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lokissweater · 11 months ago

Text

“i would never lie to you.”

{toge inumaki x f!reader}

summary: inumaki’s always coming home to you from missions coughing up mass amounts of blood and completely overdoing it while fighting curses with his cursed speech technique. and no matter how many times you tell him to be careful, he just doesn’t, arguing with him, giving him the cold shoulder, and completely unaware of the reason behind why he fights so hard when he’s out there— that reason being of course… because of you.

warnings: angst, fluff, cursing, toge and reader have a lil argument but it’s more the aftermath, slight sexual mention but it’s literally once and nothing LOL, no smut!, toge thinks he’s not doing enough SNIFFF, angst with comfort, toge is DEVOTED to you, aged up characters, pet names, afab!reader.

word count: 2.3k

authors note: short n sweet one!! wanted to give you guys a break from my MLA format essays i always make y’all read LMFAOOO!! this one is SHO SOFT AHHHH :] i hope this keeps you guys fed in the meantime while i write the next one! i love you and i love you all ALWAYS MWAAHH <33

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toge inumaki hates it when you don’t talk to him.

as if he doesn’t do that enough already, toge absolutely despises when you both get into arguments or heated discussions and you turn a cold shoulder to him— needing space to unwind and prevent yourself from lashing out even more, to let the situation simmer down.

he understands it. believe him he does— you’re upset and angry and you need time to cool off… but toge is stubborn and needy and just doesn’t care, needing you and only you, him going absolutely crazy at the silence in your shared apartment that he was starting to hear random ringing in his ear drums.

so as he sat on the couch, eyes unblinking as they stared off into the darkness of the living room as the sun had already began to set, you upstairs locked away— he wanted nothing more than to open his mouth and let his cursed speech force you to come downstairs and talk to him.

but he didn’t, though the thought was definitely tempting, as toge vowed the day that he laid eyes on you to never ever use his cursed technique on you, even if it was harmless, an oath he wanted to carry with him until his very death bed and until he was six feet under.

his ears perked up then at the quiet sounds of the upstairs room door knob twisting and clicking open, soft padded footsteps making their way down the hall and closer to where he was, feet sticking against the cold tiles of the kitchen floor.

at the sight of you with your hair a little disheveled, your eyes so red and puffy, and an arm wrapped around yourself as you rummaged through the fridge looking for fuck knows what and not sparing a single glance at him— toge felt like a fifty pound gutting weight was resting on his chest and crushing his heart.

you had both argued about something you always seemed to circle back to almost every week. but this time, you were sick and tired and fed up, seeing as toge was never going to try and understand the situation at hand through your worried eyes.

every time toge was out for a mission, you would spend your days anxiously throwing yourself over the couch or trying to keep yourself busy with random activities like baking or scrapbooking (which you deemed later meaningless), all within the sole purpose of trying to get your mind off of your boyfriend and the recklessness he always seemed to pull while on missions, regardless of how much you begged and pleaded with him to be more careful and aware of his health.

toge inumaki had such a powerful and lethal cursed technique that frightened and astonished you all at the same time, a conflicting feeling to have when he had to leave you in the middle of the night or during the early hours of the morning to run around and fight curses… but always coming home to you warm and loving and safe.

but not right now.

not when toge had literally come home this morning with not even two steps in the door and he was already on his knees, coughing up strings and loads of crimson blood, it pooling on the floor as he had used his cursed speech to the highest degree today and had you a crying mess thinking he was dying.

and he always did that. always. today was just the worst of them all, him without a fault coming home with excruciating pain in his bruised and clawed up throat, the cough syrup medicine he usually downed like water having absolutely no effect anymore as you scrambled around every time trying to find a solution, toge brushing off your distressed and frightened rambling as if his health wasn’t a big deal, and as if how much it affected you wasn’t a big deal either.

upon you closing the fridge, toge slowly stood from the couch and carefully walked over to you, his throat still in pieces but his mind lurching and guilty over how upset you were at him.

he slowly raised a gentle hand and placed it on your shoulder, you shaking your head somberly in response— your back to him.

“i don’t wanna talk right now toge i’m sorry…” you mumbled, rubbing over your tired sore eyes.

he squeezed your shoulder, insisting.

but you only shook your head again.

toge huffed and placed both hands on your shoulders this time, physically turning you around to face him— his eyes soft and his eyebrows pinched together in pure concern for you.

you peeked up reluctantly, but the sight of his face and the events from earlier flashing through your mind only made your bottom lip wobble and the bottom of your palms shoot up to dig into your eyes, more stinging tears flooding in and slipping through the corners of your closed lids.

his heart fucking broke.

“why don’t you care toge?” you hiccuped. “i worry myself sick every time you leave for a mission and— and that’s fine because it’s what you do but you never take care of yourself!”

he gently pried your shaking hands away from your eyes and wiped your tears softly with his thumbs, caressing your cheeks after— wishing so badly, more than anything in this fucking world, to just be able to speak to you like a normal human being instead of resorting to words scrambled on a piece of paper or text messages on a screen.

he gently placed a little timid peck to your nose before releasing your face and fumbling around in his pockets for his phone, tapping it awake once he retrieved it and opening his notes app to write out a sentence.

he flipped and faced the screen towards you, the brightness making you squint a bit.

“i do care i swear. i just always forget when i’m in the middle of it and i’m sorry baby.”

“so you keep forgetting after what feels like the fifteenth time i’ve told you?” you wiped more tears from your cheeks. “how— how do you think it makes me feel when you come home and you’re coughing up blood all over your clothes and the furniture huh? all over me?”

he sighed softly through his nose and went to type again, but you continued.

“i get scared toge that one day you’ll push yourself way too far and then you just won’t come home. you scare me when you cough up so much blood like that!—”

toge tugged you in then with his unoccupied hand and wrapped his arms around you, pushing your head in and stuffing your face against his chest— the scent of his freshly washed t-shirt filling your nose as you cried softly.

fuck he felt like such a douche.

he typed for a moment behind your head, a pit in his stomach that only grew in size the longer he heard your little sniffles.

toge pulled back a bit, his arms still keeping you in place but just enough so that he could lower his phone and show you his message.

“please please don’t cry. i’m really sorry okay i really am and honest to god this won’t happen again.”

you nodded meekly and he flipped his phone back, quickly typing again and showing you once he finished.

“i feel like you think i don’t care but that’s not true at all. part of the reason why i try so hard when i work is because the more curses i fuck up the safer you’ll be when you’re out there without me.”

you laughed a bit at his wording, and he beamed at that, typing.

“i love you pretty girl. and im sorry i always get blood everywhere.”

“oh i don’t care about the mess baby, i care about youu,” you whined lightly and wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him in tight.

“and i love you too, a lot… like an embarrassing amount that strips away my dignity.”

he chuckled boyishly and pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his body stuttering slightly as a single thought grazed his mind— the same thought that’s been in the crevices of his brain since he asked you to be his.

you felt his tension and pulled back.

“what?”

toge bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at you, his weight shifting as he contemplated telling you something he didn’t want to burden or upset you with, the pad of his thumb softly rubbing over your chubby cheek.

you quirked an eyebrow. “what? are you cheating on me?”

he burst out laughing and shook his head, kissing your forehead before dropping his hand from your cheek and pulling out his phone again.

he typed for a minute then showed you.

“me not being able to speak to you like a normal boyfriend should or respond to you whenever makes me freaking useless. so i push myself out there to keep you safe because that’s literally the least i can do for you, since i can’t even do the bare minimum.”

you gasped softly. “toge huh? this is—”

he shook his head once more and you stopped as he typed again.

“i always try to make you laugh with the things that i do or whenever i text you because i’m afraid that one day you’ll get tired of me not being able to talk to you and you’ll leave. which is also something i would never blame you for and understand.”

your heart squeezed in the worst excruciatingly way possible, completely baffled and mortified to the fact that toge was thinking about things like this and wholeheartedly believing it without you noticing or him saying anything to you about it.

he typed again.

“that’s why i cosplay as gojo when i leave for missions and come back a dumbass with blood in my mouth. that’s why i forget when you tell me to be careful because the need to be something for you is way fucking greater.”

“togeee!” you sobbed, bursting out crying like a little baby as you were moved and haunted by his words simultaneously, your arms engulfing him as he desperately shot his hands out and quickly wiped your tears again, shaking his head frantically as if pleading with you not to cry.

“how could you ever believe that?” you nudged him away and hiccuped, your eyes serious. “why haven’t you told me about this? everything you just said is literally propaganda.”

he chuckled, but you could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“toge, why do you think i’ve been with you for so long? do you think i’m just dicking around?”

“dicking around on my dick?”

you swatted his phone away. “no! not right now.”

you both shared a small giggle, twinkling eyes looking at each other.

“if i felt like you weren’t doing even the bare minimum, i would’ve been gone before you had the chance to put this ring on—”

his gaze drifted down to the black shiny heart promise ring on your ring finger that you held up for him, and he smiled softly.

“baby what you do for me everyday is above and beyond the bare minimum. i’m happy. i’m so happy to be with you that you not doing enough has never crossed my mind and it never will.”

you slid your arms around his neck and pulled him down a little, gently. “i’ve never cared about your ability to speak. i fell in love with you, who you are, and the fact that i did without you having to iterate words to me? olympic sport.”

toge rolled his eyes playfully at your comment, and you stood on your tippy toes and kissed the tip of his pretty nose then. “all men do when they talk is lie anyways…” you tilted your head. “but i know you’ll never lie to me.”

“never.” he mouthed silently.

he bundled you up in his arms and lifted you like you were nothing, him carefully leaning in and pressing his lips to yours as if you were a fragile little thing— kissing you so devotedly, warmly, his forehead resting against yours once he pulled apart after greedily getting his daily fix of you.

“i know your job as a jujutsu sorcerer pays the bills and comes with you putting yourself in difficult situations… and my job doesn’t even compare, but please don’t overdo it for my sake. i want you to come home, okay?”

you know it’s selfish… he should be saving lives no matter the cost.

but he was your man. was it so bad to just want to keep him for the rest of your days? to get the chance to grow old with him, and buy a little quiet house on the country side like you always joked about in the late hours of the night with him? drinking cool glasses of lemonade on the porch?

“please don’t always be the hero.” you whispered guiltily. “but if you must… just keep me in mind while you do it.”

you’re always on his mind. he hopes you know that.

toge breathed softly through his nose and smoothly set you back down, the pads of your feet making contact with the icy tile flooring as his hands dragged up from around your waist to the sides of your head, him pushing a hard kiss to your cheek as if to seal your request.

“do you promise?” you mumbled.

he pulled back and held his little pinky out for you, and you giggled, linking yours with his firmly.

“you can’t go back on it okay? you used your pinky it’s legally binding!” you warned, a silly smile on your face. “don’t lie to me and break it.”

toge grinned and leaned towards you as he bent down a bit— your gaze locking with his as he looked at you at eye level with his hands on his knees, him mouthing his next words, slowly.

words that made your cheeks buzz a cutesy pink, words that he took seriously, and words that tied you to him and the little house by the countryside he wanted so badly with you, as those words solidified how much he truly truly loved you— him hoping you always knew.

“i would never lie to you.” he mouthed.

taglist!! <33: @saebaey

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jinusajas · 2 months ago

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05/04/25; 10:25pm

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ when you are their favorite love interest ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

notes: i know that this has been done before, but this is just my own take on this fun thought, and i hope you readers give this a chance, too (⺣◡⺣)♡

when sylus first heard of this new game that was celebrating its day one launch, admittedly, the onychinus leader had zero interest in it-

that is, until a particular trailer was showcased introducing a rather enticing love interest-

you.

to say sylus was hooked would be a complete understatement. within seconds of your trailer’s release, sylus downloaded the game and got to work. he did not hold back when it came to his spendings, already adding in the details of his sleek black credit card before customizing his mc. after making his mc look as close to him as possible, he chooses you to be his partner while running through the main storyline.

thanks to his endless amount of wealth, he manages to obtain all of your five star cards that were available in game, maxing out all of your memory upgrades while unlocking all of your secret time audios in just a few week’s time. and despite how seductive and alluring you were during those intimate audios, sylus’s favorite card of yours happened to be one of the sweetest memories, with you taking a walk with his mc in the snow.

to say he was enamored with you would simply scratch the surface of his feelings for you, for this man was entirely devoted to you. the story of your life-

the trials and tribulations that you faced gave sylus the strength to continue on with his life. after a particular grueling day working as a leader of a conglomerate, he enjoys laying in bed while replaying his favorite memories with you before falling asleep with your audios playing in the background.

even though many would find his feelings for you, a mere fictional character, to be silly (and maybe a little cringey) sylus doesn’t give a damn-

for he will always bask in the feelings of peace you give him.

admittedly, zayne only downloaded this popular new game after his coworkers convinced him to. during his lunch breaks, he finds himself opening the app to go through the main storyline while being drawn to one of the main love interests-

you.

there was a subtle beauty that he could see from you, with your quiet yet headstrong nature making him crack a tiny smile while he read through the storyline. after finishing the main branch, zayne puts in some time (and some much needed funds) to obtain your five star memories.

yet perhaps what zayne enjoyed more than your memories were the quality time feature that the game had. he had managed to raise your affinity to the mid 50s level and enjoyed watching you study or work with him. even though he knew that you were a character made of pixels, zayne couldn’t help but let his fondness for you grow.

even as he was doing his own paperwork, zayne couldn’t help but sneak glances at you, only to feel his heart clench when you stare back at him with a sweet smile on your face. the cardiac surgeon would quickly look away from you, cheeks dyed a faint rosy hue as his lips were unconsciously tilted up in a smile that lasts.

being a bit of a passionate gamer in linkon, xavier was one of the few players that was able to play the game during its beta phase before the official launch date.

and the reason why he signed up to be one of the first couple of hundred players to test out this new game?

why, it’s because of you, of course!

xavier had come across your trailer during an announcement for your game, and he was completely hooked on your strength and overall aesthetic. when the developers announced that they would allow a handful of players to test out their game, xavier was the first to put his name on the list-

and by some stroke of luck, he manages to obtain your game roughly 6 months before its official release. despite having some minor hiccups with loading screens and a few glitches, xavier thoroughly enjoyed the game while playing through some chapters of the main storyline.

yet what the young hunter really excelled at was level grinding you, his favorite girl. he hates seeing you get hurt, so he will spend a decent amount of his money getting as many of your cards that he could (bonus points if he manages to obtain your myth pair!)

xavier would be the first to clear out any fighting stages with how powerful you are thanks to his careful dedication to you, and when xavier finds out he can keep his progress with you even after the game’s official release, he couldn’t be any happier-

because in xavier’s eyes, it was you and him against the world.

rafayel would be an obnoxious player, simply going through the motions of the main storyline to unlock certain outfits before showing you off with his own mc in hundreds of photo shoots.

being an artist at heart, when he first met your character in the game, rafayel had hearts in his eyes for you alone as he matches his mc’s aesthetic with your own. he loves going on dates with you, finding enjoyment in how you struggled to get the plushies he wanted at the claw machines, or how you would always pout at him when he beats you at kitty cards.

rafayel would also be dedicated to you, managing to get to devotion with you thanks to his own funding that he put in your game. the moment you shyly hand him a box with his engagement ring, the young artist would be over the moon!

he enjoys interacting with you, often teasing you by poking you through his phone’s screen. rafayel swears that he lives to see your cheeks puffed out in a pout while turning your back on him. just seeing all of your cute reactions makes rafayel grin like an absolute fool.

and truly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

caleb was a f2p player, but had the worst luck when it came to pulling for your cards. 99% of the times, he would pull a different love interest, or lose to a 50/50 to one of your five star memories that he really wanted.

however, him being a f2p player went down the drain when your springtime date banner was announced-

and he was hooked on your beauty and how gorgeously soft you looked in your sundress. due to how lovely you looked, caleb swore that he would do anything to obtain this precious memory. during his day off, he focused his entire attention on getting your banner, using his card to buy the needed pulls to obtain that precious memory.

shockingly enough, you came home to him just a mere thirty pulls later, with caleb nearly jumping for joy when he gets your card. not wasting another second, he plays the date while basking in your beautiful smile. during the memory, caleb couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous of his mc-

because why was his mc able to touch and hold you, while caleb was left feeling like a third wheel?

but he digresses.

shoving down his unreasonable feelings of envy, he enjoys the tranquil kiss scene, his heart melting at the sight of you falling into his mc’s arms before pressing your lips against his.

with a stupid smile on his face, he finishes reading through the memory of your springtime date before spending the flowers he saved up to purchase the exact sundress you had worn during the date.

as he interacts with you, cooing at his phone’s screen about how pretty you were, caleb realized that you were worth every penny.

end notes: hehehe finally some more fluff from yours truly

(⺣◡⺣)♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

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hopefulceladon · 18 days ago

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︶⊹ all beauty, no beast | phainon x reader

summary: phainon, for whatever reason, refuses to reveal his demiurge self, up until the very moment you manage to get him to crack. notes: WRITTEN BEFORE THE 3.4 UPDATE!! if this ends up ooc at all i'll cry. i love phainon and freaknon so much that i ended up listening to an indulgent worm whispering that i should make a fic where you get to hug demiurge phainon. so now we're here. word count: 2.2k ao3 link: here!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ ⋆ ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“I... really don’t think you should see me like this, partner.”

There was an anxious waver lingering within Phainon’s voice as he addressed you from behind the nearby wall; a broken, unsure cadence familiar to your ears, but deeply foreign as it rang forth from his lips.

It was hard not to frown at his desperately uttered sentiments, but it didn’t come as a complete surprise. After all, upon the days that followed both the retrieval of Kephale’s Coreflame and the subsequent beginning of Era Nova’s end, Phainon had grown increasingly distant.

It had stung, of course, being gradually pushed away by the very man who had already sworn nearly everything to protect you from whatever turmoil that’d erupt—and was, already, erupting—upon the disintegrating planet, not realizing that he was actively hurting you in the process, but you tried to regard the circumstances with as much understanding as your wounded heart would allow.

Still, never once did you suspect he’d ever go so far as to physically avoid you, too.

But despite all your growing fears of abandonment and the countless streams of resentful thoughts that had trickled forth from them, you swallowed down any trace of the biting poison that resided upon your tongue, and lathered your words with the patience you knew was far more productive to possess.

The vile aftertaste of the hastily downed bitterness had burned your throat, but you knew it was only a small price to pay to maintain a bond once so sweet.

“You’ve avoided me for the past few mornings,” you finally stated, silently praying none of your deeply bruised feelings would surface. “You’ve hid behind pillars, slipped off into abandoned corridors...” you trailed off with a frown. “Whatever it is, it can’t possibly be as dire as you so clearly fear.”

A small, shaky chuckle from the other side proved he was still there, still listening.

“You’re right,” Phainon agreed, and it had lifted up your hopes for only a second, before they were chased back down with a weary sigh. “...it’s worse.”

“Phainon.”

The stubborn man didn't yield, even at your utterance of his name. “I know,” he whispered, despite his own cluelessness. “I know what you're thinking—that we’ve stuck to each other's side through thick and through thin, rejoiced in both our highs, and tried to cheer the other up at both our lows...”

He took a breath before he continued. “But, this is... different. This-”

“Phainon.”

You were pleased by the silence that had followed—it always was hard for him to outshine your own obstinance, after all.

“...amidst all this chaos and all this uncertainty, I really just wish to see you again.”

In light of your earnest sincerity, Phainon allowed for nothing to escape in response; not a word was uttered, nor did even a single sigh escape past the separating barrier. All you could hear was a series of light tapping noises against the surface—rhythmic, yet hurried, steady, yet unassured.

This time, his silence had worried you.

“I think,” Phainon continued after moments had passed, as if he had taken the time to deeply mull over your words. “...that if you’re trying to avoid any sort of ‘chaos’ in your life, then I’m right, and I really should stay behind this wall.”

“Oh, please.” you brushed his words off with a huff, growing weary of your unwilling role in this endless song-and-dance. “...how bad can it really be?”

You swore you heard a soft gulp.

“...very bad?”

It had taken an arduous amount of restraint to force down a harsh groan that, judging by Phainon’s current tone alone, would’ve certainly deflated him into a completely pitiful pile, but you willingly did it for his sake.

“My love,” you uttered the endearment abruptly, before softening your voice down to a pleading whisper. “...please.”

It was a terribly cheap tactic, but it was one you had indeed learned and mastered from the indirect guidance of the very worst. After all, the master must’ve surely been even the slightest bit fallible to the very weaknesses he exploited?

The small, hushed ‘that’s hardly fair...’ you heard Phainon whisper—whine?—underneath his breath already allowed you to picture the pitiful expression upon his features, from the slight frown upon his lips, to the widening of his pupils as he immediately yearned to rectify his mistakes.

“...I never could say no to you, could I?”

Upon his confession, a bitter, resigned sigh had escaped him, as if Phainon had finally accepted his own fate.

“But... you can’t say I never warned you.”

Even amidst such a dire situation, you couldn’t help but crack a weak smile at the familiar words. It was a phrase that once would’ve forced a loving wince out of you in happier times, but now, you were just thankful to be even brief acquaintances with a fleeting touch of normalcy at all.

As expectant as you were to hear approaching footsteps, tapping against the shared ground beneath both your feet, you were taken aback by the stillness that followed. Even if you could somehow sense that Phainon’s presence was drawing near, you weren’t certain as to how that was.

That was, of course, until Phainon finally revealed himself.

What stood—moreso hovered, really—in what you had expected to be Phainon’s place, was a floating figure that strongly resembled a man of similar stature, if not just the slightest bit taller.

The first difference you had recognized was his hair, once a comforting shade of snow-white and lightly fluffed, now a glowing hue of pale gold, unruly and tousled about. Phainon’s sudden lack of the typical armor that adorned his body was the next thing you noted, as unfamiliar wings of black and gold shielded his form away from your perception, the shiny, nearly mechanical plumes wrapped around his torso like a curtain that hid away all of his shame.

You finally looked up to meet his eyes, hoping to still see the same pair of aquamarine you’ve familiarized yourself with, only to gaze upon shimmering gold instead.

The man who levitated before you might’ve looked so vastly different compared to what you’ve always known, but despite all the physical changes that might’ve separated one from the other, deep down you could tell it was still him.

And as you cast your gaze upon the spiked, gleaming halo that clung behind Phainon’s head and bathed his form anew with warm, ethereal light, you swore he was a sight ripped straight out of a myth of old, a celestial vision bestowed upon only a select few.

You weren’t scared like he had feared you to be, no.

Matter of fact, it was hard to feel anything but downright awe at the sight.

Still, in light of your sudden brush with speechlessness, Phainon’s lips obliviously downturned.

“...you must think it’s pretty bad, too.”

Phainon’s voice, despite his tensed features, was still soft, as if he had already resigned himself to the likes of his false beliefs, yet remained so dejected because of them.

It was then you swore to yourself you never wished to hear the once-beaming man sound so uncertain ever again.

“What? No, you look-”

“Like a monster, prepping himself to strike?” he guessed.

“No!” you cried out, your boiling frustrations over his lack of understanding starting to spill over into your words. “We’ve both seen monsters before. We’ve both seen the depraved hunger in the eyes of the creatures consumed by the Black Tide, the crazed bloodlust radiating off the corrupted Titankin—we’ve even both been on the receiving end of the Flame Reaver’s blade!”

You paused, hastily chasing after the air that eluded you upon your spiel.

“We’ve both seen the very epitome of evil before, my love—”

Even as your gait trembled, with every step more cautious than the last, you stood before him, closer than either of you expected to be.

“—and I’m positive you couldn't look anything less alike.”

Phainon had froze at your words, a slightly hitched intake of breath giving his surprise away.

The silence that fell upon the atmosphere was solely broken up by the pattering of more careful strides towards him, all gentle in their approach, treating him as if he were a wounded stray at high risk of snapping forth to protect himself.

But even despite his new, slightly imposing visage, Phainon remained incredibly docile.

“You really are breathtaking.” you whispered with earnest reverence.

Phainon chuckled weakly before he shook his head. “You know, if I were you, I’d... probably be running away from me in utter fear.”

“Right, well,” you clicked your tongue, unable to prevent the smile that soon formed. “...you’re also sometimes an idiot, so...”

Cautiously, you lifted up your hand and cradled Phainon’s cheek against your palm, the surface of his pale skin surprisingly warm against the thumb you stroked it with.

“...maybe it’d be for the best if I didn't always listen to what you’d do in my shoes, yeah?”

It didn't take long for Phainon to lean—no, melt, into your soothing touch.

As your fingers reached skyward to thread themselves through his mussed locks of ivory, it was if your presence alone had been what finally stilled him, as Phainon all but clung to you like a scared, helpless puppy would still cling to a beloved tattered toy, his arms firmly wrapping around you and pressing you closer against him as if you were the very fragile, fraying tapestry that upheld what little remained of his diminishing stability.

Maybe because to him, that's nearly what you were.

And as you basked in the comfort of his embrace—even if it had, indeed, felt far stronger than the likes of the ones he bestowed from his other form’s arms—you willingly molded yourself against Phainon’s frame in kind, bathing yourself in the pleasant, perfect warmth that radiated from his body, breathing in the sweet scent of the morning's dreary dew that had bonded itself to his skin.

Phainon soon turned his head and pressed fleeting kisses to the skin of your palm, his eyes squeezed shut, as if this were a blissful dream he had no desire to rouse from.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you.” Phainon murmured, further sealing his apologies against your hand with another press of his lips, the brief touch nearly trembling, as if he’d rather soon perish than to allow for even a mere inch of your palm to go unloved.

You deeply loathed the waver that remained in his voice.

“It’s alright,” you tried your best to soothe, hugging him ever closer. “...the past few days have been absolute living nightmares. I could never fault you for falling prey to any stressful whims.”

Phainon didn't respond further, stiffening at what you presumed was the reminder of all the discord that wreaked havoc upon the surrounding world. Before you could apologize for bringing such a depressing topic up, however, the man had scooped you closer and floated down until you both rested upon the ground, propping you upright against the wall that once separated you, before choosing to rest his head against your lap.

You froze.

Hesitant to break the tranquility of the moment, and even more reluctant to shatter the peaceful expression upon Phainon’s features that had only grown to be an increasingly rare sight as of late, you didn’t dare question his actions, choosing instead to resume rubbing soothing circles against his warm scalp.

“...angel?”

Your fingertips stilled at the abruptly whispered name, and you were quick to glance down towards the source.

What had met your gaze was the precious sight of Phainon looking up at you through long lashes, his softened, golden eyes gleaming—tenderly, pleadingly so—with the same levels of potency as the bright blue you’ve always known. He then grabbed onto one of your hands—utterly careful with exactly how he had grasped it, solely so that the gilded claws of his armor would not penetrate your flesh and draw pointless blood—and squeezed it within the confines of his own, firm enough to ground himself in the moment, firm enough to remind himself that yes, you truly were there with him.

Phainon’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“I never wish to live a life where you’re not there by my side, you know.” he confessed quietly.

It was such a profound thing to admit so suddenly, but you knew why he had done so; Phainon’s life had always been dotted and dashed with countless loss after loss, and so he must’ve feared that you...

You squeezed his hand in return.

“I... I don’t think you ever will.”

Of course, you both knew that neither of you could ever wholeheartedly afford to keep such a lofty promise, but you were more than willing to take your chances upon whispering flimsy sentiments none could ever fulfill, if it meant your beloved hero could finally find some temporary semblance of rest.

And it must’ve worked, because the tension that had once left Phainon’s shoulders haggard seemed to have ebbed away at your reassurances, which only encouraged him to hold you even closer, his arms now lazily draped over atop your legs.

“Mm, good.” Phainon finally whispered against your thighs, his voice slightly muffled.

Your heart warmed at his sleepy murmur, your hands still idly playing with his hair.

“Why 'good?'”

“...because you really were my greatest miracle.”

#︶⊹ writings #︶⊹ of fantasy's sweetest memories #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail imagines #phainon x reader #phainon x you

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the-booty-crusader · 2 months ago

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SVSSS Bingyuan AU idea (if someone adopts this I will make art please please I wanna see this written out so bad and I do not have the time or spoons for it)

Shen Yuan is transmigrated into the body of an unnamed NPC in what he believes to be PIDW. The System wished him good luck and blipped out of existence almost immediately. Shen Yuan, of course, immediately wants to start preparing to go out and explore the world and maybe go see the protagonist from afar, only for the latter to appear about 4 minutes after Shen Yuan opened his eyes.

Without much rhyme or reason he is immediately swept off his feet by the (unfairly handsome and somewhat frazzled-looking) protagonist and deposited into a room deep within Luo Binghe’s palace without much fanfare with the promise that he will be back soon.

Shen Yuan, of course, is deeply confused. Why is he here, why did the protagonist abduct him, was he going to kill him (not that he should have any reason to, unless this body belonged to someone who wronged Luo Binghe in the past… but then why would be be brought to these lovely chambers?)?!

He starts investigating the room and finds a bestiary filled with the most interesting beasts he’d always wanted to know more of. The illustrations are beautiful, the bestiary lovingly crafted. Something about it niggles at Shen Yuan’s brain, but he can’t put his finger on it.

He’s interrupted by Luo Binghe showing up with a tray of absolutely delicious-smelling food… strangely, it’s all of Shen Yuan’s absolute favorite dishes (and everything he wasn’t familiar with on the tray ended up being a new favorite which… was that just a coincidence?) and he enjoys them immensely.

Luo Binghe watches Shen Yuan closely as he eats and smiles when he finishes. “I’m glad to see A-Yuan’s tastes haven’t changed.” he says, and Shen Yuan barely has time to wonder how Binghe knew his name before they’re interrupted and Binghe is called away by some “important business” (which, from the look on Binghe’s face, will not end well for whoever disturbed him).

Shen Yuan continues exploring the rooms and finds a nook with the exact type and amount of pillows he likes, with natural light coming in from a northern angle— his favorite light to read in. The room smells like jasmine and books— Shen Yuan’s favorite scent. It was like someone had taking every one of Shen Yuan’s preferences and put them into a room.

It wasn’t until he spotted the bestiary again that it clicks; it’s written in his own handwriting. Those drawings look like what his own art might look like if he got more practice.

How could he have written a bestiary he’d never seen before? How did Binghe already know him? What was going on?

So what’s going on is that for years now, Binghe kept encountering individuals that helped him unconditionally, assisting him in his darkest times and making his life more bearable. A fellow street kid after Binghe’s mother died who gave him scraps of food and shared blankets with him, a Shizun on Qing Jing that protected him and gave him a safe place to grow up, a demon in the Abyss that told him all the best places to rest and where to get food and water, a Huan Hua disciple that told him the best ways to gain a foothold within the sect, a demon that advised him in his efforts to take over the Demon Realm.

All of them died protecting him. Some of them made it a few months, others a few years. It wasn’t until meeting Shen Yuan in the Abyss that he realized he had the same quirks and traits as that odd little boy, A-Yuan, who had sheltered him on the streets, and his Shizun, Shen Qingqiu. How odd that his name should be a combination of the two who were dearest to him save his mother. How odd that he shared their interest in stories and shared a ranting style and doted on him and were weak to his tears and… Binghe had realized that it must be the same soul, coming back for him.

But Shen Yuan never remembered his previous lives or deaths. He always seemed excited to meet Binghe, but there was no familiarity in the recognition in his eyes.

And he just. Kept. Dying.

Binghe was on his 18th meeting with Shen Yuan; it had been so many times now that he knew exactly what to do and how to find him. He wasted no time in getting him somewhere safe (finding him that one time, an hour after his last death, only to watch him get killed almost immediately after their encounter had traumatized Binghe, so now he made sure to immediately use the soul-tracking amulet he had been using for the last 12 incarnations) and immediately went to cook his beloved dinner. He was working on a way to get his memories from his previous incarnations back, because… how else was he supposed to cope?

——

So. Do you think a new instance of Shen Yuan is plopped into the world every time one dies? Is it the same soul, given a quick reset and spit-spine and put into another body? Let’s discuss this idea please I am obsessed, it haunts me. Let’s brainstorm

#svsss #luo binghe #shen yuan #bingqiu #bingyuan #svsss au #plot bunny #please adopt this plot bunny #i beg you #i will make art for it please

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iniquitousyearning · 9 months ago

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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 25th. tom — anal sex / sexual punishment.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: basically how i see a tom riddle punishment playing out. biblical tom of sorts. so self assured its impossible to piss him off so you go to lengths some may consider extreme but…eh. he knows you’re his.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, UNI hogwarts (obvs but just a reminder) reader and tom have an…interesting dynamic, toxic but also not toxic because it works for them, anal sex (obvs), sexual punishment, brief fingering, copious amounts of dirty talk, i once again utilize my favourite place in the school (the library).

"Tom—"

With a hand raised, he cuts you off. "Don't."

You blink. Swallow. Blink again. He's mad—oh, yes, he's mad—more than you've ever seen him and you once watched Abraxas Malfoy knock over his potion during a heavily-weighted exam.

That, in currency to this, is pennies.

You breathe in, try again. "Look, I can explain—"

He doesn't let you. Within a second his wand is out and with a flick of his wrist the room shifts to static—the glimmer from the silencing charm he just cast settles over your corner of the library, and you feel your fingers go numb—

"Why'd you stop?" He cocks his head, brow raised. His jaw is tight, the tension there burning into the space between you. His fingers flex. You can feel how much he's holding back. "If there's an explanation, by all means. I'd love to hear it."

Right—yeah, an explanation. That should help. Certainly, the man staring at you like he has bullets for eyes and knives for fingers will understand—he'll be completely calm once you explain to him you kissed someone else in retribution—because you wanted to get back at him.

"Well, I—" you push up from the desk, desperate to feel bigger, to level with him somehow. Tom thrives in this—having the upper hand, knowing all he has to do is stare at you, all stillness and quiet fury. He knows you hate it, that you'll spiral under it until you break and present him your neck on a silver platter. Until you hand him the knife and beg him to cut. "We had that argument, and I thought—I thought, maybe—you didn't—"

He moves closer. The air thickens. You're too focused on the fire in his eyes to acknowledge the sound of his wand clattering onto the desk—

"You thought?" His voice is something almost bored, like this is a trivial exercise for him—you can barely hear him over the roar of your pulse in your throat.

"—that you didn't want me anymore!"

You force the words out in a desperate rush, and the silence that follows feels like a goddamn canyon—you're just staring at each other, scowling in the wake of what you just said because you both know how utterly foolish it sounds. The only person Tom Riddle has and will ever allow himself to be vulnerable in front of—and you thought he'd leave after a silly argument.

No. You never thought that for a second.

And so, you try to save yourself. "Tom—I-I'm sorry, okay? I'm so sorry, I know I fucked up—but, it's not just me—I mean, you could have communicated better—"

He takes another step toward you, nodding along as if he's humoring you. "Right."

You step back—you don't mean to but the depleted space between you feels dangerous and your body reacts before you can stop it.

"Maybe—maybe we can learn from this? Right? A lesson for—for us both?" You keep talking. You don't know why, but you do. "And, maybe you could, uh, learn to talk about your feelings better?"

You wince as his eyebrows shoot up, mocking you without saying a word. Tom Riddle, talking about his fucking feelings? Right.

"I mean—you're just—" you hesitate because you know you're digging your own grave, yet he's still staring, daring you to finish. "—you're just so hard to read, you know?"

Another bored nod, another step closer. "Of course."

You swallow, stumbling back—of course Tom knows he's hard to read, that's the point. Every word out of your mouth is a wasted effort, a desperate attempt to reason with someone who's beyond it. Your ass collides with the desk behind you, boxing you in—and suddenly, he's there, right in front of you, all of his typical Tom intensity pouring into the limited space between you.

His breath brushes against your cheek, close enough that his lips could meet yours. But you know they won't. He'd never make it that easy. You can't tell if it's fear or something more wicked that twists in your chest. Dread, excitement—God, maybe both—

"You tried to provoke me."

Your throat tightens around a swallow. He isn’t asking.

"Maybe."

He doesn't blink. "You tried to see if I'd care."

You open your mouth, only to close it just as quickly. What can you say that he doesn't already know? You're as transparent as glass to him, and even that is a goddamn understatement. All you offer is a slow nod, unsure but weighted—he wasn't looking for an answer, he was looking for submission.

"And you thought, maybe, that I would come to you. That I would react. That l'd be angry." His fingers brush up your cheek, slipping into your hair with the kind of intimacy that feels out of place given the circumstances. And, inevitably, when the pull comes biting at your scalp, it's a burn you enjoy more than you should. "Were you hoping I'd punish you?"

"Well—I-"

"You know, don't you," he tugs your hair again to quiet you. Every question he's asking is rhetorical. "You know that trying to provoke me is dangerous."

You nod, fast. "I know."

"You know that I don't like to be provoked."

"I know, I know, I-"

"Shh." His lips brush over your neck, just once—a soft, fleeting thing that promises everything and nothing at once. You can't help the way you lean into him. "You're just making this worse for yourself. No more talking."

You choke on your stupid ego, but force a nod. You asked for this. You won't fight him on it. Not here. Not now.

"Good." He hums, and you feel your heart dance, stomach leap at the barest flicker of approval in his tone. His breath skates over your jaw, and you try not to shake. "You want to show me how sorry you are, don't you?"

You nod again.

"Good." He tugs at your bottom lip and something curls at the corners of his own that doesn't quite qualify as a smile. "Turn around."

With your heart on the floor beneath your feet, you nod for a final time before doing as he asked. You find that turning is a difficult task, though not due to resistance—your body just won't cooperate—a mess of weak knees and shallow breaths and tingling skin. You do it, though, with his hand on your hip, guiding you, directing you, pushing you over the desk until you're bent at the waist, positioned just how he wants.

It's merely a moment before you feel him pressed against your back, feel his belt buckle digging into your ass—

"What do you think I should do to you?" His breath grazes the nape of your neck and reflexively, you arch into him—his hands slide up your thighs, hips, finding your waist and the band of your skirt—he tugs at your zipper, you remain quiet. You know he doesn't want you to answer. "I'm sure you had your hopes. Your assumptions."

Tom Riddle, you've determined, is a torturous lover—a slow hand, a tease until you're in tears from the overstimulation. A sort of devotee to fulfilling your needs while simultaneously tempering his own. He's so very restrained, in everything he does—not fervent, not right away, anyway—

"Maybe you hoped I'd degrade you. Remind you of your place." He tugs down the zipper, letting the fabric fall to the ground at your feet—you shudder and pull your lips tight, willing yourself to stay silent as the cool air hits you. Tom's hand roams over one of your asscheeks, pawing lazily before tapping his palm against it. “Maybe you wanted me to make you feel it."

—he only rushes—he's only careless when he's angry.

And god, he's angry now.

"Maybe." You force the reply through the sting he left on your skin. It's past midnight—quiet is everything but you two, and you're almost certain he locked the door behind him on the way in. You let your head bow, eyes fixed on the wood under your palms. "Maybe I do."

"Of course you do. You've never been subtle." His foot nudges yours further apart, his fingers trailing up your thigh, finding the damp ache between your legs. Your breath catches but you hold still, biting your tongue as he teases—digits gliding through your slit, swirling your clit. "I know you thought about it."

"About what?" You try, though the question barely gets out before his other hand smacks the thick of your ass again, harder this time. "Shit—"

"About what I'd do to you." The hand on your clit shifts to smooth over the sting, rubbing slow, while the other works the buckle of his belt. "Tell me what you wanted."

"I—" you pause, steadying, gathering yourself. You know you have to give him something, but it's hard to think when he's like this. "I—I wanted you to be...careless."

"Careless." He says it like he's savouring it, rolling it over his tongue like candy. It's not a word that suits him; you're not convinced he even knows how. "You want me to be rough—to be selfish. Like you were."

The moment his belt is loose you feel those slender fingers dip back into your slit, two of them pushing inside your cunt without warning, stretching you open as his trousers slip down his thighs— he grunts low, a sound that cuts into the quiet as his cock springs free and he presses it against you, unoccupied hand slipping back into your hair, pulling you up until you're flush with him.

"Yes." You're not sure who sounds more hollow for it—your voice for asking, his for granting it. "I want that. I deserve it. Please. Please—"

"Please. It's always please with you," he mocks, the words a hiss that burn your cheeks. "Yet, I don't get to be selfish like you, do I? I still have to show restraint."

"I mean—oh—fu—" you choke as his lips find your neck, muttering something against your skin before you feel the sudden cool slip of a lubing charm coating your asshole and cunt. "Tom-"

"Despite what you might believe, I've never had much in the way of patience," he breathes, a confession almost, something deeper—something that feels like it costs him. "Not when it comes to you."

"Tom—" you fucking gasp his name as he pulls his fingers from your cunt—only to drag them higher until they find your asshole. Despite his haste he's still at ease, massaging, pressing one finger against it until you let him in. He sinks slowly, curling slightly, and your thighs shake—lungs deflate. "Oh—oh, fuck, Tom—it's been—"

"A while, hasn't it?" He finishes, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his finger sliding all the way in. "So tight for me. So—tight—"

"Tom—" a repetition of the last one, his name spilling from you like it’s the only goddamn word you know how to say. "Please, Tom. Oh god—"

"Shhh." He shushes, but it's not to quiet you; you know that. He's savouring this. He slips in a second finger, stretching you wider, working you open, and you're biting your lip to keep from crying out. "This isn't about you."

"You—" your voice breaks on another gasp, hands clutching at the desk. "—you think this is punishment."

"Partially." His muses as his fingers scissor, filling you with the most delicious ache. You're so slick, arousal running down your thighs, and that—oh no, that does not escape his notice. "Look at you, dripping for me. And yet,"

"Oh god." The realization crashes over you—it’s punishment as in orgasm denial. "That's—that's not—"

"Not fair?" There's a smirk in his voice, and though he doesn't say it, you hear the word that lingers beneath it: pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. He pulls his fingers out and you whine, feeling empty for half a second before the head of his cock glides against your slit, gathering your juices before finding its way up to the throbbing ring of muscle. "Isn't this what you wanted? For me to be selfish?"

"I just—" words scatter, useless, because you're trembling, breathing hard, and then he's pressing in, slow enough to save you pain but fevered enough to make you feel him. "Oh—oh—"

"Oh fuck." He says it breathless, as if it's an agony to fit himself inside of you. "Oh yes."

And it is an agony—for both of you, though for very different reasons. Tom is huge, and even on a good day, it's a struggle to take him. He's so deep, filling you in ways you'd forgot were possible. You struggle to hold yourself upright—legs visibly shaking, teeth gritting. He sinks all the way in, and in your mind, you can almost see the look on his face, the way his lashes flutter, the way his head tips back—

"Ah—“ he groans, a rough sound that's followed by a huff and a slight roll of his hips, like he's holding back, like he can't bring himself to move just yet. He yanks you up against him by your hair. "That's fucking tight, isn't it? This must be hell for you."

He's not wrong, it is. But it's hellish for Tom too, the type of hell the two of you inflict on eachother that is as fucking addicting as it is anything else—

"Just—" you manage to bite out breathlessly, but it's a struggle to make the words. "Move—"

"Make me," he grits, jerking your head to the side until your foreheads press together. "Convince me to use you. Tell me how badly you want it. How much of a whore you are for it."

Merlin help you, you moan at his words. It's that thing inside you—the needy, desperate part that's dying at his feet. You don't know what it is or why it's there; it just is, and it's greedy. It's not something you'd give into normally—your ego is far too big to give him the satisfaction of begging, not aloud—never in words that he could use against you later—but in these moments, you both learn to make exceptions.

"Dear god, Tom—please, just use me-" you push your hips back against him, one of his hands slide up your stomach, cupping your tits. "Please, l'm—I'm a pathetic, begging whore for you. God, I know you're pissed—I feel it—just take it out on me—l want it—"

He moans—a soft, almost gentle sound—and you know you've struck a nerve, the part of him that's equally as weak in the moment—the part of him that makes it all too easy for things to spiral like this.

"Goddamn you." Something inside him snaps, something that's been frayed, just waiting for a pull—and you've pulled it now, and oh you want, no, you need him to make you pay for it, to make it hurt. "You just—you always-"

He grunts, cutting himself off and in a way, it's almost like he's thanking you because you're giving him an outlet, something to take it out on. You test each other, push and pull and let the other break, because, at the end of the day, it always comes down to this. The two of you. Like this.

A sharp inhale, and he starts to thrust.

"Fuck!" it's all you manage, it's all you can manage, because it—just like that—feels the way you wanted it to feel but it also feels so much more intense, so intense that your brain can't keep up. "Oh god—oh fuck-"

"Fucking hell," he spits, like you're the worst thing in his world and the best thing all at once, and somehow, that makes perfect sense. He lets go of your hair, and you slump forward onto the desk, elbows barely holding you up as his hand smacks your ass, fingers spreading you apart. "So—so tight—“

You're a shuddering mess, helpless to it; all you can do is remember to breathe through it.

"That's it." Another smack to your ass, thrusts quick and deep. "Fuck. The things you drive me to do."

You know him so well—and he knows you just as damn well, and that's the point, isn't it? That's what this is all about. You're the perfect mix of wrong, a match that burns too hot it hurts but the ache makes him feel alive.

"I want to cum—" your neglected clit is begging for it, you’re fucking begging for it. "Tom please—"

At that, he laughs and it's mean and it's condescending and you love—God—how you love it and want it and can't get enough of it. His hips snap forward a little bit rougher and you lose a bit more of your sanity—

"You think you deserve to come, after what you did?" Another smack to your ass.

You don't know how to answer, and he doesn't wait for one anyway. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you—everything is so calculated and calculated and calculated. You've never once seen him falter, and you don't expect to see it now. You don't know if you'd survive it if you did.

"No." He answers for you. "You don't."

His fingers trace around your thigh, grazing your mound and finding your needy clit, your sopping slit, gliding through it—you moan louder than you should as he gathers your slick on his fingers, humming at what he finds there before retreating—bringing them up to your mouth.

"Open."

You open your mouth and he feeds you your need—the result of his selfishness. You love him for what he is and you love him for what he isn’t too. How he tries to be both, only when you ask.

"Taste that?" It's a whisper, something he's telling you.

You sob around his fingers as he fucks your ass deep—he pulls them out to let you respond. You nod. "Yes."

"Taste how much you want this?"

"Yes." A pathetic moan. The perfect response.

"Good girl." He presses the words into your hair, the back of your neck, along your spine. He sucks in a breath as he fucks like he needs it just to speak. "You're going to remember this the next time you think about doing something just to spite me, I hope you know that."

Of course you will. He knows it, you know it—there's no doubt in your mind that you'll remember this the next time you toy with his patience; the next time you give him a reason to discipline you again. And what's worse is: you'll do it anyway.

It's a battle you two will fight for eternity.

But you don't get a chance to respond, not that you'd have one anyways—because his hand is on your throat and his lips are at your ear and he's sucking in air through his teeth and then—

"I'm going to cum." He whispers and you hear the pain in it. "Fuck."

You shiver in reply; a whine of a whimper coming from the back of your throat. “Tom—“

"Shh." He shushes you with his free hand, gripping your jaw as his thrusts turn sloppy, erratic. "Fucking take it.”

God—you’ll take it. Of course you will. You asked for this, drove him to this point. You're both sick, but this is the kind that doesn't have a cure.

One of his hands moves to his own hair, tugging at the back of his head; it's the only hint you've had this whole time of how much he's affected by this, how much it's driven him mad. He's doing his best to keep control, to maintain composure and make sure you feel it—but it's the way his hand squeezes your hip when he lets go of your throat that gives him away.

It gives in to what he's been repressing.

"Ohhh—fuck—yes—" and then you feel it, feel him, hot and sticky and warm, filling your ass and holding you there until he’s finished. His body collapses against the back of yours, hips slow rolling until he's drained—until you’ve taken all of him, all of his anger and frustration and restraint along with it. He’s sweaty, exhausted, spent—forehead pressed to your hair. "You feel that?"

"You know I do." You're not allowed to sound so smug, not while you're in the position you're in, but you are. It’s why he loves you. "That's what you were looking for."

"No, that's what you were looking for." He nips your ear, and you hear the smile in his voice when he bites down on it and murmurs a, "and that's why you're my favourite," into it.

"And you mine, Tommy."

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doberbutts · 5 months ago

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With this latest round of discourse being "trans men shouldn't complain about being kicked out of women's spaces", I felt the urge to write up a relatively long post regarding the topic, as I feel it is a long tangled mess and involves a significant amount of people simply talking past each other.

To begin, what is a woman's space? I ask this, because "women's spaces" often fall under one of three categories: medical services, social services, and social gatherings. Of the three, trans men need access to nearly everything if not everything included within "medical services" and "social services". These things often need to be considered co-ed anyway, but are still considered "for women" and often are labeled things like "women's health" or "women's defense". Social gatherings- things such as book clubs, concerts, festivals, and other similar outings- can have a nuanced and complicated history when it comes to the inclusion, or exclusion, of trans men.

As an example- I am a binary, gay trans man who has not yet been sterilized. If I become pregnant and need to seek out social services, I must do so via my provider's "Women and Babies" department. I am neither of those things, and yet regardless of whether I am completing or terminating the pregnancy, I must label myself a woman in order to receive care. If I wish to have a pap smear, receive birth control, or investigate my chances of ovarian and cervical cancer, I must do so via the "Women's Health Clinic". I am not a woman, but I must label myself as one in order to discuss sterilization options. Many trans men who have had their gender markers changed prior to sterilization have reported difficulty even booking an appointment, as well as difficulty convincing their insurance to pay for this appointment due to a discrepancy with gender markers vs gendered care. Many have discussed the realities of being a pregnant man, whether they remained pregnant until their child was born, or whether they terminated said pregnancy with an abortion.

It should come as no surprise that the statistics for trans men receiving quality gynecological care are abysmal. It should be equally unsurprising to hear how many trans men have died from botched abortions, untreated miscarriages, infections and cancers of the uterus and cervix and ovaries, and complications during pregnancy or birth. We belong in this space, despite it being labeled "for women", and the only thing pushing us out has done is quite literally what's been killing us.

This is, of course, not even taking into account the numbers of trans men who have been forced to become pregnant via their husbands or families as a means to detransition them, and those who have become pregnant as a result of corrective rape. There is a saying among trans men of my age- it isn't "we all know a guy this has happened to", it's "which of us haven't experienced this? who among us doesn't fear this? who will it happen to next?"

Which brings me to my next point: women's social services. As with women's medical care, nearly everything labeled "for women" as a social service must be inclusive to trans men. Shelters for domestic violence survivors, rape crisis centers, self defense classes, family planning, these are all things that honestly should already be co-ed. But, many times, they are exclusively targeted towards women. I understand why, I do. But with trans men being statistically more likely than cis women to experience the need for these services, it seems a cruelty to close their doors to a vulnerable demographic reaching out for help.

Where should trans men in crisis go? Shutting the door to us without addressing the reason we need to access these resources gives us a single ultimatum: detransition, or die. Go back to being a woman, or die knowing the likelihood that a woman's name will adorn your headstone, and "daughter, wife, mother" will be said in your obituary. Much like the medical services, this incomplete answer has lead many trans men to their deaths. Whether by their own hands, or by their attackers'.

But there are other social services out there that perhaps are not as dire. Women's scholarships, colleges, all girls schools. Girl Scouts, women's sport leagues, gym memberships. Trans men don't need access to these, right?

Well... is the trans man in question out? Has he been living as a man, or is he still closeted? Is it safe for him to come out? Does he pass, or has he just bought his first binder and given himself his first buzz cut? Is he living under the control of his parents, or is he able to freely decide for himself the type of person he'd like to be and the type of life he'd like to live?

You see, I was a Girl Scout once. And, if we are to believe to our core that trans men are men even before they know the words "transgender", this means I was a boy in a girl's space. I didn't know that being transgender was an option for me at the point where my troop disbanded, and another leader to replace the first within my local area was not found until after I had aged out.

But also... I was in 7th grade when my troop disbanded. Two years later, I would learn the word "transgender", and suddenly everything would make sense. Two years later, I would come out to my parents and my sisters. To put this into perspective, I graduated high school in 2010. The Boy Scouts officially allowed cisgender girls and transgender people of all genders to join all programs in 2019.

I was not expelled from my Girl Scout troop. My leader simply stopped showing up to meetings, and my troop disbanded to go our separate ways when leadership could not find someone quickly enough to replace her. But... if this had not happened, I would have been a recently out transgender boy in a girl's social service, still wearing push up bras and frilly shirts because that's all my parents would buy me until I became an adult and moved out and had a job with my own money to re-purchase myself a wardrobe. Indistinguishable from any of the others, outside of what went on inside my own mind.

I would not have been accepted into the Boy Scouts, if Girl Scouts had been taken from me as abruptly as it was from a different transgender boy in the same state I was born and raised. Which would have left me with... nothing. Neither. And the only reason I even joined the Girl Scouts was because I had wanted to join the Boy Scouts and the local troop had refused to allow me, because they had labeled me a girl.

I don't believe I'm the one that coined Schrodinger's Gender, but I do reference it often. In this situation, one is both a boy when it hurts, and a girl when it hurts. Even if that gender label changes by the second, the point is to use your gender and your assigned sex to hurt you.

But then, why do these services even have to be gendered to begin with? After all, Boy Scouts just updated to be The Scouts, and has removed (on paper) the insistence on gendering.

Well... I certainly agree that the majority of gendering these services is at this point a concept that needs to be reformed, but I'm unconvinced that we will be able to completely integrate without addressing the reason they were segregated by gender in the first place.

Women's gym memberships are gender segregated for two reasons. Women and girls- and anyone labeled as women and girls, regardless of true identity- are frequently not afforded the same access to resources as cisgender men and boys. Women and girls- and anyone labeled such- are frequently at high risk of predatory sexual behavior and physical violence. Both of these problems are symptoms of a larger system of misogyny at play, and both of these problems directly affect trans men especially those who have not transitioned in a way that makes them pass for cis men.

Regardless of the truth of my identity, the reality is that I was seen as and treated as a girl when it came to physical fitness, and thus barred from the same activities freely offered to the boys. Regardless of the truth of my identity, I have experienced predatory sexual behavior from cis men as young as 8 or 9 years old, continuing past when I came out and began to transition socially.

If the problem is not addressed, cis women cannot re-integrate with cis men. But, additionally, if the problem is not addressed, the choice still remains clear for trans men. Detransition, stay closeted, or go without.

A common complaint of trans men is the invisibility and erasure our demographic faces. It should be easy to see why this happens. The problem of a misogynistic society is one that continues to this day, and without addressing the problem we cannot hope for success in creating a more inclusive space. At the same time, trans men are being pushed out and isolated as they realize they must make a choice.

As for social gatherings, such as a woman's retreat or a woman's music festival? Of course, it may sound odd to say that a trans man should feel welcome there. But the truth of the matter is the majority of the trans men asking for the ability to stay are trans men who have been within that space for years already, prior to coming out, prior to realizing some things about their genders, prior to taking their first steps as men.

I'm pretty good friends with an older butch who told me that I am the first person they ever told that they were a nonbinary man. This person is in their 50s. They're married. But the wife doesn't like it, and they love their wife too much to cause friction in the relationship, so they keep it to themselves, and they keep quiet, and they don't say anything about being transgender, but in their head they aren't a woman. This person is not a woman, by their own insistence. Should this person be forcibly ejected from their local lesbian community, which they and the wife helped form decades ago? Should they divorce their wife, since that would make her not a lesbian anymore?

What harm is it, truly, to allow this person to stay? Social isolation kills people. The trans man suicide statistics are just as abysmal as any of the others I've mentioned here. Forcing someone to burn 20, 30, 40 years of their lives and their friends and their achievements because they are finally living as themselves is a deeply hurtful and isolating experience.

The majority of trans men asking to be included in these spaces are not trans men like me- who never really jived with the idea of womanhood and distanced ourselves as much as possible the moment we saw the opportunity. They are men like my friend, often existing outside of the binary, often with a deep love and appreciation for womanhood despite realizing that perhaps the label does not fit them as well as they once thought. They often have many years of connection, entire lives spent intwined in these spaces.

What good does it do to chase them out? What harm does it to do let them stay?

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leislibrary · 12 days ago

Text

[skz] how they accidentally reveal your relationship

pairing: hyung line x reader maknae line here! genre: fluff, angst (if you squint) wc: 2.2k, between 400 - 700 each

Chan - on a live stream

Chan's eyelids droop as he reads more comments on his live stream. He could not count the amount of hours that passed since he last slept. Yesterday? Two days ago? He lost track. Still, he sits in front of the blinking red light, recording live content for STAY before he finally goes to sleep.

“Someone said ‘nice bracelet’,” he reads aloud from his phone screen - having to pause to stifle a yawn. The comment makes him grin, remembering how you recently gifted it to him when he was trying to spoil you. “Thank you, you know, Y/N got it for me on our last trip.”

His blood freezes the second the words leave his lips. He fucked up.

Your relationship is not public. Well, rather, it was not public. You both wish to keep that part of your lives private, seeing as so much is already exposed to his fanbase.

Any triage he can do falls short on his lips as he reads comments pouring in, asking who Y/N is, demanding an explanation, and already speculating that Chan has a partner. Chan’s heartbeat quickens and his mind races. He tries to think of something that would make him still appear cool, and like he wasn’t currently freaking out over saying your name so intimately for everyone to hear. If he spoke, anything he said would just be over-analyzed and posted everywhere. So, he did quite possibly the worst thing he could do.

He ends the live without saying another word.

His shaking hands open his phone app to call you, but you beat him to it. Your name appears on his screen. You must have been watching. You must have also seen the comments afterwards. He takes a deep breath and presses Accept.

You’re silent on the other end. “Do you think anyone heard?” He tries to lighten the mood, believing you’re upset with him for exposing your relationship so carelessly.

Instead, you surprise him. “Are you okay?” Your voice is full of concern. “You looked like you aged about 20 years in four seconds. I don’t think I’ve ever seen your eyes that wide before.”

“You’re not mad? I mean everyone knows now, it’s just a matter of time before they find out it’s you, I pretty much just ruined whatever privacy we ha-”

“Hey,” you cut him off, “none of that. No talking badly about yourself. Yes, I’m sure we’ll have to address it soon, but there’s nothing we can do to change what’s already happened. Whatever happens from now on, we will still have each other. Honestly, I’m kind of glad the secret’s out. We can go on real dates now, instead of practically wearing costumes just to grab coffee.”

Chan knows he is incredibly lucky to have you. One of many reasons he loves you is for your ability to talk him down when he overthinks. He eventually falls asleep on the phone with you, listening to you reassure him that you guys will figure out whatever tomorrow brings.

Minho - on stage

Management expressed concerns about Stray Kids collaborating with you on your newest single. The higher-ups claimed that with your smaller fan base, the release might not be worth the time taken away from the group working on their own comeback. Of course, they were actually concerned about fans uncovering yours and Minho’s relationship, but they could not officially say that seeing as you have not officially told them anything. It’s an open secret within JYPE, but you two still deny it any time the subject comes up.

The single reached the highest number of pre-orders you’d ever had. Downloads of all your songs, not just the collaboration, skyrocketed on release day. It seemed like your boyfriend’s group almost did more for your career than JYPE, your own label.

Currently, the nine of you are at your third promotion event together. This is an informal performance/Q&A session (mainly for Stray Kids, let’s be honest) held near the label’s building, but your heart still swells at seeing everyone who came out to support the song.

You stand in front of a small sea of audience members, taking a moment to admire their reactions to the performance. Behind you, Felix kicks off the Q&A portion of the event, calling on a fan with their hand raised and passing them a microphone. “Hi, I was wondering, what was the songwriting process like?” They ask, nerves evident in their voice.

A presence approaches. Minho strides over to your location on stage, ultimately positioning to brush his shoulder against yours. It’s the kind of casual affection nobody would ever think twice about - if this was one of his concerts, and if you were one of his members.

“Be careful,” you whisper to him, trying not to let the audience catch on to the fact that there’s anything to catch on to.

He smirks in return. “Always.”

Four questions pass, and you finally get one aimed for you specifically. You are describing the creative vision for your upcoming album. At some point Minho gravitates over to you again. As you speak, growing excitement radiates off the crowd, “ - I’m so proud of this one and I cannot wait for you to hear it!”

Your smile widens as resulting cheers ensue. You worked so hard for this moment, and to finally start to see the fruits of your labor fills you with joy. Minho’s gentle hand on your back causes you to meet his eyes. He is already staring at you as if you are the only person in the world.

Minho did, in fact, forget that you two are on stage. His love for you overwhelms him - he is so honored that you let him share this moment with you. Without thinking, he caresses your cheek, pulls you in, and kisses you.

Your breath hitches.

Maybe nobody noticed. Maybe not a single person in the crowd was looking at you or Minho right at that moment.

The hush that sweeps the audience slashes your delusions. The overwhelming noise a moment later shoots straight into your heart. Yet, you don’t regret it. Minho’s expression mirrors your emotions. Shocked yet happy.

Han notices what just happened and tries his best to get the crowd under control. Unfortunately, his idea was to sweep past it by continuing with the Q&A. “Alright! Does anyone else have a question for us?” The crowd goes crazy for the second time in five minutes.

Changbin - SKZ-Talker

A strong knock reverberates through yours and Changbin’s hotel room.

“Mgrhnmm,” Changbin so eloquently mumbles, still 80% asleep after his post-concert adrenaline crash. The urgent knock sounds again. You peel yourself away from him and pad over to the door, adjusting your pajama set so you don’t look as rumpled when you swing it open.

Chan stands there, staring at his laptop screen, eyebrows furled in either annoyance or concern. Or both.

“Is Changbin here?” he asks.

“Chan, I respect the creative process, but it’s three in the morning. Your work will still be there in the morning. Please let him sleep,” you respond, your usual wariness to speak to Chan like that replaced by actual weariness.

A flicker of confusion drifts through his eyes. “No, that’s not it. You haven’t seen?” He steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. Changbin’s eyes flutter open at the sound of your conversation. You waste no time falling back into the cozy bedding.

Chan takes a seat at the desk, angling the laptop so you two can see it from your positions. The latest SKZ-Talker is paused on screen, Seungmin’s face frozen as he talks to the camera lens.

“What’s this about hyung?” Changbin asks, finally sitting up now that it’s evident Chan will be staying a while.

“Yeah, I mean I know Seungmin’s pretty,” you chime in, choosing to ignore Changbin’s nod of agreement, “but why are you showing us this?”

“Look.” Chan points to a spot over Seungmin’s shoulder. “Is that or is that not you two kissing?”

Oh. Oh no.

He’s right. With the angle Seungmin’s holding the camera, viewers can see straight down the hallway Changbin was using to warm up. And there’s you, pressing a kiss to his lips as encouragement before he goes on stage. Your stomach drops.

You barely process Chan’s continued talking. “It’s not as bad as it could be. It’s a split second, the editors must have missed it. I’ll show you,” he rewinds the video a couple seconds and presses play. You two aren’t even on screen anymore. Seungmin’s voice fills the room as he walks through the venue’s hallways. Then, there it is. He shifts his hand, and over his shoulder, the camera captures Changbin leaning into you, smiling as you kiss him. The scene disappears behind a wall as Seungmin keeps walking.

“Most people haven’t even noticed it. But -” Chan pauses. “But there are already some comments recognizing Changbin. They don’t know who you are,” he looks at you. The “yet” remains unspoken.

Changbin curses. “Can we delete the video? Edit that part out? Something?”

Your vision tunnels on the screen. How could you be so careless? You knew they were filming a SKZ-Talker that day. You know how easily idols have dating rumors, you should have been more careful. Changbin’s going to have a scandal once Dispatch gets their hands on this.

Changbin’s hands on your shoulders bring you back to reality. “You okay, princess?”

Your stunned nod tells him you’re not okay.

“Look at me. Nobody’s mad at you for kissing me,” he brushes some hair out of your face, “I’m especially not mad at you for kissing me. In fact, I think you should do it more often.” His smile mirrors your small grin at his words.

“Yeah. But -” Chan pauses for the second time that night. “Our manager does want to get ahead of this. He’s requesting to discuss it with you now.” Chan notices your shoulders slump. “He doesn’t seem upset. Just stressed.”

“Okay. Yeah. We’ll head over there,” Changbin replies. Chan nods and quietly slips out of the room.

Changbin pulls you into him. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, the sound slightly muffled by where his mouth meets the top of your head. “Let me do most of the talking, yeah? We’ll be okay.”

You pull away, his arms dropping to still rest on your waist. “We should probably get going.” Your legs slightly shake as you stand to walk towards the exit. Changbin grabs your hand, his strong grip anchoring you into him.

Hyunjin - through an Instagram post

Hyunjin fills his house with artwork scattered everywhere. It adorns his walls, his tables, his life. He makes sure no pictures of the two of you are visible through any mirror selfies - your own fans would recognize you, and he’d have a hard time explaining why a photostrip of him kissing you exists.

Hyunjin’s most recent photo dump is doing unusually well. He smiles as he recalls the memories attached to each picture. He reviewed each photo before posting, but for the first time, he notices that one of your paintings is in the background of one of his selfies.

The painting that you had posted on your story two days ago when you finished it.

The painting that detail-oriented STAYS and fans of yours are now asking questions about.

Does the art in the third slide look similar to Y/N’s from a couple days ago?? omg that’s Y/N’s painting!!!!! she said she loved that painting and now it’s in hyunjin’s room?? are they together??

Hyunjin’s thumb scrolls down the comments, nitpicking anything mentioning you. You two don’t even follow each other to dissuade any notion of familiarity. Now, it’s snowballing, more and more people catching on when they read previous comments.

wait whos Y/N???? his gf apparently!!

Hyunjin deletes the whole post. His notifications show an uptick of comments on his previous photo. Fuck. Your Instagram is the same: a growing number of comments asking about your relationship status under pictures of a completely unrelated photoshoot. Fuck.

He needs to tell you himself before you are bombarded on social media. He texts So we might have to come forward about us sooner than planned. Like right now.

Your name lights up his phone screen. Fuck. He accepts the call, and immediately launches into a not-dramatic-at-all explanation of how his love for his favorite artist in the whole world exposed your relationship, and really this is your fault if you think about it, because you created the painting in the first place, and you should have known he would love it so much.

You’re silent until he finally pauses to take a breath. Then, your quiet laughter fills his ears. “I mean, I figured something like this would happen eventually, pabo.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No, love.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Hyunjin can finally breathe again. An idea springs to his mind. “We NEED to have the best official launch photos!! Can I paint us?”

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gotaksboyfie · 2 months ago

Note

can we get some boyfriend!baku hcs? 🥺🥺

baku boyfriend hc's

general

gif creds: @billornot

» always teasing/mocking you. all lighthearted jokes of course. still, he is relentless about it. if you mispronounce a word, he'll say it that way for the rest of the day (more like the rest of the year..) and god forbid you misspell something. you're never living anything down with him around

» you never have to bring jackets anywhere anymore. baku loves it when he notices you shivering, because then he gets to play the sweet and caring boyfriend who's giving you his jacket. sometimes he purposely lies about the weather just so you freeze your ass off and have to rely on him. ("baku. you told me it'd be 75/23.8 degrees out. so why the hell is my phone telling me it's 60/15.5?!")

» he is SO annoying </3 (in an endearing way). on top of the constant jokes, he is glued to your side anywhere and everywhere. if you guys are sitting down, he'll play with your hair and somehow accidentally yank out a chunk of it. if you guys are walking, you can never walk freely—not with baku clinging onto you

» yanks you wherever. it's a bad habit of his that's developed from juntae and gotak wandering around, and it's passed onto you. if you take even just 2 steps in the opposite direction, you're launched back right next to baku like a rubber band

» you can't leave his sight. like, ever. you have to be within his view so that he doesn't freak and panic-look for you everywhere. partially the reason why he yanks you everywhere (the other being because it's funny)

» this is so stupid but he would definitely have a stupid sex playlist.. remember cbat guy? yeah. i feel like he'd do something similar. he won't understand why you're mad, the beats help him get a good tempo!

» half (85%) of your dates are going out to eat. this man has an black hole for a stomach, so of course he needs to fuel up. he'll order 3x the amount of food you get, and still have room for dessert. the waiters would probably stop by confused and ask if there's a third person coming too LMAOO

» despite being a 99 iq king, he's extremely emotionally smart around you. if you look even the slightest upset, he'll ask you what's wrong/happened. he's attuned to all your little reactions, so nothing can slip by him

» (ignoring how eunjang is boys) he walks you to each class, even if he's always late and gets scolded. he'll have an arm wrapped around your waist, or fingers interlocked as you guys walk down the halls. honestly, it's just a way for him to show you off

» smacks your ass randomly. sometimes as a greeting, sometimes when you're off guard, or just as a wordless appreciation of it. unluckily for you, his hits hurt and leave a red mark

» despite his confident/outgoing personality, he gets so flustered and somewhat shy around you. before you guys get together and he's in the crushing stage, he turns silent whenever you're around and stutters on every word. even after you guys get together, his cheeks are permanently stained pink around you

» kinda like a human puppy. he lives for your compliments, and you can practically see his tail wagging every time you rub his head like the pic below 😭

fin

#weak hero #weak hero x reader #weak hero class 2 x reader #weak hero class 2 #weak hero class #weak hero class x reader #park humin #park hu min #park hu min x reader #park humin x reader #baku #baku x reader

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lilianalovespink · 4 months ago

Text

Your lungs burn.

Your skin does too.

Sweat soaked clothes cling to your skin, cotton made heavy by the sheer amount of it that you've let off in the last hour of training.

But most importantly, there's a lump in your throat that aches worse than any cough ever could've- feeling like that time you had tonsillitis as a child.

"'ny more wisdom or are you done, private?"

If you cry now, he'll be kind; understanding. He always is, but that's the problem.

"I'm done captain."

'Unable to follow orders without questions, unable to integrate into the team.'

Sincerely and with your entire heart, you wish only the worst upon John Price. You could follow orders, you could work with them- if they let you.

A discomfort of needle like nature pulls through your muscles at that thought, considering that you had in fact voiced it and that the consequence had been the training you usually do over the course of three hours having to get done within an hour, no breaks, no warmups.

The worst part, you thought as you stepped out of the showers, is that in his view, he didn't hate you but rather...think you incompetent; a cocky amateur with too much of their chest puffed out.

You, a little child, a toddler acting rebellious or throwing a tantrum, and him, the sensible adult, strict but 'caring'.

"Shh, I know. This is too much for you. I know."

Leave it to him to make comfort a painful act; one for you to be belittled during, made out to be just another stupid teen in over their head.

Yes, you were younger than your commander, your captain, but no younger than your lieutenant or seargant.

Just not at their rank.

Your transfer to the 141 was abrupt, but by no means unwelcome. You were the best in your recruitment class, you were capable but as price, at the time you thought jokingly, put it, you weren't 'broken in'.

And boy did he have every intention of breaking you.

Training was tough, but doable except-

"You were top of your class? Again."

"There's a reason you're still a private."

"If you can't manage, leave."

And then, whenever you snap at him, show teeth at the hand that constantly strikes you, he's a saint. He's really just putting you what everyone else is going through, why are you this upset? Clearly because you're immature.

If you can hold back your urge to bite bite bite- this man, if you try to ask him stuff it's really a coin flip of what version of Captain John Price you'll get.

"You can't handle it? That's okay. It's okay, hey- no crying. Come here...yeah, that's a good girl."

Or, in case you didn't crawl between his legs like a scared puppy-

"I'm only being hard on you because I thought you wanted to be better. Was I wrong about that? Or do you want to be something other than a private one day?"

The worst part is that, the team seems to see you as a puppy as well- with you literally getting that as a monicker.

Lt. Riley wasn't as cold and mysterious as you expected when you first saw the mask, but he certainly wasn't hellbent on letting you be his buddy, let alone his comrade. He never helped you out unless you asked, but, should you make that mistake, to ask for help, he'll nod and simply guide you aside like you're a sheep and he's your shepherd. Like teaching you wasn't literally his job.

Sgt. MacTavish as well as Sgt. Garrick had initially been warm and inviting, had made you feel like this was your team- until you noticed how they'd leave you out whenever they could. Sure, neither of them were rude but- they weren't proper teammates either.

And then, of course, Captain Price.

What should you say about this man? How horrible he is? Would that do what he's put you through any justice?

As if this alienation from the people you literally had to trust with your life wasn't bad enough, the way they seemed to pity you was worse. Like you were a small child who dropped your candy.

It hurt, badly.

So when Commander Philipp Graves joined for a mission in Los Alamos and was the only one who treated you like you were on one level?

Yeah, you took the bait.

#kyle gaz garrick #john price #johnny soap mactavish #cod #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #phillip graves #call of duty x reader #x reader #reader insert #fem reader

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talon-the-hawk · 3 months ago

Text

Yandere! Batfam x Neglected Streamer! Reader

previous next

Chapter 1: The family

You thought that the day your father (or rather, your father's butler) came to pick you up from the police station would be the one that turned your life around for the better. Bruce Wayne: the playboy billionaire, the man who had adopted several broken children throughout the course of his life. The man who had won the hearts of several, who had donated an incredible amount of funds towards helping orphans.

How foolish you were to assume he'd be the ideal father.

When Alfred came to pick you up from the station, you had quietly clung to his coat sleeve as he led you through the crowd of paparazzi who were eager to snap a photo of the bastard child of the famous socialite. Cameras flashed left and right, and you reached a hand up to your face in order to block out the bright lights. Reporters shoved microphones in your face, demanding answers on who your mother was and your relationship with your father. Alfred remained firm with them, acting as a solid wall between you and the strange people that seemed to box you in. He ushered you into the fancy car, making sure to lock the doors immediately after lest the paparazzi try to yank you out. You watched them from behind the tinted windows, a silent curiosity growing within you at how feral they seemed to be for answers.

Your father must be super important for them to act like this, no?

"Master Y/N, please make sure to fasten your seatbelt." Alfred advised as he got into the driver's seat, and you hastily moved to buckle yourself in. You tried your best not to make too much noise as he drove, not wanting to annoy the man in front of you.

Mama always hated it when you were too loud.

"Master Y/N? Are you alright?" Alfred spoke gently, worriedly glancing at you through the rearview mirror.

You gave a small nod, not sure if your voice could support you as you nervously played with your fingers. The car ride continued on in silence, the only noise being the quiet purr of the engine and the faint sound of music from the radio. You looked around the car (limo? Is that what they called the long cars? You remember your mom using the word once or twice when looking at the sleek black cars on the old TV.) in silent awe, noting the expensive leather seats and the small array of snacks in the many doors. You felt the urge to reach for one, to stifle the dull ache of hunger in your stomach, but resisted at the last moment. Your fingers twitched, the urges still in the back of your mind as the car came to a stop. You looked up, eyes going wide at the pure size of the estate in front of you.

"Welcome to Wayne Manor, Master Y/N. I'm sure your father will be eager to meet you."

Alfred couldn't have been more wrong.

As soon as you got into the manor, it was like you were a ghost. The eldest brother (who you later found out was named Dick) gave you a hello and showed you to your room, but immediately left to go do something else. You tried several times to connect with him over the years, however he always seemed to be busy doing something else. "Sorry, baby bird. I've got a date with Kori later, but I can hangout with you later!"

"Sorry, but I've got training! We can totally meet up tomorrow though!"

Eventually you gave up on waiting for "later" to arrive, and decided to leave him alone.

Through old photo albums and stories that Alfred shared you soon learned that you had another older brother, Jason. Apparently he had died shortly before you came to the house, and the reason your father was so withdrawn was because of his mourning. Alfred practically begged you to give your father some leeway; it wasn't that he didn't love you, but he was going through a dark time. That didn't matter to you, and you used to resent Jason for that...coming to the conclusion that his death was the reason for your father's negligence over the years. How were you meant to win your father's affection when he was too busy mourning for the child he already loved?

The resentment only seemed to fester when the newest brother, Tim, was introduced to the family. The excuse of Jason's death covering for your father's absence was no longer valid when Tim was given his full attention 24/7. You watched as the older boy was able to bring your father out of his shell, the two of them bonding quickly with every case they managed to solve. What was it about Tim that made him matter more to your father? He wasn't even related to Bruce. Why was it that your father could hardly spare you a glance, but could spend hours on end holed up in the Batcave with Tim?

Was it you? Was it because of who your mama was? Why would no one tell you how she and your father met? And why would no one tell you what happened to her?

And then he showed up. The ultimate slap in the face: your blood brother, Damian. He was everything you couldn't be. He was a fighter, he was strong, and he was loved. You assumed that once he moved in, you would finally have someone you could bond with. Another blood child of Bruce, someone you could relate to on the struggles of having Bruce Wayne as a dad. You can still remember the first day he came to the mansion. You offered a warm smile, giving a happy greeting and trying to show the small boy around the house. What you weren't expecting were the harsh insults swiftly followed by physical violence. Shouts of "bastard" and "unworthy" followed you to the ground as Damian pulled a blade on you and began slashing. It took Alfred 5 minutes to rip the child off of you, and by that time you had several shallow cuts and a tremble in your limbs. Alfred apologized after he sent Damian off to his room, telling you that "Damian had been through a lot" and "To give him time to warm up to you".

He never did.

As the years carried on things only seemed to get worse. Damian's bullying continued on throughout the years and only increased with time. Dick was busy with his duties as Nightwing, and focused all his time at the manor on Tim and Damian. Tim, the quietest brother, never engaged with you openly. You tried to gain a sense of kinship with him by offering potential help on cases, but every time you went to speak with him he simply gave you a tired look and told you now wasn't a good time. Your father, if you could even call him that, barely even spared you a glance. The conversations you had, which were few and far between, were all shallow. Simple "how's school going" or "Lovely weather outside", all topics which were much too dry for that of a true family. Time passed by, and the idea of your life being changed for the better slowly faded into the background. The hope of having a family was crushed, and you recognized that you simply exchanged one neglectful parent for another.

When you hit 17, you knew something had to change. If you couldn't find a family within your home, you would reach outwards. Being a child of Bruce Wayne came with its perks; The endless cash you were gifted with helped pay for a brand new PC setup along with premium mic and software equipment. Your career started off small, streaming on twitch to no viewers just for the sake of it. But as clips of your streams began to go viral, and the viewers came rolling in, it didn't take long for your audience to grow. You kept yourself faceless, mainly streaming games or wearing masks on the occasional in-person stream. It was best that no one knew who you were, who your father was. You wanted this channel to grow because of your talent and hard work, not because of the last name you were forced to adopt.

By the time you were 18, you had earned enough off of merch sales and sponsorships to purchase a shitty little apartment in a forgotten corner of Gotham that your family didn't know about. You called one of your school friends to help move all of your stuff out, managing the task without alerting any of your siblings or father. The only person you told about your moving was Alfred, with the butler wishing you the best and promising to keep in touch. You gave him a hug before you left, telling him to take care as you got into your friend's pickup truck.

As you drove to your new home, you looked down at your phone. You knew what you needed to do. One by one, you blocked each of their numbers. You moved on with your life, and you weren't truly free from your past unless you took steps to keep that door closed.

This was it. This was your new life, providing entertainment and gaining a sense of community you never had with your 'family'. You were through with the Waynes, through with Batman and his never ending line of sidekicks.

At least, you thought you were.

First chapter done! I promise I'll have more actual dialogue in future chapters, but I'm tryna get the past context outta the way relatively quickly so y'all can enjoy the main part of the story :)

Taglist: @vanessa-boo @jjsmeowthie @cxcilla @itsberrydreemurstuff @trashlanternfish360 @starsswaggy @legolas-the-homeschooled-elf @nickithearticorn @hallahella @lettucel0ver @kittzu @cssammyyarts @ryuushou @welpthisisboring @neverdead2 @mallowryblog @lingxio @the-dumber-scaramouche @oxionsworld @raini-sanchez @jellyedkazoo @alishii @bellethesleepypotato

#yandere batfam x neglected reader #yandere batfam x reader #batfam x neglected reader #batfam x reader #batfam #batfamily #no beta we die like men

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meatgrinder-0 · 4 months ago

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something that ive found myself thinking about a lot recently is the loss of autonomy that you have over your identity and what makes you "human" when you die.

(as has been said before by multiple different people) technically ford does not die when he goes through the portal, but as many have said at this point--in a metaphysical way when he goes through the portal he is dead in the eyes of his dimension, so i find in the narrative he experiences a similar loss of his humanity and in the same way that might've occurred with his death, his memory for any that have access to any form of it constructs him into an idea rather than a person.

and really anything can be said and done with him by the people who are still "alive" when this occurs. since he is in all aspects dead people can use him to justify their actions, as a figure in their concepts, and imagine him up to be whoever they want him to be for as long as he remains dead. the audience of course also partook in these same things prior to his reveal by theorizing about what type of person he was or how he might fit into the narrative as a person but to be more specific to examples of this idea in the show is how stan and dipper see ford as an idea.

due to being absent ford had no possible way to influence what stan thought he would want him to do about the portal outside of his existing warnings in his journals so stan is able to twist ford into a justification to work towards opening the portal, and during the length of his work on it according to alex's statements about stan "expecting ford to be weak and in need of help when he came out of the portal" (i feel the likely useless need to say whatever a creator says about their work is always only as canon as one wants it to be but this is worth mentioning here and i think it makes sense contextually within the text) the ford who comes back is so jarring because in his "death" he's become an ideal of what stan wants to see in him to play into his hero fantasy and hopes of earning back his appreciation

and of course as i think about a normal amount of times per day--the duration of the show presents the author as a figure that is wrapped up in a concept of ford while presenting him in a much more mythical format--another one of gravity falls' mysteries. pretty much every main character that isnt stan views him in this mystical light throughout the show with dipper being the prime example and uses the idea of "the author" as a driving force to pursue the questions that the town begs them to ask. there is something to be said about how creators of the show refer to journal 3 as "its own character" in a way that clearly separates it from it's author. even outside of the universe of the show itself, even in the show's own writing team ford--somehow despite being already being only a concept by virtue of being fictional--is stripped of humanity and becomes an even further abstracted concept.

but even to the ford who is alive the self who had gone through the portal is also a concept. i know this idea isnt explored much in canon if at all but bear with me here while i make shit up for fun--in a way, we ourselves the way we are now are dying near constantly. when we wake up each morning we of course have access to the same memories and the same body and the same experiences as the self we were before we fell asleep, but if we were to get existential, how can we be sure that we are the same consciousness that we were before?

even if this is a bit too absurd of a concept to be applying to a messy braindump "analysis" of a fictional character theres something about how extreme change in a person (often from trauma as ford has experienced for Obvious reasons) or even just the passage of time leaves the former self as nothing more but a memory to even the body that it once inhabited.

as i said theres not much to connect this to in the canon of the text, but i do believe that ford does see his past self who wrote the journals as an idea just as much as anyone else in his life did.

#n e ways........#hoping at least a bit of this makes sense idk how to communicate these ideas well into words. oh well!#ive thought a lot ab this though in general and in the context of ford. its scary to think people can use you as a justification when ur #not around and death is such an extreme form of that. i wonder if that scares my friend ford!#txt post

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sugarcherryrobbing · 2 months ago

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Hello! Could I request yandere Chance (forsaken) headcanons?

Yandere!Chance General Headcanons

❂ Warning(s): Yandere, Obsessive & Unhealthy Behavior

❂ Type of Writing: Headcanons

❂ Fandom: Forsaken

❂ Word Count: 852

A/N: Never stop gambling, never stop gambling… I know their lore is being remade as of right now (?), so I will try my best to write and maybe rewrite in the future? I’ll make another post perhaps. Apologies, been having troubles writing often. This is very disorganized 😭.

❂ When they first laid eyes on you, or if you ever met them in their dangerous adventures in childhood or the Forsaken Realm, Chance was smitten with a golden arrow, with a little spade on top.

❂ They always believed in Lady Luck; they couldn’t believe that she allowed them to meet you! Mayhaps a more ‘hidden feelings’ kind of yandere unless with their person of admiration.

❂ With others, it’s all chummy and good-spirited. When they are in some space of being alone with you, they melt into their feelings. If you two aren’t in a relationship yet, it takes all amounts of energy to not squeal and be overly admiring of you.

❂ Hell, even if you met them at their parent’s casino, through ITrapped, or within the Forsaken Realm, it seems like they struck gold. They’d follow you to the ends of the earth.

❂ Clingy to the extent? They can play it off as watching you play slots or fixing the generators. Saying they are watching if you are doing it right, jokingly, of course. That or the excuse of wanting to learn from you (generators).

❂ Lazily, drapes an arm around you. Around your neck, shoulders? Body? They like to hold you warmly. Hinting to others that you are with Chance.

❂ While so, they are happily affectionate and friendly with you. At times they forget they are a jokester, what can we say? They hold you in such high regard that forgetting their own words is common.

❂ Always by your side, as your personal purse, or as protection from the abnormal monsters that hunt you down. Hovering around you casually, fueling their heart with just the proximity.

❂ They can always be a sentinel for all of the survivors, with you always on their mind. Wishing to team with you always. Hogging any items they can get to give to you. Running towards you if there is any distress or just if they are bored.

❂ It’s clear that they seek your attention and time, but the intent is always hidden under. They never planned to kill the survivors, but if their admired person focuses their attention on them… Maybe if the survivor/killer pisses them off or tries to have your hand, they may expect an ‘accidental’ shot?

❂ Before the both of you (if it happens) arrive in the Forsaken Realm, they could spoil you dozens of times with no limitations. It’s an act of love for Chance. They always wanted to impress you with their skills more though.

❂ After falling and awakening in the dark world (let’s say before you), they could lay there for hours, dealing with the thrust of air that ITrapped missed with the swing of the Darkheart. Feeling their body for any wounds, slashes, stabs. A numbness of what almost happened (trying to feel if the reason for being here is death, or worse). They can still move, there was no bleeding, still able to see, small, labored breaths showed that they were alive.

❂ Panic and realization. ITrapped was gone, they were trying to kill them. Where were they? What was everything around them?

❂ Sure, they kept their persona of the calm, smirking risk-taker to the rest of the survivors, almost nearly fooling all, once they get to their cabin, they falter when they take their glasses off.

❂ They felt broken, the string of his mind was not yet snapped.

❂ If you guys knew each other before entering the realm, Chance would weep quietly in their cabin. Grasping at the pillows and fabric pilling of cotton to remind himself of your clothing. Makeshifting memories or even scenarios themself to soothe their mind. Waiting. Endlessly.

❂ When you arrive, to this dark hell, to this ruinous realm, it was hard to believe that. Guest 1337 found you first, taking you in the main cabin to settle.

❂ News reaching to the other cabins. Their cabin. Chance was one of the first to approach. Cool-toned, always there for you, trying to answer better than the other survivors your questions, like its competition. If you two knew each other beforehand, it allows Chance more of the medal to show you about and to be with you more intimately.

❂ As time passed, hanging by you, they cling more heavily. He never wishes to see you perish during rounds, hell, willing to shield you from anything that tries to fly against the both of you.

❂ Jealousy weakens his ego at times if you’re with others, (tries to, maybe) openly flirts or place his body weight on you as a joke to hold them up. Anything for your time, anything if it means they have your attention.

❂ Dreams for them to shoot their shot with you. Let’s hope Lady Luck is on their side! … Or not..?

❂ If you denied them… it’s all on a coin flip on what Chance’s reaction would be.

❂ If it’s heads, it may end up in tears and begging you.

❂ If it’s tails… Well, let’s hope it's not.

#✥ hearty headcanons #✥ obsessive / yandere #yandere #yandere chance x reader #yandere forsaken #forsaken x reader #chance x reader #forsaken

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oncillabrigade · 1 year ago

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Consider:

The Bats all have personalized ring tones for one another, but everyone has both a civilian and a Bat ring tone. The civilian ones are chaos, with everyone choosing whatever they want for their various family members and friends. BUT! Everyone has a single Bat tone that all other team members use for them.

The catch? Bruce forbid them from choosing their own Bat ring tones because he proposed this plan back in Dick's Robin days and he IMMEDIATELY picked "Toxic." The choice was not well received.

Bruce: Dick, I will not be alerted to the fact that you're in danger by some Britney Spears song.

Dick: First of all, it is not some Britney song, it is the Britney song. That song finally won her a Grammy.

Bruce: *sighs*

Dick: Second of all, it won't tell you when I'm in danger... it'll tell you when Robin is.

Bruce:

Bruce: I'm taking the Walkman out of the Robin kit.

Dick: *offended gasp*

(Yes, Dick is old enough for a Walkman. No, you will not change my mind. Yes, the Tim-and-on siblings all find that hilarious. Yes, Jason has to be VERY careful not to mention that he borrowed that Walkman for years because he was uncomfortable taking expensive electronics out and about with him.)

Anyway!

Dick then proposes a slew of other songs for the whole team to use, all of which are pop culture references, e.g. the Scrubs theme because they're not Superman and also they're a dysfunctional family of coworkers; the theme from the Godfather because "let's be honest, B, we are basically our own mafia"; "Where is My Mind" by the Pixies because lol identity shenanigans, etc. The list is endless. Bruce spends weeks groaning every time his son texts him.

Eventually, they compromise on the version of "The Entertainer" from The Sting because they're hiding in plain sight to enact a mission defending good people in a hard world. Bruce, Dick, and Alfred are all so pleased with this that they each take a different section of the song as their ring tone.

Then Barbara becomes Batgirl, so she gets a section... and then Jason becomes Robin and gets one, too... and then Tim, then Steph, and then Cass is taken in, and... uh oh. That's a lot of people for one song.

But it's family tradition! They can't stop now. That would be so unfair to the new kids, B!

So they start using alternate arrangements of the song. Bruce has mellowed slightly on the "no choosing your own" thing. As long as it's a version of "The Entertainer" (within reason) he'll allow it.

Tim retroactively changes his ring tone to a weird groove-ska arrangement Bart randomly sent him on YouTube because have you met Tim Drake? Of course he went for hilarious obscurity. (Bruce grits his teeth and approves it after lots of prompting from Dick and Alfred). Steph makes it her mission to find a weirder one (Bruce agrees because he's too tired to deal with accusations of favoritism).

Cass creates her own arrangement on theremin because apparently she knows how to play the theremin. No one is sure why. Upon inquiry, she just says, "spooky noises are fun," but does not elaborate further even when she's asked to do so. A Batgirl's gotta have her secrets—Babs taught her that.

When Jason starts working with his family again, he pays an aspiring music producer within Red Hood's ranks to create a minor key remix of the original Robin II ring tone. His siblings (minus Cass) are VERY jealous he has his own personalized arrangement. Dick, Tim, and Steph end up paying this goon who owns Garage Band to do ones for them, too. Duke does the same when he joins the team.

Meanwhile, in a fit of little brotherly pique, Damian steals Tim's original ring tone. He hopes to rub salt in the Robin replacement wounds. He fails! Tim finds it beyond funny that Damian's ring tone is groove-ska. So Damian quietly pays the amateur producer to make him one that's cooler than Tim's. He pays a ludicrous amount, though, because Steph paid for one cooler than Jason's and Tim paid for one cooler than Steph's.

(Dick wanted one cooler than Jason's too, but he had $63.02 in his bank account at the time and Bruce flat out refused to use the Batbudget on "a super cool ring tone that's better than Jay's." Eventually, Dick just paid himself for an averagely cool one. In installments.)

At this point, the Bats have single-handedly given this fledgling producer enough money to quit being a goon and start an indie music studio. His first customers are mostly superheroes from out of town who like what the Bats have going on and want their own team ring tones. Harley and Ivy get in on that action, too.

Then, as word spreads, every local crook/henchperson with a side band (there are many) flocks to the studio to have their stuff produced by one of their own. Gotham rogues suddenly have an unemployment problem, while the city finds itself with a flourishing indie music scene that puts Metropolis' to shame. The entire state of New Jersey is celebrating the dual victory.

Dick has never been so glad someone doesn't like Britney Spears' magnum opus.

#batfam #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #stephanie brown #duke thomas #cassandra cain #barbara gordon #harley quinn #poison ivy #the bats are all secret goofs and I love them #actually some of them are openly goofs #cough dick grayson cough #he's living his best life #jacey writes

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