#aborted suicide attempt

[ablueberryblogs]

TW// (aborted) suicide attempt, overdose

Started to kill myself the night of the 23rd. Luckily I stopped (I was taking pills so it was easy to back out) but I'm spooked senseless now. I really came so close to the end. The worst part is I'm not that deterred, I could so easily try again. I put my pills in a lock box but I know where the key is. I'm in this weird liminal space almost. I feel like a ghost. The only reason I stopped was because I didn't want to risk surviving and being trapped in the hospital. None of my usual coping skills did anything. Thinking about my sibling didn't do anything. The fact that I was texting my friends my every thought and they begged me to not go through with it didn't do anything. Anyways this pride month hasn't gone the way I would hope and I could really use some love. Thanks.

[dragynkeep]

the show : it's okay because ruby didn't actually die! she'll just come out of the tree like everyone else!

me : that? doesn't solve the actual underlying issue? it doesn't matter ruby won't actually die, the fact that she fully thought she would when drinking the tea & her suicidality are the pressing issues here, especially with a lack of a support system from her friends & the constant trauma she's been through the past 2 volumes alone.

the way this show has handled ruby & jaune's mental health rivals the god awfulness of 13 reasons why. & it'll be even worse if she does go through this magical tree bullshit & is cured from her suicidality because that's not how that fucking works. someone keep these blockhead writers away from these types of topics, they're butchering them to hell & back.

[oftatteredwings]

⸻  CODY FERN. THEY/THEM / have you ever heard of TALKIN’ ‘BOUT A REVOLUTION by tracy chapman, well, it describes LUCIAN CARTER to a tee! The thirty-two year-old, and BARTENDER AT CLOUD NINE CLUB/ESCORT was spotted browsing through the stalls at portobello road market last sunday, do you know them? would you say THEY are more careless or more PASSIONATE instead? anyway, they remind me of placards fighting for injustice, an ever changing wardrobe, an inability not to help, messy bedhead and scribbled out maths problems, maybe you’ll bump into them soon! 

time in notting hill ; 4 years, but are a london native.

tw: drug abuse, abortion mention, violence, drug overdose, sex work, suicide attempt

ABOUT.

Name: Lucian Carter. Age: Thirty-two. DoB: April 23rd 1991. Occupation: Bartender at Cloud Nine Club/Escort. Sexual/romantic orientation: Pansexual/grey-romantic. Birthplace: Camden, London, UK. Current Location: Notting Hill, London, UK.

They’re a native to London and grew up in Camden.

Product of a one night stand who was treated like crap by their mother from birth. She didn’t want them, had planned to get rid of them and made that clear each and every day. The police were constantly getting called to their place because of the continual screaming and shouting.

At 7 they found their mum’s drug stash which suddenly explained why they had no money even though she was working all the time. It explained a lot.

Shortly after that they were joined by a younger sister, who their mum seemed to want this time.

Threw themselves into school. They were a bit of a brainiac. Maths club, constant tutoring of other students, cross-country running, anything to keep them away from home.

By the time high school had come to an end they’d found a passion for activism and spent all their time in the middle of the city involved in protests. Constantly spent their time clashing with the police, chaining themselves to buildings and locked away for the night after peaceful protests ended up violent.

At around 21 they came out as genderfluid. They’d never fit in any kind of box anyway. Started going by both they/them, something that has stuck ever since.

They spent the rest of their time working in bars, coffee shops, restaurants (whatever brought the money in) and a local homeless shelter.

Attempted a relationship for the first time. Failed. It lasted a couple of years but ended when they let them get dragged off by the police without helping at all. They are a bit of a hopeless romantic deep down, but have never really felt they deserve love because of how they were treated by their mother when growing up.

Spent the next couple of years flitting back and forth between London, Birmingham and Manchester constantly, unable to settle. 

Moved back to London permanently around five years ago after receiving a phone call from their younger sibling, who told them their mother had overdosed. Despite everything they still came running to take care of them both.

Picked up a job at a bar again pretty quickly, needing money to support themselves and their mother and sister, something they never thought they’d be doing. They live in an apartment away from them though, choosing to settle in Notting Hill, there was no way they were living in the same house as their mother ever again.

The bartending eventually led to escort work… something they hadn’t expected. But they actually kind of love it, even if it is complicated sometimes. They mostly deal with guys looking for a good time or middle aged women hunting for someone young to flash around the city. It’s not ideal, but it supported the lifestyle they were trying to hold down.

December 2020 and their newly found job took a dramatic turn when a client attempted suicide while they were sleeping. They’ve since been forced to rethink things a little, but have yet to make an effort to move away from it. They’ve fallen back into working at the shelter, though, knowing it’s probably where they belong.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

Maternal Half-sister (0/1): Of at least half European descent. 7/8 years younger. Anya Taylor-Joy’s the dream.

Childhood best friend (0/1): This person was like Lucian’s family when they were growing up. That’s never changed.

Childhood friends (0/?): Anyone they knew growing up in Camden.

Sister from another mister/brother from another mother (0/1): They’ve never been close to their actual siblings (or don’t know them at all) so this is someone they’ve formed a sibling-like bond with over the years.

Close friends (0/?): Friends they’ve grown close to since settling in Notting Hill.

Getting to know you (0/?): They’ve only recently got to know one another, but they’re working on it.

The best kind of people (0/?): They’ve met on numerous charity/good will projects over the years and just made a bond.

Ex-partners (0/2): There have only been a couple, Lucian doesn’t have the best luck with lasting relationships.

You’re kind of special (0/1): Someone they’ve found themselves growing closer to recently, although it might all be one-sided, they’re not sure yet.

One night stands (0/?): There aren’t too many of them, but every so often they’ll spend a night with someone.

Friends with benefits (0/2): Same as the one night stands, though these two keep coming back to one another.

Roommate (0/1): They are by no means rich, so having a roomie helps with rent.

People from work (0/?): People they know through their work at the bar or others who may work with the homeless from time to time.

Not quite the best of friends (0/?): They just really don’t get along… at all. They could have clashed during a protest or something in the city at some point.

[ravenlikesbooks]

This is so important

"Don't shove it down our throats"

"Protect the kids, keep this away from them"

No. Stop.

We need to keep showing it

We need to let people that they are seen.

We need to show these kids. Kids. That they have someone.

Why?

Because queer youth are 4 times more likely to commit suicide than their peers

Because 45 percent or queer youth have considered suicide within the last year

Because a young queer person attempts suicide every 45 seconds

Because having just one supportive adult reduscing the risk of suicide in queer teens by 40 percent

If you want to protect the kids, save our fucking lives

Instead of saying to stop shoving it down your throats

Take the pills out of our throats

Take the noose off our necks

Take the blades and guns out of our hands

And let them out their hands there instead

So they can hold us and help us

And listen an let us know

Hey. I see you. I hear you. Your feelings are valid. And you are loved

If you care about the children then let us be seen and heard...

At this point I'm scared for my life... If I didn't have a support adult that had that sign on their door at school and wore that pin I would be dead

That sign. That pin. They don't hurt the straight cis kids. They don't cause harm. They don't get affected by them. But it saved my life...

So please. Stop saying stuff like that.

To other queer kids, please. Here me. You are loved. You will be accepted one day. My messages are open. You deserve to be alive. You're not broken. You're not a fuck up. You are a person just like me and all those other 8 billion on this planet. You are worth so much more than what theyve said. I love you so so so so so much. This world is better with you here. It's better with you and your personality because you're unique. We need people who are different. I love you. I'm here if you need anything at all. And I'm so proud of you...

[ashfordvalleyhq]

MEET LIV

Full Name → Olivia Celestine Georgina Weston

Age → 34

Birthday → July 12th, 1990

Order & Type → second, fraternal twin

Gender & Pronouns → cis woman, she/her

Sexuality → heterosexual/heteroromantic

Occupation → professor at UPenn (Beginner, Intermediate, and Advanced Latin & Classical Mythology)

THEIR STORY

(tw: near-fatal accident, attempted suicide, abortion mention)

Growing up, there was one thing that Olivia knew more soundly than any other: she was going to be the youngest woman on the Women’s Olympic Soccer team for Team USA to ever win the gold medal. While she had a passion and love of the sport, being the youngest Olympic player on the women’s team was never her own goal; it was a “dream” that had been set by her parents, one which left her feeling as if she had no real choice in the matter. Sure, she had dreamed of being a professional soccer player the same way that any young athlete did; posters of Mia Hamm had adorned her walls for years. But when her parents realized her talent and started pushing for ‘perfection’ to “make the family proud”, she’d realized the interest they’d taken in her life was more about themselves than about her.

Despite the added pressure that came with her parents’ (mainly her mother’s) interest in her life, Olivia couldn’t deny that a part of her enjoyed the attention; growing up being raised by nannies and au pairs, a part of her had always craved their attention. Their approval. She studied hard at school and kept her grades up, while throwing herself into her training the rest of the time. She’d had short-lived boyfriends here and there, with a contract drafted for an eventual arranged marriage to someone she didn’t absolutely detest by the time she’d reached 16 (set to be put into motion after her 18th birthday), but her devotion to making her parents proud was her main focus. By the time she was 17, she had more or less achieved the goal she had been working towards; after watching her play during the final championship game for The Dalton School, she’d been recruited for the Women’s Olympic soccer team and immediately offered a place as a forward on the team. Unfortunately for her, though, her dreams would never come to fruition. She’d made the team, but she wouldn’t be there for the final game that would have awarded them the gold star had they won.

After the second game in the qualifying tournament, Olivia had been on her way back to the hotel when the car she was in was involved in a head-on collision. Unbeknownst to anyone involved at the time, the car had been tampered with by someone who felt personally wronged by the Weston family’s corporation. The driver lost control of the car, and crashed head-first into a wall with Olivia in the front seat. In the aftermath, Olivia was the only survivor, but she’d been left with both of her legs broken in multiple places, broken ribs, a broken clavicle, multiple bones in her arms broken, as well as a head injury. Despite the fact that she knew she was lucky to be alive, Olivia struggled with wanting nothing more than for her life to end for a long time after the accident. She had to relearn almost everything she knew, and she’d never be able to move the way she used to. The entire future she had envisioned for herself (or whether, the future her parents had envisioned for her) was completely destroyed.

It took over a year for her to fully recover and get back some semblance of normalcy, but it took much longer for her to start getting to the right place mentally. Olivia pushed herself as hard as she physically could, trying to get back to where she was before the accident, but no matter what she did it was to no avail. Every time she started running, she was unable to keep the pace for more than a few minutes before either suffering severe pain in her legs or having her knees give out. Shortly after one of the housekeepers found the young woman unconscious in her bed with an empty bottle of pain medication beside her, the Weston family decided to relocate to Bearcreek; the scandal of an elite family’s daughter trying to end her life combined with the gossip and various scandals surrounding Weston Pharmaceuticals was enough to convince the family patriarch they needed to start over somewhere and fix their image.

After the accident and what her parents had deemed 'the incident’, Olivia had taken time off from school to heal, but once she was finally back in good health she began to take up her studies again. She had no idea what she was going to do with her life, now that her plans for the future had been shattered, but it wasn’t long before she realized she had another passion. With the arranged marriage falling through and her parents no longer having an interest in what she did, she was free to make her own choices. While her love of classical civilizations wasn’t quite as passionate as her love for soccer had been, she really did love everything about Classics, and she had made some really great friends in her studies. While working on her undergraduate degree, Olivia found an attachment growing between herself and another classmate. She had thought things were going well, she had thought they were in love. Honestly, she thought she’d found something that only existed in the movies. Unfortunately, life had a different path in mind for her.

Initially, Marcus tried his best to be supportive. He wasn’t ready to be a father, but they’d loved each other and wanted to make it work. But after four months and a series of nearly continuous arguments Marcus left, stating that it was too much pressure to put on someone their age.  She had been terrified of raising a child on her own, but she also knew she’d never be able to go through the physical and emotional toll that came with having an abortion or even giving it up for adoption. The only path available was to have the child and do the best that she could raising it, despite her parents loud and numerous objections.

Eventually deciding to follow a Classics career path, Olivia knew that it wouldn’t be easy to finish up her studies while raising a child, but she was nothing if not determined. In only a few short years, she managed to graduate with a Bachelor’s degree in Classical Civilizations. She knew it would be just as hard when she decided to follow up her undergraduate program with a graduate program, but she also knew the payoff would be equally rewarding. With the help of some friends she’d made while doing her undergraduate studies who volunteered to take turns watching her daughter while she was in class, Olivia managed to graduate from the Master’s program at UPenn at the top of her class, and it wasn’t too long before she accepted an undergraduate teaching position at her alma mater. She’s been teaching there for the last 4 years.

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

life

(past abortion, past suicide attempt, references to bigotry)

ao3

"It wasn't...alive. Scientifically." Dana curls a hand over her stomach, tracing circles around her belly button. "I know that. But--" She lefts out the faintest puff of air, turning her head slightly, sweat in her dark hair glistening as it mixes with cats. "I don't know. I think about it, sometimes."

"My old church would say it was alive." Kate clasps her wrists--a cross on one, a violet on the other. A careful balance she's spent years cultivating, tenuous as feet balanced upon a rooftop once upon a time. "They'd also say I'm going to hell for...a lot of reasons."

She lets her head slide down, clasp Dana's hand, and carefully pull it back to her lips. She kisses Dana's wrists, the fine, breathing veins there.

"The pain's real," she says, letting Dana's skin warm her face. "But so are we. We're alive, Dana. That's always been the most important thing."

Dana doesn't reply, but she curls her fingers, squeezing tight. Their pulses hums in sync.

[luxiomahariel]

anything that targets cis women like abortion bans and child marriage are going to also affect trans men/mascs

anything that targets trans people like hrt bans and hate crimes are going to also affect trans men/mascs

and there are also issues that disproportionately affect trans men/mascs like being denied health care based on medical records indicating that they are or were taking testosterone or the harms that come with chest binding for long periods of time or the increased rates of depression/attempted suicide/sexual assault that trans men/mascs suffer from

all these different types of oppression intersect in a way that we call:

TRANSANDROPHOBIA

[thewildefish]

Attention seeking bitch yeah?

You know, it would be such a great thing, if I could take my life and prove all these moaners wrong. They assume without genuinely understanding the inner workings of my person. Or even worse, they think they know me, but they actually do not.

Attention does fuck all to help me. Attention will not cure me. Attention is annoying, especially from people I don't fancy.

If you hate me so much, then why don't you just kill me? It's fine if it's a fly, so why are we suddenly conditioned to believe it's not acceptable with humans too? They can be pests all the same. Emotional vampires too. Do no gooders. Emotional abusers. You want to be free from all that, don't you?

If you're worried about the legal bit, I can compose a document where I explain my point of view and insist you're exempted from the legal consequences. Outline all the suffering I've been subjected to throughout the years. After all, it's only assisted suicide that this is. I didn't want to be alive, I really don't. And people should respect this, instead of forcing their pro-life agenda upon us. Where were you pro-lifers at when I was abused and bullied as a child? Where are you pro-lifers when us mentally ill get treated like stroppy children, retards, nuisances, uglies, monsters?? So shut up, not interested in your misguided point of view.

But, if you're the coward like most people are, only capable of verbal abuse but nothing more, why don't you go get lost? You're only wasting your time if you're not going to actually physically harm me. Take your actions where your mouth is, or fuck off.

Somebody once said to me, I hope one day you'll find peace.

And what do you think that entails??

Dying is the only way to achieve peace in my damaged state. Dying is freedom and liberation. I so want to cease to exist.

Fucking survival instinct. Bloody dog walkers who found me last time. They probably think they've done something noble, but sadly it's quite the opposite, they "saved" somebody who wasn't meant to live, and is a monster. I took too long to off myself and that's why we're where we are now. My life didn't improve one bit in all these months. See, been lied to again. So many people are genuinely indoctrinated into believing that somebody who's attempted suicide, regrets it. I for hell don't. No, I'm livid that I'm still alive and only prolonging my suffering. I want a way out, just not one that involves being scraped off the pavement. Best way to go would be to go missing forever, no body found, no funeral bullshit (why would you want to say goodbye to a monster?? Why would you want to give decent burial to an abuser??). Just forget the bitch ever existed, it's the best way. I was meant to have been aborted, and my foolish parents should've bloody gone through with it FFS. By changing their mind, they've disrupted the universe's balance and continuity, and no wonder a lot of sinister things had been happening in the world since 1997. Just pay attention, open your eyes. Greed and evil has taken over this world, and it's directly correlated with the vile creature that I am still living in this world.

Only with my death humanity has a chance of being free again.

[shaisuki]

POSITIVE TEST RESULTS

ft. gojo satoru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, geto suguru

content warnings ─── pregnancy, babytrapping, noncon, dubious consent, stockholm syndrome, implied abuse, breeding kink, mentions of abortion, allusions to suicide. dead dove do not eat.

ᝰ synopsis .ᐟ a baby! the excitement and the incomprehensible joy they felt when they are expecting from you. a blessing or a curse? anyways, no matter what it is to keep you in place with them.

GOJO SATORU

the six eyes are everything. it can see the unknown and the forces that dwells that is invisible in the naked eye. satoru is grateful for the power he wield and it is the most useful in also keeping an eye on you. he knows it first before you can. the breath you take, the first step you make and the rhythm of your heartbeat. wether it was racing from the fear or the continuous pleasure he gives to you while he pumps his fingers into your tight hole.

there's nothing the six eyes he possess can't see and it's no different when he hears the first heartbeat of his child formed into your womb.

his child. he is having a child with you and satoru was over the moon when he found out.

long arms encased your soft form in his lap. your back in his chest while he hums a song. his lips ghosting on the expanse of your exposed shoulders. playfully nibbling on the skin when he hears the tiniest of whimper from you.

large palms drapes in your stomach. kneading the layered flesh like a cat making biscuits. satoru hums in delight. contented at this domestic bliss without too much fuss from you. you could be such a handful at times but it was fine to him. you were still adjusting to this life. a new environment for you and for him.

after numerous of escape attempts, he declares the staff and servants alike in the gojo household to be incompetent. it wouldn't happen if they were doing their job. he founds it useless and he took the matter in his own hand.

a penthouse to keep you. luxurious it was for one's taste. equipped with the latest security and glasses so thick that a bullet cannot dent it. money was no problem for it. gojo has an endless wealth to spend it especially for you. the safety and welfare of his wife always in the top of his priorities and it was worth every single penny of it. you cannot be bored taking the view of the city lights in the night time. overlooking the streets of tokyo.

pleasant it is but to you, beautiful the penthouse is but no matter how gilded it is, it is still a cage and you were the bird.

he breathes into your scent. it has been days since he touched you and satoru savors every second of it. your body a wonderland to him and he must be the only to explore it. satoru doesn't shy away from touching the parts that you didn't like. giving it the most of attention to prove it to you how much he loves it. particularly your stomach. lately, he's been obsessed with it. the talks of getting you pregnant and seeing you with child sparks the joy deep inside him.

satoru's patient. waiting for the result of the labor and love you both had poured in creating a life and he knows it is not that fast but he made sure you were properly bedded every chance he can get. now, all he had to do is wait. he may or may not been activating his technique to ensure you are with his child.

it happened in a blink of an eye when he first felt it. it was like an explosion of tiny molecules and forms into one. a dew rolling from a leaf and creating a ripple in calm waters. then he can hear the small “thump” of a heartbeat and you were rewarded by the sweetest of kiss and the next words he uttered were static in your ears.

“i'm not. it's my body. i'm the first one to know it.” you mutter. reasoning the most obvious truth and it was just a lie your ears want to hear.

“why would i lie to you, i can see and feel everything and that includes you, my wife.” he confidently counters to you. his voice never faltering in enthusiasm as he reveals the newfound joy to you.

your lashes are clumpy and the familiar stinging sensation makes way to your eyes. there is no way you will be carrying this man's child. you can't. you can't bear it. you can't carry this child. not with this man. you already feared the day it would come and now. you didn't realize the first drops of tears came cascading down you cheeks. placing your hand in your stomach and clutching the flesh like the fetus inside of you will magically disappear. this child wasn't even born yet and you're dreading you would become a mother to this one.

“don't cry, (y/n). i promised you didn't i? i will take care both of you.” he ever so sweetly convinced you to carry with this pregnancy and you felt manipulated again and then you were just a puppet.

“you've been a good wife to me. what's the difference of being a mother to our child.” he says, consoling you in his way that would only matter to him. you're carrying his child and as your husband and him being a father in the next months, you would be provided with the utmost care from him. starting on how he's going to worship this body of yours. pregnant and sensitive.

he's already kneeling in front of you. his blue eyes all of it's glory. staring at you with such adoration while he kisses the roundness of your stomach. pressing his cheek in the flesh. wanting to hear the faint thump of the heartbeat of his unborn child.

you tried to push him away. pressing your thighs together to avoid further ministrations from him but gojo effortlessly pried your thighs open. easily diving to get closer to you while his hands holds your wrist.

“satoru—ahhh” a moan accidentally slipping past your lips. his nose nudging the slit of your cunt before taking a lick from it. his hold on your wrist tighter as you tried to stop him.

“satoru, no—ahh” he chuckles. hearing you moan again and gojo takes pride of that. he ought to make you happy. furthermore increasing the success rate of you giving birth to a healthy son or maybe a daughter. frankly, he don't care. a child with you is better than none. a baby would eliminate all the problems he used to have with you and all the fuss will decrease.

such sweet cries for me, my adorable wife. he thought. your grip getting weaker the more his tongue laps up the slick coming out from your sweet cunt.

submit to him and let him do all the work. he did promise he will take care of you. for now, let him taste you. claim his reward for all the efforts.

you wouldn't deny him of his happiness, eh?

NANAMI KENTO

it's not everyday you can see a man with a built like nanami looms and searches from every rack of the pharmacy looking for a pregnancy test.

he's not getting his hopes up but rather ensuring that you are just fine and well though deep inside he's hoping that you are expecting. nanami had been dreaming of a domestic bliss lately. a child with you. hopefully one that looks and takes after you. he would be so happy.

nanami sighs, adjusting his glasses and shaking his thoughts of you being pregnant with his child. your welfare comes first before any others.

he's gone in the day before he comes home in the evening and the very first step he took in his home, he knew something was up.

the bathroom lights was on and there he sees your plush form kneeling in front of the toilet, spilling the contents of your stomach.

by the sound of his footsteps getting nearer he noticed how your body turned rigid.

“uhmmm.” flushing the toilet and standing up to turn on the faucet. letting the cold water run through the drain and wipe your mouth stained with vomit. trying to hide the evidence of you being sick.

“are you okay?” his stern voice cutting through the nervousness creeping up on you. large palms cupping your cheeks gently. you nod. “just a bit tired, actually. i'm going to bed.” you excused and with the furrows of your brows and that frown in your lips. nanami is sure what you're trying to hide.

he grabs a multiple of test kits. it's better to be sure before checking it out along with a few necessities for him to bring home.

when you see the pregnancy test kits being handed to you. you gave him a puzzled look. “i'm not. it's just the bug or something.” you reason to him. shielding yourself from the possibility of what he's implying.

“i know. better be sure than never, my love.” he managed to convince you and with that you took the test.

“why, ken? why would i be pregnant? i never missed taking the pills!” you asked him. sobs racking throughout your body as you look at the multiple pregnancy stick resting in the sink. all positive.

cruel and heartless and beyond him, nanami may or may not have tampered your pills. he never did intended to do this but lately you have been being stubborn than you are. his choices leading him to this unwanted pregnancy for you but to him he was happy. always wanted to be a good husband and a father to his child with you.

“accidents happen. we're in this together, okay?” it was never be fine with you. you can't be pregnant. “no—no!” your voice raising into a pitch. “i can't carry this child.” you could never. if kento was willing to shackle you with those cuffs, what's the difference it would be to your child. already chained to this man.

it took him a few minutes to fully calm you down. you're settled in the bed with him behind you. “i would be present throughout the duration of your pregnancy.” he assures you. bundling your hair in fist and putting it aside. kissing your nape and the gesture sending a shiver down your spine. “you are going to be a good mother.” peppering kisses to your shoulder blade and his other hand wanders until it reaches you belly. plump and squishy. in the next months it's going to be rounder and firmer. swollen with his child.

“i'm unfit to be a mother.” you whisper and nanami murmurs to your skin. “you're not.” pressing a tender kiss in the spot of your pulse in your neck. “i will harm this child.” you warned. “i will keep you confined to bed if needed then, but set aside those thoughts for me. i won't allow such things.” holding a firm hold to your jaw and then he whispers to you.

“allow me, my wife.” your body jolts in response. his index finger prodding your hole while rubbing your clit. “let me reward you for such wonderful news.” the gravel in his voice getting mellow. nanami won't allow you to harm yourself or the child you are carrying.

if it means of complete submission coming from you. nanami would not think twice of doing it over and over again. for now, he's happy you're gracing his home with a child. hopefully, it would take your mind off from the trivial things.

FUSHIGURO TOJI

it wasn't a surprise when toji received the news of you being pregnant. he did breed you well. mounting you every night like you were nothing but a fleshlight and his cumdump.

you were only given a raised brow and a cocky smirk coming from him. oh, how did he love the look on your face. scared and bothered of the reality of you being a mother to his child. toji wasn't that interested in becoming a father either but now it's a thrill. thinking of the ways he can control you without you resisting him.

“is that so?” he asks bored. disinterested even before breaking into a smirk. “now, you won't even think of opposing me.” patting your round belly in a degrading manner. once the spotlight for mockery and humiliation he used to hold you. “my brat spawning in to you. i did give you plenty of it.” he says amused.

a invisible leash wrapped around your neck for him to pull as he pleases. with the presence of the baby in your womb it looks like the future of yours is getting bleak with no hope for you along with the little one growing inside you.

it would curse you for being the mother and the father it will grow up with.

your body feels like lead. stuck in the mattress and every time you move, you sink deeper and maybe it was better until it swallows you whole. you wished it was that easy.

“spread your legs wider.”

you bite back a whimper. bile rising up in your throat as your body moves in autopilot. listening in what he orders to you. “geez, all those troubles i had to deal with and you're only this obedient when pregnant. maybe i'll just keep you pregnant all the time.” licking his lips before leaning closer to you. his breath in your ear.

there's a stinging sensation in your cunt while his cock slowly bullies inside you followed by a groan coming from him. his teeth nibbling in the shell of your ear and you bit your lip. silently taking him while he relishes on the feel of your tight hole spasming around his length.

“you're tight as ever. you don't mind me filling you up again, wife?” you remained silent. his power overwhelming you and toji chuckles. “then, don't mind me”

GETO SUGURU

there's been quite a commotion in his own little family and geto paid no mind to it. having a cult to run that requires his attention every now and then. seriously, stupid monkeys can't be trained without him and there's also those who can't keep their money running stable. quite trouble.

anyways he had to know what is causing those commotions that keeps everyone in high spirits. there he meet nanako and mimiko gushing over his chubby darling. seated in one of the chairs while the twins surrounds you. mimiko brushing your hair while the other twin, nanako holds your hand. soothing and assuring you of a situation he have yet to learn.

“geto-sama.” the twins greeted him. bowing their head a little before giggling a bit of the news they recently learned. “(y/n)-sama received news from the doctor earlier. they said she's expecting.” they broke to him and geto sees you in the corner of his eye uncomfortably shifts in your seat. “leave us.” he instructs the girls and they oblige. scurrying to leave the room in glee.

by the gods above, he worships you more. if only you knew that. it would be a weakness if he shows how much he adores you. he's in control. he's above you. you could never surpass that.

his lover on front of him shifts her gaze away from him and geto grasp your chin in his index and thumb finger. forcing you to meet his steely gaze in the purple abyss of his eyes. “i'm sorry.” you first speak up to him. biting your lower lip to hold a sob.

he can see you're scared. “what for?” he asks. searching for those gleaming eyes of yours, now misty. “for being pregnant.”

geto scoffs playfully at you. “there's nothing to be sorry. a wonderful news for us.” he assures you and you swallow the invisible lump in your throat. “is it?” you reply to him and he smiles. “it is.”

“i lay with you every night. made sure you are properly bedded by me.” no shame of that and there's a deep rumble of his laughter upon seeing your flustered expression. it's almost real how he looks so happy.

he is. when suguru decided to eradicate non-sorcerers he thought of how he's going to fill a country with sorcerers then you came to his life and he would be the creator of the new era. a bloodline. it would be his. yours and his. children that would carry his will and would be the part of a country where they are safe for him.

the news of you expecting. he can see the cogs being place to each of their respective places. already fulfilled.

his palms rough against your skin and yet it brings comfort to you. warmth. long gone he replaced the uneasiness in your heart with his and all the doubts you had of him. now, you're ready what he is about to make use of you. no questions. no qualms. all for him.

“you're mine.” he reminded you once again and you fall harder for him than the last time. “yours.” you whisper.

you were rewarded by a kiss. divinity touching you and warmth blooms all over you along with his hands wandering. to your round cheeks. squishing your chest and his palm in your round belly. imagining all the things he is already to do with your growing body with his child and geto is ecstatic.

his long and thick fingers finds the back of your obi and pulls the hem with no hesitation.

“mmm, suguru~” you mewl and geto smirks at how fast it takes for you to submit to him. “lay with me again tonight.” hands pinching to your supple flesh. fingers rubbing the spot between your legs and with a need. you grind your hips against them.

“as you wish.”

[dippersguidetotheunexplained]

surely we should have been able to sit with the moment in which ford is at his absolute lowest while bill is demonstrating via a horrific nightmare sequence that he has complete control over his physical body and mind and sense of self and that any attempts at resisting him would be futile since he controls every aspect of his life and ford has no one left to fall back on without having an unfunny joke about bill sending someone to steal fords eyes at the end. surely we at least could have had that

would probably have to reread the journal pages in tbob to have a more coherent opinion on this but something about all the tone whiplash is still pissing me off

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 3.0k

Summary: In which your friends are idiots who think gallivanting around a haunted castle surrounded by lava is a great idea. And then there's a dragon.

ie. Or, I watched Shrek this afternoon and could not stop thinking about the memes of the Prefect being Donkey and Malleus as the Dragon.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

‘Treasure beyond your wildest dreams!’ Ace said.

‘Knowledge long since lost to time!’ Deuce corrected.

‘Yeah, okay, but what is it,’ you asked.

And neither of them had an answer.

Abandoned castles suspended over a sea of bubbling lava were not your preferred holiday destination. You’d told Ace this several times. You’d begged, pleaded, to please just be normal for once. But noooo. Both the snarky, ginger, bastard and the other half of his singular brain cell had apparently decided that suicide ala boiling rocks sounded like a perfectly lovely plan for your Saturday evening.

“I’m just saying,” you huffed as the rope bridge swung worryingly beneath your feet, “taverns are a thing. Faires. Market runs. Casual side quests that won’t wind up with us being flambeed alive.”

“But there’s treasure!” Ace complained, the muddled light off the lava below illuminating his pout in a way that made it look especially punchable. “I heard there’s this really awesome magical sword! Or maybe it was a shield or something—”

“Or something,” you grit out. “What if it’s a book, huh? You can’t even read.”

“We can try!” Deuce returned, a spark of that familiar determination zipping through his blue eyes.

“Or we can sell it,” Ace said, which was certainly the more likely option of the two.

One of the rickety, wooden, slats cracked beneath the low heel of your boot and tumbled down into the lava below. Maybe it hit the gurgling pool of death with a hiss, or a whump, or some other cool sound. But all you could hear was the ringing in your ears.

“Oh my god. I’m going to die.”

“I mean, maybe,” Ace shrugged. “But at least you’ll have a cool new sword propped up at your grave or something.”

You managed to make it all the way to the other side of the horrible death bridge without plummeting to your doom. Except now you were standing at the foot an equally horrifying castle. It was massive—grand on a scale that seemed entirely impossible for something constructed in the heart of a volcano. Its dozens of ebony spires clawed at the sky. The walls crawled with grey ivy and thickets of thorns so dense that you couldn’t see even the barest hint of brick beneath. It looked evil in the way that cursed tombs felt evil—eternal, and still, and oppressive. Like a creature in its own right rather than just an agglomeration of black stone.

Ace drew his sword and Deuce readied his axe. You sighed and plucked at the strings of your stupid fucking lute, and wished once more that you’d had the foresight all those moons ago to take the cushy internship position Lord Crewel had tried to offer you. But, no. You’d wanted to be an adventurer.

The massive double doors of the entrance swung open with an eerie groan. A pair of stern looking gargoyles stood guard as the three of you cautiously made your way into the castle. You swore you could feel their eyes following you—that you’d seen them flex jagged claws into their stone perches in an aborted attempt to dive after you.

The inside of the looming fortress was no more welcoming than out. Dark, emerald, stained glass windows lined the walls—smothering any of the warmer light from the volcano and tinting the entire hall a sickly green-grey. The stone floors and walls were elaborately carved with the faded stories of dynasties long since passed, but what had once surely been immaculate craftsmanship had shifted and cracked with age—crushing floors into tight slopes and littering already narrow walkways with heavy debris.

“We just have to find the tallest tower,” Ace hummed, swiping at a few dangling trails of thorns with the blunted edge of his blade. “And then the highest room in that.”

“The treasure is never in the highest room in the tallest tower,” you complained. “You just heard that in a drinking song once.”

“Is that true?” Deuce frowned, looking terribly betrayed.

“No way!” Ace snipped. “I told you! An old crone read my fortune in her bone dice, and she said to always check the highest room in the tallest tower! Because that’s where I’d find my greatest treasure!”

“Maybe the greatest treasure is the friends we’ve made along the way?” Deuce suggested helpfully.

“No.”

So you split off from a grouchy Ace and dejected Deuce to try and find some stairs. Every room in this stupid castle was swimming in so many shadows that you could hardly tell right from left, let alone if there were any kinds of secret doors or passageways that may lead to an equally secret tower. The chamber you’d found yourself in now was gigantic, and each tentative step you took echoed discordantly through the ashy gloom. You kicked miserably at a loose rock and it skittered off into the darkness with a dull thunk. And then something… odd, began to happen. That darkness began to move—to rise and unfurl like a great set of wings on a beast. And—oh. Oh no.

“Would you look at that,” Ace whistled under his breath, neck craned all the way back as he squinted at what was most definitely the tallest of all the towers this creepy castle had to offer. “Guess what, nonbelievers. I found the—”

“DRAGON!”

Whoosh went the great swathe of emerald fire as it exploded down the barren hallway and nipped at your heels. You dove out into the open courtyard just in time to avoid being roasted alive, and the gargantuan monster behind you let out a roar fit to shake the earth. A quick tuck-and-roll left you crouched behind a fallen pillar, and the dragon’s bright, green, glower turned on you and your garbage hiding spot with a rumbling snarl. Its rows of sharp, white, teeth closing just above your head—missing its mark by barely a hair’s width.

“Gotcha!” Deuce snarled, his armored fists dragging the dragon away by its tail. Or, well, tried to. Because the dragon was a hundred feet long at least, and your blue haired friend probably looked like nothing more than a pesky rat darting between its feet. It turned and snapped at him irritably, taking a great, big, step forward in a bid to get a firmer stance to attack. You threw yourself in the other direction to avoid being trampled.

“Go!” Ace called, charging in from the other side. “Quick!”

Because at the end of the day, they were still both your brave, tanky, warrior, friends. And you were just a very, very, squishy bard who really would not fare well against a particularly motivated goose, let alone a dragon. So you skidded through the rubble and onto your feet, and started to sprint back into the castle’s halls—hoping maybe you’d be able to find a bit more cover.

There was a great clatter, and both Ace and Deuce yelped. You looked back hurriedly to see the pair of them clutching onto the dragon’s tail for dear life as it whipped them back and forth through the ash and debris cluttering the ground. With one, final, great, sweep, the dragon pitched them into the air and sent them careening through the roof of that ‘tallest tower.’ You muttered a hasty incantation and the sparkling outlines of soft feathers danced along your fingers. You hoped you weren’t too far. You were probably too goddamn far. But you hummed frantically under your breath nonetheless and entreated your middling magic to give them a soft landing.

And then there was another wave of green hellfire raining down over your head and you turned and ran.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—

Even if you’d been a champion sprinter, there was little good it would have done you against a beast whose stride was longer than you were tall. You made it back into some hall or other, and into another cavernous room, and then you were pinned into a corner—the dragon looming over you like a vengeful wraith come to take its due.

It was gigantic. Probably the biggest creature you’d ever seen. And it was sleek—all lithe muscle and glossy rows of black scales that glittered oddly in the dull, grey, light. Its wings spread wide behind it, spanning the entirety of the vast chamber. They looked like the sort of wings that could stir up a hurricane. The curling horns atop its head seemed sharp enough to gore a man or twenty, and the purple crests lining its skull were tapered down flat in a way that reminded you a bit deliriously of a pissy cat pinning its ears back before it swatted at you.

Its lips curled back over pointed canines as it snarled at you, and you were showered in a swathe of hot sparks.

“Oh, what large teeth you have,” you squeaked, and when the dragon dipped closer to bellow into your face, your reeled back with a splutter. “I—I mean white, sparkling, teeth!” you rattled, nearly incoherent. The dragon’s snout twitched away, almost like you’d startled it. “I mean, I’m sure you hear this all the time from your food, but—wow! Just! Very lovely! Definitely the prettiest smile I’ll ever be eaten by!”

Slowly it lowered its great head, and you could see the neon glare from its narrowed eyes.

“Not that you have to eat me,” you added hurriedly, hoping to whatever Gods could hear you that your smart mouth could finally be useful for more than just talking circles around assholes in bars or weaseling your friends out of shitty contracts. “I’d very much like not to be eaten. But all the same, we did intrude in your home—and it’s definitely a very nice home—so I’d totally get it. And I guess if I did have to die today, knowing that my life would be in the hands of something so magnificent is certainly reassuring.”

The dragon seemed to preen a bit at that. You could see the sharp crests beneath its horns soften as tension bled from the beast’s posture. It ducked in close again, and this time you felt a sharp pull of air rush past your cheeks as it sniffed you. Its nostrils were the size your head—bigger even, maybe. You didn’t want to think about it, but the dry heat of its breath puffing into your face made the entire thing a bit hard to ignore.  

“Did I mention what a charming home you have?” you rambled on. “Very aesthetic. The gargoyles at the gate were a lovely touch.”

The dragon made a low, warbling, noise in its throat that wasn’t quite a growl, but wasn’t particularly… reassuring, either. It made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

It ducked away—not far, just enough to reach one of the large, carved, walls at the outskirts of the room. Its long neck slithered out before pausing pointedly over an archway. It took you a long moment to realize it was gesturing to something. Another gargoyle from the looks of things—this one almost entirely crumbled away under the strains of time. You could just barely make out the shape of its square jaw and taloned fingers.

You nodded so hard you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

“Yes! I see! Very beautiful! Such fine craftsmanship!”

The dragon cooed at you. Swear on your life and all the money in your back packet. An actual, honest to God, coo. Fuck, maybe you’d managed to charm your way out of imminent dismemberment and death after all.

It ambled closer once again, a curiosity lighting its eyes and warming those neon irises into something that was less poisonous-hell-fire and more mellow-evening-in-the-forest.

Amidst all the rippling waves of ebony scales, your eyes caught on the smallest smear of crimson. Just a touch of red—right along the spikes of its tail. Carefully, cautiously, slower than molasses, you stepped forward with your hands raised. You whispered a handful of familiar words under your breath and your palms glowed fuzzy and blue. Dragons were supposed to be inherently magical, right? So this one would certainly understand that the string of syllables you’d babbled out were good, and helpful, and not at all a provocation. The dragon was looking down at you with lidded eyes, its gaze a bit unfocused. You gulped.

“I’m sorry my friends messed with your tail,” you apologized, gingerly holding your fingers out to hover over the abrasions without actually touching. “They were just trying to protect me. If—if that makes it any better.” The minuscule wound began to knit itself back together neatly beneath the pulses of your magic. “I do tend to need a lot of protecting—I’m not much a warrior, if that wasn’t completely obvious by the everything about me—so I can’t really blame them for being a bit gung-ho about it.”

After a moment or two, the scratches had faded back into solid, matte, black and you drew back with a content hum.

“There! All fixed!” You gave your most winning smile. Please don’t eat me, your brain chanted on endless repeat. Please don’t eat me please don’t eat me please don’t eat me—

The dragon reared back and settled on its haunches with another heavy puff of sweltering breath. You could feel the heat of it prickling all the way up your arms. After a long, long, moment of silent consideration, the dragon leaned forward again and rumbled deep in its chest. When you only stood there, properly petrified, it huffed again and bumped its nose against your sternum, nearly toppling you over.

“I don’t—” you started, nervous. “I’m sorry. I don’t really get what you’re trying to say.”

With another sigh that sounded entirely too put upon, the dragon lowered its great head. The air itself seemed to grow heavy against your shoulders, and you could taste the cloying bitterness of strong magics on the back of your tongue. Black miasma oozed from beneath the dragon’s talons and melted along its scales. The caustic scent of ash and petrichor burned along your nostrils, and you had to pinch your eyes shut and cover your nose to keep from coughing. You managed to sneak a peek past your fingers just in time to watch the shadowed outline of the beast collapse. And out of that puddle of black goo emerged a man­. He was tall and lithe, just as the dragon had been, with glowing green eyes that were terribly familiar. They were framed with thick, dark, lashes and sat perfectly on a face that was nearly too handsome to be human (well, it really wasn’t human you supposed, so that little tidbit probably accounted for said inhuman beauty well enough). Recognizable eyes and stature or no, the curling horns atop his head would have sealed the deal plenty well enough on their own.

He shook off the shadows twining around his ankles with a lazy twist of the hand and then turned to you with a curious little hum.

And holy fuck Mister Dragon apparently had no sense of shame, or maybe just no qualms about social niceties and practicalities, because his human self was wearing about just as many clothes as his lizard form had been.

You squeezed your eyes shut with a squeak, and then double covered them with your hands for good measure.

A chuckle rolled through the air—as dark and pleasantly rich as the finest of chocolates. And then there was a clawed finger beneath your chin, tilting your head back, and back, and back until you were at least half-way sure it would probably be safe to open your eyes again without infringing on his decency.

“You are fascinating, Child of Man,” it—he—hummed, low in his throat. His thumb dragged down to hook beneath the curve of your jaw and support the finger tucked up under your chin. “And it’s been so, very, long since I’ve been fascinated by anything.”

“Uh,” you replied, like a perfectly functional human being.

The dragon’s lips curled up over his pointed teeth—still just as sharp and white as they had been when he’d been so much bigger and scalier.

“I think I’d like to keep you,” he said with a nod to himself, as casually as one may talk about picking up extra groceries from the market.

“Uh,” you said again.

“You did mention that you needed protecting,” he continued, tapping a clawed finger against his own chin. The small smile quirking his lips twisted into something smug. “And that is certainly something at which I would excel.”

Your head was swimming.

“I—I mean. I’m honored that you—that… you—” You couldn’t even think the words, let alone get them past your brain and out of your mouth. You cleared your throat and fought to keep your eyes level with his clavicle and nowhere else. “D-Don’t you think you’re moving a bit fast?” you laughed nervously. “I mean, I’m sure my friends will probably be on their way back down soon—and—I mean, we haven’t even introduced ourselves yet. I don’t even know your name.”

He blinked, slow and serpentine.

“Oh. I suppose you wouldn’t.” He canted his head to the side, long strands of that inky black hair of his spilling across his shoulder. An amused sort of grin worked its way along his mouth. “Dragons are not keen to give out our true names so readily, but you seem like a clever one. Tell me—what do you think I’m called then, hmm?”

You glanced up quickly at the horns atop his head and couldn’t help yourself.

“Tsunotarou?”

He let out a bark of laughter that seemed to shake the walls.

“Oh,” he trilled, looking positively delighted. The hand not curled beneath your chin reached down to snag your own, and he brought your wrist up to his lips. You could feel the imprints of his canines against the soft skin there. “I’ll definitely be keeping you.”

[apas-95]

the liberal 'actually, it's impossible to tell whats good and bad, so you should never have any authority over anything' approach is, principally, ridiculous, but is also just incredibly weak as a defence.

whether abortion is good or actually murder is a pretty important thing to address: it's good. whether hrt is good or actually delusional self-harm is a pretty important thing to address: it's good. whether being gay is good or actually a sign of a sexual predator is a pretty important thing to address: it's good. in all these cases, going 'yeah, maybe abortion is murder, but it's my inalienable right to bodily autonomy, either way' is laughable. it wins over nobody who doesn't already think abortion isn't murder, and is based on a premise that we should already know is wrong: there are no such thing as universal human rights. all rights are socially-situated and conditional, and in fact, there are good times when 'bodily autonomy' should not be respected - I mean, for god's sake, we intend to kill people with guns.

we have to actually make value judgements and weigh the positives against the negatives for real, specific cases, not just pre-emptively refuse the question out of a solipsism and appeals to universal truths. forcing someone to give blood to save lives at a mass casualty event is more emotionally impactful, despite being identical to, mandating vaccination and handwashing. both of the latter are 'violations of bodily autonomy' that are plainly agreeable on practical grounds. the position that finds no possible way of extricating 'stopping someone from committing suicide', an act generally thanked after the fact, from the abuses that take place in capitalist psychiatric institutions, is not one based on material analysis or an attempt to mitigate harm - it is a juvenile 'abolitionist' approach that refuses to consider class character, in favour of an idealistic condemnation of entire systems and related practices in the abstract.

ultimately, there is nothing incorrect that is not also harmful. a refusal to analyse the positives and negatives of behaviours, procedures, and acts, justified by 'it's impossible to know!' and 'doing anything would be authoritarian!' is not helpful, does not bring about correct behaviour in practice, it is the opposite - it is a cover for harmful behaviours, and promoting it to avoid the hard discussions over whether a given behaviour is harmful is wrong. it fails to defend correct things - like the fact that hrt is good - and works to defend incorrect things. any view that our positions should not be based on practical, material facts is corrosive.

[kkami-writes]

waiting for us — chapter fifty four. waiting for us wc. 2k a/n. name drop!!!! ok but that being said this is a VERY heavy chapter dealing with very sensitive topics. please read through the tw and be safe. tl;dr at the end. TW!!! negligent parents, brief mention of abortion, brief mention of religion, verbal abuse, domestic abuse, violent acts, mentions of self-harm and attempted suicide also i'm not entirely sure how I should tag this, but there is a part where yn has her clothes ripped off of her without consent, but it is not in a sexual way (?) or for the purpose of doing something sexual.

You stand just outside the door of 3RACHA’s (and hyunjin’s) apartment, and your quite certain that your heart is going to pound itself straight through your chest. Perhaps there is a brief moment where you consider just running for it but you think better of it. A half empty duffel bag sits on your shoulder and there’s a ratty backpack that hangs loosely off of you. Maybe you’d find it sad that your whole life could fit into two measly bags, but you couldn’t deny that it was just easier this way. You had left nothing behind, wiping your entire existence out of that place and you would not look back.

When you finally gather the courage to knock on the door, your knuckles barely make a sound while they rap against the wood. Yet the moment your hand makes contact with the door, it’s swinging open and Felix throws himself into your embrace. You almost lose your balance but Felix makes sure you don’t fall backwards, clinging almost painfully to you.

He pulls back to ask if you’re okay since you were later than you said you’d be, but the words die on his tongue at the sight of you. There’s nothing different from you besides the bright red mark decorating your cheek.

“YN? What happened? Who hurt you?” He questions, voice going almost impossibly deeper. The thought of someone putting their hands on you fills him with anger. You actually almost don’t know what he’s talking about before remembering the parting gift your mother had given you before you left.

“Oh. This. Don’t worry about it,” You mumble, acting rather nonchalant as you attempt to get past Felix and into the apartment but he doesn’t let you get too far, grasping gently at your wrist to pull you back.

“No seriously. Who hurt you yn? What’s up with the bags?” He fires out questions, now just realizing the two bags you had with you.

“I was hoping I could stay the night. Or a few. Or forever,”

The silence between you is deafening.

“Yn” You hate (love) the way you shudder at the way he says your name in that deep tone of his.

“I might have, um, run away from home?”

“WHAT?” He yells at that effectively alerting the rest of the boys of your presence.

“Lix? Is that YN? What’s going on?” Chan’s voice filters through the apartment, getting louder the closer he gets. You finally move past Felix, leaving your bags by the door for now.

“Lixie, I’ll explain everything ok? I don’t want to have to keep repeating myself over and over again,” You beg the boy with an almost desperate lilt to your voice, giving him big puppy eyes for added ammo just in case. He sighs and let’s it go for now, letting you drag him towards the couches.

But of course, even if Felix had dropped it, the other’s wouldn’t; immediately demanding to know who hit you as soon as they see your red cheeks. As much as you appreciate their concern, the swirl of emotions you’ve been feeling for hours already has you on edge and you’re so close to snapping.

“GUYS” You raise your voice and the effect is immediate, all of them quieting down and staring back at you. “It’s ok, I promise. I barely feel it. It was the first time my mom hit me anyway,” At that they all start asking questions again, talking over each other but one glare from you shuts them up again. “Please. I’m here to explain okay? So please, let me tell you everything before you guys start asking a million questions,” You plead, tired and scared of the can of worms you were potentially about to open. But you also know how much you need this. You just couldn’t keep it in anymore.

The boys all gather onto the couch and the seats next to it, with you sat in the middle next to Felix and Jisung, one on either side of you. Both of them are close enough that you can feel their thighs pressed to yours. It helps to keep you grounded while you try to take a deep breath but it just comes out shaky. Jisung slides his hand into yours, giving it a squeeze before giving you a reassuring nod.

“I was an accident. My mom somehow managed to get pregnant even though my dad had a vasectomy after they had my brother. Despite not wanting another child, they decided to have me anyway for whatever reason. We’re not religious or anything so she could have just gotten an abortion. I’ll never know why they decided to have me.

Growing up the abuse was mostly verbal. An insult here or there, mostly reminding me I wasn’t wanted or needed. My brother of course was the worst with his words but overall it really wasn’t that bad. For the most part they ignored my existence, which was honestly fine with me. It….only got worse after I turned 16. When I got my soulmark,” Your hands are shaking in Jisung’s firm grip while Felix scoots closer for comfort, nuzzling his cheek against your shoulder. You are so thankful for them.

“Both of my parents are blanks and so is my brother. So it was only natural that I assumed that I would be a blank as well. So imagine my surprise when it turns out I have 8 soulmates,” You let out a small snort, head shaking softly.

“I’m know you’re all probably thinking that I freaked out or panicked about having so many soulmates with how I reacted when we met, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth,” You make brief eye contact with Jeongin who has a confused expression on his fox-like face.

“For the first time, hope bloomed in my chest. My original plan was to leave when I turned 18, as soon as I could, but I didn’t really know what I would do. I would be all alone, no soulmate and experiencing the real world for the first time. But now, I finally felt like I had a purpose. To find my soulmates. I couldn’t believe that I would have 8 soulmates. 8 people who would love me. Who would want me” your voice cracks at those last words, tears burning in your eyes. Hyunjin looks like he’s not too far behind with his own tears threatening to fall.

“Of course I had lied to my parents about my soulmark, just saying I was a blank. It was easy since they didn’t really care but I had the suspicion that my brother didn’t believe me. I used to stand in front of my mirror staring at my soulmark, tracing over your names, dreaming about what life would be like with you guys,” Felix clings a little harder to you. “It was my only solace in that prison, that one day I would be where I belonged,”

“One day my brother…he caught me looking at my mark. He-“ Your eyes close in pain as the tears run down your cheeks. You squeeze at Jisung’s hands who haven’t lefts yours yet as you take in a deep breath. “He dragged me to the living room by my hair, yelling at my parents that I was a lying whore. That I was some kind of greedy slut for having so many soulmates. He pushed me to the ground and…he- he,” You choke on your tears before you feel someone patting your cheeks dry with tissues. You look up to see Minho, his eyes soft and sad as he continues to dry the tears leaking from your eyes. The other boys that were not on the couch have abandoned their seats in favor of being closer to you. Seungmin is on the floor, stroking at your calves soothingly, while Hyunjin does the same on your other side.

“He ripped my skirt off and…he….he took a lighter and….and-“ You can’t even finish the sentence before you throw yourself in Seungmin’s embrace, sobbing into his shoulder as he holds you. The rest of the boys try to comfort you as you feel hands along your back and hair, soft soothing words being said into your ears. It takes you a few minutes to pull yourself together.

“’M sorry-“ You say with a sniffle, letting Minho clean your face as he insists on doing it himself.

“Don’t say sorry. You’ve had horrific things done to you. You are so strong,” Changbin says in a soft voice, contrasting his normally loud demeanor. His hands smooth your hair down.

You can hear the sniffles from Felix and Jisung who have starting sobbing silently, their hearts breaking for you. You let out a sigh because you’re not even done.

“After that…the abuse…got worse. It turned physical as my brother would take his anger out on me. My parents didn’t care about what he did to me. I slowly…became a shell of myself. I started turning to self harm because everything hurt so much that I needed something else to hurt so I didn’t have to think about anything else. Even though he didn’t sever our soulmark, I felt like I had let you down- that I let someone else disfigure our beautiful connection. I though about my soulmates who would probably never want someone as broken as I was. I felt so lost. So….on graduation night I-“ You tuck your head down in shame. “I swallowed a bunch of sleeping pills,”

Everyone is deadly silent but you can hear Hyunjin and Jeongin joining in on the crying. Seungmin just holds you a little tighter.

“I had texted Minghao before I went through with it. Telling him that I was so grateful for his friendship and that him and Jun were the best friends I could ever ask for. Of course that man has some freaky 8th sense or something because I don’t think it took him more than five minutes to get to my house even though he lives twenty minutes away. He was yelling at me when he barged into my bathroom but I don’t remember much after that. I passed out and woke up in the hospital. Now that I was conscious Minghao throughly chewed my ass out though. The nurses had wanted to hospitalize me actually for mental health reasons but my parents refused and said something about how it was just an accident,”

“We thought you died,” Jeongin pipes up, his eyes red rimmed with tears as he sniffles.

“Your mark went gray and we all felt this sharp pain in our chests. That night we had mourned the loss of a soulmate that we thought we’d never get to meet. The relief we felt when your mark went back to black was unmatched. We had assumed you must have had an accident or something to have triggered the mark to react,”

The rest are eerily quiet, still waiting for you to continue your story.

“After I was discharged, my father had someone managed to score himself a promotion. Something about using a sob story about how his daughter was feeling lost being in a small town and needing to explore or some other bullshit. Either way we were suddenly packing and moving to seoul, not that my opinion mattered if I wanted to go or not.

My grades in school were actually pretty good. I really didn’t have anything better to do then study so It was surprisingly easy to get into seoul uni. And well….then I met Jeongin in Biology. Slowly the rest of you followed and wormed your way into my heart,” you smile fondly at the boys around you who smile back, even with tears stained cheeks.

“I really don’t care about the thread Yunjin posted, but my brother saw it and was not happy. He informed our parents and they let me have it. I just sat there taking it when I realized that I didn’t have to put up with this shit anymore. So I kinda just got up, grabbed my stuff and left…Figured you guys wouldn’t mind if I stayed,”

“Never ever. You do realize that now that you’re here we are never letting you go. Ever again,” Changbin whispers, squeezing you a little tighter. The boys are practically cutting off your oxygen but you can hardly care, feeling the love pouring out of them. You love them. You never want to be without them ever again.

“You have been so brave, so strong. We are so proud of you. Thank you. Thank you for waiting for us,”

tl;dr ! yn's parents find out about her soulmates via her brother who found out from the thread. while they chew her out, she realizes that she doesn't has to put up with this anymore and "runs" away (but not without her mother slapping her). she goes over to their apartment to tell them her story. yn was an "accident" and even though her parents didn't want another child, they went ahead with the birth anyway. they, along with her brother never let her forget that she was unwanted. both her parents and her brother are blanks and so she had assumed she would be too - but surprise, surpise. she has 8 soulmates. yn adored her mark and was excited for the day she would get to be with them. she'd spend time staring at her mark, memorizing their names. one day her brother catches her and gets so angry that he takes a lighter and burns her mark. after that yn falls into a deep depression and turns to self-harm in order to cope. still unable to take it and feeling like she let her soulmates down, she decides to take a bunch of sleeping pills. minghao is the one who finds her and saves her. the boys mention that they thought that she had died due to the mark reacting and turning grey. they were very happy when the mark went back to black. after her attempt, her father was able to get a promotion at work and moved their family to seoul, resulting in yn finally finding her soulmates.

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[omensofatimelord]

The thing about testosterone being a controlled substance means that acess to it for hrt is restricted. While it makes access a significant issue for many people and an easy and effective way to prevent trans men and mascs from transitioning (as we've seen terfs campaign for and succeed at doing in Britain) it also means that is very easy for health care professionals to be able to take it away from trans men/mascs arbitrarily. This is most aborant in cases where trans men/mascs are forced to detransition to gain access to abortions after being raped. However, the first sign of an issues tangentially related to hormones a gp, without any training in trans people or hormones, can and will stop a person's testosterone. Apart from how stressful it is to know that for the rest of your life you'll be dependent on the goodwill of a random person, this has measurable negative consequences for a trans person subjected too it.

Going off t fucking sucks at the best of time, but being forced off t will most likely result in depression and worsening mental health for a trans man/masc, who are already one of the most likely groups to attempt suicide. It can also put a trans person at risk if they suddenly start being visibly trans again, especially if they're closeted in, say, a work place environment. Trans people, including trans men, are already one of the most targeted groups of harassment and violence and sexual assalt and forcibly reducing or stopping t can out people and risk their safety. And a gp won't see this or care about this, or attempt to treat a trans man/masc first or ask for their opinion or situation.

Ultimately, testosterone is seen as entirely optional and so the first resort when something goes wrong it to take it away, when it should be considered the last resort, and is considered the last resort for cis men. And as long as testosterone continues to be a controlled substance it will remain like this.

(edit for clarification: I am a kiwi, this post was intended as a general critique of accessing t through health care systems - based in my lived experience in NZ and what ive heard from international trans ppl; including but not limited to the USA)

[doberbutts]

Okay. So. Longass post while I eat dinner and wait for my controller to charge and then I’m going back to my game.

The problem is it’s never actually been about the word itself.

We tried transandrophobia. Transmisandry. Isomisogyny. Transmascphobia. Anti-transmasculinity. People fought about literally all of them, saying they don’t exist, that they legitimize incel and terf language, that they’re some power grab, that they’re inherently transmisogynistic.

We tried transmisogyny and were told it was just for trans women and that we couldn’t use it.

We tried “transphobia specific to trans mascs”. We were told there is no such thing. That other demographics experience it and thus it’s actually theirs and not ours to discuss. We brought up trans mascs with genders marked M or X being denied abortions, pap smears, and other reproductive care. Trans mascs correctively raped by their significant others and spouses they were forced by their families to marry. Trans mascs who were targeted specifically because they were trans mascs, often buried as women under their dead names to be forever misgendered by history. We were told we were making it up and that we were weaponizing our womanhood by discussing these lived experiences.

We tried “just” misogyny. We were told that as men, we weren’t allowed to say that we experienced misogyny because trans men are men and men never experience misogyny and thus our very real experiences weren’t really ours and they weren’t that bad.

We tried “just” transphobia. We were told that as trans men, we don’t really experience transphobia because any transphobia we do experience is actually transphobia about trans women and thus our very real experiences weren’t really ours and they weren’t that bad.

You don’t have to take my word for it. You can go into the tags of any of those words and see exactly that being discussed in real time right now in 2023. I’ve even got screenshots from @baeddel-txt if you want to give yourself psychic damage by reading truly the worst takes ever from 2014 onwards.

At some point, one has to admit what it’s actually about is stopping trans mascs from discussing the way they’ve been treated by society, and stopping others from considering that maybe the way they’ve been treating us is a problem.

And make no mistake- while some of it is coming from trans fems and it’s impossible to say it’s not, just as there’s shit-flinging in reverse from trans mascs to trans fems as well, because for some reason we prefer to blame each other rather than working together to solve our problems as a collective- if you take a scroll through these tags a lot of it is coming from cis people and fellow trans mascs. A lot of it is coming from other LGBT or otherwise queer-identified people and a lot of it matches previous attempts at killing the ace, bi, and pansexual communities using the same arguments that the internet likes to cycle through every couple of years and has been doing since online communities began to exist.

So, I ask you, if you got through this and still want to write a witty retort, what have you done to help us fix the staggering amounts of suicide, sexual assault, and beatings we face? What have you done to help us fix the staggering amounts of us being denied necessary healthcare? What is your solution to all this, besides to sit at your computer or scroll through your phone and quibble about whether or not the specific word is allowed to be used this week?

[fall0utmind]

✨️FIC TEASER ✨️

A little section from ch1 of the medical leak fic I've been working on. I've barely checked this, so please forgive any mistakes. I will check properly before I put it all up. Feedback is very, very appreciated at this stage!! 🤍🤍🤍🤍

Divine intervention (WIP) - Title in Progesss

/Rosquez/

TW: mentions of mental health and suicide attempts (all very passive but heads up).

Marc is restless. They are ten minutes into the press conference and he feels like he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. He can tell the others have noticed. Pecco keeps shooting him little glances, and at one point Marc swears that he aborts a small movement towards Marc’s knee, which has been bouncing continuously since they sat down.

Usually, Marc doesn’t mind press conferences too much; he just shuts off his emotions and turns on his best PR face. Realistically, nothing could be as bad as the tumultuous media circus in the years that followed 2015. Even so, Marc can’t help but feel like he’s in shark-infested water.

He’s so stuck inside his head that he barely registers the question directed his way, his head jerking up at the sound of his name.

“Scusi?”

The reporter gives a slight laugh, eyes sharp and searching.

“What do you have to say about the rumours of your hospitalisation at the end of 2015? There are some suggestions that this was more than a biking injury?”

Marc’s heart gives a little stutter. Shit. He wasn’t expecting that so quickly, how the hell did they know that much? For the first time, Marc begins to question how much has actually been leaked.

“Ah, I say do not listen to everything you hear in the media”, he shoots the reporters a cheeky grin as a light chuckle goes around the room. He feels Pecco’s eyes burning into the side of his head but does not look back, simply nodding at the facilitator to continue.

The next question is directed to Jorge, asking him about his championship chances this year, with Jorge giving the usual spiel about the team and his bike, talking about the decent lap times he put in today. It had been a good practice session for all of them, with Pecco leading into tomorrow’s sessions, followed closely by Marc, dragging every inch out of the GP23, with Jorge and Enea rounding out the top four. Sunday promised to be an interesting race, with the four of them positing similar times throughout the weekend.

Distantly, Marc registers someone asking Enea about working with Pecco, as the current world champion, comparing his times to the other Italian rider, as if they haven’t been working together for a year already. Marc almost scoffs. Clearly, some journalists needed new material.

Marc’s attention is drawn to a small commotion in the corner of the room, nearest the exit. He watches as his brother enters the room, wide eyes brimming with concern. Fuck. That isn’t good, Alex must know now. Had something else happened? He has faith in his team to keep this on the down low and prevent it all from blowing up in Marc’s face, but it doesn’t stop the flash of concern shooting through him.

“And Marc another question for you”

Well, so much for that. His head whips around at the reporter's tone, searching the crowd to find the speaker. That tone is never a good thing. The same they use when they are going to ask a hurtful question about Valentino or his most recent crash on the track. He tenses in anticipation.

“Regarding the rumours of your 2015 hospital visits, there are now some reports that these visits were due to a so-called mental health crisis. Do you have anything to say about this?”

His heart stops beating. The room goes dead silent. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him, his fellow riders watching in confusion. For Marc, it is like watching a train wreck in slow motion. He looks up and catches Alex’s wide-eyed stare. He's sweating, beads rolling down the side of his neck. Shit. Fucking shit. He’s starting to think he’s not going to make it out of this press conference in one piece, torn apart by the gnashing teeth of the media.

He mentally shakes himself, unwilling to let the others see his dismay. Instead, he schools his features, wills his mouth into a flat line, and answers with his best media-trained nonchalance.

“Ah, it is nothing. No comment. This is not talking about racing; let's move on.”

This seems to wake Pecco up from his trance, tearing his gaze away from Marc and turning his attention back to the reporters. God knows what he was staring at, maybe trying to figure out if this could help him beat Marc next year, if he’s taken anything from Rossi, it would be that.

“Ah, are you going to ask us about the weekend, I would also like to talk about racing”

Some low mutters travel around the room. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He doesn’t know how they have found out, but he does know all too well that the press are like fucking vultures, circling at any sign of a kill. Alex looks like he is about to cry now, doe eyes wide and glossy, his face slack with shock and horror. Marc thinks his face might be a perfect mirror. He still doesn’t really know what’s going on, but it’s clearly worse than he had originally been told.

“Marc, following on from the previous question, it has come to light that you were admitted to A&E several times in 2015 due to suicide attempts. Do you have anything to say about this? Was this anything to do with your infamous fight with Valentino Rossi?”

Oh god, Marc is going to be sick. They went for the kill and came round for a second blow He glances to his left. Pecco is looking at him in abject horror, his brain scrambling, trying to keep up with the carnage around him. Enea looks like his worst nightmare has come true, wide-eyed and scared, staring at Marc as if he has never seen him before. Jorge just looks confused, bafflement etched on every feature, mouth downturned