#Because of their similarity in sound to some words

[angelfishe]

𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 ( 𝐇𝐒𝐑 )

>> hsr men x reader

Character : Dr ratio, Gallagher, Sunday, aventurine, argenti, blade, Dan heng, Mr reca, Jing yuan, gepard, luocha, welt and boothill.

May contain NSFW content

⚠️ Minors do not interact please ⚠️

Edit 1 : due to some grammar error I make, I change some of the words for my mistake

Dr ratio switch in my heart, there's always two outcomes when it comes into smashing, one of you guys are gonna lose and drain while the other one basks in light and happiness, and after smashing he will return back into his studies or he will teach you about his new theories while you just lay their exhausted. Or the other outcome where you win, his face would be covered in red and you would occasionally tease him while he muffled a shut up with his exhausted voice.

Gallagher immediately made your favorite drink for you after the deed was done, and sometimes when the bar is empty and no one would be seen. You and him would sneak into the back to have your break time together. He would compliment how amazing you were and how he wants to do it again but both of you have shifts in the bar so you guys have to continue it later on.

Sunday would be a blushing mess, even before him joining the astral express he would have some knowledge about intercourse but have never experienced it, but when you came along you have open his eyes into a new world of pleasure, during a session you would occasionally kiss the piercing on his wings and that would cause him to blush and cover his with his wings. And right now he's very much wishes to learn more about this new world.

Aventurine, very much love to tease you. He would put unnecessary bets so you and him would do it, every time he wins a game he would say you are his grand price after a big game. He would be smirking the entire time after finishing. Originally I like the idea of him actually being nervous of initiating intimacy due to his past but you made him feel secure and complete he completely learned how to open up. And when you kiss his mark he would immediately ingulp you in a big hug seeking your comfort.

Argenti, would praise you non stop about how beautiful you were and everything about you. He would start to worship you similar to how he worships idrila one time during a climax, he thought he saw the light and fully convinced you were the reincarnation of idrila. The bed would be covered with rose petals and both of you are lying there, he with a satisfied smile while you with a tired look .

Blade, he pretty much doesn't know how to initiate aftercare with you but he tried his best. He would wipe you with a warm cloth around your body making sure you're comfortable in any position although cannot say the same thing about your body after being twisted and moved into different positions during the entire duration of the time. He would also bring your favorite food. Pretty much sure he can go for more than another round but doesn't want to exhaust you. Even worse when his mara struck is awake you won't be walking anytime soon.

Dan heng, would brew tea for both of you making sure you are comfortable. Making sure your comfortable and warm by using the pillows of the astral express and when he's in heat you and him would stay in his room for a week with food being delivered into your rooms the best part of the archives that it sound proof making sure no one knows your business and during intimacy he would let his vividyahara self out because his comfortable with you in his true form.

Mr reca would praise you about your performance and immediately start clapping after the deed was done. Would make love scenes inspired by you guys or record to watch over and over again. He said it's a masterpiece on how both of you guys move in sync as well how angelic your voice is. Would write about a Script describing how perfect you were during intimacy. As well as talking about his new movie ideas with you during finishing or aftercare.

Jing yuan, would immediately fall asleep and give you a death grip hug. His hair is disheveled and sleep with a satisfied look as if he just finish having the best time in his and when you wake up he would be admiring you as if he had been admiring you for hours and if there's ever work the day after, he would arrive a little late due not wanting to leave you or would go to work not without leaving a note and a goodbye kiss on your fore head there's food and tea ready for you to wake up. He's very clingy post intimacy.

Gepard, a blushing mess, even tho his the captain of the silver man guards he is a total puppy in the sheets very much and you treat him with so much love and caress his body with so much love he would explode any second if not, would be very red in the face and shy. He so cute, he would not initiate intimacy in public but you would usually visit him to drop his lunch and it will always end up him a blushing mess and tired.

Luocha, a Disney princess, his hair spread along the sheets with his hand over his head and breathing heavily. Even in this state he would still be very beautiful like a flower, would initiate after care by healing your bruises if he ever went overboard. Would bring you hot water for your throat after being exhausted and stretched. Would leave kisses around your body.

Welt, this old man. Very clingy after intimacy would hug you 24/7 as well sometimes being awkward sense he doesn't know how to react. He would be very disheveled after intimacy and would initiate cuddling. He doesn't want to let you go after you guys came together this is perfect for him. A perfect scenario and perfect dream.

Boothill, right back at ya partner, you guys know the song saves a horse ride a cow boy well that's him. Every time if he wants Intimacy he would put his cowboy hat on your head and that's to give you the idea of what he wants. You are his reward and sun for him. After intimacy his hard drive would be overstimulated and you would be wearing his cowboy hat.

[millersfinest]

untethered | e.w

00s!ellie williams & 00s!miller!reader

wc: 7.4k

series: chapter one (you’re here!)

blurb: it’s been awhile since you’ve been back home; in upstate new york where you’ve spent most of your life waking up early and tending to the animals that moo’d and meh’d. after graduation high school, and then college, the city life has stolen most of your attention. enabling you to visit only a handful of times through the years. when your lovely adoptive parents (tommy and maria miller) invite you back for a thanksgiving dinner—a troubled old flame from your childhood manages to get your attention, despite its explosive ending.

cw: lmao flip phones, some vulgar language, ellie cheating on her gf (kind of), the millers, r is a writer, elements of longing, ellie is #1 lesbian yearner in the world, some early 2000s references, thanksgiving, some physical violence, adopted kid trauma (shoutout to all the adopted kids!!), hella angst, repressed emotions, a little bit of mature content, eventual smut.

note: i have too much confidence writing for ellie. but here’s another series im starting because i realized the plot is too much for a single work on here, hence the 7 thousand words ijbol. hope you guys enjoyyy.

It was quieter upstate. Breathable and airy—you missed it more than anything. As much as you loved living in Manhattan, there was nothing like the countryside. Waking up to the sound of birds chirping and roosters crowing. Hearing the excited neighing from the horses you birthed and took care of. It was refreshing to be home again.

And, of course, you missed your parents.

They adopted you as a troubled child, and you’ve considered yourself lucky ever since. Babies and younger children were often the ones to be pulled from inconsistent foster homes, but they chose you. A pierced, attitude-ridden, thirteen-year-old who liked smoking cigarettes because they made you look cooler than you felt. And it helped you cope with the lasting effects of neglectful parents.

That trauma didn’t just disappear once Tommy and Maria entered your life. It was something that grew from nothing, and they were adamant in making your transition as comfortable as possible. You never experienced anything like it before them. Their strictness and structure did the opposite of what most would think. You went from sneaking out and smoking cigarettes to staying up late studying and finishing your favorite novels—still smoking cigarettes, though, but out your window. It was hard habit to break.

Once you realized that they could be trusted and had your best interest at heart, you gave them the right to parent you. Sure, it wasn’t easy. The three of you argued many, many times—but you respected them more than you have anyone else. Really, just for tolerating you.

The Miller’s were always very family oriented and social. Sunday nights always managed to be a grand event—Tommy grilling in the acred backyard, Maria handling the food items that could be cooked inside, and you diligently decorating and setting the table. Football Sundays were always the worst, but they were great memories to think about. That was the first time you met, basically, the love of your life at the time. Ellie Williams.

It was 1995 when you had completely fallen in love with her—only knowing her for around three years. Joel Miller wasn’t really her father, or adoptive father, he was just somebody who took care of her. He owned a guitar shop that sold, obviously, guitars and other instruments alike; as well as holding lessons for those wanted to learn how to play.

The story goes: Joel was working the register on a very slow day when Ellie showed up. There was a shiner on her eye, but she insisted that she was fine—asking for lessons with crumbled cash and dirty coins. She couldn’t afford the lessons on her own, so he gave her a job and proceeded with teaching her how to play.

She grew up similar to you; hidden under the confines of foster care. The only difference was, she was never adopted. At least not until the age of seventeen, when she’d spent so much time with Joel that she had a decorated bedroom in his house. They both had commitment issues, but after Tommy convinced him to do the paperwork… He did. Surprising her on her seventeenth birthday. However, the outcome didn’t really go to plan. Not how anyone would have expected it.

It was 1997 when she completely broke your heart… Not to be cheesy or anything.

Her seventeenth birthday was hosted at your house, on the farm. You knew her the most out of everyone, so you made it your mission to make this the best birthday ever. Decorating had become a hobby of yours after so many Sunday dinners—you spent all day stringing up lights and colorful streamers. Maria helping you out with a homemade cake that said: Happy Birthday Els! You were too anxious to write the words yourself, so you let her do it instead. You were even sure to invite the friends you shared; demanding they each brought presents to show how much they cared about her.

Joel had showed up before she did; just in time so they could all hide and jump out with big smiles on your faces when Ellie arrived. You would always remember the feeling of hearing the rumbling of her truck coming to a stop. And the shy smile on her face when everyone jumped out from behind furniture—blowing birthday kazoo’s. It was picturesque!

Dina had trotted over to her, snapping a blue paper cone birthday hat over her head. While you walked over with her birthday cake in your hands, brightened with seventeen candles. “Happy seventeenth, Ellie.” You had spoken, warmly. A bashful grin spreading onto your lips. She looked at you with such awe in that moment. Blowing out her candles and kissing your cheek, muttering a blushing ‘I fuckin’ love you’.

You knew about her surprise adoption papers before the party had started, excitement running through your veins when Joel meandered toward her—handing her an envelope of hope. Ellie took it, eyeing him, skeptically. “Open it!” You urged—that was your mistake.

Chortling, she broke open the envelope, not caring if it tore. When she pulled out the certificate, reading the words on the page, her entire face dropped. “Adoption papers?” Her eyes squinted in disgust, glaring at Joel. The smile fell from your face, lips parting in slight shock. Her olive eyes glanced around the room, seeing the fallen expressions clouding everyone’s features. Landing on your fallen face, briefly—a look exclaiming, ‘how could you’. Freckled cheeks heating up in embarrassment and… Anger. “Joel, what the fuck?” She blinked at him, shoving the papers into his chest, then storming out of the house. Hands ripping the hat from the top of head, throwing it to the ground. The screen door creaking obnoxiously as she exited. It all happened so fast.

He quickly followed her out, calling for her, desperately.

Awkwardly, you turned to the frozen people around you. “Anybody want cake? It’s german c— chocolate.” You stammered, trying to keep your composure. Looking to Maria and Tommy for some sort of consolation, you frowned, placing the cake on the counter before fleeing to the bathroom.

You clenched at the roots of your hair, pacing around the bathroom. You could hear remnants of a solo screaming match from outside the bathroom window, causing you to grit your teeth. The papers were supposed to be a good thing! Ellie had always been a hothead—easily agitated like a stray kitten is distress. There were even moments where the two of you went at it. Until one of you caved, begging for affection as an apology. Your nerves burned at the idea of her not liking the surprise—was that selfish?

Instead of remaining in the bathroom, you swung open the door with your eyes fixed on the front door. Hands clenched at your sides, you walked through the kitchen, where Tommy tried to liven up the mood by handing out pieces of cake.

He tried calling your name, but you brushed him off, pushing open the screen door with an attitude that could be felt with every step you took. The brisk autumn air hit your exposed skin, the long-sleeve striped shirt not doing much to keep you warm.

Striding around the side of the house, you seen Joel and Ellie having a stern conversation. But by the time your eyes landed on them, they were in a beat of silence. Joel shaking his head with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Ellie had her arms stubbornly crossed, frowning. When her eyes found yours, he turned around to leave. “She’s all yours…” He solemnly sighed, walking back into the house. The adoption papers crumbled up in his hands.

Biting your bottom lip, you approached her with your arms crossed for warmth. “What happened, Ellie?” Your voice dragged, tiredly. There was something always wrong with her. “We just wanted to do something nice for you… Why’d you have to go and ruin it—?”

“Oh, I’m the one who ruined it?” She scoffed, a sneer resting on her lips. “I’m not the one who brought the fucking adoption papers!” Ellie exclaimed, gesturing broadly with her hands. When she was up in arms, she always gesticulated more. “Did you have anything to do with this? Because if you did—“

You interrupted her with scrutinizing glare. “So, what if I did? I thought this would make you happy, Ellie… Don’t you understand?”

“You had me open that in front of everyone knowing what was inside— and you thought that’d make me happy?” Her lips arched in disgust. “Clearly, you don’t know me at all.” Her words were venomous, lips twitching in anger.

There was nobody who understood you more than Ellie, and vice versa. You just got each other because you came from similar backgrounds—that was your glue. You don’t know me at all. That was new.

With your eyes growing warm with tears, your tongue rolled in your mouth. “I spent all day setting this up… For you. Because I love you, Ellie. I don’t know you— that’s bullshit if I ever heard it.” Your voice cracked, but you refused to let a tear run down your cheek. This was no time for tears—if she could get angry, so could you.

“I’ve known you long enough to have some semblance of understanding on why you’re upset, right now— that’s for damn sure.” You paused, averting your eyes to concentrate on keeping your rising emotions at bay. She watched you, cheeks still red with anger. “I’m gonna give you ten minutes— ten, Ellie! If you don’t get your ass back in there in next ten fucking minutes…” You lick your lips, shaking your head. “We’re over. Done!”

Giving a final glare, you turned to head back inside. “I can’t keep dealing with this shit.” You mutter, under your breath.

“So that’s what it is… Dealing with me?” Ellie voiced, a sliver of disappointment slipping in her moment of anger.

Wiping your cheeks, you peered over your shoulder. “What?”

“You got this perfect little life… Huh?” She began, approaching you intimidatingly. “The loving parents, the farmhouse— you became the perfect daughter for them… Gets the grades, does everything she can to appease them. This fuckin’ fantasy world that you chose to live in all because you wanted someone to love you… Fuckin’ pathetic.”

“Ellie…” You warned.

“Well, newsflash, little-miss-perfect— not everybody wants that! Not everybody wants to play pretend for the rest of their fucking life just to be—“

It happened before you could stop it, fists clenching at your sides as she bad mouthed you till oblivion. Your soft spot—and she knew all about that. Both of you grew up as kids who got into fights and disputes more times than anyone could count; you just decided to clean up your act. However, that troubled twelve to thirteen-year-old still resided inside of you. And, in that moment, she wasn’t your doting girlfriend—she was someone punching down on you.

Your knuckles collided with the side of her face, knocking into her cheek bone. Features scowling as if she were a stranger. Ellie stumbled, holding onto her face with surprised eyes. For a second the version of her you loved came through, but she quickly recovered. Her lips curling at the ends, taunting you. “I knew you still had it in you… You’re no better than me.”

There it was.

Not only was it the straw that broke the camels back—it was the truth. The ultimate truth. Behind all of your petty little arguments. Behind all her wild bursts of anger. She was jealous of you. Grunting behind your teeth, you charged at her. Taking the collar of her jacket as her back hit the gravelly ground. Straddling her, you didn’t hear the rushing feet hitting the porch. You could feel her hands settling loosely on your calves, only angering you more. “I did the fucking work— nobody else but me!” Tears poured down your cheeks. “I am better than you. Because I fucking try—“

Arms pulled you off her body, wrapping around your abdomen. It was Tommy, questioning you in your ear, but you weren’t listening. “Everything went to shit because of you! Remember that!” Dina and Jesse rushed to her side, but she only sat up watching you get pulled back inside. They glared at your forced retreat—they were always more friends with her than they were with you.

Tommy released you, with a disappointed sigh. Maria walking inside, shutting the door behind her, frowning. You heaved, looking at all the decorations that mocked you. Sparkling and shining against the dim lights in the room. The barely eaten cake sat on the counter in the kitchen making fun of you—it was all too much.

“What the hell has gotten into you, y/n?!” Maria pointedly, asked. Not really wanting a response.

“What’s gotten into me?! What’s gotten into her—!” You pointed to the door as if she replaced it.

The blond man leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter, bending at his hips. “Well, I don’t think it matters what’s gotten into her if you put your hands on her, Bug.” Tommy spoke, evenly. He was always the calmer of the two. “Did you… Did you put your hands on her?”

Maria stood with her hands on her hips. “What did we say about fighting—? And you don’t hit your girlfriend— you don’t hit the people that you care about!” She scolded, pointing her finger. “We raised you better than that…”

Your lips quivered, guilt setting in. “I didn’t mean to hit her! She wanted— she wanted me to… I swear!”

He glanced at his wife. “She wanted you to hit her?” Tommy deadpanned, pressing his lips into a line.

They both looked at you with separate expressions. Maria clearly overwhelmed with disappointment and utter disbelief. The same look she gave you when she caught you smoking cigarettes at the barn when you were fourteen—when you told her you quit. Tommy had an expression of pity, like he often did. That same look he gave when you had a meltdown at school when you first moved in with them.

More tears began to roll down your cheeks. “Maria… Tommy… She pushed me. Why would she do that? Why would she—“ You began to ramble, knees growing weak. Your strict mother-figure rushed to your side, catching you before you fell. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to— she was just being so mean.”

Sinking to the floor with you, her hands caressed your hair. Maria looked to Tommy, mouthing for him to go check on Ellie.

Outside, Ellie was dismissing the weary questions from her friends. She’d never seen you act in such an unruly way. Every time she came over, there wasn’t a hair that was out of place on your head. She was always the one acting out, swearing like a sailor. Sure, she knew about your smoking habit, but that was nothing.

Your girlfriend was envious of how everything was panning out for you—college was around the corner. You had an acceptance letter from your dream school, and without a doubt, you were leaving for the city. Leaving her behind to rot in the country. It wasn’t fair!

That adoption letter felt like pity. She wasn’t a fan of that feeling either.

As a bruise formed on her cheek, guilt settled into the pit of her stomach. Ellie had every intention on seeing the side of you that everyone talked about with a past tense that indicated warning. She needed to prove to herself that you weren’t the perfect person she saw you to be—but all that was left behind was remorse and a sore cheek.

She watched as Joel and Tommy stepped aside to talk. Their eyes glancing back and forth between the door and Ellie, as she leaned against her rusted red truck.

“I can’t believe she would do something like that… On your birthday?” Dina shook her head, with her arms crossed.

“It’s not like her…” Jesse narrowed his eyes at the auburn-haired girl. “What’d you do?”

Dina smacked his chest. “Jessie! She’s literally the victim here— domestic abuse!”

He sucked his teeth, rolling his eyes. “I’m not saying what she did was right.” Jessie began. “I’m saying that I know Ellie Williams, and I know how she is— she’s a pusher.”

The bruised seventeen-year-old scoffed.

“Yeah, I said it.” He stood tall, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You’re a pusher. Hell, you’re a professional pusher— you push people for a fucking living.” Dina glared at him, threatening to hit him again. “I mean, there was that one time… When we went into the city for that comic convention, and you completely obliterated Joel for worrying about you—“

The dark-haired, freckled teenager pushed her boyfriend out of the way taking his place. “We don’t have to relive that…”

Ellie rolled her tongue in her mouth. “Look, I know this is my fault…”

“Ellie… You’re the one with the bruise forming on your face.” She reached up, rubbing her cheek. Her wincing under her touch.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, squeezing her red eyes. “Yeah, and if it weren’t for me— for what I said… I wouldn’t have this fuckin’ bruise.” Ellie peered at where Joel and Tommy were speaking. They were wrapping up, giving brotherly hugs. “I am a pusher… And now my girlfriend hates me.” She pouted, tears welling up in her eyes. The blond Miller waved a hand at her, giving a tight-lipped smile that screamed I’m sorry. “I gotta go…” She pulled her keys from her pocket, getting into her truck.

That was the last full conversation the two of you had. Horrible, but the last. Everything in between then and the present was short and empty. Light conversations that only strangers and acquaintances shared. Letters here and there. It was a dispute that was so nuanced, for the first year after that, Joel barely said a word to you. Which bled into his relationship with Tommy. Maria tried to play middleman, but it didn’t work.

Perhaps, that was the reason you kept your distance. You didn’t want to continue to be the wedge that formed between two brothers. While you loved your parents, they were only a phone-call away. And, in the meantime, you could focus on growing in your career. Focusing on your book writing, instead.

You just wanted to forget about what happened when you were an emotionally undeveloped seventeen-year-old, but every time you seen her face—you remembered. So, avoiding Ellie Williams was a mission within itself.

A mission you were hoping you weren’t going to have to endure this year.

“You know,” Tommy began, sipping his fresh coffee. “Joel’s coming down from Jersey for the week.”

As you looked through the fridge, you snapped your head in his direction. “Is he now…?” You slowly question. Letting the fridge door shut on its own. The blonde woman to his right, sitting at the island counter, chuckled. Flipping through the interior design magazine you brought for her.

“And he’s picking up Ellie from the city.”

“What!” You exclaim, rushing to the opposite side of the counter. Pulling the mug from his lips, a surprised squeak left your throat. “Uh, dad… You forgot to mention on the several phone calls that we had in that last month that Ellie moved to the city.”

Maria perked up, pushing a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, she’s been there for about a year now… Brooklyn, is it?” She looked to her husband for clarification. He nodded, peering up at you with a plain expression.

“A year?! And none of you told me?”

“Bug, you did say that you didn’t want us to bring her up anymore unless you asked.” Maria stood to her feet, meandering to the stove and oven. “But that does remind me… They should be here in a few hours. Wanna help with the brownies?” She preheated the oven, walking around you casually.

Your mouth fell open, glancing between the two of them. “Okay, so they get brownies, and I get the worst news of my life…” An apron with your nickname embroidered on the front, Bug, hung in your mother's hand as an offering. “Yes, I’ll help with the brownies— this is very cruel to your very successful daughter.”

Tommy waved his hand, dismissively. “C’mon, that incident happened years ago now. You’re twenty-five, I’m sure she’s gotten over it.”

Tying the string around your neck and back, you pressed your lips into a line. It wasn’t really about her—you weren’t over it. You still harbored the same guilt you felt when you settled in your room that night. A crazy mixture of resentment and remorse all rolled up into one feeling; as you settled in your reading nook, with your hand out the window holding a burning cigarette with your index and middle finger. “I’m sure she has…”

Eventually, you switched the conversation around while baking. Falling into fits of laughter from mentioning past stories of your teenagehood. Teaming up with Maria to make fun of Tommy and his aging—all of a sudden, he was beginning to have a knack for playing a checkers. Only old people enjoyed playing checkers. Then, the waiting began.

To busy yourself, you pulled out your computer and brought it to the porch. Even though, you were taking some time off at your publishing job; when it came to your book writing, you had an agent to keep flooding your inbox with emails. Telling you to do this and do that—it was obnoxious. But you did as she asked anyway.

Typing away, a puff of nicotine fled from your lips. Murmuring under your breath, the words that were populating on the screen. On your hip, your phone rang, causing you to throw your head back in slight agony. Something always interrupted you when you were flowing. Flipping open your phone, the decorative chain swinging around as you placed it against your ear. “Hello,” You spoke, stubbing out your cigarette.

It was your roommate and closest friend, Sierra, complaining about the neighbors. Her strong long island accent echoing through the phone. “Oh, my God— they’re so loud! You’d think gettin’ an apartment in a nicer building would thicken the walls.” She groaned on the other end. “Please, come back. At least to tell them to shut up, and then you could go back upstate.”

“Why don’t you… I don’t know…” You shut your laptop, replacing your butt with the boxy electronic. Strolling to the far end of the porch, leaning your arms against the bannister. “Tell them yourself?” An amused smile spread on your lips.

Sierra paused. “Because that’s your job. I’m the nice one, remember?”

“Okay, well I can’t leave. I just got here, and I’m not spending another grand on taxi fare.”

“I’ll spot you.” You could hear her smile on the end.

“Sierra, I’m not coming back until Saturday. So, your only options are to either bang on their door— telling them to shut the hell up— or you suffer listening to their relentless daytime sex.” As you spoke, a truck began rolling up the driveway. Identities unclear due to the intense window tint, but you knew exactly who it was. However, there were three heads in that truck.

She groaned on the other end of the line. “Ugh! I hate you—“

“You love me!” You grinned, but it dropped right off your face when the people exited the vehicle. From the driver's seat, it was Ellie; then, it was Joel who exited, seemingly in conversation. And, finally, a girl stepped out of the vehicle. Joel noticed you leaning against the bannister on the porch, waving his hand with a smile.

Your muscles reacted, waving a fleeting hand. “Maria, Tommy! They’re here!” You yell loud enough to be heard through the screen door. You were always insecure about calling them by their parental titles in front of people—let alone new people.

“You’re yelling in my ear, hon. If you gotta go just tell me.” Sierra complained.

“I gotta go.”

Before she could say her goodbyes, you shut your phone, sliding it into your back pocket. Your parents came out of the house in high spirits; Maria clapping her hands, excitedly, embracing Ellie. Tommy giving a firm bear hug to Joel, laughing heartily—at what? You were unsure.

Awkwardly, you stood there. Smiling with your hands held in front of your body as if you were presenting a project.

Joel looked to you, approaching you with open arms. “Look at you,” He began, wrapping his arms around you, warmly. “All grown up.” He pulled back to get a better look at you, nodding proudly.

“Yeah…” You tapped his shoulder. “You, too.” A chuckle fell from your lips.

Then, you looked to your right at the freckled girl with her arm around a feminine stranger. However, you couldn’t indentify her before you did Ellie. Her auburn hair was pulled into a low bun, with pieces framing her gentle features. Her round evergreen, tinted with slivers of brown, eyes. Freckles decorating her cheeks, bridge of her nose; the beauty mark under left eye—

“Hey,” Ellie drawled out the greeting, awkwardly. Leaning in for a hug that teetered back and forth until you reciprocated.

You kept that same plastered smile on your lips, wrapping your arm under hers. “Hey, Ellie.” Pulling back, you finally looked at the girl beside her. She had tattoos and piercings and looked so much cooler than you. “Who’s this?”

Her earthy eyes widened. “Oh, this is, uhm, my girlfriend, Cat.”

The only response you could give was a nod and a half-hearted wave. It was like a dramatic record scratch in your head. But your parents took over with the rest. Guiding everyone inside to the warmth. Tommy remained outside, giving you skeptical eyes. “Help me with the bags…”

“Honey, don’t be weird about this.” He spoke, as you followed him to the truck.

“I’m not being weird.” You whined, gravel crunching under your feet. “Seriously, what’s to be weird about?” Reaching into the open trunk, you pulled out luggage’s and duffle bags. This was a lot of stuff for a week stay—they brought more than you did.

He gruffly breathed, pulling up the handle of one of the suitcases. “You’re my daughter, I know you— just sayin’…”

“Oh, my God— please!” You complained, hooking the duffle over your shoulder, pulling one of the luggage’s. Leaving him to follow you toward the porch.

Dinner had come quicker than you had hoped. If anything, if you could magically skip over the thing, and still eat, that would’ve been perfect.

All six of you sat at the dining table, forks and knives scratching at ceramic plates. Tommy and Joel had gathered in the back, last minute to cook up some steaks. And, to busy yourself, you helped Maria with the sides while Ellie and Cat got situated in the guest house.

“So, y/n, how’s the book comin’ along?” Joel wondered, putting a cut piece of steak into his mouth.

You made a surprised sound as you chewed your food, rushing to swallow. “Shit, you’re writing a book?” Ellie questioned, leaning her elbows on the table.

Taking a sip of water, you decided to respond. “Yeah, I’ve been working on it for a while.” Your eyes glanced at her, then moved on, quickly, to Joel’s. “It’s… Coming along.” A bashful laugh fell from your lips, as your hand reached for the glass of wine. It was barely touched, red hue swishing in the bulb of the glass as you took a sip. It’s fruity bitterness relishing over your tongue.

“What is it— like fiction or…?” Ellie pressed, genuinely.

“Non-fiction. A book of essay’s, really— written in different forms.” You nodded. “It sounds boring…”

Ellie shrugged, forking a piece of meat into her mouth. “Doesn’t sound boring to me.” She responded, with her mouth full.

“It’s the farthest from boring, honey.” Maria massaged your shoulder, sharing a small smile. You mirrored her in return, forking at the vegetables on your plate—perfectly steamed broccoli.

“How’s Brooklyn treating you?” You spoke up, raising your eyebrows.

Ellie lightly glared at Joel before answering, placing her utensils down. “It’s certainly treating me…” She muttered, rubbing her hands together, glancing at her girlfriend.

“It’s a great place for art, but just not Ellie’s art.” Cat chuckled, sipping from her wine glass.

“Oh, that’s what you’re doing.” You nod.

“I recall her using the words: too crowded.” Joel used air quotes to briefly describe the past conversation.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “It makes me feel crowded— the city. When you say it like that, it makes me sound fucking stupid, Joel.”

“You did say crowded.”

“Well, I meant overwhelmed.”

You snickered at their bickering, leaning back in your chair. “Back to your art, I guess you’re experiencing the artistic equivalent to writers block?” Tommy inquired, still chewing on his steak, raising an eyebrow. The auburn-haired young woman nodded, chuckling to herself. “That’s why you’re stayin’ with us for a little while, huh?”

Another record scratch.

You blinked at you father, deepening your eyebrows. “Wait, what?”

Joel had set his beer on the table, leaning forward. “Yeah, Ellie’s stayin’ with your parents for a little while to get her juices flowing, again.” He explained, pressing his lips into a soft smile. Ellie cringed at his use of the words juices, taking a sip of her beer.

Tommy and Maria told you nothing unless you asked for it for almost everything now—you at least deserved to know that Ellie was staying on the farm indefinitely. After all, when they’re dead and gone, it’ll be yours; so, they could’ve at least told you without you having to ask—that’s big!

“And, I’ll help out so I won’t be sleeping the day away— because I know that I will without a proper schedule.”

“I thought you guys didn’t need a farmhand.” You glanced at your parents, with your eyebrows still deepened with confusion.

Maria chuckled, standing to her feet. “We don’t need anything, but who could say no to a helping hand?” She grabs the empty basket of biscuits from the center of the table. “Anybody want more biscuits?”

“I would love some!” Cat spoke up, holding up a tattooed finger.

“Me too, honey.” Tommy also spoke.

A dry chortle left your lips, leaning against the back of the chair. “Are you staying on the farm, too?” You peered over at the stranger—the girlfriend, with a slight accusatory tone.

Her lips parted a few times before she responded. “Oh, no, I’m going back to Brooklyn. Not much of a country girl.”

Pursing your lips, you nodded, downing the rest of your wine. This week was going to be a doozy. When Maria came back to the table, you snatched a biscuit from the basket, biting into it. There was a perfect crispy layer on the outside, mixed with the perfect gooey, soft innards of the biscuit. “These are so good.” You muttered with your mouth full with its buttery goodness.

On your hip, your phone buzzed. Cursing under your breath, you plucked the cellphone from your belt, flicking it open. It was your agent calling you at eight o’clock at night. “Excuse me, I gotta take this.” You scooted the chair back, pressing the green button. “It’s late, Isa.” You started the call, stalking out of the room like the corporate woman you are. Taking the route up the stairs to your old bedroom.

“I need that new chapter by tomorrow morning— as in, 8am.” She scolded on the other line. “I’m personally reminding you. Since you couldn’t respond to my emails.”

You sighed, shutting your bedroom door behind you. “Isa, I’ve been traveling all day on public transport, and I’ve been trying to have family time— is that not what Thanksgiving is about?”

“You’re writer, hon. You have little bit of family time, then you hermit to finish your work— now, stop giving me grief. Time is of the essence.” Her smooth voice told, chuckling after her words. “I’ll be anticipating you’re new chapter tomorrow at eight! Have a great night.”

“Have a great night…”

Slapping your phone shut, you sighed, running your other hand over your face. Being a writer was relentless—just as relentless as you and your roommate’s neighbors. But, instead of lingering in frustration, you grabbed your heavy laptop and propped yourself on the cushion beside your window—your reading nook. Not forgetting to put a Sade tape inside of your stereo for some background music, before you began to diligently work.

You typed at your computer, rapid clicking sounds filling your ears. Although, it was no surprise that you worked your hardest after the sun set—it was like you had one too many espresso shots.

Every word was coming from the heart, and coincidentally enough, the guests at your home made it easier. This chapter was definitely reflecting the feelings you felt the day of Ellie’s seventeenth birthday. You used imagery and metaphors to describe that feeling of attack—being backed into a corner, having the worst part of yourself brought into the light. And, like most of your pieces, it was dredging it all back up again; the emotions.

That feeling of losing the only person that truly understood you.

Of course, you had a few relationships since then—a few, trying to chase that same feeling you felt when your hands touched. But there wasn’t anyone who could compare to her. How pathetic was it to still be harping on a highschool sweetheart?

Hours passed under the radar. Your parents being the mile marker in your work, knocking on the door to let you know everyone was heading to bed. Too busy with outlining new ideas, you barely spared them a glance, muttering a smooth goodnight.

It was about one in the morning by the time you finished the chapter. Still, it needed some tweaking, but it was good enough to send to your agent for the editor to look at.

Shutting your laptop, you finally took in your old bedroom. Various music artists slapped against your soft pink walls, attached with tape—some corners hanging off. Catwoman figurines lining the back of your large, white, wooden dresser; with comics stacked alongside them. Stacks of old books in the corner of your room, stacked from the floor to the middle of her wall. If you were to stumble into them, they’d experience one hell of a fall.

Suddenly, curiosity struck.

Hopping from the cushioned seat under your paneled window, you looked under your bed. Reaching for an old shoebox that was filled with many, many interesting things. You slid it from under the dusty bed frame, taking it back to that plushy seat you appreciated so dearly. Plucking the top off, you released a sigh. Immediately being hit with polaroids of yourself as a teenager—mostly standing beside, laughing with, and cuddling Ellie.

They were the photos you snatched from your wall after that fight. Oh, she looked the same. Still had that uncertainty in her earthy, olive eyes. You didn’t understand it then, and you most definitely didn’t understand it now. Ellie didn’t have to feel the uncertainty she was used to in foster care. She had people who believed in her—who will always believe in her.

Sifting through, your hands hovered over a letter she wrote. It was an apology letter sent around the time of her eighteenth birthday—almost a full year since the situation. The envelope was ripped open from the day you received it; stained with salty, heartbroken tears.

If only that day never happened…

A startling knock sounded at your window. It was no more than a pebble, which was confirmed when another launched within your sights. Scrunching up your eyebrows, you unlocked it, pulling it upwards. Once you peaked your head outside into the brisk, cool weather, a small smile spread onto your lips.

“Workin’ hard or hardly workin’ up there?” Ellie called from below. “I brought a little somethin’… Thought you could use a break from writing.” She waved a tightly rolled joint in her hands—which could only be seen if you squinted.

The corners of your lips spread wider, feeling horribly nostalgic. “You’re actually a little too late on that front. I finished a few minutes ago,” You pressed your lips into a line, continuing. “But I could never turn down smoke break. I’ll be down in a second.”

Dropping the letter, you scooted off the seat to grab your jacket. Stuffing your feet into the semi-stained Uggs you wore into the ground, before fleeing your bedroom. You didn’t feel the need to sneak down the stairs, but a part of you wanted to—to relieve that feeling of adrenaline you felt in your youth.

Ellie met you at the back door, holding open the creaking screen door as you exited. “I honestly wasn’t sure you still did this.” She chuckled, looking at the ground as you both began to walk away from the house. Putting some distance so the smell wouldn’t upset the elders in the home.

“What? Smoke weed?” You perked an eyebrow. “You think because I went all corporate, I stopped being down?”

“Actually… Yeah.” She responded, nervously snickering.

The two ofyou settled in front of this white-lined shed that was illuminated by the two warm, orange-toned lights on either side of the door. “Well, you’re kind of right…” You admitted, squinting your eyes, embarrassed. It’s hard being known for your adaptability. “I try to keep the pot smoking to a minimum. In the corporate world they test you for it.”

Ellie pulled the joint from behind her ear, placing it between her lips. She shook her head in response to your words. “Says the cigarette smoker…” She joked, eyeing you, teasingly. While she flicked her lighter to burn the tip.

“Hey, they don’t give a rats ass about nicotine— I need to make up for that loss somehow. I’m a writer for christ’s sake.”

When she finally gets it to catch the fire, she took two puffs before passing it to you between her index and thumb. “Where’s Cat?” You innocently questioned, taking a hit of the joint, then looking at it, before taking another hit.

Ellie became rigid, releasing an exasperated sigh from her lips. “The guesthouse, watchin’ some movie.”

You handed her the joint. “What, is she not down?” Mocking your previous words, with amused eyes. However, her demeanor had quickly shifted.

“She gets easily frustrated after traveling all day…” She shook her head in a dismissive way, like she didn’t want any further questions to asked.

“Hm… That’s relatable.”

Silence engulfed the both of you as you passed the blunt back and forth until it was nothing more than a roach. Hearing nothing but the distant wind chimes sounding off on the porch.

Before speaking, Ellie took a deep breath, glancing over at you as if she were nervous to make eye contact. “I hope me stayin’ here for a little bit doesn’t bother you too much.”

Her words were double-take worthy, you looked over at her with expressive eyes—widening, in surprise. “Bother me? Why would it bother me?” You leaned your shoulder on the shed, kicking one leg over the other.

“You didn’t seem like the biggest fan—“

“Ellie, I was surprised. That’s all.” You waved your hand, shaking your head. “I feel like they don’t tell me shit anymore…” Shoulders shrugging, you glance toward the house standing tall in all its glory. “They didn’t tell me about you moving to Brooklyn, either. What does it look like when someone you’ve known your whole life moves to a city you’re actually familiar with and they’re not, and you don’t reach out to help them? I’m only a forty minute train ride away.” You rambled, deepening your eyebrows. “They basically made me look like an asshole.”

You weren’t entirely sure how you’d react if you knew about Ellie’s moving to the big city. Knowing your habits, you’d probably sit by the phone for hours before making the move to give her a call. But, it’s not like you were given the opportunity to figure it out for yourself. Now, it just appeared that you forgot about her—or could care less about her endeavors; which is farthest from the truth.

Her full lips cracked into a smile, chuckling. The auburn-haired woman, mirrored your position, leaning her shoulder against the wooden shed. “Always worried about what you look like…” She muttered, sucking her teeth. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you’re an asshole— you just didn’t know.” Ellie shrugged. “It’s not like we talk as much as we used to…”

As much as we used to. That kind of stung.

Your eyes averted to the gravel under your boots. “Yeah…” There was an awkward beat that took its place between you. Swallowing, you shooed it away with speaking up. “What about your art? You’re living in one of the most creative cities in the world, and you can’t create?”

She puffed air from her lips, glancing in the direction of the guesthouse, priming her lips. “Okay… Confession— but only if what’s said here stays here.”

“What’s said at the shed, stays at the shed.” You affirm, holding a hand and crossing to fingers. The high from what you smoked clouding your mind, squinting your eyes and loosening your inhibitions.

“Cat and I moved in together pretty early— too early… I needed a roommate and she was the perfect option.” Ellie began, carefully. Olive eyes shifting under the dim light in thought. “I swear ever since I moved in with her… The inspiration to make anything new is fucking gone.” She ran her hand over her hair, which was actually loose without a hair tie. Dusting over her shoulders, pieces pushed behind her ears. “She, you know, hovers a lot— in a sweet way, it’s just irritating because not even her pushing me can be inspiring.”

Your heart skipped a beat; it was hopeful—you really are an asshole! “Damn… So, it’s not the city that makes you feel crowded. It’s Cat.” You hum, nodding your head, taking in your assumption. “And… You think staying here will help? Doing boring farm work?” A chuckle falls from your lips, borderline nervous, borderline humored.

She pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, I spent a lot of time here growin’ up…” Ellie looked at you, knowingly. “It was never boring when we did it together.”

“That’s because we were doing it together. I’m not gonna be here while you’re shoveling horse shit.” You chortled, peering at her through hazy eyes. She giggled and it sounded like music to your ears. It’s been awhile since you heard her laugh from something you said. Weed always did have a way of bringing people together.

“Well, maybe before you go, you could help me out. Jog my memory.” Ellie offered, raising her eyebrows. “It’s either you or suffering through Tommy’s jokes for hours—“

“I don’t mind, but we might have to jog each others memory.”

“Hey, you can take the girl out the country, but not the country out the girl.” She shrugged. “I have faith in you.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, a smile spread on your lips. “You’re still so corny.” Shaking your head, a laugh slips. Wrapping your arms around your body, you acknowledge the cool weather. It pricked at your exposed skin, and even through your jacket. “It’s getting late…”

She scratched the back of her neck. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I appreciate the joint— I needed it.” You pushed off the shed wall, licking your lips. In preparation to meander back toward the house, you rocked on your feet. “There’s some left over biscuits on the counter…” You drawled, but it was all right because Ellie had filled in for you.

“I’m fucking starving.”

Then, the two of you walked shoulder to shoulder back inside. Giggling at stupid jokes, surfing over any of the past debacles you had. Turns out reconvening with your childhood lover wasn’t so bad after all. For now, anyway.

[tomicscomics]

12/27/2024

He's about to deck your halls.

The saints' RPG adventure continues every Monday and Friday through December!

___

JOKE-OGRAPHY: 1. Continuing from the last few cartoons, an angel is running a fantasy RPG for some saints in heaven, namely Sts. Thomas Aquinas, Joan of Arc, Francis of Assisi, and Nicholas of Myra. At long last, they've all introduced their characters. Surely they'll finally get to play the game now! 2. St. Nicholas was an ancient bishop whose legends of gift-giving became the inspiration for the modern Santa Claus. The name "Santa Claus" even comes from a foreign pronunciation of "Saint Nicholas." In stories, Santa lives at the North Pole and is known for having a magnificent white beard. In fantasy, dwarves are also known for their beards, but also for their compound-word surnames ("Beardhammer," "Oakenshield," "Hearthstone," etc.). Thus, St. Nick makes a dwarf character named Klaus (as in Santa Claus) Northbeard. 3. St. Nick is also known for slapping a priest named Arius at the Council of Nicaea in 325 A.D. At that Council, Arius shared his heretical view that Jesus did not have the same, equally divine substance as God the Father, but was instead a creation with a similar but inferior substance. According to legend, St. Nick, who was a bishop at the council, was so enraged by Arius's heresy that he slapped the man in front of everyone. Thus, in this cartoon, Nick references his impulsiveness and temper and creates a barbarian character, because -- according to RPG-logic -- barbarians can channel their rage into superhuman strength. 4. At the council, the fathers used the Greek term "homoousios" (same substance) for the orthodox belief that Jesus was of the same substance as the Father, and the term "homoiousios" (similar substance) for the Arian belief that Jesus was of a similar but inferior substance. In this cartoon, Francis notes that Nick's character description could technically apply to both Nick's character and also Nick himself. To this, Nick says they have the same substance, but Thomas argues that they have similar but different substances, because Nick is not the exact same as his character. To describe this difference, Thomas is about to use the word "homoiousios." However, Nick dislikes that word due to its use by the Arians, so he throttles Thomas while shouting, "Why iota...!" He shouts this because it sounds like, "Why I oughta...!" which is something people shout when they're flying into a rage (as in, "Why, I ought to strike you!"), but instead of "I oughta" he says "iota", because the difference between the words "homoousios" (which he likes) and "homoiousios" (which he hates) is a single Greek letter: an iota. 5. As Nick assaults Thomas, the angel shouts, "Hey! No PvP!" In game terms, "PvP" stands for "Player vs. Player," describing games or game modes where the players face off against each other instead of working cooperatively or fighting against fake enemies and Non-Player Characters.

[bewitchabyss]

— THE LOVE & DEEPSPACE MLS' NSFW HEADCANONS

PAIRING(S): rafayel + sylus + xavier + zayne x afab! reader

TAGS: bathroom sex + bondage + exhibitionism + fingering + marking + mirror sex + missionary sex + oral sex (cunnilingus) + riding + rough sex + sensory play + spanking + voice play

NOTES: the new set of cards is insane and you bet i'll be whipping out oneshots for them once they drop ;) anyway the grip that these cards have on me is insane, i'm on my knees frfr 🧎‍♀️

— RAFAYEL | QI YU

oh sure, he will play nice at the beginning and let you have your way — he will let you do anything you want to him. that is, until you push him to a point where he's too riled up to sit back and pretend it does not affect him at all. that's when he will uno reverse you and put you in your place.

on some occasions, he likes holding your arms over your head and watch you squirm as he thrusts into you, completely at his mercy. other times, he enjoys the sensation of your nails scratching his back, leaving red marks across his shoulder blades. after all, it's proof that he made you feel good, right?

he lives to serve you and puts your needs first before his. he could eat you out and his dick could be throbbing and call it a night.

i assume ebb day works similar to a rut cycle, so he would get especially needy during this period. he would be rubbing himself all over you and would, quite literally, take you right there and then at his doorway the moment you walk into his studio. (have you had sex on his couch before? multiple times.)

he would always check in on you to make sure he didn't hurt you in any way. he could be biting you and leaving a whole trail of hickies down your neck, but once the high is over, he will look at your neck wide-eyed, run his fingers gently down your skin, and ask, "sorry cutie, did it hurt a lot?"

— SYLUS | QIN CHE

he is big on sensory play and particularly enjoys blindfolding you during sex. he claims it's because your senses are heightened when you are deprived of sight, but mayhaps it fuels his innate desires seeing you so helpless without being able to see. ("who's the hunter now, kitten?" he purrs as he licks your neck, eliciting a choked gasp from you.)

he particularly enjoys eating you out this way. he enjoys hearing the sounds you make when he goes down on you like this and he swears you're a lot more vocal when your sight is impaired.

when you take charge, he can be an absolute brat and enjoys teasing you to push you (and himself) to the limit. you can tie him up or spank him and he would still cock an eyebrow up, as if challenging you, "oh, was that it? we both know you can do more than that, sweetie."

there have been multiple occasions where an innocent (or is it?) shower together leads to bathroom sex. he will hoist you up with his arms and lean you against the shower wall, then push his dick inside you as you wrap your limbs around him and ask him to start moving.

he is very open to any ideas you have in the bedroom, but will draw the line at exhibitionism, because, in his words, "i'm a selfish man; i want to be the only one who sees you in that state."

— XAVIER | SHEN XINGHUI

he would 100% be into mirror sex. he would take you from the back while standing in front of a full length mirror, hand cupping your jaw and guiding your head to look at your reflection in the mirror, making you watch how you come completely undone under his touch.

he is also lowkey a freak and would be into exhibitionism, but he doesn't want to get caught (or does he?). he would fuck you with your chest pressed against the glass for the whole of linkon to see (a hundred floors up), hot breaths fanning across your ears, "do you want the whole city to see you unravel under me, hm?"

he enjoys marking you up, no matter who is in power. he enjoys leaving marks in places that are subtly visible so that 1) it's within your view when you look in the mirror and hopefully it reminds you of just how much of a space you have in his heart and 2) any good-for-nothing guy who tries making a move on you will see the mark and know that you already belong to someone else.

if you're inexperienced, he will guide your hands to the places that make him feel good. he will gently lead your hand towards his lower abdomen and whisper, "try here, honey."

he likes you being rough with him. you could be aggressively biting down on him and that would probably turn him on. ("harder, my love, i can take it," he says as you push a second digit into his twitching hole.)

— ZAYNE | LI SHEN

he is not very kinky per se, but simply enjoys being close to you. he wants his hands on you at all times, and in such moments, his lips. he wants you to know what effect you have on him and how much he needs you.

he enjoys missionary a lot. zayne is a traditional lover and wants to see your face during intimate moments like these. he wants to see your every reaction to every move he makes and wants to memorise the things that make you feel good. he is very diligent and dedicated like that.

he may or may not be into roleplay, and it doesn't matter who's in charge. he enjoys it either way, and all in all wants it to be an experience that both of you enjoy. however, he does let you initiate things first because he's afraid he might overstep some (unsaid) boundaries that you might have.

we all know he enjoys having you on his lap, riding him. there have been many a time where he has had you bounce on his dick late at night at the hospital when he has late night shifts (with the doors safely locked at zayne's behest, of course). you guys also have a rocking chair in the living room for the said riding purpose.

no matter the dynamic, he would always speak in that low, breathy voice of his (very similar to a boyfriend asmr, if you will) and it always makes you weak in the knees

© BEWITCHABYSS. all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, repost, or translate my works on any platform.

[doberbutts]

So I'm going to ask an honest question here and ask you please explain in layman's terms. Every trans person I know irl has no concept of the transandrophobia discourse but every time I see more of it online I'm...unsettled, and it takes a lot to power through all the terminology.

I initially was really receptive to transandrophobia because the rationale behind being against it sounded stupid and akin to label discourse in the queer community. I saw "being a man is not an axis of oppression therefore you don't get your Own Word" and thought that was pedantic nonsense, that language doesn't need to adhere to that rule, and that it's helpful to have a term designated towards transmasculine experiences so people can find those experiences easier. Not that trans women's experiences aren't also beneficial! But that, well, obviously no matter how similar the experience birds of a feather and that sense of comfort of sharing identity still matters. This is true for other issues of identity too, I find, weather that's a good thing or a bad thing idk, but it is human.

The thing is I follow a lot of transwomen and have been seeing some alarms being raised about the community being formed around this word. You blocked one of the most egregious offenders so I trust you (which is why I'm asking sorry) I've seen a lot of misogyny and essentialism from people using the term "transandrophobia" and more egregiously "transmisandry." Idk your opinion on the latter term (I haven't scrolled down far enough on your blog, sorry if you talked about this before) but to me it's unconscionable. I was taught that transandrophobia existed as a term specifically NOT to use that term, that elevating misandry to a legitimate issue was dangerous for obvious reasons and it was one of the reasons why I was so supportive of transandrophobia. To me, it seemed like an awareness that misogyny was the prevailing issue behind all issues of gender oppression, but when I actually look at the tag I...get uncomfortable.

Blogs I follow have repeatedly been upset at misogyny from this community, and have been using the term "transandrobro" to describe behavior they find akin to cis MRAs. I've truly seen horrible things with hundreds, sometimes thousands of notes to it that do, unfortunately, feel like women are being blamed for the plight of trans men. I've seen cis people say they were originally on MRA reddits and then came to tumblr to "confront the misandry directly" only to wholeheartedly adopt transandrophobia into their worldview. It's hard because I KNOW I shouldn't judge a community based on a few crazies but it truly does feel sometimes like "transandrophobia" gives misogynists a venue to air their woman-hating to an eager audience, kinda like how "Karen" has been co-opted beyond the og meaning of being for racist white woman to any woman being mildly rude.

So like, here it is: can transandrophobia exist without being co-opted by misogynists? Is there a threshold of proliferation for misogynists destroying this word until a new one needs to be made? Or will every word trying to identify the transmasculine experience be inevitably co-opted by misogynists because misogynists are just that powerful, so people should double down harder on the word and work to push misogynists out?

(Also am I going crazy, or did this word a year ago used to have a WAY better community than the one I see nowadays. Back then I could find your blog and really compassionate people easily, and now it's just...bad.)

It is a little hard to understand some of this post but I will do my best to answer what I think is being asked.

To put simply, I think the reason why it was better a year or two ago is because the majority of the people who were actually trying to further the conversation and not just circle jerk in the echo chamber got chased off. Transandrophobia, anti-transmasculinity, transandromisia, transmascphobia... the guys who coined these are largely either not posting at all anymore or post far far less than they used to. They were harassed and the constant exposure to transphobia made them shut down their blogs for their own mental health. Not all of them, but a lot of the so-called "big names" had this happen.

Even I stopped posting for a while and shuttered the doors for a bit outside of a long queue of dog photos because of how much it was affecting my mental health.

In their place remain people who are not committed to the same conversation. Perhaps they are younger, or less familiar with the building blocks of theory that really should be required reading, or are still stuck in their "everything sucks and it's YOUR fault" phase. Maybe they do come from different places, like 4chan or reddit, which are less prone to this sort of discussion. A lot of the original crowd had been on tumblr long enough to remember when we could still edit posts, and I keep seeing people who would have been in elementary school at that time posting to the tag nowadays.

I was discussing this problem on discord with a small group of friends and one of them- a trans fem- called it second wave transandrophobia discourse as a bitter joke. I think she is more right than wrong, regardless.

I'm not sure who you believe I've blocked- in general I don't air out who I block on this blog because at nearly 12k followers there are too many people who would love to dogpile someone for the sin of disagreeing with me and I do my best to prevent that. I don't want anyone to be harassed, after all. There's a lot of assumptions that have been made about my block and follow behavior that vary from "hilarious but untrue" to "outright offensive slander".

People are people, and some people are shitheads. Trans mascs and people who want to support trans mascs are not exempt from that. I say this all the time- Kayne West is objectively a shitty person but his existence doesn't prove the concept of antiblackness to be a myth. Caitlyn Jenner is objectively a shitty person but her existence doesn't prove the concept of transmisogyny to be a myth. So why do shitty trans mascs prove our own theory to be dangerous or nonexistent? Why hold us to a higher standard than any other marginalized group?

I could ask you the same question- there are posts on here with hundreds, sometimes thousands, of notes made by trans fems and cis women who blame their problems with transmisogyny on trans mascs. There are people coming from reddit, Twitter, 4chan who are being actively transphobic and misogynistic and claiming they're doing it for the good of transfeminism. There are posts filled with misogyny and bioessentialism and gender essentialism and even interphobia and racism and transphobia being left completely unchecked. Do you think it would be acceptable for me to ask if that means transmisogyny theory should be abandoned or if we should just accept that it will draw people with bad intentions?

Or do you think the better answer is to focus instead on finding those with a good head on their shoulders, and making sure it's them who has their voice heard? Do you think we should maybe not judge entire demographics because there exists some shitty people who claim the same identity?

[lovesick-x-prince]

“Hold on.” Grian spoke for the first time, and something in his voice made Scott falter and pause, forgetting the sentence he was in the middle of. His gaze was unnervingly drawn back to the avian. Grian’s voice sounded similar to how he looked; heavy, exhausted. It’s also clear, however, and confident, and when Scott looked at him, Grian gave him the same, tiny smile he gave Scar before. “Scott, right? We were wondering, is there possibly room for two more?” “Oh.” Scott paused, digested Grian’s words, and pondered. He looked around their flower field, conflicting feelings in his heart. It’s wasn't that big - it was on the medium to small size, perfectly cozy for two players to settle in, but four was pushing it. Also, when Scott first saw Grian and Scar, he didn’t know their names. That shouldn’t matter, but it did. But. Scott looked at Grian again. He examined the dark shadows under Grian’s eyes, present even though Third Life only started a month ago. He took in the way Grian’s wing was curved slightly, keeping Scar within it’s embrace, even if it’s just by a smidge. Did you know his name before you saw him, too? Scott wondered. Scott turned towards Jimmy. Jimmy was already looking at him, and he was openly pouting, giving Scott the worst puppy dog eyes Scott had even seen. They weren't the worst because they made Scott feel particularly emotional or sad - rather, the expression really didn't suit the man at all, and Jimmy was instead giving off energy similar to a damp rat. For some reason, that endless fondness rushed into Scott’s heart again regardless. “I know we said we could be neighbors,” Scott said to Jimmy, “but what about roommates?”

[idlnmclean]

Shape studies that demonstrate how we "project" 3D objects to 2D.

This guy Scott McCloud wrote about different modes of representation in sequential imagery AKA comics.

When we write or draw, we create objects of significance. These objects of significance communicate about a signified with signifiers. Like, the dots of the simplest face on the right are signifiers for eyes; the leftmost face tries to line up the signified with the signifier, so the eyes represent eyes roughly true to how the artist sees a real life face. The signifiers contain information which we can interpret through our sensual experience of the signifier which for some normatitive and common experience between viewers translates to a common interpretation of the signified subject. That is to say that people with common sensory experience often experience art made by those same people in a similar enough way that they in some sense "see the same thing the same way".

We say that the visual language is more iconic the further it moves to the right and the further away from photorealism that it gets. Producing art that is photorealistic is producing something with high verisimilitude. Iconic works tend to be low verisimilitude. Scott McCloud made a further distinction and mapping of 2D art with written language in a kind of model of semantics and signification. Signification is the process of making a sign or an icon or a symbol that represents or refers to something else.

The thing is though that not everyone sees and experiences the world the same way. Some people look at a drawn face and see something more like the top of the pyramid, and I wouldn't be surprised if some people see more like words.

There's people like Aphex Twin that have visual-auditory synesthesia, so they perceive sounds that they hear visually or they hear things they perceive visually. Some people have problems perceiving other people's faces at all whether drawn or in person; this is called prosopagnosia; I know someone that basically can't read comic books because they have a hard time perceiving the sequence of visual information, and it is related to their difficulty in perceiving and identifying people by their face.

It is common among graphic artists that draw nearly photorealistic faces for them to experience a kind of functional hallucination when looking at 2D images. Not everyone that looks at a cube drawn on a 2D sheet sees the cube; some people see the square or see the lines but not the squares or cubes.

It is common for example for people to experience the visual illusions of viewing these:

Some people either can't see it, see one side of the illusion but not another; see both simultaneously; or see both alternatively but not at the same time.

This combines with our particular abilities to articulate. I for example have conductive aphasia, so I can use a wide variety of words and language, but every now and then I experience a block between what I think and what I am physically capable of saying; I like writing in large part because it avoids a lot of the conductive aphasia that I experience when I speak verbally.

Artist often have various differences in the way they sense and articulate the world around them. Van Gogh famously took a medication that changed how he perceived the color of the world giving his perceptions a yellow hue which he reflected in his painting and in the choice of colors for his works.

the person who can explain to me how to construct a face gets a million dollars. i've tried that thing with drawing a circle with a line on it a thousand times and it DOESNT WORK

[qprpbj]

everything that happens in the outsiders - on the greasers side - is foundationally because of poverty. like literally everything comes back to the fact that these kids come from absolutely nothing and have to fight and steal and scavenge and indulge in recklessness and violence to live. nobody in the story is inherently violent or vicious. conflating being violent because of your surroundings & where you were born with violent aggressive tendencies being something you’re just like born with and can’t help as if it’s in your bones or your blood solely because they’re poor ppl who have to fight to survive is demonizes poverty!!!

also like the outsiders was written by a fifteen year old who wrote the bare bones but frankly glosses over SO much - it’s a kids book to be fair - that realistically would’ve been ever present in these kids lives. realistically, people who grow up in circumstances similar to them are born in environments chock full of addiction, self harm, mental illness, physical illness, suicide, murder, neglect, domestic violence, rape, gangs, organized crime, not having any healthy or safe food to eat, food stamps, welfare, not having water at home, utilities being shut off, dangerous unsafe houses, no houses, people selling their bodies for money, child labour, teen pregnancy, foster care, having little or no proper education, no healthy role models, few/unsafe job opportunities, being taken advantage of for your work, being underpaid, deeply foundational systemic racism, not having accessible trustworthy healthcare, issues with the court, cps, biased legal systems. the list literally goes on forever. these are all interconnected symptoms of poverty! and they are not things that are inherent to anybody’s existence!! people who are born into these severe types of situations are never given a chance to thrive and all of the greasers know this. they don’t get the luxury of indulging in most things the middle or upper class kids do, and even then, the curtis brothers are some of the LUCKY ones. they had two loving stable present parents and food on the table and lights on and extra curriculars!!! they get opportunities even others in their own gang don’t get!!!

all of this is literally WHY darry fought as hard as he did to get out and why he came home the minute he knew he needed to, why he gave up his whole future of breaking cycles to stay stuck in the poor life he grew up in, because he’s inherently nurturing and caring, and he fights both generally and for his brothers because he has to, not because he wants to. dally is proud of his record because he doesn’t have anything else to be proud of bc he’s been a victim of circumstance his whole entire life. johnny knows he’s never gonna be able to fight hard enough to get out of the cycle he was born into. & the greasers being as cavalier as they are about these kind of things happens when people are so desensitized that they don’t notice it occurring around them anymore, and generally the gang sticks to their own and tries not to cause shit with other people. they don’t fight because they want to, they fight out of necessity. even darry. even dally!!!! & i’d be remiss to mention that breaking poverty cycles and intergenerational trauma and abuse when you’re given nothing to work with is truly one of the toughest things someone can do for themselves

tbh idek where i was even going with all this but i just rly want ppl to know that as obvious as it all might sound these are very very real things and not just like book fiction trauma porn plots nor do people wrapped up in systemic issues like these make them inherently bad or inherently violent or inherently aggressive. both these kids and real life people deserve research and care and careful choices of words and observing internal biases and to be talked about, but talked about correctly!!!

[bobbin-buckley]

Jinx and Isha Headcanons

Older Sister Jinx x Little Sister Isha

Summary: Headcanons and short oneshots of what they could have been

Warnings: Platonic Jinx x Isha ofc, Mentions of violence, No Reader in this, basically if Jayce wasn’t a dumbass, Arcane 2 Spoilers, some of my own thoughts

✫彡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ミ★

-Ever since Isha had fell on top of Jinx, they both found something in each other that made them see a different picture in life

-Isha was like Powder to Jinx. The little version of herself that supposedly fell down a well.

-Jinx didn’t understand why the younger girl decided to follow her around. Was it because she was her fan like other Zaunties? Was she looking for remorse? Or did the young girl find a motherly or sisterly figure in Jinx

-Isha probably had some kind of guardian or parental figure before but they may have died, so when Isha saw Jinx she looked up to her as a guardian or parental figure of sorts

-Jinx would have put up barriers in her room to make sure Isha wouldn’t fall

-Isha draws on Jinx’s face when she sleeps, and they both do this to Sevika when she sleeps

-Making up fun games to play or being artsy together

-Jinx teaching Isha how to make guns and bombs, but also keeping a close eye on her

-Playing hide and seek and tag def

-^^Convincing Sevika to play with them

-They’d both love slime and playing Minecraft together in modern au

-Both would definitely prank Pilties

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, so, this is mainly going to be my opinions that me and @jybyls have came up with and talked together about that Isha is probably deaf or nerve deaf.

For a bit I thought maybe she was mute but with more hints in the show of her being deaf I think I’m leaning more towards her being deaf

Yes she screams a few times in the show but Mute people are either unable to speak or they choose not to speak.

But I’m my opinion I think she’s deaf, and I’ll explain why

After Jinx dyes Isha’s hair blue, and is talking to her about her being similar to younger Jinx (Powder) and what not. Isha isn’t replying or reacting to Jinx’s words because her back is faced to Jinx and isn’t lip reading or hearing her

Also, a couple of times you can see Isha looking at peoples lips when they are talking, a good example is when Jinx and Isha first meet

Now, I’ve seen where someone has said she could also be nerve deaf. Nerve deaf is when someone is barely able to hear, a nerve deaf person can only hear super loud or close sounds but not quiet or far sounds.

I think this because when Sevika gets her knee arm and the music plays, Jinx is doing a little dance and you can see Isha looking at her kinda confused. Well it’s because Isha can’t hear the music because Sevika is a bit far from them (credits to rexx____9 on TikTok for this theory)

Also another one is when Vi is talking to Jinx and Victor about (idk) and Isha doesn’t react to any of it BECAUSE VI’S BACK IS TO HER

Annnnnnd thanks to @jybyls for this, she found that Isha did a little bit of sign language to Jinx when they were playing their little bug game:

This means ‘rematch’ in American Sign Language

I’m not saying this is canon for anything but I like to think that Isha is deaf or nerve deaf

These are some headcanons and opinions for now but I can make more!

[eri-pl]

So… what's the idiot envious of, exactly???

So I noticed it when reading BoLT, but the Silm also says (back in Ainulindale) that Melkor was

envying the gifts with which Ilúvatar promised to endow them [Elves and Men]

OK. Which gifts? Professor, sir, which ones? The only thing that makes half of a sense here is the out-of-Musicness of Men, let's leave this for later.

Elves' harmony with Arda? Melkor is an Ainu, he has this innately.

Elves' cool skills? See above.

Them liking each other and being able to have a normal social life? Nah, the Valar (those who aren't jerks) have this too I suppose. He would be envious of them too.

Men being able to leave Arda? Again: as an Ainu, Melkor is innately bigger then Arda… OK, I suppose he would like to come and go as he pleases, go to Arda and be as harmonized as Elves, and then leave freely… but nobody has that! I mean ok, I can see how he overestimates what the Incarnates have and talks himself into envy, but this feels somewhat stupid and counterproductive even for him. (Ofc if we were to assume that Men originally had both, it does become easier to understand… But then also we're getting near the "aren't Elves kinda nerfed?" landmine, which gives me some trouble in general)

OK, now let's talk about the out-of-musicness. I think Melkor assumes that he's got this too, I think? "It came to Melkor's mind to add themes of his own invention" or whatever the wording is. And tbh all the Ainur have the quality of "having existed before the Music", so… OK, I can see how he maaybe would be envious of the Men being able to ignore the Music after it was sung, and maybe he is (subconciously, I think) aware that he can't do so. And this fits well with the story of children of Húrin, which is basically "Melkor proving to Húrin that Men are bound by doom too". So… it's not like the Men have a lot of this ability, it seems. In general it does not feel like a wholly satysfying explanation.

Still, why is he envious of the Elves too? Because Féanor made will make the Silmarills? This sounds like a stupid reason even for Melkor.

And don't tell me about the Second Music, because then we're back to the category of "Melkor is an Ainu, he has that innately". Well, had until he got himself kicked out from the orchestra, but this happenned a lot later.

Unless it's the "I was here first and I'm better, so why do they get to have the cool stuff too?!?" which I feel is a slightly different vibe of envy (is this even proper envy or just jealousy?) than what Tolkien was going for. (But the "why new baby so loved?" syndrom about Manwë and then about incarnates makes Melkor even more similar to Feanor, which I like).

Like… there is the vibe in the Silm that Men-and-Elves are getting sooo muuuch and so of course Melkor is jealous… but when I unpack it, what are they getting exactly that he did not? Professor?

Oh, and also in BoLT Ainulindale: "the giving of that gift of freedom [to Men] was their [the Valar, in modern terms: the Ainur] envy and amazement" — what. The other Valar were envious of it too? Which ones? Names, please. (Makar I suppose but tbh he's to dumb to appreciate it)

Seriously, sir, what.

It almost starts feeling like "the Men are more real and the fairies and spirits get envious of that"

[starrymused]

"Yeah," All right, he wasn't being kicked out, so that must be a good sign. Or it was a here-take-this-drink-to-lessen-the-pain-when-I-reject-you. That would be really pathetic for him, wouldn't it?

Dae sat himself down on the couch, taking in the décor some more. Nice little place, nothing fancy but it wasn't needed. There were no pictures or anything but Dae was hardly expecting any family portraits. He'd never really asked about Kwang-sun's family, figuring they weren't close enough or that Kwang-sun would tell him to keep his nose out of it. Dae just assumed everyone in the gang had family issues.

Should he keep talking about his date? It hadn't been the worst ever but Dae felt the need to show that the dating scene wasn't for him. When Kwang-sun returned with his drink, he accepted it with a smile.

"Thanks."

Even drinking around another man wouldn't occur on a date but with Kwang-sun it was fine. He felt safe with him. "I suppose I was being a bit dramatic coming here." But he'd always been a bit dramatic just in a different way to Lex's dramatics.

"The date was nothing special. Nothing extreme, either. A forgettable experience." Neither here nor there. Dae took a drink, wondering what he should say. He wanted to lay it all out but he'd also done that the first time and it hadn't achieved the desired outcome.

So. He'd try a different approach.

"Are you afraid you're similar to Yang?" It was straight to the point, Gunner's words repeating in his head: It sounds like Kwang-sun was trying to be careful with you.

Dae took another drink.

"Do you think I'd see him in you? Because we're colleagues and there's an age gap?" Just saying that made Dae mad. Not at Kwang-sun but at the idea that he might think that way. "Because I don't. You're nothing like him and the situation is nothing like that." The adrenaline of that night where they killed Yang wasn't present here so Kwang-sun couldn't even say that Dae was caught up in the moment. A whole month had passed and he was still clear-headed about this.

-- Christ. Was that all it was?

(No. No, clearly it was not. But Kwang-sun was going to downplay whatever this was for now while he processed everything.)

"Right. Well, it's not just a straight guy epidemic, it seems," he muttered, running a hand through his hair -- and then back down his face. He paused, barely. "You want a drink?"

Regardless of Dae-seong's answer, he was already making his way to the kitchen area. The fridge wasn't well-stocked, but his liquor cupbard sure as hell was.

[majorshatterandhare]

Okay, so, speaking of Jessica Law: you ever think about the fact that she says the word “law” in both Trial by Song and Gunfight at the Dolorous Guard? Like I’m sure it’s nothing but I think about it every time I hear it.

I also think about her accent a lot. I *really* enjoy /g/ on the end of /ŋ/ words.

[a-s-levynn]

@corviisquire You have no idea how much i love you for this creature design

Btw the gold parts and the tentacles are glossy and have a slight 3d effect, the scanner just can't pick it up

[paleodeer]

These are interesting takes to me, because to me saying something like this sounds similar to "Anyone under 14 cannot be transgender or gay"

I understand that being a therian is a serious identity, and that kids usually don't understand the depth of it, but that applies to almost any identity label. And I feel like if we want these things (not only alterhuman identities but queer identities as well) to be more accepted in society, maybe we should stop caring about what other people (yes, even kids) identify as.

Listen, I'm not bashing you for saying this, and I also try to avoid arguments as much as I can - this is just something I need to point out because the way you two talk reminds me of how transmedicalist folks talk about trans stuff, just change the alterhuman terminology into gender and sex related terminology. The idea that an identity is "rare" and cannot be valid until you are an adult, or that an identity isn't valid if you grow out of it, doesn't really make sense to me. A lot of folks forget that identities are fluid; for some they are always there, for some they come and go. I think a lot of alterhumans can look back on their childhood and find "signs" of the identity being there. And for some ex-alterhumans, the identity really did exist and it was valid even if it did eventually fade. Now, can we not see the same happen with experiences such as gender and sexuality?

Also, certain identities just aren't as intense for some, while it is for others, and their identities are still valid. We all experience life differently! If we start talking about how "rare" and "serious" and "deep" alterhumanity is, we will start throwing each other under the bus sooner or later.

Since there's so little research around alterhumanity, how do we really know if it's as rare as we think? Yes, we're a relatively small community, but maybe it's because most people around the world don't have the words for how they feel yet.

The kids are helping in building the community. Even if the way kids express their identity is different, people around them will notice, and if there are any sort of alterhuman-adjacent individuals around the kids, finally finding the words to explain how they feel can be life saving.

Don't bash me in for saying this..but I don't consider anyone 14 or under who especially has tiktok to really be a therian.

They're more than likley gonna grow out of it. I'm not hating them for saying they are a therian but most people that young don't even know the meaning and seriousness of the identity.

[sysig]

Incomplete exchange (Patreon)

[iwakuraz]

can I coin a new term? can people start using the word 'paperphile' plz?? its like an audiophile but for people that really like paper