a white, american leftist guy in a way that makes it clear people just AREN'T perceiving him as a māori man from aotearoa.

and it's just really serves to hammer home how powerful and pervasive whiteness and american hegemony is. because TLT is probably the single most Kiwi series in years to explode on the global stage, and all the things i find fraught about it as a pākehā woman reading a series by a pākehā author are illegible to a greater fandom of americans discoursing about whether or not memes are a valid way of portraying queer love.

idk the part of my brain that lights up every time i see a capital Z printed somewhere because of the New Zealand Mentioned??? instinct will always be proud of these books and muir. but i find myself caught in this midpoint of excitement and validation over my culture finding a place on the global stage, frustration at how kiwi humour and means of conveying emotion is misinterpreted or declared facile by an international audience, frustrated also by how that international audience runs the characters in this book through a filter of american whiteness before it bothers to interpret them, and ESPECIALLY frustrated by how muir has done a pretty middling job of portraying te ao māori and the māoriness of her characters, but tht conversation doesn't circulate in the same way* because a big part of the audience doesn't even realise the conversation is there to be had.

which is not to say that muir has done a huge glaring racism that non-kiwis haven't noticed or anything, but rather that there are very definitely things that she has done well, things that she has done poorly, things that she didn't think about in the first book that she has tacked on or expanded upon in the later books, that are all worthy of discussion and critique that can't happen when the popular posts that float past my dash are about how this indigenous man is 'guy who won't shut up about having gone to oxford'

*to be clear here, i'm not saying these conversations have never happened, just that in terms of like, ambient posts that float round my very dykey dash, the discussions and meta that circulate on this the lesbian social media, are overwhelmingly stripped of any connection to aotearoa in general, let alone te ao māori in specific. and because of the nature of american internet hegemony this just,,,isn't noticed, because how does a fish know it's in the ocean u know? i have seen discussions along these lines come up, and it's there if i specifically go looking for it, but it's not present in the bulk of tlt content that has its own circulatory life and i jut find that grim and a part of why the fandom is difficult to engage with.

[lokh]

LISTEN... for all that shuro is frustrated by him he really Gets who laios is. it's because he understands him so well that he felt bad about being frustrated for so long

[ghosts-and-glory]

I know you've previously said that you don't like anyone misgendering Shamura, but what if it's in a flashback? Like Shamura used to be male/female and then transitioned to they/them pronouns.

Would that be an acceptable form of misgendering, since it would be backstory for explaining how Shamura is now they/them?

Y’all really do just want any excuse to disrespect non-binary people huh?

I really like how the idea of Shamura having a binary sex is stated as a fact/sar. As if cult of the lamb has any references to binary sex. This also assumes that I’m the ultimate authority on Shamura’s gender. “Acceptable form of misgendering,” Jesus.

[pastmuse]

The girl I work with on wednesdays and saturdays pisses me off so bad lol .. I actually like my job but she makes me wanna go home -_-

[imtheiliad]

Anyway, just a reminder, that having anon on is not an open invitation to bitch and moan in someone’s inbox 🩷

[theplotwizard]

I want to Learn. Because Learning is Understanding. And Understanding is Loving.

[kbwrites]

Heated Waters

synopsis: being married is hard, being married without seeing each other is even harder.

⚝ content: Hiromi Higuruma x F! Reader, nsfw, bathtub sex, fingering, Hiromi neglects his wife, but boy does he make up for it

⚝ wc: 1.9k

“Yeah we do it pretty much every day.”

Satoru said, taking a leisurely sip of his water. His pale face alight with mischief, a shit-eating grin across his lips. His three coworkers stared at him in (jealousy) disbelief.

Suguru was the first to break the silence, wanting to save face “Everyday is a bit much, isn’t it, Satoru?”

Satoru chuckled, his blue eyes glinting with amusement as he watched his friend squirm. "What about you guys? How often do our married friends get it in?" His gaze flickered to Nanami, who cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, his eyes fixed on the steam rising from his coffee cup.

“Twice a week, I suppose…”

Satoru's smile widened, clearly entertained by the responses he was drawing out. He then turned his attention to the oldest among them, Hiromi Higuruma, who was carefully straightening his tie, a subtle attempt to avoid eye contact.

“What about you, Higuruma?”

“Your wife, (Y/N) is a little younger than you, right? C’mon Higuruma-San…She a total freak?” Satoru teased.

Hiromi's jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his features as his grip on his coffee cup tightened. He took a slow, measured breath, his voice strained but controlled when he finally spoke.

“Please don’t talk about my wife like that.”

But Satoru, ever the instigator, didn’t back down. “It’s just us guys riiggght? And I can’t lie Higuruma, you’re one lucky guy. (Y/N) is a catch.”

Nanami nodded in agreement, as did Suguru, though both seemed to sense the discomfort growing in Hiromi. The older man could only sigh, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the conversation.

It was true—you were everything he could have ever wanted in a partner. Beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted—his perfect match. If heaven existed, Hiromi was certain you’d be the only one worthy of it.

But long nights in the office, and early mornings preparing for court would take a toll on any relationship. The truth was… Hiromi hadn’t touched you in over a month. By the time he came home—you were fast asleep, and weekends were spent running the mountain of errands you couldn’t get to during the week. You loved each other of course, but it was hard. A month without feeling the warmth of your husband's hands all over your skin was starting to weigh heavily on both of you.

“You don’t have to answer Higuruma-san..” Nanami chimed in, sensing his elder colleague’s discomfort.

“Over a month.” Hiromi exhaled, the truth slipping out before he could stop it.

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

“WHAT?” Gojo audibly gasps. “Your wife looks like THAT and you haven’t f—”

Suguru swiftly cut him off with a well-placed elbow to the chest. “Satoru… leave Higuruma alone.” The long-haired male warns. “Still, that is surprising.”

“I know I know..” Higuruma pinches his bridge. He wanted nothing more than to have his wife under him… on top of him. But the endless stream of work kept him trapped in a cycle of exhaustion. “I’ve been so busy I can’t even remember the last time I actually spoke to her properly.”

Suguru offered an apologetic smile. “Sounds like you need a break.”

“Sounds like you need some puss—” Nanami quickly elbowed Satoru in the chest before he could finish his sentence.

Hiromi shook his head, letting out a dry chuckle as he ran a hand through his dark locks, clearly frustrated with himself. “I appreciate your concern, guys, but I don’t see how I can take a break right now. I have so much work to do, and I’m the only one who knows how to handle all of it.”

“Higuruma-San. Satoru will take care of the paperwork for you.” Nanami suggested with a deadpan expression.

“HUH?” Satoru blurted out, clearly caught off guard by the sudden assignment.

“Yeah,” Nanami continued, ignoring Satoru’s protest. “It’s not like he actually does any work around here anyway.”

Suguru smirked, nodding in agreement. “That’s true. You might as well make yourself useful, Satoru.”

Before Hiromi could protest, the trio moved in unison—Suguru grabbing Hiromi’s briefcase, Nanami steering him toward the door, and Satoru sighing dramatically as he resigned himself to the task.

“Are… are you boys sure about this? I don’t want to burden you–”

“Nonsense! Go home and take care of your wife!”

Hiromi placed his briefcase by the door, his tie feeling suddenly too tight around his neck. He loosened it with a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around. The familiar scent of home greeted him. It was comforting yet bittersweet, a reminder of all the moments he had missed. The living room was tidy, the soft hum of the dishwasher running in the kitchen. You had clearly been busy, taking care of the house as you always did, even when he wasn’t around.

“Honey?” Hiromi calls out to you, his voice echoing slightly in the stillness.

Frowning, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair before making his way down the hall. As he approached the bathroom, he noticed a faint light seeping out from under the door, accompanied by the sound of water gently lapping against the tub.

He hesitated for a moment, then slowly opened the door.

The sight that greeted him made his breath catch in his throat. There you were, reclining in the bathtub, your eyes closed, head resting on the edge as steam rose around you. The soft glow of candles illuminated the room, casting a warm, serene light over your features.

You looked so peaceful, so beautiful—that it almost hurt to look at you. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he took in the sight, but the guilt and longing only deepened. How long had it been since he’d taken the time to appreciate you like this? Since he’d been able to just… be with you?

You opened your eyes, gaze meeting your husband as he leaned against the door frame.

“Hiromi?” you murmured, your voice soft, almost questioning, as if unsure whether he was really there or just a figment of your imagination.

“Hey Honey…” his voice equally soft, as he took a tentative step closer. The warmth of the room seemed to wrap around him, melting away some of the day’s stress.

“You’re home early.” You muse, looking at him as you rested your arms on the tub. He doesn’t respond, just walks towards you with purposeful steps.

Hiromi stares down at you with half-lidded eyes.“The guys decided I need a break.” He paused, his breath hitching slightly as he continued, “Can I join you?” A playful smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Only if you take off your clothes this time.”

A dry chuckle escaped his lips as he unbuttons his dress shirt, letting each article of clothing fall to the tile floor. As he finally sheds his boxers before settling behind you. You exhaled softly, the tension you’d been holding onto for weeks dissipating as you sank into your husband’s embrace.

Hiromi didn’t waste a moment, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck, placing lazy, lingering kisses along the curve where your shoulder met your throat. His breath was warm against your skin, his kisses slow and unhurried, as if savoring every second, every inch of you.

His hands weren’t idle either, tracing gentle patterns along your stomach, moving upwards to cup your breasts with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. He nipped lightly at your earlobe, his voice a husky murmur, “I’ve missed you… more than you know.”

“Missed you too ‘Romi..” Your voice trembling as the almost foreign heat began to pool in your core.

Deft fingers teased your nipples, rolling and pinching—eliciting a soft moan from your lips as your body arched into his touch. Your hand reached back, tangling in his dark locks, pulling him closer as his lips traveled down to your shoulder, his other hand snaking under the water to your aching cunt.

“ahhhh… s-shitt..” You cry out as Hiromi’s fingers slowly circle your swollen bud. His touch light, teasing.

“Thirty-two days… I’m so sorry m’love.” He mumbles into your shoulder as he slips a slender digit into your entrance. Your walls flutter immediately around the intrusion, as he gently pumped into you.

He adds another finger, curling up to the spot he had neglected all those weeks. He extended his thumb to rub your clit. You arch your back against him, feeling his cock twitch against your ass.

“Hiro…” you moan, reaching behind for him, but he bites down lightly on your shoulder.

“Not yet, pretty girl, want you t’cum first okay?”

He whispers as he feels your gummy walls clench around him.

He speeds up his ministrations, digits stuffing your cunt as your pussy throbs and squelches. Your whimpers echo around the tiled walls, water lapping around your bodies.

You feel the pressure building as each thrust of his long fingers brush against your g-spot.

“g-gonna cum!”

“Cum f’me sweetheart please—god… need it so bad.” Hiromi mumbles as he pumps even faster.

“a-ahh!” you cry as you reach your high, walls clenching as you cum on your husband’s hand. He removes his fingers from you, moving to gently circle your clit as you come down from your orgasm.

You both stay there for a moment, your heavy breathing the only sound occupying the space, mingling with the gentle slosh of water against the porcelain tub. Hiromi’s arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you closer.

Slowly, he lifted you, the warm water swirling around you both as he maneuvered you to face him, settling you on his lap. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your knees pressing against the cool sides of the tub.

You straddled Hiromi, your bodies now fully aligned, chest to chest. Your husband's dark, half-lidded eyes bore into yours, his expression a mixture of raw need and unspoken tenderness. He let his hands rest on your waist for a moment, thumbs tracing gentle circles against your damp skin as he took in the sight of you.

“I don’t know how I’ve stayed away from you for so long…” his voice breaking slightly as if the admission pained him.

Your breath hitched as you shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the tension between you intensify. Hiromi’s hands slid up your sides, his touch deliberate and slow, leaving a trail of heat in their wake as his lips finally found yours. The kiss was deep, full of hunger that had been simmering between you both for far too long.

His grip on your waist tightened as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance that left you dizzy with need.

Breaking the kiss, Hiromi leaned his forehead against yours, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

“I won’t make that mistake again.”

Without a word, he rose from the tub, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. Water cascaded down your bodies, pooling at your feet as he carried you toward the bedroom, his lips trailing wet kisses down the side of your neck.

He laid you gently onto the bed, your back sinking into the soft silken sheets, but Hiromi didn’t waste any time. His gaze darkening as he climbed over you, his body hovering just above yours, his eyes drinking you in like a man starved.

“I’m going to make up for every second I’ve missed.”

[unboundprompts]

body language descriptions please?

(eg: she cocked her head)

thank you 💗💗💗

Body Language Descriptions

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

Anxiety/Nervousness

She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, her fingers tugging nervously at the fabric as she struggled to find the right words.

They bit their lower lip.

He looked away, unable to meet her gaze, a clear indication of his guilt.

She absentmindedly rubbed her neck.

He chewed his nails, a nervous habit that he couldn't seem to quit.

They rubbed their hands together nervously.

He tightened his jaw.

She felt beads of sweat forming on her brow, betraying her calm facade as her heart raced.

Frustration/Impatience

Their fists clenched at their sides.

He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the table, a clear sign of impatience as he waited for her to finish.

He rolled his eyes, the gesture full of exasperation as he dismissed her words.

She let out a heavy sigh, the sound heavy with resignation as she faced the inevitable.

He threw his hands up in defeat.

Curiosity

He leaned forward in his chair, eager to hear more, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

She raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical as she questioned his intentions.

She tilted her head slightly.

He watched intently, his eyes wide with wonder as he took in every detail of her story.

Confidence/Assertiveness

He stood tall with his shoulders back, projecting confidence even in the face of uncertainty.

They sat on the edge of their seat.

She gestured wildly, her hands moving animatedly as she tried to express her excitement.

He stood with his hands on his hips, exuding an air of authority and control over the situation.

They held their chin up high, projecting self-assurance even in the face of adversity.

Defensiveness/Resignation

He crossed his arms over his chest, a defensive posture that spoke volumes about his discomfort.

He braced himself against the wall, a protective stance.

She folded her hands in her lap, a sign of restraint as she fought the urge to speak.

They shrank back slightly, their shoulders hunching as if trying to make themselves smaller in the face of criticism.

He held his breath momentarily, steeling himself for the inevitable conflict he sensed was coming.

She covered her face with her hands, overwhelmed by the situation as she tried to block out the world.

Thoughtfulness/Concentration

She furrowed her brow in concentration, her mind clearly racing as she tried to solve the problem at hand.

She nodded slowly, processing the information, her expression thoughtful and contemplative.

He stared blankly into space, lost in thought as he processed what had just been revealed.

He drummed his fingers on the table, the rhythmic sound a sign of his deep contemplation.

She tapped her foot lightly, her mind racing.

Eagerness/Excitement

He paced back and forth, his restless energy manifesting in the constant movement as he considered his options.

She bent forward, her elbows resting on her knees, a sign of intimacy and engagement in the conversation.

She swayed slightly from side to side, a subconscious display of her nervous energy as she waited for the verdict.

He bounced on his toes, his excitement palpable.

She jumped up and down, a spontaneous display of her joy that couldn’t be contained.

[dunmesh]

okay i don't have anything smart to add i just genuinely love that these seemingly trivial jokes are actually an important part of his character. we see it throughout the entire manga, how he pushes aside his own frustration and discomfort to accommodate everyone else's and avoid needless confrontation- another example off the top of my head would be the barometz chapter in which he slowly gets frustrated with izutsumi but still tries his best to talk some sense into her calmly and soundly.

and in contrast, there are very few times he expresses his anger and hurt towards others, and it usually takes a lot for him to finally lose his patience and control.

i mean, even with kabru he tried to be polite despite the circumstances until the guy said the one thing that triggers an immense sense of shame, hurt and rage in laios. and you know, the manga does say it quite clearly early on. when we are introduced to namari and then to shuro, laios acts all friendly and shows his respect and trust in them despite how things ended between them, and everyone else gets frustrated with him for acting so strange- why are you the one who tries so hard to pacify the rest when you should be the angriest?

and they don't understand him. they don't know him well enough to be able to understand, but we as readers get to see during the manga that they aren't wrong to question him- he does, in fact, feel all those ugly emotions. and it's when the winged lion finally confronts him that we see to what extent these feelings he buried so deep go, and suddenly all those funny little moments where he sometimes pretends to be mr nice guy speak volumes about his character. honestly, ryoko kui is a master at using jokes in order to define important character traits and this one doesn't fail to amaze me.

and laios's hatred and rage and deep scars he can't get over aren't shown explicitly during most of these moments i mentioned before, but now you realize there are 26 years of emotional baggage to all of them and they sting. he is angry but he can't say shit, what difference would it make? it won't make his friends choose him instead of themselves when he needed them most, and it won't help his party get any farther. of course, this logic doesn't apply to them- they are absolutely allowed to get angry and it's fine to get mad at him, he can take that.

so after finishing the series it's so clear that he tries his best to avoid clashing with others not just due to the current circumstances and him needing to be a reliable leader but also because he knows that people don't even like him when he tries to show his good sides and hide all the rest, so who the hell would tolerate his rage and despair? who would stay after realizing that he is so deeply flawed he doesn't even like his own being?

but he does get mad. he can't help it, and sometimes it gets out of control and now everyone knows. and it's funny, isn't it? that most of those moments ended up bringing him closer to others. shuro admitting he is envy of him and actually becoming the friend laios thought he was all along, fighting for his sake and waiting for him to come back- believing in him even after he turned into a monster and searching for him the way he couldn't bring himself to do for falin when he learned of what became of her- or kabru being pushed to just let it all out because he couldn't bluff his way out of this one and get to laios any other way, so now they are even. they are both horribly honest with each other and they both choose to stay. a weird way of getting to know each other, but it is what it is.

it's simply... the more laios let himself just be, the deeper his relationships grew. and there's intimacy in being your ugly, weak and furious self around someone and them not leaving you. feeling safe enough to let it be known you are hurt and angry. and he knows that now, too.

[foolinafable]

family matters

Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader Synopsis: You and Five return after seven years away in a different timeline- but you don’t return alone Word Count: 1.8k Tags: Fluff, No Lila and Five, Pregnancy, Children, Season 4 fix it (kinda) Note: Got so much love on the last one I wrote this! Try to ignore spelling mistakes it's currently 3am.

Stuck with only your irritable CIA colleague Five Hargreeves was anything but a good time. You both got lost at the godforsaken subway station he mistakenly teleported you both to. Travelling for a year by his side certainly mellowed you out. His personality slowly making you feel comforted as you both explored multiple timelines together trying to find your way home.

Surprisingly, the idea he possessed powers was the easiest thing for you to come to terms with, probably due to your job at the CIA making it seem plausible to you that the government does hide a lot- they’re even hiding the whole science of separate timelines.  After around a year of trying and failing to find your way home, you and Five decided to ease off the vigorous schedule you unwittingly created, finding a timeline safe enough to stay in for a while allowing you both to rest and brainstorm ideas of how you could both find a way home to your families. 

You both made a mistake. Falling to know how long a while would be you find yourselves still in the timeline you chose as your ‘temporary’ home six years later. Finding each other a lot less frustrating than at the start of this. You suppose that’s an understatement as you watched Five play with your child, a girl who possessed brown hair and green eyes not too dissimilar to her father’s. It almost wasn’t fair how much her features favoured his. But, seeing his beauty reflected upon her features could never be something you would complain about. 

“Maybe if we get lucky the next one will resemble you more,” you remember his words from a few days earlier when you started to show a hand placed under your abdomen smiling as if this was the greatest gift he could ever receive. But you don’t think it would matter if this one ended up looking like their older sibling and their father. If anything you would prefer it- not that you would ever admit it.

Picking another fresh strawberry from the greenhouse of the abandoned home you now called your own. You placed it into the basket plans to make jam and jelly already filling your mind when you felt yourself begin to flush from the sweltering heat of the sun beating down upon the glass. Your skin heating up to a point of large discomfort, sweat beginning to gather at your temples. You sighed knowing that you couldn't continue to harvest anything else unless you wanted to face Five’s rath over you overheating again. 

“Mom!” Maxine ran towards you eagerly hands encircling your legs as she got close enough for a welcoming hug. She quickly looked up towards you big green eyes staring at you prettily 

“Hiya munchkin” You stroked the top of her hair as she smiled up at you with glee

“What doing?” the three-year-old questioned head titling as she waited for your response 

“Strawberries” was all you replied grabbing the basket to show her 

“Have one?” she asked pointing at the basket, batting her eyes to try to sway your decision. You simply plucked one out of the basket and gave it to her relishing in the delighted smile she sent your way before biting into the sweet fruit. You smiled at her before looking up to meet the other pair of green eyes that had made their way into the greenhouse. Five watched the interaction of his favourite girls softly only moving closer once you looked at him.

“Everything alright mumma?” he questioned noticing your flustered expression from the moment he and Maxine stepped foot in the conservatory

“A bit hot” you admitted with a shrug of your shoulders as he drew closer, trapping Maxine in between the two of you as the back of his hand touched your forehead he hummed in agreement with your words

“Let’s get you inside the house, don’t need you getting heatstroke” You forced down the urge to roll your eyes at his dramatics and simply nodded in agreement

“Some cold water and a sit down would be nice.”

He grabbed one of your hands and Maxine’s with the other leading you both back towards the house. After placing the basket of strawberries in the kitchen you quickly sat down on the couch feeling a slight ache in your feet while Five grabbed you a glass of water with more icecubes than you could even count, you smiled in thanks as he passed it to you while Maxine sat next to you, a small children book in hands that she was determined to read to you and her younger sibling as she wanted them to be just as smart as her. 

You could hear Five pattering around the house, tidying up before you could even think about it. Maxine had quickly given up on trying to read, getting bored after two pages and was instead sitting playing with some wooden blocks by your feet. You furrowed your eyebrows when you couldn’t hear Five moving around anymore a stark silence surrounding you now.

“Everything alright?” you shouted trying to figure out where he had gotten to, heart fluttering when there was no reply. Setting your glass down on the table in front of you as you rose from your rather comfortable spot on the couch, you walked into the other room where your lover was his body was stick straight, eyes not daring to leave the notebook in his hand. “What?” you questioned softly walking towards him, eyeing the words on the book as you got close enough.

“This” he began astounded “Is our way home, it’s written by me but I didn’t write this. Another me did.” you simply nodded before smiling  

“Looks like we’re going home.”

── ✧

You and Five found yourselves outside of what he assured you was his brother Diego’s house. Maxine who was resting her head on his shoulder, legs wrapped around his middle looked astounded by the snow while nerves filled you- the last time you saw any of his family was when you were put on the case that got you lost in the timelines to begin with and even then you barely saw his brothers and sister-in-law as they were quickly taken to hq for a show round to get them out of the way. You didn’t even want to think how you would explain this to them let alone to your own family but you guess this is the easier of the two as they all had powers and also been to multiple different timelines. Five set Maxine down next to you as he rapped on the door you quickly grabbed her hand before she could run off into the snow when the door opened 

“You back!” the man, Diego you assumed, smiled as he looked at Five 

“I am” he stared at his brother almost in shock that he had seen him for the first time for him in seven years

“Good” the man confirmed “We were all starting to get worried.” his eyes then turned towards you and the brunette-haired little girl who was trying to hide behind you “And you are?” he questioned and you quickly gave him your name his eyes sparking in recognition for some reason as he crouched to the ground to greet your daughter “And who is this little princess?” he asked quietly as Maxine started at him 

“This is Maxine” is all you said feeling Five’s eyes on you knowing he wanted to wait until you got inside to drop the bomb you could see Diego begin to connect the dots as he introduced himself to you but he was clearly confused because he would know if Five had a child in the last three years in this timeline at least.

“I will explain everything once we get inside- can’t let the missus get cold” is all he said to Diego as the man allowed you into his home. 

He quickly led you to the living room where to sat on the sofa, Maxine being picked up by Five and placed on his lap when she tried to climb onto yours, you turned towards him to complain but quickly stopped when you met his glower instead choosing to put a comforting hand on your tummy a habit you kept from your first pregnancy. Diego called for his wife Lila to come to sit with him when the door opened revealing more of Five’s family he whispered their names to you as they walked in all choosing to sit down when Diego told them that Five was going to explain where he’s been and why his colleague, a word you hadn’t been referred to as in a long time, was here. With most of his family here excluding Ben and Viktor, he cleared his throat to get their attention

“As you all know the marigold has made our powers a little different to what we are used to” They all made sounds of agreement “My blinking takes only to a tube station where each stop is a new timeline and we” gesturing to you “got stuck, unable to find our way back until now. We were away for seven years but for you has only been a few hours” he took their silence as a sign to continue “This is my wife” he spoke your name “And our daughter Maxine.” you sat in silence for a moment.

“Wait! This is the colleague he was always telling us about?” Luther asked excitedly you turned to the larger man confused when Klaus and Allison quickly agreed with him

“I thought he was joking when he said there was a cute girl who he worked cases with” Claire, Alison’s daughter, announced making her mother and uncles laugh

“I can’t believe you have a child” Lila spoke eyes wide

“Well he is going to have another one in a couple of months,” you told the already shocked woman who quickly smiled at the revelation while the others called out congratulations to their brother 

“How far along are you?” Allison asked as she came up to you silently questioning if she could touch the small bump you simply nodded “We think around thirteen weeks” looking to Five who simply nodded

“She only started showing a few days ago”

“I can’t believe it” Luther called out while pulling funny faces making Maxine laugh as she got a little less shy around her family.

You smiled as you watched Maxine get up and walk towards Lilas’ children playing with them as Five’s hand found its way to yours stroking your knuckles. You never thought you could ever get home let alone come back home happier than you had left it. You suppose a thanks was due to your rather irritable husband and his wacky powers.

[inkskinned]

we were sitting on the floor and i was cutting out tiny pictures to make a collage for a friend's birthday. you were on your phone and you laughed about something, and i was still in love with you then, so i asked what had you giggling.

"sorry. i was just..." you took a moment and went back to texting. "i was telling someone about how you're afraid of the dark."

i'm afraid of the dark because something bad happened. "oh." i felt a little slinky of shame crawl down my throat.

you glanced up, and maybe it showed on my face, because you rolled your eyes and held the phone to the side casually so i could see the group chat. "what? was it a secret?"

i looked down to the scissors in my hand. "i just..." no, it's not a secret. it just felt like something private, something serious. saying why would you tell someone that just feels like an accusation. it's unfair. i honestly am not even ashamed of it, it's just a fact about my person that i don't usually share.

what a strange experience. is this a human thing or a generational thing? for our grandparents: did they need to worry about how quickly someone can just... share your personal information? again, i didn't even really have a true objection. what could i say? i want any person in my life to feel they can be honest with their friends. it's not like i said don't tell anyone this.

i cut out another letter to complete the rainbow happy birthday, started hunting for the exclamation mark. i heard you sigh dramatically.

"don't make a big deal about this," you said.

this entire conversation was a pattern for us, and this was when we got to my least favorite part of the pattern. i would get my feelings hurt in some oblique not-technically-terrible way, and then it would be making a big deal about something. you'd get frustrated for me for being soft, but i was born soft. you knew i was soft when you pierced me. it's one of the things that made controlling me so easy.

"i'm not," i felt my voice crack. the question came without my wanting. "why are you guys talking about me?" and why are you saying that thing? why not like - i'm telling them how you're generous and kind and pretty.

you let out this low, tragic groan. "oh my god." you tossed the phone away from your body. "there, see? i just won't talk to them if you don't like it."

the rest of the hour went the way it always went, between us: i said i don't actually mind if you talk to your friends but -, you found a way to call my minor expression of discomfort "being dramatic." you got upset that i had been offended. i ended up apologizing, even though i hadn't actually done anything.

afterwards, you picked up the phone again. after texting for a little bit, you snorted. "okay," you said, "but it is kind of funny you're afraid of the dark. i mean, when you think about it."

[samimarkart]

One Year

2025, block prints on hand dyed cotton

i finally wrapped up this year long project. i started HRT on december 8th, 2023. i went into it initially scared to death of needles and the concept of self injection. I decided to carve a stamp of my testosterone vial, and add a stamp to fabric after every shot as a sort of gold star “good job!” achievement. after a month, the fear was gone but i continued stamping. this quilt shows the number of shots I took across a 1 year period.

quilting always speaks to me as a trans person. a needle bringing together layers upon layers of fabric, making something new out of something preexisting, the slight discomfort of a finger prick (ow!) that’s easily forgotten when you stand back and see the repetition of stitches has made something you’re excited to see. my art quilts are usually about nature, but I always see myself in them :)

this quilt was initially conceptualized for a way for me to express pain and frustration with the healthcare system, with a physician who had promised me access to HRT when I was ready, only to massively walk her knowledge back when I was ready to start the process. hurtling through what seemed like an endless cycle of referrals, insurance calls, years long waitlists, medication backorders and more, i initially planned on stamping a vial for every week i missed a shot in frustration. i am glad i finally gained access to the miracle that is HRT, but at the same time I feel immense sadness, pain, and fear, both personally and for the rest of the trans community who are unsure of what our access to this miracle will look like in the near future.

i am holding tight to my trans siblings right now. i love you!