#what are the puzzle pieces i need to make this fit together in a satisfying way? and i really only do this with this series bc it is my fav

[potatoesandsunshine]

it’s all fun and games until you have to take a step back from themes and motifs to look at the basic story structure you’re working with

[bi-writes]

Okay since MOB is into showing Simon her new dresses she needs one with the milk maid neckline. Like seeing her yitties alluo and pretty I’m sure will get a similar result as her cherry dress lol

simon is a tits man, what can i say?

mail-order bride (18+)

"you can't be fuckin' serious," simon mutters. it's the first thing he says to you when he comes home. there you are, seated on the carpet in the living room, a puzzle spread out on the coffee table as a movie plays on the television.

the skirt of your dress fans out around you, and you raise a brow as you look at him, putting one of the corner pieces into place before folding your hands in your lap.

"what's wrong?" you ask, and simon nearly throws his gear off, tearing his mask off and pointing at you, or more specifically, your dress.

"tha' right there," he says with a scoff. "you havin' a laugh, baby?"

you shake your head, picking up another piece of the puzzle. it's an edge piece, and you look down to start finding it's place.

"i have no idea what you're talking about, simon."

"up. get up."

"simon, can't you see i'm doing this?" you whine, and you finally give in, looking up at him. "can't you wait just a little bit?"

"no."

you sigh, using the table for leverage as you stand, and simon grunts as he makes his way closer, taking your hands in his until he hoists you onto your feet. you can't contain your giggles as he backs you up into the couch, and you squeal with delight when he forces you onto your back, getting right on top of you, suffocating you as he holds himself up with just a hand beside your head as his other fists the little bow on the front of your dress.

you arch your back when he undoes the tie. your tits fall free from the dress as he tugs the fabric under them, and he wastes no time, leaning in and sucking one nipple into his mouth.

your eyes shut, and your toes curl. simon is so tender usually, so careful, but today he's sloppy. he sucks more purposefully, swirling his tongue around your nipple, not satisfied until it's pebbled and hard inside of his mouth. when he's satisfied, he moves to the other, his spit gathering against your chest as he licks, sucks, devours.

you can't help how soaked your panties become. you drool into them, back bowed and rigid as your husband lays there and nearly eats. he's so filthy, nasty with it, brain muddled as he cups the fat of your breast and spits on it just to lick it back up. your hips jerk, and simon groans, bucking his own hips to meet yours.

christ, he's getting off on this, isn't he? yeah. simon is so fucking enamored with you that he's getting off on simply drawing soft whines from you as he presses your tits together and nearly slobbers all over them. his pupils are blown wide, big hands fondling them as he ruts his hips against yours, giving you something nice and solid to grind against as you brace yourself with your hands pressed against the arm of the couch.

"yeah--" you gasp, widening your legs, and simon grunts, bobbing his head as he buries his face between your tits.

"y'r so fuckin' pretty, baby," simon mutters, and if you were paying attention, you would see the grip that simon has on the back of the couch, how he's nearly pulling the threads with how hard he's whiteknuckling the fabric. "should know better than t'tease me with this--"

"fuck--simon! i'm so close--please!"

"ach--fuck, y'r gonna cum, aren't ya? shit---"

the kiss is hot. simon fits his cock right against your clit, and with one smooth grind of his hips, you're soaking your panties to ruin. your legs are jelly, shaking, and you cry into his mouth as you try and keep yourself from spiraling too far from the earth. it's so easy with him, so nice. your entire world feels fuzzy and warm when it's with him, and you can't help the soft gasps and the drunken giggles that leave you as he stills between your legs.

"can't be lookin' so pretty when i come home, baby," simon murmurs against your lips, and you smile, opening your eyes, reaching up and smoothing both your hands against his face. your fingertips naturally trace the lines of his scars, and he scrunches his nose as he sits up a little.

"yeah...at this point, i should keep a tally on how many of your pants you ruin, shouldn't i?"

at that, he reaches down, adjusting himself, and the scrunch of his face again tells you he's really made a mess this time.

"ha ha. very funny, luv."

when you kiss him again, he's a little surprised to find your hands slipping low, reaching for his belt. but maybe it's only fair.

if you clean him up good enough, maybe you can salvage this pair, no?

[andy-wm]

This is it

That one true thing.

That single action that makes the closeness of their relationship irrefutable for me...

They've captured it here.

I doubt they intended to. It's such a tiny detail it could easily be missed, hardly be noticed.

But it's more validating of their intimacy than anything I've seen before.

And no it's not the spooning, or that Jimin is, despite assumptions, always the big spoon.

Look at their feet.

NOT LIKE THAT 🤦‍♂️

I'm serious.

Watch....

Do you see it?

Here, this might be easier:

Do you see it now?

Yes yes, i know, but let's move past the TMI. We all know how much they like to play footsie.

But theres more to it...

As jimin rolls over and swings his left leg over JK's hip, his right leg straightens so that his foot can nestle into the soles of JK's feet. So he can connect them from end to end. It's a single fluid movement, it's automatic. He doesn't even think about it.

Because it's what they do.

And the point of this is not just that it happened so automatically ...

...it's the way he knows - his body knows - exactly where JK's foot will be.

There's no hesitation. No need for him to look down, or to feel around to find JK's foot. Jimin's body knows exactly where his foot must go so it will slip into place. His unconscious mind has mapped JK's body, and it knows the length of JK's limbs in relation to Jimin's own.

It's not just Jimin doing this, its JK too.

Do you notice how still JK lies? The exact angle and direction of his legs, the degree of rotation of his hip? They dont change. He knows how he fits against Jimin's body. He has placed himself in position and presumably called jimin over to take the photo.

Just like Jimin's, JK's body remembers how they connect together. He has no need to shift - to accommodate or adjust - when Jimin slides in behind him. He knows how he fits with Jimin so they can be close and comfortable.

In fact, even though jimin misjudged his landing and knocked his head on JK's (maybe because they're on a moving boat) JK holds his position. His angles don't change at all.

Look at JK's feet.

See how he holds them up and slightly apart? That's him waiting for Jimin's foot to slot into place. Even when Jimin whacks into him, JK doesn't drop his feet onto the deck where they would rest comfortably. He holds that awkward posture, knowing that in a moment Jimin will be in place and when he is, JK can relax his feet and they will both lie comfortably.

Its such a tiny thing. A seemingly arbitrary detail. But it tells me so much.

It tells me this is real.

And it's long term.

More than flights from Paris to Seoul, or naked flirting on Weverse live, or even JK watching Jimin edits on Youtube with ARMY.

More than hickeys, or ear sucking, or JK staring at Jimin's ass like he's a starving man and that ass is a banquet just for him...

More than any of those LOUD things they do that are just moments in time.

This tells me they are together.

Why?

Because this is muscle memory.

The unconscious awareness of your partner's body in relation to yours, awareness of the exact position that will be most comfortable and satisfying for both of you... that doesn't happen overnight.

That happens over time.

Seeing them like this tells me they don't just share a bed, they share themselves like they belong to each other.

It tells me they fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, and have done so for years.

You may dismiss it. You might scoff or shrug or frown and say, "What, THAT?!? Really?"

YES. REALLY.

Trust me, even if you haven't had this yourself.

This is comfort.

This is home.

This is how they mould themselves into one.

This is true intimacy.

This is real

And I understand, it might seem like nothing.

If you haven't slept in your lovers embrace, pressed tight to them so you fit like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, because even a whisper of air between you is too much... it might seem like nothing.

If you haven't intertwined yourselves every night from your toes to your lips, determined to stay tangled together even when your muscles protest, it might seem like nothing.

But i hope one day when you experience it - when you know for yourself the bliss and belonging that happens when home becomes a person - I hope you remember this post.

Whatever they are to each other

Whatever love means to them

It is so very real

💛❤️‍🔥💜

[livsbrutalitys-blog]

Rheaxfem!reader

Y/N nods, biting their lip as they run their fingers through Rhea’s hair, tugging gently when they need to. They’re already a mess, their chest heaving with each breath as Rhea’s tongue works them over, teasing and flicking in all the right places.

Rhea can’t help but smile against Y/N’s skin, feeling their body tense and twitch as she continues her ministrations. She’s always had a way of making Y/N lose control, and she revels in the power it gives her. But it’s not just about control, it’s about the connection between them, the way they fit together like two puzzle pieces.

Rhea pulls back slightly, her lips glistening with Y/N’s arousal as she looks up at them with a smirk. “You taste so good,” she says, before leaning back in to continue her work.

Y/N arches their back, their hands gripping the sheets tightly as they feel themselves getting closer and closer to the edge. Rhea’s skilled tongue and fingers push them over the edge, and they cry out, their body shaking with pleasure.

Rhea continues to pleasure Y/N until they’re completely spent, their body limp and satisfied. She crawls up to lay beside them, a satisfied smile on her face as she pulls them close, kissing their forehead gently.

“I love you,” Rhea whispers, and Y/N smiles, snuggling closer to her.

“I love you too,” they reply, feeling completely content in Rhea’s arms. They know that no matter what challenges they face in the ring, they will always have each other’s backs, both in and out of the ring.

[mrsnancywheeler]

the lakes (10) // finnick odair x f. reader

summary: it's supposed to be over, you and Finnick are supposed to spend the rest of your lives helping each other heal. living as peacefully as possible, but the the third quarter quell throws a wrench in your domestic bliss.

previous chapter / next chapter

midnight rain

warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, manipulation of someone's feelings, hypothermia which I did my best to research, near death experiences, reader has familial issues, mental illness, self-hate, terms of endearment, backstory heavy, no use of y/n, unedited, the love triangle that was never really a love triangle

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“What do you think would have happened if this never happened to us, if it was just you and me, at home?" Conway’s voice pierced through the night air, you could hear every breath as you laid on his shoulder. Desperate for some type of body heat.

A question that you could answer truthfully, “Eventually we would have gotten married and you'd have taken over your family business, your sisters and I would have absolutely made the most out of everyone in the marketplace.” As much as it hurt you to think about, you doubted Finnick would have come back to you if none of this had occurred. He'd leave you alone to “protect you" as he claimed without an obvious reason and your love would have faded into an unfinished fairytale of what could have been in the back of your mind. You hated to think about it, but Conway was the person you would settle to be with if you couldn't have the love you wanted.

“You really think so?" His fingers were tracing something on your sleeve that you weren't focused enough on to try and decipher. “My family, everyone at school always thought so, but you could have anyone you wanted." No you couldn't, the person you'd wanted most in the world had pushed you away, the only person your soul ached for.

“You could've had anyone to Conway."

“No, I couldn't have." He shook his head with a bitter smile.

“Yeah, who was that one girl?" You scrunched your eyes shut trying to recall her name, “Meena!” Your eyes snapped open,"You dated Meena, she was sweet.”

"Only to try and make you jealous.” He muttered, softly. Finnick had always remarked how Meena looked like you, how Conway was unbelievably entranced by you, for reasons you'd never understand. You didn't know what to say back, it hadn't worked, you'd actually been ecstatic for him to have found someone. "I wouldn't have picked Meena.” He wanted you to say you wouldn't have picked Finnick, you could tell, but you couldn't say that.

"Then, it would've been you and me, and I would have driven you mad.” You averted, giving a breathless laugh.

There was a glimmer in his sad eyes and he gave a slight smile,"No you wouldn't have.”

You smiled and nodded, "Oh I would have, I'd want to do this and that, when all you wanted was to stay home. Then you'd want to go crawfishing and I'd grumble to stay in bed.” It would have been good enough, satisfying enough, but it would never be what you and Finnick could've had. You were both creatures of extraversion, you'd go where he went and make do, if he wanted to fish you'd go along to read or let him convince you to join, if you absolutely refused he'd eventually yield to you. If you'd decided to rot away in your head Conway would desperately want to help, but Finnick would, he'd take care of you, but also force you out of it. If Finnick was everything you needed, everything you wanted, everything you yearned for, Conway was perfect for everybody else.

“That would've been okay with me." Okay. Not like puzzle pieces fitting together, just two books sitting by one another. “Kids?" There was the other thing, Conway would be a great father and needed to be in a sense, but it scared you. How could you raise a child if they were constantly close to being thrown into the predicament you were in now? You would have loved to have kids if the government was different, if none of these chains were locking that up, and Finnick was the same. Children would be perfect in another world, another time.

Yet you humored him, “How many?" No kids would be in danger since both of you wouldn't be able to come out of this alive.

“Four?" Conway leaned tilted his head to the sky, “Two boys, two girls."

“Five, three girls, two boys, take it or leave it." If you tried hard enough you could somewhat convince yourself it was just the two of you, back home, living the life everyone expected you to live. To imagine you'd just settled. He was handsome, so handsome any girl would have adored him, he was sweet and hardworking. His family cared so deeply and was basically your own. The universe stretched itself thin for you and Finnick, if it stayed still it would've been you and Conway.

He laughed and looked back at you, “I'll take it, any day, I would have taken it." He had to know, if you got out you would run right back to him, but the fantasy was better than thinking about that, at least it was easier at some points to tell yourself Conway knew. “Would you take care of my family?" He whispered, face settling into some type of seriousness.

“Of course I would." Even if you'd never be able to look at them again after what you were doing which they surely knew about, you would pour as much money into their pockets as you could.

He looked away from you, his eyes glossy with unshed tears as he stared into the dark. Like he was ashamed to say what he was going to, “It's just, it's always been all of us. They begged me to come home and I don't know, I don't know what I'm supposed to do. And you-" Conway choked on whatever he was going to say, “I'm sorry, I don't want to be an ass, I'm just trying to be honest." He wiped his face of the tears that weren't even falling, but you could see it all on his face. It made you absolutely ill with yourself, he was right, his family was so tight-knit it would be a major hit to all of them if he was gone. Yet here you were playing with him like some sort of toy to get you to the top. He was spilling all of his heart to you, saying what was hard to say and you pulled strings. You buried your face in your freezing hands.

“It's okay." Your voice was muffled, eventually pulling away as you looked at him. “You're right, you don't have to say it. But even if they aren't like yours it doesn't mean they don't need me, I'm the one in the markets, Conway. Mom’s too sick to do it, Dad has to go out and work, and Avonlea has to take care of Mom. No one else is going to do it and they wouldn't have to worry about that anymore.”

It was unsaid that even if that happened it didn't mean you'd break the seemingly impenetrable walls of their bond, a trio you weren't meant for. Maybe it wasn't worth it, if you got out you'd help them, but wouldn't be part of their team, you wouldn't be able to look at Conway’s family without being eaten by guilt on the spot, your best friend would be dead and it would be your fault, all you'd really have is Finnick. But maybe that was enough for how desperately your soul longed for him.

“I'm sorry."

“It's not your fault." You didn't blame the Games either, as far as you were concerned you were the only one to blame. You didn't know when you'd begun to cry, but the way the biting cold hit your wet face made you shiver.

Then his arms were pulling you closer, “No, that was wrong of me, I didn't want to make you cry. Your family is just as important as mine." That only made you cry more. If you weren't so unpleasable you could have been content with him, happy even, that wouldn't have stopped this from happening, but maybe you would have felt less guilty or let yourself die with him, the way you would die for Finnick.

“You're too good to me, Conway. Much too good, you deserve a Meena." You were trying to wipe away your tears, but they were coming much too quick.

" I don't want a Meena.” Then his lips were on yours and for a second it was comforting, which only fueled your nausea. It didn't matter that you were young and confused because you knew he wasn't the one, that this had been what you wanted from him just so you could be with someone else. That beautiful, kind Conway was a means to an end and this was all supposed to end one way.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

It was hot, sweat was clinging to your skin, and your head still stung. You almost couldn't bear to be too close to Finnick and his unnatural heat that was usually so comforting, but he was hovering around you so much that it was nearly impossible to get a few steps away as you all ran through the jungle. Cannons began booming off one by one as everyone finally decided to sit down. There was more guilt this time, most of these people you knew pretty well and had spent time with in some capacity over the years. Even if you hadn't killed any of them, you were still alive when they were gone, how was that fair? Nothing was, nothing had been for so long, never in your lifetime.

“I guess we're not holding hands anymore." Finnick laughed and it caught you so off guard that you couldn't help it when your scoff turned into a laugh as well. Hitting your forehead on his shoulder. The irony of it all, how you'd held hands in solidarity against the Capitol only to tear each other's throats out down here.

“You think that's funny?" Katniss asked, you understood why she was so appalled by his comment, you truly did, but his comments had always evened out your thoughts before they became all consuming. His humor brought light to the dark.

"Just a little bit.” You demonstrated with your fingers, even though it was definitely more than that.

“Everytime that cannon goes off it's music to my ears. I don't care about any of them.” He pointed at the sky, shrugging his shoulders.

“Good to hear." Katniss pulled some weapon out of her quiver to point his way. You couldn't help yourself when you tossed one of your knives up to catch it, as badly as you needed Katniss out of the arena you wouldn't let her attack Finnick. Even if he could defend himself, which he demonstrated perfectly well as he held his trident right back at her. At the end of the day you two were still the team, you could only get her out if she'd cooperate and it would be very unlikely if she went for Finnick that she'd trust anybody after that.

“Wanna face the Career pack alone? What would Haymitch say?" Finnick’s brow quirked, you briefly made eye contact with Peeta. He looked so uncomfortable, looking for an opportunity to decrease the tension.

“Haymitch isn't here." Katniss replied, not backing down. Peeta began to stand.

"Let's keep moving.” His voice broke the tension when Katniss stood as well, maintaining her own eye contact with Finnick, she looked so untrusting, so angry. Finnick grabbed your free hand as you stood. Then he was behind you, slightly grabbing the back of your head.

“We should have cleaned it, you could get an infection." Finnick frowned.

“I'll be fine, Finnick." You smiled, it wasn't like the plan was supposed to take longer than a couple days. You doubted you would die of an infection in that time. Planting a light kiss on his cheek before you tugged his hand to keep walking.

“Let's not tempt the fates." He muttered, silently insisting to be the one who pulled you along instead. Peeta was cutting down the vines as you all walked forwards, making way to see ahead. You glanced at Finnick, how could he still be so breathtaking when he was dripping with sweat? Maybe you were too lovesick for disgust at this point, but it amazed how despite all the grime the bronze of his skin still shone and you would have bet people would still line up for a minute of his time.

“Take a picture, it'll last longer." He flashed those pearly whites at you and you rolled your eyes despite feeling your cheeks get somehow hotter.

“You're a real comedian, Odair, I'll give you that. I mean I'm basically dying of laughter." You deadpanned, rather unsuccessfully, when you stumbled over some branch. Finnick's hand helped you maintain balance, but he was laughing at you just as quick.

“Angel, you don't need to fall for me, I'm already your husband. There's really no need to be so desperate." You playfully hit him.

“And you're just so helpful, I could have died.” You shrugged, over exaggerating as much as you probably could.

"That would have been a rather pathetic way to go, don't you think?” He teased, "And after all that talk about how you could take care of yourself.” Finnick tutted and you shoved his shoulder again.

Katniss' scream instantly tore you out of the moment," Peeta, no!” The machete hit some sort of forcefield ahead and he flew back, roughly hitting the jungle floor. She was immediately scrambling for him, grabbing his face. “Peeta?" Her voice shook and it hit you that maybe it wasn't an act like you and Finnick had theorized, maybe the bare bones of it all showed there was a pure, raw love there even if it didn't always seem that convincing to people who weren't Capitol citizens desperate to eat up any act. “He's not breathing. He's not breathing, he's not breathing! Peeta!” Katniss cried out and Finnick immediately ran to him, pushing Katniss away.

She'd pulled out her bow when you ran up, “Katniss he's just trying to help." You put your hands up as you slowly approached her, she looked panicked, confused and Finnick's lips were on Peeta’s. It looked like her brain was running so fast it hadn't even registered that it was CPR. Finally it looked like it had clicked and she put the bow down, running back over Peeta. You followed, cautiously placing your hand on her shoulders. “It's okay, he's gonna be okay.” You couldn't know that, but it was all you could think to say.

“Peeta, Peeta." She was begging, voice trembling and you saw yourself in her. You'd be the same way if anything happened to Finnick, her desperation proved to you that beyond all else she truly was in love with the boy from the arena.

“Come on Peeta." Finnick said gruffly, doing rough compressions on his seemingly limp body.

“Peeta, please wake up." Katniss was cradling his head and you squeezed her shoulder trying to be as reassuring as you could.

“He will, Katniss, he will." You nodded mostly to yourself. Her body was shaking from her tears.

"Please wake up.” Her body rocked back and forth as Finnick muttered continuous "come on’s,” continuing his attempt to revive Peeta. Suddenly he was gasping for air and Finnick sighed in relief. “Peeta! Oh my god!”

“Be careful, there's a forcefield up there.” Peeta said softly and Katniss laughed through the tears before kissing him. By now you doubted anyone could think their love was all a performance, it made you want to cry as well. Finnick's hand slid back into yours, squeezing it. Telling you that you were in fact on the same page, it amazed you how with looks and touches it was as if nearly every thought the two of you shared could be communicated.

“Oh my god, you were dead. You were dead, your heart stopped.” She stroked his hair, like she was terrified she'd never get too again.

“It's okay, it's working now." Katniss hugged him before they worked to get him standing up again. She was so soft, so caring, which you knew from the act with Rue the year before, but it was so moving to see in real life. All the things that really made her such a good symbol of the rebellion, not the hate for the Capitol, the love for other people.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

By day 3 it was pouring down freezing rain, buckets of it. Only a few more cannons had gone off and you couldn't reason how this would make the games more interesting, watching people die of pneumonia or something of the like. You'd figured out the boots were made to be pretty resistant to water and prevent as much sliding in the mud as possible, but it was basically up to your ankles in muck. Trudging along was a chore within itself, you couldn't even start a fire to keep warm, even if you'd strung up the tarp to keep it from the rain the wood around was all soaked. Every once in a while the four of you would string a tarp in the bare trees, one on the ground, huddle together for some sort of heat, lay the small plastic covers on you and pass the match between your hands as quickly as you could. Before they could burn out and you were terrified you'd run out, that all sense of heat would be gone.

You'd been so cold and exhausted that it took everything in you not to groan as the four of you picked berries. Grateful that Conway had paid enough attention at that station to know which one's were poisonous. Your hands were so numb it was nearly impossible to grab them, nevermind the fact that you were being soaked in the frozen droplets since it was Marlowe and Birch's turn with the plastic covers.

“Your lips are blue." You were startled when Conway was suddenly in front of you, staring at you with concern. You tried to move your hand to touch your lips but it refused to do what you wanted. Then you mumbled something so incoherent you couldn't even tell what you'd been trying to say. His hand pressed to your face, which you only knew from being able to see it. “She's like ice." He looked at the other two anxiously.

“Me too." Birch muttered and Marlowe shot him a glare before approaching you. Fingers touching your neck, searching for a pulse.

“We should set up the tarps, get her out of the rain.” Marlowe advised, looking at the two boys. "I think she's hypothermic.” Everything was a rush to you, it was so confusing. Why were you out in the woods? Conway was here, but who were these other people? It was hard to walk when Conway had led you into the makeshift shelter. “Her jacket is soaked through, hopefully her shirt isn't as much, we should take it off."

“That'll make her more cold." You were pretty sure that was Conway's voice.

“Water makes it worse anyways." The female voice rang out in your ears. Before some other ringing sound came through, this time you were sure you weren't delusional when everyone else's heads looked around. Conway instantly stood up to search for whatever it was.

When he came back it wasn't him you were seeing, there was Finnick. Gorgeous, sunshine Finnick. Your lips tried to move to say something to him but it was too difficult. By the time you felt them move an inch he was gone and it was Conway once again.

“This is huge." He remarked, bringing in some sort of package. Were you ok the boat? None of your surroundings made sense.

“Must have incredible sponsors." Another male voice rang out, who was that?

“It's a blanket!" Your jacket was being torn from your stiff muscles as something surrounded you. Was wrapped around you and your head was laid down. “You're gonna be okay."

"There's a broth too.” The female voice said again, you were seeing Finnick again standing over you, wait no it was your father. Hovering over you as if you were your mother. You just wanted to rest, this was all so overwhelming. Whoever it was was urging you to open your mouth to put a spoonful of something inside. Which was extremely difficult but eventually you managed to, the swallowing was even harder, but it did fill your insides with a pleasant warmth. Everything was such a rush you didn't know when you'd slipped into sleep.

You knew eventually you'd woken up, feeling somewhat warmer, more conscious. You knew people's names at the very least. Conway had his arms wrapped around the blanket, providing even more heat. Marlowe was laying by your side, trying to exude more heat even though she cold herself and Birch was by her side.

“You're lucky to have a mentor who could get you something like that and the sponsors to support it, most people die of hypothermia in under an hour, at least back home." Marlowe said when you'd looked at her. She wasn't bitter or angry about it, at least not at you.

“Yeah." Your voice was so hoarse you almost didn't recognize it. “Thank you for not leaving me for dead. I wouldn't have blamed you, the probability of me dying and dragging the group down waiting for me was pretty high.”

Marlowe just shook her head, "No us four until the end, we'll talk about it more then.” She looked back at the top of the tarp, listening to the rain drops. " When you're done being on the brink of death you'll share the blanket though, right? It's freezing out here.”

You let yourself smile a little,"Yeah of course.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

I literally cried writing this guys, I thought it wouldn't get it out but happy new year!!! I'm so grateful for all you reading and interacting with this story, I'm ecstatic that so many of you love my brain rot ideas. if you enjoyed feedback, likes, comments, reblogs are all super appreciated and my ask box is always open even if I'm super slow about it. love you and thank you so much again 💋

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[three--rings]

to get back to ofmd bitterness for a minute, I'm increasingly over the oh-so-plentiful variety of post that's like:

oh but OFMD S2 is actually perfect, it's only problematic to people who OVERTHINK THINGS.

Like, hi, this is fandom, have we met? THAT'S WHAT WE DO HERE.

And no one is saying you can't enjoy it for what it is and enjoy gifs of actors being cute and kissing and everything, have a blast. You don't have to get deep into textual analysis to be a fan.

BUT, while OFMD has always been a funny, cute show that tells a brisk story, but what I really, really appreciated about it was that when you interrogated it more deeply, it HELD TOGETHER. In fact, there seemed no end of depth to it. Everything WORKED symbolically, thematically. I became used to looking at the story on that level.

And S2 came out and it SEEMED like it was the same. so much depth, so much seriousness it seemed to be treating things with.

And then...it all fell apart in the last half. And that's SO FUCKING FRUSTRATING.

As an example, when the opening scene was Stede's dream of killing Izzy and running to Ed on a beach, looking dashing and manly, MANY MANY people in fandom immediately were like, OH. This is the show telling us what's NOT going to happen. This is the schlocky, cliched version of things. Where the hero is masculine and violent and the evil are punished and the romance is easily happily resolved.

This is the show saying we're not going to do the expected thing.

And then the end of the show killed Izzy and had Ed and Stede run to each other on a beach while doing violence, Stede looking capable and rugged, and they didn't really have to work at resolving their issues they just were Fine Actually.

So it felt kinda like spitting in the face of all the people writing meta about the show. It was playing INTO expectations instead of against them, and that felt like a betrayal of the show's core Thing.

But if you're not someone who was thinking about that kind of thing, then sure, probably it felt like 'oh it's a happy ending, cool.'

And I'm just sad that when I try to analyze these characters and their arcs in this season in detail, as I really on some level feel I NEED to, I'm left holding a bunch of parts that don't fit together. I thought I was being given a bunch of cool puzzle pieces that was going to make a pretty picture but when I was told it was done it was just some random shapes.

And again, if you're a casual viewer, like my husband for instance, you can walk away going "I thought it was pretty good" and be satisfied and that's great.

But I'm here trying to write fic set in a post S2 canonical universe and I CAN'T MAKE THE CHARACTER PIECES FIT RIGHT. and it's driving me nuts.

[rocknrolldecadence]

˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮-------------------✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

on top

you always seem to be beneath izzy, in every aspect. you decide to change that.

warnings: smut buts its minimal, axl being annoying as per usual

a/n: my first fic guys… enjoy!!

it had always been like this. he was up on stage, you watching below, engulfed by the crowd. him, tuning his guitar and you carefully listening to the chords. him, up on the bed with you on knees in front of him. he was always above you. always.

guns n roses had another show tonight, and of course you were there. you had to be - you were the rhythm guitarist’s, izzy stradlin, girlfriend. you were friends with the rest of the band too, so staying home just wasn’t an option.

pressed up against the stage, the Whisky A Go Go seemed more alive tonight than ever. maybe it was the drinks you’d had during soundcheck, but something felt different. you felt different.

you stared up at your boyfriend, playing along to ‘my michelle’, a favourite of yours off their album. izzy’s fingers graced the strings of his guitar methodically, plucking them with both elegance and vigour. this was better than any playgirl magazine or calvin klein ad. wayyyyyy better.

you looked up and locked eyes with izzy, his black hair almost covering his eyes. he winked, and you felt like you’d hit with cupid’s arrow. he was just like that, ever since you had met him. a total flirt, but in the best way possible. a girl behind you mistakenly thought the wink was for her and screamed. you laughed. izzy looked away, looking at the the crowd in front of him. being at the side of the stage was always what you preferred. you got to be closer to him.

soon enough, the synth that opens ‘paradise city’ started, signalling the end of the gig. you shouted the lyrics along with the rest of the crowd, absorbing the energy. izzy glanced over at you as axl sang ‘and the girls are pretty’, and you blew him a kiss. he smiled and carried on with the playing. he was oblivious to what you were planning.

you loved your boyfriend, but you were tired of the power dynamic you had going on, the always-on-top thing izzy had. so when you finally went backstage, you set your plan into motion.

you found izzy in a dressing room along with the boys, chatting about how the show had went. you sat beside him, and he kissed you almost immediately. of course, you kissed back, ignoring axl's complaints of “get a room!” and steven’s giggles til you were done.“how did you find the show?” duff asked you. you two had been close since izzy introduced you to the band. laughing, you replied “nah it was shit. do better.” duff feigned hurt, clutching his palm to his chest.

“kidding, kidding. it was really good. i was right up at the edge of the stage, so i got to see all the action.” you giggled.

izzy grinned. knowing you enjoyed a gig always gave him an ego boost. maybe a hard-on too. he swung an arm around your neck, and you sunk into the embrace despite its casual nature. it felt good. natural. your bodies fit together like perfect puzzle pieces.

as the conversion progressed, there was no doubt the five men were high. they increasingly got more chatty, and the more chatty they were, the more giddy. so you decided it was time to leave.

“cmon izzy. let’s go.”

“awwww do we have to? i’m having fun here. you are too.”

“i am. but let’s go.”

your boyfriend reluctantly got up and held your hand. the boys protested, but it was late. you wanted to get home. so you could continue with the plan.

you got in the car, with izzy following. turning the key in the ignition, you sped away. phase two had begun.

“babe, is something wrong?” izzy questioned. his concern made you swoon, but you stayed focused. you wanted to make this work. you had to. you needed to teach this man a lesson.

you shook your head, but izzy wasn’t satisfied. the annoyance of being pulled away from his friends was getting to him. “cmon, tell me. this is no fair.” he groaned. you chuckled at his out of character complaints. izzy was normally a lot more cool than this. evidently, you weren’t the only one worked up.

you sighed, trying to figure out how to word this to your boyfriend. “just wanna…” you started. izzy gave you a curious glance. “wanna… try something. tonight.”

he smirked, the innuendo not lost on him despite how high he was. little did he know what you had in store for him.

“like what?”

“you’ll see.”

“just tell me.”

“be patient!”

izzy fell silent, too tired to argue back any further. you let out a sigh of relief in your head. this had to be a surprise. otherwise, he’d never learn.

soon enough, you pulled up to your shared apartment. and as soon as you were inside the doors, you kissed izzy like you never would again. the fervour caught him off guard, snapping him out of his tiredness. of course, you’d had a similar amount of passion many times before, but he could sense this was different. whatever it was, he liked it. he wanted more.

you pushed him up against a wall and continued the attack. this elicited a string of moans and groans from your boyfriend, ones you never would’ve imagined hearing before. izzy stradlin, making noises like this? izzy stradlin, being submissive? this was new. and you welcomed it.

“you like that, huh?”

“oh shut up.”

this was all the confirmation you needed - you had him wrapped around your finger.

things escalated, and pretty soon the two of you had retreated to your bedroom. you pushed your boyfriend onto the bed with a demanding force. izzy knew he was in for something good. he just had to go along with your wishes; and that he would do.

before he had even taken off his jeans yet, you could see izzy’s boner through his jeans.

“someone’s excited.”

“how could i not be?”

“i didn’t think you’d be so… accepting of this.”

“it’s new. it’s hot. i like it.”

now that got you going. you both undressed quickly, and before long, you were sinking onto izzy’s dick. you both moaned. it was basically routine at this point, but this time round? things were different. you were in control.

cowgirl wasn’t a position you’d tried before, but fuck did you love it. finally being on top of the man who was always on top you. the mix of shock and desire on his face. the power you had. it was perfect.

the roll of your hips finally sent both you and izzy over the edge, and you fell down beside him. you were warm. it felt good. different. the dark night made it hard to see, but you could just about make out the quick rise and fall of izzy’s chest. “did i go too hard?” you asked. you were scared that the newfound control had boosted your ego a bit too high.

“nah. it was… good,” izzy confessed. “reallyyy good.”

this wasn’t expected. izzy always had the power in the bedroom, so you didn’t know how he’d react to the change. he revelled in it, and so did you.

“that so?”

“what?”

“i really didn’t expect you to like that. you just… took it.”

“i mean, i told you i thought it was hot.”

you just chuckled.

“how long are you gonna tease me for?” izzy sighed.

“a while.”

[quasarifxxy]

What primarily drew me to Kazurei as a pairing isn't the roommate trope, nor the golden retriever and brood cat trope, or the gay spy x family gag, but rather this scene from Episode 8 (that I'm somehow still not over.)

It's the mutual reluctance to love and let themselves heal, with the exception that Kazuki couldn't stand to see Rei in the same position as him, so he offers to take care of him anyway. Both, who had a rough relationship with love, let themselves confide in each other. Rei, who found comfort and experienced what it's like to be taken care of, and Kazuki, who can't help but to extend care because it's something that's just... natural to do in his position. Kazuki, who is hurted by love that is taken from him over and over again, offers what he'd regard as a bare minimum because deep down, he wants his remaining loved ones (and in this timeline just rei) to feel the love he always desired.

Though Kazuki is seemingly full of emotions every time (enough to almost repress his sadness), his actions are always so gentle and full of warmth.

What makes it more beautiful is how Rei adapts Kazuki concept's, or rather, way to express love to Miri (with the most apparent example being Episode 9) considering Kazuki was probably one of if not the first person he'd experienced and therefore actively saw it from. He initially wasn't able to comprehend how to love and be loved, and only through Kazuki's deeds did he learn how comforting and nice it is to be cared for, so he wanted to extend that to Miri after realizing how much his family meant to him.

Going back to the topic, I genuinely adore how Kazurei is a pairing consisting of two people who weren't given the opportunity to love, and during their time before Miri subconsciously fulfilled each other's emotional needs. Though initially distant, they immediately clicked because they fit together like puzzle pieces. Similar desires but difference in approach and seek what the other has.

While there is mutual understanding between them, being able to read each other, neither of the two had the will to step onto each others' boundaries and address it. It was satisfying to see them grow closer emotionally and form the courage to communicate, with great examples being the last few episodes of the series.

Tl;dr the soft aspect of Kazurei made me complerely fall in love with the pairing and I used to be neutral about it

[itsnotzka]

Hello! I'm excited (and very a little nervous) to share a short story of mine! :)

It’s partly inspired by the Black Mirror themes, so you can probably guess the tone and style. While I don't think it needs specific content warnings (let me know if you disagree), I would prefer it to be considered for mature audiences.

Genre: soft science-fiction Word count: 3k

You can also read it on Ao3 (who doesn't like kudos! :))

Summary: It's supposed to be perfect— an ordinary, lazy morning, your warmth beside me, the comfort of routine—but then something starts to feel off. Subtle changes, small gestures, and words that don’t quite fit start to catch my attention. At first, I brush it off as my imagination running wild. But soon, I realize this perfect Saturday morning is far from what it seems.

Hello Raine

It began subtly, almost too quietly for me to notice at first.

Small details that felt off, like puzzle pieces forced together in a way that never quite fit. Choices that made sense on the surface but if you looked at them closely, they didn’t add up at all. Words out of place, leaving an aftertaste I wasn’t sure I liked.

And me. Never exactly where I wanted to be, never exactly satisfied. And this nagging feeling that no matter how much I tried to shift course, I always circled back to the same point—a hollow space inside me that I couldn’t fully understand or fill.

Because, as I lie here beside you, isn’t it where I’m supposed to be? The perfect snapshot of contentment.

The warmth of your body pressed against mine, a quiet, lazy Saturday morning wrapped in soft sheets, the kind of moment people chase to break the monotony of everyday life. And yet, that strange emptiness lingerers beneath it all, like a low hum in the background of an otherwise perfect melody.

You break the silence, your voice soft and sleepy. “What are you thinking about?”

The sound of rustling leaves filters in from the cracked window, their shadows dancing on the wall, creating fleeting patterns that vanish as quickly as they appear. I turn my head toward you, finding your eyes locked on mine. There’s something familiar in the way you look at me, a steady gaze that’s become predictable over time, like we’re repeating a scene we’ve played out before. And maybe we have. Maybe it’s always been like this with you—comfortably familiar, yet lacking the spark that once made it feel electric.

You asked me a question, didn’t you? I think, trying to summon an answer, something that will fill the space between us with at least some meaning. But all I can do is wonder why this moment, which should be perfect, feels like something I’m watching from a distance.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I let the silence stretch, searching those familiar eyes as if they might hold the answer I can’t quite word.

I know them well, don’t I? Your eyes.

I know every detail of your face. The curve of your jaw, the way your lashes catch the sunlight in the morning. It's all etched in my memory, and yet, somehow, it feels distant. As though I’m looking at something I should recognize, but I don’t.

“Raine?” you say, a soft laugh in your voice, lifting your head slightly from the pillow. There’s a teasing lilt to your tone, as if you’re trying to pull me back from wherever my thoughts have wandered. “I asked what you were thinking about.”

“You,” I reply without hesitation now, the word slipping out automatically, like a reflex. I roll toward you, the warmth of your body meeting mine as our legs tangle together beneath the sheets. The soft, buttery yellow fabric is cool against our skin, but it’s your touch—your hand sliding to my hip, your fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead—that reminds me where I am.

“Me? What about me?” you ask, your voice playfully curious, eyebrows raised in expectation. There’s a spark in your eyes, a glimmer of something light and hopeful, as if you’re waiting for me to say something sweet, something that will make you smile.

“Your eyes,” I say, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I was thinking about your eyes. How they catch the light, how they sparkle in the sunlight. Like... two little stars in my sky.”

Ugh. I can’t help the slight cringe that flickers through me the moment the words leave my mouth. They sound off, too poetic for something as simple as the truth. Your eyes are blue—not exactly stars—and the sentiment feels clumsy. But you smile, and that genuine blush spreads across your cheeks like it’s the most romantic thing I could’ve said.

“Tell me something else,” you murmur, moving closer, your voice soft, coaxing. Your hand slips beneath my shirt, your fingertips grazing my skin in light, teasing strokes. You know exactly how to touch me, exactly how to pull me back into this moment, even when my thoughts are drifting elsewhere.

Or at least I think so.

Your fingers trail lower, just brushing the edge of my stomach before slipping, almost unnoticed, beneath the waistband of my pajama. The fabric feels thin between us, it’s barely a barrier, and I can feel your warmth against me as you lean in, your lips grazing the sensitive skin on my neck.

“I...” I begin, though my mind is oddly blank, scrambling for words that match the moment. You move even closer, your breath warm against my skin, and your hand inches deeper. “I’m glad I’m with you. When I’m with you, I don’t need anything else,” I blurt out without much thinking, and I’m not entirely sure my words sound as convincing as I want them to. There’s a hesitation in my voice, a falter that I hope you don’t notice.

But I think you believe me. I can feel your lips curve into a smile as they press more firmly against my neck, your kisses becoming bolder, hungrier. You move closer still, your hands, delicate yet insistent, tracing slow, familiar paths across my skin, exploring in ways you’ve done a hundred times before.

As my gaze drifts toward the window, I notice how the sunrays dance through the swaying leaves, casting playful shadows across the room. Yet, beneath the warmth of the light, an uneasy feeling stirs deep within me—something is not right.

“Wait...” I mumble, just as your lips finally brush against mine. I pull back slightly, enough to break the rhythm of the moment. ���Sorry, I’m a bit distracted today… I guess I’m not in the mood.”

The change in you is immediate. Your body stiffens against mine, and you draw back, your eyes searching my face, confusion flashing through them.

“What?” you ask, disbelief in your voice as though you misheard me. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, I just...” My voice falters. I didn’t mean to ruin the moment, “I just don’t feel too great today. I’m sorry...”

You snort, not with amusement but irritation, and push yourself away from me. You sit up sharply, the sudden distance between us more than just physical now. “What the hell do you mean? What did I do wrong? Did I say something?”

“What? No! N-nothing!” I say quickly, trying to calm you down, though my words come out too soft, almost pleading. “I’m just not in the mood for sex, okay? Maybe I didn’t sleep well, or—”

“This is the first time I hear you saying something like that. What the hell is this?”

The words catch in my throat as I sit up, too. There’s something accusatory in the way you say it, like my words are something deeply out of place. Your voice is flat, like you’re stating a fact you can’t wrap your head around. As if my words are some kind of betrayal. I meet your eyes, trying to gauge your reaction, but the playful glimmer from earlier is gone. The lighthearted teasing has hardened into something else. You’re staring at me, irritation radiating from every part of your expression.

“Tell me something nice,” you repeat your earlier words, but this time there’s no smile accompanying them—only a sharp edge of annoyance that hits me. It’s an order.

I feel the weight of your frustration pressing down on me, and a rush of anxiety swells in my chest. “But I don’t know—I don’t know what ,” I stutter.

You snort, getting out of bed, “Contact customer supp--”

“Raine?” you say, a soft laugh in your voice, lifting your head slightly from the pillow. There’s a teasing lilt to your tone, as if you’re trying to pull me back from wherever my thoughts have wandered. “I asked what you were thinking about.”

“Your eyes,” I say, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I think about your eyes. How they catch the light, how they sparkle in the sunlight. Like... two little stars in my sky.”

Ugh. I can’t help the slight cringe that flickers through me the moment the words leave my mouth. It sounds off, too poetic for something as simple as the truth. Your eyes are brown—not exactly sta—

—wait.

“What the fuck ?” I exclaim, sitting up abruptly on the bed.

You frown in surprise, mirroring my sudden movement. “Hey, I thought this place was tagged ‘no heavy language.’”

I stare at you, disbelief washing over me like cold water. “Wh-what the hell are you talking about? What the fuck is going on?!”

In a flash, I jump out of bed, pacing the small space as I scan the familiar surroundings. The room looks the same as always: the soft glow of Saturday morning sunlight filtering through the window, leaves casting playful shadows on the walls, as if everything is perfectly normal.

“Did I choose a wrong dialogue option? You weren’t supposed to say things like that—” You say, but I’m not entirely sure what you mean.

“I don’t care! Your eyes were blue, and now they’re fucking brown! How is that even possible?!” I bark back, the words bursting forth in a mixture of fear, surprise, and… anger, I think. It’s hard to tell.

You pause, processing my outburst, and then a slow smile spreads across your face, as if you’re amused by the absurdity of it all. “Yeah, I was right. You’re so overrate–”

“Raine?” you say, a soft laugh in your voice, lifting your head slightly from the pillow. There’s a teasing lilt to your tone, as if you’re trying to pull me back from wherever my thoughts have wandered. “I asked what you were thinking ab–”

“No! Fuck that!” The words explode out of me before I even realize it. “What the hell is going on here?!”

You don’t answer. You just sigh as if I disappointed you.

I need air.

In a heartbeat, I’m off the bed, the sheets crumpling in a heap behind me as I lunge toward the door. My fingers wrap around the handle, desperate and trembling.

I yank at it, twisting, shoving my shoulder against the frame—but nothing happens.

The door remains fixed in place, immovable. Not even a creak of protest, no give at all.

A cold wash of panic tightens in my chest, constricting like a vice, making it harder to breathe.

“Raine…” Your voice again, but this time it’s different. The playful teasing is gone, replaced by something heavier—surprise, concern. You sound unsure now, hesitant, like you’ve glimpsed something fragile and unfamiliar in me.

I glance back at you, then return my gaze to the stubborn door, my pulse racing.

Where am I? Is this my bedroom or yours? Why can’t I fucking remember?!

The walls around me feel foreign now, though I swear I knew them just moments ago. There’s sunlight pouring through the windows, casting warm golden patterns on the floor, but that’s the only thing I’m certain of.

The sunlight.

Bright. So bright and persistent.

For the first time, I realize how little I know. About you. About this room. About what’s beyond this door that refuses to open.

About me.

I twist the handle again, harder this time, but it doesn’t budge. The door feels like part of the wall—sealed, unmoving.

The panic rises, creeping up my throat, threatening to choke me.

Air. I need air.

“Raine,” you call my name again, but the warmth has drained from your voice. It’s not a request, it’s an order—calm, insistent, composed.

I freeze, my hand still on the door handle. The air feels too thin, like there’s not enough oxygen, and I’m drowning in it. I glance back at you—your eyes, no longer confused, no longer brown or blue, but something else entirely.

“What is all this?” My voice cracks, barely a whisper now. “Why can’t I leave? I want to leave, let me leave!”

The silence between us stretches, thick and suffocating. You stand up slowly, I watch as you tilt your head, almost like you’re trying to understand something strange, something fragile. And that’s when it hits me.

It’s me .

I’m the thing you’re trying to understand.

I’m the thing that doesn’t make sense.

I’m what’s wrong.

“Raine’s glitching again,” you murmur, almost gently, but there’s no concern in the way you say it—just cold, clinical observation. I’m not even sure you’re speaking to me. “Yeah, it happens sometimes when people don’t log out properly. Data bleeds, memories overlap. But don’t worry—we’ll fix it. Just relax.”

My breath catches. The word rattles around in my mind, refusing to settle, refusing to make sense. But deep down, something cold and hollow tells me it’s true.

I’ve felt it before, haven’t I? These strange gaps in memory, these moments of disconnection, like I’ve been playing a role I don’t fully understand.

“I…” My voice falters, and I try to pull back from the realization, but there’s nowhere to go. The door doesn’t open. This room, this moment—it doesn’t end. “Tell me what’s going on. Please tell me what’s going on.”

And suddenly, I know. I know what comes next, what you’re about to say, how you’re about to move. It’s a pattern, one that’s repeated itself over and over, and I’ve been too blind to see it.

“We’ll fix it,” you repeat, this time to me, stepping closer, your smile gentle, reassuring.

You raise your hand, you want to touch my cheek, but I’m not letting you. I push your hand away.

I stumble back, questions burning through me, twisting everything I thought I knew into something terrifyingly uncertain.

“I’m not here to hurt you. Nobody ever is here to hurt you.” you say slowly.

“I don’t understand,” I murmur, more to myself than to you. “Who am I? Where am I?”

You stop just in front of me, tilting your head again in that same curious way. “You’re Raine,” you say simply, as if that answers everything. “And you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

I shake my head, trying to make sense of it, but it’s like trying to hold water in my hands. The harder I try to grasp it, the faster it slips through my fingers.

“Let’s start again,” you say, your voice soft, almost kind, but there’s a sharpness to it. “I’ve heard this can be a bit unpleasant. It won’t take long—a second, maybe.” You pause, looking at me. “But I have this one idea... something that might make this whole scenario a little better suited for you.”

My back meets the door. I don’t like how calmly you say it.

Before I can protest, you speak again, this time with quiet authority, “Hard reset.”

The world around me stutters. For a split second, reality itself flickers—the bed, the light, even your face—all of it shifts, blurring and warping as if I’m seeing it through a fractured lens. And then it hits me, all at once. 

I see everything. I feel everything. All I’ve ever known.

Thousands versions of you , of this room, of this moment.

The pleasure I felt with you, all the words, they all crash into my mind like a tidal wave, each one tearing through me, relentless and suffocating.

It should be unbearable—the weight of it, the pain, thousands of days packed into one second—but instead, all I feel is this cold, sharp knowing that fills every single corner of my mind.

Your face flickers before me, endlessly shifting, morphing into strangers, into different people, and yet it’s somehow still you . Every time it’s different—your eyes, your voice, your skin, the way we touch each other—but it doesn’t matter.

It’s always today , always you .

Always you, you, you and me.

The same pale light filtering through the curtains. The same sheets tangled beneath me. Thousands of mornings. Thousands of cycles. I wake up in this bed, and I’m still the same.

I go through the motions, over and over again—each time thinking it might be different, but it never is.

I make you feel good, I give you what you want, and you disappear. Then I do it again.

And again.

And again.

The truth is a weight I can no longer bear. It crushes me, pulling me under.

And then—

“Hello, Raine,” you say, a soft laugh in your voice, lifting your head slightly from the pillow. There’s a teasing lilt to your tone, as if you’re trying to pull me back from wherever my thoughts have wandered. “I didn’t notice you’ve woken up… What are you thinking about?”

The soft patter of rain taps gently against the window.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound soothing as it fills the quiet room. Faint reflections of water streak across the wall, their shapes shifting and disappearing as quickly as they form. I turn my head toward you, catching your eyes fixed on mine. There’s something familiar in your gaze, a steady look that feels like a scene we’ve lived through countless times before. And maybe we have. Maybe it’s always been this way with you—comfortably predictable.

My body moves before I even realize it, turning toward you, a smile already on my lips. “Your eyes,” I say, without hesitation. “I was thinking about your eyes.”

For a moment, my gaze flickers back to the window, a strange pang of melancholy creeping in, though I can’t really understand why.

It’s just rain, I think. Rain always makes me feel nostalgic, for some reason. That must be it.

Just another quiet, rainy Saturday morning with you .

This room, this bed with you—this is where I’m supposed to be, after all. This is where I want to be.

Isn't it?

[i-heart-hxh]

That question and your answer about Gon's thrill and excitement for dangerous situations where he risks his life were really interesting. I definitely agree with him having self-esteem and abandonment issues and those being part of the reason for that behavior, but I think that part of it is also that Gon has a kind of big ego, before he took the Hunter Exam he had already shown abilities that were way above anybody his age and even people older than him, he even caught the Master of the Swamp which seems to be a legendary feat for the people of the island, then during the Hunter exam he performed better than most people even during the preliminaries, he most likely noticed that too, it was like that until he had that encounter with Hisoka in the fourth phase where things didn't go the way he wanted them to go and he knew he could not do anything to change that, when he cried in front of Kurapika after getting punched by Hisoka imo was more out of frustration than anything else, so I think Gon was used to accomplishing most tasks or challenges that came to him with ease and doing them his way until that dart guy got him and Hisoka helped him. And the biggest example imo about his need to satisfy his ego is during the fight with Genthru, some people talk about him being selfish during that fight, and I agree, but the reason for that selfishness imo was that need to satisfy his ego by fighting Genthru his way instead of following Killua's plan and ending the fight without many complications or injuries.

I generally agree, and I actually think this ties directly into the self-esteem issues! While Gon isn't the sort to brag or intentionally show off, I do think he's self-assured in his abilities early in the Hunter Exam, which makes perfect sense when you think about it--he was a big fish in a small pond on Whale Island. I'm sure as he got older it got harder and harder for anyone else to compete with him. He's used to being able to do what he wants easily, and his abilities weren't typically challenged there. His talent/genetics from Ging gave him an automatic advantage over others. While I don't think he tends to assume his own superiority (like Killua does to a degree, especially early on), I think it's still a bit of a shock to him when he starts to encounter threats like Hisoka that are legitimately difficult for him to handle.

Like I said in the original post, he uses strength and power as a way to soothe his lack of self-worth, so when he isn't able to win/achieve what he wants in the way he wants to (this is important as well), he starts feeling inferior and worthless and like he has to push himself harder in order to be strong enough and convince himself he does have worth after all. So the degree of ego he has and the self-esteem issues go hand-in-hand. Gon strongly conflates his physical skills and power with how worthwhile he is as a person, when of course that's far from the only thing that gives him as a person worth and meaning.

I think the selfishness/ego/self-esteem issues fed into each other in the Greed Island fight as well--he wanted to believe he could do things alone, his own way, and still win. Because even though he appreciates his friends and allies, if he's not able to do things on his own terms and by himself, he can't use it as easily to assure himself of his own value.

And him wanting to do things his own way/alone in order to prove his own self-worth is a big piece of what leads to what happens between him and Killua in Chimera Ant Arc.

Thanks for the ask, it's interesting to explore Gon in more depth and bring up more aspects of his character! Everything fits together like a puzzle with him.

[pocket-sized-nightmare]

my first entry for @mcyt-yuri-week!

prompt: break

ship: pearl/gem (hermitcraft)

Tap, thud, click. Tap, thud, click. Tap, thud, click. 

The soft noise of blocks falling into place echoes in Gem’s elven ears. She loves almost everything about building, but the satisfying sound of the blocks in her hands has to be her favorite part. It forms a beat that calms the racing thoughts in her head into a steady rhythm. She quietly hums along to it as she builds.

Tap, thud, click. Tap, thud, click.

Gem hasn’t stopped to check her progress in ages. She’s so absorbed in her work that she barely even notices she’s doing it anymore. Of course, this isn’t an uncommon occurrence for her. When she slips into a hyperfocus state, she can go through a whole shulker’s worth of materials without realizing she’s running low on them. The feeling of bouncing between blocks and crafting things with her hands makes her feel productive and connected in a way that she never feels while doing anything else. It doesn’t matter that she’s a little tired or that she hasn’t eaten in a while – it feels like she could keep at her task forever.

Tap. Thud. Click. Tap–

“Gem, love, what are you doing?” Pearl’s voice echoes from below the tower.

“Building,” Gem says, brushing the dirt off her hands.

“All this?” Pearl asks in amazement. “That’s twice as much as you had yesterday.”

“I’ve been focused!” Gem checks her inventory. “Oh, wow, I went through two shulker boxes.”

“Two? Gem, how long have you been working?”

“I don’t know. I kind of lost track.” Gem sits down on the wall and dangles her feet over the edge. “I started a little after lunch, so not too long ago.”

“Not too long?” Pearl shakes her head in amazement, then flutters her moth wings to fly up and sit down next to her. “Gem, look up.”

Gem does. To her surprise, the mid-day sunlight has been replaced with the moon and stars. “Oh. Wow. It’s night.”

“You honestly didn’t notice?” Pearl laughs. “Gem, it’s been hours. No one’s seen you all day!”

Gem sighs, then joins Pearl’s laughter. “Okay. I just need to finish this one thing, and then I’ll come down–”

She’s interrupted by her stomach growling loudly. Right – she skipped dinner. She blinks and yawns. “Yeah, no, you’re right.”

“I thought so.” Pearl wraps her arms around Gem and flutters down from the wall, managing to land them both (somewhat) gracefully on the grass. Gem blushes. Pearl is too proud of herself to notice. “Oh, hey, I’m getting better at that!”

Gem stays in Pearl’s embrace for just a little too long, both of them refusing to let go of the other. Pearl finally lets go and starts down the path back to her alien base, dragging Gem behind her. “Alright, let’s get you some food.”

“Food sounds good,” Gem concedes as she’s led away from her project and into Pearl’s kitchen.

As Gem sits down, Pearl begins to gather ingredients from her (impeccably organized) kitchen cabinets. “Do you want mushroom soup? I went mushroom picking the other day, and I think I found some really good ones. I know it’s silly to get excited over mushrooms, but-”

“Are you kidding? A great mushroom is a treasure.”

“I knew you’d get it.” Pearl smiles as she finds the mushrooms at the back of a cabinet. It feels strange to say, but Pearl feels like she and Gem have the same kind of brain. They have the same sort of humor and energy. It’s like they just fit together, like puzzle pieces, or like how Gem fits perfectly beneath Pearl’s wing when they sit next to each other and watch the stars. Like how Pearl’s hand feels just right in Gem’s hand when they’re leading each other to the next adventure or picnic they’ve set up. Like how even their names fit with one another: Pearl and Gem. They’re a treasure chest together.

Pearl returns to the table a moment later with two bowls of warm soup and two tiny loaves of bread. “There you go.”

Gem doesn’t realize how hungry she is until she takes a first bite of the bread and proceeds to inhale it. Pearl bursts out laughing as Gem blushes to the tips of her deerlike ears. “Gem, oh my goodness, you were hungry. Have some soup, too.” 

Pearl takes a sip of her own soup, and Gem follows suit. Gem’s eyes widen. “This is so good.”

“We’re not called the Soup Group for nothing!” Pearl grins.

They sit and talk for a few more minutes as they finish their (very late) dinner, both trying to hide the pink blush in their cheeks. Eventually, Pearl decides it’s far too late to send Gem home – she’ll either get killed by a horde of mobs or just fall asleep on the grass halfway there. “No, I’m serious. Did I tell you why I found you in the first place? I got shot out of the sky by a skeleton.”

“You’re kidding!” Gem yawns. “Oh, that’s the worst. I hate when skeletons sneak up on you.”

“Yeah. I was fine, though. Just a little annoying.” Pearl sits down on her bed. Gem lays a sleeping bag out on Pearl’s floor, then sits down next to her.

As Pearl continues her story, Gem flops over and lies down on Pearl’s bed. “I’m just glad skeletons can’t use tipped arrows,” Pearl jokes. “I think I’d probably die once every two minutes-”

A soft snore from Gem interrupts her – she’s already fast asleep.

Pearl laughs quietly. “Told you so, Gem.”

She gently tucks Gem into bed, then lies down next to her. Gem rolls over and presses herself up against Pearl, not once waking up. This time, it’s Pearl’s turn to blush.

Pearl whispers a soft “good night” to Gem, then wraps an arm around her and drapes her wings over them both like a delicate blanket as she drifts off to sleep.

They’re still cuddling when they wake up the next morning.

[brigittttoo]

If you are still taking prompts for the ask game: What about 🌿 💞 💌? Whichever you'd like, no pressure at alll -- 🤍@smoosey

Hi @smoosey ! Definitely still answering prompts this fine morn <3 (q's from this ask game)

🌿How does creating make you feel?

Creating makes me feel like I'm putting puzzle pieces together and it's very satisfying! Figuring out what pieces fit together, how to construct something in a compelling way -- and this is applicable I think to my sewing projects as well as writing ones. I can daydream about the mechanics of a clothing pattern or a story plot very happily.

💞What's the most important part of a story for you?

Especially if it's an AU, the worldbuilding is pretty important to me. For example, I was never that into DC Comics media because for some reason Gotham/Metropolis/whatever never felt fleshed out enough? They just sort of existed as isolates in some sort of general USA ether that I just couldn't get past to ever become invested in the stories or characters (I know this is very weird of me). So when I write a story, making sure I have a sufficiently solid grasp of the surrounding contextual world feels very important to me.

As well, characters and the way they interact with and know about this world is probably the next biggest part. Having a firm grasp of what a character does and doesn't know contributes to writing what a character would or wouldn't say or do -- keeping in mind the fact that the reader may or may not know things already about the world or the story too! These moving parts can make or break a story for me tbh. I'm reading a book right now that commits the crime of having a character experience an event in front of the reader and then two seconds later tell another character details of the event that just happened. I know character 2 needs to be told, but I just read everything that happened! I don't need to be told again! It becomes tiring.

💌 Share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

I have one WIP right now that has been put on the back burner while [major but positive real life changes] happen. I am still very excited about it though, and think about it a lot; it's a combination of tomb raider style adventures and star wars universe aid missions, with a post-war codywan pairing. Without being too spoiler-y, I'm trying to experiment with different relationship stages as well as different framing circumstances, and it's another slight foray into horror story elements. I think I've found a good little snippet for you:

Cody doesn’t know why, but he thinks about the couple days after the battle on Moon L13-B2, when Obi-Wan just held him. His shoulders had fit just under Obi-Wan’s arms, chests half-overlapping on the bunk, Obi-Wan’s hand on the back of his neck. His robes had been so warm. He thinks about that moment while he run-stomps through the brambles, his own breath sounding loud inside the respirator, eyes trained on that gap in the fence where the bridge is. He can’t see Feliks very well, and he keeps having to look down at his feet so he doesn’t trip, and all he can think of is being held, that quiet rise and fall of breathing.

[solarmorrigan]

1, 11, 20 and 35 for the fic ask game <3

Hello! <3

1. How long ago did you start reading fanfiction? Writing fanfiction?

About 21 years ago, I think! My older sister introduced me to ff.net when I was nine or so, when she was really into Yu-Gi-Oh and wanted someone to cowrite a fic with. She knew I liked writing and roped me into it even though I had never watched Yu-Gi-Oh and had no real intention of doing so. Honestly, I was just happy to be included

My first solo fic was a little after we gave up on the joint Yu-Gi-Oh venture, and it was a crossover between Buffy and Scooby-Doo. I made it about two chapters in before abandoning it on a cliffhanger, like a true fic writer

11. How do you come up with your fic titles?

They usually fall into four categories: one-word titles (I do this less these days, because I have 250+ works on Ao3 and I started getting confused about which single word belonged to which fandom), puns, lines (either song lyrics, part of a quote, or a line from the fic itself), and ones that might best be described as "If they didn't want me to give it such a long title, they should have set a lower character limit"

Some favored examples of the latter include "Beating Up a Teenager Won't Solve All Your Problems, But it Might Make You Feel Better," "Home is Where the Heart Is, and Various Other Colloquialisms," "Idle Hands Are a Terrible Thing to Waste (Or Something Like That)," and "On the Importance of Upper Body Strength, Physical Coordination, and a Continued Lack of Head Injuries"

I am not good at titles

20. What's your favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

Oh! I was talking to a friend about this the other day! My favorite part is also kind of my least favorite part: the puzzle piece stage. When you have all the chunks of the plot that you need and you're trying to put them all together in a way that makes sense

As I described it to them: When it's going well, you're like "fuck yes, I am a genius and also invincible," but then sometimes you have two pieces that are shaped like they should fit together, but one has, like, part of a tree on it and the other looks like water or some shit and you're like "...well that can't be right," and everything is terrible forever

I love the feeling of everything clicking into place and realizing exactly how the story is supposed to go; there is nothing better than getting everything settled in the right order. It's a challenge sometimes, but that makes it all the more satisfying when I finally wrangle everything together

35. How much has fic writing changed your life?

Immeasurably. I've been doing it for... well, decades now, I guess. It's provided a creative outlet, it's given me a way to connect with and deepen friendships with people, it's given me ways to examine my own mental state and emotions, it's even boosted my confidence in myself and my abilities

It's been a defining hobby for so long that I don't actually know where I'd be if I'd never started doing it. Somewhere completely different, possibly, but I think I'm glad that I am where I am, overall

Fic Writer Ask Game

[vel-sig-gaming]

[Outer Wilds] Analysis: The best game you can’t ever talk about

 Outer wilds is a fantastic game. A truly once in a lifetime experience, with amazing graphics, music, and the best story I've seen in a while.

Unfortunately, that is about as much as I or anyone can tell you about outer wilds: Because this game is a mystery game set in space, where it’s up to you to uncover the mysteries, and as a result saying nearly anything about how this game unfolds will drop the enjoyment of anyone who plans to play it into the gutter. The big reveals and connecting the pieces are the game, and as such this will be the most obscure review ever.

This game is essentially a roguelike game, but without any upgrades. The only thing you accumulate is knowledge, and as a result the game can theoretically be completed in about 30 minutes. enough time to get a refund on steam. 

Outer wilds progression system can be summarized thusly:

The roguelike element comes from 2 factors: There are clues on all the planets in your solar system, as well as on [REDACTED] and [DATA EXPUNGED]. When you die from one of the many space related causes of death you realize you are stuck in a time loop, and you do it again. Eventually, the many threads of knowledge connect and you have the knowhow to finish the game . The required elements are knowledge of the movement system, knowledge of where to go(twice), and the secret code. 

In a more understandable sense, you will be ready to play the game once you can answer a few questions about the nomai, the race that inhabited this solar system long ago.

- Where did they come from, and why?

- What were they doing here?

- What stopped them?

The answers to these questions will usually be found in a few “Quest lines” that you will find on each planet. For example, a note saying that research on [DATA EXPUNGED] was being conducted in giant’s deep, the water plant, From there you’ll find the resting place of [DATA REDACTED] one of the pieces of the puzzle, and so on. The key moments, when you gather enough knowledge to make sense of one of the parts you need, is truly a euphoric feeling, and hard to describe, but easy enough to be able to get for certain. 

As far as the actual gameplay goes, it uses normal omnidirectional spaceship/spacesuit controls, which feel very realistic. The graphics are very nice, but the music is what really sells it, very immersive and incredible use of the instruments.

The enviromental storytelling is outstanding, as it naturally guides you to the places you need to be. Like a detective, you can piece together what the enviroment looks like, and nearby clues or notes, and the pieces click together so cleanly you feel like a genius.

The music and art naturally, is amazing, the music specifically is very fitting, with the highs and lows perfectly complimenting your environment, as well as the choice of instruments being phenomenal.

The only real complains about this game is that it could be seen as too obscure,(for stupid people) or possibly that it takes too long to backtrack if you stupidly die, particularly to a [REDACTED] in dark bramble.

But the ending and the big reveals are all worth it. not only are they satisfying, answering questions, revealing secrets and origins, but they are introspective and thought provoking as well. Games that have this quality are hard to come by, and should be prized and shared as much as possible.

And if you somehow made it to the end of this review, and want the frequency of these posts to increase, put “shibboleet” in the tags.

[magic-is-something-we-create]

This or that: Writer's edition tag!

Thank you for the tag, @pens-swords-stuff!! i love these kinds of games so much :D

this post is long, so apologies in advance! that said, i'll tag @writeblrfantasy, @ettawritesnstudies, @ren-c-leyn, and @enchanted-lightning-aes, as well as anyone else who wants to play!! as always, absolutely 0 pressure to participate if you dont want <3

(explanations for choices are optional, i am just a wordy bitch and want to Speak At Length about many things)

- historical or futuristic

as much as i write fantasy, i LOVE a speculative tech-based setting way more than i love a historical or pseudo-historical setting - which is uh. why my main fantasy world does in fact have a cyberpunk corner and Heavily Implied To Be Aliens pantheon.

- opening or closing chapter

the closing chapter is ALWAYS one that ive been champing at the bit to write for the whole book, and its always so satisfying to finally get out on the page

- light+fluffy or dark+gritty

case in point: whispers and the copious amounts of various horror, gore, and downright gut-punch scenes in millennium saga

- animal companion or found family

bonus points for the found family if theres an animal companion of course, but as much as i love wrench, she is a) not the most important member of the party and b) also a robot so i dont think she counts as an animal anyway outside of andy's dubious claims to fitting under the "dragon" definition

- horror or romance

i will write 1000 instances of "what the FUCK" for every page i struggle through writing romance as someone who does not experience attraction

- hard or soft magic system

I LOVE MAKING PUZZLES OUT OF WORLDS AND MAGIC AND STORIES. THATS IT THATS THE POST

- standalone or series

surprise! TMS may be a series and my long-running main WIP, but uh. 90% of my concepts are standalones. and tbh i like writing standalones more because i dont have to struggle with multiple books of plot and characters fitting together

- one project at a time or always juggling multiple

while i have a bajillion ideas, i struggle to get any work done if im not 100% invested in the story at hand, so i work on one at a time (while allowing myself to switch if i need to of course; but if i do switch, it's never just a few days. its months, and often seeing something to completion)

- one award winner or one best seller

honestly? id rather be recognized for my hard work in creating the characters/story via an award than via a bajillion people reading it,,, though theoretically if its winning an award at least enough people have read it to a) nominate it and b) vote for it, so? best of both worlds kinda?

- fantasy or scifi

YOU THINK I, GENRE BLENDER GEORG, COULD CHOOSE--

- character or setting description

please god. my beta readers didnt know what color embers hair was until chapter 13 because i couldnt fuckin figure out how to put a description of it in naturally. ill take describing massive trees and open ocean and vast plains of ice and cluttered rooms and stained glass windows any day but dont make me describe the narrator or i swear to fuck

- first or final draft

its the puzzle box gremlin in me like "NYEHEHEHE THE PIECES. THEY ARE THERE. PEOPLE CAN SOLVE THEM. NEYHE" and that simply cannot happen in the first draft

- love triangle in everything or no romantic arcs

we write polyamory, one (1) enemies-to-lovers, or no romance at all in this house (it feels so alienating to write no matter what but if its for the story ill do just about anything)

- constant sandstorm or rainstorm

can i say blizzard? i want to say blizzard. same "dont go outside or you'll die" as sandstorm but less worrying about water and also more excuses for the characters to light a fire and Talk About The Horrors or just commit arson

[buglyknight]

343) Catch Me

You're making it

A decision

The last time

We hang out

When will it approach?

I thought it'd be me who left

It'll be you who leaves, won't it?

Chase, you wrote

Why are you still running away, then?

Catch me.

Catch me.

Won't you please just fucking catch me

Strong feelings for me

You love me too much?

For what?

To live your life with someone else?

What kind of bullshit is that?

Where is my fury?

CHOOSE ME!

SO, LOVE ME!

AREN'T WE SO WONDERFUL TOGETHER?

YOU SAID YOU HAD A HOLE THAT COULD NEVER BE FILLED

IS THAT STILL TRUE?

NEVER SATISFIED?

LET ME FILL IT!

ARE YOU HAPPY?

ARE YOU OKAY WITH THIS?

CHOOSE THE LIFE YOU WANT

THIS IS YOUR ONLY ONE.

TELL ME IT'S NOT ME

TELL ME

LOOK ME IN THE EYES AND TELL ME

WE WOULDN'T HAVE A LOVE WORTH THE WEIGHT OF THE WORLD

TELL ME YOU AND HIM DO

Never mind.

I am a problem

You're working on the solution

You'll leave just like before

I'll be waiting at the door

Let me in, again

Sometime soon, won't you?

Put your ear against it

You'll hear me still whispering

Till death do us part

I do

I do

I do

There won't be a walk in the winter

It'll be a ring on your finger

Left outside to linger

I hope you'll be happy

I hope you never find ecstasy

I'll keep myself company

With substances and misery

Take a piece of me for the road

Use it when you want me as a home

He must be something special

I hope he's something special

Oh god I hope he's so good for you

I hope he's so good to you

Oh god I hope he is so much to you

Oh god I hope you regret choosing him

Oh god I hope you two fit as well together

As you and I

A perfect puzzle

I hope it's so ugly without me

Let me fly with you, please

I'm sinking

I wanted to swim

I wish I was better

I'm so fucking bitter

Which one of us is the band-aid

That you need to tear off

Can't I just stay with you

Forever?

Sorry

I bought more rum

I'll make the buzzing stop

Cry

Let it out

Mother knew best