#all because i feel too masculine and too boy-ish thinking about my body

[revlushaun]

I have a lot on my brain but journaling doesn't feel like enough I need to vent and discuss with someone who knows the exact feelings im going through so the best I will do is venting into my tumblr void of tags

[strniohoeee]

Crass

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Y/N hates Chris with every fiber in her body, but one night while clubbing things take a turn🤭

Warnings⚠️: SMUTTTTTT, hate sex?? Fucking in a public place, enemies to lovers-ish??? Mann idk it’s just sum sweet for the kids (hope yall know that meme. I do not write for kids)🤞🏽

Song for the imagine: Rude Boy- Rihanna

⚠️This is an 18+ imagine, so minors do not interact, or do??⚠️

I like the way you touch me there

I like the way you pull my hair

Babe, if I don’t feel it I ain’t faking no, no

Can’t remember the last time Chris and I ever got along. He was such a fucking dick always, and I was a bitch. Everyone tried to keep us apart most of the time.

I wasn’t exactly too sure why I hated him. It could be the fact that he thought he was untouchable, hot and his ego was bigger than his fuck ass hair. I really had it out for the guy

I hate any guy who acts like they’re all that, and that their shit doesn't stink. It made my blood boil because who are you? You're a nobody go away. Chris was the textbook definition of this

Actually Chris was the definition of toxic masculinity. Every ick a guy could give you was exactly what Chris was. If some of these girls knew half of who he really was they’d leave his ass in the dirt.

I was Nicks friend, but he came as a package deal with his loving sweet brother Matt, and that fucking gremlin Chris. Usually my interactions with him included me rolling my eyes at him, huffing at his words and full on walking away while he was in the middle of speaking. Because it’s like shut the fuck up, you know?

Tonight Nick asked me to come to the club with them because Nick really wanted to dance. Weird ass request but I agreed…it’s dancing with Nick I had to go

I had gone to the triplets house while they were all getting ready. I let myself in, and walked to Nicks room where Matt and Chris were also at

“Hiii” I said walking in

“Ughhhh” Chris said groaning and throwing his head back

“Shut the fuck up” I said throwing my purse at him

“Why are you always tagging along” he said

“In case you didn’t know Nick invited me first, and then I presumed you were being an ass eater and had to come too” I said giving him a bitchy smile

“Whatever” he said rolling his eyes

“Exactly” I said laughing at him

“Mattttt you look so cute” I said looking at his outfit

“Thank youuu” he said smiling at me

“And me?” Chris asked

“Who gives a fuck about you” I said giving him a dirty look

“Y/N what color shirt?” Nick asked me holding up two shirts a purple one and a green one

“Purple all the way” I said to him

“Great minds think alike” he said nodding at me, and walked to the bathroom to put the shirt on

“Y/N thinking? Who would’ve thought” Chris said scoffing

“You’re lucky you’re nicks brother because if not I would’ve laid your ass out by now” I said looking at him

“Guys no fighting” Matt said

“Yeah sure…” Chris said scoffing

“You don’t know my past, I beat up guys like you” I said looking at him

“Whole lot of yapping shut it” Chris said kicking my back

“You fucking dick that hurt” I said reaching back and pinching his leg

“Ow you bitch” he said pulling his leg away

“Enough fighting for once holy shit” Nick said coming out of the bathroom

“Tell your dog of a brother to chill out before I clock his shit” I said to Nick

“Chris be nice for once” Nick said looking at him

“I’ll try, but I can’t make no promises” he said smiling

We had all piled into their car, and headed downtown to the clubs. When we arrived we walked to the one that looked the safest for Nick and I.

We headed in and found a table to sit at in the back. We ordered some drinks, and once we drank them Nick and I went up to the dance floor to dance

We were dancing to Pour it Up by Rihanna singing and dancing on each other.

“THROW IT THROW IT UP WATCH IT FALL OUT” we screamed as we danced

Once the song ended we headed back to the table

“Fuck I love dancing” I said sitting down and drinking my water

“Me fucking too” Nick said catching his breath

All of a sudden Bottoms Up started playing

“FUCKKKK THIS IS MY SHIT” Nick and I screamed

We had gotten up and danced to the song for like two minutes before needing another break.

We sat back down, and was bopping to the song

Right as it got to Nicki’s part Nick started recording, and turned the camera on me, so I started rapping

“I’m with a bad bitch, he’s with his friends” I said pointing over to Chris, and Nick recorded it

“I don’t say hi, I say keys to the Benz” I said sticking my hand out at Chris

Nick started recording Chris and Matt and himself, and then flipped it back to me

“YELLIN all around the world, do you hear me? DO YOU LIKE MY BODY? ANNA NICKI” I said rubbing my hands all over my body

Nick finished recording and posted it to his instagram story, and by this point Rude Boy by Rihanna started playing

“WE HAVE TO DANCE” I said to Nick

“I’m sooo tired I’ll get the next one” he said fanning himself

“Chris?” I asked him randomly, he looked at me before nodding, and following me to the dance floor

I started singing to him

“Come here rude boy, boy, can you get it up?” While swaying my hips

He pulled me in whispering in my ear

“Be careful how you sing at me” he said

“Don’t flatter yourself rude boy” I said winking at him

I went to walk away, but he pulled me back slamming my back against his

“You want to dance, so fucking dance” he said sternly sending a shiver down my spine. I wonder if this was the three drinks I had making me feel this way

He held me by stomach against him while I grinded up against him, and he followed his hips with mine

I spun around swaying my hips and dragging my hands down his body as I went lower, and then came back up swaying my hips while looking into his eyes

“You’re sexy as fuck when you do that” he said leaning in

“I must be mistaken, is Chris Sturniolo being nice to me?” I said turning around and grinding against him again

“Don’t push your luck baby” he said gripping my waist

I continued to sway my hips against hip, and let my head fall back onto his shoulder

I looked over at him, and he was looking at me already

“Kiss me I know you want to” I said with a smirk

Suddenly Chris lips crashed to mine, and we began to have a heated make out session as he ran his hands up and down my body as we danced

Soon we pulled away, and I looked at him before walking off the dance floor and heading back to the table

“What the fuck was that?” Matt asked shocked

“I have no fucking idea” I said closing my eyes and shaking my head

“Still hate me?” Chris said walking up from behind me

“Shut up…you got lucky” I said looking at him

“I’m going to the bathroom” I said walking away

I got to the bathroom, and there was only two girls ahead of me, it was a single stall

When it was my turn, as soon as I got in and locked the door I heard banging on the door. I unlocked it and opened it seeing Chris

“What the fuck?” I said, and before I could react Chris shoved his way into the bathroom locking the door behind him

“You hate me so much just fuck me already” he said walking over to me

“Why would I fuck you?” I said rolling my eyes

“You don’t look at me, touch me and kiss me like that and think it’s fine” he said

“Come on then Chris I can take you” I said smirking at him

He ran up to me crashing our lips together, and slamming me against the wall with a thud

We began to make out sloppy, my hands raking through his hair and him grabbing my body harshly with want and need

“Getting handsy are we?” I said pulling away

“Stop being a tease already” he said rolling his eyes

“Where’s the fun in that” I said

“Fuck I hate you so much” he said biting his lip and smashing his lips to mine again

Going down to my neck leaving sloppy wet kisses

“Fuck Chris” I moaned out throwing my head back against the wall

“We have to be quick” he said coming back up to look at me

“Yeah okay” I said in bliss

Chris hiked my dress up, and unbuckled his belt sliding his pants and boxers down enough for his dick to spring out

“Such a slut, letting me fuck you in here” he said slipping his hand into my underwear rubbing my clit

“Fuck Chris” I moaned out looking into his eyes

“Just fuck me already, I hate you I don’t want this to go on longer than it needs to” I said through gritted teeth

“You might hate me, but you’ll love this dick” he said smirking at me

“Arrogant fuck” I said

“Annoying bitch” he said back

He lifted up my right leg, bring his dick to my entrance and slowly inserting himself into me

“Shiitttt” I moaned out wrapping my hands around his neck

He lifted both my legs up completely holding me up against the wall by fucking into me

“Mmm for someone who hates me so much you sure are taking my dick well” he said moaning out

“Just because I hate you doesn’t mean you’re not hot” I said moaning and licking my lips

“Oh she thinks I’m hot” he said

“If you weren’t balls deep in me right now I would’ve smacked the shit out of you” I moaned out throwing my head back

“Play nice baby” he said thrusting into me faster and harder

“Fuckkk Chris this feels so good” I said

“You feel so good around me baby” he moaned out

Chris was thrusting into me at an ungodly pace, and I hope no one was outside waiting for this bathroom

“All it takes was for my dick to be in you to get you to play nice” he said cockily

“You’re lucky your dick game is strong because I hate you so fucking much right now” I said

“The feelings mutual babe, nothing new here” he said huffing out

“Shut the fuck up” I said

“You’re so annoying” he said back

Chris started to pound into me even harder causing my eyes to roll to the back of my head, and my mouth to fall slack

“I’m going to cum holy shit” I moaned out letting my head fall forward

“Yeah baby cum on my cock. I know it’s all you’ve ever wanted” he said with a cocky grin

“Don’t boost your ego” I panted out

He kept pounding into me, and I started to clench down on him. My toes pointing in my shoes and my thighs beginning to shake

“FUCKKKK IM CUMMINGGG” I screamed out allowing my thighs to shake, and my pussy to clench around Chris cock

I was coming down from my high, my eyes still shut, my mouth still open and my breathing heavy.

Chris pulled out and helped me down on the ground. Pumping his cock in his hand, and suddenly he came into his hand his lower abdomen constricting and his brows furrowing as his mouth fell slack

“Fuck Y/N” he said fucked out

I had fixed my underwear and slid my dress back down

“I still fucking hate you” I said looking in the mirror and fixing myself up

“I fucking hate you too don’t worry” he said pulling his pants up with his other hand, and coming over to wash his hands

“Friends with benefits?” I asked him

“Only if we’re only fucking each other” he said drying his hands

“Ohhh territorial?” I asked him

“You’re mine” he said

“I thought you hated me?” I asked

“Oh I do, don't get it twisted” he said fixing his belt

“Mmm sounds like you have a crush” I said fixing my makeup

“Do not” he said rolling his eyes

“It’s okay Chris I have a crush too” I said winking at him

“I don’t like you” he said rolling his eyes at me

“Yeah keep telling yourself that….” i said getting ready to leave the bathroom

I had unlocked the door, and shockingly nobody was waiting. I walked out, and Chris followed after. Coming up behind me grabbing my hand and interlocking our fingers

“Mmmm but no crush?” I asked him

“Don’t push it” he said giving me a stern look

We got back to the table and Nick and Matt were looking at us with smirks on their face

“Hope yall fucked the hate out” Matt said

“Mmm fucked, but the hates still there” I said shrugging my shoulders

“Yall are absolute dogs” Nick said laughing

“What can I say” Chris said shrugging his shoulders

We had decided to head out, and head home. For someone who hates me Chris sure did enjoy having me staying in his room that night…..

The End

Alright guys I hope you enjoyed this one because I sure did……am I becoming a Chris girl??? LMAOO HELL NAH I KNOW WHERE HOME IS I LOVE YOU MATT🧎🏽‍♀️🖤

-J💅🏽

[theartisticcrow]

I don't make my own posts often, but I feel like I need to write this down for myself. I don't know what to say my gender is. I, for the past few years, have found myself comfortable going by any pronouns because my gender doesn't really concern me much and it feels nice when people sometimes refer to me as they or he. I'm generally just quite chill with how people refer to me.

But something I also realised about myself while learning more about the different sexualities and idk, queerness in general, is that growing up as a child, it felt strange to refer to myself as a girl and sometimes I thought I felt more boy-ish. It wasn't something that I felt all the time though, but I did feel that way a fair bit. Never mentioned it to anyone cause I thought that it was normal, but I realise now it wasn't quite what I thought.

And now, some days I'll be getting undressed to have a shower and I'll look at myself in the mirror and see myself and feel comfortable and confident about the way my body looks, but then some days it feels wrong; I can't stand looking at the shape of my body for too long. Some days I feel like embracing the way I look, no problem wearing some feminine things, because I look good in that fashion, but sometimes I have this need to put on my tightest sports bra and wear clothing more masculine (though just as stylish). Sometimes I'd like to wear a bit of dark makeup, sometimes I'd rather rub dirt on my face; Sometimes I wear my hair messy going just past my shoulders, sometimes I tie it back to make it look shorter; Sometimes I wear slightly tighter fitting clothes that outline my body and make me feel a bit sexy, sometimes I wear long jackets that hide my hips and sometimes it's a mix of all these things.

And I'm really beginning to wonder just what am I? Who am I? Does it really matter? Do I have to put a label to it? I don't know, but these past few months I've really wondered about it. "Maybe I'm trans?" "Am I agender? Or perhaps nonbinary?" "I might be genderfluid..." I know I don't have to put any label to it, I know it wouldn't change much, I know I'm only a teenager and I still have PLENTY of time to figure it out... But I do still wonder.

Maybe I am genderfluid. That's what I'm thinking right now. It seems to fit. Is there any point to this post? Not really, but sometimes writing out my thoughts helps to figure stuff out, and who the hell knows. Maybe some other person will find this helpful. It's a tricky thing sometimes, figuring out how to define yourself, but I know who I am regardless of any labels. I'm wicked, sharp, stylish and sarcastic and nobody, not a single person, can tell me who I am other than myself.

For anyone else struggling with similar problems in figuring out their identity, just know that whoever you are, you are loved an appreciated. Never stop being yourself.

[torialefay]

Hey- I'm willing to respond to your DM's soon but I had a random thought and wanted to ask because I love simping over Chris with my other babygirls.

What have been your favourite looks of Chris?

For me- and this is honestly with all of my fave idols.

I always think they look their best with their natural, dark hair. I find their skin just glows a lot more than with other dyed colours.

So I'm always and forever going to be on team dark-haired Chris and my fave is obvs curly-haired Chris but those are far and few in-between b/c he's mentioned on bubble he prefers having straight hair.

The all-black outfits are my personal fave, they just scrape my love for the grunge aesthetic so perfectly.

He's the only 26 year old man that can call himself 'daddy' and identify as an alpha wolf and I'm like

'Yep- he deserves to be called that. He lives up to the title'

I AGREE WITH THIS 100%.

i know a lot of people are on the blonde chan train (and it's probably my third fav), but his hair is 100% cutest when it's dark. either his natural brown or black.

i think chan is a winter??? idk i'm not good at color analysis, but i truly think he is bc he just looks so GOOD in dark black (more than like a muted black, although that's good too). but when he does wear colors, i think he pops in "royal" jewel tones. like a royal purple looks so fucking good on him. that's why i think if his hair isn't dark, i think he suits the purple & blue a lot! it won't let me add any more pics to this post (10 pic limit 😞), but i'm thinking maniac era chan with the blue hair, purple top, and black pants... it was immaculate 😮‍💨

and idk i love him in his tight-ish fit clothes just bc it outlines his body shape so well, BUT i also think he looks so cute in just his everyday lounge attire. like just his hoodies & shorts. there's just something about it that reminds me of everyone i grew up this. it makes him feel so familiar... and like such a "dude's dude" as well.

i think a lot of the reason we may like him in the darker clothes is bc... idk it just matches his face??? idk how to describe it, but he just has a more masculine face. like he LOOKS like a bad boy. he just does. and even though he's such a sweetie, those clothes bring that part of his personality out more.

and when you think about it, he's kind of bringing out a fantasy in all of us. the "bad boy" who is actually very sweet to you.... idk ab you, but i got into trouble when i was younger bc i wanted a lil bad boy, but then they were always the actual worst. but w chan, you get the bad boy aesthetic with a heart of gold. fulfilling all of our desires ughhhh 😭😭

p.s. other v much contrasting thought is FNF chan. idk something ab that just did it for me

[whump-town]

You Dance With Tears In Your Eyes

Summary: a college AU set up in the late 80s/early 90s with football star and quarterback Derek Morgan and his secret boyfriend Hotch-- it's not a happy story but I don't think I really have to warn you guys about that anymore

Also, a little based on a story my grandmother told me about my great uncle and his partner. Never met my great uncle but everyone says I'm a lot like him, I think they just mean gay but don't know how to say it

Warnings: homophobia, violence, racism *I mean it when I say homophobia*

Pairing: Derek Morgan/Aaron Hotchner

@yourlocalheartbreaker

The title is from Frank Ocean's song Self Control

Now and then you miss it, sounds make you cry Some nights you dance with tears in your eyes I came to visit, 'cause you see me like a UFO That's like never, 'cause I made you use your self-control And you made me lose my self-control, my self-control

---------------------

Living shouldn’t be reduced down to what it is, the bare bones of things that don’t even make Derek Morgan who he is. He lives by them anyways, stupid rules. Social norms, Aaron always clarifies because even when those silly rules drown them Aaron needs to be concise. Social norms dictate every inch of life and for once Derek wishes he were the type of person who could be given that inch and take a mile. They’re the reason he can’t hold his boyfriend’s hand in public. Why he can’t kiss Aaron on New Years’ and why he is reduced down to loving his roommate. Why, at this rate, he’ll never marry or adopt children, or why he could lose any career he goes into because some nosy asshole finds out his partner isn’t a woman. And, yes, he knows there are anti-discriminatory laws but he’s a black gay man. The world is stacked against him.

It makes him so angry. He’s blinded by the irrational of it all, why nothing can just be simple for them. Aaron tries to comfort him but Derek’s anger scares him, he doesn’t understand it. Aaron has long lost the ability to decipher the complexity of human emotions. Still flinches at loud noises like he’s expecting each bump to be accompanied by the pain that laced his childhood and has to ask, around every turn, if Derek’s angry with him. He can’t tell. Everything looks like anger. With Derek, it frequently is. They cope in very different ways, Aaron chooses nothing. Shutting down all his emotions until he cracks and that’s worse. It’s worse than Derek’s anger. That doesn’t mean Derek doesn’t hate the way he quakes with fury. If not because it feels childish to be blinded by emotions then because it scares Aaron.

There are a million other things, at twenty there always is. It’s his philosophy class with all this bullshit reading he doesn’t understand. He has to ask Aaron for help and Aaron has to ask him for help with things too but it makes Derek feel stupid. It’s philosophy, it can’t be that hard. That’s the same way Aaron feels about calculus. There’s maintaining rent and going grocery shopping and football (games, practice, gym, and training).

College had been a learning curve. Getting up at four in the morning to go to the gym for football had been the hardest thing in the world without his mother flicking his bedroom lights on and off or Desiréecoming in to smack him in the face with a pillow. There’s no one in the entire world in charge of getting him out of his bed other than him and, in his freshman year, while he had thought sleeping on that impossibly hard mattress would leave much to be desired, and it did, he found himself glued to his every morning. Not wanting to leave the safety of its flimsy comfort.

Sharing an apartment worked wonders, having a workaholic boyfriend was really the best trick. An unexpected answer to his problems but, also, a very cute one. He managed to add one person to the list of people that cared about where he was, that made sure he got up in time to make it to the gym and practice, and asked if he had a bad day or rub at his sore muscles.

Derek rolls over in bed, not as surprised as he should be to find the other half empty. “Aaron?” He still searches, runs his hand over the sheets as if he doesn’t know that if Aaron were in the bed he’d be right there. Hogging the bed and the blankets, pressed up against Derek’s back snoring like there’s no tomorrow. “Aaron?” Derek sits up and squints, grimaces at the light trailing in from the open door.

Aaron’s hunched over the beginnings of an essay, pen ink smeared across his left palm and steadily chugging along. He can write a full essay in the span of a night, five hours for about 3,000 words but if it’s a short synopsis sort of thing then about an hour. Despite this astonishing gift, Aaron still makes himself write all his essays weeks in advance and spends days upon days proofreading and combing through them for the tiniest mistakes. He’s a straight-A student so he’s doing something right but Derek gets mostly As too with far less hastily. Aaron is just extra.

Derek steps up to the desk, doesn’t make a sound as he leans up against the side of the chair. He wraps an around Aaron’s shoulders, leans down to kiss his head. “It’s two,” Derek informs him, “come to bed. Please?” Derek’s exhausted. He feels the regret of being pulled from his warm bed. Each second feels like twenty minutes, the world sluggish and too cold. He leans closer to Aaron, wrapping himself around him. “You always smell so good,” Derek whispers. He presses his face into Aaron’s hair, catching the mix of scents.

“Bakery,” Aaron grunts. His answer as simple and concise as he always is but even more so now that he’s tired. Aaron had worked an on-campus job for the entirety of their freshman year but after he got a scholarship that would roll over each year after that (so long as he kept a certain GPA) he started at a bakery down the street from their apartment. Derek had always liked the way Aaron smelled, gently masculine in a way only Aaron could ever be, and it had mixed with the scents of softly, perfectly made baked goods he works around all day. Cookies and cakes. He’s picked up a few tricks, Aaron can make moist cakes and perfectly round cookies but his bread… It’s the best food Derek has ever eaten.

The first time Aaron made bread Derek got down on one knee and confessed “Aaron Hotchner if I could marry you I’d take you to the damn chapel right now”. To which he was lovingly pushed and told to “shut up” but fresh-baked bread (even if Aaron had taken a single bite and concluded he hadn’t ratioed the sugar right) is heavenly. He’s gotten much better since and it’s really hot when he’s standing there in one of his dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up taking his stress out on the dough.

And he can’t tell anyone. Can’t boast about his hot ass boyfriend or the bread he makes from scratch.

Derek crouches down by the chair, knows he’s winning when Aaron breaks from his work just enough to glance at him out of the corner of his eye. “Can’t this wait just a little bit?” he asks. “I want to sleep with my boyfriend and he’s out here writing an essay that isn’t due tomorrow and likely isn’t due for the next month.” Derek reaches up, strokes a strand of hair back behind Aaron’s ear. His fingers graze an open wound and Aaron flinches away, the pain unexpected.

The bare bones of Aaron Hotchner are the along the same in principle to Dereks-- all things that he cannot change. Even as he stands as tall as Derek, their bodies are not the same. Derek is lean from years of football, his arms stretch his shirts. He looks like an athlete, has the benefit of the doubt whenever he’s around men. His teammates walk naked in front of him, no one for even a second thinks anything of it. No one suspects him of the atrocities he commits within his apartment.

Aaron doesn’t have any of that. His hair is a little too long, hangs down in his face when he’s studying or reading. Nothing about him is hulk-ish, he’s delicate with his movements and while it had been something that Derek was immediately drawn to it also draws other’s attention. Bad attention.

The same boys that play around with Derek, snapping towels at him while he walks, terrorize Aaron.

Derek wishes there was something he could do because if this were anyone else- if Aaron were a girl- he could. It wouldn’t be dangerous, not the sort of thing that would cost him his football scholarship or get him stabbed and left to bleed out in an alley or beat within an inch of his life. He would have to out himself to protect Aaron, to stand in front of his teammates that coach keeps calling his family and tell them to keep their fucking hands off his boyfriend. No. No, because something like that would be death. It would be worse than what’s already happening. And Aaron won’t allow it.

All Derek can do now is await the next attack, leave Aaron someplace to come home to. Give him a place to be, without burden, without hesitation. It’s not enough. They’ll kill him. Derek knows they will and it’ll be fun for them, only a matter of time.

“Come to bed with me,” Derek asks one more time. He doesn’t want to sound entirely needy but he really doesn’t want to go to bed without Aaron. The bed is lonely.

With a sigh, Aaron nods and Derek stands up, moves out of the way so Aaron can throw pens in his textbooks to mark his place. He steps away, from the desks, yawning as he makes lazy lurches forward towards their bedroom. “Turn the damn--” Derek rolls his eyes and reaches over and turns off Aaron’s desk lamp.

He passes Aaron in the doorway, places his hand on his hip, and reminds him of their objective. “Bed,” he mumbles and Aaron nods, jerking back to life as he steps further into the bedroom.

Derek lays down on the bed, crawls over to his side, and gets comfortable while he watches Aaron lazily strip down to his underwear. He gets caught in his head again for a moment, standing there just blankly staring at the dresser. Trying to figure out if he should put on pajamas or not. Derek calls his name and opens his arms. “Come here, “ he says and Aaron smiles. Sheepishly he comes, blushing as he crawls into the bed and where Derek instructs him. Humming, pleased, when Derek brings the blankets up over them. His eyes are already closed, head tucked under Derek’s chin when Derek wraps his arms around him. Pulls him close, tight.

He’d read in a book about deep pressure, its effect on the parasympathetic nervous system. He’d studied Development Psychology for some time, thought about all the ways in which it checked every box of his interests. He thinks he might want to be a teacher. That’s where he learned about the importance of the bond between guardian and child. Where he learned a hug sometimes really is a fantastic answer to the most startling problems.

It’s also the fastest way to get Aaron to sleep.

“Tighter,” Aaron whispers. He can’t quite feel Derek’s bones pushing into him, the hammer of his heart still too strong. He groans, choking up a laugh when Derek does just that. Holds him tight, makes him ache with the proximity, his inability to move.

Derek doesn’t mind, he’s got an armful of bakery boy. Couldn’t be more content with anything else.

0000000000000000

All things considered, Derek didn’t actually face that much scrutiny when he told his mother about the stupid twisting and turning feeling in his stomach when Martel Harris put his hand on Derek’s back. Leaned in too close and Derek could smell the cologne he wore and feel his proximity like lightning across his skin. He’d thought it was just nerves but at the end of a football match Martel lifted him up, threw him up in the air, and God that had felt better than flying. Lit him up inside like he was something, someone.

Desiréecried and Sarah wouldn’t speak to him for a week, opposite reactions because of the same fear. Their mother always said the two of them were two halves of the same coin-- too alike to get along and too different to ever get away. They came around, their mother’s gentle hand always the voice of reason. Three stubborn as all hell kids, too much like their father. That’s what she tells the three of them, tears swelling in her eyes as she proclaims that none of it matters. Orders Desiréeto stop crying tells Sarah to get over herself. She loved and married a black man despite the death threats that followed them everywhere they went. Despite the people that called it blasphemous. Called it sin. As if love could be such a thing.

Her mother told her not to come home, not to call. She wouldn’t do that to her son, she knows it won’t change a thing. There’s something about love that makes you blind to the small pains. She never looked back twice, never reached out to her parents. She chose love and Derek will too.

But that doesn’t mean the fear goes away.

It doesn’t actually change a damn thing.

Standing in the tiny bathroom attached to Derek’s friend’s bedroom Aaron leans over the sink, letting Derek rub

shampoo through his beer-drenched hair. “I just don’t understand why they have it out for you,” Derek mumbles, his voice has deepened, his frustration laced confusion evident. They’re in a rather suggestive position, Derek’s body keeping Aaron bent over the sink-- ass to groin. Aaron shoots him a look out of the corner, a pretty clear “look at us right now and take a guess at why”. Derek ignores the look, he’s rather good at ignoring Aaron’s sharp looks. He shakes his head, grumbling some more to himself and gently working the shampoo out of Aaron’s hair. He leans closer, Aaron groaning as the sink bites into his stomach, and smells his hair. Derek groans, unsatisfied with what he finds. “Smells like strawberries with a slight undertone of beer.”

Sounds about as close to a win as they’re getting. “That’s as good as it’s going to get,” Aaron mumbles, grateful when Derek sits back up. While Aaron’s come to terms with the particular hand he’s drawn in the terms of college social lives Derek isn’t as quick to accept. He feels hopeless, a feeling he thought he’d escaped upon leaving Chicago and everything Carl Buford. Aaron can’t stand to see that look, the one he’s grown so used to seeing after events like this.

He pulls a towel down off the rack, starts trying to dry his hair. This isn’t the reason he keeps his hair short but it’s certainly a helpful addition to keep in mind. “Don’t overthink it, it’s not your fault.” Aaron could go blue in the face trying to keep Derek from coming up with a mile-long list of all the reasons why that’s simply not true. The truth is, it’s really not Derek’s fault. No one even knows about them. Their relationship isn’t the reason why Hunter Whatever-his-last-name-is poured his cup of cheap, smells like piss, beer over Aaron’s head.

Not that what happened downstairs can just be so beautifully summed up as just that. Hunter Whatever-his-last-name-is had grabbed Aaron as he was walking in, doing as Derek instructed by coming in the screened-in door at the side of the house. “Who’s dick did you come to suck?” and Hunter Whatever-his-last-name-is cupped Aaron’s cheek. Dug his thumb into the wound he created and smiled, grinned happily at the sight of Aaron trying so hard to getaway. Hunter’s grip relaxed and as soon as it did Aaron was blinking the beer out of his eyes. “Get the fuck away from me,” Hunter shoved him, hard. “Faggot.” Aaron hit his hip on the counter but said nothing, he’ll leave the bruise for Derek to find another night.

“I should say something to that pig,” Derek’s distracting himself with putting everything back in the bathroom the way it was before they came in. Straightening out the rug and fixing the other towels. “Let me catch him trying something--”

Aaron can’t take it, all of Derek’s pointless anger, his stupid guilt. He’s just had beer poured down his back. He can’t even accept Derek’s sweatshirt to replace his smelly shirt, can’t walk out of here wearing his boyfriend’s sweatshirt without getting shanked. The beer smells awful but he’s fairly certain getting stabbed is a whole lot worse. Derek doesn’t have to deal with that. No one messes with him because no one thinks to. “It’s because of how I look!” He’s shaking, bangs hanging down in his face still damp but no longer dripping water down his face. “You? You look normal. You get to walk around with all your football buddies, no one bats an eye at the quarterback, Derek. At least you like women too!” He points to himself, digs his finger into his own chest. “Me? I look the part. I can’t even pretend. Everyone knew, the whole world knew before I did!”

Derek just stands there, caught in the headlights trying to figure out what to say.

He wipes his eyes, jerks away from the hand Derek tries to put on his arm. “No. No!” he can’t do touch right now. Not like this, not when his body won’t hold still and his knees keep trying to buckle. It happens, this panicked cornered feeling, and usually Derek would hold him down. They’d sit on the floor and Derek would hold his arms down to his chest and they’d just sit like that until Aaron can breathe again. Bones against bones until Aaron feels the fractures of his humanity coming back together but for now, right now? He can’t do it. He can’t be touched.

“I want to go home,” he manages, lower lip quivering despite how much he wants to hold it together. “Please take me home.”

Derek just stares at him, stands there, and watches Aaron cross his arms over his chest and curl in, trying to squeeze the panic out himself. “Okay,” he caves. “Go on, I’ll follow you down.” It’s degrading, humiliating the fact that they can’t even leave this room together. Aaron’s upset and Derek can’t do anything about that right now. It’s not safe until they’re home.

It’s never safe.

With his hair dripping into his face Aaron stumbles in the dark. His shirt is soaking wet, stuck to his skin, and freezing him as tramples down a thin stretch of grass between houses. He wishes he had Derek’s sweatshirt. Something warm. At least something to cover his arms. It had been a stupid idea coming here right after getting off work. The bakery is so impossibly hot and after getting off his shift all he wanted was to be with Derek. To sit in whatever little room Derek could guarantee was safe and drink whatever cheap crap Derek brings him from downstairs. Just sit and listen to the music filtering in from downstairs.

“Hotchner!”

He freezes-- a deadly mistake.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

He knows what happened to Derek. In the hush of the night, laying facing each other in the dark, Derek had told him. Each word a puff of hot air against Aaron’s face, hitting the hot tears rolling down his cheeks. It was supposed to be even, Derek’s intention was to express alikeness. He’d seen the scars, no matter careful Aaron was about the light when he thought things were headed in the direction of nakedness, Derek saw them. He hadn’t said anything that time, run his thumb over the one on Aaron’s chest but kept up his ministrations. Acted as if he didn’t until that moment in bed.

Aaron still hasn’t found the courage to be honest about his own childhood.

Derek comes around the back, half-expecting tonight to go like it always does. Except Aaron hasn’t had any alcohol and he doesn’t come stumbling around the porch to greet Derek from the darkness. There are no stolen kisses or hushed laughter. No Aaron. Derek has half a mind to shout out for him, he couldn’t have gone off far, but then he sees him. Derek sees them. The moonlight shining down casting this awful hue between the houses. He sees Hunter draw his foot back and he can’t hold it back. Won’t let this go on. “Hunter!”

The second that Hunter’s attention is away from him, Aaron slumps to the ground. His blood smeared against the house. He’s still breathing, awful ragged breathes that shoot blood off his lips. He sees Derek in the moonlight, rushing past him. Aaron wishes he wasn’t a coward. Between each blood speckled breathe, he wishes that he wasn’t a coward and had just told Derek. That way he would understand Aaron can take it. He spent his childhood taking beatings for just being alive. At least now it was something coherent. Being beaten for being gay requires at least knowing something about him. His father couldn’t even bother with that.

But Derek doesn’t understand.

Aaron never told him.

He’s pulled down, out of orbit, and back to Earth when Derek squats down beside him, cradles his head in his hands. “Aaron?” he calls out, but Aaron can’t force his eyes to move from the dirt. “Can I--” Derek doesn’t know where to put his hands. If he can put his hands anywhere. “I’m going to-- to lift you, okay?” It’s not a matter of if he’s strong enough. He benches more than his own body weight and that’s significantly more than Aaron’s. He’s just not sure if Aaron’s going to fight him and if Aaron fighting him is good or bad.

“Lean forward,” Derek whispers, cupping the back of Aaron’s head and directing it into his shoulder. He turns, manipulates both their bodies and winces each time, no matter how gentle and calculated his movements are, Aaron still cries out. He still hurts him. “I’m sorry,” becomes his mantra. The only words he can manage out around the tears, the only thing he can get past the thickness in his throat.

Sorry he didn’t stop this sooner.

Sorry that he keeps hurting Aaron.

Sorry they couldn’t be other people. In other places. In another time.

Sorry that it’s all for nothing, that there’s no way this ends well for either of them. They’re going to end up dead or alone but certainly separate.

The second Derek has him in his arms Aaron grips his shirt tightly in one blood-stained hand. He rests his head on Derek’s shoulder, soaking in his warmth. “Home?” he asks, voice breaking.

“We’re going home.”

Aaron wakes up alone in bed.

He’s completely naked, laying with three blankets pulled up over him. One that he recognizes is from the living room. There’s one of Derek’s homemade sock heating pads digging into his sore ribs where he rolled over onto it, he can feel more of them underneath him. He’s been laying here for a while. None of the socks are warm anymore. He’s on Derek’s side of the bed, facing his nightstand, and watches Derek’s blurry alarm clock change time. 1:36 passing to 1:37 to 1:38 just waiting for the fuzzy fingers in his brain to ease up. To allow him to think.

It’s Saturday.

Derek’s off at a football game, not due back for hours. Not until tonight, long after Aaron’s gone to bed.

For an overwhelming moment, his eyes fill with tears, desperation, and solitude creating an awful twist in his stomach. He doesn’t want to be alone. Protectively he draws his knees up, tries to knot himself up, and create a mangled ball. His heart picks up, anxiety increasing as he lays there. He wants Derek. He doesn’t want to be alone.

On the phone’s first rings he curls in tighter, overwhelmed by his own crying that he presses his face into Derek’s pillow and ignores it. He’ll let the machine catch it-- that’s the whole reason Derek bought it. With a sharp end, muffled by the blanket he pulls up over his head, a voice comes through. The machine catching the voice mail.

“Aaron, sweetheart? This is Fran, Derek’s mom? I’m sorry to keep calling sweetie but Derek’s awake now. He’s worried, says you should have woken up by now. I can send Sarah to come get you, Derek told me what happened last night. Please call me back? I hope you’re okay.”

He lays in confused silence, trying to process why Derek’s mother would call him. She calls all the time and occasionally he answers to tell her she’s just missed Derek-- he’s off with friends, at the gym, or at class. They know of one another Derek talks about him to Fran as much as Derek talks about Fran to him. But Fran call him? That’s never happened.

Then he catches it-- “Derek’s awake now”-- and he sits up. Pushed from his mind is the pain, his ribs scream and the blood he can see he’s left on Derek’s pillow. Derek’s awake now. Hunter Whatever-his-last-name-is is on the football team. An offensive lineman. A guy whose entire job is to protect Derek but now he knows, he has to know.

Derek’s awake now.

He throws himself out of bed, clipping his already sore hip on the nightstand and staggering for the phone. Tears spilling over his face. What happened while he was sleeping? What did Hunter do?

Fran picks up on the first ring. “Aaron, is that you sweetheart?”

He sniffles, rubbing at his nose with his finger. “Yes, ma’am.” He knows she can hear him crying, his choked sobs as he falls in the direction of the closes chair.

“You had me worried sick,” she says and he can hear that unmistakable fondness in her chastising tone. That must be where Derek gets it from. It makes him smile, even if it’s weak. “How are you feeling, baby? Derek told me what happened. I’m sorry. If I see that boy I’ll wring his neck. Give him a piece of my mind for bothering my boys.”

He just nods, despite the fact that she can’t see that. He knows he should answer her question but he has no idea what he feels. Nothing. He feels nothing as he sits here holding his breath as he waits to ask about Derek. To know what happened because of him. “Is Derek okay? What happened?”

Hunter told a few other team members what he saw. Most brushed him off, Hunters a douchebag, and they like Derek. Others just hate Aaron enough for it to matter to them, enough to what to do something. Or, rather, not do anything. It only took one tackle, a limb bent the wrong way under the weight of three boys.

It was Derek’s knee. A career-ending injury.

A scholarship losing injury.

“Can I--” Aaron chokes. He’s afraid of what happens if Fran says no. “Can I see him?”

“Of course you can.”

Aaron turns away Fran’s offer of a car ride but Desirée still shows up.

He answers the door in a sweatshirt and jeans and knows immediately who it is when he opens it up. Desirée just stares at him for a moment, he can feel all of the seventeen-year-old judgment sizing him up. “You look… awful,” she tells him. She lets herself in, walking past Aaron with one more look. “Mom says I can drive but if you want to do it I have to let you.” She puts the car keys on the counter, sighs as she looks around. “Derek says…” she chews her lip, as she sizes him up again.

He wonders how intimidating he could possibly look to her. Hunched over and wearing a sweatshirt that’s too big for him.

“Would you teach me how to make bread?”

He can’t help but smile, nods without any hesitation.

“Really?”

Aaron nods, “it’s not that hard. More of a-- a waiting game. You have to give the yeast time to rise.”

Desirée has no idea what that means but she nods, “cool.”

He lets her drive. Mostly because his vision is swimming but because he tosses the keys back to her, a clear okay that she can drive, and she beams at him. She likes him. That’s so weirdly important to him.

She has to wake him up when they get to the hospital. The first thing she tells Fran is that he let her drive and Fran smiles at him, shakes her head, and says “you must have a death wish.”

Aaron blushes under the attention, eyes falling to the floor. He barely manages, “drives just like Derek.”

Fran laughs, nodding her head, “she does. Too heavy on the brakes.” Her smile fades a little when she sees Aaron’s sweatshirt, recognizes it from home. Knows it’s Dereks. “Will you let someone look at that,” she asks, too many of his wounds look deep. Cuts that need stitches and a nasty black eye that she knows he hasn’t iced. She’s reminded a little too quickly that Aaron and Derek are still very much kids. Tricky kids. Too old to be told what to do but still wanting direction.

Aaron nods, shying away again from the attention, but nods.

They leave him when the nurse steps in, doesn’t need to say a word. Fran sees him hesitate to lift his shirt and knows. Derek had managed to tell her most of what happened but the morphine made his speech slur, made him emotional. He’d sobbed, high and in pain. Told her what he’d seen the night before. Hunter hitting and kicking at Aaron, the way Aaron slumped forward. How he’d carried Aaron home. Washed the blood off him with a rag. She knew what was under Aaron’s shirt wasn’t something for them to see.

Derek wakes sometime in the middle of the night. The drugs from the surgery are wearing off and with it his blissful escape from the pain. Licking his dry lips he looks around the room, spotting his sisters and frowning as he tries to find his mother. She’s leaning over another cot, on the other side of the room. He watches her, hears the familiar chorus of Blackbird, and watches her stroke Aaron’s forehead, following the line of the relaxed brow.

It makes him smile, his mother used to sing Whitney Houston to him and his sisters to sleep. He told her about Aaron’s obsession with The Beatles, how of all the records the two of them own that’s the only one Aaron will play. Desiréebought the album, his mother told him a week later. She saved up to get it and was eager for her moment to speak to Aaron about it. To be able to befriend her brother’s boyfriend. That’s about the same time Fran began to hound him about bringing Aaron home, to Chicago. She wanted to meet him.

Fran kisses Aaron’s forehead, waiting another moment just to make sure Aaron’s truly asleep before she stands. “He was having a bad dream,” she tells Derek. In truth, he’d been crying in his sleep. In pain, she could tell, and restless. He’d settled with her there and it made her sad to think that maybe he’d just grown too used to sleeping beside someone else. She’d pulled his blankets closer and sang, just as she did with the other three when they were little. Even when they’re twenty, it still works like a charm.

Fran smiles, tries to soothe Derek’s nerves so he doesn’t worry about Aaron. He’s fine for now, sleeping soundlessly. She sits down on the edge of Derek’s bed, cups his cheek, and asks “how are you feeling?”

Derek just looks over to Aaron, his pale parted lips parted and the bandages holding him together. “Is he okay?” He’d been so scared last night watching Aaron sleep. No amount of Tylenol was doing a thing for his pain. Several times he’d sat up in the night and searched for a pulse, counted the far too many seconds separating each of his breathes. Derek thought Aaron might die right there beside him but he’d been more afraid of what might have happened if they went to the hospital.

Fran sighs, stupid love. It’s cute, she has to admit, but so senseless. “He’s sleeping, he’s okay.” She tries to redirect him, “how do you feel?”

Derek looks back over to Aaron. He looks. There’s more than just those pale lips and the bandages. It’s Aaron. He’s sleeping under multiples blankets and looks like himself. How he always looks when Derek rolls over to face him. He believes his mother, she never lies. “My leg hurts,” he whispers, voice cracking. It’s like the entire thing is pulsing, a continuous stabbing feeling. He cries but not from the pain. They betrayed him. The people he so stupidly thought of as his friends. They hurt him like they’d been hurting Aaron.

He should have known better.

He shouldn’t have been so stupid.

This is his fault.

“Derek?” Aaron sits up, hesitating under the combined attention of Derek and Fran.

Fran stands up, nods Aaron over. “Sit with him,” she offers. “I’ll go get a nurse.”

Aaron nods, still waiting, still hesitating to be where he wants to be. Derek motions him closer, manages to move his body over in the bed. Just enough room for Aaron to squeeze in beside him.

“I don’t think I”m supposed to--”

“Lay down.” Derek can see all the bruises and cuts up close again. He brushes his fingers through the hair above Aaron’s ear, turning his palm to his cheek. Gently tracing the outline of a bandage. “Runaway with me,” he whispers. He thought about it all night long while he watched Aaron sleep. “There’s only four more weeks left of the semester.” Aaron’s smart, he’ll get in anywhere he applies. “We’ll transfer someplace else, anywhere else.”

Aaron frowns, he doesn’t like the idea of this impulsivity. Mostly the number of uncertainties that it creates and the questions. Where will they go? How will they know it’s safe? Are they dropping out? Where will they transfer to? What Aaron can’t get into the college that Derek does?

“Hey,” Derek hushes, he strokes his thumb across Aaron’s cheekbone. “Hey, whatever you’re thinking stop. I’m not leaving, not going anywhere you don’t. We do this together, alright?” He smiles, leans forward, and softly knocks their foreheads together. “Four weeks and all of summer break, okay? That’s plenty of time for a smarty pants like you to figure out where we can go.” It had taken less time for Aaron to conclude Illinois was close enough to home for him to go if something happened to his mother but too far away for her or his brother to come to him.

They’ll figure it out.

“Runaway with me?” he asks one more time.

“Okay.”

[venhedish]

Ven’s Masterlist of SPN Fic

I write mostly pre-series and early seasons Big Feels™ Wincest fic. There’s a lot of angst and pining here, but plenty of love and devotion mixed in with the darkness.

I always deeply, deeply appreciate likes, kudos, comments, and reblogs!

Wincest Fic

Stand-Alone

Yesterday is a Ghost I Believe In ~4.1k, Teen, Pre-series, Epistolary, Multimedia, Experimental There's an old shoebox under Sam Winchester's bed. It's been there almost as long as he can remember. He doesn't look inside it very often, but when he does, he takes his time. A multimedia collection of letters, journal entries, pictures, and other ephemera from a life on the road. .

That Monster, Love ~2k, Teen, Pre-series, POV Outsider, POV John Winchester, John Finds Out, Angst “You think you’re doing your boys any favors, raisin’ ‘em like this?” .

To Cure My Lonesome Blood ~8.8k, Explicit, Pre-series, Pining Dean, Angst, Bittersweet Ending Dean’s been sick since before either of them was born. The disease is incurable, written into his blood – the same blood he shares with his brother. If he’s not careful, the fever will spread like a fire and consume them both. .

Like Sand, Like Water, Like Sunlight ~1.7k, Gen, Pre-series, Mutual Pining, Angst, Pre-Slash Sea birds circle overhead and Dean wishes he had a camera. Sam looks so young, all of twelve years old, and exhilarated. Dean wants to hold this image in the chambers of his heart, but his pulse just carries it along; time is cruel that way. .

The Space Between Sense and Memory ~4.8k, Teen, Pre-series through Season 1, 5-and-1 Things There are a hundred unwritten rules on all the acceptable ways brothers should touch each other. There are hardly any ways at all to break them. Or; five times they follow the rules and one time they don’t. .

Every Goodbye, all at Once ~900, Teen, Pre-series, Stanford Era, Pining Dean, Angst, Epistolary "Hey, It's Sam. If you're looking for my dad, you can reach him at 866-555-9352. If you're looking for me, leave a message." A series of voicemails Dean leaves at the number Sam left behind. .

Breathe You In (Choke You Down) ~6k, Explicit, Season 01, PWP, Scent Kink, Guilty Dean Winchester Once Sam was gone, Dean missed him in a way that was all-consuming, all the way down – so deep in his bones that he shook with loneliness some nights. And it was the familiar scent of his brother’s hair where it tangled warm against the pillows, his pulse beating under his skin and sending the fear of the hunt wafting off of him in waves that Dean struggled to hold onto the hardest. Dean really likes the way Sam smells..  .

Dawn is Coming (Open Your Eyes) ~5k, Explicit, Season 01, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Back Together In which Sam and Dean suffer new wounds and stitch old ones back together. There’s an awful storm, a dead monster, an injury, and a whole lot of feelings. .

You put the Magic in Me ~9.1k, Explicit, Season 02(ish), Sex Pollen, Porn with Plot, Casefic “This is the weirdest thing we’ve ever done for a case,” Dean says under his breath, leaning into Sam and scouting the crowd gathered around a dozen tables inside the little café. “Dude, relax,” Sam says back, eyebrows raising at his brother’s nervous energy. “I thought this would be, like, your thing.” He gestures vaguely to the women milling around inside. A long, vividly red banner hangs across the open french doors that lead into the space, emblazoned with the words The Oolong Tea Room Presents: Lonely Hearts Club Speed Dating! Feb 11-14th! Or; in which Sam and Dean learn a thing or two about chemistry. .

The Stars are not Wanted Now ~2k, Teen, Season 02, Episode Tag: s02e21 All Hell Breaks Loose, Angst, Death Rituals There was a body on the bed.  It had been there long enough that the slanting light of morning crept into the room like an unwelcome invader and washed the world in a dream-shade of palest blue.   But there were no dreams here; only death, only memory. The body on the bed was all that remained of Samuel Winchester, who had died in his brother’s arms the night before. .

Demi-Gods and Hungry Ghosts ~5.8k, Explicit, Season 03, Episode Tag: s03e11 Mystery Spot, Dark, Dub-con, Hurt No Comfort This dream-state of living on pause and rewind leads to some interesting avenues of thought that Sam doesn’t mean to travel, but after a certain number of unrelenting Tuesdays, they just become inevitable. If Dean dies every day—if his memories are wiped, or if they never happen at all—what could Sam get away with, if he wanted to? Could he dare to find out?  .

In Sanguine Vita Est   ~5.2k, Explicit, Season 04, Knifeplay, Dean’s Hell Trauma, Hurt/Comfort Everything was different now. Dean was here—back from the fucking dead—but he was a stranger in his own body. Scars gone, aches from broken bones that hadn’t set right vanished back into the void as if they’d never existed at all. He’d become a stranger to the whole world. He’d become a stranger to Sam. _ Dean asks Sam to help him heal after he returns from Hell. .

All Heartless Spectres, Happiness ~5.7k, Explicit, Season 06, Episode Tag: s06e06 You Can’t Handle the Truth, POV Outsider, Angst, Soulless Sam Lisa Braeden receives an email with the subject line, "You Deserve to Know." It contains a single video file and nothing else. .

The Rungs of Me be Under You ~1.6k, Teen, Gencest, Post-Bunker, 2nd Person POV, Queerplatonic Sam and Dean, Non-Sexual Kink What they share has never been easy to define. Why should this be any different?  .

Wincest Series The Top/Bottom Discourse Series (Ongoing) [Each story is canon compliant and listed chronologically, but they can all be read as standalone works.] This series was born originally from a silly meta post I made on Tumblr as a response to some very angry top/bottom discourse I was seeing about how only Sam could truly be A Top™, or how only Dean could truly be A Top™. I personally like to kink and let kink and not drag outdated gender politics into my fandom (Dean can't be a bottom because he's too masculine? Ice cold take, bro), so I wrote a filthy little tongue-in-cheek post about all the ways I think Sam and Dean have fucked each other over the years.

 I’m Thinking About Whatever You’re Thinking About ~5.1k, Explicit, Pre-series, PWP, Bratty Sam, Exhibitionism, Fear of Discovery Sam is such a brat, sometimes. .

 Shoot to Thrill ~6.7k, Explicit, Season 02, Porn with Plot, Hustling, Getting Back Together It's just like riding a bike. .

Burn Out The Night ~4.9k, Explicit, Season 08, Porn with Plot, Car Sex, Light BDSM, Fluff What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. .

Destiel Fic

Love Made a Martyr of Me ~500, Teen, Season 05, Endverse, Past Sam/Dean, Angst Sam says yes in Detroit, and in the space of a single syllable, there's nothing left in Heaven or on Earth for Dean to love. Cas doesn't seem to care. .

The Sharp Teeth of the One You Love ~2k, Teen, Season 05, Endverse, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Pining “Quit bein’ a baby, Cas.” Dean’s hands were covered in blood, but they were steady as always while he worked to stitch Castiel back together. “I’m sorry,” Cas growled between gritted teeth. “I don’t exactly have a lot of experience feeling pain.” He hissed again when Dean slid the curved needle back through the eight-inch-long gash that ran deep and bloody down Cas’s bicep. Castiel learns something about what it means to be human. .

Wincestiel Fic

Temerate ~700, Teen, Season 05(ish), Past Sam/Dean, 2nd Person POV, First Time Your brother is sitting in the corner of the motel room. His big hands are worrying at each other; he squeezes them together, fingertips white from the pressure of his grip. He meets your eyes and his gaze is like a lightning strike. .

Dean/John Fic

Cruore ~1.1k, Mature, Pre-series, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Blood, Intrusive Thoughts Bites, Dean could deal with – claw marks and broken bones. But this- ... a bullet was a different kind of monster altogether. .

Supernatural RPF

Il Cielo in Una Stanza ~4.4k, Explicit, Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki, Getting Back Together, Prequel-Gate, Polyamory, Non-AU Jared Padalecki receives a present he wasn't expecting at all for his 39th birthday. . 

Other Supernatural Fic

Bad Things, Better Reasons ~2k, Explicit, Pre-series, Dean Does Sex Work, Angst, Brotherly Love. Dean does whatever it takes to keep the bills paid while John is gone. The kid waiting for him back at the motel room is all the justification he’ll ever need. .

No Was Her Name ~1.3k, Teen, Season 12, Dean/Mary, Light Angst, First Kiss Mary Winchester was alive. She was solid—made of skin and blood and bone—and she existed in the same world as Dean. It wasn’t a dream; she walked and talked and breathed. She ate, she slept, she wandered the halls of the bunker at odd hours. She was a ghost made flesh, and Dean was haunted by her presence. .

[nothingtoseehd]

eah characters as cavetown songs

this was inspired by @/applewhiteapologist's eah characters as taylor swift songs, sooooooo yeah

some characters might not be here because: 1. it's hard to find songs for them (as of right now) 2. i forgot them/i'll do them if i have more time

apple white - devil town v2/green

-i chose devil town v2 because it seemed the most, uh, apple out of all the devil town versions? devil town v1 seems edgy-ish, and devil town v3 seems lower and calmer, i think???? maybe i just chose this because it has those light, floaty chords, i'm not sure, i'm not smart or anything -also i honestly felt like this was hard -i chose devil town because it could represent the future she pictured in her mind when raven didn't sign the book -i don't really know what to explain green, but like, ashlynn and apple in true hearts day??? that's the best way i could explain this song -lyric analysis time: --"i still get a little scared of something new, but I feel a little safer when i'm with you, falling doesn't feel so bad, when I know you've fallen this way too" ---apple is "a little scared of something new" because she's in for an unpredictable future without the storybook of legends ---for the falling part, it's like she's not so sad about being led astray when she's with her friends maybeeeeeee -lyrics for green because i can't explain it but it's just THERE: --"you looked so good in green i hope you’re well and you look so good with him and i’m proud of you still take care of my shirt warm and red i hope you think of me still as your friend i hope you love yourself your body and heart i hope you feel happy that’s all i want that's all i want"

raven queen - devil town v1 (dang it there's no purple text so have plain text)

-i just chose devil town v1 because i think it would work well with her guitar, i actually don't know how guitar works but i'm pretending to know how it works, don't tell anyone i don't know how they work -i think this song could represent her home life and whatnot because she's living with the evil queen -it's lyric analysis time!!: --"you said something dumb again, she's mad, at least that's what they say" (i just used orange so the lyrics wouldn't blend in as much) ---the something dumb thing could be like a 'nice deed' the evil queen doesn't like, and she's mad because of that --"we're all dead in devil town, that's fine, cause nothing's gonna scare us now" ---she's 'dead' after all the nagging and 'be eviL EMBRACE YOUR INNER EVIL' shit and it's now the normal, and it's not going to scare her since it's basically her life now -also slowed devil town can fit her too

madeline hatter - hug all ur friends/talk to me

-she's just so friendly?????? and supportive?????? and oh gosh i need a hug???????? -seriously though, they suit her because she feels so much like a huggy, supportive person and she's friends with everyone sooooooooooooo, hugs for everyone!! except you crystal!! and headmaster grimm!! not forgiving for the time you almost banished maddie!! -the lyrics because i can't explain these songs, it's just that maddie vibe, you know?: --"life’s too short to worry about things that we got wrong, so hug all your friends and let them know, you’re not letting go, i’m not letting go" (hug all ur friends) --"you don't have to be a prodigy to be unique you don't have to know what to say or what to think you don't have to be anybody you can never be that's alright, let it out, talk to me" (talk to me)

briar beauty - pigeon

-i had a very hard time with her but i think this kinda fits -it generates a sleepy vibe? (even though i didn't get this from the sleepyhead album *cough cough*) -okay, so the reason why i chose this for her is because of the chorus, which could kind of tie in with her destiny, with the 100 year coma -have the chorus for reference: --"didn’t give me time to say goodbye in the way that i wanted to, so honey, close your eyes and stay like you’re supposed to do, don’t know how i’m gonna live without, but i’ll stay strong for you"

ca cupid - sweet tooth/for you

-this is already self-explanatory if you listened to the song(s), buT IF YOU HAVEN'T YET, basically it's a song about an unhealthy crush and love and stuff -and you know who she has an unhealthy crush on???? that's right, it's blondie!! /hj (but seriously, in canon it's dexter but uH, i refuse to believe that, they're better off as friends) -lyric examples because like maddie, i can't really explain it but i know the vibe is THERE: --"a sweet tooth for you, i'm wide awake, the sugar went straight to my brain, feel like a kid, i double tap, my chest with my fist, i like you, say it back, say it back"

cerise hood - snail

-snail iS SUCH A GREAT SONG OMG -snail kinda represents her childhood and 'not wanting to be born like this' because of her parents technically breaking destiny (stupid storybook of legends) -lyrics from the song because i kinda don't really need to explain this song more: --"i was just born like this, wish that i could change it" --"i'm hanging out with the foxes and the hounds, and when i fit in i'll break back out"

daring charming - boys will be bugs/lemons (technically cavetown is just a feature but he's still there so yeah)

-it's just about the vibes -and also about the fact that the person in the songs have to uphold some sort of standard (the songs' standards were about masculinity) and i thought it could fit daring because he also has to uphold a standard (being the perfect charming prince) -also in lemons, daring's part is the one where cavetown sings it (if that wasn't obvious) -also ANOTHER LEMONS SIDE NOTE, i'd imagine rosabella singing brye's part, just because -lyrics time: --"don't mess with me, i'm a big boy now and i'm very scary i punch my walls, stay out at night, and i do karate don't message me 'cause i won't reply, i wanna make you cry ain't that how it's supposed to be? though it isn’t me boys will be bugs, right?" (boys will be bugs) --"so i'm gonna take it out on you too proud to show i'm hurting push it on you 'til you're burning" (lemons)

darling charming - 888/trying

-888 is a fun song, very groovy, has peppa pig plasters, 10/10 -main reason i chose 888, it kinda feels gay when you put it under a certain light?????????? -and snail could also fit with darling but i don't want to rob cerise -i was very stuck for a second song for darling because i felt obligated to give the charming siblings two songs because they're that top tier, but i think trying could be a good fit to some extent -could be like 'not great relationship with parents, struggle to fit with their standards ever since she found out she wanted to be a hero or something' -i still do think snail is a better fit for darling but i really really don't want to rob cerise because cerise is amazing -some lyrics: --"i'm workin' things out clouds lookin' strange papercut fingers dancing on the strings if i could see you right now i'd dance just for you when the nightlight goes out" (888) --"please let me know if you change your mind cause inside i'm falling And I need you to pull me out of this decline i realize how hard on you this must seem But trust me when i say it's far, far worse for me" (trying)

dexter charming - telescope/home

-telescope just feels like his vibe???? also because it kinda also have hopeless romantic-ness???? -also i headcanon him to be an astronomy nerd???? so that's fun???? that's my reasoning i guess???? (also, side-note i have just listened to astronomy by conan gray and it fits dexter) -ALSO HOME IS HERE BECAUSE DEXTER IS TRANS YOU CAN'T CHANGE MY MIND -also because it's also his vibe??????? -what time is it????? *clap clap* it's lyrics time!!: --"through the lens, it's dark, single-digit on the clock singing, "yessiree, i sure like-a you a lot" all i need is to get her she'll be happy if you let her" (telescope) --"turn off your porcelain face i can't really think right now and this place has too many colors, enough to drive all of us insane are you dead? sometimes i think i'm dead cause i can feel ghosts and ghouls wrapping my head but i don't wanna fall asleep just yet" (home)

okay the process of this post was just me staring at the lyrics and listening to cavetown a lot, sometimes during online classes but shhhh don't tell anyone (and finding more great songs)

is this post going to flop?? very very likely. do i care? eh, not sure, this was just me trying to put on my big brain hat.

also i realized while reading this post, that i never actually analyzed the majority of the songs' lyrics in this post?? so i'm very sorry

[thelemoncoffee]

https://twitter.com/danganronpawiki/status/1378167423715704835

NOW THAT WE HAVE THE FULL BODY DESIGNS!

i have some snazzy little opinions, so let’s just go down the line: 

!!Really long post under cut!!

-Makoto is a basic bitch, always and forever, and we stan that -Taka looks like a Penguin and you cannot change my mind -Byakuya is just trying to look rich- -Mondo’s outfit is so extra i love it- he even added some probably temporary dye to his pompadour that was hard to see due to the lighting in the group pic -LEON! everyone was calling his fit ugly in the group pic and honestly i’m salty because he and i have the same sense of formal fashion. work it king! -Hifumi’s honestly suits him just fine, i was iffy when i saw it in the group pic but it doesn’t look too awful in full -Hiro..... buddy- i- i mean- what do i say??? it’s ugly as shit and really nice at the same time?? -Sayaka’s formal wear is a massive step up from the outfit she wears in her splash art- i never really liked that dress that much- even if it does have a cultural significance the design the picked felt cheap. But this one is really nice, and i dig it way more -Kirigiri looks pretty, it looked waaaay more purple in the group pic, but looking back the whole thing was over saturated for the lighting affects they did, so i shall forgive. she looks oddly nice in blue actually.  -AOI LOOKS LIKE A BETA FISH AND I’M LIVING FOR IT! GO QUEEN!! -Toko’s dress looks way better in full than i expected, because so much of it was covered up i kinda didn’t like it all that much in the group pic, but i’m really digging it now -QUEEN SAKURA! BEAUTIFUL!! A DAMN SUNSET OF A DRESS!!! i love seeing her indulge in being a gorgeous queen despite people’s remarks on her physique -Celeste! also beautiful, but girl are you a vampire?? the layers on that dress- and that’s a massive veil- she’s gotta be overheating in that thing.  -JUNKO! Fashionista know’s what’s up! it’s alot less gaudy than some of her casual outfits, but in a way that’s actually pretty good. i love the masquerade mask, it’s a nice touch -Chihiro....... Lucky Charms-

-Hajime’s outfit actually looks better in the group pic than here, i think it’s cause the yellow is more vibrant due to the saturation filter, so it stand out more -Nagito’s outfit is great honestly, i love how they put the shirt design on the sleeves, and i love the half-up hair, and the crooked bowtie- it’s great! -Twogami is a king, all he did was invert Byakua’s outfit and he just pulls it off so much better -Gundham’s is honestly underwhelming. This is Gundham Tanaka for fuck sake! Junko’s is more in character than this. where’s the drama sir???? -Kaz... buddy..... the colors look nice on your jumpsuit, but not an actual suit. I love the suspenders though -Teruteru’s outfit actually make him a bit cute. i’m about 80% sure the brown is suppose to be mud as to reference the fact that he’s characterized as a pig in more ways than one, but i’m choosing to call it a cola pattern ‘cause fuck you i’m going to be nice to him for once -Nekomaru’s suit is... it feels like a cursed amalgamation of a noir detective, a car sales men, a mobster, and a casino owner- and i just works so well on him -Fuyuhiko! i love it, fits him well, but the rolled up slacks are odd and kinda distracts me from the rest of the design- showing off some Bi pride there boss baby? -AKANE IS A DAMN QUEEN!! GOD PLEASE SHE COULD STRIKE ME DEAD IN THAT AND I’D THANK HER -Chiaki’s is simple, but it looks really nice on her -SONIA MY QUEEN! the oversaturation in the group pic did her dress dirty! i saw the blue originally and went “that isn’t her color”, but now seeing it without all the lighting crap she looks alot better.... and also a bit Elsa-ish -Hyoko’s in a lovely Kimono, but she’s always wearing pretty Kimonos, so it’s somewhat underwhelming compared to the rest -MAHIRU YOU SUMMER QUEEN! Mahiru has the best sense of fashion in the whole series imo, her wardrobe’s vibes make me so very happy. I grew up in a christian household (i’m not religious anymore btw) and use to be brought to services, and her dress gives me mad Easter Sunday Potluck nostalgia that i just can’t un-notice -Mikan looks too much like a hooker- i’m sorry, they really just went with the fan-service crap here and i don’t like it at all. Even if it wasn’t meant to be fan service, the dress looks tacky and has a shine on it that signifies it’s latex, so that’s just gotta be uncomfortable as hell- and for a clumsy character like her to try and survive a party in??? -IBUKI LOOKS LIKE FANCY RAVE COTTON CANDY!! THAT’S ALL!!! -Peko’s Kimono looks surprisingly nice on her, she wasn’t a character i’d assume to look good in a checker pattern but damn. i also appreciate how she still has the sword, bet- Fuyuhiko tired to convince her to leave it behind but failed

-Rantaro looks like a Used Car Salesmen. -KOKICHI MY BELOVED!!! i already voiced how much i adore his outfit when the group pic came out, so instead might i point out that he’s wearing high-water slacks and tall socks? it’s just as jarring as Fuyuhiko’s bi-slacks, but this is Kokichi so i feel like he did it on purpose. -Kiibo??? he dead ass changed his plating i-???? idk what i’m feeling towards it, but boy howdy am i feeling -GONTA!!! i love his suit, it’s out there in a good way, and i also love how he’s holding what looks like his casual coat. -Shuichi looks lovely in that suit, and i’ll never forgive everyone ever for saying he looked like a grandpa in it. It make him look a bit more Sherlock-esque and i love -3- -KORK IN A DRESS EVERYBODY MOVE!! i love how Androgynous his outfit is, both in gender and in time. like- is it feminine? masculine? modern? 1800′s england? who the fuck knows! -Ryoma looks good, but the fedora- who tf on the design staff decided to get cheeky?? eh- he’s vibing, doesn’t look too bad so long as you don’t hyperfixate on the pointy groin-stabber fedora -KAITO YOU SNAZZY GALAXY PATTERN SNORTING BASTARD! i swear he’s allergic to putting his right arm in it’s sleeve-. anywho, i love how even his dress jacket has a galaxy lining in it, i think it would have been funny if he was wearing galaxy dress shoes too but Maki would have chopped his dick off for that one -Kaede looks like her dress was inspired by one of those cinnamon peppermints- ya know the ones, they have the pink center and all that jazz? -Miu looks like she’s ready to hit up a casino in LA and honestly that’s such a good vibe! her skirt is a bit funky so it took me a hot sec to realize it was indeed a pencil skirt and not a fancy jumpsuit. -Tusmugi’s looks nice, i don’t have much else to say- kinda fitting considering her Plain Jane shtick -TENKO LOOKS LIKE SHE’S THIS CLOSE TO BREAKING OUT INTO A TAP DANCE AND I’M SO FUCKING HERE FOR IT!!! GO QUEEN!!!! -Kirumi is- well- i don’t go to Genshin Impact, but she looks like that one Genshin character, you know the one right? i think their name was a Starbucks drink size- they have a harp?? yeah -Maki’s dress is really pretty, it is a bit odd for her to wear that considering her character, but i can’t say she doesn’t rock it like the queen she is. -Himiko would be nicer without the transparent extra part- it make her looks like one of those half sphere popper things my friends terrorized me with in middle school. Other than that, you go you cute little magical girl you! -ANGIE OH MY FUCK!!! i love- i- dfj;adgad;jdgd!#2342nh;werkw??? i have no clue at this point what culture she’s suppose to be from, but that definitely looks like some traditional garb she’s got going on and holy crap is is pretty

Over all, i think the staff did a great job with this, i love a good lot of the outfits alot more than i though i would from the group pic. I do wish they would have added at least Komaru and Mukuro though- gimmy my queens yo!

[asphora]

01. Technicolor | hvc

Your rules have always kept you grounded, helping you navigate a world driven by color without fail. It isn’t until you meet Hansol that you realize, sometimes, there are exceptions to the rules.

soulmate(ish) au

wc: 7402 | fluff, f!reader, modified idol!verse, cursing, best friends to lovers

a/n: I’ve finally gotten around to editing this cause I realized what a mess it was initially. I know its long, I’m such a lil bitch for long fics and world building ahhhhh ;A; lemme know what you think or don’t it’s all cool k thanks byeeee

01 . 02 . 03 . 04

Growing up in the kind of world that you do, you find that there are only a few fundamental truths one has to live by. Of course, everyone is different, but these truths you’d learned had, even in the most devastating times, held you together. This world is governed mostly by one factor and its color. It’s what sets people apart: those who can see in color, those who are in love and have found someone to love truly and unconditionally; and those who are only able to conceive of varying tones of gray, those who have yet to find love or maybe never will.

Not classes or hierarchies. Instead the world is moved by and moves through color. People, or at least most of society, like to think of it as some kind of “soulmate system”. A way by which only true happiness can be achieved. One could have multiple soulmates throughout their lives, but never more than one at a time and if one had color in their lives, they would do anything to keep it.

You on the other hand were less naive. You knew it wasn’t some kind of magic system that put two people automatically together. It surely didn’t mean that once you found someone who brought you color, it was one and done. A person could go their whole life knowing someone and only start developing color for them years down the line. It wasn’t something instantaneous and it surely wasn’t something that happened at first sight. It took time and patience, growth. Likewise, a person could go their whole lives never knowing color and living a perfectly happy and successful life. The notion that only one or the other was worth living for was a laughable notion to you.

If anything, you found that the color system was more of a poison than anything else. It was a lie people liked to buy into to feel secure in their existences and meaning in this lifetime. Color couldn’t give someone purpose just as much as it never ensured lasting love, it only ensured love in that moment. And love, you learn, is a fickle thing.

People lose and gain color every day. Once the love faded, so would the color. Of course, it was crushing. Color was like a drug, the highs leave you higher than the top of the world, while the lows left you plummeting and spiraling into an infernal abyss for months on end. You knew the experience first-hand.

That’s why some people become junkies. Almost everyone who didn’t have it was desperate to, and those who’d had it but lost it just can’t live without it once they’ve had a taste. Some even going as far as participating in underground meeting rings, illegal gatherings where sex and booze were rampant. Anything to find a connection, anything akin to love that would give them the high of seeing even the faintest tints of color in the corners of their irises, before they’d come crashing down, the cold gray hues seemingly darker than they seemed to remember and unbearably colder in comparison to the memory of color.

1. There is no such thing as soulmates.

When you first meet him, it’s at a dimly lit bar with some sort of open mic night that a close friend has invited you to come to, maybe even sing a few songs at. The place is mostly empty, save for a few regulars and scattered groups here and there that have come to listen to the performers drunkenly bare their souls out to the equally intoxicated public.    

He’s there when you get on the platform stage after much coaxing from your friends, not that you really notice. Truly, you probably wouldn’t have even gone up if one of your friends hadn’t promised to shoulder the next round of drinks as long as you sang. You supposed you were just selfless like that; you’d take one for the team if it meant a round of free drinks.

On stage, you’re a bundle of nerves, but your body language is quiet and if you were shaking, you surely didn’t show it. You give a tentative nod to the person who manages the music, quietly whispering your song of choice to him. Your legs feel like jelly, but the rest of the crowd is too immersed in slightly buzzed conversation to notice.

When the music starts, the humdrum of chatter doesn’t subside and you’re thankful to be as invisible as you are, that the people don’t seem to pay too much mind to you. As you start singing though, your voice pierces through the talking like smooth whiskey down the throat of unsuspecting first-time drinker; there’s a sudden heat about the room. Something about the way your first notes hang in the cramped space and fill it completely with amber sound makes the air feel suddenly electric. There’s a sudden sizzle and tension that there wasn’t before, and the chatter of the crowd decrescendos into a whisper. All eyes on you, seemingly hanging onto every word.

Not one to revel in the spot-light or enjoy being the center of attention, you give what you think is somewhat of an awkward smile, lips upturned into a barley there smile; like remnants of a waxing or waning moon. You don’t know it, but the expression you make leaves the crowd completely disarmed; your quiet charm, along with the cooing depth of your voice capturing them all and leaving them spellbound, especially a particular regular.

The first time you hear his voice, it comes from behind you. You are at the bar sitting with friends, talking and laughing.

“I loved your number a while ago.” His voice is striking; it’s boyish but with a deep and almost gruff quality to it that made it an unmistakable sound. Such a distinct sound that seemed to effortlessly cut through the drunken laughter in the establishment. There was something almost foreign sounding about it despite the perfect syllables he let out, the subtle confidence in his tone making the hairs at the nape of your head stand. If anyone catches the shiver you let run down your spine, no one says anything.  

You aren’t completely sure if he’s talking to you, so you pretend not to hear. It would have been absolutely mortifying to give a response to a stranger—an attractive sounding one at that—when he wasn’t even referring to you. So when the friend your facing taps you and points to something behind you, you feel your heart start to race.

So, he was talking to me.

“Hi?” You let out shyly, not meaning for the words to sound more like a question than a greeting. You hadn’t planned to say more after already opening so awkwardly, and being naturally quite soft spoken around strangers, you thank the universe because once your eyes land on the obviously much-too-attractive-to-be-talking-to-you male, you feel your heart jump into your throat, choking down any kind of words that may have been lingering there.

He looked like something out of a movie scene or a marble statue come to life, except that Galatea would have probably paled in comparison to his beauty. The seemingly soft but still masculine features of his face, the strong jaw—he seemed to be an Adonis in the flesh—the rest of him as equally enchanting, dressed in a crisp and clean looking dress shirt with one or two buttons too many left undone. You stop your eyes from traveling down the porcelain like skin and look into his eyes and at his face as he talks.

“I loved your song,” he flashes you a set of pearly whites held in a gummy smile as he talks, the expression reaching his eyes in a way that felt so sincere and too genuine. When he smiled like this, he didn’t seem nearly as mysterious as he sounded with your back turned, and you feel yourself relax, returning his smile with your own.

“From um, a while ago, I mean I guess you only sang one song though...” He rambles on, his hand moving to scratch the nape of his head.

It’s a shock to your senses, albeit quite refreshing though, how such an attractive individual could be so confident yet simultaneously awkward. It makes a giggle bubble up from inside you and spill out softly, as you reply, “Thanks.”

He chuckles a bit, the sounds of both of your laughter intertwining in a hush. There was something about him that was just so charming. You couldn’t help but feel slightly more relaxed despite just meeting him.

“Um, is this seat taken?” He points to the vacant barstool next to you, the pads of his fingers lightly grazing the leather of the stool. You meet his eyes and he’s patiently waiting for your response, eyes watching you with a soft but also curious expression. As if saying, I want to talk to you some more, do you want to talk to me some more?

Yes.

“No, it isn’t.” You reply, eyes lingering on him just a little too long, as he fills the space next to you. When he’s secure in his seat, he looks back at you and you pretend to busy yourself with drink in your hand. If he notices, he doesn’t let on and you’re glad he’s a gentleman like that.

He watches you swirl the liquid around, dainty fingers against the cool glass. “Can I get your next one?” He offers, eyeing the hard liquor in your glass. He’s hoping he isn’t sounding too forward, the nerves in his stomach settling momentarily then running a rampage the instant he hears you giggle.

“You’re offering to buy my next drink, but I don’t even know you.” The words come out as a soft but confident drawl. If he had color, he would have noticed the slight blush playing at your cheeks at how forward you’re being. It isn’t something you’d usually say, but something about this boy and the whiskey in your blood was making your heart do somersaults, pushing the blood to your head that was already swimming from the alcohol, effectively boosting your confidence and lowering your inhibitions.

“You don’t seem like you’re trying to get me drunk though,” you admit before he can formulate any kind of come-back, “you seem like a nice guy.”

You offer him a softer smile, one that isn’t so teasing, and that’s all it takes to lessen the tension that’s built up in his stomach and shoulders.

“My name’s Vernon.” He says the name with a different accent and it sparks a crinkle in your brow.

“That can’t be your real name.” You retort and he almost chokes on the swig he’s taking from his drink at how unusual your reaction is. It wasn’t like he didn’t look like a foreigner, and yet here you were, a perfect stranger, questioning the validity of his identity.

“It is my real name.” He counters, his voice losing the nervous edge, replaced by the playful and almost whining tone of a child who desperately wanted you to believe him, despite having been completely caught in the act.

“Oh c’mon! What’s your Korean name then?” You roll your eyes in a joking manner and he fights a smile that’s slowly getting wider on his lips, desperately biting it down with his teeth as he’s shaking his head.

“I’ll show you yours if you show me mine.” You raise an eyebrow at his innuendo but decide not to call him out on it. Instead you’re laughing at how silly this all feels. All over one name, not even his full one at that, the two of you were already crossing lines that wouldn’t have usually been crossed by a regular pair who’d just met. The strangeness of the situation isn’t lost on you, but you give in and tell him your name anyway.

He listens intently, repeating the syllables of your name again in a whisper. Drinking up the syllables as if it is something for only him to hear and know, imprinting the name into the soft skin of his lips before he proceeds to tell you his.

“Hansol, it’s Hansol.” He tells you, almost dejectedly and you nod. It wasn’t bad at all, you thought, trying to figure out why he’d wanted to hide it from you, when it rolled of your tongue so much more effortlessly compared to Vernon.

When you don’t immediately reply or say anything, quietly musing his name to yourself, he tries to fill the space with idle talk, “You know, Hansol, like Han-solo from Star Wars?”

His remark pulls you completely out of your reverie and into a fit of laughter. If you had been trying to be soft and dainty just a few moments ago, that was clearly out the door now; tilting your head slightly back and covering your mouth to suppress your sounds.

“It was fine before you said all that. I mean, was that supposed to be a save?”

“Yeah! Star Wars is cool.” He defends. His tone completely serious, pressing down on the last syllable, saying it as though it’s the highest universal truth there is, completely unswayed by your laughter which it at this point thankfully dying down.

“Wait, don’t tell me you don’t like Star Wars, because honestly that’s a deal breaker for me.” This time his smile is back, accompanied with light laughter and you can tell he’s joking now.

“Oh my gosh, how can someone so good looking be such a dork?”

He’s just as surprised at the words that tumble out of your mouth along with your laughter, and it makes him do a double take at you, “Wait, you think I’m good looking?”

There’s something about his completely stunned and dumbfounded expression that stops you from feeling even a single bit of shame or embarrassment at your slip up. Instead you steal your expression, look him in the eye and let the tension of silence pull for just a few more seconds before exhaling a disappointed sigh, “No, I don’t like Star Wars.”

He blinks. Once, twice. As if his brain is too slow to register the words, his eyes staring into your completely serious ones.

“Aw, shit.” The sound is completely disappointed, as he shakes his head in dismay, desperately trying to hold on to the serious facade.  he can’t help the laugh that accompanies it, and the sound is so musical and sincere that it breaks your poker face. “I guess we’ll just have to watch it together so you can gain some taste.”

“It’s pretty cocky for you to assume I’d say yes to a second date, don’t you think?” You counter, taking a sip and finishing your drink.

“It’s pretty cocky of you to assume that I’m asking you out on a date, or that this is even considered one,” he smirks, “don’cha think?”

Fuck, he got you there.

His laughter reassures you that the exchange is purely in jest though and you laugh along with him, lifting your empty glass to your face in an attempt to hide your embarrassment.

“We can make it one though, if you want?” Your laughter subsides, your embarrassment slowly following suit at his question.

“What do you mean?”

“I can buy you that next drink and we can call it a date?” His eyes look anywhere but at your face and your confusion turns into fluttering in your stomach. His sudden shyness effectively calming the wild horse that is your heart in that moment.

“Sure, I guess.” you drawl and his entire frame perks up, eyes landing on you with what you could only describe as a shocked puppy dog expression, before calling out to the bartender for another two drinks.

That night you learn that Vernon is actually his middle name—his mom’s maiden name—and that he uses it ‘cause it usually sounds cooler than Hansol. To which you reply a jumbled, Hansol is just as cool though. You learn that his dad is Korean, and that he has a younger sister he adores. He says he loved your singing voice since he can’t, for the life of him, even hold a fucking tune. You learn that he actually likes rapping though and that while he’s working on other things, he’s an aspiring rapper and musician.

You learn that his eyes have a different sparkle when he’s talking about rapping and that you could probably listen to him for days on end just going on and on about it. You learn the way a soft smile naturally lifts the corners of his lips when he talks about his sister, Sofia, and how wonderful she is. You learn that he’s a good listener and that he nods a lot when he wants to show you he’s listening despite his eyes sometimes being far off if they aren’t intently staring and boring holes, and you learn that despite the initial awkwardness and the embarrassing first conversation you shared, he’s really easy to talk to.

When both of you are quite buzzed already, whether from the alcohol or high off each other, you’re both talking in quieter, hushed tones, sitting closer at the now, less populated bar.

“I’m guessing you have color, huh?” You can hear the disappointment in his tone as he trains his eyes on the liquid in his glass, as if it will suddenly respond to him.

“If you’re asking that glass of wine, I doubt she can answer.” You joke, nudging his shoulder lightly, “But I can’t tell you what color she is either, cause it’s all gray for me too.”

At your words, he slowly lifts his head to meet your amused gaze. “Don’t tell me you believe in that soulmate bullshit, ‘cause that would really be a deal breaker.” You echo his words from earlier, still smiling, but watching intently for his reaction.

You’re relieved when he smiles and shakes his head, “No, no, I don’t.” He lets out a breath he seems to have been holding in a laugh, “There’s no such thing as soulmates.”

“Have you ever had it?” you ask tentatively, not wanting to pry, but knowing that Hansol will let you down easy if it’s something he doesn’t want to talk about.

“No, never.” Is his quick response. “Have you?”

“Yeah, once.” You reply. This time it’s your turn to talk to your glass of whiskey, finding the liquid more forgiving than human interaction, “It was a long time ago.”

He doesn’t ask further and if he notices any sadness about you in that moment, he doesn’t call it out.

“So, wait, shouldn’t you know what color wine is then?” Instead, he opts to make you laugh. “I mean, since you’ve had color before, right?”    

He doesn’t fail and you find yourself leaning into the strong muscle of his arm as you laugh. “It’s maroon or plum, but really dark,” you tell him, “but since you’ve never seen color, you don’t know what I’m talking about so...”

He laughs with you at the silliness of it all and despite the tones of gray that fill your sight, you think that this is how the memory of color feels like. Not quite the same, but something like the remnants of a dream after waking up; familiar but distant and foreign all at the same time.

You’d been friends for months now, keeping in close contact since that fateful night you met, but it felt like you’d known each other for lifetimes. His friends—all twelve of whom you’d already met at this point—often joke that you’re practically dating already (despite both of you deciding and explaining to all of them that you would stay friends first, and adamantly denying their accusations). Often berating Hansol with taunts of: “You don’t have to hide it from us, we’re practically family” or the common trick of crashing yours and Hansol’s hangouts and movie nights at his place while asking as casually as possible, “Hey Hansol, does my outfit today match?” or “Hansol, what color is this?” while holding up a random object trying to trip the boy up.

In times of desperation, they’d even go as far as try to trip you up with their relentless questioning, with you happily playing along, teasing them just as hard and trying to fool them back.

“Do you think the color of Hansol’s eyes are pretty?” Mingyu asks as you’re sitting on the couch next to Hansol while reading a book.

“Mingyu, don’t bother her.” Hansol reprimands unenthusiastically as he flips through the channels on the television.

“Yeah, they’re a really pretty shade, Gyu.” You drawl out, almost lazily, not even bothering to look up from your book.

Mingyu practically jumps at your words and Hansol almost drops the remote, both needing to do a double take at you from the shock your words elicit.

“I knew it, Hansol! I fucking knew it!” the former screams and practically bolts out of the living room area into a bedroom, running back to where you were with two socks in his hands.

Calling out to you, he holds one sock in each hand. “Tell me the colors of each sock!”

He’s so excited that it’s a struggle to keep your face completely deadpan, but you manage it for the sake of the punch line. You look at the socks for a while as if studying them closely and from your peripheral vision, you can already see that Hansol’s caught on and his fighting that adorable gummy smile of his from showing.

“This one,” you point to the sock in Mingyu’s left hand, “is gray.” Pointing to the other in his right, “And this one is dark gray.”

Hansol’s laughter is wild and roaring before you can even finish. His mouth is wide open, his eyes squinted from the laughter and he’s clapping like a monkey who’d just been told he’d won a lifetime supply of bananas. Grabbing your neck, Hansol pulls you in for some kind of hug that, really feels more like a wrestling move, his other hand snaking around your waist, pulling you flush to him and squeezing you. You laugh as you let him, your book discarded somewhere on the couch as your hands move to his head, ruffling the hair there.

“That’s right!” he laughs, your name mixing with his laughter, as he’s rubbing the hair on your head. To add insult to Mingyu’s injury, he continues at you, “I love your beautiful gray eyes too!”

The taller boy says nothing, his face twisting up in irritation as he throws the socks at you and Hansol as he glares at the two of you, a pile of tangled, laughing limbs.

"We love each other so much!” You say with sarcasm dripping from your tone, as you hook your leg along Hansol’s while he’s making sloppy, disgusting, and wet kissing sounds.

“You guys suck so much.” Is all Mingyu can retort, his bottom lip jutting out in what is probably the most convincing puppy dog pout both you and Hansol have ever seen.

“Aw, c’mon, Gyu, don’t be like that. You know we’re just playing with you.” Hansol laughs, putting on his best gummy smile and flashing it at him, trying to butter the taller male up, to no avail.

“Besides,” you add, siding with Hansol, “you know Sol and I are friends, serves you right trying to tease is like that.”

Hansol hugs your face into the crook of his neck, silencing you, muffling whatever words you plan to say next, and preventing from further irritating the already frustrated Mingyu.

“Just shut up and let me do the talking, you suck at getting on people’s good sides” Hansol whispers into your hair, muffled but just loud enough for you to hear.

You shake free of the headlock and look accusingly at him, “What the heck do you mean by that? I got on your good side, didn’t I?”

He gives you a barely convincing disgusted expression before saying, “I mean, did you? Did you really?”

Your jaw drops in mock disbelief and with your hands that are already wrapped around him, you reach for his ticklish spots which you know by heart. Laughing and desperately wriggling in an attempt to get free, Hansol tickles you right back, also knowing your weak spots by heart. You wrestle until both of you decide to call a truce, neither able to breathe or take the other down.

As yours and Hansol’s laughter dies down, Mingyu plops down on the couch next to the tangled mess of tired limbs which are you and Hansol. He ignores the two of you, grabbing the remote and casually flipping through the channels.

“Whatever.” He pipes up after a few seconds, “When you guys finally realize you’re in love, I’ll be right and you’re gonna eat your words.” His tone is so childish and butt-hurt that you almost expect him to stick his tongue out at both of you.

The mental image, along with his tone, have you on the brink of laughter as you desperately attempt to bite it down by physically biting down on your lower lip. Hansol notices your face, knowing full well what is going through your head by the looks of you tearing up from fighting your laughter so hard. His jaw drops in an open-mouthed silent laugh and just when his expression is about to drive you off the edge, he clamps a hand down on your mouth and hugs your head into the crook of his neck again with his free hand, the two of you shaking from the silent bubbles of laughter finally erupting.

Despite the way you both initially met, after countless late nights spent exploring your shared ideas on humanity and existence, you two had decided not to rush into anything, neither of you in any particular hurry to put a label on what you were. And while you were both obviously attracted to each other, the pressure of having to lock it down, wasn’t something that either of you felt looming above your heads.

It wasn’t so much that commitment was a big and daunting thing. It was just that everything was so effortless. You and Hansol both knew this. While most people feared destroying a good friendship with romantic feelings, Hansol was extremely chill, telling you honestly that he just wanted to be friends first and see where that would both take you. whatever it was that you two had simply flowed and ebbed like a river; wherever you turned he turned, wherever he was rocky and shaky, you easily followed suit, ridding the highs and lows with him. Simply being with each other, laughing, talking, it was always enough.

You were thankful for this arrangement, because despite having already experienced color, you were in no rush to do so again. If you were truly being honest with yourself—which admittedly most times, you were no good at—you knew the real reason you were so relieved he’d decided to keep things casual was because you were still wounded from the last time someone had loved you and only left you hurt. While most people were adamant about labels and defining their relationships, you were more than happy to be, and remain in the gray area—both visually and in your relationship with Hansol.

So when it starts, you don’t notice it at first. It’s slow and gradual, and with living day-to-day life, with Hansol practically always by your side, with the amount of sleepovers, parties, hangouts and movie nights you had, you barely picked up on it. You suppose color is sneaky like that. It’s isn’t glaringly obvious until it’s there, and it isn’t there until you notice it is. It creeps up on you, slowly trickling into your vision like poison, but once you saw it, it wasn’t something that could be ignored or unseen; like a burning car, once you had seen it, you just couldn’t look away.

It’s just a regular day when it happens. You’re walking down the street with Hansol and he’s talking animatedly, hands flailing and mouth wide, as he tells you about a new producer he’s met who wants to take him in as an apprentice. You’re watching him intently, unable to fight the smile that pulls on your lips as you watch him talk so passionately, completely in his own bubble as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist. That’s when you see it.

Just behind the gray of his hoody, peaking behind the gray of the looming buildings in the distance. The sky. Something bubbles up in your stomach, a familiar feeling you can’t quite name and don’t try to. You’re too focused on what you’re seeing. As you walk, your eyes are trained in the distance, as if trying to really scrutinize the clouds. They were the same kind of clouds you saw every day, gray and wide dancing in the expanse, but something was different today that you couldn’t quite place.

You almost stop right where you’re standing, his words meting away into the background noise, when you see it, really see it. It’s fairly light at first, like something playing on the edges of your vision, forcing you to chase it like something running at the corner of your eye. As elusive as it was, you could also feel it pulling all your attention, seemingly hypnotizing you. It’s barely there in your peripheral, but when you focus enough on the sight it’s unmistakable.

Blue.

A soft shed of pale blue brushes at the edges and seemingly melts into the gray expanse of your vision. If you hadn’t had color before, you probably wouldn’t have noticed it this early, but you recognize the color all too well, its vibrance becoming increasingly opaque the more you let yourself focus on it. Suddenly, the gray seems a little less gray and more tinted, like cellophane over your irises.

It’s beautiful.

You look to Hansol who is still talking, completely unaware as you match his stride. He and the rest of your vision is predominantly gray, save for tints of blues and hues caught in the corners of your eyes. Suddenly, as you watch him, you heart starts drumming in your chest, increasing in speed and crescendoing in your ears as you realize what’s happening and what this all means.

You were falling in love with him.

Oh, fuck.

2. Color is just a feeling; don’t get too carried away.

You should leave. You know this better than anyone. You have always been the most rational person you knew and every instinct and hair in your body is telling you to run. If your fight or flight instincts had their way, you’d be soaring miles from his tiny apartment; you would cut the proverbial chord before it strangled you, before something great turned into something horrible. So, two months later, when you are lying in Hansol’s bed with him, just talking, you wonder where all the rationality you’d prided yourself with has gone.

Neither of you were even naked, but lying like that, face to face, both of you with hands tucked under your head and talking about fearing failure and career paths, it was enough to get your head swimming. By this point, you could already see pretty much every color in the spectrum and Hansol was pretty much in color, save for his eyes and hair, along with some hues on his clothes that still remained relatively grey.

“I just don’t want to give it my everything and find out that I’m just no good, y’know?” Hansol’s warm breath brushes your face as he talks and you shut your eyes as you listen, desperately trying to ignore the existence of color and just wanting to be there for someone you cared about deeply.

“You are good, Sol.” You reassure him, opening your eyes and looking directly and only into his grey ones, “Your producer, she wouldn’t have taken you in if she didn’t think you weren’t good.”

“I knew you’d say that, but you’re just saying that ‘cause you love me though.” His words make your breath catch and you almost choke on it. You fight the fear and stress that rises in your chest, closing your eyes and slowing your heart rate down with deep steady breaths.

“I mean, okay, I’m good.” He continues and you’re thankful that he’s completely oblivious to your predicament. “But what if this is it? What if I’m just good and this is the best I could ever be?”

“What do I do if one day, I realize while I’m good, maybe I’m just not good enough to reach my dreams?” You listen intently to his words and focus only on the undertone of panic and sadness in his voice before opening your eyes to meet his deeply worried ones.

You’re quiet for a few seconds, watching him. All thoughts of color or hiding your feelings are out the window, and all you see is him. Your precious Hansol who is baring his soul to you, tormented by his thoughts and his aching heart. Thoughtlessly, your free hand reaches to cup his cheek and he closes his eyes, melting into your touch and leaning into it.

“Then you keep dreaming that same dream and keep working on yourself until you get it. Even if you think it won’t work out, I know you, Sol, you’d rather die trying than ever give up.”

You rub soft circles into the soft and supple skin of his cheek, “With a heart like that, how could you ever fail?” The words make his lids flutter open, then you see it.

Brown. His eyes are brown, and they are the most beautiful fucking thing I have ever seen.

He smiles, touched by your words, as you return the expression. You feel heat prickling your eyes and tears quickly filling them and slightly blurring your vision. You breathe out a shaky laugh, rolling your eyes to diffuse the moment and in an attempt to hide the tears you know he’s already noticed. “You’re turning me into a fucking softie, Sol, I swear to god.”

He laughs, taking you into his arms and pulling you flush against him, burying your head in his chest so he can no longer see your face, because he knew you hated letting anyone see you cry.

“Sorry.” He exhales the word into your hair through a laugh, “But seriously, what would I fucking do without you?”

“You’re the best.” And there they were. The three words that seemed to override any rational thought, any fear or better judgment you had. Three words you lived and breathed for, that kept you here, in his bed, in his arms every time you came to your senses and tried to run. The moment you heard them; you melted every time.

Breathing in his scent, you wrap your hands gently around his waist, returning the hug and letting the tears spill from your eyes. Game over. Your worst fear had finally come to fruition; not that there would be nothing left that you could do to fight this, but worse, that you didn’t want to.

The two of you fall asleep like that.

You are a really fucking good liar when you want to be, you realize; still perfectly playing the role of the wonderful doting best friend. Never mind that you’d often cry yourself to sleep on the rare nights you slept alone in your own apartment, or the lingering longing glances you gave Hansol when he wasn’t looking. As far as anyone was concerned, those moments of visceral lucidity did not exist. If you had been broken hearted over your unrequited love, there was absolutely no sign, none would be the wiser and you were going to keep it that way.

That aching heart, the lonely and isolating pang of jealousy you felt whenever women flirted with Hansol, the almost unbearable need to reach out for his pale hand as you walked down the street, the burn in your chest and on your skin that you felt whenever you two were alone and Hansol was in a particularly touchy and clingy mood—fuck ‘em. They weren’t real if you didn’t acknowledge them and this feeling wasn’t real as long as you didn’t say anything.

You’d die a thousand deaths in a million lifetimes before you let yourself ruin something as wonderful as your friendship with Hansol. So, you continue the charade, lying to Hansol, to your shared group of friends and even to yourself.

I’m fine, I’m okay. This is fine.

“Hey, so I have this gig tomorrow down at that bar where we first met, d’you remember the place?” Hansol’s question tears you from your thoughts and you take a few larger strides to match his pace.  If he was paying more attention, which he usually did fairly well, he would have been taking smaller steps to match your pace, but since he was busy looking at the items on display as the two of you walked through the park bazaar, he was absentmindedly walking at his normal pace.

“Yeah, of course I remember.” You reply, now beside him, “Don’t think I could ever forget the day a stray decided to cling to me and never let go. By the way, his name was Hansol, if you were curious.”

“Oh, so I’m a puppy now?” He laughs.

“Seriously? A puppy, Sol? Don’t kid yourself. You’re not nearly as cute as puppy.” You quip, eying the small trinkets and pastries in the stalls.

“Har har, you’re so funny.” He rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile playing on his lips, “Why don’t you leave the witty remarks to me, huh?”

“Okay, Mr. Rapper-Man-Who-Walks-Way-Too-Fast-For-His-Friend.” You joke, bequeathing him with a new title on the spot.

Finally, he looks up at you from the various goods, and gives you a sheepish gummy smile. “Oh shit, sorry.”

You laugh, “It’s okay, you big loser. Just stop leaving me behind.”

“Here,” he raises his elbow, offering it to you, “so that I don’t forget to walk slower and so that you don’t get left behind. It’s a win-win, loser.”

You don’t hesitate to link your arm with his own. It’s nothing, friends can do this kind of thing, you tell yourself, it would have been more suspicious if you’d declined and made it a weird thing.

Arms now linked, the two of you resume walking and talking—Hansol being the one doing most of the latter, telling you about his gig.

“Anyway, my producer said they were so impressed with my demo, they wanted me to—Hey, look!” He stops walking, the abrupt stop causing you to jerk as you get caught in his arm.

“This is really pretty,” He holds up the scarf to your hair, as if to check if it matched. He was always like this, mister fashion expert, always offering advice on what looked nice with what kind of shape or style, of course, despite the fact that he was practically blind to color.

“Lavender really brings out the color of your eyes and it matches your outfit...” He trails off, eyes widening. His mouth opens and closes without a sound like a fish, he shakes his head and the panic that’s all over his face makes him look even paler than he usually is. It looks like he’s about to throw up before something shifts in his eyes. His shoulders sag as he sighs and he closes his mouth resolutely, his eyes lingering sadly at you, then to the ground in shame.

You gaze at his face that’s now completely crestfallen, your expression of surprise plastered to your face for seconds that, to Hansol, seem to last forever. Fighting the elation that bubbles up from your stomach and fills your chest, your eyes dart everywhere except to Hansol’s face which you can’t bear to see so dejected for even another second. You look through the various items on sale, arm still linked through his and lightly tugging him along with you, until you find the perfect one.

“This!” you practically shout, making Hansol flinch and pulling him out of his deflated state. In your hand you hold it up to his face, a navy-blue beanie. “I think this will go really well with the blue undertones in your hair,” you smile sheepishly hoping he would get the message, “y’know since you dyed it silver last month.”

He stares at you, beanie in hand, his face expressionless and his eyes wide but unreadable. You worry that maybe he hadn’t gotten the hint and so you turn to the other various things on sale and pick up a phone case. “And this, this uh,” you look at the bright yellow phone case, “really brings out the brown of your eyes?”

 It was a stretch you had to admit, and suddenly you felt absolutely embarrassed. Nice going, real smooth, you thought. Hansol unlinks his arm from yours and the action, along with his accompanying laugh cuts through your thoughts and completely catches you off guard. The sound makes you panic, simultaneously making your heart race and your stomach drop.

You start to spiral, putting the items down as your mind raced a hundred miles per hour. Oh shit, did I read it wrong? Maybe he was just kidding? Fuck, was he just puling a prank and I—before you can spiral any further, you feel the warmth of his palms on either side of your face, thumbs rubbing your cheeks in soothing motions and forcing you to look into the dazzling brown of his eyes.

“I got it the first time,” He smiles as he says your name, once again flashing that heart-melting gummy smile of his, this time even more disarming and seemingly brighter than you had ever seen it. He was smiling fully, with completely abandon, to the point that it looked like maybe it hurt.

“I’m not stupid, y’know.” The lighthearted comment catches you, once again off guard, making you laugh.

“Really? I didn’t notice since you’re always being a dumbass.”

“By the way,” his hands are still gently cupping either side of your face, “it’s pretty bold of you to assume that you’re the one I’m in love with?” He mocks, echoing his words from the night you two first met.

Surprised but not thrown off by his words, you pretend to play along and give him a taste of his own medicine. Feigning shock and dismay, you back away slightly but not enough for him to untangle himself from you, “It’s not like you hang out with any other girls, but—oh god,” you gasp, and his eyes widen. You can tell from his face that he thinks his joke has gone too far and he’s about to clarify the joke, but you beat him to it, “Don’t tell me you’re in love with Seungkwan?”

His worry immediately dissipates and he’s back to laughing, albeit there’s a slight fake annoyance in his expression as he rolls his eyes and grabs you in a playful chokehold.

“Fuck you, okay,” he laughs, “Just fuck you.”

“Serves you right, you fuckin’ loser!” You laugh despite his grip on you, “I can’t believe I’m in love with such a fucking asshole.”

Loosening his grip and letting you stand, but still keeping his hands on you, he looks you in the eyes and firmly tells you, “I’m in love with you too, you’ve brought color to my life.”

It takes a second before the very intense but tender moment sinks in for both of you, before you simultaneously crinkle your noses and exclaim, “ew.”

“That was too much, Sol.”

“Ugh, I know right, sorry,” he says, slinging his arm around your shoulders as you finally resume walking, “I thought it would be romantic and cute like in the movies, they always make it so good.”

“That’s why those are movies, Sol,” you intertwine your fingers with the hand that he has around your shoulders, “If you ever do that again, I’ll punch you in the dick.”

“Honestly, I would let you.” He nods, and you both laugh.

Fin. 

[agent-cupcake]

Dimitri and mental illness

**Warnings for Blue Lions spoilers and armchair psychology

Depending on who you ask, Dimitri is an innocent sweetheart whose actions are entirely excusable and justified or an unforgivable war criminal and overall terrible character. Arguments for both sides have been exhausted, usually in the form of the popular Edelgard versus Dimitri debate, but I feel that both statements are heavily flawed and, truthfully, I think I take more issue with the former. Does it strike anyone else as rather patronizing that the audience (and the game, to an extent) treats Dimitri like an innocent, broken uwu soft boy both before the time skip and once he begins his recovery arc? Of course, a lot of this can be blamed on the awful pacing and poor writing of said recovery (which is the most valid structural critique of his character imo), but there’s a lot to be said about the fan depiction of Dimitri and the way people treat his mental illness. I think the reason this gets me is because I see it as an extension of the problems I have with the romanticization of male-specific mental illness. In this case, “all depressed boys are emasculated, soft, sad bois” and “anger is an accessory that is vanished once the cute boy takes it off” with the related sentiment of “the only two real mental illnesses are depression and anxiety, with a splash of PTSD for argument's sake”. And, speaking of arguments, while many people bring up mental illness in regards to the discussion around Three Houses characters, it is often supplementary to support their points rather than the main point unto itself. Dimitri’s mental illness (aka, the thing his entire arc is predicated upon) is mostly given only a passing recognition in the discussion of his actions. Even then, it’s often used as a justification to defend or lambaste him.

TL;DR Dimitri is a flawed person with a debilitating and incredibly well written mental illness that, while not excusing his actions, allows for further exploration of his character and a well-deserved shot at a recovery arc that is not usually awarded to people with the “non-traditional” mental illnesses. Furthermore, the game offers a wealth of insight as to what they intended his mental illness to be, the symptoms that manifested, and a plausible background to match up with it all and I have the receipts to prove it. Let’s go~

“Me? Oh. Um. Please forgive me... It's difficult to open up on the spot, don't you think? I'm afraid my story has not been a pleasant one... I do hope that doesn't color your view of me, but I understand if that can't be helped.”

I know that mental illness can be singularly caused by a traumatic event or events. That is, generally, how I see people framing Dimitri’s mental illness. My argument, however, is that the Tragedy of Duscur was not the genesis, but the trigger for issues that would exist otherwise. Perhaps it’s due to my own personal experience with mental illness, but I’m almost always more inclined to believe that issues stem from an unlucky combination of many things. 

Regardless, my evidence to entertain the idea that he would be naturally predisposed to mental illness is slim. Aside from arguing that it wouldn’t be out of the question for his mother to have been unwell while she was pregnant with him considering she would later die of plague (a cause that in and of itself is subject to skepticism), I would bring up his Crest. In-game there is clear proof that Crests have wide-reaching effects on the person, there are actually a few analysis posts that hypothesize that Crests could be the reason for certain character motivations. In ng+, the Crest of Blaiddyd is called the Grim Dragon Sign. There’s no definitive proof to point to here, but if his Crest was one of the reasons for his mental deterioration it would follow other rules set in-game. Rather than inherited human genetics creating the blueprint for mental issues and the writers having to face that issue on its own terms, it was the Crest’s influence. This goes along with the fact that the game never overtly references Dimitri’s illness, essentially using “the dead” as a blanket symptom of his problems. Both these things are cool ways to imply a possible way to read more deeply without having to use anachronistic medical terms.

Side note: There’s something uncomfortable about the idea of a Crest that gives the individual inhuman strength and mental issues. Grim Dragon indeed.

My next point is one that I don’t see being brought up too often in regards to how it might have affected Dimitri, likely because the events that came later in his life far overshadow it, but Dimitri lost his mom when he was young. The date is not given, but I think it’d be when he was about six-ish. Admittedly, the timeline is strange and non-specific around here but if that were true, it would mean that the plague, Dimitri’s mother’s death, and Lambert and Rodrigue’s war campaign to subjugate the southern half of Sreng would all have happened around the same time. Dimitri says he doesn’t remember it, but that doesn’t necessarily matter. At six years old he had lost one parent and the other one left him to go on a battle march, leaving this child without any sort of parent figure to console him in a country that is culturally opposed to expressing emotion. Lambert will probably always remain a mystery, but I think it could be fair to say he was a poor father. Or at the very least a distant one. Dimitri was undoubtedly a sensitive child (if we’re to judge by the sensitive person he grew up to be) and during the years where he was actually becoming old enough to remember, he had nobody to teach him how to properly navigate and manage his emotions. Emotional neglect in a child who is predisposed to being emotional and empathetic can leave them suffering from a sense of isolation, an inability to ask for help, and a predisposition to having break downs as they get older.

But three-ish years later, possibly one of the best things that ever would happen to Dimitri came to pass and Lambert married Patricia. Dimitri adored her. 

“I share no blood with my stepmother, but to hear you say that... It pleases me greatly. She was the one who raised me. I suppose it makes sense that we would share certain mannerisms.” (Dimitri’s B support with Hapi)

I don’t think Dimitri’s feelings about Patricia can be overstated, as I feel it’s one of the most defining aspects of his reactions to things that happen later on. Dimitri talks about Patricia more lovingly than he talks about Lambert. She was in his life for around four to five years but had such an impact on him that even his mannerisms are similar. 

Soon after, a ten-year-old Dimitri made his first friend that wasn’t knightly, who didn’t embody those Faerghus ideals of stifling emotions and swinging swords.

People point out the Faerghus crew as Dimitri’s best friends, and yet Edelgard is the one associated with his best memories. It’s just my own assumptions, but I think that it’s because both Edelgard and Patricia gave Dimitri space to be an emotional child, to not have to be the knightly prince who had no emotions and engaged only in the most masculine of activities. And, I mean, look at them. He’s learning to dance and she’s bossing him around, absolutely no regard for propriety.  

It’s pretty clear that Dimitri doesn’t feel romantic feelings towards Edelgard in the academy phase, but I think it would be fair to say she was his first love when they were young. He essentially says this was the best year of his life and establishes Edelgard as someone very precious to him (as well as the daughter of one of the most precious people to him). Strong feelings beget strong feelings, do they not? 

Google says that eleven to fourteen is the general age of male puberty. It’s the time that kids begin to more fully define how they’re going to emotionally interact with people and the world at large. Meeting Edelgard was at the cusp of this period of Dimitri’s life, and the Tragedy of Duscur was right in the midst of it. 

And we all know what that turned out.

Dimitri’s accounts of what happened during the Tragedy are... conflicting. This CG of an unharmed Dimitri in a field of corpses is... conflicting.

“My father...was the strongest man I knew. Someone I loved and admired deeply. That said, he was killed before my eyes. His head severed clean off. My stepmother, the kindest person I had ever known, left me behind and disappeared into the infernal flames.”

I’ve seen people create a plausible scenario in which Dimitri’s recollection is entirely accurate, where he saw Lambert call for revenge and get beheaded, saw Glenn’s ruined body and face twisted in pain, saw his step-mother disappear into the flames, and all despite the raging chaos of the battle and how people would undoubtedly be targeting the prince, but I think it makes more sense that his memories are unreliable. Dimitri suffered a severe head injury (very important to keep in mind) at Duscur. Maybe that happened early on, after seeing who attacked Lambert but before he was an actual target himself, which merely made him look dead. Maybe he saw a version of the events he described, but through the filter of confused head trauma, smoke inhalation, and intense terror. To think that his recollection isn’t exactly entirely reliable sets a precedent for his later skewed take on reality. 

Regardless of opinion, though, the facts are that Dimitri left Duscur with a traumatic brain injury and post-traumatic stress disorder. 

After that, from thirteen to seventeen, Dimitri was pretty isolated. Most of the people he cared about were dead. His entire emotional support system (Patricia) was gone. He saved Dedue (although they were definitely not on even terms, that relationship is unbalanced to the extreme) and occasionally saw Rodrigue (who I have no reason to believe was emotionally accommodating in any way considering the way he sees Dimitri as an extension of Lambert to his dying breath). Again, it’s strange. People act like Dimitri was super close friends with the Faerghus crew, that he was surrounded by people who loved him (although it is clear there is a lot of love there), but he never presents things in a way to imply that’s the case. In fact, he highlights his isolation:

“In Duscur, I lost my father, stepmother, and closest friends. I didn't have many allies at the castle after that. In truth, I had only Dedue for companionship.”... “I once had people I could confide in. Family, friends, instructors, even the royal soldiers. But they were all taken away from me four years ago.” (Dimitri’s C support with Byleth.)

Two years passed before the next time Dimitri saw his friends and it was a war campaign, putting down the rebellion in western Faerghus. Dimitri speaks about those battles from a place of deeply affected emotion, expressing empathy, pain, and disgust with his actions and the killing.

“I recall coming across a dead soldier's body. He was clutching a locket. Inside was a lock of golden hair. I don't know to whom it belonged. His wife, his daughter...mother, lover... I'll never know.... in that moment, I realized he was also a real person, just like the rest of us… Killing is part of the job, but even so... There are times when I'm chilled to the bone by the depravity of my own actions.” (Dimitri’s B Support with Byleth)

I love this support, honestly. It’s so very telling about the destructive quality of empathy. Although caring can be a good thing, it’s also arguably one of the most destructive of Dimitri’s qualities. His empathy is what presents him with situations he cannot accept, the thing that pushes him to disassociate from reality so he can be rid of it and fight without remorse like he was taught to do by his father and other soldiers. Dimitri is a man of extremes. Either total control or none, without any room for error. This dialogue is also the first time Dimitri brings up reconciling himself with reality and hints to the fact that he has been unable to do so. This is contrasted perfectly in this line from Felix,

“The way you suppressed that rebellion... It was ruthless slaughter and you loved every second. I remember the way you killed your victims. How you watched them suffer. And your face...that expression. All the world's evil packed into it...” (Dimitri’s C Support with Felix)

Dimitri doesn’t deny this. Just like all of the other terrible things Felix says, he takes it without protesting in an act of what I think is stilted contrition. Although, it’s not just in supports that Dimitri’s contrasting behavior is brought up. The Remire incident probably works as a good reference for what Felix saw all those years back.

This is the first time we see Dimitri’s darker side in full. The similarities in the situation to what is shown to have happened in the Tragedy of Duscur are interesting. The fire, the utter chaos, strange figures watching it all from above. This is another case of a perfect disaster. I wonder if his ultimate snap would have been so destructive if not for Remire.

Anyway, this draws parallels to his and Felix’s separate recall of the rebellion because later Dimitri apologizes.

“Professor... I...I'm sorry you saw that side of me in the village… When I saw the chaos and violence there...my mind just went completely dark.”

Dimitri is unreliable. A lack of control, a separation of self, and becoming consumed by a dark rage only to come to his senses later, full of shame and a sense of confusion about why. From my own experience, it’s not unnatural to come out of an episode like this without being able to explain what was happening and being baffled by your behavior. This firmly establishes Dimitri’s uncomfortably fast mood shifts in relation to his trauma from the Tragedy and confirms all of the warnings Felix had given. When Dimitri was faced with a reality he could not accept, he lost control of his emotions and his mental state shifted to adapt accordingly.

This is when I’d also like to note something interesting about how Dimitri discusses his trauma. He is very honest and open about his experiences, explaining exactly what happened to him to Byleth. However, he uses the truth to hide. In recounting the events of the Tragedy of Duscur, in talking about how his family died and saying how badly it hurt him, he does not make himself vulnerable. When he admits weakness, he does so in the past tense or apologetically, vowing to be stronger. “Stronger”, aka, he’ll be better in suppressing his emotions. 

“I always strive to keep my emotions at bay, but... Sometimes the darkness takes hold and...it's impossible to suppress. It just shows you how lacking I am... I have much to learn.”

Dimitri lies by using the truth, shoving down his feelings, and blaming himself rather than attempting to figure out how to handle his emotions. In his own words:

“Everyone has something that is unacceptable within them. I certainly do, and I'd wager you do as well. I wonder which is best, Professor... To cut away that which is unacceptable, or to find a way to accept it anyway...”

Good advice Dimitri. Might want to keep that in mind.

It is at this point is when I’m going to get into my personal thoughts and armchair psychiatry nonsense.

First off, when I mentioned earlier about “non-traditional” mental illness, I did not mean abnormal or rare. Although people mostly just point to Dimitri having PTSD (and depression) as the source of his issues, I’m going to use all of my above information to make the (decently common) argument that Dimitri is schizophrenic, which is, contrary to popular belief, not too unusual. I state that with the caveat that I understand that there’s a lot to be said about schizophrenia and the tumultuous relationship between mental health and fiction. However, now is not really the time to go into mental health politics and representation or the many lies spread about the illness so instead, I recommend that you read into the topic if you’re personally interested (This has some good information). 

At the very least be aware that this IS sensationalized.

That said, Dimitri does not, to my understanding using grossly simplified terms, meet the qualifications generally (very generally) used to diagnose schizophrenia through the majority of the White Clouds chapters. These qualifying symptoms include, but are not limited to, the duration of the psychotic episode, the concurrent presence of hallucinations and delusions, and a greatly lowered ability to keep up with basic quality-of-life tasks. You only see these symptoms in the final chapter of White Clouds and the first few of Azure Moon. This isn’t unusual, however, because schizophrenia manifesting fully in younger individuals is extremely uncommon, sometimes taking years to trigger during a person’s late teens. And since the diagnosis generally relies on the occurrence of a psychotic episode, it can be mistaken as other mood disorders. Actually, the idea of him having a mood disorder was one of the things that caught my eye originally. Prodromal symptoms such as depression, irritability, headaches, sleep disruption, and mood swings are common in bipolar disorder (and, of course, schizophrenia). 

Still, I don't deny that Dimitri has PTSD and depression, only that I don’t think PTSD is his main (or only) issue. In reality, PTSD and schizophrenia are closely tied. They share many symptoms, even the symptom of psychosis. There’s also evidence that those with genetic precedent to develop PTSD overlap with those at risk for schizophrenia, and that the nature of PTSD triggers can act as a severe stressor to aggravate a schizophrenic episode. 

(From here)

This falls into the realm of being uncertain where one ends the other begins, highlighting the lack of concrete understanding about schizophrenia and the dependency of diagnosis and treatment to rely entirely on the individual experience, but that’s not a conversation I’m actually qualified to have. 

The study that truly caught my eye and while researching for this was one called “Psychiatric disorders and traumatic brain injury”. As I mentioned, at some point during the Tragedy, Dimitri sustained severe head trauma. We know this because of his development of the rare inability to taste called ageusia. I was originally interested in following this narrative thread because, as you might know if you follow true crime cases, there are many murderers who recall having sustained a head injury as children. Not that Dimitri shares similar psychology to people that kill and eat their victim's feet... Although his body count is higher. Besides that, head trauma, in general, is known to be linked to mental illness and altering a person’s behavior. There is even a correlation between TBI (traumatic brain injury) and schizophrenia. 

From the study I linked above:

To put it more simply, patients in the study who had suffered TBI and developed schizophrenia reported that their most common symptoms were delusions of persecution, auditory hallucinations, and aggressive behaviors. The auditory hallucinations were often voices. Many of the subjects experienced psychotic episodes two or more years after the initial incident (although, as I mentioned, Dimitri’s age could also have something to do with the timing as children rarely have fully developed schizophrenic episodes). Furthermore, the behaviors classified as an absence of normal behaviors called “negative symptoms” (which include apathy and disordered speech) were rare in this testing group. 

Dimitri exclusively displays “positive” symptoms of schizophrenia (“positive” meaning the presence of symptoms such as hallucinations and delusions). He also clearly suffers from delusions of persecution in his belief that Edelgard is the sole instigator of Duscur and the war and that he immediately accuses Byleth of being an Imperial spy upon meeting them post time skip. I think it’s pretty fascinating how closely Dimitri’s symptoms follow the outline of the study, especially with the aggressive behaviors, as those aren’t actually very common in schizophrenics. 

In very, very simplistic terms, if I’m right and Dimitri was born with the genetic blueprint for schizophrenia/PTSD (through Crests, inheritance, or environmental causes) and later suffered severe head trauma in an event that also gave him PTSD in combination with his pre-existing parental issues and stilted emotional development, then this could definitely create the type of person who loses all sense of reality, can’t control his emotions, and is prone to episodes of murderous rage when being reminded of the trigger (however tangentially) of losing everything he loved.

However, I’ll add real quick that the study I mentioned should be taken with a grain of salt. 

I use it mainly because I thought the similarities were interesting and it shows that there was more thought put into Dimitri than maybe people appreciate.

This brings us to my final point; Some kind of twisted joke.

A major point I saw being made as proof of how terrible Dimitri is as a character was that he blamed Edelgard for the Tragedy of Duscur (a time where she would have been twelve). More accurately, he blamed her for everything that had happened and the thing is, I don’t disagree with that critique entirely. However, this is a case of him being a bad person, not a bad character. This might seem like an odd distinction, but I think it changes the scope of deserved criticism.  

As I’ve been trying so desperately to illustrate, Dimitri snapping wasn’t just because of Edelgard being revealed as the Flame Emperor. Rather, it was an unlucky combination of many things. His grasp and interpretation of reality were already hazy at best by the time she was unmasked, slowly falling apart as his prodromal symptoms worsened. Going into the fight, he believed the Flame Emperor to be responsible in whole or in part for the worst thing that had ever happened to him, guessed at Arundel’s involvement, had found (and lied about) the dagger, and was rapidly mentally deteriorating. While Dimitri suspected Edelgard’s involvement to some degree, he did his best to act like it wasn’t true.  

Dimitri didn’t want it to be true. To the extent that he was willing to lie to Byleth (and to himself) to avoid reality. He cared deeply about Edelgard. The best year of his life was spent with her, she was his first love, and she was the daughter of the step-mother he adored. Strong feelings beget strong feelings, do they not? This reveal confronted Dimitri with something that he could not accept, so his mind sidestepped the issue altogether. Delusion convinced him that all of the fears and worries he had beforehand were related, all into one larger delusion that Edelgard had sole responsibility. It’s not right and maybe not even excusable, but it falls in line with everything else.

Edelgard and Dimitri. Bound by some twisted fate but forever doomed to be separated, unable to understand the other’s chosen path. 

I do recognize the flaws of Dimitri’s character and arc. There are some pretty major flaws. I have parts of a post typed out about his shoddy recovery and how I’d fix it that, hopefully, one day will see the light of day as well as many complaints about the way the story is hindered by the need for flexibility to accommodate gameplay and a happy ending.

But, despite that, this has all been a very long-winded way of praising Dimitri’s writing. His mental illness has a surprising amount of depth and I loved studying it as intently as I did. I learned a lot about his character as well as about mental illness in general.

Ultimately, Dimitri is neither an innocent sweetheart whose actions are entirely excusable and justified or an unforgivable war criminal and overall terrible character. You can feel bad for his pain and his struggle with his illness and understand that as a reason for his actions, but you shouldn’t use it as justification. He had the opportunity to seek help before things got too bad. He was selfish with the mismanagement of his emotions and goals. However, he also was a victim. Dimitri worked to recover and mend the mistakes he made while he was unwell, which is a side of this mental illness that is rarely shown in media.  

I wholeheartedly believe that, love him or hate him, Dimitri is the most well-written of the Three Houses characters,

[tinlizziedlinwa]

Developing Sexuality, Discovering Kinks, a Spinal Injury, and Barely Beginning to Explore the Edges of the LGBTQ+ Community

Howdy, y’all.  I’m just gonna put this out there - If it’s not for you, just keep on a’scrollin’!

Now, I’ve not really explicitly spoken about my sexuality and how it’s evolved over my almost five decades of life.  So, I’m about to start, and believe me, your patience and kindness will be appreciated.  If you choose to be a close-minded, conservative, cis-asshole then I strongly suggest you leave right the fuck now.  Thank you :-)

If you want to get to know me a little bit more and talk of incontinence and sexuality doesn’t scare you, please continue!

Decade 01:  Around four years old, I have my first memories of things related to my as yet totally undeveloped sexuality.  No history of physical abuse - Don’t worry about that.  It was finding my mother’s menstrual pads.  I saw pictures of them in underwear, so I took one and put it into mine.  It felt so right and so amazing!  I don’t really know how to describe it, but it felt like I needed the whole package of them in my underwear all at once!  I got in trouble for using up a package that my mom needed and I didn’t understand why she needed them yet.  But I made my first “diaper” out of pads and tighty-whities when I was only four years old.  Since I’m gonna be using a lot of numbers, I’m gonna cheat and sacrifice the “proper way” of spelling them out if they’re ten or less.

At 5, I knew I wasn’t built right.  I had this thing I peed through that girls didn’t have.  Boys had them.  But I wasn’t supposed to be a boy!  I didn’t like it and hated the feeling of it touching my legs (still do...).  I started asking questions about things.  Now, my parents are the stereotypical Boomers, “trapped” in a loveless marriage by dependent children and their own sense of “honor.”  Dad was a Medical Corpsman who became a Physician’s Assistant (PA) after retiring, while Mom used to be a Wave (nurse) in the Navy, but became a stay-at-home Mom when she started having children. I’ve 2 brothers and 1 sister, the last of them born 10 years before me.  So, when I questioned things, Dad’s response was usually to hand me a medical book and tell me to look it up.  Mom’s response was usually, “go ask your father.”  So, there I was, a 5-year old with a head full of partially-understood terminology (at best!) and a bunch of clinical photography in anatomy and physiology books.  At least I learned the purely physical differences between boys and girls and why I was one and not the other.  This made me mad.  So. Very. Mad.  I cried a lot for a while, finding out that I would never become what I feel I was supposed to be.  But I kept reading....

When I was 6 years old, I wrote a letter to my parents explaining how I felt about my body and how it made me feel inside and how I wished I could change and be the girl I’m supposed to be and would they be ok with helping me do this some day?

It was not received well.  Not well at all.  I’ve spent the last 40 years trying to get over their reaction to it and I still hate them for their reactions with a passion.  I feel like I was truly shattered, and the glue I’ve had to use over the years to put myself back together has never been the right type and pieces of me keep falling apart.

Entering Decade 02 (10 to 20 years old):  Puberty, damn it!  None of my “researches” had even hinted at ways to stop it, and my body started changing in ways that made me very uncomfortable, but there was also this attraction I kept feeling towards some people, and I started getting erections.  Now, I knew what was happening and yes, it did feel good to play with myself, but it also felt wrong in that I should have someone entering me, not me entering them, so when I masturbated that’s what I dreamed of - being entered and feeling them expand inside me, them giving themselves up in me, losing control and exploding into me and feeling their satisfaction as my own at having been so desirable.  Cockwarming them gently back to hardness and having my own way with their body as their hands stroked my breasts and hips.... Eventually I would orgasm in real life, while dreaming my dream.

I have never had a blow-job.  Several girlfriends have attempted, but honestly that’s like the fastest way to shut me down.  It instantly kills my dream between one heart-beat and the next, causing me to feel absolutely horrible about myself and this carcass I’m trapped in.  I should be going down on you, tasting, caressing, nuzzling and lapping up your wetness as I get more and more achy and wet for you.... Sticking my dick in your mouth is absolutely the worst thing that can happen during any attempt at sexy-times for me.  I’d rather have diarrhea on a crowded school-bus.

The problem was, I had been emotionally terrorized by my parents (and now I know how they controlled my access to information...) and the area I grew up in was populated by fairly conservative folks, so I had no exposure to other ways of living and had no idea I could express my sexuality in any way other than by being masculine with it.  Ergo, I was very much in the closet, hiding my thoughts and feelings as best I knew how, and retreated from situations that might expose my inner workings. Hence, I’m an introvert who overshares o.0  Start unstacking the bricks from my walls and Watch Out!  You might get more than you bargained for :-\

Decade 03 (20 to 30 years old):  I was just positive I didn’t want kids.  Also had no clue what to do with myself, so I landed in Alaska for about a decade.  Isolated, small town, conservative folks (a church on every corner, attended at least twice a week).  Repressive.  No sex for 8 of those 10 years.  Met my (now ex-) wife up there.  Internet actually got off the ground and we bought a computer, modem, and had an AOL account!  This was around 2002′ish or so.  Yeah, I watched the twin towers fall on a tv in a bar in Alaska.  But while in Fairbanks, I discovered the old Usenet Newsgroups... and that led me straight back into my diaper-fetish which I’d almost forgotten about... omg, seeing those first photos... I can’t describe the feelings that burned in me.

Decade 04 (30 to 40 years old):  Left Alaska and moved to western Washington State.  Worked as a Medical Assistant for about 5 years, then re-invented myself as a welder when I got a Federal job.  Learning a whole new trade wasn’t easy.  Shittons of practice later I was good at it and loving my career, until a toolbag fell on my head in 2008.  It could have killed me had I been in any other position.  As it was, it hit the top of my head while my spine was almost perfectly straight up’n’down, causing a couple of discs in my neck to blow out.  One completely ruptured and the other bulged so badly it could never heal and restricted my movement (couldn’t look up or pull my chin in).  To this day I still have a smallish “shadow” on my cervical spinal nerve where the disc exploded and a “dent” where the next one down bulged out.  The doctors think that’s why I’m incontinent and really struggle to get hard-ons anymore.

Here’s the rub:  I’ve hated this body of mine forever.  I’m not supposed to get hard-ons in the first place!  I’m supposed to have breasts, hips, hair, a flat front and a curvy bottom, and you should be making passes at me, not vice versa!

So, rather than pursue medical (surgical) options to deal with the urinary and occasional fecal incontinence, I choose to wear diapers and give myself regular enemas.  This way I can kinda (mostly) control the #2 and keep it from happening in public, while I can let my bladder just run on it’s built-in autopilot (which is really random, btw).  Wearing diapers also helps me with tucking!  I can  pull the dick out, pop the balls up inside where they belong, tuck the dick as far back as I can and put my diaper on tight.  Bingo!  A flat front!  And a bit of a poofy bottom!  YES!!

Decade 05 (40 to 47′ish years old):  I’m beginning to feel slightly more confident in my sexuality, though I’m still not comfortable actually trying to seek out anyone special... but yeah - I’m an introvert by nature.  Probably need to get adopted by someone because I’m not sure I’ll ever really be brave enough to really reach out first....  But now I’m able to afford nice diapers, I’m buying women’s jeans/pants/sweaters/onesies, and I’m feeling so much better about myself when I’m able to dress up.  Keeping my chest and legs shaved helps, too.  When I look down and see long, course, curly body-hair... ugh.  Hair in the armpits and groin is what’s normal.  Chest hair?  Get it off!  Looking at myself in the mirror, I still hate many aspects of my physical self, but when I’m freshly shaved, diapered and wearing women’s jeans and a lovely pink sweatshirt or just lounging around in a cute diaper and huge sweater, I’m much more able to ignore the things I don’t like.

Lately, as I’ve begun exploring my sexuality a little more, I’ve discovered the joys of dildos.  Lemmie tell you what, guys.  A traditional male orgasm doesn’t hold a candle to what I’ve felt while playing with a good dildo.  After a good, thorough clean-out in the shower (I have a shower-attachment with multiple nozzles and use the long black rubber one), I’ve used a dildo that’s got a bit of a bend near the tip - it’s shaped like a real penis, normal size (not humongous), with a bit of a crook near the glans.  By holding the balls & suction cup in hand, it can be inserted and moved in-n-out at that perfect angle to stimulate *all* the right spots inside...  I can honestly say I’ve peed, cum, and blew that dildo across the room as my knees hit the floor and I forgot my name during the best, most intense, can’t-walk-for-a-minute whole-body orgasms I’ve ever experienced in my life.  The area between the anus and scrotum feels so very hot and heavy, like it’s going to burst, it’s not truly painful but almost close? - It’s an amazingly satisfying feeling.  I’d love to hear from you girls out there... Are my orgasms anything similar to yours?

Some day, my dream is to meet someone who can understand me, who can feel where I’m coming from, who can love me even when I’m having difficulty loving myself.  Someone who is kind to my broken soul, and who’s idea of a hot date may involve a stop at the adult toy store!

Edited on 01OCT2021:  I’m not looking for a Mommy or a Domme.  I’m an adult with adult responsibilities and concerns.  I’m looking for a partner who’s also fairly self-sufficient.  I own my own home, work full time, and being an introvert I need lots of alone time.  Someone who’s open and accepting of the fact that I’m diapered 24/7/365 and am perfectly capable of changing myself.  And she’ll understand that I don’t just wanna get her out of her jeans for sexy-times, but I also wanna try them on.

Edited again on 02OCT2021:  As I’ve just begun actually  exploring my sexuality, I’m starting to think I seem to fit into the “enby” grouping (even as I don’t like being stuffed into a box, I find myself doing just that, to myself!  Damn categories...).  I don’t know all the lingo yet and it feels like the terminology is a living thing that is always changing.  Even though I’ve always found women to be super attractive, and I also really enjoy wearing women’s clothes and have dreamed of being a woman for decades, every once in a blue moon a guy really turns me on.  I’ve got fantasies about going down on her while he enters me, his hands on my hips pulling me in as he gently thrusts, speeding up slowly as I’m getting wetter, he’s sliding in and out of me faster and faster and I’m lapping up her juices, buried in her scent, the orgasm in all of us building until we simultaneously explode.  Then, once we all have our breath back, each of us gently diapers one another.  The idea of feeling my diaper sticking to my bum as his seed dribbles out of me is really turning me on again right now!  Hearing our crinkles as we move, cuddling in a contented pile, patting bottoms all around.

Am I a “bottom?”  Is there such a thing as an independent “bottom”?  More research is needed!  

[zmediaoutlet]

Hey I'm super intrigued by your halmanverse stuff (just finished reading your most recent mpreg fic and also timelapse and also the omegaverse explanation post) but I'm still kinda confused, maybe because I'm in general already overthinking gender like 95% of the time. I have a lot of questions but mainly I was wondering what specific differences you imagine between halman Dean and male Dean? Mostly physical/presentation-wise, but also in terms of personality/emotion/emotional expression/etc?

oh wow, I’m glad you’re interested! (and even went back to that ancient post! bro!) I related to the overthinking part--I’m not that interested in gender qua gender but I am super interested in trying to figure out how a three-sexed civilization might actually work, and what gender expression results from there, etc etc. It’s a conundrum! My friend can attest to the hours I’ve spent moaning and flailing over how tf fashion would even work, much less everything else. But--it’s easier to think about if we start from a few basic premises:

1. I don’t want to write it as a dystopia; 2. I want it to feel semi-familiar as a setting; 3. I want Dean still to feel as much like himself as possible; 4. I want things to feel as naturalistic and realistic as possible.

All of which are kind of connected. I didn’t want to write it as a sex-crazed ultramating fuck-ciety, so heats get calmed down and ‘omegas’ (halmen) aren’t wee sex dolls who pump out seventy puppies per litter. (What do they even do with all those babies in omegaverse fics? Eat them??) The fact that I’m still using “he” pronouns means that halmen are still mostly masculine-presenting, but there are tells that mean that everyone can recognize a halman vs a man vs a woman (unless, of course, there’s some passing activity going on--much like in our own culture, where you can pretty much get a sense at a glance how someone is operating, and it’s exceptional if someone says, ‘actually, my gender identity is [x].’)

Still, halmen are, for lack of a better word, baby carriers. So, while they’re stronger/bigger/taller than women for the most part, they’re also given a slightly feminized role just by virtue of how this culture treats baby carriers. That translates into job choice, fashion, expected behavior. To delineate, halman!Dean:

Basic physical stuff: - he’s about 5′10, which is a little taller than average for a halman (much as real!Dean is a little taller than average for a man) - slightly rounder features, to go along with enticing mates to treat you well -- still very recognizable as Dean (esp with his lips and eyes already being Like That), but a very slightly softer jaw, probably. - high testosterone gives him good muscle structure and broad shoulders; high estrogen gives a soft subcutaneous layer of fat (which, ahem, Jensen already has) and less body hair; wider more feminine hips; flat chest (until pregnancy). So, the silhouette is a little different--sort of an hourglass, sort of an upside down triangle. - downstairs, you’re getting a very large clitoris (small penis-sized -- think of hyenas), which is also where the ureter is; no testicles, obviously; anus/birth canal hybrid, because that’s just fun tbh -- probably translates into that area being cleaner than usual, but let’s be honest, babies get poop on them half the time anyway, so. - heats are twice-yearly, ish (I think I said 25 weeks in one fic?) -- no crazy compulsion, no one’s gonna die if they don’t get fucked, but an actual body temp increase and definite horniness, and this is pretty much the only time all year that halmen can get pregnant. The hormones they’re putting out are also what triggers men to knot, so. It’s a special time. :)

Fashion: - Hair could be really anything (much like women can get away with most anything), but a pretty classic hairstyle would be something akin to Sam’s prettier bob haircuts. Dean keeps it above his shoulders, but not long enough that it could have a ponytail, probably. Side part, tuck behind the ears, done. - Makeup is minimal--halmen wear just as much as women if they feel like it, and in professional settings some effort is expected. Dean tends to stick to just eyeliner, but playing FBI might include a small amount of lip color. - Clothes -- THIS KILLED ME, but I came up with some options. Again, like 21st century women, they can kinda get away with anything, but they don’t mess with cleavage-baring (since they don’t have any, until they have a kid) and instead go with bare backs and shoulders to be sexy. (Why? Nice muscley backs, that’s why.) A very traditional outfit would be a tunic-length top (to cover the minimal bump from the big clit) paired with slim pants or tights. Short skirts over tights is also a really common look. Half the time, Dean’s going to be wearing a loose plaid shirt, a tank that dips just low enough to look halman-y, tight ass-hugging jeans, and boots.

Cultural stuff: - Sexuality: Dean vastly prefers men, because he’s pretty conformist when it comes right down to it. He probably experimented with a halman or a woman in his early twenties, but let’s face it, he likes dick. - Halmen could always get physical “men’s jobs” -- farming, factory work, mechanic, etc -- but the intellectual “men’s jobs” -- doctor, lawyer, head chef -- weren’t as common. They would’ve had a similarly hard time to women, breaking into those categories. So, while Dean can fake being an FBI agent just fine, sexist people will probably defer to Sam as the ‘senior’ agent. - Hustling pool: still likely, but Dean’s going to change up his style a little. He can probably take any of these trucker men in a fight, but it’s easier to flirt his way through it, and with that ass--yeah, he can get away with it. - Hooking: definitely possible too, but his client base wouldn’t be weird closeted dudes like real!Dean, it’d be people who’d expect to treat him more like a female sex worker might be treated. More dangerous, in its way, but at least he almost certainly wouldn’t get knocked up.

Personality/emotional expression: So, this is the big one. A large part of it is that, as a more female-typed caregiver, John’s expectations for how his Dean should act aren’t as subversive as in canon. Halman!Dean cooking/cleaning/taking care of his little brother--that’s what daughters are expected to do, after all, and Dean isn’t that far off from a daughter in this treatment. But that also means that the weird ways that, in canon, Dean is a little... overly macho, how he acts too butch, etc, those don’t really come into it. As a halman, he’s completely fitting into the role society/culture expect of him, and he doesn’t need to pretend otherwise. His issues, then, would be less of canon!Dean’s insistence on being a Cool Steve McQueen Dude, and more in the ‘there are certain cultural markers I’m missing by being a transient hunter, and I regret them.’ This gets touched on in ‘timelapse’ when he reflects about how he’s never been on a date with a nice boy before Mark-from-Blockbuster -- and I think we get a sense of wistfulness, wishing that maybe nice boys would ask him out more than the other guys like to finger him under the bleachers -- and again in the recent fffr fill, where of course he wanted to have kids, but knew that was never an option. He wants to hold babies, man. He just wants to really, really badly.

Related to that--in just his day-to-day, especially with Sam, he can afford to be... a little softer. Obviously he still gives his little brother a hard time, because that’s his job, but he also probably kept giving Sam good-night kisses until he was like 8--they probably argued a little less, because Dean didn’t feel the need to be a hardass just to emulate their dad--John was probably a little more soft with him, but Dean’s obedience would also be completely expected. I bet that there wasn’t ever one of those moments per canon where John would “send Dean away” for arguing too much, because I bet Dean didn’t argue that much.

The nurture of it all is so much of what shapes Dean--and he’s still loyal to a fault, of course, and still cracks jokes, and still loves his brother more than anything. But it’s the little softened edges that interest me--the places that canon!Dean fights against, that halman!Dean can just accept and be. Distinct from a Deanna, though, even if the changes are incremental. It’s just these little tweaks.

That... got really long, haha. Still, I hope it was helpful. Also, as a bonus:

I mean, the hair’s too long, but honestly, it... doesn’t take much imagination, haha.

[daesungfmd]

30 days of character development : 1 - 6. headcanon  /  wc: 1322

day one  /  introduce your muse.   hwang daesung is the lead vocalist  &  rapper of impulse; a 7-member boy group that debuted on january 16th, 2014. despite being labeled as a rapper, there’s only one song that daesung has significant rap lines in:  king, which is a duet between himself and one of impulse’s other rappers. on a similar note, daesung is not officially part of the dance line, but gets (arguably) more than his fair share of center time. so, what does this mean for daesung? it means that he’s an idol who believes he could 100% be seen as a triple threat if gold star would promote him as such, but instead, he’s pushed for his voice and has to read comments saying “why’s he a rapper if he never even raps?” and “why’s the lead vocal in the center?” on the daily. </3

day two  /  talk about your muse’s childhood and when they decided they wanted to be an idol.   daesung was born and raised in seoul, but to be more exact, it was in the neighborhood of samcheong. it’s a lovely place (as daesung himself will claim), but his childhood hardly reflected the color of his hometown. he initially had both parents, but after losing his father in 2008, he and his mother were left on their own. the loss greatly affected both daesung  &  his mother; ignoring the emotional impact, their financial situation was on a fast decline. you could argue that they couldn’t even afford for daesung to have big dreams  ―  that’s certainly what his mother tried to tell him, but he was a stubborn kid. the only “dream job” he ever had was becoming a rockstar, which is a dream that he never fully let go of. he stressed his mom out a lot during these years because instead of studying hard and aiming to go to a good university/get a good job, he spent most of his “study time” playing his guitar and/or trying to weasel his way into divebar shows. he ultimately became an idol trainee at age fifteen, but it wasn’t because he suddenly decided that he wanted to be an idol instead; he just didn’t realize what he was auditioning for, and who the hell was he to say “oops, nevermind” when he had a reality check? up until he debuted, he didn’t have any interest in being an idol. seven years in, he still doesn’t. he’s a rockstar in his heart and that’s what matters!!!

day three  /  talk about your muse’s audition.   part of daesung’s ~charm~ is that he’s blindly optimistic. he has a lot of faith in himself, his talent  &  his abilities. by the time that he auditioned for gold star, he was more confident and hopeful than ever because he had already gone through hundreds of other companies and he’s the type to think that after lots of failure, you’re bound to succeed. in retrospect, perhaps the reason why so many companies turned him down was because they were looking for idols and he was a boy so clearly inspired by grunge and rock ‘n’ roll. regardless, by the time he reached gold star he had gone through enough auditions to realize what companies wanted to see in their auditionees, even had a dance memorized as well as he could with his lack of actual training in case they asked to see it. looking back on it, he wouldn’t give any advice to his former self except to do more research into what the auditions were for. he’s happy enough with where he’s at in life, but becoming an idol was never the end goal; he just went with the flow because he didn’t want to face pressure to do well in school. (ofc he realized that idols face pressure way worse than that every day but </3 mf realized too late)

day four  /  talk about your muse’s trainee years.   daesung trained for eight months before being selected for who’s next?: origin story, having joined gold star in april of 2012. now... eight months is a decent enough amount of time, but keep in mind that he had no prior experience in idol music, nor did he even know much about idols; to put it simply, he felt (and was) underprepared. still, he figured that he wouldn’t be put in a team and thrown onto a survival show if the company didn’t have some kind of faith in him, so the show also made him more confident (even though his team lost)!!! he had another 10-ish months of training after the show ended, so if you ignore the three-month period of the survival show, he had a collective 18 months / 1 year and 6 months as a trainee. as for his training experience........ it was tough for daesung. he wasn’t as serious about becoming an idol as most of the other trainees were considering it wasn’t his “dream”, so he was more concerned about just making the experience fun and making friends than improving quickly (or even following the rules). he got scolded a lot, even at times when he hadn’t actually done anything to be scolded for because of course it was easy to assume that daesung was the culprit if something went wrong. a lot of other trainees at the time didn’t like his lack of professionalism/lack of care or the fact that he didn’t even really want to be an idol and was still taking up space. he struggled to make friends even with his grand efforts, so he felt really, really lonely more often than not. started to struggle with body image and general insecurities during this time as well which i won’t go into detail about here because that’s ~a story for another time~ but overall....... training was the loneliest part of this mf’s life. he tried to have fun and every now and then he did, but he really just wanted to go home most of the time.

day five  /  recall your muse’s debut.   girls, girls, girls is the bane of daesung’s existence. even though he didn’t really want to be an idol, by the time he finally got the news that he was going to debut, he was excited!!! he hates routine, so at least he would be escaping the repetitive days, right? right? no. his excitement dulled once he listened to the demo for their debut song and disappeared completely when he tried to express his displeasure but was ignored. at the time, he was seventeen and i think we all know that 17 years olds have fragile egos. everything about girls x3 embarrassed him:  the lyrics, the outfits, the choreography, the mv intro, the mv setting, the promotions. the first time he performed on stage ~should have~ been exciting, but daesung just wanted to hide. granted.... seven years have passed and he’s begrudgingly fond of girls x3 now. he won’t admit it, but he listens to it when he’s going through breakups and/or rejections for an extra little boost of confidence. but it’s humiliating if anyone else brings it up.

day six  /  talk about your muse in relation to concepts.   daesung pulls off fun and/or high-energy concepts the best. his stage presence is a fickle thing — even this far into his career, he struggles to not look bored when performing mellow songs (or songs that he just doesn’t vibe with), but he shines when he’s having a good time. he has fun performing upbeat songs and it shows. to date, he’s gotten the best feedback during the eras of just right, lullaby & look, but has also gotten decent feedback during ~manly~ concepts like if you do and you calling my name. his ideal concept would have to be something dark, like mars’ older concepts, but he’s 99.9% sure that impulse will never go in that direction. something that doesn’t feel so out of reach but he knows he could pull off would be something like alien’s jealousy  or charm’s clap — masculine like if you do and ycmn, but high-energy like look and lullaby. any time impulse has done songs that combine those aspects, it’s resulted in a huge headache because of unnecessary beat drops </3 please gold star let him have one (1) concept like this that doesn’t hurt to listen to, he’s begging </3

[epicstuckyficrecs]

July 22nd-28th

Another long one, so it’s under a read more!

You can find my other Weekly Recaps here!

Complete

crowding the hitter by rooonil_waazlib/ @rooonil-waazlib (Shrunkyclunks | 13K | Explicit): But the trash monsters are coming closer, and Bucky’s going to be pissed if he has to get his grate replaced tomorrow. He turns off the panini press, heads into his bedroom, and pulls his college baseball bat out of the closet, pausing only to pull on the slacks he’d just taken off. He’s going to go defend his shop, and he’s not going to do it in his underpants.

Of all the universes in the multiverse, you had to walk into mine by cleo4u2/ @cleo4u2 (Multiverse AU | 5K | Mature): Steve Rogers is trying to take over the world and SHIELD Agent James "Bucky" Barnes is trying to stop him. Only, Rogers is a super-soldier and Bucky is not. Things are looking grim until he's saved by... Steve Rogers?

Happier by dixons_mama (PWP | 1,7K | Explicit): Six days apart is a long time, in Steve's opinion, to be away from Bucky. Once reunited, they prove distance makes the dick grow fonder.

Sugar Lips and Sinful Hips by TheFlailing (Sugar Daddy AU | 20K | Mature): Bucky Barnes is a successful New York businessman, and at a glance, it looks like he's got everything a man could want. But deep down, underneath the money and the pretty face, the truth is this: he's lonely. Enter one Steven Grant Rogers: starving college student, just trying to make ends meet - and hot as fuck. Bucky desperately needs to be in his pants. And that's all; nothing more. Right?

Don't you understand, I don't want to hold your hand by verzacefatale (Post-IW, in Wakanda | 8K | Explicit): His dick worked when he wanted it to, and sometimes when he didn’t before he knew what he was doing, before he learned how to stifle his feelings for the well-dressed and cut-clean guys at the dancehalls he dragged Steve to, before he learned how not to want Steve in this desperate, all-consuming kind of way, the kicked-up-stink-fear of losing Steve because of something even Bucky didn’t understand, not really, not yet, if he ever could.

With a Steady Hand, and a Little Time by paperstorm/ @paper-storm (Evanstan | 3K | Teen): Chris is a lot of human; big, noisy, unfettered emotions, sent out fearlessly and joyfully into the world, pulling everyone around him into the strength of his orbit. When he’s drunk, Anthony finds out relatively early into their working relationship, it’s about a thousand times worse.

Cellophane Soldier by paperstorm/ @paper-storm (WW2, Epistolary | 4K | Mature): Five letters Bucky wrote to Steve during the war and didn't send, and the one he did send. Presented in the format of a history textbook printed six decades later.

Won't Let You Go by dixons_mama (Evanstan canon | 1,1K | General): After seeing Chris have an anxiety attack at a con, Sebastian goes to his hotel to try and comfort his friend. Fluff ensues.

lately, i like 'em crazy (maybe you could devastate me) by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid (Vampire AU | 4,8K | Explicit): Bucky’s a vampire, and Steve is Steve. The twenty-first century still finds them fucking their brains out and bleeding feelings all over the bed.

WIP

💙 Like Real People Do by 2bestfriends (Shrunkyclunks, canon divergent post-Avengers | 18K | 3/10 | Explicit): Seven years into an isolated retirement after the Battle of New York, Steve has carved out a place for himself in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains. He has a best friend (his dog, Lady), a frenemy (a local black bear named Rufus), and a cabin in the middle of the woods, an hour’s drive from the nearest town. As November comes to a close, he heads into town to pick up supplies and ends up with a stowaway.

Solitary by exclamation/ @jessicameats (Canon divergent | 34/? | 85K | Mature): The Winter Soldier has been a prisoner of SHIELD for about a year and a half, placed in solitary confinement under strict security when it was clear he wasn’t going to respond to the best interrogators and deprogrammers SHIELD had available. When Fury asks a newly awakened Steve Rogers to assist, Steve is hesitant. He doesn’t understand why Fury thinks he would have a better chance of getting through to this guy than all the people who have tried and failed.

💙 This Side of the Blue by notlucy/ @notlucy (Mermaid AU | 21/44 | 76K | Explicit): Tucked against a set of crumbling, stone steps was a tank made of metal and glass, filled to the brim with greenish water, distorted sunlight filtering through and casting strange shadows. Playing tricks on the eye. A trick was the only explanation for what Steve saw floating there. This figment of his childhood. This myth. This legend. Within the tank, the siren bared its teeth.

💙 a rupture, a rapture by newsbypostcard (Post-IW | 16/33 | 104K | Explicit | Warning: MCD, Violence): “In my timeline, on April 27th, 2018—today—Thanos invades Earth to collect the final Infinity Stone, and succeeds. With the snap of his fingers, Thanos erases three and a half billion people from existence on Earth alone. I’ve come back in time to prevent this from happening."(After the Cataclysm, and also before.)

💙 Cakes & Balances by mambo/ @whtaft (POTUS Steve | 6/? | 11K | Teen): It’s kind of hard to date the cute baker from down the street when you’re the President of the United States of America. But Steve Rogers will make it work.

Sugar Daddy Wanted by MorningGlory2/ @captainrogerrsbeard (Sugar Daddy AU | 7/8 | 72K | Explicit): When Steve Rogers, 24, became a male escort, there was no room for emotions. He had a full appointment book and no time for that. There was definitely no time to get attached to an older, very successful, very gorgeous man who paid for his services. James Barnes, 38, successful resort designer and CEO for Winter Luxury Resorts, stumbled upon Steve Rogers, Escort in a dark, high end bar in midtown Manhattan. He was cocky, young and beautiful and offered James exactly what he was looking for—the chance to be with a man who knew the ropes and offered no opportunity to get attached. Until of course, he gets attached. And suddenly, what was a contractual affair turns into much more. 

Bucky Barnes and the Embarrassment of Spidermen by AggressiveWhenStartled (Multiverse, Peter-centric(ish) | 3/5 | 11K | Mature): “Peter,” Steve said into the table. “Please tell me you didn’t bring home someone from Tony’s alternate dimension.” “Of course I didn’t,” Peter said, looking indignant. “I wouldn’t do that. I brought him to your place.”

Re-read

💙 Honey Honey by justanotherStonyfan/ @justanotherstonyfan (Shrunkyclunks, Future AU, Sugar Daddy | 15K | Explicit): The kid is maybe, oh, twenty years younger than him? Clean-shaven, and looking out of the corner of his eye at Steve in the same way Steve feels he must be looking at the kid – i.e., like he wants to do any number of unmentionable things to him.Because boy does Steve ever want to do unspeakable things to this kid. (Part 1 of Honey Honey)

Suppress that shit by appalachian_fireflies/ @appalachianfireflies (ABO AU | 15K | Explicit | Warning: Rape/non-con): Steve's been on street suppressants for years to cope with something he doesn't want to talk about, thanks. He gets why the hospital is making noises about liver failure, but he couldn't care less. They don't get it. This alpha they're sending him to isn't going to either.

Masquerade by paperstorm/ @paper-storm (Evanstan | 5K | Explicit): It hasn’t been that long since he got himself laid, but it’s been long enough, that good percentage of his body wants him to take the few steps into the alley and kiss the stranger stupid. He’s exactly Sebastian’s type – masculine but pretty, cocky but with a softer edge to him, like he’d be sweet in the mornings. If he’d met this man in the bar earlier, he would definitely have taken him home.

💙 Hey, Asshole! A New York City Love story by bunnymaccool/ @bunnymaccool (Shrunkyclunks, Pre-Avengers | 15K | Teen): Bucky's running late for the bus and he's stuck in line behind some ridiculous shoulder to waist ratio bastard who's too busy flirting with the baristas to get his frickin' order in. After he tells the dude off, completely in his rights he feels, the damn oversized puppy-faced ass keeps following him around and trying to apologize. And okay, dude is hot like burnin', but Bucky just doesn't have the time or patience for soothing the wounded ego of some gymrat wannabe with an obsession for dressing like he's hiding from the mob and .... why are you laughing, Sam?

💙 Quench by AidaRonan (Modern AU, PWP | 5K | Explicit): Or the one where archeology intern Bucky Barnes meets actual archeologist Steve Rogers and reaches levels of thirst scientists once believed to be theoretically impossible.

[canon-notcanon-warriorcats]

Im gonna come to you for this because you're honestly like an idol to me (Im sure you hate to hear that lmao) and I feel like you would understand. You're non-binary right? I can't remember if you spoke about it but you use "they/them" pronouns and Im gonna assume that for the sake of the question. Either way! I've been questioning identifying as something other than cis-gendered. How did you know? And have you told people? What's the difference between relating to and empathizing with a problem

oh my god klsnalksm;lakdns;am i’m so honored thank you, but really i’m no one to idolize i’m an unemployed adult who is stuck in life who makes jokes and shit posts about fictional cats but thank you sidjk;lsz;

sorry this took so long to answer i was too tired and i wanted to think on it for a while so i can answer everything well and be at least hopefully a little organized and my answers/explanations to be legible

also this is getting long so i’m putting the rest of this under the cut wheeeeeeeeeeeeee

Yes! I am (at least partially) non-binary, I’m genderfluid and for me in particular I’m a girl sometimes, both a boy and a girl mixed together, and something in between all at once and at different times depending on who knows what, i’m like when you put soda in a cup and then put all of the different fountain drinks in at varying amounts and you do that each time you go to the restaurant but with different amounts of each soda, but like it’s USUALLY a pepsi base

anyway, it took me a long time to know, or i guess realize that i wasn’t cis because i guess i didn’t know i could? but in hindsight there were a LOT of signs and starting when i was 17 i think i started dipping my toes in different gender identities after i found out about the term “demigirl” and that’s what i kind of stuck with for a while

and then i questioned myself like am i really trans? i’m afab and identify as a demigirl does that really count (yes it does) but anyway after i went to college i was like no i think it’s just because several of my friends were questioning their gender, i’m a girl, and it wasn’t until a couple years ago that i finally FULLY realized “no, my gender is fluid, and i am a girl PLUS somethings between boy and girl and sometimes they all mixed together, sometimes all at once, sometimes individually (though very rarely FULL boy)

some things that i recognize in hindsight were signs (or were just weird foreshadows/coincidences of me being a mix of genders and it’s amusing now) include:

-when i was like 7 or 8 or 9 or something i made an image of what i’d look like as an adult in my head (or just older since in my fantasy i was 13 years old because that was obviously old enough to be a billionaire and own a castle and adopt children and a million animals and be a pokemon master, but i thought of an adult body) and my face was pretty feminine but my body shape was very masculine, flat chest, rectangular body shape, wore men-styled-ish jeans, and thickish arms

-in 7th grade for “some reason” i spent several moments thinking about what would happen if one day i came in as a boy named michael (since that’s kInD oF the “male” or “masculine” version of my name) and if like they’d recognize me or if they’d change my name on the registration or if anyone’d get confused or anything, this was also the year i found out that sex changes were a thing, i think, either 7th grade or 6th grade

-and the big one(s) for like my ENTIRE LIFE, even to this day, i would feel so confused if a girl talked to me like i was another one of the girls, specifically if they would like ask if their shirt tag was poking out and asking me to fix it, or ask if their bra strap could be seen through their shirt, asking me if their hair or clothes looked okay, asking to walk to the bathroom with them, GOING to the girls’ bathroom in general, chaning in the girls’ sometimes even being called a girl entirely, etc. made me feel

weird

like an “i’m not one of you” or “i’m not entirely like you” feeling and i thought that it was just because i’m awkward and shy and anxious that i went into the wrong room and then later oh i’m just gay and then to my realization: “oooooooooooooooooooooooooooh that’s why” and “oh, i was anxious i went into the wrong bathroom/changing room, but i also felt like i shouldn’t be in that room anyway because i’m not just a girl or not entirely a girl”

i also have and had a lot of dreams where like i was either a guy, felt almost genderless entirely, or where i would for some reason go into male bathrooms/changing rooms even though i’m not a guy (entirely or mostly)

also i i realized my favorite shirts were the ones that made my boobs look smaller or less existent, my voice would confuse me, either it being too high or low and make me confused uncomfortable because it “didn’t fit” my gender, and sometimes being called a girl or someone saying i looked like a woman made and makes me uncomfortable, and i guess the most nsfw/graphic part of this is that sometimes i fantasize and/or wish i had like

a mix of genitalia and i wish i could change my breast size and upper body shape to be flatter/more rectangular, but it’s mostly the genitalia thing, the body shape changing parts don’t happen ALL the time and not as much, but still sometimes especially if i see someone’s more masculine body and i’m just like “wow i wish that were me”, though being overweight kind of helps in that because my body shape looks more neutral, if i was thin i might have more problems with that

also, especially lately for some reason i get very irritated or uncomfortable if certain people call me a girl or she/her, very certain people i’m okay with calling me a girl and she/her but to people i don’t know well or aren’t super close to i don’t want to be referred to as she/her i don’t want to be perceived as she/her i want to be referred to as they/them

a lot of people have much more intense feelings and it’s more obvious, but they can often times be a lot more subtle and it’s okay if you don’t have INTENSE feelings of dysphoria, there’s also gender euphoria, which i think i, personally, experience more than dysphoria

i like it when people act or refer to me gender neutrally, i like it when my chest looks flatter, i like it when people use they/them for me, i like it when i feel content about knowing that i’m not cis and that i’m a mix of genders, i like thinking of myself as a gender mutt/mix or whatever, it feels GOOD, euphoric

i guess it’s hard to tell if you’re empathizing or relating, and i can’t tell you which one it is since i don’t know the particulars and i don’t know you, but what i DO know, is like 99% of time, if someone has to ask themselves “am i cis?” or “am i straight?” the answer is “no” because cis or straight people almost never even think about it or question their identity and even if the answer DOES end up being “yes, i am cis” then that’s absolutely perfectly completely valid and fine, you figured out who you are and you were in a mindset and in a safe enough space that you could figure it out for yourself and find out more about yourself

and finally, as for the telling people thing, it depends on the situation, i don’t really talk about it in real life, none of my biological family knows because my parents have shown pretty transphobic and nbphobic tendencies and if i told my brother or his fiancee then they’d start treating it like it’s some special thing and basically do that straight people thing where they like overcompensate being happy for you or supporting you or where they start talking about their other friends who aren’t straight or aren’t cis and famous people or characters that aren’t cis or straight and like i can’t deal with that

all of my friends know though, and i’m open about online and i don’t have any significant other(s) to tell but if/when i get in a relationship and on dating apps i’m explicit that i’m non-binary and genderfluid and basically not cis and before i get in a relationship i plan on talking to them about it and being like “hey if you see me as a cis girl this will not work out” they’ll also have to respect my sexuality of course and see me AS bisexual and demiacearo, not straight if i’m dating a guy and not a lesbian if i’m dating a girl, never date someone who doesn’t respect your gender or identity or doesn’t see you as who you are, or won’t let you have some wiggle room to let you figure out who you are, so that’s an extra piece of advice there for ya

i hope that made enough sense! sorry this was long and i might have blabbered on, but i hope at least some of this helps!

[truerequitedlove]

Formless

something deep and primal within me begged me to write this. i hope someone else finds something in it for them as well

note - i wrote this in one sitting and i’m not super sure of it so constructive criticism is not only welcome but i’m begging u

disclaimer – i’m not claiming anything portrayed in this piece of fiction as true or untrue about any of the people i’ve used characterizations of in real life

Genre: introspection, reality/non-AU

Warnings: gender questioning, sexuality questioning, bit of gender dysphoria, brief mention of depression, brief mention of homophobia, brief existentialism, lots of queerness

Word Count: too long tbh (4.8k)

Dan wished he was formless.

read on ao3

~•~•~

Dan wished he was formless. Shapeless. Amorphous. Nebulous. He wished he was hazy around the edges. He wished he was open to interpretation, able to sway one direction and then just as quickly to the next. He wished he looked different depending on the light. He wished every time he was seen, he was new. He wished he was ambiguous. Silver in a world of bright colors. Reflective. He wished he was infinite and fathomless and chameleonic. He wished he was a grey area, balancing on a line, living in a pocket to the left of the known universe.  

But Dan was just Dan. Just lines and angles and flesh and bones.

And Dan didn’t know what caused him to long for this sense of formlessness. It could easily have been the sadness that occasionally overwhelmed him. The desire to be anything but human. Human with the pesky ability to feel and think and wonder and philosophize.

But that was different. When the sadness managed to take over, to eat at Dan, when the numbness set into his bones, it was different. During these times, he was formless. Not in the right way. In the confusing, fearful, way. When he melted into a puddle and parts of him kept slipping away, and he couldn’t gather himself up quickly enough to become whole again. To become a person again.

And Dan did like being a person. He liked being human. He liked the feeling of fingers trailing over his skin. He liked the way his stomach did flips before something amazing happened. He liked breathing in fresh air when he stepped outside or opened a window. He liked the way certain tastes bathed his tongue and made him feel inside his chest. He liked the way he could express his thoughts aloud, in writing, in art. He liked the way he could experience others’ thoughts through their words and art. He liked that he had a body that felt and a mind that thought.

So, Dan had begun to think that maybe he wanted formlessness only because of societal ideals.

Or, perhaps, that everyone was formless.

Perhaps humans existed in a formless, nebulous, chaotic state, and they forced themselves into molds to create forms that were organized and neat. Perhaps some humans fit those molds better than others. Perhaps some humans overflowed, seeped through the cracks, spilled out chaos.

Okay. Maybe from the moment one was born, molds were placed in front of them by the picture-perfect of the world. Molds made for them and handed to them as if one size fit all. Male. Female. Straight. Society asked humans to fit into the molds. When humans rejected these molds, they found another to try on. Gay. Bisexual. Ace.

But Dan wanted to be mold-less. Formless. He wanted to be an exception. He wanted—

“Dan?” a voice called from across the flat, breaking into his thoughts.

Dan frowned, trying to recapture the thought. Formless. Dan wanted to be formless with no limit to his—

“Dan?” the voice called again.

Dan sighed. “What?” he called back in a monotone.

“Pasta,” Phil replied shortly.

Dan shook his head, and his lips quirked up a little. He stood from the bed and walked down the hall toward the kitchen.

“You interrupted my introspection,” Dan said, knocking his hip against Phil’s as he reached to grab a bowl from the cupboard.

Phil scooped some of the pasta out of a pot on the stove into his own bowl. “Good,” he said, knocking Dan’s hip in return. “You’ve been doing too much of that.”

“I’m doing important reflection on my life and identity so that I can further my career and personal life in a way that stays authentic to my true self,” Dan argued, scooping himself up some pasta.

“I know,” Phil said, taking a seat at their table. “But, you know, I think sometimes you learn more about yourself by living life than reflecting on it.”

“I think I’ve lived a lot the past year,” Dan said, sitting across from Phil.

“Fair,” Phil said before he scooped some pasta noodles into his mouth. “What have you been thinkin’ about?” Phil asked, before fully swallowing his mouthful.

Dan raised an eyebrow, breathing out a soft chuckle at Phil. “Societal expectations versus individual identity.”

Phil chuckled. “I look forward to—to reading your thesis,” he joked.

Dan smiled. “Or maybe just watch my next video.”

Phil hummed. “Thinking about doing another deep-ish one?” he asked, and Phil always made it sound so simple.

“Maybe,” Dan said. “Haven’t decided.”

“Well,” Phil said, reaching for a napkin to wipe pasta sauce from the corner of his mouth. “Whatever it is, it’ll be great,” he promised.

Dan smiled a little. “What makes you say that?”

Phil swallowed his bite of pasta. “Because it’s you,” he said easily, scooping more pasta onto his fork. “Eat your pasta I slaved over it for hours.”

Dan rolled his eyes, still smiling a bit as he scooped some of the pasta onto his fork.

~•~•~

Dan looked himself in the mirror. He was still half-asleep, but he’d tugged on a t-shirt. And sweatpants, as it was a bit chilly. He hadn’t turned the bathroom light on, planning to try to sleep in a bit longer, but he’d paused when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

He looked at himself, unsure what exactly made him stop. It was him. He didn’t look terrible or exhausted. He didn’t look amazing, either. His curls fell into his face, grown out just a bit since his last haircut. The light cotton shirt he wore hung off his shoulders loosely. His sweatpants were nestled low around his hips. His cheeks were soft and red from sleeping. His lips were much less chapped than usual, red, and a bit plumper than usual.

He liked the way he looked.

Dan couldn’t perfectly put his finger on what it was he liked, but he felt good.

He felt... He felt that sense of formlessness that he’d been craving if only a little. It might have been the messiness. An oversized shirt, unkempt hair. No, no. It wasn’t the messiness. It definitely wasn’t the messiness. He grabbed a comb from the bathroom drawer, flicking the light on.

He played with his hair a bit, pushing it back and combing it forward. No, no. He tried to capture the feeling he wanted, but it felt like it was getting further and further away. No, no, what happened? Where had the feeling gone? Dan felt frustration slowly replace the satisfaction. Tears gathered in his eyes.

Dan heard Phil stumble toward the bathroom, and he opened the door, seeming surprised to see Dan despite the light being on. Phil was obviously still half-asleep, but he noticed Dan was upset.

“Hey,” Phil spoke, voice scratchy and deep. He tried to clear his throat with a cough. “Hey, what’s wrong?” His voice still came out a bit gravelly.

Dan reached up to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. “Oh, uh, nothing, nothing. Sorry. I’ll let you pee,” Dan said, leaving the bathroom. He was pretty sure that a less-sleepy Phil wouldn’t have let him get away so easily.

Dan crawled back into bed, trying to shake the strange discomfort that had crept up on him and just fall asleep again. Before he could, Phil crawled back into bed beside him.

“Hey,” Phil breathed, wrapping his arms around Dan’s middle. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Dan breathed, not sounding too convincing.

“Hey,” Phil murmured again, dropping a kiss to Dan’s head. “You’re gorgeous.”

Dan didn’t know how Phil knew to say that, but he smiled a little. Gorgeous . “Thanks,” Dan said genuinely.

~•~•~

Dan was thinking about high school. He was thinking about trying to be a scene kid, wearing skinny jeans, girls’ jeans, trying eyeliner, growing his hair too long, straightening it. He was thinking about the emo boys he’d known. He was noticing how the whole scene sort of allowed teenage boys to embrace a more feminine side. They got to mess around with feminine fashion, hairstyles, make-up, and express their emotions.

He was thinking about the kids who’d call him gay, throw rocks, yell ‘faggot’ after Dan and his friends. They’d just laugh at the time or yell something back, but Dan wondered if those things really did leave a lasting impact on his expression.  

He was thinking about the other night, the vague rightness he had seen in his reflection for a split second. He was thinking about how he knew, objectively, that he was a good-looking guy, but he was still unsatisfied with his appearance. He was thinking about his curly hair. He was thinking about his old reading festival bracelets. He was thinking about nail polish. He was thinking about his relationship with Phil. He was thinking about his fear of being labeled gay. He was thinking about the time when he was in uni and grew his hair out a bit long, straightened it, and put in earrings. He was thinking about the time when he cut his hair, styled it like every guy he knew did, defended himself, guarded himself, and shoved a few pieces of himself into the recesses of his being. He was thinking about the change between those times and the change between then and now.

Dan was thinking quite a lot.

He was thinking quite a lot about sexuality, gender, and identity.

He was thinking about it, because it wasn’t so scary at the moment, and he needed to take advantage of that.

There was a time when Dan wanted to be seen as anything but gay. Anything but feminine.

But, had Dan ever really felt masculine?

So, Dan thought about that. Had there ever been a time in his life that he had really felt like a boy or a man?

During his childhood, before gender or sexuality or appearance mattered, Dan would live carelessly. He would wear tiaras and tutus and sing spice girls into plastic microphones. He would climb trees and skin his knees and ride his bicycle around the neighborhood. He took piano lessons. He refused to play rough and fight with the other little boys. He made friends with girls. He ran through parks, rolled down grass hills. He hugged his grandma and kissed her hello. He was never good at sports. He loved video games.

And, no, he’d never felt like a girl . But, had he ever felt like a boy? Dan had never given much thought to gender. He’d always just been Dan . Dan with boy friends and girl friends. Dan who liked girls and liked boys. Dan who cursed at video games and cried listening to Cancer by My Chemical Romance.

Dan had felt gay before. He’d felt queer.

He often felt queer.

When he laid his head against the flat, broad, chest of his boyfriend. When he kissed the firmer lips of a man, his man. When he fell into bed with his lover, pressed himself into him, let him press himself into Dan. When Dan’s gaze toward a man lingered a second. God, when Dan looked in the mirror. He always felt queer. That was irrevocably a part of him. A part of him he’d learned to take pride in.

Alas, beyond that vague queerness, Dan had always struggled to define himself.

Dan stopped running, leaning against the wall and catching his breath. He looked around at the scarcely populated streets. The sun was just starting to properly light up the sky. Dan almost felt like the only one alive. He wondered when he became a morning person, but it was so peaceful. So still.

It was easier to think in the morning. He had a blank slate to work with. He wasn’t quite afraid of the world yet, because it wasn’t awake yet. It wasn’t bustling and busy and chaotic yet. In that, it was the same as staying up until two, or three, or four in the morning. The difference was in how Dan felt, how the world felt.  

Three am was full of people ending their days. Full of people hurting, thinking, crying, fucking, falling in love, feeling . There were anxieties about the morning lingering in the air. Time moved faster. There was something so heavy about the early hours of darkness.  

The morning was light. It was full of fresh starts and hope. Thoughts didn’t weigh so heavily on the mind, because there was the entire day to sort them out. Getting up early was already an accomplishment. The world was quiet, and time moved slowly.

At least for Dan.

He smiled a little.

Maybe Dan wasn’t entirely a man. He had never even felt too comfortable calling himself a man. ‘Boy’ has been okay. ‘Man’ was too…masculine. Too definitive.

Maybe he was just overthinking like he always did. Maybe gender roles meant nothing and Dan just refused to give into them. Maybe being a man was whatever he wanted it to be. Or maybe gender identity was just this vague and confusing feeling. Maybe Dan was a little bit formless. Maybe he couldn’t fit into any of the molds. Maybe he craved the same label-less formlessness for his gender as he did his sexuality. Maybe these thoughts would become terrifying in a few hours.

That was okay. Mornings were full of ‘maybe’s. Maybe he’d make breakfast. Maybe he’d crawl back into bed and fall back asleep. Maybe he’d look through old video idea files and see what he could update to match his current self. Maybe he would just watch the new Queer Eye episodes and play the piano and laze about. Maybe he would look in the mirror and say ‘maybe I’m not a man.’

Dan looked up at the sky again before changing the playlist on his phone to play the more upbeat instrumentals he had compiled for these runs. He set of jogging again.

It was still early.

~•~•~

Dan set a bottle of base-coat nail polish, a bottle of black nail polish, a bag of cotton balls, and a bottle of nail polish remover down on his desk one by one. He turned on a light and sat down.  

He untwisted the top to the base nail polish, wiping the brush on the sides to get rid of the excess, and brought the applicator to his fingernail, slowly painting a line of the clear polish onto his nail, messing up the moment he had to fill in around his skin, and painting over his skin.  

Dan took in a breath. He reached for a cotton ball and the nail polish remover, cleaning his nail off.  

He tried it again.

He messed up again, this time after a few more swipes of nail polish.

He took in a breath, wiping the nail polish away with a wetted cotton ball.

He tried again.

He didn’t mess up until he got to the black polish. He painted insanely messily and out of the lines, covering his skin and cuticles in the polish.

He took in a breath and reached for the nail polish remover.  

He tried again.

Paint went onto the nail. It was messy. It was outside the lines. It wasn’t right.

Dan didn’t allow himself to get frustrated. He took another deep breath. He wet another cotton ball.

He tried again.

It was understandable that the nail polish wouldn’t stay within the confines Dan had created for it. But, Dan wanted to find a way for something to fit right. He wanted the polish on his nails to be perfect. He wanted to get good at it. He wanted it to be normal and to feel second nature.

Once he could do this, he could do the next step.

Dan didn’t know what the next step was, but he knew he wanted to get there. He needed to get there.

So, he wiped his nails off, until he did the first one perfectly, none of it on his skin or cuticles. Then he moved to the next finger and did it again. He bit his lip as he focused, painting over and over until he got it perfect.

Then, once that was dried, he repeated the process on the other hand.

~•~•~

“Look,” Dan said, holding his hand out to Phil.

Phil spared a small glance. “Cute,” he said because this was normal.

“No,” Dan said. “Look.”

Phil perked an eyebrow, but looked again, taking Dan’s hand and holding it in the light to look them over. “Very pretty,” he said.

“I did a good job, yeah?” Dan asked because Phil was clueless and he needed the reassurance.

“Oh! Yeah, yeah, they look great,” Phil assured. “Perfect, actually,” he said, looking them over.

Dan rolled his eyes and sat back. “Took a few attempts,” he said.

“Well, you’re getting good at it,” Phil said.

Dan smiled. “I try.”

Phil’s gaze remained on Dan’s face for a moment.

“What?” Dan asked, blushing . He was fucking blushing, he could feel the warmth in his cheeks. Phil Lester had spared him many a long glance with similar amounts of affection. Still, Dan felt his stomach flutter just a bit. Dan didn’t know why it felt different in the moment, but it did.

“Nothing,” Phil said, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You’re just. Dunno. You look very pretty.” He turned back to his laptop.

Dan smiled, looking away. “Thank you.”

~•~•~

Dan was scrolling through the Instagram of Ben J. Pierce and trying to remember when they’d ended up in a mutual following.

There was something lovely and inspiring about these queer creators he followed. The pride they took in their identity and expression was comforting and inspirational. Still, Dan managed to find sadness in it. He couldn’t help but feel strange. Ben, for example, was only just twenty years old. When Dan was twenty, he was entering the throes of repression, about to spend a year or so trying to change himself, to make himself more desirable to the audience he felt he wanted. Yet, there were so many younger than him who seemed to be so aware of themselves. So proud of themselves. And so loud about it.

Dan looked at the lipstick painted across Ben’s lips. The dresses pulled over his chest. The colors around his eyes. The shimmer on his cheekbones. Dan loved it. He loved it for Ben. But there was also a sort of longing in his chest as he looked at these pictures. Make-up seemed like a lot. A dress seemed like a lot. But, still, he wanted it. He wanted to be comfortable with the idea of his face covered in makeup and his awkward body stuffed into a skirt or dress. Not just in front of the mirror at home. Not just for the sake of trying it.

Maybe he would be someday.

A few years ago, it would have felt like a joke to want such a thing, so at least he was making progress. The idea of being anything but a man would have seemed like a joke.

Dan knew a lot of things now that he hadn’t known back then. He had met people in the past few years that a young, sexually confused and repressed Dan could never even have imagined existing. Young people with bright smiles and grateful words and knowledge of their own identity that Dan sort of envied.

People who looked up at him with bright eyes and said “thank you so much for always using inclusive language,” and “I met people through you that allowed me to find parts of myself and piece together my identity,” and “I’m glad you’re comfortable with traditionally non-masculine things, because I was made fun of for being a boy that likes feminine things.” People who made Dan feel like somehow this silly YouTube thing had a genuinely positive effect on hundreds of people. People who gave Dan way too much credit.

Dan looked down at his nails, painted flawlessly. He remembered the first time he’d properly painted them. The endless support and excitement that flooded in from fans. It had been silly. Love and support for putting a bit of paint on his nails. But, it had also been amazing. He had genuinely been afraid. He’d looked that the bottle of nail polish a fan had given him. A cheap, barely opaque, dollar store bottle. He’d felt the same longing he did now.

That was one thing. Not wanting to conform to gender roles. Life was too short to just live in the box set out for you by society.

The thing that was different was the strange euphoria that washed over him when he looked down at his painted nails. When he wore a too-big sweater. When his hair fell over his forehead just right.

Just the thought of drifting further away from the labels, boxes, and societal rules of gender made something bubble up inside of him. Something distinct from his current queerness but queer nonetheless. After all these months of introspection and striving to live as authentically as possible, Dan was ready to fully acknowledge this facet of his queerness. He was ready to acknowledge that he might not just wish for formlessness, but already be, in a way, formless.

~•~•~

Dan had been quiet and contemplative for a while. He was ready to talk now. He wanted to lay it all out verbally and piece it together in words as best as he could. Dan hated fixed labels, but his mind also hated leaving things nameless. Phil had patient ears, and soft encouragement, and had foolishly agreed to stay with Dan and listen to his contemplation for nine years and counting.

So, Dan walked into the lounge where he knew he’d find Phil and caught his gaze.

“What if I told you I wasn’t a man?”

Phil set aside his laptop, giving Dan his full attention. Dan hoped he wasn’t going to make a big deal, but he knew better. That wasn’t their style. Phil smiled a little and seemed neither startled nor bothered.

“I would say ‘okay,’” Phil said. “And I would ask if you’d like me to change the way I refer to you.”

Dan almost felt as though these were words contemplated by Phil before this conversation. Dan smiled little. Of course. He was stupid. Phil knew. God, Phil had probably known before Dan had even begun to properly question.

“And if I said I wasn’t sure?” Dan asked, sitting down on the other end of the couch so he could face Phil.

“Then,” Phil said easily. “I would say ‘okay,’ and ask if you wanted to talk about it.”

Dan smiled. “How long have you suspected?” he asked.

Phil understood because of course he did. Dan wasn’t sure how people communicated with people who didn’t know them so well. Talking to anyone else about this would have been so much different, so much scarier, and so much harder.

Phil shrugged. “I didn’t know anything for sure, but I hadn’t ruled it out. I just figured if you felt like you needed to say anything you would, and you have.”

Dan leaned back into the couch cushion, smiling a bit, but unsure exactly how to proceed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Phil asked.

Dan looked down at his black nails. “Yes.”

Phil shut his laptop, moved a bit closer to Dan and Dan talked.

Dan talked for a long time. He talked about the stupidity of gender roles, about the articles he’d read about gender being merely a construct. Scientific research studies. Phil mentioned gently and with a chuckle that Dan didn’t have to cite medical journals to justify the way he and many others felt.

Dan talked about being queer. He talked about painting his nails. He talked about catching glimpses of himself in the mirror and feeling warmth well up at the casual androgyny he sometimes found in his reflection. He talked about baggy clothes and small hoop earrings and curly hair. He talked about euphoria and dysphoria.

Dan talked about the non-binary and binary trans people who showed up to meet and greets. He talked about the queer pride that radiated off of so many of their audience. He talked about all he’d learned about the world in trying to understand his and Phil’s audience, and incidentally, all he’d learned about himself.  

He talked candidly about the difficulty he often had equating himself with a man. With maleness or masculinity. He talked about male beauty gurus and gender nonconforming people and drag queens and non-binary genders.

Phil listened. He added comments. He brought up things that he noticed about Dan that Dan hadn’t even noticed. He occasionally asked for clarification, but he knew all of the terms and the ideas and Dan was so glad Phil was quite queer as well.

They talked for hours, between bites of food and snacks. They talked until the sun went down. They talked until Dan’s jaw got tired and they couldn’t keep their eyes open.

“We should head to bed,” Phil said because he knew Dan could stay up and talk despite the tiredness.

Dan nodded. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Did we…did I ever reach any sort of conclusion?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’d say I did,” Phil said, smiling, eyes drooping and hand on Dan’s thigh.

“Mhm?” Dan asked, gently pushing Phil’s hair from his face. “What’s that?”

“You’re you,” Phil said. “And I love you.”

“Gross. Cheesy. I’m putting you to bed,” Dan said.

Phil smiled. “I know you like to think and sort things out,” Phil said, yawning. “But, I think things get clearer with time, you know? We’re moving slowly right now. You can let yourself slow down too. You’re ready, you know? Who you are—your truth—it’ll come to you, yeah? Piece by piece.”

Dan smiled. There were tear tracks on his cheeks because this was a lot. Talking about this was a lot. He was ready. He was finally ready to confront this vague feeling within himself that he’d always dismissed. And he didn’t have to do it alone. Another tear slipped down his cheek, and he swiped it away.

“Just let me know if you need me to change anything, or do anything. I know you’re getting so close to where you wanna be.”

Dan smiled, leaning into Phil. “I love you.”

Phil smiled too, taking in a deep breath before forcing himself to stand. He offered Dan a hand. “Alright. Bed now.”

~•~•~

Dan looked down at their freshly painted nails. They smiled. They’d removed the polish once it began to chip and reapplied it for a few weeks now. It was so strange how such a small thing could make Dan feel so much more in touch with themself.

They supposed for a lot of people, nail polish was just an extra pop of color. To Dan, it felt like a step into a new way of expressing themself. A reaffirmation to themself that their identity was real. That their formlessness was real. That their queerness was good and beautiful. That they were good and beautiful.

Dan walked into the kitchen, finding Phil buttering some toast. “I want you to switch them up,” Dan said.

Phil looked up. “What?” he questioned.

“Pronouns. Any are good. I mean, I don’t mind any. I like them all, so. I’d like it if you switched them up,” they said.

“Oh,” Phil said, smiling. “I will.”

Dan still wasn’t sure who Phil would speak to about Dan using any pronouns other than ‘he/him,’ but that was a question for another day. Dan knew Phil understood that as well, turning back to his toast.

“So, they, she, and he?” Phil clarified, wiping the butter from his knife and dropping it into the sink.

Dan felt a flutter in their stomach at the idea of being referred to as they or she. “Yeah. All good,” they said.

“So, like, ‘you should meet my boyfriend—” Phil started, moving to wrap his arms around Dan’s waist. “They’re beautiful, thoughtful, and talented. She has pretty eyes. She has a few freckles and patches of red. Her lips aren’t chapped anymore, which means they’re even better for kissing.” Phil pressed a short kiss to Dan’s lips. “I love them a lot,” he said.

A wide smile spread over Dan’s lips, they could feel their eyes water a bit, and their stomach buzzed with euphoric butterflies. “Yeah, pretty much,” Dan breathed, giggling a bit. “Although I hope you don’t always talk to people like you’re a fourth grader writing a story.”

Phil smiled, pressing another kiss to Dan’s lips. “I’m proud of you, you know,” he said, grabbing his plate of toast and taking a seat at the dining table.

Dan smiled. “I’m proud of me too,” they said.