#I had to correct the pronouns a few times because I kept slipping into third person

[wolfofcelestia]

I was gonna wait until after I read the new chapters to get a better sense of Sylus but he's already shaping up in my head so

Here is how my relationships with all four boys would be if I were MC, in like... a regular life AU where I’m not actively dying lmao

🐟🐟🐟

Me and Rafayel: The "Are they really friends?" kind of friends

Probably the one I'd ask to teach me how to swim and regret it instantly

R: What, you want me to teach you how to breathe next? Me: God, fuck you R: You wish, princess

Every conversation would probably have some kind of jab at each other and it would just turn into two kids yelling at each other by the end

Also we'd be the ones making inappropriate jokes about the plushies as we fight to play the crane game

⭐⭐⭐

Me and Xavier: The "Are they really not dating?" kind of friends

Gamer buddy. Probably the one I'd go to when one of my little light decorations die and I'm too lazy to go out to the store to get something to replace it. So I'd steal one of his little light decorations

He'd probably have a ton of little light features as decoys so that I won't steal the ones he wants to keep at his place

I feel like we'd be comfortable with each other because of how similar our interests are and how chill he is, and we'd probably be mistaken for a couple in public because of how comfortable we'd be just leaning on each other

If some things were different, we would've been a couple, but things just never clicked

🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

Me and Sylus: The "Thank fuck they're not dating" kind of... friends?

Maybe not friends, more like rivals. He'd constantly push my buttons, even more than Raf, and he'd be extremely forward with his intentions with his flashy displays to try and win me over... or is it just to one-up me and get me to say he's better than me? Either way, every attempt would be met with a stoic face or a sarcastic clap

And then he'd probably try to steal my crows and I'd try to steal his swords (hi, long-time saniwa here :3) or something alsdfkj

Basically, it would just be an escalating rivalry that looks dangerous on the outside, with people asking "when will they...?", but on the inside, it would just be like

Me: Can you stop with your...everything? Sylus: Why? Can't handle it? *opens his robes even more* Me: I'm trying to eat here!!

Why would we even be friends? Maybe because we'd both find it fun to take jabs at each other but just like with Xav, there's something there between us... there's just not enough of it to make us a couple

There'd be close calls between us, sure, with his attempts to get me to say what he wants, and his ability to make handcuffs out of his evol, but nothing ever comes out of it because there's just a certain something missing

❄️❄️❄️

Me and Zayne: The "hidden smiles" kind of couple

There's no doubt that we'd look like a couple together because I'd always be holding on to his arm or something and he'd just straight up introduce me as his girlfriend to anyone who asks, but other than that, there wouldn't be any hints seen by the public

But it's only when no one's looking that the genuine smiles, the long gazes into each other's eyes, and the constant physical contact that hints at something deeper inside come out

It's hard to tell who's smitten more with the other. His coworkers would notice his lighter change in demeanor and him asking for time off when he never did before. And I'd always look forward to him coming home so I can spoil him rotten and fuck his brains out every night

It's a comforting and comfortable relationship, one where we know when the other needs space and when they just need their hand held without needing to tell each other directly

[saviorinsilk]

Again

Ship: Wilhemina Venable x Fem!Reader

Description: Wilhemina Venable is your College English Professor and on a particular night you learn your lesson for speaking out in class. This is an AU!

Words: 1869

Warnings: Punishment, professor x student, strap on sex, spanking, domination and discipline.

A/N: You guys wanted more of Venable spanking reader so here you sluts go!

Tears clouded your vision of the textbook that was laying open on the desk in front of you. Your body jerked forward when yet another harsh slap rang loudly through the Victorian styled office. Ms. Venable had delivered another brutal hit on your already red, welt covered ass. You didn't make any noise, you wouldn't dare. Your professor had taught you better than that. But oh how you wished you could vocally express yourself.

"Again Miss Y/L/N." Ms. Venable spoke from behind you, her bruising grip loosening up so she could ghost her hand up your lower back and back down. She caressed the sensitive skin of your burning red ass in slow circles as she pushed your dress that was already hiked up, even higher and out of her way.

You supported yourself on one of your shaky elbows as you wiped your eyes with your free hand, the words on the page in front of you now clearer.

"First Person; In the subjective case, the singular form of the first person is "I," and the plural form is "we." "I" and "we" are in the subjective case because either one can be used as the subject of a sentence." Your voice was small, the half-hour of canning you had already endured because of your slip up in Ms. Venable's English lecture, having already caused you to sink deep into your submissive headspace. You braced yourself for the impending attack, making it easier to hold back the whimper that dared to escape.

Ms. Venable's delicate but deadly cane collided with your ass for what felt like the hundredth time, your weak legs beginning to shake as your full ass bounced with the force of the hit.

You took that as your cue to continue and once again began reading over the next paragraph on the page she had been making you repeat, this time your voice shaking as she hit you once, twice and three times.

"Second Person; You use the second-person point of view to address the reader, as I just did. T-The second person uses the pronouns "you," "your," and "yours." We use these t-three pronouns when addressing one, or more than one, person." Your voice was beginning to falter and you wished you had just kept your mouth shut and hadn't made that stupid snippy remark in class.

"Actually Ms. V, wouldn't you want to use first person?" You regretted opening your mouth the moment the classroom fell silent. You knew you had fucked up and everyone else did as well, giving you sympathetic looks as Ms. Venable slowly made her way over to your seat, her cane clicking loudly against the tile floor as she did. She didn't stop until she was standing directly in front of your desk at the front of the class, her piercing dark gaze locked on you. You couldn't bring yourself to meet her eyes as she spoke.

"If you are going to try and correct me Miss Y/L/N, at least do it right."

She snapped back, the class straining not to erupt in laughter, fearing her wrath. A hand shot up at the other side of the room but Ms. Venable took a moment before she nodded at the girl.

"I believe the correct answer is actually second person Ms.Venable." Stupid Casey. You hated Casey. She was such a kiss ass. Always offering to help Ms. Venable after class, purposely being the last one (other than you of course) to leave the class so she could steal a few extra moments with your professor. You hated how jealous the blonde, skinny College girl made you; but you couldn't help it. Even the knowledge that Casey thought of Ms. Venable in that way made your blood boil. And Ms Venable knew it too.

"Very right Casey. Glad to know some of you are paying attention. As for you Miss Y/L/N, we will discuss your behaviour after class."

There had been nothing you had been able to do but clench you're fists and get through the rest of class.

"You will be in my office by 11:30pm sharp." Was all she said before directing her attention back to her computer.

She didn't need to ask. Only You and Ms. Venable knew the truth. That this was exactly what you had wanted. When you didn't move she glared at you, making you blush and quickly pick up your books and throw your bag over your shoulder. Your plan was progressing perfectly and her furious gaze only made you squeeze your thighs together harder, biting your lip the way you knew drove your secret lover crazy.

Her office was connected to the small apartment she lived in on campus. It was a 5-minute walk from your dorm, one you had gotten quite accustomed too.

You still remember the first night you spent in her office. Ms. Venable had offered to tutor you through the writing project she had assigned. She had sat across her desk from you and for the first time you had witnessed her smile, telling you that your outline looked perfect. It was something that didn't often happen from the tough grader. That had been the first night. A tutoring session gone sexual.

Today had been no different, except you knew what was awaiting you and it wasn't praise. She barely had spoken to you before she had bent you over her desk, slamming the textbook down in front of you and making you go to page 62, paragraph 23, demanding you begin reading.

Ms. Venable had seemed to have found a tad of mercy in her cold heart, as she lowered her cane, instead gently tracing the welts and light bruises that had already begun to form from the assault from her cane.

You took the chance to catch your breath, squeezing your eyes shut, demanding that the salty tears that dared to spill down onto the pages below to stay put.

That's when you heard it, the light sound of her skirt dropping, the delicate lavender fabric pooling at her feet before the woman stepped out of it and slid it out of her way. The sound elicited both excitement and fear in you. It made your stomach twist and the warmth that had built up in your core was becoming painful.

That's when you felt it, smooth and rock hard against your ass. She had been wearing her strap the whole evening and by weight of it, you knew it was your favourite one.

Ms. Venable leaned down over you, the dominance she radiated causing you to press your thighs together, desperate to quench the painful arousal that the dark woman had caused. Her strap pressed again your wet cunt as she snatched your long hair that was already pulled up in a ponytail (convenient for her) in her fist. You couldn't help the high pitched squeak that slipped past your lips as she yanked your head back. You could feel Ms. Venable's hot breath against the shell of your ear as she used her foot to kick your legs wider apart; granting her access to the part of you that only belonged to her.

"You enjoy being a brat? Embarrassing me in front of all my students?" She sarcastically asked, slapping your cunt roughly with her impossibly large cock. You bit your lip to keep your moans locked inside, drawing blood as Ms. Venable delivered a few more slaps to your aching cunt. You shook your head frantically, crying out as you opened your mouth to answer her.

"No Ms! I'm a bad girl! I'm sorry!" You whimper as she pulled your earlobe into her mouth.

She hit you with her hand harder than you were expecting and simultaneously slide her large, thick cock into you. The impossible stretch you felt as Ms. Venable buried herself completely inside of your dripping, warm and throbbing cunt, made you moan deeply, fresh tears pricking your eyes. You arched your back painfully and dropped your head to the wooden desk, smashing against it loud enough to cause Ms.Venable's predatory expression to falter for a split second. The concern faded quickly though when she felt you began to grind your hips back, desperate for your professor to give you what you needed.

She moaned in pleasure as she watched your tight hole stretch perfectly around her cock, like you were made for it. Made to serve her.

Ms. Venable's hand came down on your right ass cheek and then the left, her dark eyes blown black with lust. She could tell you were close, noticing the way your whimpers became more desperate, the textbook falling flat on the desk, your head resting on top it.

"Ah, ah, ah don't be a greedy little slut. You better not cum until you're finished." Ms. Venable warned you in a calm tone as she stayed still inside of you, as torturous as it was for her, the stimulation of the base of the strap had begun to make her clit throb but she knew you wouldn't last if she didn't.

Ms. Venable may have been a cruel Mistress and a strict teacher but she knew how sensitive you were after a spanking. How the pain lit your body up like a live wire. Plus, after how good you had been for her, she truly didn't want to have to punish you for cumming without permission.

"Third Person; The third person is the most common point of view used in fiction writing and is the traditional form for academic writing. Authors of novels and composers of papers use "he," "she," or "it" when referring to a person, place, thing, or idea." You practically screamed the last sentence, bucking your hips back roughly, trying to get Ms. Venable as deep inside of you as you possibly could. You were sweating, crying and shaking like a pathetic mess, exactly how Professor Venable liked you.

"PLEASE! Fucking hell! Please, Ms. Venable! I won't forget again!" You sobbed, becoming frantic for something, anything that would soothe the burning and twisting sensation in your lower abdomens

Ms. Venable chuckled to herself, proud of the effect she had on you. If she were honest, she was glad you had finished up as she couldn't stand the intensely of her own arousal another second longer.

"Good girl. Such a smart slut. Now cum for me" You barely had time to register her words before Ms. Venable began thrusting into your roughly, a sure-fire way to have you cumming around her cock.

When your orgasm does snap in your belly Ms.Venable pulled you up, your back crashing into her chest. Your body went ridge, fire washing over you and Ms. Venable held onto you tightly, supporting your weight as she fucked you through your orgasm. "Thank y-you Miss!" You barely got the words out as your body shook with the aftershock of your orgasm.

Ms.Venable smirked wickedly as she shoved you back down on your elbows, cock pulled from your cunt with a sharp spank on your ass cheek. When she finally spoke again, you froze, hearing the three words you dreaded the most.

"Again Miss Y/L/N."

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[passionate-hedgehog]

Banana

m.list

Shayne Topp x Reader (gender neutral)

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3041

AN: This is my first Shayne x Reader fic. AND it’s now gender neutral! Thank you to @rustyisdead for helping me change up all of the pronouns!

Summary: Helping out a friend ends in a way Shayne wasn’t expecting.

   When Shayne offered to help one of his buddies out that went on a week long vacation, he did not think it would require him to interrupt his own schedule as much as it did. He didn’t mind it, honestly. The actor just had to reconfigure his own morning routine to fit his very current yet very temporary situation. 

   Banana was a golden-doodle. A little more golden than doodle, but a very wonderful dog. She seemed to know that the current human taking care of her wasn’t as...savvy...to how she worked. At least, that’s what Shayne thought. The look in her eyes always spoke of mischief to him. She wasn’t naughty...but she liked to see how far she could push him. She also had very shady moments that made him think she knew more than she was letting on.

   Day three out of seven and he was at the point where he remembered he was supposed to drop her off at doggy daycare without forgetting and leaving for his work commute without her. On the first day, he just forgot about her entirely. On the second day, he made it to the doggy day care but without the doggy part. He had to drive all of the way back to his apartment, load her up (but she LOVES car rides, Shayne. It won’t be hard to get her to go! I promise), drive the fifteen minutes to the care center and then to work. He wasn’t going to make that mistake a third time. He was better than that, he told himself.

   When he did eventually get to his destination, without forgetting the passenger, he took in the sights. Cute Critters Pet Sitters was a simple brick building but he could tell how much maintenance went into the yard area. He couldn’t see a lot but the fencing seemed to go on forever. The actor leashed up his current canine companion and walked her into the building, following the very well placed directions. Banana got signed in and the attendant at the front desk took her to where Shayne assumed the other dogs were. He wasn’t sure. This whole thing was new to him. 

   “Mr. Williams? Are you still able to help out this week for the renovation?” One of the front desk attendants asked.

   Shayne paused and looked around, because out of all of the things he had been forgetting that week, his name wasn’t one of them. But when he realized that she was looking directly at him, he realized there must have been a misconception.

  “Oh, I’m not...I’m not him. I’m just dropping off his dog this week.” The actor replied .

   The woman pursed her lips. “Oh, I apologize. Banana’s owner was slated to help out with our indoor renovation project this week. I’ll have to tell Mx. L/n that he’s no longer available. Which is an honest shame.

   Shayne looked abashed. 

   “I see Banana is here! Is her human still here, too?” A different voice called from the gymnasium Banana had been walked into.

   “I’m afraid not, Y/n.” The receptionist replied as the worker from the gymnasium walked into the foyer. “He was dropped off by someone else today. And will be for the rest of this week, correct?”

   Shayne only nodded in reply. The receptionist seemed to think her job was done and walked off somewhere Shayne couldn’t see, not that he was bothering to look. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the person standing before him. They were wearing a leopard cat ear headband that had distracted him.

   The worker began to wring their hands together. “He won’t be here today? At all? Or this week? We were really looking forward to his help.” 

   “I’m sorry,” Shayne shrugged. “He’s on vacation. I’m dog-sitting Banana for him. That’s why she wasn’t here the last two days. Was it something monetarily? I can shoot him a quick text…”

   “Oh, no! Nothing like that! Please, don’t interrupt his vacation! It just kinda...sucks. He promised to help with renovating our playroom-slash-gymnasium. He was our first volunteer for it so we were hoping it was showing us his excitement and so we got excited...not too many of the pet parents volunteered…”The worker then sighed deeply while rubbing their forehead with both hands. 

   The actor noticed how distressed and let down they seemed. They must have been really looking forward to someone willing to come in on their own time and help out. Shayne didn’t like the idea that his friend promised to give time to help out and then just didn’t. He almost felt...responsible for the current situation. Not that he felt like he caused it...but that he had the opportunity to amend it. So he did what any responsible person would do.

   “Do you...I could help?”

   “Really?!” L/n clasped their hands together and looked like they could start jumping up and down at any point. Shayne offhandedly wondered if they learned any traits from the dogs they played with all day.

   “Yeah, I mean, I pick Banana up after work anyway. I could stop in and see if you guys still needed help? I don’t know what all I could do. But I could probably do something.” Shayne nodded as if trying to convince himself more than L/n.

   “Sweet home Alabama. That would be PERFECT.” They then pulled him into a big hug and then released him with a smile that seemed larger than what should be possible. “Awesome! AHHH!!! Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you!”

   After solidifying what time he would be back to pick up Banana and check in on what they needed, the actor left for his work commute. He started up his car and texted his best friend. 

   Shayne: I just had a crazy time bringing Banana to daycare. I’ll be to        set... soon.

   Damien: You mean “late”?

   Shayne: Tomato tomahto.

   Filming half a month's worth of content in one day would always be exhausting to Shayne. No matter how long he had been doing his job, he was always exhausted after the long days of filming. The last thing Shayne wanted to do was put in more physical labor but he made a promise and breaking a promise was not something he did. So, when he made his way back into the care center, he made sure L/n knew he was there to do what they needed to get done. 

   “I’m so grateful you still came to help.” They mentioned while they moved the enrichment items from the big gym to a storage closet. “I know that the last thing anyone wants to do after a long work day is renovation work. But I’m very thankful, Shayne.”

   The man squinted. “You know, now that I think about it, I don’t think I told any of you my name.”

   Y/n seemed to be too busy, conveniently, to look him in the face. “Hm...yeah? Huh…”

   When he didn’t say anything after a minute the worker groaned. They turned back to face him and scratched at the back of their head and scrunched their face up. “I...might be a fan. Of YouTube. A few different things...SMOSH things…”

   “Oh, well I’m honored.” He gave them a smile as if to placate their worry. “I don’t really run into too many fans here in L.A. Not that I’m complaining. But it’s nice to hear every so often.”

   “My niece got me into it with one of your sketches and I’ve been hooked since. You guys do good work. She watches them on days when being a teenager is too hard and they make her feel better. So, thank you, I guess.” L/n giggled as they resumed putting things on shelves.

  Shayne followed suit and the two kept busy organizing the storage room while talking about everyday things. At some point, when Shayne called them “Miss/Mr L/n”, they corrected him.

  “You can just call me ‘Y/n’. We’re not in a terribly professional relationship, right? You’re just helping out in the storage room for a few hours.” They said as they climbed up the shelf to reach the top of another. “Plus, I’d really just like to hear you say my name.”

   Shayne wasn’t sure he heard them right until he noticed that they stopped moving altogether. 

   “Please tell me that I said that on the inside and not on the outside…”

   The man gave a small chuckle. “I can’t do that. I’m not good at lying.”

   Y/n threw their head back, gave a big sigh, and began to climb down the shelving unit. At some point though, their foot had somehow slipped on something and they felt their body not going where they wanted it to. They then braced themself for the impact of their back meeting the floor but it never came. There was the feeling of two hands on their back gently pressing them in the direction of the shelving unit. One of the two hands moved from the middle of their back to their lower back and they were helped down. 

   “Jesus, Y/n. Do you have a ladder so you don’t do that again?” Shayne asked as they turned towards him.

   The worker didn’t answer, but instead hugged him. “I’m so freaking scared of heights and that was terrifying. Oh my God, thank you.”

   “Yeah, of course.” Shayne gently patted them on the back. “I’m glad I was here to make sure you didn’t get hurt.”

   “My heart literally fell. I know it wasn’t that far off of the ground but I don’t even like step ladders like I just really don’t…” They finally looked up into his eyes and they locked. “Uh…”

   After realizing they had stopped communicating for a moment, they pulled apart awkwardly. Shayne took a step back and shoved his hands into his coat pockets and looked anywhere that wasn’t at them. “Right. Well…”

   Y/n blushed but smiled in a humored way. “Shall we work on moving in the bigger items? The tunnels that are back in the gym need to be broken down and put against that wall. It should only take a few minutes. We won’t need anything else done tonight.”

   Shayne nodded and the two began the last bit of work before Y/n could begin painting. This time the two didn’t talk as much as they stole glances at each other. Sometimes they’d look at the same time and end up smiling like teenagers seeing their class crush. The rest of the evening went on like that until the playroom was emptied. Y/n dusted their hands off together and stretched. 

   “So, you’re painting this whole gym alone? Or are the other workers helping?”Shayne looked around trying to figure out what their plans were.

   “Oh, heavens no. There are some small decorative details that need to be painted and then we’re going to have the floor deep cleaned. I’m going to go through the storage rooms, all of them, and see if there’s anything that needs to be tossed out or what needs to be fixed. It’ll help us plan our budget for next year. I’m super stoked. I want to get some new activities for the pups. OH!” They then jogged to where their phone was sitting on a chair and started swiping through it.

   Shayne watched as they bit her lip and quickly searched for something. They had then made their way back to him and was angling the phone almost in his. They began to share with him their thoughts on what to get to improve on the indoor activities and he observed as they got enthralled with what they were talking about. He didn’t really understand all of it but he noted how excited they got when explaining the puppy teeter totter on their pinterest board. The picture captured a pit bull that was basically smiling as he was mid climb. They also gushed about how they were suckered into the item because of the smile. 

  “I’m a sucker for smiling pitties. It’s a curse, really. I can’t stand it.”

  “I think it’s pretty neat how excited you’re getting over this. I can’t wait to see how it ends up. These dogs are so lucky to be here with you looking after them.” The blonde actor had somehow ended up with one of his arms on the workers waist. “They’re going to love it.”

 “Yeah?” They turned into him.

  “Oh, absolutely.” He brought his other arm up to meet them together.

   They bit their lip as she kept their gazes locked. “You promise?”

   He just nodded.

   “I think Banana is very ready to go home!” A voice called from the other end of the gymnasium.

   The two broke apart and Shayne gave a self conscious cough. “Right..uh...I’ll see you tomorrow when I drop off Banana, Y/n?”

   The worker just nodded in response, watching the man leave the care center with the leashed dog.

   After Shayne got Banana in the car and he himself was buckled in, he grasped the wheel and sighed with an emotion he wasn’t sure he could identify. He ran his hand through his blonde hair and started the car. Before he put the car in reverse, he looked into the mirror and noticed Banana looking at him from the backseat.

   “I know, Banana. I shouldn’t. I don’t have the time for a relationship or the energy most days.”

   The dog blinked.

   “Blink one more time if you think this is a bad idea. Blink two more times if you think it’s a good idea.

   Banana responded by laying down, not blinking at all. She seemed to be too tired for Shayne’s love life drama.

   “Same, girl. Same.” He put the car in reverse and made his way out of the parking lot.

   The next day started off in a hurry. Shayne was late to dropping off Banana, so he didn’t see Y/n at drop-off. Somehow, though, he was still late to work even though he didn’t have any distractions, pleasant or unpleasant. He wasn’t quite sure which category Y/n fell into.

   When he eventually arrived at work (Late two days in a row, Shayne? You can’t opt out of Eat It or Yeet It if you’re not here to put your vote in.), he went straight to set for a SMOSHcast recording. He knew he’d be clowned for being any amount of late so he didn’t let it bother him. He just put on the headphones and jumped right into it.

   Advicecasts had become something he really enjoyed doing. He didn’t fully understand why people kept asking them for help but he loved doing it. He felt like it was a time he could truly give back to fans in a different way. Different questions and situations went through the conversation and Shayne was proud of himself for not letting his thoughts drift off too far.

   “Alright, this next one is one a few of us could relate to.” Ian, his boss, began. “It reads ‘I have this amazing job that I can’t believe I have, it’s a dream come true. But lately I’ve been thinking about dating and having a partner, I know it’s something I want in the end. I try looking but time and energy isn’t something my job offers. What would you guys do in this position?’”

   Sarah and Damien both gave “ooooh’s”. 

   “Well,” the producer seemed to take a second to collect her thoughts. “I think it really has a lot to do with where do you want to put your energy? Where do you want it going? In the end, what would you rather have in your hands? Your dream job or your dream partner? It’s a hard question to ask and answer, but you’re truly the only person that can make that decision. Maybe you can balance the both of them and make it work. That’s the ideal situation. But it might not workout that way. Honestly you’ll never know until you try. You have to actually get out there to try to figure out what it is you want more.”

   Shayne hoped it wasn’t obvious, but it probably was, that he slightly checked out after Sarah’s input. He had disregarded dating in its entirety because of his job. He was constantly on set, or traveling, or working on other projects that he was blessed to book.There wasn’t a point where he thought he’d be able to enjoy a relationship fully. But maybe if he put in the effort...now that SMOSH was running smoother since his most recent relationship...maybe it’d be ok? 

   Shayne walked up to the receptionist during pick-up to let them know he was there. When no one was at the desk, he walked himself to the playroom where he didn’t expect to see what was before him. Some of the dogs were laying on their backs just hanging out, and Y/n was there with them. They were laying on their back, also, staring at the ceiling. The whole thing looked super chill and Shayne wanted to join in.

   Y/n turned their head in his direction as he laid next to them. Their arms almost touching, They gave a gentle smile and the actor returned it. He was very surprised that none of the dogs jumped up to meet him when he walked in. Wasn’t that what dogs did?

   “It’s nap time.” Y/n explained as if they could read his mind. “We’re promoting a calm environment after the excitement of finding a mouse in the courtyard earlier today. Things got a little cray, but now we’re enjoying some quiet time.”

   After a moment, Shayne just barely felt something touch his hand closest to Y/n. Once he recognized it as their fingers, he closed the distance and just held their hand. Sarah was right. Shayne needed to put his energy towards the things he wanted the most. And what he wanted the most was to see what he and Y/n could become. He just had to go for it.

[yikesharringrove]

what do you think about a crossdressing Steve? Maybe he started just liking the soft fabrics of his mom's clothes but then he started wearing them as a way to attempt to hold on to the feigned affection she gave him. Eventually he just got his own stuff because they helped him feel calmer, softer. He would only ever put them on when he believed he would be alone for a while to cook or do chores... And then one day Billy comes over. Do with it what you will.

So, maybe you wanted smut, but non-binary femme presenting Steve is a ridiculously big headcanon I have that I have talked about with several folks and will be included in the next big fic I roll out, so this is some Soft Shit bc I wanted an excuse to write Steve as non-binary femme presenting.

For some drag queen Steve, I got a little thing here.

This exact kinda character study of sorts has actually been in my drafts for like, a month, so I’ve incorporated some of it into this. It's modern, and there is some language that may be harmful, so PLEASE be careful with yourselves, no slurs or anything along those lines, just ignorant stuff. Also, this really went off the rails at the end, I’m Sorry.

Thank you for sending an ask!

Read on ao3!

When Steve was a little kid, he always preferred playing with the girls.

They would have clothes for dress-up, princess dresses, and pirate costumes, anything any child could want. They had wigs, makeup, crowns. Little girls also had babydolls, little pretend kitchens he would play in, plastic baby bouncing at his hip.

When his nanny would come to pick him up from Carol’s house, she would have wipes in the car, to clean off his face. Your father will be very disappointed if he sees you playing with girls’ things again, Steven. He learned very quickly that playing dress-up, wanting to be Mommy when playing house, those are not things little boys did.

He remembers fighting with his parents, when they found the little plastic case of goopy lipglosses Carol had let him keep. He was seven years old and was crying, had screamed as loud as he could that if little boys weren’t allowed to play with makeup, then maybe I don’t want to be a boy.

When his parents started leaving him more often, their absences growing longer the older he got, he began going into his mother’s things, trying on her clothes. He was twelve when he first learned that women’s clothes were made of finer materials, were softer, felt like butter against his skin. He was thirteen and would slip into designer dresses each night, learning makeup from YouTube tutorials, practicing with things left in his mother’s vanity and whatever he could discreetly put in his pockets at Meldvald’s.

He got pretty good. Good enough that at sixteen, he wanted more, would go to stores in Indianapolis, would spend his allowance on dresses, skirts, blouses, frilly little things that fit, that made him feel good, correct.

The first time he put on a pair of lacy panties, he almost cried. the material was soft, the cotton tight and nice against him, the delicate lace trimming the waist and legs was pretty. Steve realized, all he ever wants to be in his life is pretty.

He began thinking of himself as a girl, a young woman. He would tuck his dick back, make the space between his legs flat, let his hair grow out more, long enough to braid, to pin with floral clips.

He started dressing up, going out. Finding bars that would let him in if he batted his false eyelashes just so, would overlook his obviously fake I.D. so that he could go in, talk to men that were too old for him, too interested in his doe eyes, his soft cheeks, men that would buy him drinks, fuck him in the back seats of their cars, whisper about how pretty he looked, men that would touch his cock and coo that his pussy was so tight.

He found he didn’t like that but would grit his teeth, didn’t understand why wearing women’s clothes felt so right but the idea of having a women’s body felt wrong. He didn’t get why he felt the most himself, the most comfortable with his dick tucked up in lace panties, but the minute a man told him he was a good girl he felt sick. 

When he was seventeen, he stopped going out, stopped dressing up. He had Nancy now, a beautiful young woman who wanted a nice, regular young man. He almost told her, almost told her so many times, but then she was drunk, slurring in his face that he was bullshit, that he was fake, like he didn’t already know.

So he kept to himself, started dressing up again, putting on a full face, a delicate outfit the minute he got home. He would dance around while cooking diner, would float around the house in heels and sweeping dresses. They made him feel better, feel good. He would dress up on particularly bad days, would wear his most beautiful pieces when he got poor grades, when his father told him he was a disappointment over the phone. He had been informed today by his English teacher she had assigned him a tutor.

So he had blinked back tears while blending eyeshadow, had put on his prettiest dress, a pretty dark green number, the fabric light, delicate feminine. He was ready to wallow in self-pity and makeup when there was a knock on the door, followed by the voice of his something-like-a-friend Billy Hargrove, announcing with a laugh that you should REALLY start lockin’ your front door, Harrington. Wouldn’t want someone UNSAVORY comin’ in.

Steve was frozen in the kitchen, his best-kept secret all over his face, his body. Billy didn’t even blink twice when he saw Steve, asked what’s cookin’? while leaning over the stove. Steve’s eyes were screwed shut, breathing fast when Billy looked back, took Steve’s shoulder lightly in his hands said, you need to breathe, Sweet Thing, take it slow, match me. He rubbed gently down Steve’s arms, his eyes clear blue when Steve was able to open his own teary ones.

“Billy, you need to swear to me you won’t tell, you, I, people can’t know. They’ll, I mean, I know I’m a fucking freak but no one-”

“Whoa, who said you’re a freak?” Billy’s eyes were sharp.

“Look at me, Billy. I’m, I don’t know what I am. Sometimes, sometimes I wish that I was a girl, but, but something about that feels just, bad, but, but being a fucking boy feels like shit too, and I just,” he was sobbing, loudly and openly, knew his dark liner was no doubt streaming down his face.

“Hey, that’s okay, Honey, you don’t have to know. You just have to feel good.” He led Steve in a few more breaths. “It’s not black and white, you don’t have to be one or the other. You can just be you. Can be Steve, if you want.”

“What-I don’t understand.”

“Well, you don’t feel right as a boy, but you feel just as not right as a girl. There’s more than that. You have more options.” He turned off the stove, led Steve to his bag, whipping out a laptop covered in worn stickers. “So basically, there’re a whole bunch of genders.” He pulled up an infographic on his screen, a color-coded mess of columns and descriptions. “There’s way more than man and woman. There are people who are non-binary, don’t adhere to the idea of two genders. Sometimes non-binary people identify as another gender, a third gender, sometimes they identify as a mixture of identities. Agender people often identify as having no gender at all. genderfluid people tend to fluctuate between identities, can feel agender one day, the next feel like a man, it all depends on the person.” He looked at Steve, hand gentle on his arm. “And none of it’s wrong. There’s no correct way to be a human. And they each are up to interpretation. There are people who identify as agender but choose to present a certain way, there are people who identify as male but choose to present androgynous, there’s no one way to do it.”

“So if I, if I feel good like this,” Steve gestured to the dress, the smeared makeup. “I can still be, a guy, like I can just be a guy that likes to look like a girl.”

“If that feels best to you. Like I said, you don’t have to  be a guy, just because that’s what you were assigned at birth.”

“What do you mean? ‘Assigned at birth’?”

“That means the gender that’s on your birth certificate. It’s just a better way of saying like, male-bodied, since that can be, kinda shitty for people. And like, what even is a male body, you know?”

“You’re getting a little introspective for me here, Bill.”

“Basically, just because you were born with a dick and a doctor was like, it’s a boy, doesn’t mean you have to be a boy that likes looking like a girl, or whatever you said. That’s a perfectly valid way to be, a femme presenting guy, don’t get me wrong, but earlier you said you didn’t feel right as a boy, and I just don’t want you to back yourself into a corner.” Steve blinked.

“Yeah, I think, I think you’re right. I don’t, I’m not a guy. I don’t think.”

“You do not have to know right now. You literally just learned about this, you don’t have to like immediately make a choice. Take some time. Try different labels, try different pronouns, try no labels, see what feels best.” He smiled, looking at Steve softly. “If you want to, I can, like, help you. If you, if you think of something you want to try, it may be nice to, like, hear it from someone else.”

“What was, what was the one that was like, sometimes people identify as like, another gender?” Billy typed away, pulling up a new article.

“I think you mean non-binary. It’s more of an umbrella term to some people, they find more leeway in it.” He scrolled down, pointing at a list of pronouns. “So, some people who identify as non-binary also use alternative pronouns, things like they or ze, which is a way for them to be referred to outside of the gender binary.” Steve’s mind was racing. He tested the words on his tongue, thinking ze, sie, hir to himself, to, themself?

“But if I identify, as, as non-binary, or something, can I still, like, dress like this?”

“Of course. Identity and expression are two different things. To some, they go hand-in-hand, but to others, they can be totally separate.”

“I think, as of right now I think non-binary is okay.” Billy beamed.

“Okay! You don’t have to decide right now, and some folks never decide, they spend their lives flowing through different ways to identify and express themselves, and again, that’s totally fuckin’ okay. Nothing has to magically click into place for you. You can experiment.”

“Can I, can we experiment with, with they. I kinda, it kinda makes sense.” Billy just kept grinning, his smile huge and beautiful.

“Yes, I can do that.” But his face fell, “But I, I mean, this is fuckin’ Hawkins, and I don't’ know, I mean, is it, like safe?” Steve felt like their heart was breaking.

“No, it’s, I don’t think it is, I mean, there haven’t been like incidents but also, we don’t have a lot of people that are, like, openly different.” Billy’s brow was drawn.

“I can, I can call you whatever you want just the two of us, but, I don’t want to like, out you-”

“You can, you can say he was it’s, when it’s other people. I don’t, I don’t want this to get back to my dad, or anything.” Billy’s eyes were sharp.

“I can do that, I can protect you, like that.” He was nodding vigorously. “I just, I wanted to be on the same page, didn’t want to be like misgendering you behind your back and make you feel like shit.”

“You have my express permission to, uh, misgender me, or whatever you just said.” Steve sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “I just gotta get outta this fuckin’ town, man. Then I’ll be good. Live my little queer life outside of the shitty bar outside of town.” Billy laughed.

“You go there?”

“I used to, when I was first kinda, questioning myself. Used to let guys fuck me and call me, like, their pretty little slut or whatever. Not my finest moments.”

“Christ, Stevie. That’s some deep shit. I went once when I first got into town, and some guy was like, I wanna hear you screaming ‘Daddy’ for me and I was like, nope. No thank you to That.” Steve laughed with him.

“I’m pretty sure I did let that guy fuck me. Bily groaned.

“Stevie, no. Don’t call random men Daddy.”

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Bill, I got a lot of daddy issues.”

“Yeah, me too, but not that many.”

“Just enough to be called Daddy, then?” Billy went red, dropped his eyes from Steve as they cackled. “Hit the nail on the fuckin’ head then, didn’t I?”

“Whatever, you little asshole. Let’s just fuckin’ get on with your English homework that is why I’m here after all. Go grab your books.” Steve grinned, leaning in close to Billy.

“Okay, Daddy,” they purred, racing off up the stairs laughing loudly, hearing Billy cursing them out from the kitchen.

[carousels-on-fire]

Let me tell you about the love I’ve been carrying in my chest for 9 years. But never felt like I was allowed to talk about because ‘I should have gotten over it by now.’ (Note: I changed names and pronouns of those involved, even if no one would know anyone mentioned anyway. I probably slip up and change from they to he, but both are correct. ) Looking at old photos pushed me back into a depressive spiral I’ve been drifting in and out of for 9 years now. I don’t think I’ve written out the full story yet. Of that one relationship that brings me back to this place. Not where people can see it. I always allude to it. Or I tell part of the story. Or I try to downplay it. I tell people: “It was just a thing that happened. It was a two week thing, not important.”But it was the most painful and definitive experience of my early 20s, and even now, nearly a decade on, I still haven’t recovered from it. It fundamentally changed me as a person, and like the earth blackened by forest fire, I can grow around it, but that blackened layer of soil is part of my history. In 2009 I started college. Two months after my mother’s suicide attempt. I was 18, freshly out of high school; and lived the kind of sheltered life where I was terrified to even use a crosswalk for fear of getting hit by a car. I was kept on such a tight leash that I hadn’t experienced much of life at that point. Naive, emotionally vulnerable, and terrified of the outside world. I was left at the curb of my new dorm and for the first time I was on my own, with no one to answer to. I clung to the one friend who made that high school-to-college transition with me, my best friend who was older and seemed much wiser than I was. But it was a crutch. Something to fill that void of authority I’d always operated under. I never knew what to do with myself because i’d always had someone dictating where I went and how I spent my time. On my first day of drawing class I got there early and had to sit out in the hallway to wait for class to begin. And while I was sitting there I saw a person walk, quickly and almost comically past me carrying a music case and a bag, and then comically walk back and ask me where the practice rooms were. I told them I didn’t know because it was my first day and they decided to stop and chat with me because my class had yet to start. This person, who I will refer to as Des from here on out, was equal parts baffling and charming. They were gregarious, punctuating each phrase with a hand gesture, their entire demeanor being slightly manic, but in such an earnest way that you couldn’t help but be charmed. At the time I was entirely unsure what to make of this person, but they were nice, and they were talking to me, and I was happy to have a friend in this strange new world. They mentioned that they saw me in our Sociology class and I made a point to look out for them.  We started meeting after class everyday to go eat breakfast together in the dining hall. While they were still gregarious and charming and odd, they had a temper too. One that would manifest itself in a kind of righteous anger at one thing or another. There was a carefully hidden sadness there too, a kind of haunted edge to their countenance that you wouldn’t notice unless you happened to catch them in the stillness between words, in the quiet moments when they didn’t realize you were watching and they could pause the act and breathe. They were also the first gay person I met at college. I’d recently, a couple years beforehand realized I wasn’t straight and realized that I had a crush, not on the very pretty emo boy that I “obsessed” over, but his female equivalent in a new friend. And spent many years of unrequited pining wishing they would notice me. But they were straight and it wasn’t to be. Where most people entered college with a few relationships under their belt already or having married their high school sweethearts, I went with nothing at all. With the memory of never being wanted by any of the people I had ‘crushes’ on and determined to change that. I was so sure college would be it. College would be where I’d meet the love of my life and be married by the end of it. But once I got to college and was finally placed within meeting distance of other gay kids, I realized how out of my depth I was. How scary other people were and how scary this entire world was. So I kept pining after my highschool crush, praying that maybe, somehow they were interested and I’d misread the signs.  But Des was the opposite of me, approaching relationships with a confidence and lackadaisical familiarity that I could never had. They seemed to find new people to experiment with at the drop of a hat, and at the time I didn’t register my jealousy for what it was. I simply listened when they described making out with this person or the other. Shrugging, but also subconsciously seeing them in a slightly different light. Though, because I was still pining, I buried that feeling, filing it away for future use. They were just Des, a constant presence that sometimes scared me with their intensity, but never in a way that I would consider leaving. Enough that, like with my parents, I managed their emotions and sidestepped as to not be in the line of fire. Though their rage was almost never directed at me. I soon introduced Des to my best friend, we’ll call them Lee. Lee and Des took to each other immediately, having more in common and being more similar in demeanor than Des was with me. I was immediately relegated from center of attention, when it was just the two of us, to side character, third wheel. Des always tried to include me, but the damage was already done, in a way. Des brought in his friend, Ria and the four of us became inseparable. I was always hurt that Des never seemed to care as much as he did at first, but I was content to be the third wheel as long as I could be with them, as long as I didn’t have to be alone. I couldn’t change the fact that the two of us had far less in common, and my quietness simply couldn’t compete with someone much more sure, much more confident, and better at speaking than I was. It was easy to be talked over so I let it happen. I looked away when they would be so physically near each other in a way that Des and I couldn’t. I tried not to be jealous. But I was. We formed a cosplay group, modeled after one Des found on Youtube. We all picked characters and started calling each other by our character’s names instead of ours. It went from being a hobby to something we did 24/7. We’d wear our cosplays constantly as casual cosplays, try to do things in character, and even do videos and photoshoots. Over time it became a crutch for all of us. All of us dealing with broken home lives, abusive parents, or whatever problems were going on away from school. And dealing with gender and sexuality issues that we didn’t even have vocabulary for. All we knew was that wearing the skins of those characters was so much more comfortable than our own skins. I was part of it, but also deep in my Emilie Autumn phase. They were the cocoons I wrapped around myself to protect myself from the world, and from them to an extent.  But the first time I ever “realized” I felt anything for Des was when we did a photoshoot together in character. We were wearing our wigs and decided to pose together in ways that were sort of in character but not really. But it allowed me to be close to them or touch them in ways I hadn’t until that point. And while the tension was there, I didn’t recognize it for what it was. Unlike all my high school crushes where I obsessed over that person, I never once thought about how Des made me feel. It was going on instinct alone. Part of me knew there was something there, but I never obsessed over it beforehand. It simply was, an objective reality with no need for contemplation. The more time we spent together, the more I realized we made excuses to be close to one another, or excuses to touch the other, just innocently. But it frustrated me that every time we’d get close, Lee, our other friend would find a reason to join in or the moment would end. I couldn’t have their attention just focused on me. As selfish as I knew it was I yearned for it. And every time they gave me their undivided attention, it was like water to a parched man. I knew I was a goner one day when we were hanging out in Ria’s dorm room, and Des decided to put on her wig and dance around the room. It was silly, but I just remember making eye contact with him mid-spin, and he grinned at me in this way that was completely open and happy, and this realization just hit. But I still approached it so much more carefully than any of my high school crushes. For the first time I knew what it felt like to have someone reciprocate, and be almost sure. It wasn’t the carefully walled off no to avoid hurting me. But the apprehension of not quite knowing what this thing was. There was still jealously to contend with, but I felt like this thing we had was strong enough to win out against everything else. I had to content with my third wheel status, and that attraction I knew was there between me and Des.  The relationship, as it were, started the night Des and I shared a bed, and a first kiss. It was never really decided upon, just something that happened. Des had been sharing rooms with each of us to avoid their roommate and roommate’s boyfriend. The twin bed was just barely big enough for the two of us. And unlike that moment we stayed asleep together in Ria’s dorm room bed, we had the room to ourselves. Well aside from my own sleeping roommate. But it may as well have been just the two of us. After that we couldn’t avoid talking about this thing we had. It was tangible now. We were awkward around each other for a week until I finally got the courage to ask if that kiss had been a one time deal, and whether or not we should try a relationship. I had never been in a relationship but always wanted to be. Des had, but didn’t want to deal with people in our friend group knowing about it. So we started dating, albeit secretly. I had to keep the thing I wanted to scream from the rooftops secret. We met when we could alone, held hands walking through the campus, but we could never be public with our displays of affection. And me, being me, was still a little afraid to show affection in public anyway. And it hurt, to have this thing I’d wanted for so long, but not be able to say anything and to have to act like we weren’t together when we were among the other members of the group. I hated having to share him, even if I knew it was selfish. Other people got to spend so much time with their SOs, and I wanted that too. But I had everyone else vying for his attention. As the year progressed that cocoon of cosplay and group solidarity started to unravel. All the things we had tried to get away from by being other people, were starting to bleed into our college lives. The breakdown of Lee’s mother, the violent fallout of Des’ abusive homelife, and the disintegration of our little cosplay group as we brought in more people was a powder keg of post-adolescent drama. As our friend group expanded and included people only interested in using our intense, fragile connections for their own ends, cracks started forming in the facade of our friendship. Des became more and more withdrawn, or equal parts fury and aloofness that I didn’t know how to handle. But Lee did. When handling my parents emotions it was always step back and wait for the storm to clear. But with Des, I wanted to help him, but was completely out of my depth. He was subject to a pain and helplessness so deep I didn’t have the tools to help. I lacked the kind of empathy that he required. And, as horrible as it was, I was jealous that Lee could comfort him in a way that I couldn’t. Lee had a similar enough situation to know how to help, and I didn’t. In a lot of ways, our relationship was shallow. Des never wanted to hurt me by handing me all of his burdens, so he handed them to Lee. They got closer, while we got farther apart, ironic if you think about it. They were physically closer as well, showing each other affection, even if platonically, in ways the two of us couldn’t. We spent a single night together at my parents house before returning to college after the winter break. After that we seemed to grow further and further apart, not for lack of trying, but because the problems Des was dealing with in their own life were so beyond me. They’d started counseling months before that, and seemed to be falling apart at the seams, as much as I tried to help. Finally, in some odd twist of dumb, teenage logic, I decided the only way to help Des was to give them some space so they wouldn’t have to deal with a relationship on top of dealing with home issues and abusive parents and trying to protect their beloved sibling long distance. I met them in the study room we’d always met in as a group, to have the talk that led to our separation. And I remember, holding them, and realizing what a huge fucking mistake I’d just made. For years after I’d replay that moment in my head again, and again, and again for years just wishing that I’d said “Wait, no, I don’t want to be apart, please stay with me, I want to help you.” I’d have dreams where things worked out, then wake to the cruel reality that was being alone. I never really wanted to break up with them, I still loved them more than I ever thought I could love another person. But I wanted to help them so much that I overrode all logic to do the only thing I could think of. It was the single dumbest mistake I’ve made in my life. I threw away something that, might have been fine if I’d waited until Des sorted their problems out themselves and been there to stand beside them. I still, through some convoluted logic thought that maybe they’d want to get back together later. What I didn’t expect is that my friend, we’ll call him Seth, who’d innocently asked me if Des and I were together would go on to ask them out before Valentine’s Day, two weeks later. I never really realized what I’d lost until I heard they were together. Lee told me. Lee called me up to their work office, to tell me about how they’d planned to confess their feelings to Des in this whole set up way. But hadn’t had the chance. I never even realized that Lee felt anything like that for Des. But it didn’t register until then. I finally told them about that short, month long, hidden relationship that I’d stupidly ended weeks before. I was crushed. My entire world seemed to stop and go still the moment he told me Des was seeing someone. Not two weeks after we broke up. I felt betrayed and had no right to. I really had no right to feel bad since I initiated the end, but I did. It was a kind of grief I never felt before. I realized the mistake I’d made and knew that it was too late to go back. I think somehow, in some twisted bout of logic I thought maybe if I broke up with Des, that somehow he’d say no, and say that they loved me and actually wanted to be together. I didn’t expect them to let me go. And so easily. I realized then that as much as I loved Des so much that it physically hurt to be apart from him for more than a couple hours, Des only saw me as maybe a fun brief relationship, but otherwise another blip in his life. Where I had to beg him to come spend time with me, they were sneaking off with Seth at all hours. They were allowed to be open with their relationship. They could write about it on facebook, meet the parents. Where we had to hide it. My heart sunk down into my stomach every time I saw them together, and it took all I could to not burst into tears every moment. It was then that the depression started. The first thing I did after finding out was sit at my dorm room desk and cry, and then I called my two other best friends and they asked me for Des’ number so they could call and reprimand them for making me cry. But even if he hurt me, I couldn’t bear for them to be mean to Des. I couldn’t do it. I carried my grief inside, trying to exorcise it with art or poetry or anything I was always told would help. But it was an open wound inside my chest, a crushing weight, a reminder that I was unlovable that played inside my head day in and day out. My grades started to suffer. And through it all, I was never allowed to tell anyone why. Because I wasn’t out, the relationship was a secret, and I’d been the one to end it after all. I had no right to be sad and yet it ate at me day in and day out. My friends tried to set me up with other people, but I was still so in love with them, or maybe the idea of him that it was no use.  Later I wrote a love letter to him and met with him, because I knew once I saw them, I couldn’t hand them my pain. So I just gave them that letter. And they told me that one day I’d find someone. It was vague enough that I still had hope, but also that I had no closure. It hurt to be told to find someone else when I still felt so much for him. Des tried so hard not to hurt me, that he inadvertently hurt me worse because I was never really allowed to grieve. I couldn’t get over it, because I still had some vague hope that maybe one day Des would come back. Maybe they could feel something for me again. No matter how many people I told my story to, they didn’t get it. No matter how many counselors I told my story to, they didn’t get it. Because even with all my writing skill, I could never convey that feeling and the depth of it. I could never, out loud say that I loved him because it felt like too much. Like a harsh blinding spot light that I had to use words like “adore” or “really like” because saying love, saying I loved them, felt like a blowtorch melting my skin away and I couldn’t function under that pressure. I felt like if I admitted it, then I’d have to deal with the fact that I let go of someone I loved, really loved. Our group friendship kept unraveling. I remember sitting in a study room with our entire cosplay group, and Des, and Seth. Another friend of ours had a knife and I asked to see it. And I just thought “I could slit my wrists with this, right here, right in front of everyone and none of them could stop me.” Except they did. They must have seen something in my face and took the knife away from me. I was starting to fall apart too. Des and Lee and I started sniping at each other. Des would say cruel things to me. Things that he must have seen as some one off comment. But things that haunt me to this day. We had one big fight as a group. I said something cruel to Des that I will never forgive myself for, but luckily, another friend made us talk to each other and we made up. It was strained though. I still loved him deeply and could do nothing about it. I was too afraid to ever bring it up after the love letter, and he, wanting to spare my feelings would never say that he still knew I was in love with him. I think he knew, I would read him stories that I wrote or poetry, which were always indirectly about him, and not say anything. But his eyes always had this sad look, like he didn’t know what to say to me. We both played our parts of feigned ignorance. It was how we kept the peace. But the worst part is we stayed friends. I moved in with him a year or so later along with 3 or 4 other people. Even though it had been so long, and I liked his new partner as a person, it was an open wound. I had to watch them be a couple up close and personal, I had to watch them retreat to their room together, hear about their exploits from friends, and know that it could have been me but it wasn’t. Every time they touched each other it was like a cigarette being put out on my skin, a dull thudding ache in my chest that never seemed to go away. And I had to smile through it. Because still being in love with someone two years after they break up with you is something a crazy person does. So I kept it to myself, I wrapped my heart up in gauze and tried to keep anyone from seeing that it was still bleeding. I swallowed the pain down and tried to do other things. I tried to start a band. I tried to meet new people. I lost myself in new music obsessions. I dove into my Emilie Autumn obsession like never before. But in the back of my mind, through all of it was this voice saying: “You gave up the one person you will ever love, and it’ll never happen again.” I went and created an okcupid account. I exchanged numbers a few times, met one in person and accidentally met a new friend. But I just couldn’t connect with anyone. I would always compare them to Des. They weren’t Des, and I could feel nothing for any of them. I met a girl who I wanted very badly to love, because she was kind of androgynous, kind of loud and ‘fuck the world’ in the same way Des was. But, I just didn’t feel anything. We tried to be a couple, but eventually admitted that it was more convenience than anything and ended it after a few weeks. And stayed friends. The worst part was listening to Des excitedly tell me  he’d heard that I was in a relationship, and having to tell them it was over. It hurt that he was excited for me, even if I appreciated it. Every time he’d push me to talk to girls all I could think was “It could be you, I want it to be you, I don’t want anyone else.”  Eventually Des and my new roommates got into a huge fight and he moved out. As hopeful as I was when I heard Des was excited to be my roommate, it hurt to see him leave. No matter how much shit my new roommates talked about him, I could never see him as anyone other than this person I loved so dearly. But life went on, Des moved out to live in Vegas, and I created a new crew with my new roommates. We spent every moment together, along with Lee. But I never stopped thinking about Des. His name was a dirty word in our new accommodations because of the aforementioned fight, but I didn’t care. I held my love inside and tried to go on living. I started my band, got a lip ring, tried out that second and last relationship and tried to be a person. Later I found Des’ blog and went through reading whatever I could. Because as much time as we knew each other, I knew so little about him. I read that they were starting to question their gender and it scared me, not because I disapproved, but because I was so insecure in my lesbian identity at the time, that I thought if they transitioned to a gender that I’d swore up and down I wasn’t attracted to, could I still love them? This broke me anew because I was adamant in my identity, but so afraid of what felt like ‘losing them.’ But eventually I decided it didn’t matter. I loved them no matter what. I hadn’t yet heard the terms queer or nonbinary, but knew that my love transcended gender identity. Des started talking to me again after leaving town. It had actually been months, and while I was sad over it, I was determined to wait for him to text me first. I wanted to see if he cared. And eventually I got a message. He started telling me about his crazy life out in Vegas. His relationship ended around this time, and I had hope again. I never said anything, but I always had that what if in the back of my mind. We started talking regularly again. It was shallow, surface level stuff about life and comics. But that connection was there again. I always looked for clues that maybe he was interested again, but being a person who’s naturally affectionate and prone to speaking in character role play, I could never be certain. The crush started to wane a bit. Eventually I decided the college I was at was not conductive to either my fashion designer goals or my quest for a  relationship so I put in paperwork to transfer. I began the terrifying journey to not only moving three hours away from my parents, but three hours away from everyone and everything I’d ever known. I was left right in the middle of a brand new city at an expensive college and was determined to start over. While I’d still, always, hold some love and hope that Des would return to me, I tried to be hopeful about finding love at this new school. In spite of whatever was going on in my life, I was always searching for a relationship. And I thought there was no better place to find other queer people than at an art school in a liberal-seeming artsy city. But eventually I’d learn it wasn’t. I moved to the city and was confronted with the exact same fears I had at the beginning of college. I thought that maybe I’d just run into someone, just like my first years of college. And I did, but no one like Des.  The longer I spent at school, the more I realized that not only was my art not up to par, but the dream relationship I’d been searching for my entire life was simply not to be. Each new person I met was not who I was looking for. I looked for Des in everyone, but he was singular and unique. I tried to bury that disappointment and try to love someone, anyone. I kept at okcupid, installed dating apps, but still nothing. I started sleeping a lot. I stopped forcing myself to go to college events. Eventually everything started to feel like a chore. I sunk deeper and deeper into depression when I realized that while I’d changed schools, I brought all my pain, all my fears and everything else with me. I started gaining weight, I cut all my hair off. I looked horrible, I felt horrible. I ended up breaking my ankle over the summer and gained even more weight. I returned to college with a noticeable limp. I was embarrassed of every photo my new friends tagged me in because I didn’t look or feel like myself. I couldn’t bear to actually go on any dates because I felt ugly and unlovable. And the fact that no one had wanted to date me since him seemed to cement that fact. Then one day, out of the blue, I got a text that Des was back in my city. The city I’d chosen to go to college was actually his hometown. It had been years since we’d seen each other in person. I was apprehensive because it had been long enough that we were very different people. I met him in a coffee shop, and was delighted to discover that we actually had more in common now than we ever did in our early college days. Des decided to explore the wild side that you simply can’t explore in our middle of nowhere, wants-to-be-a-city where we met. And as much as I thought ‘ok, it doesn’t feel electric anymore every time you get close to me, but there’s still something there.” I was still hopeful, because at that point no other relationship had worked out. I still remember what it felt like to be loved, and wanted that again.  Des avoided talking about his relationships while out in Vegas and I respected that. I enjoyed just listening to him talk about his exploits, knife fights, and everything else he’d been up to. I told him about college and art school. But one thing that had changed is our easy familiarity. While Des had always put a hand on your shoulder or had no concept of personal space while telling a story, it felt stilted, different. All his affection for me seemed completely gone. And it crushed me again in a new way I didn’t think I was capable of feeling. I was afraid that any shred of love, any shred of hope was gone now. I knew that love, real love, doesn’t fizzle out, so if I feel less now, then what does it mean? I was pretty sure that Des was in a relationship at that point, but until he confirmed I didn’t want to think about it. We had this stilted, but still close friendship borne out of shared trauma, in a way. But I could never shake that longing.  Which ran the gamut from barely noticeable to this all-consuming pining. It went on and off for years. Buoyed by some off hand comment or touch, and sunk by suspicion that he was involved with someone else. I remember one meeting of being so convinced that the chance I’d been waiting for, for years was finally at hand,and I remember hinting at to Des in a noticeable way. But he deflected that comment and I didn’t bring it up again. I didn’t want to press further and risk shattering the illusion of hope I’d created for myself. So I went back to my old ways of pining, but trying not to make it obvious. I would take any shred of affection he could give me. And those shreds were what kept me going even as the depression that the original hurt had set in emotion was beginning to become noticeable in ways that even my closest friends were aware of. I started going to counseling regularly and started taking meds for depression right as my final year of college was at an end. I’d mostly gotten over the relationship, but not entirely. The fact that no other relationship with any other person seemed to work out was beginning to wear on me. It felt like something wrong with me as a person. It had been 7 years at that point, and not a single person after that second relationship, so much as looked at me. That combined with a future made bleak by student loan debt made me sink deeper and deeper. At some point I decided I’d kill myself right after graduation but could never bring myself to do it. I stayed in that city, worked horrible retail jobs and suffered through as best I could. And then, fate decided to bring us together again. My car had broken down earlier in the week, just stalled out in the middle of the road. And I took a bus to work that let out in the mall. And Des, just happened to be driving by and called my name. At that point it had been months since we’d seen each other, even if we lived in the exact same city. He a half hour outside, and me within the city. We started talking again. I was still hopeful, but less so. My suspicions he was with someone were confirmed and it crushed me at third time. At this point I was used to the heartbreak and it hurt less than all the other times. I decided, at this point, that as jealous as I was, I would try to be happy for him. It no longer mattered what I felt because I knew it would always be one sided. Even if I asked every tarot spread if we’d eventually end up together. Even if every wish on every set of birthday candles I’ve made since 2009 have been to bring him back to me. Even if I’m fairly sure I will never love anyone else the way I loved him, I still want him to be happy. So I decided I would try to be as enthusiastic about his new relationship as my heart could take. That I would try as hard as I could to make her feel included in our little friend group. Even if part of me dies every time I think about it. I dressed up and drank my sorrows on new years. I realized that he loved her in a way he could, and would never love me, and there was no changing it. And I was going to try as hard as I possibly could to support him in that. I was going to try so hard to finally bury these emotions and not let them hurt him. But they’re always going to be part of me. I think I had something once in a lifetime. Even if it must be platonic, we’re soulmates. There was a connection there once, and I don’t think that goes away, but he moved on a long time ago. And maybe, one day I’ll be able to move on too. But not now. Now I still think back on it all, and cling to it, because my present is such a depressing mess of pain and sadness and hopelessness. I still hope, but its a futile hope I realize. I’m still so happy whenever I hear from him, the way I’m not happy for anyone else. I’m still going to try to be there for him as much as I can. It still hurts, but he always mattered more to me than I do, so it doesn’t matter.  I think I always wrote these things in the hopes that he’d see them and give me some kind of closure. But he doesn’t really read them, and I don’t blame him. He has enough to deal with, without the weight of my sorrows adding to it. And, I think, both he and I know it would be hard for me to handle the weight of that finality if he did finally tell me it would never work out. The vagueness of it seems like something warm and comforting to return to. A what if where there’s no other hope. He told me: ‘one day, maybe, when we’re different people’ and that is what keeps me going some days. I’m always torn between wanting to know, and not wanting to know. I do, but god, it’s going to hurt so much. But that’s the story of why I can’t move on. Why I’ll never love anyone as much as I loved him, and why every other relationship seems so shallow in comparison. This still isn’t all of it. But there are some things I want to keep for just myself. Some details that are ours alone.  Maybe one day I’ll be able to love someone again.