#but anyway life decided to fuck me over and everything is currently a dumpster fire in my life

[acekindaneat]

some wawa art from twt :]

[tomurasprincess]

Kinktober Day 31: Sexual Slavery (Vaulted Bonds)

Day 31: Sexual Slavery Title: Vaulted Bonds Pairing: League of Villains (Shigaraki, Dabi, Spinner, Kurogiri, Muscular) x Reader Word Count: 6k Warnings: Noncon, dubcon, branding, marking, degradation, misogynist Dabi, double pentration (two cocks in one hole and two cocks in seperate holes), praise kink, soft marking and biting, cumflation, size difference, belly bulge, mist bondage, mist tentacle sex, orgasm denial, daddy kink, pet play (of the puppy variety), watersports, overstimulation, rough sex, creampies Note: Sequel to Vault 68, Kinktober Day 1 gangbang. Thank you so much for everyone’s patience while I finished this. Kinktober was an exhausting, wild, but incredibly amazing experience and I’m glad that I can say I finished it! Even if it’s in March, don’t judge. Also thank you to @tamakisbunnygirl​ for talking this over with me and reading it over for me!

Kinktober Masterlist

Life was so very easy lately.

No fighting for survival, no worrying about radiation, no bandits, super mutants, or anything else to avoid.

No, you simply had to please the villains you were locked up with, allow them to use whatever holes they wanted to use whenever they wanted to use them.

You were unimaginably sore for the first week, something that Spinner noticed instantly. He was always the kinder one, the one who soothed your abused cunt with various creams he found. Dabi laughed, of course. He enjoyed seeing you limp around the vault after a particularly rough session with him.

Muscular did too, although he typically bent you over with a boast of seeing how much more sore he could make you.

Kurogiri was one of the kinder ones as well, although his concern always had a mocking, manipulative flair to it. You could never quite figure the man out, and his lack of expressions on his misty form did not help you read him.

Shigaraki would whisper words about how sorry he was while tracing patterns along your skin in an attempt to soothe you., You would almost think he was acting nice, until he whispered that you still have a mouth you can use, and wasn’t he just the best for letting you use that instead of that currently useless cunt between your legs? Or that tight asshole, it hadn’t been used as much, right? He could use it instead.

Currently, you were in Dabi’s bed waiting for him to get back from grabbing food. He hadn’t touched you yet, and you’re enjoying the peace and quiet until he comes barging in. He has a cruel glint in his eyes, erection already straining against his pants and you can already tell this is going to be a rough time for you.

“Why do you have clothes on?” Dabi instantly says, looking with distaste at the long t-shirt and panties you’re currently wearing. You cringe at the tone in his voice.

“I - I got cold,” you mutter quietly, hoping that he won’t use this as an excuse to be even rougher. But you know Dabi by this point, and you know that punishment is awaiting you. “I’m sorry.”

“Not fucking sorry enough,” he growls, palms lighting up with blue flame as he advances towards you. You instinctively crawl backwards from the fire, wanting to avoid it. But he grabs your ankle and yanks you towards him.

His hand touches your shirt, catching it on fire at the same time as he rips it off your body. He tosses it to the side, pulling your panties off too. He isn’t careful with his flames, and you hiss at the pain, the smell of burning flesh rising up and hitting your nose. You glance down and see a small, singed mark on your flesh to join the rest of the bruises and burns on your body from the rest of them.

“Your skin looks so beautiful with burns, doll,” Dabi snorts, “I dunno why I haven’t covered you with them even more.” He holds you down with one hand as he unzips his pants, although holding you down isn’t necessary anymore.

You’ve already learned what happens when you resist Dabi.

He guides himself to your already wet pussy, lining up and snapping his hips to fill you with one sharp thrust. You let out a gasp, still unprepared for the Jacob’s Ladder running up his length despite how many times he’s fucked you at this point.

“You like that, whore?” He chuckles as his hands wrap around your neck. “This is all you’re good for.” He sets a fast pace, barely giving you any time to get used to him. “You’re nothing but a fucking hole for me to use.” You choke and splutter as his grip tightens around your throat, hands reaching up to claw at his arms as you try to get air into your lungs.

The Jacob’s ladder piercing grinds against your g-spot, and despite everything, you feel the tension building up inside of you as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your lungs burn with the need for air, black spots appearing at the edge of your vision. “You look so fucking good like this,” Dabi laughs sadistically.

Just when you think you’re about to pass out, he releases your throat and you take deep gulping breaths. The lack of oxygen and the insistent grinding of the piercings against your inner walls has your orgasm even more intense as the tension inside of you snaps.

You moan as your pussy flutters and clenches around Dabi’s cock, and he snickers. “Fucking whore, getting off to me choking you.”

His hands reach up to grip your breasts, kneading the soft flesh roughly as he tweaks your nipples. They’re quickly hard and standing at attention as he continues to pound into your now dripping pussy, and you whine as you feel yourself building back up to another orgasm.

“Dabi, please - “

“Please what? You want to cum again, whore? I already gave you a freebie, so you better fucking beg like your life depends on it.”

“Please, I want to cum, please let me cum!”

“Tell me you’re a whore, that the only good thing about you are these fucking holes. You’re nothing but something for me to fuck, a cum dumpster”

You cringe at the words, knowing that he’ll punish you if you don’t do what he says. And as much as you hate it, you know you want to cum again.

“I’m a whore! I’m nothing but holes for you to fuck, Dabi!”

“Be more convincing,” he snarls as his hands heat up on your hips, causing you to scream as he singes your skin.

“I’m nothing but a whore for you to use! I’m a cumdumpster, I’m a useless whore only good for you to fuck!”

His hands heat up even more as his finger comes up to trace patterns on your skin. Tears run freely down your face as you smell burning flesh yet again. You don’t want to, but you find yourself glancing down anyway, wanting to see what he’s doing.

When you see the letter D, you know exactly what he intends to do.

You try to hold still as much as you can, not wanting to make this even worse. But the pain is so extreme, and he continues to fuck you even through what he’s doing. The conflicting feelings has your head spinning, unsure whether to feel the pain or the pleasure. Ultimately, you decide to focus on the pleasure. It’s shameful, but at least it’s not agony.

By the time he finishes his name, you’re cumming again with a choked sob as you squeeze his cock. “Fuck, you really are a little painslut aren’t you? Good, because I fucking love hurting you.”

His pace stutters, becoming uneven as he thrusts right against your cervix and shoots hot ropes of cum against it. You whimper as you feel the heat spreading through your core, body trembling from both pain and pleasure.

He pulls out abruptly, stroking himself out the rest of the way as he shoots cum on your new burn. You sob as it hits the wound, stinging like fire as you writhe around on the bed.

Dabi stands up, throwing your t-shirt at you as he points to the door. “You can get the fuck out now, whore. Don’t want you dirtying up the place any more than you already have.”

You give a nod as you stand up on shaky legs, pulling the shirt over your head as you wobble towards the door. You’re able to make it outside before you collapse on the floor. Spinner just happens to be in the hallway, and he rushes over to you.

“Oh god, are you okay?” He leans down, lifting your shirt up as he stares at the burn on your hip. “That brute,” he whispers quietly, picking you up in his arms as he carries you to his room. “Let me take care of you.”

He lays you down in the bed as he looks for one of his many soothing creams and a washcloth. He dabs at the burn as gently as he can, trying to get as much of the now dried cum off your skin as he can before applying a burn cream.

“Does that feel better?” He asks a bit shyly, only now noticing how undressed you are. He’s always been on the shy side, the one most hesitant to take advantage of you. Although that hadn’t stopped him.

“Yeah, it does. Thank you, Spinner.” He preens a bit at the praise, one of his claws tracing a light pattern down your stomach.

“Can I - “ He trails off, unable to finish the sentence as he glances away. You know exactly what he’s asking, and you give a soft sigh as you nod your head.

He blushes a bit as he lifts your shirt up, making an angry noise as he touches each of the bruises and burns Dabi left on your body. “He is so rough with you,” he admonishes the other man, “you should be cherished like the jewel you really are.”

He slides down your body until he reaches your thighs, leaning down between your legs as he tentatively licks your folds. “You taste so good,” he moans as his tongue dives into your heated flesh.

Spinner’s tongue works its way inside of you, causing you to let out a choked moan as you lay back and let take care of you. He takes the back of his knuckle as he rubs your swollen clit, careful not to touch you with claws.

His tongue fucks you like a cock would, getting far deeper than a normal man’s tongue as the tip grazes your cervix. The feeling drives you mad, and you already feel the pressure of your muscles tightening up. “Spinner, don’t stop - “

He hums against your skin as he keeps tongue fucking you, quickening the pace as he feels you clench down around his tongue. His knuckle works against your clit, only increasing the pleasure as you finally topple over the edge. He licks up your juices as you gush around his mouth like he’s starving before pulling away.

In no time at all, you hear clothes beginning to shuffle and two cocks spring up from his pants. They’re both huge, and you always have a moment of doubt that they’ll fit inside of you.

But despite how kind Spinner is, he’s always determined to make them fit. You briefly wonder if he’ll put one in your ass and one in your pussy, or if he’ll simply fill you up with both of them. You don’t know which one you prefer.

When you feel him rubbing his cocks along your slick, you instantly know what he intends to do. A secret thrill runs through you at the thought of being so completely full.

He begins to push inside of you gently, your wetness aiding him in moving. You let out a broken moan as you feel your pussy stretch to accommodate him, head thrown back as your legs shake. He gets past your tight outer ring of muscle and keeps going, the ridges and scales along his cock pressing against your walls in such an amazing way that you cum just from the feeling alone.

“Fuck, Spinner - “

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re doing so well, sweetie.” Your previous orgasms have loosened you up enough that he’s able to bottom out inside of you relatively easily, stilling for a while to allow you to adjust. “So beautiful,” he murmurs as he strokes a claw down your face. “So amazing, you feel so good around me.”

You preen at the praise, always loving how kindly he treats you.

He waits until you give him a quick nod to indicate you’re ready before he begins to move, and you let out a wail as he starts to thrust. You feel so impossibly full, so amazing that you wish you could always feel this full.

“Spinner, please, faster!”

He instantly obeys you, grabbing your hips to force you back onto his cock. His heavy balls smack against the curve of your ass with every sharp thrust, and you can hear the wet noises of your bodies joining as they fill the room.

“So damned good, so tight for me - you’re squeezing my cock so well, sweetie.”

“I’m going to - “

He moves to start rubbing your clit as soon as the words leave your mouth. “Then cum for me, I wanna see how pretty you look when you’re cumming around my cocks.”

The tension snaps as you clench down around him, gasping and moaning as your body convulses. “It - feels so good - “

Spinner groans as his teeth sink into the meat of your neck, marking you just as surely as Dabi did. Feeling you squeeze around him is more than he can handle, and he follows you into orgasm. Both cocks shoot ropes of cum into you, and you can feel it leaking out around him. Your belly bulges just a bit, a sight that leaves Spinner feral as he thrusts his way through his own orgasm.

Finally his cocks become too sensitive, and he pulls out as he collapses beside you. He pulls you into his arms, cooing sweet words at you as you curl up against his warm scales. “You did so well for me, sweetie.”

He brushes the bite mark on your neck, wanting to feel bad but loving the sign of possession that he left on you. He traces over the bite mark with a claw.

You smile at the tenderness, needing this after Dabi’s rough ministrations. You could stay like this for hours, if it weren’t for Muscular bursting through the door.

“It’s my turn with the toy,” Muscular instantly demands, and Spinner reluctantly releases you as Muscular grabs you. He throws you over his shoulder, carrying you out like a caveman dragging you into his lair.

He takes you immediately to his room, throwing you down on the bed and wasting no time unzipping his pants. “You had Spinner’s cocks shoved up there, so I don’t need to prep you, do I?” Muscular snicks as he frees his massive cock from his pants, not even bothering to get fully undressed before he’s lining himself up with your entrance.

“Wait, please go easy on - “

But it’s too late, and he’s already buried inside of you. Muscular’s singular cock is still bigger even than Spinner’s two, and you feel like you’re going to tear without preparation. He doesn’t bother to let you adjust, pounding into you instantly and drawing tears from your eyes. You feel so fucking full, almost painful in the fullness and he’s only just started.

“Such a good cunt,” he growls out as his fingers dig into the plush flesh of your thighs. He lifts you up onto his lap so that he can thrust up into you faster, getting even deeper and causing you to squeeze around him. “So fucking tight, I can barely move. But I can fix that.”

You feel his cock begin to expand inside of you, and your eyes widen in fear and terror. “Please, no!”

But it’s too late, having already activated his quirk to make his cock bigger. Your walls stretch even more, and you howl as you’re thrown into a sudden orgasm. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, body convulsing as you’re fucked ruthlessly through your orgasm. “Please, too much - “

“I’m not done with your fucking cunt yet,” he snarls as his cock shrinks just a bit, leaving more room for him to thrust even harder. “Going to fill you up so fucking well, gonna make sure you can’t walk for a fucking week.”

You don’t doubt that, having experienced this many times already. You whine and whimper as he jackhammers into you, not even bothering to touch your clit in a mad rush to cum as quickly as he can.

When he finally cums, he forces his way up to your cervix as he cums directly against it. There is so much cum that you can feel your belly begin to bulge, see the little pocket of cum that he’s filling you with. You cum one last time, screaming out your orgasm. Your fluttering walls force some of his cum out of you, causing it to make a mess of the bed underneath you and coating Muscular’s thick thighs.

He pants a bit, relaxing for a second before you can feel him begin to harden inside of you again.

“No, please, it’s too much, I can’t -”

“I fucking say when it’s too much, slut,” he growls at you as he begins to thrust again. This time, he manages to be even rougher with you, fingers digging bruises into your skin as he fucks up into your tight heat. “Wanna fill you up, see that belly bulge even more.”

You whimper as you feel him begin to twitch, relieved that he’s going to cum so quickly while also dreading what happens afterwards. He cums with a grunt, even more cum shooting from the head of his cock. The skin of your belly stretches lewdly, the bulge becoming even more noticeable as the cum is trapped inside of you, unable to leak out around his cock.

He pulls out and strokes himself off the rest of the way on your stomach where the bulge is, coating your skin with hot cum. He reaches down to press against the bulge, laughing sadistically when his cum gushes out of you and soaks his bed. He drops you almost instantly onto the wet spot, standing up and walking towards the door.

“I’m done,” he declares before simply leaving the room. You take a few minutes to recover, rolling out of the bed and collapsing to your knees, unable to hold yourself up on your legs. But you find yourself not needing to walk as a portal opens up underneath you, dropping you into the arms of Kurogiri.

“I think it’s time that you spend some time with your daddy, don’t you?” The man muses, cradling you in his arms as he lays you down on the floor. Mist springs up around you, wrapping around your arms and holding you down. It also swirls up around your legs, forcing you to spread them open and reveal yourself to his gaze.

“That was a question.” Kurogiri says in a dark voice, and you know that means he wants an answer.

“Yes daddy,” you whisper to him, face flushing at having to call him that.

“Good girl,” he praises you, and you feel warmth rise up in you at the praise. “Be good for daddy and he’ll be good to you. Do you understand?”

“Yes daddy.”

You feel one of the cold misty tendrils probing at your ass, and your eyes widen as it begins to push inside. Kurogiri chuckles as he lowers himself to the floor, hand coming down to unzip his dress pants and pull his cock out. You can never tell just how big he is because of the shadows and mist around it, but you know how big it feels inside of you.

Your legs are spread even wider as he settles himself in between them, sliding easily in because of all of the wetness down there. He bottoms out almost instantly before setting a slow but steady pace. One of the tendrils attaches itself to your clit, sucking and pulling at the sore bead and causing you to let out a broken moan.

“It feels so good - “ you moan before remembering to add, “daddy”

“You can’t cum without my permission, do you understand?”

“Yes daddy, I understand.”

But you can already feel the tension at the insistent suckling of your clit by the mist, and you squirm as you try to think of anything else but the pressure building up inside of you. You throw your head from side to side, legs shaking and quivering at the strain of trying not to cum.

“Can I cum, daddy? Please let me cum!”

“Hmm, I don’t think you’ve been a good enough girl yet. Should bad girls cum before their daddies?”

“N-n-no,” you whisper.” Your nails dig into the palms of your hands, hoping the pain will distract you from the need to cum. But it only adds to the pleasure, causing you to almost topple over the edge.

“Daddy,” you whine, “I can’t hold out - “

The wet smacking of his balls hitting the curve of your ass fill the room as he roughly fucks you, pulling almost all the way out of you before slamming back inside. “Yes you can, you’re such a good girl.”

You really want to be a good girl, and so you distract yourself as much as you can. You think of anything and everything, trying to ignore the tendril still attached to your clit. Just when you think you can’t hold out anymore, you feel him begin to throb inside of you.

“Cum now! Cum along with daddy!”

You wail as you obey his command, body shaking as you’re thrown over the edge. Your orgasm is intense and powerful, and he simply fucks you harder through it. You feel warmth spreading through you as he finishes along with you.

“You were such a good girl, daddy is going to reward you.”

You know what his rewards can be, know that sometimes they don’t feel like rewards at all. And this time won’t be any different, as you feel a tendril of mist push against your ass and worm its way inside.

“Daddy, I don’t -” You trail off, not wanting to finish your sentence. Refusing a reward would result in a punishment, something that you did not want.

“Yes? What was that?” His voice takes on a dangerous tone, and you shake your head.

“Nothing. Thank you for a reward, daddy.”

His chest rumbles with laughter. A larger tendril comes to your abused cunt, pushing inside of you as well. “Good girl, don’t fight this.”

The tendrils take turns thrusting inside of you, one pulling out while the other one thrusts inside. The rhythm has your head spinning, stomach tightening up as you near an orgasm. In a near panic, you begin to beg.

“Daddy, can I cum? Please let me cum!”

“This is a reward, little girl. You may cum.”

You breathe a sigh of relief as you’re thrown over the edge, screaming out your orgasm.

“Hey, Kurogiri, I need - “ Shigaraki pauses, laughing in amusement as he sees you cumming around Kurogiri’s mist tentacles. “Oh, I see you’re busy,” he mocks.

“No, we were almost done if you want a turn.”

“I think I do, actually. It’s been a while since I’ve had a turn with my puppy.”

You cringe at the term, knowing exactly the degrading things Shigaraki is going to force you to do.

“I actually got you something, puppy.” He laughs sadistically, pulling out a leash and collar. “Isn’t it cute?”

Your eyes widen with horror, not wanting that to go around your neck. But Shigaraki’s eyes narrow at your lack of response. “Am I going to have to punish my puppy already?”

“N-n-no, you don’t have to punish me!”

“I think I do, since you left off the master,” his voice takes on a dark tone, and you wince.

“I’m sorry, master! You don’t have to punish me, master!”

“So you’ll wear the collar like a good puppy?”

“Yes master,” you say, defeated.

“Good puppy.” Kurogiri’s mist dissolves, leaving you on the floor in a destroyed heap. Shigaraki reaches down, showing you the collar and what it says.

Shigaraki’s Puppy. If lost, please return.

Tears run down your face as he attaches the collar around your neck, locking it in place and pocketing the key.

The key? You realize instantly that it’s not something you can ever take off yourself. You’re stuck with it for as long as Shigaraki wants you to be stuck with it.

He attaches the collar to the leash, yanking you upwards with it. “Get on all fours like a puppy.”

You obey, sensing his volatile mood already and not wanting a punishment. “Now, I’m going to take you for a walk.”

“Can - can I get dressed, at least?” You hated the thought of being paraded around the vault with absolutely no clothes.

“No. Puppies don’t wear clothes.”

You sniffle a bit as you walk on all fours, feeling absolutely humiliated. You trail behind him as he leads you to his room, slamming the door shut behind him. Your stomach growls, not having eaten, and he instantly hears. “Oh, that reminds me. I got you another present.”

He pushes two bowls towards you on the floor.

A food and water bowl for pets.

“If you want to eat, then you better eat like a good little puppy. You glance up at him to see him smirking at you, almost daring you to refuse. You let out a soft sob as you crawl towards the bowls, reaching to pick one up before he snaps at you.

“Puppies don’t pick up their bowls.”

More tears run down your face as you lower yourself down, beginning to eat from the bowl as best as you can. Everything you have been through so far, all of the abuses, and this was one of the worst. Your body absolutely burns with humiliation as you lean down to get water from your bowl.

Once you’re done, Shigaraki drags you up, throwing you down onto the bed and climbing onto you. “Now, I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to be a good puppy.”

You give a quick nod, glancing away as you try to mentally prepare yourself. He wastes no time after your agreement, thrusting deep inside of you with one quick snap of his hips.

You realize something instantly.

You have to pee.

“Master, I - I need to pee,” you whisper quietly, hoping against hope that he’ll stop long enough to let you go to the bathroom.

“Oh? Then fucking go. Puppies don’t use toilets.”

“I - oh no, I can’t, please don’t make me - “

“Here, I’ll even help you.” He begins to press down on your bladder, and you squeal as you feel a bit of pee leak out. You clamp your muscles down, desperately trying to hold it. But it’s no use, and you squirm to try and relieve the pressure.

“Please stop, I don’t wanna - “

“Do it, puppy. Piss all over me.” He presses down harder, and you can’t hold out anymore. You wail as your bladder releases, pissing all over Shigaraki’s cock as he fucks you through it. He thrusts your piss back inside of you, the disgusting sloshing noises of your pussy causing you to wince and want to die with embarrassment.

He reaches down to smack you across the face. “Bad puppy, messing like that in the house.”

You whine as he continues to fuck you, smacking your other cheek as well. It’s humiliating more than it hurts, only being a small sting as he puts no real force behind it. But you still feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m sorry master, I’m so sorry, please - “

“I should make you lick it up,” he growls, and you panic at the thought.

“Master, please no!”

He snorts as he flips you over onto all fours, forcing your head down to the bed as he begins to slam into you. His balls hit your clit and cause you to squeeze around him, and he laughs. “You like being my puppy, don’t you?”

“Yes, master,” you say quickly, not wanting to anger him. He aims for a spot inside of you that makes you see stars, reaching around to take your clit in between two fingers as he strokes you. You whine as you push back to meet his thrusts, seeking your own orgasm. “It feels so good, master!”

“Yeah? Then cum for your master.”

You finish at the same time as he does, feeling warmth spreading through you yet again as he cums inside of you. You whimper as your body trembles, collapsing against the bed in sheer exhaustion.

“Now what do you say?” Shigaraki prods at you, seeking only one answer.

“Thank you master.”

“Good pet.” He pats your head like he would a real dog, and you’re shamed to find yourself enjoying his attention.

“Now come on,” he demands, pulling on your leash. You wince as you slide off the bed, getting on all fours as you crawl into the main area of the vault. Everyone is there, and you burn with humiliation at all of them seeing you like this.

“Now that’s how all sluts should be,” Dabi snorts at the sight of you on all fours. “Naked, with cum dripping from their filthy little cunts.”

Spinner scoffs. “You don’t have to always be so crude, Dabi.”

“I wouldn’t have to be so crude if she wasn’t such a fucking slut.”

Dabi seems to get an idea in his head as he says that, smirk coming across his face. “You know, I have an idea.”

Your heart sinks into your chest at Dabi having any sort of idea that causes that smirk to be across his face. You know you won’t like it, not one bit.

“It’s been a while since we’ve all shared her, isn’t it? I think the little slut deserves to be completely ruined.”

He walks over to you, grabbing your leash from Shigaraki who allows it, watching with deep interest. He sits down on the floor, picking you up by your waist and prodding at your still tight asshole. “I think I wanna fuck you here,” he murmurs as he lowers you down on his cock. You whimper and whine as he slides into you balls deep.

Shigaraki already has his hard cock out, pressing the tip against your mouth. “Open wide, puppy.”

You open your mouth and he instantly shoves himself in, aiming for the back of your throat immediately. You barely remember to breathe through your nose, preventing yourself from gagging around his length. To your horror, you see the rest of the League walking over to you with purpose.

Muscular gets down on the floor facing Dabi, moving you to his massive cock. “I didn’t get her pussy last time we shared her, so it’s mine this time around.” Dabi snorts as he slows his movements, allowing Muscular to line up and begin to push inside. You’re already stretched out from everything else, but the sting still hurts as he slams against your cervix.

You want to complain, ask them to go slower, but Shigaraki begins to face fuck you, balls smacking aganst your chin with every thrust. “Fuck, puppy has gotten so good at sucking cock,” he grunts out as he feels his balls tighten.

“This cunt feels pretty fucking good too,” Muscular laughs as he activates his quirk, causing your eyes to widen in alarm as you feel him begin to grow inside of you again. Your walls stretch and stretch until you think they can’t possibly stretch anymore, but finally he stops before he tears you.

“Fuck, Muscular, the fuck did you just do? She got even tighter, holy fuck,” Dabi manages to grunt out, still pounding into your aching ass. “Keep it up.”

Muscular begins to move, slamming into you with powerful thrusts that has your head spinning. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Spinner take his cocks out and begin to stroke them furiously as he watches you be ruined by the other villains.

Kurogiri also stands nearby, cock out of his pants as he fists his length roughly. “My little girl does look so good like this,” he muses out loud.

Muscular groans as he nears his end, usually the first to cum as he never bothers to savor sex, instead choosing to seek his own orgasm. “Gonna fill this little cunt,” he manages to say as he shoots ropes of cum into you that leak out around his cock. “Fuck yes, so good - “

He pulls out when it becomes too much, and Spinner eagerly takes his place. “I want this pretty little pussy,” Spinner says as he enters you easily due to how much Muscular was able to stretch you out. “Feels so good to have both cocks inside, shit!”

“This dirty ass is pretty good too, so damned tight. You were fucking made for this, little cockslut,” Dabi grunts out, his pace becoming more erratic. “Gonna cum,” he manages to say before he follows through, causing warmth to spread through your ass.

Shigaraki is close too, as you can feel him begin to twitch inside of your mouth. He pulls out however, painting your face with white as he strokes his orgasm out. “Gotta love a facial,” he chuckles as Dabi snorts.

Kurogiri nears his orgasm as well, cumming on your tits as he lets out a soft groan. Only Spinner is left inside of you, and he goes feral on your pussy as he begins to pound you. He lifts up your legs so he can penetrate you deeper, and you cum with a strangled cry as you squirt around him.

You collapse completely, unable to hold yourself up anymore. And what’s when you all hear it.

The loud, clanging sound of the vault’s locking mechanism disengaging.

“The hell?” Dabi says as he sits up, walking over to the door and swinging the vault door open. It swings easily, revealing the stairs that lead to the outside world. “Guess it’s already been a month, huh.”

Hope blooms within you. Maybe they’ll let you go now, maybe you can be free of the hell they’ve put you through.

Shigaraki must be able to read the thoughts on your face, as he speaks up. “You know, puppy...you could just stay with us. Surely you don’t want to go back outside with the raiders, super mutants, and ghouls?”

You freeze for a second. You’ve been in a bubble of safety, having almost forgotten about all the dangers of the outside world. “I don’t - I mean, I was able to protect myself before - “

Dabi scoffs. “You’re a weak little slut who was hiding out in this vault instead of protecting yourself outside.”

Kurogiri joins in. “It wasn’t so bad being with us, was it? We’d protect you if you stay with us.”

Muscular shrugs. “Seems fair enough to me. We protect her and get to use all those holes anytime we want.”

“I - I really like you,” Spinner begins shyly, “and would love for you to stay with us.”

Now that you’re finally given a choice, the first one you’ve truly had for the past month, you are paralyzed.

The choice to leave the men behind, or to tackle the outside world. The vault isn’t sealed anymore, and there’s no guarantee of safety. Raiders take over vaults all the time, after all, and who is to say that won’t happen to this one?

But really; maybe they aren’t so bad. The fact that they are willing to let you go is more than you thought possible.

When you say the words that will seal your fate, everyone is happy.

You; because you made a choice of your own free will to stay with them.

And them; because they knew their broken little toy had no choice at all.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚❋ ❋ ❋˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧ 

Kinktober: @thewheezingwyvern​, @vixen-scribbles​, @hisoknen​, @trafalgar-temptress​, @wings-flames-and-ashes​, @bakugotrashpanda​, @kittycatkrissa​, @reinawritesbnha​, @dabilove27​, @anxietyplusultra​, @angmarwitch​, @nereida19​, @babayaga67​, @fromsunnywithlove​, @bakugos-cumsock​, @yumeneji​, @the-grimm-writer​, @iwaizumi-chan​, @slashersheart​, @bunnyywritings​, @bakarinnie​, @angie-1306​, @lalalemon101​, @videogameboiwhowins​, @f4nficbaby​, @bbyspiiice​,  @thirstyforthem2dmen​, @blissfulignorance2000​, @bluecookies02-main​, @aryjaa​, @theodora3022​, @raekah​, @ineedmorefanfics​, @serosmissingtoe​, @deathmemeiverse​, @miscellaneous-bnha​

[veganmikehanlon]

10 and 25 for hanbrough if you please! otherwise any pairing will do ♥

you know that thing where u can’t even search ur own blog for something you /literally/ tagged? this was something like…idk something but it reminded me of something i already wrote so i Really have no reason for not posting it sooner other than procrastination being my middle name so anyways, this:

Mike doesn’t mean to start writing a sex scene while sitting in a Starbucks, but he’d tried writing at home, well it’s just his parents house now, and his mom kept walking in trying to talk to him. So he left the old farmhouse and drove into his newly modernized hometown of good ol’ Derry, Maine.

It’d started with a piece of his story inspiring a memory from his own sex life. Something he’d done forever ago with an ex. Secretly, in a tent. Surrounded by friends. Not their most shining moment but it was hot and applicable to his current story.

He’s in the middle of writing about tongues sliding together when his eyes are drawn to the sound of the shop door opening. He almost chokes when he sees who it is walking in. Well, daydream about sex with your ex and he shall appear. Mike ducks behind his things to hide because he’s panicking.

Mike watches Bill walk to the counter, he observes the broad lines of his shoulders move under familiar flannel; and how the end of his short blond french braid, mostly held together by multi-colored bobby-pins, brushes the collar in a physical reminder of how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other.

He walks through the room with the same gentle confidence that he always had, and it still draws the same admiring gazes from those around him. Mike’s eyes flicker between Bill and his computer screen, the incriminating words screaming at him, and then he catches sight of Bills’ smile and the perfect adjective pops into his head.

Just like that he’s writing again, more caught up in his story than he’s been in the last 30 minutes. Words stream from his fingertips and a scene unfolds, bits and pieces of Mike’s past slipping through, and just as he’s writing a description of how exciting it is to make someone moan as loud as you can make them laugh, he’s interrupted.

“Hi,” a soft voice calls, startling Mike from his head making him jump and hit his knees against the table, a move that almost sends his coffee toppling, but two pairs of hands shoot out to catch the wobbling cup. Bills’ hand settles warmly over Mike’s before he draws it back with an awkward chuckle.

A shiver runs through Mike as Bill’s fingers brush over his knuckles, and he looks up at the man before him with wide eyes. “Hi,” he squeaks, this entire situation sending him careening out of his comfort zone. Bill clears his throat before speaking (an old habit) “sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he says with a wince.

Mike chuckles nervously, his voice coming out a bit high and strained, “it’s okay I was just, um, writing.” This might be the most uncomfortable he’s ever been in his life. But Bill looks excited and he falls into the chair opposite Mike, setting his coffee and a notebook down on the open space.

“You’re writing?” He asks, a smile spreading across his face, and Mike has to smile back because oh yeah, they’d once shared everything with each other and Bill knows all about Mikes’ commitment-phobia to writing.

Mike quickly switches programs, an attempt at putting the niggling guilt in his chest away. “Yeah, just this story for this thing,” he answers vaguely, and they pause for an awkward second before Bill starts to ramble. “I’ve been working on drawing (a sentence that makes Mike proud too), I’m in a portrait class right now at school, and I came here to people watch and I saw you, and I was wondering if you’d mind if I practiced drawing you?”

Mike gasps softly in surprise at the request, “uh, what? You want to draw me?” The words fall from his mouth without his input, any functional part of his brain currently caught in a dumpster fire, set by this stupid story that is making an already uncomfortable situation of running into an ex just that much worse!

And then Bill is talking again, “well my art style has changed and I thought it’d be cool to get a comparison, you  know, a then and now? It’s cool if you don’t want me to, no biggie, just thought I’d ask, but actually? Never mind,” he starts gathering his things into his arms, “sorry for bothering you, it was nice seeing you, bye!”

He starts to get up but stops when Mike bursts out laughing, his cheeks reddening, and he stays frozen uncomfortably. And Mike doesn’t mean to, but seeing Bill so obviously out of his comfort zone has him cracking up, the situation making him feel hysterical, and he can’t quite stop the laughter bubbling out.

Mike manages enough words to get Bill to settle back down. “Hey man it’s cool, it’s good seeing you too, you know me, I love to help.” Bill settles back into the seat and flips his sketchbook open with an eye roll. Mike can’t help but tease him, he starts shifting through different dramatic poses, making Bill laugh loudly. A hand behind his head, his bicep bulging, Thinking Man pose, his smile barely suppressed-

And Mike ends his display by lewdly flicking his tongue between his fingers. “Jesus Mike!” Bill sputters out between laughs and Mike raises his hands in an innocent gesture, his own laughs ringing out through the space between them. “Sorry, I’m done!” He surrenders with an amused snort.

Bill sticks his tongue out childishly at him and flips the pages of his notebook to a blank page, “just go back to what you were doing weirdo,” he says softly and Mike lets out another laugh before following his directions. Well, not exactly since he’d literally been writing about his and Bill’s sex life. Oops.

He fucks around on his computer for a bit, opening and closing a few homework assignments (yeah right like he’d be able to concentrate right now), editing bits and pieces in other stories, he even plays a couple rounds of solitaire. But his attention is scattered after three lattes (that’s 2…4…6 espresso shots) and the adrenaline rushing through him from Bill sitting across from him drawing him which requires Bill to look at him with his blue as fuck eyes-

“Hey you wanna go somewhere?” The question bursts from Mike and he cringes at the abruptness. “Wait, you’re drawing, never mind,” Mike amends with a shake of his head. But Bill just flips his book closed with a simple “yep,” and starts chugging the last bit of his coffee.

Mike packs up quickly and, swinging his backpack over his shoulders, follows Bill out of the shop.

“Holy shit, is that Silver?” Mike exclaims incredulously when they walk outside. Bill laughs and leads the way to the old bike where it’s locked up by the building. “Yeah, Georgie didn’t wanna give up the car, so I’m stuck with her.” Bill explains. Mike runs a hand over the handlebars with a small smile, “seems smaller than she used to,” he comments, nostalgia rushing through him. Bill hums in agreement, “easier to handle too,” he comments steadily belaying the nervous shake in his next words, “and still big e-e-enough to ruh-ride double.”

Mike grins excitedly, “why Mr. Denbrough, are you going to show me a good time around town?” Bill’s face lights up with a wide grin and giggling, he unlocks his bike quickly, “it’d be my puh-pleasure, Mr. Hanlon.” They drop their things in Mike’s truck before racing recklessly out of the parking lot, Bill pedaling frantically and Mike hanging on tight to his waist, praying he doesn’t go flying off the back of the bike.

It’s weird spending all day with an ex, but they’d been best friends for just as long as they dated, and it’s as easy as it’s always been. They ride through the streets of Derry just like when they were kids, taking turns too fast and speeding over bumps. Mike’s teeth click together but it barely registers over the barrage of other sensations. The softness of Bill’s waist under his hands, the warmth between his back and Mike’s chest, the soft blond hairs flying into his face where they come loose from the braid and bobby pins.

It’s a lot of old and new sensations that has Mike’s head spinning.

They ride until Bill complains of shin splints, his face red and a little sweaty. Mike totally doesn’t think of licking the sweat from his brow because that would be weird. They ride back to Starbucks and load Silver into Mike’s truck. They sit in the cab, unsure where to go from here. They decide to live out the nostalgia further, and head to the barrens.

“Can you help me get all these out?” Bill asks gesturing to the many bobby-pins in his hair. Mike pats the spot on the truck bed next to him and Bill sighs a “thank you” as he sits with his back turned to him. Mike begins to gently pull the clips from his hair, doing his best not to pull knowing full well Bill is tender-headed.

He brushes the hair out with his fingers as it’s freed in sections until all the pins are out and Bill’s hair is a wild mane framing his face. Bill had shifted to face him when Mike got to the sections held back in the front, and Mike watches his face carefully. His eyes are closed and his face is relaxed in contentment. He’s always liked having his hair played with, no doubt part of the inspiration to grow it out.

Mike finds himself fiddling with the ends of his hair, carefully brushing it back from his face. He’s too distracted watching the soft strands fall through his fingers to notice Bills’ eyes have opened to watch him.

They used to lay in bed together, Bill on Mike’s chest, while Mike would drag a hand through Bill’s hair while they cooled down. Sometimes they would talk and other times they would lay in silence, just letting themselves feel the moment.

Lost in his thoughts Mike doesn’t notice Bill moving his face slowly closer, or how his hand has ceased it’s ministrations running through soft blond hair to rest gently on his cheek, he doesn’t realize he’s guiding Bill’s lips to his own until they’re barely a breath apart. And then soft lips land on his and awareness comes crashing over him.

They both freeze for a second, they’re mouths held stiff against the other, and then Mike opens his mouth slightly to pull Bills’ bottom lip in between his. And with that Bill is pushing forward and Mike unfolds his legs so he can slot in-between his knees. They kiss desperately, mouths moving together hot and slick. Mike moans softly at the feeling.

And then he’s pushing away because holy shit, “did you-“ he pants and Bill moves to kiss his neck at the interruption, unwilling to stop whatever this is. Mike is totally okay with that but, “you didn’t eat meat today did you?”

Bill stops his traveling lips, body going stiff in the not fun way. It may have been something they used to argue about when they were dating, Mike thought it was gross to kiss Bill after he’d eaten meat, and Bill didn’t get what the big deal was. Mike thinks maybe he ruined the moment but then Bill is grinding his hips down into him and he drag his lips up Mike’s neck to his ear, making him keen at the sensations, his own hips stuttering to meet the boy’s above him.

“Not yet,” Bill whispers grinding down into the v of Mike’s hips harshly, drawing a groan from the man that quickly turns into laughter. Throwing his head back Mike giggles loud and uncontrollably. “Seriously?” He laughs breathlessly, Bill sucking a mark on his neck. He pulls back to look into Mike’s eyes. “Seriously. Your nagging finally got through my thick skull.” Bill says with an eye roll followed by a wink.

“Wow, fuck, that was such a fucking turn on.” Mike says drawing Bill closer with a hand on the back of his neck and kisses him passionately.

[i-want-to-be-manhandled]

more trans ramblings (tramblings?) - to T or not to T, that is the question

so i’m writing this so i have some thoughts to show my therapist next week instead of scouring my brain for them but im posting it on the internet instead of keeping it in a word document or some shit cause i need some of y’all to relate and i’m already way too personal on here anyways. and also at this point this is my personal blog too, i’ve given up entirely on keeping it just for video games. tl;dr: please tell me i am not the only one with stupid amounts of doubt going against the stupid amounts of evidence that i am very transgender. 

tw: long post, doubts, testosterone/hrt effects discussed in detail, (don’t read this if you know me irl and haven’t personally talked with me about being trans? otherwise go ahead), nsfw cause we’re talking about genitals but mostly towards the end of the second to last paragraph (i’ll strike the nsfw stuff), mention of rape but no discussion of it happening, lemme know if i missed anything

so as my last transpost said im very excited for my hysto that im nowhere near getting but im flip-flopping as to whether or not i want to go on t. i know i can get it fairly quickly if i decide i do want it. there’s a trans health clinic in walking distance from where i am moving in 23 days, i have 3 therapists who will write me a letter of recommendation for testosterone, and my mother even found me the trans health clinic so she’ll try to find me somewhere else to go if they don’t take me in for some reason. (having a supportive mom is great i don’t miss her crying about how hard it is to have a trans kid in january and february.) and i’ve looked thoroughly at the effects of testosterone and have sorted them into pros, neutrals, and cons. (posting it here again mostly bc i need to do it but i also need some of yall to relate and/or validate me and/or answer my weird questions)

pros:

voice drop. im so tired of having a squeaky voice which is exacerbated by me always being anxious, and my sister has a deeper voice than me and always tries to sing ridiculously low parts to stretch it for some reason which makes me feel insecure. and apparently my voice is “always squeaky” according to my dad and like? shit man i pass until i talk that’s just the tea. 

i dont even care if i have a super deep voice, i actually think i’d rather be a solid tenor because that’s the vocal range of most of my favorite songs, but i want to sound like a man when i talk and not an 8 year old girl

side note apparently a lot of trans guys have male “internal voices” but mine just sounds like how i sound when i talk because i’m a very literal person and that’s why it took me forever to figure out i was trans and not having a male internal voice makes me dysphoric sometimes and even doubt that i’m trans at all... that’s dumb af i know it’s just my literal personality type not me actually being a girl

more muscle. i dont work out as it is right now but if i knew i’d see results the way i want them then i probably would. also im getting ripped during the school year anyways bc i walk everywhere with a 15-20 pound backpack strapped to me so i’m at least gonna look semi muscular which is what i want anyways. please give me strength quite literally i can barely lift bro

bottom growth. ik it’s still not going to be ~enough~ or whatever but i’d have... something? that would be nice. 

side note would packers start to be uncomfortable with something there bc i wonder about that sometimes. not that mine is super uncomfortable now or anything (i just haven’t figured out how to make it sit right) but i wonder about that

NO PERIODS NO PERIODS NO PERIODS NO PERIODS NO PERIODS

if im one of those guys whose periods dont stop on t i am actually going to perform a hysto on myself

fat shifting from hips, thighs and butt to my stomach. i don’t care if i have stomach chub or not, but i DO care that my hips are Like That and my things are Really Girly and i have a fucking Girl Butt TM like please just let me Not Have These Problems

having a more angular face. doesn’t happen to everyone per se but because of my facial structure as it is and also what my dad looked like when he was my age, i probably will get this change. i have actively wished for this since i was 13 and didn’t even know dysphoria was a word. hopefully it makes my lips a little thinner too or at least more masculine.

veins becoming more prominent. i have this one pic of me where it looks like i have Guy Arms and i just wanna look like that all the time ya know

lookin like a dude and passing? that counts right

neutrals:

facial hair. i know a lot of trans guys want this but i’ve never wanted one. i just want a jawline to cut a bitch tbh i’m never having more than stubble except the beard imma wear to my high school reunion

body hair. this is more of a pro-neutral ig bc i want it on my arms and legs but would prefer not to have a lot on my chest and stomach. fortunately i dont think my dad has a whole lot but i’m a pretty hairy afab person as it is i just dont wanna be a werewolf lmao

hair loss at temples. i just don’t care about my hairline enough for this to really bother me. maybe i will when it happens but *shrug*

scents of sweat/bo/urine changing? idk i feel like it will be weird, maybe gross if it turns out bad but honestly i don’t really care what i smell like as long as i don’t smell like a dumpster fire? i shower it’s fine lmao

rougher skin? i dont know if i’d like having rougher skin but i also dont like being an uwu soft boi so

acne. nobody wants it but like... i already have stress-acne right now and don’t really give a shit because i hate how my face looks anyways. not that i want a fuckton of acne because nobody does but im not gonna cry myself to sleep over it ya feel? it’s an annoyance but not really a con

cons:

increase in sex drive. not to be nsfw but masturbating is a chore as it is. it hasn’t been fun since i realized i had crippling bottom dysphoria and even then i can’t get off unless i’m completely distracted from my body (either through porn or being too tired to care). also i have like a 2% chance of ever having a partner so i really dont wanna have to deal with having the sex drive of a 12 year old boy when im 19, single, depressed, and dysphoric. im not even asexual but this is the worst con

emotional changes. yall know at this point i dont have the best temper, and i dont want t to exacerbate that. now, some of my friends have said that t has made them much calmer and actually less irritable, but the rest of my friends said t makes them angry. i have poor anger management and i know it. i don’t need it made worse. it’ll fuck my life up for real

increase in appetite. listen i have gastritis, ibs and acid reflux i cannot afford to be needing to eat more than i currently do

so as yall can see i have a fair number of all 3: 8 pros, 6 neutrals, and 3 cons. and what’s more, all of the cons are things that don’t have anything to do with my appearance (which my therapist and i noticed during our session a couple weeks ago and really made me think i should go on t). so then the answer should be clear: i should go on t, right? deal with having a fucked high sex drive and be pissed off because of it but finally be able to see my reflection in the mirror. so it should be obvious. what the hell am i waiting for?

the main reason i’m hesitant is i’m afraid i’ll want to detransition. even though i KNOW it rarely happens and the women who do thought they were trans because of unaddressed traumas relating to being female or have a personality disorder. i have neither of those things: the only female-related trauma i have is being slut shamed by my mom for wearing tank tops and any shirt that wasn’t a crew neck and one guy saying he’d rape me in 9th grade because he thought rape and sex were the same thing (for his sake i hope he’s grown the fuck up!! i’m not traumatized from this i just made my teacher not let him sit next to me in class and told him to stop talking to me. sadly this is the most sexual attention i’ve ever gotten), and the only mental illnesses i have are depression and anxiety (unless we’re counting dysphoria, which i definitely have). i also sometimes feel like i discovered it too late: i didn’t say “i’m not a girl” until i was 14, refused to explore my gender until i was 17, and didn’t fully accept i was trans until i was 18. and other dumb shit: i never tried to pee standing up so im not really trans even though i didn’t know what a penis was until i was like 9, ive caught myself twice recently wishing for longer hair which made me feel feminine and gross and dysphoric (even though i know hair length =/= gender??), and im not in danger of suicide if i don’t get testosterone and top surgery RiGhT nOw. the prospect of me detransitioning isn’t likely, when you look at all the facts, but the prospect makes me anxious because everything makes me anxious. i am the poster boy for anxiety. and yes, i know i would have said that even when i accepted that i was technically the poster girl but i would have said poster boy anyways because it was “gender neutral” and didn’t rub me the wrong way like poster girl would have. same reason i insisted on being a dude instead of dudette and only described myself with words that didn’t have a female equivalent in french class even if it wasn’t true. so what the hell am i waiting for.

like i know i shouldn’t be doubting at this point because it’s so, so obvious that i’m trans. just because i didn’t try to pee standing up when i was little or ask why i didn’t have a penis doesn’t mean i’m not a guy. i logically know this. like when i was 11 and i insisted to myself i had a male brain but knew i shouldn’t say that out loud because that was weird and i wanted to be a normal girl who didn’t have a weird male brain, and when i was 7 and at my friend sarah’s house and her room was super pink and girly and i literally thought the sentence “is this what i’m supposed to be like?” and when i was 14 and cut my hair into the Typical Queer Girl Pixie Cut and my hair was just??? gone like i wanted it to be when i was 9 and ended up with a bowl cut instead, and instead of looking in the mirror and thinking i looked like an owl when i was 9 i smiled at how “androgynous” (masculine) i looked, and when i was 11 and only hung out with boys at summer camp and they treated me like one of them and the girls were really mean to me but it was the best summer i’d ever had, and when i was 15 and my friend chris joked that i was the “guy” in my lesbian relationship and i was so fucking happy, and when i was 15 and starving myself because i loved my “angular” figure and jaw,  and when i was 16 and wearing a dress to winter formal because my ex met me in one and i wanted to be cute for him but i picked the dress that looked like a suit because it looked very “queer” (masculine), and when i was 14 and literally went “hmmm im gonna bind my chest just because i wanna know what it would look like” and it made me so euphoric and i knew in that instant i wasn’t a girl but repressed it for 3+ years because dealing with it would just be too hard, and when i was 11 and knew it was going to be my last day going to school without a bra on and just being so ashamed even though i wanted breasts so i’d be a normal girl, and when i was 16 and wearing that backwards snapback all the time and my friend said it was what tops did and i was so happy that nobody would consider me a bottom or whatever stupid shit because i couldn’t imagine myself being penetrated ever in my cisgender gay life, and when i was 16-17 and scouring the lesbian section of pornhub for pov/strap-on videos bc i wanted to know what it would look like to fuck a girl with a dick without watching straight porn because i’m 100% a gay female because the word lesbian is too girly im not a trans guy or anything haha, and when i was 14-and-onwards wondering why it felt so empty between my legs and why it felt like i was supposed to have a dick lmao im totally a girl though haha, and when i was 15 and had to google how to masturbate bc i couldn’t figure it out naturally and still felt like i was doing it wrong, and when i was 15 and looked at my vagina in the pocket mirror i got from selling like 30 boxes of girl scout cookies in 2007 and my first thought was “that is not my body,” and when i was 16 and actually very upset that i couldn’t ejaculate when i orgasmed. trans who? what the fucking hell am i waiting for

seriously. i was 7 and looking at my 2nd grade yearbook photo thinking “that doesn’t look like me,” and i was 13 and looking in the mirror saying “that doesn’t look like me,” and i went through all of my adolescence waiting for “puberty to turn me into a girl” and then i was 17 and done with puberty and crying because my body was still wrong. i can’t believe how hard i tried throughout my whole adolescence to be some facet of “normal girl” so i wouldn’t get bullied and be dateless forever and thinking “puberty hasn’t turned me into a girl yet” and not stopping to think about what i was if i wasn’t a girl until puberty was done, i realized it wasn’t going to happen, and it was too damn late for me. now i’m 19 and don’t leave the house without either a binder or a sports bra/baggy layers combo and i’d wear my packer everywhere if i could figure out how to get it to sit right (and also get it past my parents lmao).  like if anyone else rattled off that list of trans shit i wouldn’t question them for a second. but because it’s me and i’m like “what if i’m transwashing my memories? what if i’m gaslighting myself?” i’m still not on testosterone and please validate me. tell me other trans people doubt themselves, no matter how obvious it is that they’re trans. tell me it’s okay to doubt hrt, even though you know it will be so much more likely to help you. tell me it’s okay to be afraid of detransitioning, even though it’s okay if i DO decide to detransition and it’s so unlikely anyways considering all the evidence of Me Not Being A Fucking Girl.

if you read this all the way to the end here’s an awkward hug and some brain bleach im not even drunk or high i can’t even blame substances for this behavior 

[nightcoremoon]

Feeling Disgusted. TW: Pedophilia, Child Abuse, Suicide Attempt, and Police Being Assholes

alright lads ladies and everyone in between, here's some backstory. I've been getting involved in multiple communities one of which is polyamory. one of the girls in the group likes me and asked me to be her girlfriend and I said yes because I like her too. she, being poly, has a boyfriend she lives with, like 45 minutes away from me. we have scheduling conflicts and can't see each other that often. we discussed that we couldn't see each other this week. :(

so here I am this afternoon waking up to my girlfriend texting me and saying that today her plans fell through and I can come over. super ecstatic, I head over and after drama involving my van running out of gas, I eventually arrive. everything is hunky dory when a mutual friend calls my girlfriend crying and panicking. this is a very close friend, the person who actually wingmanned the shit out of us and caused us to admit our feelings to each other and also to fuck. the person who introduced me to local poly community events. she's my girlfriend's ex and very good friend.

turns out the REASON for this is because her daughter told a friend that her stepfather, my friend's husband (and a now former friend of mine) was borderline molesting her, touching her innapropriately, pressuring her into taking her clothes off, and basically grooming her. the friend told her mom and the mom told her and she confronted her husband about it, and he then tried to shoot himself with the gun in their closet, and failing that, attempt to ingest a very large quantity of pills. she called the police and then us. one hour long road trip later we end up there and help comfort her AND THEN SIX FUCKIN COP CARS AND A FIRE TRUCK ALL SHOW UP.

there's only a slight problem. I'm trans and at this point my breasts are not easily concealed, my girlfriend is black, her boyfriend has MS, our friend has multiple mental illnesses, and her daughter is the victim of a sex crime. the cops treat us like garbage, giving us the whole runaround and asking invasive questions and belittling the girl and straight up ignoring my girlfriend [I FELT STABBY] and choking on the red tape and forcing us to stay parked in that parking lot 5 people in one car and being told that without a restraining order they weren't allowed to go back to the apartment. also the husband is currently walking free because they gave him a 5 minute mental fitness test before deciding hey he's totally chill and letting him go. they had all of us detained for longer than his arrest, transportation, and analysis. for fucks sake he called our phones before the cops let us leave. HOW FUCKING SURPRISING.

worst part is? the girl is only twelve years old.

anyway we went to my girlfriend's apartment and watched food network and finding dory, and my friend's life has literally been ripped in half and thrown into a dumpster because of this motherfucker. er, I mean daughterfucker. and I can't do anything about it but vent. I hate this police state society so goddamn much... best we can do is be there for each other when we need it. luckily nothing worse happened :/

[figjelly]

Dear Therapist.

Every Wednesday (except for the last Wednesday of the month), I write my therapist. I’ll post them here. I’ve been working with this therapist for three years, seeing her once a week. Recently, I decided I wanted to try to reduce my number of visits to once a month but I wanted check-ins. We agreed I could email her. Trigger warnings for everything under the fucking sun for these posts. If you don’t want to be sad, please click this link. Read more after the cut:

I've been mulling over the purpose of keeping in contact with you in-between our face-to-face meetings. Too many hours were spent agonizing over how to optimize the therapeutic value of writing before I realized the answer was simple:

I simply need someone to talk to. Sure, that fact is confounded by chronic and acute issues (e.g. dealing with my current life situation) and events that have reverberated so strongly against myself that they still cause significant disturbances (e.g. my childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood); however, underneath all of those things, is the need for attention.

I'm human. It's natural.

The problem with talking to other people is the work I have to do in order to pretend I genuinely care about someone else's problems or feelings. This is not to say there are times I don't genuinely care--I would just rather the burden be permanently removed from my responsibility.

But with a therapist, I'm allowed a brief respite and can pick and choose whether to engage in that work (the work of keeping up my end of a relationship, caring about another's feelings or thoughts, thinking about the consequences of my actions, etc).

So, that's the point. I get a tiny break from those responsibilities and some attention. Seems reasonable.

Then another few hours were spent on how to work within that need. I finally decided on something pretty mundane: storytelling. I've not given much thought on what to story to tell but I've settled on:

Why Ash Has Fought Against Embracing Writing and Art

My mother earned an AFA in her late 20s from a local community college in Louisiana. Before this, I drew and wrote quite a bit but her work and her descriptions of her art classes had me simultaneously enthralled and terrified. I wanted what she was experiencing so badly it hurt but I never believed I could do anything like it. My mother never gave me any indication or support that I could but didn't discourage me from drawing or other acts of creativity. Although, I can never be quite sure if this was actual support or extreme apathy. By the time I really got into creating, she was in the thick of her anorexia and the abuse in our household had grown so thick that it crept out the cracks of doors and windows. Opening the front door, I usually held my breath and had to count 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 until I reached my room-- the safest place in the house. For me anyway.

During this time. we owned a short, squat coffee table that had an oval top and an elevated slat underneath where we kept our photo albums. I spent one Saturday cutting up old copy paper into the shapes of buildings and taping them to the edge of the coffee table. It was a tiny, paper village that looked in on itself. If I gave it a name, I don't remember what it was. I never imagined people or weather or anything; it was just a tiny place I created and I was so pleased with it. My mother let me keep it up for a day or two. I think my father yelled at me about the tape on the wood. Either that or he never said anything about it.

It's strange how both of those memories seem equally likely. I tend to talk a lot when there's silence because in my experience, silence is always a prelude to something worse. I can never decide which was worse: the silence that usually lingered in public family spaces with my dad or the constant, angry din of my step-father. I suppose there is no sonic safe space for me. This probably explains why I cling to music in which silence and not-silence live in harmony with one another--nay, depend on one another to make sense.

While Paper Village was around, my mother was always on the couch. She worked as a page at one of the libraries and, coupled with lack of calories, she had nothing to give by the time she came home.

Like I said, I'm not sure if her strange encouragement was real or if it just took too much energy for her to give anything but positive reinforcement. Engaging with her children would have taken more than she had to give because she was too busy eating herself alive, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Or maybe she just allowed other things to eat at her and all she had to do was lay there and suffer.

I can empathize. To an extent. I know that feeling, wanting to be consumed from the inside out.

We inherit our parents's trauma although we'll never fully understand it.

I hated my last nurse practitioner from the outpatient behavioral realm of the hospital. I just expected more of her and instead I heard the same things over and over again when it came to self-mutilation: "You did it to feel alive."

I don't think that's true. I don't think that's true for either me or my mother. "Alive" is to simple a thing to describe wanting to be eaten whole. There is disconnection between the mind and the body, the space between my brain and my body and my thoughts become universe-wide gaps and I'd be gasping for air in the vacuum of space and I just needed something, something, something to tether me back.

So, perhaps I shouldn't hate her for using a shorthand for something she cannot begin to fathom.

Except for that stupid, trite plaque that was painted teal and proclaimed in white, curvy letters: Success is not for the lazy.

Never mind. I still hate her.

I can't remember if my mother was laying on the couch when she told me that one day I'd write the "next great American novel." It certainly happened before the age of 10. And I certainly remember thinking, "Nope."

I stopped drawing my comics after she became excited and entertained ideas of me publishing my work. It was silly. A lot of my comics featured a cat who was a superhero and who saved the world from silly things like a slushie floods (blue raspberry-flavored because I have and always will hate that flavor). She said I should write a full story and illustrate it. She suggested a tour of Egypt since I was into Egyptology at the time. I was excited. I drew. I wrote. It wasn't great. I was 8 or 9, why would it be? I showed it to her. She then said that I had to work harder because it wasn't good enough.

Ah, there we are. A more-than-likely formative moment.

I stopped drawing the cat. I stopped drawing the comics. If I drew, I kept things to myself. It was easier. I kept my writing to myself. Then, at the age of 14 or 15, after my stepfather searched my room "for drugs," both my mother and he had me sit down because they'd found all the notebooks I'd hidden. They yelled. They demanded to know what all of it meant. I was 14 or 15. It meant nothing except I'd created it.

My propensity for coming up with overwrought and over-thought explanations for things isn't an accident. Well, not entirely one of pure ontological origin. They wanted to know what I was doing, what it all meant. It meant nothing except I'd created it.

But it wasn't enough. There had to be more! There was meaning underneath all of it! An abnormal psych college textbook was omnipresent in our home. While it sat on the bookshelf, it loomed over me while both of them demanded to know what it all meant!

"Yes, hello?" Present Me answers, exasperated with the amount of phone calls I've been forced to deal with lately. "Oh, it's just you. Go back to the 1940s, psychoanalytics."

But I was 14 or 15 so the next day, my face still red and my mind still detached from my body, I put all of my notebooks and sketchbooks in my backpack and discretely trashed them all in a school dumpster.

There is still a tinge of pain in heart whenever I think of a pink journal I had with an orange kitten on it, looking up at me from the trash. I remember thinking to myself, "This has to be done."

I am good at doing what needs to be done.

So, you've never asked, but it wasn't like I never wanted to be a writer and/or artist.

I just didn't want to say any of the things I've written aloud.

Because sometimes I think about the Paper Village and the pink journal with the orange kitten on it and it's too much. I'm starting to tear up even now. I'm just infinitely adaptable. I've got a mind that is passably good at most school subjects but not quite what anyone wants. I hit that wall with the PhD program. I'd been found out for the fraud I am. "Go back to your Paper Village!" is what I scream at myself when I wonder if my adviser sabotaging my quals was something everyone agreed to. "Ash is a fraud. Put out the hit." Except it doesn't happen quick and bloody. It happened slow and snotty and with a fire that didn't quite eat me whole but left me a pile of ashes.

But then I remember all the times I'd tried getting back into art, taking an art class here and there in college, and thinking, "But they know I'm a fraud too!"  And I imagine everyone gathering around in a much more atmospheric location for clandestine meetings and agreeing, "Ash Brandt? She talks about her Zoology classes during Drawing I. We can't have this. She's far too interested in Biology for this. Put out the hit."

And it didn't happen quick and bloody. It happened slow and snotty and with a fire that left me mostly burned, licking my wounds all the way to a Liberal Arts, BA because I could never get anything right.

Or, this is all bullshit I put together because, if anything, I know how to tell a good story.

Until next week.

[who-is-page]

Why are you suddenly freaking out now that Trump is president? The government has always been evil.

Gee, I don’t know! So, let’s just take a look at the ways it’s affected me IRL. 

Maybe it’s because one of my good friends, who only didn’t go to grad school because he was offered a government job that was precisely what he was looking for after he graduates, is now SOL in a couple of months. 

Maybe it’s because my significant other, who had basically their entire life planned out job-wise in what they wanted to do and how they wanted to use their degree and what they were really passionate about, isn’t going to be able to do what they wanted to do, thanks to a massive hiring freeze that doesn’t look like it’s ever going to go away and cuts that look like they’re just going to keep happening, and happening, and happening, regarding the specific area they wanted to work in. 

Maybe it’s because of my own passion and what I really wanted to do in my life to help my country and its citizens (because, surprise surprise, the Marines made me proud of the good people in my country, and gave me a burning desire to do something for them) getting more or less flushed down the toilet. There’s me, the religious studies major who wanted to get a position in the government to help promote religious understanding, and help settle religious disagreements–yeah, I’m sure I’ll be able to do that, what with literal Nazis in the white house. Literal Nazis who, you know, do casual things like wonder if people of other religions are actually people, for example! Yep, my pagan, Sicilian ass can definitely just work in the government to promote religious understanding, especially with my major-focus of minority religions. NOT. 

Oh, yeah, and this isn’t even touching on all my fucking Jewish friends. Do you have any idea how much I am constantly low-key worrying about my friends, but trying not to mention it to them because I don’t want to stress them out? It’s a fucking lot. Antisemitic hate crimes are on the rise, literal Nazis are in the damn White House. Things are quickly turning into a ball of shit that’s rolling down a hill towards a dumpster fire, and I really, really don’t want my friends to get hurt because of some fucking asshole douchebag Nazis. Like, yeah, a Nazi can come after me, and fine, whatever–I’m not white in their eyes, I’m trans, I’m gay, and I know my religion puts a huge target on my back on top of everything. That’s why I’m so adamant about punching Nazis. But my friends? They need to leave my friends the fuck alone. They’re all good people, none of whom deserve to have themselves or their family hurt because of our failure of a president and who he’s decided to openly support, and who he’s decided to openly condemn (and who he’s decided to not condemn).

There’s more than just this, naturally. There’s my worries about my brothers and sisters in arms, and how this fucking loon is going to affect them and their families, there’s my worries about those in my own family who I actually like, there’s my worries about myself, the list does go on. But I think I’ve made my point.

Now, past that, what about the ways it hasn’t actively affected me, but will eventually probably end up affecting me?

Where to start, where to start. Actually, no, I know where to start–the criminalization and utter disrespect of the media. Trump and his consistent blaming and framing of the media (except for a few choice news sources, naturally, most notably Breitbart and Fox News, with the latter very much disliking him) as fake and his pushing of “alternative facts” are horrific. Our president, the leader of our fucking country, is trying to convince us that the truth is fiction and that fiction is the truth. But that doesn’t freak you out? That doesn’t worry you at all? Because I have to ask, have you even been paying attention and do you have any idea the sort of consequences this could bring?

On top of that, there’s the fact that his choices for government positions are all terrible. Betsy DeVos wants to get rid of public schools, which are already strained from not getting enough resources, Steve Bannon is deeply involved with Breitbart, meaning he’s a racist, Nazi piece of shit, but he’s also completely off the fucking deep end on top of that. Scott Pruitt literally sued the EPA dozens of times before, and he doesn’t believe in things like rules, regulations, clean energy, and climate change. The list goes on and on. To act as though this isn’t going to affect me is, well, ignorant.

Then there’s some of the proposed bills that the republicans are pushing right now, that they see they’ve seem to got the opportunity, like, let’s see, “American leaves the UN,” “America leaves the WHO,” “Life begins at conception,” “Dismantlement of the EPA.”

Oh yeah, and let’s talk about the ACA, now that it comes to mind! Now, I’m below the poverty line. I make 2k a year and I’m homeless. I don’t own a car, and currently can’t drive anyways. What makes you think that I’m going to be able to fucking afford health insurance from anywhere? But what makes things worse, is that I am definitely someone who should probably have health insurance. My body is put together with some gum, a feather, a lick, and a prayer. I’m earnestly afraid I’m never going to be able to work a full-time job that requires me to be on my feet for hours at a time simply because my knees and ankles wouldn’t be able to handle it–if just walking around for two-ish hours make it so I shake and stumble, I’m terrified what constant, consistent force would do to me. And this ain’t even touching on my therapy costs!

And the wall, and the vacation days. The wall is projected to cost over 20 billion dollars, not including the money it’s going to cost to either go around or (the more likely scenario) attempt to forcibly steal the land of border towns, the inevitable manning costs, and how the government’s estimates are usually far too low. Oh yeah, and then there’ the fact that Trump plans on taking over 500 vacation days, more than any other president in history and almost twice as many as Obama took in two terms. For that one, I just flat out didn’t even want to know how much it was gonna cost us.

Trump also bottoms for Putin, is harassing and antagonizing our allies, and is a tantrum-throwing baby who signs executive orders he doesn’t know the full extent of. He wants a circuit of court dismantled because they ruled in a way he didn’t like, fired the head of the Justice department for the same reason, and is an absolute fucking laughingstock. There’s more–believe me, there’s more–but I feel I’ve made my point clear.

Anon, I know the government’s never been the best thing ever. But to ask me why I’m freaking out over Trump, someone who’s fucking this country over and affecting my life on a personal level, is just downright ignorant and makes you look like a fucking fool.

[theactualrealatticus]

What Can You Get From A Healthy Online Community?

   Yesterday, I found a local Facebook group for my area called "Anytown Plant Growers and Garden" and decided to join the page. I Posted about the Thai Basil plant I've got that didn't look like the rest of them. Spoiler alert. I think its just a genetic mutation that causes an unequal distribution of a pigment called Anthocyanin. Anyway, a woman commented and asked where I had found the seeds in Anytown. I couldn't remember, so instead of sending this poor woman on a wild goose chase, I just told her to private message me if she'd like to take one. All I asked in return was for any old growing containers, or soil, or even plant cuttings from her garden as a trade. She Agreed and came by with her husband to pick them up. It was pretty cool to go from a stranger on the internet in the comments section to a friendly smile and thanks from both sides. That got me thinking. Had I found a healthy internet community? From a keystroke to handshake. Well... The awkward mention of shaking hands (COVID-19).

   What is a "healthy" online community? It seems like its a dumpster fire even in cat videos comments on Youtube. On Facebook, everyone's wall looks like what a 16 and a half-year-old would get for a tattoo of it tattoos for 16 and a half-year-olds were legal. And HOLY SMOKES, that Twitter comment section will get your ass fired from your REAL job after a good night of drinking alone and a phone battery that just won't quit till you seal the deal with that tweet button. So where the fuck is a guy or gal supposed to go? The answer is simple. Just look for it. It is out there man. I once heard that there is more content uploaded to Youtube in just 3 months than the entire history of American television broadcasting content. That's fucking bananas if true, and I had to have heard that over 8 years ago, so imagine what it is today! Start by searching on whatever social media platform you want. I'm a fan of Facebook groups. They have a Facebook Group to suit almost any kind of niche market. I'm talking "Anytown County Model Railroad Builders and Destress Painters Using Burnt Auburn", to "The United Front of International Horse Cosplayers...Anonymous". Or something like that. If YOU like it, so does some other nerd. Just keep digging. If you're living in rural Anytown, find the nearest population and search there. And if you still can't find shit? Start one dummy! Facebook groups are easy-peasy. Try to set up a meet up with other folks from your area that are into the same podcast. Or rally behind a particular horror movie you love. Or some activity! Yoga, hiking, workouts, cars, skateboards, or even yes! Planting and Gardening. See how we've come full circle here? AS LONG AS YOU DO IT SAFELY.

   Avoid using your phone number and email. Meet in public, and don't go alone. Don't give out your address or ANY other personal information about yourself. Use whatever your preferred social media platform's private communication so there's a record of your communication. And ALWAYS tell someone you know and trust the 5 W's. Who are you going to meet? What will you be doing there? Where are you going to meet? When will you return? And finally, What should they do if they cant get a hold of you or you don't come back? The internet can be a VERY dangerous place for someone not paying attention. There are legitimate preditors out there that want to hurt or scam you. But I tend to believe that if you follow the above instructions to the letter, your odds of becoming a victim are pretty low. At the end of the day, Going from Keystroke to handshake may not be your thing, but I tend to think it's borderline magical.

   Even though I was talking shit about the comment sections before, the people you read in there aren't like most of us. Most of the time it's just the loudest, or dumbest that comment. It's always heartbreaking watching someone try to be a voice of reason only to get shit on by both sides of the commenters. The truth is, if you're looking for healthy wholesomeness on the internet, it's out there. But I have to tell you the truth about it.

   It is always clunky and awkward meeting up at first. I'm sure what I described above with that plant transaction seemed clean. But it wasn't. First off, she didn't message me until about 8:30 PM the night before the meeting. Everything was civil and cool until she asked when would be a good time. Due to the current COVID-19 situation, I'm available pretty much ANYTIME. And that's what I said. Anytime. That's when she mentioned that she "Or more likely my husband will meet you at your convenience. IMMEDIATELY I thought to myself that I should have been more clear about how I had meant "anytime...during the day" and now she probably thinks I'm trying to get her to come here tonight and alone or something! This could be my self-consciousness talking, but the way she said it made me feel kinda icky. I tried to defuse the situation with another half-joke, half overthinking the whole thing by saying "No Problem. I'll send you some detailed pictures so you can tell your husband which ones you want. You know, in case he doesn't have as good of an eye as yourself!" Keep in mind, this lady has a profile picture of a close-up bowl of stir fry. I have no idea wtf this lady looks like, her age, nothing. I just wanted to see if I could get the internet equivalent of "trail magic" going on. Help someone out and get a cool plant out of it. Anyway, Re-reading the message, I realized how flirty it could have come off. I felt like a real jughead. I sent the photo the next day and didn't hear back. Fuck. I blew it being awkward. Then at around dinner time I get a message. We're "5 minutes out". After I had taken them around back to see all the plants, we all started jiving. "Where you from? How long have you been in Anytown? Oh, we just love it there. Your Elephant ear looks great!." It was Awesome. It ended with her inviting me over this weekend to take a look in their garden to take some cuttings from all kinds of cool plants. I was glad she didn't bring something small. I showed her my garden and helped her out, and she wants to do the same now. WOW! But if shes a person with good intentions and I'm a person with good intentions, why is meeting a stranger from the internet such an awkward event?

   I think it because we are social creatures. We are practically purpose-built to communicate. Read body language. Looking at the other person in the eye to see if they like what you have to say. Body language and facial expressions have been watered down do a few emoji and a hand full of .gifs. The WAY you say things makes a difference. The inflection in your voice places emphasis on where you intend to. All of that is lost in direct written communication. People weren't meant to communicate through 1's and 0's. People are supposed to communicate through nuance, body language, and with eyes and mouths. When that woman, whose name is Diana by the way, left, it felt like the entire situation had gone over so perfectly. I think the genuinely warm smiles at the end took over my entire memory of the event. I guess what I'm trying to say is that there is a thriving "Healthy Internet Community" out there for you. But don't mistake that for the real thing. The internet is humanity's greatest accomplishment. Allowing Knowledge to flow into places where it simply could not before. Either through politics or poverty. Allowing the oppressed to be heard. And allowing us to rally and get something done with numbers and in real life. The internet can't change our lives. It's just a tool to we can use to influence action in reality. Or just help out some lady named Diana that hates the taste of previously frozen Thai Basil.