#but it was a deeply uncomfortable experience nonetheless

[hillerska-official]

When you have a therapy session that is in terms of like. Productivity and healing very solid, but was also an all around miserable experience that made you cry multiple times. And then someone says "how was therapy" am I supposed to say good or bad?

[iliketangerines]

HI I LOVE U I LOVE U AND UR WORK SO VERY MUCH 🤞🤞🤞

do u have any thoughts on ANY mk boys (johnny, liu kang, kuai liang, literally any combo or individual IDM AT ALL) with a reader that has hella piercings :3 specifically or at least a tongue piercing

i have so many holes in my face i NEEEED to know what they'd do about it :3 nsfw if possibleee, giving u lots of room to work with tehe THANK YOU 🩷

show me what you can do

a/n: i gotchu pookie, haven't written for kenshi yet so here you go

pairing: kenshi x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), blowjobs, nipple play, pussy eating, finger-fucking, creampies (wrap it up dick-havers)

when you first arrive at the Wu Shi Academy, Kenshi has to do a double take when he sees you

your entire face is covered in piercings: two in your nose, two on each eyebrow, two pairs on your lips, and an endless amount on your ears

when you take a picture with Johnny Cage, you stick out your tongue, and he can see you have a piercing on your tongue as well

Kenshi knows for a fact that you’ve definitely been looked at weird and ostracized for having so many piercings, and he’s reminded of his own experience with his tattoos

you two buzz to each other like a flame and a moth

you’re spunky, fun, and performative, almost like Johnny but much more endearing and much less annoying

the two of you get closer as you train, but he notices you aren’t ever at their hand-to-hand combat training, maybe a few times to learn a few defensive moves but much less so than him and the others

you tell him later when he asks that 1. you don’t want your piercings to get ripped out (you’d seen some not so tasteful things at fights) and 2. you’re more a distance fighter

when he raises an eyebrow, you smile and tell him to find you tomorrow morning

he wakes up early and heads to your room, and you bring him to a different part of the Wu Shi Academy that he’s never explored

there’s a selection of weapons on the rack, and you beeline for some throwing knives

you pick them up, flipping them in the air and doing a myriad of tricks with them, flashing Kenshi a wink before flinging them in rapid succession at the human-dummy on the other wide of the field

they all hit, one right between the eyes, one in the neck, and one right in the dick

Kenshi cringes at that but is nonetheless still amazed at your skill

he watches you do this with a plethora of weapons, the crossbow, the bow and arrow, throwing axes, blow darts, and even a rope dart

by the time you’re done practicing/demonstrating your skills, it’s nighttime and he’s spent the whole day watching you practice with your weapons

he’s blown away, where had you learned to get so good at distance weapons?

you tell him you grew up in the circus, and at an early age you were very good at throwing darts

you were a great performer and trained in a bunch of different weapons to woo the audience: you could even use playing cards as a weapon if you wanted to

he can only stare at you in shock, and you ask him about his own life, after all, you had just shared your entire life story, and it’s only fair if you know his

he feels a bit uncomfortable but tells you that he was raised in yakuza, that he trained with a sword, that he’s done some unsavory things, and that he is trying to get Sento back from Johnny to save his clan from the yakuza

you squeeze his arm, telling him sorry but that you believe in him and that he can save his clan

you tell him that he’s amazing, that he’s the only one who's actually listened to you about what you do and hasn’t judged you for your piercings

he brings a hand up to cup your face and glances at your lips

you lean in close and give him a soft kiss, and he can feel the piercings digging into his face as you kiss him, but he doesn’t mind, even enjoying the way they rub against his skin

he pulls you into his arms and kisses you deeply, and you slip your tongue into his mouth and he groans at the feeling of your piercing rubbing against his tongue

the two of you make-out for a few moments before pulling away at the sound of Kung Lao calling you two for dinner

before the two of you leave, Kenshi tells you he wants to take things slow: he’s had to seduce people for the yakuza, but he actually wants this with you and wants to take it slow and you agree

the two of your find time for each other among all the training, sitting close to each other during meals and giving each other quick kisses before leaving for training

on nights, before the both of you retire to your rooms, you both look up at the stars together and tell stories about each other

you tell him about how you got your first piercing, how you got them at quite a late age: 14, and how you were so scared you nearly cried

he tells you about how he sliced off the bun of his mother’s hair when he wasn’t paying attention to where he was swinging his sword

after a few months, a few days before you all travel to Outworld, he escorts you to your room after one of your late-night talks, and you go to say good night

but he grabs onto your arm, and asks in a quiet voice if he can come in

you blush and smile and beckon him inside, sliding the door close and turning on the lamps in the room

it’s simple and plain, no decorations, but Liu Kang hadn’t really allowed them to bring anything with them

but, on your dresser, there’s a pile of playing cards, and you light up as he notices them

you drag him to sit on the bed, and you sit across from him and shuffle the cards and tell him to pick out a card

he picks out a card and memorizes it before sliding it back in the deck

you shuffle the cards and pull one out and ask him if it’s his card; it isn’t, and he tells you so

that’s when you lean in close and say you know before reaching your hand into the folds of his uniform, your hand brushing against his chest, and pull out a card

it’s his card this time, but Kenshi’s a bit red at how you had pushed your hand into his uniform

you look so proud, eyes shining brightly, and he can’t resist

he pulls you in for a kiss, pushing you back so you both fall back onto the bed

he grinds into you, and you moan at the feeling, and he’s going crazy

Kenshi kisses you for what feels like forever, running one of his hands up and down your body, squeezing at your hips and your thick thighs

finally, he pulls away and strips off his top, and you run your hands over his tattoos

he shivers and tugs at the edges of your own uniform, and you take it off before he leans back down to kiss you and slots his leg between your soft thighs

you moan and grind down onto his thigh, and he can feel himself growing harder by the second

he pulls you up slightly with one hand and uses his other hand to unhook your bra, you barely have time to be impressed because he shucks it away and starts trailing kisses down your neck

he goes to tease your nipples when he feels metal on them

in a daze, he pulls away and finds that you also have nipple piercings, and he almost cums in his pants at the sight of your chest heaving up and down with your pierced nipples

immediately he tugs at the piercings, and you whine

Kenshi smirks and brings his head down to lick and tug at your piercings, and you dig your fingers in his hair as he plays with your nipples

he can’t get enough of your sounds: your whines, your whimpers, especially the choked moans you make when he tugs at the piercing a little bit too hard

but you push him off your chest and flip him on the bed, and he props himself on his shoulders as you wiggle your way down his legs

he’s watching with blown-out pupils as you pull down his pants and release his cock from his underwear

it springs up, pre-cum leaking at the tip, and you pump at his dick and watch as Kenshi throws his head back in pleasure

he’s had sex before yes, but it’s never felt this intense, so warm, so loving before

his eyes shoot open when he feels your mouth envelop the tip, and he feel the piercing in your tongue press against the slit

he nearly cums right then and there as has to dig his fingers into the sheets to control himself

you bob your head and down his dick, piercing pressing deliciously into his dick, and he can’t help but watch as you eagerly try and make him cum

when you bring your head back up, suckling on the tip with the piercing pressing into him and your hand pumping him fast and hard, he cums hard into your mouth

it feels like forever as you keep stroking him through his orgasm, and he feels dizzy when you release his cock from your mouth with a small pop and stick out your tongue to show you’ve swallowed all his cum

he drags you back up to kiss him, tasting himself, and gropes at your ass

you grind down onto his abs, and he files that thought away for later

he wants to return the favor, so he flips you over onto your back and trails kisses down your stomach before taking off your pants

he spreads your legs and finds another piercing right on the hood of your clit, and somehow he isn’t surprised anymore and dives right in

he hums around your clit, sucking and flicking the sensitive bud, and you arch your back off the bed, whining at the sensation and tugging at his hair

he grinds his hardening dick into the mattress at the feeling and continues to lap at your sensitive clit, and he takes two of his fingers and pushes them into you

you moan at the stretch, your hips bucking toward him, and he fucks them into your wet pussy, curling his fingers to try and find that sweet spot

he’s watching you intently to see when he does, and as his fingers curl into you once more, you throw your head back and grind against his fingers

he smiles against your cunt as he massages the spot, and somehow your pussy grows even wetter, and there’s an audible squelching sounds he fucks you with his fingers

all too soon, you’re cumming around his fingers, and Kenshi sucks on your clit like a lifeline, prolonging your orgasm for as long as possible

when you come down from the high, he puts his fingers into his mouth and tastes your cum on his fingers, moaning at the taste of you

he then brings himself up to kiss you again and grinds against your pussy before finally aligning himself and sinking in

you both moan, and Kenshi swears he’s died and gone to heaven

you’re so soft and wet, and he never wants to leave so he just stays inside of you and grinds a little longer against you

you’re whining, fucked-out and light-headed from the stretch of his cock, and start to beg for him to please fuck you, and who is he to deny your request?

slowly, he starts to thrust into you, shallow little ones at first but they get deeper and deeper until he’s full-on fucking into you like a rabid animal

he brings one of his hands down to rub at your clit, your piercing digging into your clit and providing a little extra stimulation

you’re whimpering at the sensation, and he brings his lips down to kiss you

he can’t get enough of you sound, how you feel, how all of this is just so much

Kenshi can feel tears pricking at the edges of his eyes and can’t care, and he takes his other hand to hold hands with you as he keeps fucking into your wet pussy

his thrusts start to grow more erratic, and he’s close to cumming, and so he pinches at your clit, pressing your piercing into your clit

you cum with a loud moan, and you clench down on his dick, causing him to groan and cum inside of you

the both of you kiss for a little longer as Kenshi fucks the both of you through your orgasms, and then he stays a little longer inside of your cunt because it’s just so warm and wet just for him

but eventually, he pulls out of you and looks for something to wipe you both down

you point at one of the cabinets, and he pulls it open to find a spare hand towel

he takes dampens the rag with some bottled water on your dresser and wipes the both of you down and throws the rag down with the rest of  your discarded clothes

he lays down on the bed, snuggling you in close and wrapping an arm around you

you trace his back with your hand, humming a soft song, presumably one from your circus, and he finds himself falling asleep to it

the next morning, Johnny Cage flings the door open and then immediately shuts it at the sight of the two of you laying naked in the bed and cuddling each other

the both of you change quickly and bolt out of the room to find Johnny Cage laughing his ass off

Kenshi scowls at him, and you smack the back of the actor’s head

but as you two walk to breakfast, the both of you intertwine your hands together and everything’s all right again

[siilvan]

bloodsport – I

prologue | next

characters: vladimir makarov

summary: day one of your imprisonment brings you face-to-face with the enemy.

genre: angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra, no desc.)

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, minor descriptions of blood/injuries, light manipulation?, makarov fucks w/ reader's head (╯д╰)

word count: 3.3k

note: listened to makarov’s voice reveal while writing this and felt my brain chemistry change immediately <3

the first thing you notice after waking up is how uncomfortable the bed you're sleeping on is. the mattress is thin and bare, sitting low to the ground on a wrought iron frame that had seen better days. your body aches, muscles burning and begging for reprieve as you pull yourself up to sit. you carefully swing your legs over the edge of the bed and wince from the effort.

you're not in a hospital, not even a temporary clinic set up for emergency treatment. the walls are made up of weathered stone and brick, akin to an old prison built to withstand a siege, and the iron bars across the room confirm your suspicions.

you've been captured.

the air surrounding you seems to grow thicker, heavier, threatening to steal the oxygen straight from your lungs. during your career, you've dealt with a great number of challenges: being shot, stabbed, abandoned, betrayed, and even nearly killed. you've been captured as well, but only for planned operations. torture was never a threat.

several parts of your body are neatly wrapped in surprisingly clean bandages, reminding you of the incident that led to your capture. the missile, konni's presence in the city, makarov. did he take the sergeants captive, as well? are they here with you?

you force yourself to stand and try to ignore your knees almost buckling as you cross the room, heading towards the door. a glance through the bars provides little information - the cell across from yours is empty, and the only sound you can make out is meaningless chatter between the guards patrolling the hall. they're speaking in russian, preventing you from eavesdropping on their conversations. it's probably nothing important, anyway. while searching, you start to consider the worst case scenario.

soap and gaz may not be here. they could be lying dead in the sand, either killed by their wounds or by the enemy.

you shake your head and step back into the middle of the room, not even daring to entertain that train of thought any longer. you can't afford to doubt your team at a time like this. they're alive, either in cells of their own or recovering somewhere else.

the voices in the hall suddenly go quiet. they're soon replaced by footsteps, languid yet purposeful, expensive shoes padding against the stone floor and steadily drawing closer. your eyes stay glued to the door, unmoving from it despite your instincts telling you to run. you have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. your only option is to face the person approaching directly.

advice from your team swims through your mind. although the sergeants have never been locked up and tortured, price and ghost have. you can remember price's stories clear as day, as if he told them only yesterday. ghost was more private about his experiences, but after las almas, he slowly began to open up about his past. the two echoed the same advice to the sergeants and yourself.

do whatever is necessary to make it out alive.

you squeeze your eyes shut and inhale deeply, attempting to calm your buzzing nerves and racing heart. panic will do you no good in this situation. when you open your eyes, you're immediately greeted by one of the guards - a man in black clothing and gear, his face obscured, unlocking the door at the far end of the room. he steps away a second later, leaving you staring at the man you dreaded meeting through the bars.

his gaze is trained on you, dark eyes burning holes into your skin, rendering you immobile. you try to maintain a confident demeanor nonetheless, refusing to give him the satisfaction of intimidating you.

"turn around," he says, his voice flat as he gives you the simple command. "hands on the wall."

you hesitate, pride briefly overtaking your rational senses. after a short-lived staring contest, however, you silently concede and turn to face the wall. you press your palms to the cold stone and listen as the door creaks open and shut. gloved hands wrap around your wrists shortly thereafter and pull your arms backwards, forcing them behind your back. cold metal replaces his touch and binds your wrists.

"seems a bit excessive, don't you think?" you ask. your voice wavers just slightly, hoarse from lack of use. "i'm already out of commission, thanks to these injuries."

he gives you no response, though you catch a glimpse of his apathetic expression when he reaches past you to grab a metal chair that rests in the corner of the room. it scrapes across the floor as he drags it away, and you turn once more to watch as he sets it down a few feet from the side of the bed.

"sit down." he looks at you and motions to the bed. you wordlessly follow the order and stumble forward before settling on the edge of the mattress, hands clenched into tight fists. he sits on the chair across from you and leans back, looking completely at ease while taking in your current appearance.

"do you know who i am?" he speaks again, eyes flicking back up to meet yours. you feel like a prey animal locking eyes with a predator, waiting for them to tear you apart. you don't dare to look away.

"makarov." the name leaves your lips in a low murmur. "leader of the ultranationalists. konni's commander. the 'world's biggest threat,' according to some. i've heard plenty about you." you stiffen as the edge of his mouth twitches, an eerie smile playing on his lips.

"i'm sure captain price had a great deal to say, lieutenant." he folds his hands in his lap, nodding towards your bandaged body. you're still in your uniform, albeit without your dirty and damaged outer layers, and your gear is long gone. you feel vulnerable under his gaze. "my men found you in quite an... unfortunate state. i must admit that i'm impressed. surviving a direct missile strike is no small feat."

"where is my team?" you demand, fighting against the restraints. they don't loosen in the slightest, of course, and makarov merely tilts his head to the side at your struggle. "there were two men with me. where are they? what did you do with them?"

he blinks at you, refusing to respond. you open your mouth to repeat the question, before he interrupts you. "they didn't put up much of a fight. it was disappointing, really." his hands unfold and he shifts in the chair, chuckling to himself. "i expected more from price's so-called 'elite task force.'"

his comment pulls an involuntary gasp from you, a stuttering breath falling from your lips. "they didn't... you killed them?" you ask, voice dropping to a near-whisper. it can't be true. soap, gaz– surely they're still alive. they have to be.

"i never said that," he replies, shaking his head in a low-effort attempt to placate you. "whether your teammates still live is not my concern. my men left them to their own fates."

your eyes narrow, though your shoulders slump just a little at his answer. they could still be alive. "what is your concern, then? i doubt you've taken me captive just to talk." you remark, racking your brain for any reason why he'd take you over the rest of the team. convenience, perhaps? you were defenseless, and of the options readily available, you held the highest rank.

"nothing gets past you, does it, lieutenant?" makarov leans forward, prompting you to sit up straighter in order to keep a comfortable distance. his voice lowers, as if he was hiding his next words from any curious souls just outside the room. "i think we can help each other. i have information that you need, and your allies have the resources to take care of a constant thorn in my side."

"are you saying we have a common enemy?"

he nods, reaching into his pocket. "it appears we do." he pauses, pulling out a cellphone and scrolling for a moment before turning it towards you. you lean closer, studying the image on the screen as he continues. "this should look familiar to you."

you furrow your brow at the blurry picture, but the subject still stands out. it was a man laying dead on the ground, wearing combat fatigues that looked out-of-date, surrounded by several corpses dressed in similar, yet mismatched uniforms. their bodies have no visible identification, reminding you of the americans you encountered working with konni and al-qatala.

"i remember them. we thought they were random mercenaries hired by your men," you say, shifting your focus back to makarov. "i take it they're not working for you?"

"the men you encountered were not mercenaries. they worked for a man, not a company. your team knows their employer well." he pauses long enough for you to nod your head, urging him to speak. the satisfied smile that briefly crosses his face is enough to make your blood boil beneath your skin - he's enjoying making you beg for information. "the american general. shepherd, was it?"

"what?"

"did you really believe that you could trust him, petra?" he asks with a quirked brow. hearing him utter your callsign in such a casual tone only serves to make you feel hotter, practically burning with rage; at shepherd or makarov, you're not sure.

the situation doesn't make any sense. why would shadow company launch a war with konni, only to ally with them in secret? based on the intel that laswell gathered during your time in las almas, about shadow company losing the missiles to the group, shepherd should want to burn the organization, not assist it. you frantically search for an answer, but come up with nothing. grudgingly, you look to the man sitting in front of you.

"tell me more." you mutter, managing to subdue your anger for the time being.

instead of elaborating, he stands from the chair. you watch him cross the room and stop in front of the door, casting a glance in your direction. "we can discuss the details in due time. for now, come."

you stare at him, confused, before rising to your feet and following him. he leaves the cell and starts down the hallway with you in tow, doing your best to keep pace as the momentarily forgotten pain quickly settles in again. a pair of guards follow the two of you from a small distance, close enough to intervene in an emergency but far enough to not indulge in your discussion.

if you can even call this a "discussion." a madman and his captive audience is a more accurate description.

you try to take in your surroundings. the corridors greatly resemble the cell you were in, dark stone and brick walls that looked in dire need of repairs. the barred windows you pass look out onto different fields, courtyards turned into vehicle and weapon storage. you have to restrain yourself from gawking when you see a small collection of tanks in one area, accompanied by smaller APCs scattered about.

makarov has a small army that somehow slipped under your radars. you're well aware of konni and his affiliation with other powerful groups, but you've always assumed they were disorganized, using guerilla tactics and thrifted gear. this is something else entirely, you think. he's preparing for war.

you hear a soft rumbling in the distance. at first, you mistake it for one of the vehicles, until the sound disappears. it reappears seconds later, and you quickly realize that it's thunder.

"petra," he addresses you suddenly, drawing your attention. "tell me, do you consider yourself a good person?"

your brows knit together at the question. it feels out of place, and you wonder for a moment if you misheard him. your step falters, causing one of the guards to grumble something about "keeping up" until you catch up again. "i, uh– i guess i do, yeah. what are you getting at?"

there's a storm approaching, the thunder sounding closer now. the sky grows dark as grey clouds begin to form and block out the sun, casting shadows across the exterior grounds. it's a melancholic scene, although fitting considering your circumstances. you reach a set of doors that another pair of guards pull open, allowing you to step outside.

a cold breeze sweeps past you almost instantly, forcing a shiver down your spine as goosebumps rise to the surface of your exposed skin. makarov says something to the guards that you don't quite catch and the doors shut behind you, leaving you alone with him. you're standing on a small balcony overlooking a bustling area full of soldiers and mercenaries alike, training and organizing their forces.

"you consider yourself good, even though you're responsible for innocent lives being lost?" he remarks, stepping towards the balcony's edge and placing his hands atop the stone ledge.

"innocent lives– you are the one responsible for that!" you exclaim, striding across the balcony and glaring daggers at his profile. "my job is to save people, and that's what i do. i've spent years hunting down threats just like you with the sole purpose of making the world safer for the innocents!"

he turns to face you with the same apathetic expression as earlier, when he first entered your cell. he doesn't look at all affected by your words, dark eyes staring straight through you. if you didn't know better, you'd think he was seeing into your very soul. his response - or rather, the lack thereof - is enough to make you go quiet. a beat of silence passes between you, only broken by the encroaching thunder and sounds of his soldiers training in the field below.

"what of the missiles used by your allies? the ones that they lost." he mutters, earning an exasperated sigh from you.

"you mean the missiles that your men killed them for?" you flex your hands in the restraints and shake your head. "i'm not allied with the shadows or their commander, but even if i was, those missiles were going to a good cause."

"and, where were they going?"

your eyes flit from his own, focusing on the distant horizon. you can tell exactly where he's going with this line of questioning, but the frustration continues to build up inside of you.

"if i had to guess, they were probably heading straight for your doorstep." you grumble, shifting from one foot to the other. standing for so long is nothing short of agonizing, given your current state.

he clicks his tongue, making a 'tsk' sound at your reply. "you cannot claim to be fighting for a good cause, if said cause considers civilians another price of war." makarov huffs. from the corner of your eye, you can see his gaze still firmly locked on you. "the lives that you save will never outweigh the damage you've done. they'll never cleanse your hands of the blood that stains them. every time your allies fire off a missile to kill someone like me, so, too, are they killing innocent–"

"you're one to fucking talk–"

the words tumble from your lips as your back is slammed into the wall, your skull knocking against the stone from the force. you wince, eyes temporarily falling out of focus and head spinning from yet another injury. makarov leans in dangerously close, one of his hands wrapped around your throat uncomfortably tight, restricting your airflow. you can still breathe, but just barely, sucking in short gasps of air.

"watch your mouth."

the warning is a low growl next to your ear, his voice dripping with such an intense venom that it makes your skin crawl. you try to nod your head despite his hold, finding it impossible to form any words with your lack of oxygen. your brain is firing off warning signals, desperate pleas to eliminate or escape the threat in front of you.

after a couple seconds, his grip loosens, allowing you to fully inhale and exhale, chest heaving with each ragged breath. he's still standing unbearably close, enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. it's an unwelcomed reprieve from the damp breeze that makes your weary bones ache.

finally, he releases you and steps back, giving you space to come down from your brief adrenaline rush. you blink away any remaining disorientation and fix your gaze on him, sinking down on your heels and slumping against the wall.

he looks completely calm - a stark contrast to his demeanor from just moments ago. an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach as you watch him collect himself, fixing the rolled cuffs of his dress shirt and straightening his suit jacket.

"you wanted to know more about general shepherd." he mutters, eyes finding yours and holding your gaze. you worry the inside of your cheek and nod in return.

"the men working for him are not mercenaries, nor are they from any private military group. they're ex-soldiers." he begins, crossing his arms behind his back. "operatives from the CIA, to be precise. he has attempted to send several men undercover, and he's failed every single time. once discovered, they are... taken care of."

you lower your head and squint, struggling to follow. "i understand sending one man undercover, but why more? what is he trying to accomplish?"

"come on, you can figure that one out."

you want to sneer at the condescending tone, but instead you close your eyes and try to think. shepherd is still in the wind after las almas, and the only person that has a chance of knowing his location is graves. judging by the latter's cooperation with urzikstan, however, you can safely assume that shepherd is lacking in resources.

"he's attempting to start a war. reestablish himself and shadow company as an invaluable military asset," you mumble to yourself, suddenly feeling apprehensive about revealing this to the man in front of you. "if he can prove his worth, he can find forgiveness for his crimes. he'll try to use his position to pin it on the one-four-one, too."

"very clever, petra. i'm impressed." he chuckles at the glare you shoot his way, clearly annoyed with his praise.

you bite your tongue and push yourself off the wall. "i need to relay this to my team as soon as possible. shepherd can't be left to his own devices." you roll your shoulders back and mentally prepare for the uphill battle that the you'll be facing. the one-four-one's relationship with shadow company is already fragile, and you're left to ponder if graves knows about this plan. he could very well be involved.

"no need to fret over that. i have people for matters such as this."

makarov saunters across the balcony and places his hand on the door handle. you narrow your eyes at him, confusion plainly written on your expression.

"i thought you said we could help each other."

"haven't we?" he asks, swinging the door open. "ah, i can see what that pretty little mind of yours is struggling to understand. you believed i was going to let you go, didn't you?"

a bright flash emerges from the storm clouds blanketing the sky, illuminating the crooked grin on his face. you stumble towards him, fatigued body threatening to collapse under its own weight. you should have known better, you shouldn't have trusted that the situation would end in your favor.

"you– you fucking asshole–"

before you can lunge at him, use the last of your strength to do something, the guards from before appear in the doorway and restrain you. their hands dig into your skin, aggravating fresh wounds and setting your sensitive nerves ablaze, ripping a pathetic pained whimper from your lips.

"as much as i would love to stay and indulge myself," makarov starts, stepping aside to allow the guards to force you back inside the stronghold. "i have somewhere i need to be. as do you."

"go fuck yourself–!" you snap, fighting the guards in a last-ditch effort to free yourself. as they drag you down the hall, back to the prison cell you had already grown to hate, he keeps his gaze on you.

"i look forward to getting better acquainted with you, lieutenant."

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[boytouya]

𝘓𝘖𝘚𝘛 𝘛𝘐𝘔𝘌

wc: 2.01k

pairing: aizawa shouta x male reader

a/n: HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY WHOO!! BEFORE THE DAY ENDS WHO WANTS TO CONFESS THEIR UNDYING LOVE FOR ME i hate this so bad

Love is in the air, a thickening aroma that’s much too sweet for your liking. It sticks to the peeling wallpaper within your room, it clings to your goosebump ridden skin, it’s plastered to every screen you turn to. It’s excruciating. It’s exhausting. There’s something wary, deeply injected into your bloodstream, that dims your eyes and dampens your expression when you catch another enamored by the undeniable paradox of love.

Still, there’s a twinge in your chest that you can’t quite place. Of something forlorn, something distant. Your jaw aches as you unclench your teeth and search for the remote tangled in your bedsheets. You assume your neighbors face the same tiresome debacle, with the sound of a creaky headboard smacking into the wall that separates your apartments. You’re not jealous, the thought of brushing your fingertips against warm, bare skin is almost nauseating. Of that, you are sure.

Valentine’s day, you deduct, is equal parts Heaven and Hell. Sweets are discounted, customers of your average, 9-5 job are a tad bit more relaxed— it’s the personal conquests you have to battle. Even the little things, like remembering how you left the remote in your living room.

You sigh, practically sinking into the floor as you drag yourself past the safety of your bedroom.

Quietly placing your feet on the ground, cold floorboards moan in protest with every painstakingly slow step you take. Your feet drag behind, making a humiliating mural out of your already pathetic appearance. The doorknob feels heavy as you twist it, sliding into the dimly lit living room with strained ease.

The impenetrable force of gravity pulls at your limbs as you search plush cushions, stress racking your body as a blanket of sudden tremors. The loud knocking at your front door startles you awake, your hunched back suddenly straightened uncomfortably. The idea of your friends (or maybe, lack thereof?) prepared to bother you into the night slows your stride, but something about the persistent knocking is unfamiliar. Not nearly as annoying.

Swinging the door open, you stretch the collar of your shirt with your pointer finger. The fabric doesn’t protest, loose enough to distort your silhouette to your liking. Leaning against the doorframe, you take in the piercing eyes staring back at you. The man, whoever he is, looks excruciatingly tired, with dark circles that cast shadows down the entirety of his chiseled face. Though, surprisingly enough, his stubble is cleanly shaved, not a hair out of place. Long, dark hair frames his face in two symmetrical strands, though they seem to have come loose from his low ponytail. Despite the styling he looks disgruntled, as if the crisp white button up is too tight at the collar, and his slacks are clinging to his strong thighs. Suspiciously your type.

“If you’re here to ask about how often I pray—“

“I’m not,” He blinks, slow as his eyes open and close. They look rather dry, heavy lidded and sleepy. His voice catches you by surprise, deep and smooth— but nonetheless warm and comforting. Still, he shifts in the doorframe, crinkling the gift wrapped bouquet of flowers in one hand, and nearly smacking the heart-shaped tin of chocolates in the other. Then, almost hesitant, he holds them forward, pressing them against your warm chest. “I’m your boyfriend… For the day.”

Suspicious rises in your throat, and your eyebrows furrow. Whatever that means, you don’t like it, even if he does wear the uniform to the overwhelmingly busy and overbooked ‘boyfriend-experience’ café downtown. He sure doesn’t look the type.

Plus he seemed much too eager to add in that last part.

You grunt, ready to slam the door in his flawless face before he opens his mouth to speak again and uses his foot to catch the slamming door. He doesn’t flinch, instead sighing as if this isn’t the first time he’s had his toes (and shoes) crushed beneath the weight of wood, “I was hired as a gift. From your….friend.”

Something tells you his lack of enthusiasm is highly against protocol.

You can’t help but discreetly laugh at his dryness, slowly opening the door to stare him down. Friendly enough, considering he’s being paid to be here, and you have to admit— the chocolate was a nice touch. Maybe your friend paid for that too. He lets you take the gifts from his hands, finally, with warm fingers brushing his knuckles. Admittedly, the contact is nice. Maybe even more than that. “You can keep your shoes on, I don’t care.”

You allow him to step into your apartment, disregarding the lack of emotion in his face as he takes in the sight of your house. Homely, clearly lived in— but bone chillingly lonely. His posture straightens at that, eyes settling on your back as you disappear into your bedroom. To change, he presumes, as you’d opened the front door in just boxers and a t-shirt. Cute.

He watches you waddle back out, socks padding against the floor as you scratch the nape of your neck nervously. What were you supposed to say? What do boyfriends who aren’t-really-boyfriends… do?

“Shouta Aizawa,” He— Shouta introduces himself, bowing his head in your direction. He clears his throat, listening to your voice chime in his ears as you introduce yourself in return. He lets you speak, though he was already told your name. While it’s a bit chilly outside, he considers the sight of you on a ferris wheel, watching as the Sun sets below the horizon, yellow light dancing on your face and across your eyelids. He remembers your interest in reading, and how you have an embarrassing passion for romance storylines. “Where do you want to go today? My treat.”

It really was his treat, the books you’d shyly bought despite assuring him time and time again that you didn’t need anything, resting in a cutely designed plastic bag that he held for you. Sure, it came out of his paycheck, but your shell was cracking. The previously hard and standoffish demeanor from your initial meeting was melting away. And, really, you just seemed very lonely. Aizawa falls into the boyfriend role much faster than he’d like to admit, sometimes clasping his hand around yours to get your attention— he’s a man of very few words. Each and every time, without fail, your face would brighten, as if the missing pieces of your puzzle were found and completed.

You get a few comments from strangers with genuine smiles, very polite and quiet responses of how cute you are together, how well you compliment each other. There’s a twinge in your chest that you can’t quite place whenever you hear it. Something forlorn, something distant.

Finally, Shouta lets you pay for the freshly made, heart-shaped meat-buns that happen to be twenty five percent off for the holiday, your cold hands curling around the warmth of the treat. He opts for a cat-shaped one, absentmindedly trailing his fingertip across the scored whiskers as he takes a bite. Your heart catches in your throat, beating loudly in your ears as you take note of the endearing habit. Your gaze must linger, because the same dark eyes from before are staring back into yours, almost looking right through you.

You laugh nervously, sinking your teeth into the warm dough before he can comment.

Selfishly, you don’t want the day to end.

He listens to you talk about your hobbies, interjecting more often than not with grunts of engagement. Your voice was nice, a smooth tone that made his heavy eyelids even heavier, and had it not been for the high pitched meow that interrupted your train of thought, he’d surely end up asleep in the middle of the sidewalk.

The two of you swivel around, sharing a silent glance as a stray cat scurries across the street. You’ve seen it before, a black and white tuxedo cat with lime eyes and a flat attitude. Its walking is tired and sluggish today, as if it’s had a particularly long one, and you quirk your head to the side, “He kinda looks like you.”

He tilts his head in the opposite direction, narrowing his eyes at the cat. He settles by the grass, sleepy and disgruntled eyes closing quickly after curling in on himself. The pattern of his front legs make a poorly drawn heart, and he wonders if you got him to look so closely solely because of that. Heat rises in his cheeks, but he buries his face into his sleeve, clearing his throat. Warmth floods the man’s stomach, planting sunflower seeds and blue skies. He turns his face away from your survey, clearing his throat as the air suddenly becomes much too humid. It seems you take his silence for an answer in itself. Very funny.

“No, really! I feed him sometimes, his posture’s crazy and he’s always tired.”

Ignoring the potential dig at his posture, Shouta takes a moment to imagine you feeding stray cats, snaking your fingers at them and running your hands through their soft fur. Your presence must be so comforting, so kind. You remind him of a prince, with warm features and a soft smile, albeit a little awkward.

Heart fluttering in his rib cage, Aizawa starts to feel like maybe he was the one who rented a boyfriend.

Continuing down the streets of Musutafu, Shouta doesn’t mind the way your shoulders brush. The way your cold hands brush against his, or the way your pinkies find themselves locked together. Comfortable warmth blooms from your body, and he wants nothing more than to hold it in his hands, cherish the comfortable silence and bathe in your body heat, hidden away from the chilly air that signifies winter’s overstayed welcome.

And, like clockwork, his deep eyes make contact with the bright star occupying the setting sky. Difficult to see through the trees and amalgamation of branches and leaves, but it shines through the cracks and into your hair. The smell of your skin lingers in the air, Aizawa’s mind empties, and his thoughts simultaneously erode whilst coalescing into a serene hum stuck in the far back of his head. The bittersweet tranquility floats above him for just a moment, descending as soon as sunlight leaks out of the trees. It stares back into his chestnut eyes, taunting him.

With a makeshift, golden halo, you speak. Unknowingly shining brighter than the brightest star in the sky. He can’t afford to fall in love on the job.

Shouta breathes, ragged and rushed and oh, so rocky as his heart hammers in his chest.

“I’ve always wanted to adopt a cat,” You start, nervous embers igniting in your lungs and smothering you from the inside out. It shouldn’t matter, maybe you’re crossing a boundary. This was his job, to make you feel cared for.. loved. Just for the day, he’d said it himself. Just for the day, which was nearing a close with every step closer toward your apartment. “A stray, I mean. I think the one we saw earlier has a partner, though.”

Aizawa raises an amused eyebrow at that, briefly thinking about his cat at home, “And?”

“Do you think on their first… date… That probably, honestly, wasn’t really even a date and happened on, uh, circumstance…was really a date? Like, did he ask his partner for a second one—could there be a second one? But… Without the…circumstances?”

“I think he speaks in circles,” You wince at his flat tone, nodding deprecatingly as you wait for him to continue. Your keys feel much heavier in your pocket, and your teeth dig into your bottom lip. “Did he think his partner would say no?”

“Would he?” You ask, carrying yourself up the steps to your front door.

“No,” Aizawa stays where he is, watching as the gray stone sits unbothered beneath your feet. When you look back, it’s the first time you’ve seen him smile with teeth, pink lips quirked upward, and a bit wobbly from lack of use. “He’d agree to a second one. Free of charge.”

want more? —

MASTERLIST

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[themetalvirus]

i wish i had more of a handle on knuckles i wanna do serious character analysis on knuckles.

easily embarrassed. easily angered. full of love. trusted too easily and now doesn't trust anyone (except for like 6 people). poor guy's first friend was eggman and like it or not it informs a lot of who he is today and how he interacts with people. super awkward from being isolated for so long (knuckles and silver solidarity). obviously cares deeply about his land and culture, loves it and mourns for it in equal measure every day. protects his true friends and is always there if you truly need him, despite his insincere grumblings. scared of company, grateful for company, longs for company.

great forager and gardener. bad with technology, overstimulated by bright lights and a lot of noise, is generally a guy who Wants To Go Home (his autism....). uncomfortable in positions of authority (The War) but still likes to Have A Say. does not tolerate nonsense unless he's in on the nonsense (sonic and him shoot each other out of cannons for fun i think). skilled weaver, skilled at making jewelry, skilled with survival, awkward around chao but is still very very good with them because he's lived with them his whole life.

adventurous, though not great at adapting to new situations (the autism). likes exploring / learning about other ancient cultures, languages, and peoples. curious about the nature of the world (where the master emerald came from, general existential stuff). likes a challenge. shows affection via mutual snark and/or deep talk about the universe. doesn't know much about planes but likes listening to tails talk about them.

is so hard on himself that he seriously contemplates ending his own life if he feels like he has failed his duties. feels like he exists for one purpose, despite his value to the world being much more than that. fears leaving his post because of multiple terrible experiences around leaving the master emerald unguarded, making him paranoid and wary, but his initially justified fear ends up isolating him and stunting him further. good thing his friends are so insistent on visiting and getting him out to see the world - he needs that.

again, is always there when you really need him. isn't good at emotional stuff but is a great shoulder to cry on nonetheless. heart achingly honest and genuine. will say what he thinks. doesn't pick up on social cues very well (autism). doesn't like admitting when HE needs a shoulder to cry on, but his loving friends are there for him even if he doesn't say anything - they know him well.

pushes people away to make himself feel safe and protect his squishy center - some of his best friends annoy the shit out of him because they insisted on being best friends with him anyway. great company once you get to know him. makes people laugh - time spent with sonic has honed his sense of humor.

precise, steady hands. great spatial awareness and reasoning. knowledgable about traditional medicine. is very clean and smells good. punches real good. good at conserving ancient artifacts and ruins - cleaning them, protecting them, maybe even retouching them or making some of his own.

he's so scared of being wronged. he longs for company. he's lonely. he's hard on himself. he's so full of love. he looks amazing in hats. and his song lied he DEFINITELY chuckles

[sbzbrainrot]

Who is this really about? (One More Thing ch.2)

made a second chapter! here it is, but feel free to also check it out on archives of our own! https://archiveofourown.org/works/47314900/chapters/119299657

The sun cast a warmth over the surface of the water as it rose over the horizon. Morning brought the bioluminescence most of the local flora and fauna held into a slumber of its own - the higher the sun rose, the dimmer the light originating from under the surface got. By 7am, the day had fully begun.

Robin had been watching the gentle sunrise, the beauty of the world outside never failing to mesmerize her. She laid on her side, blanket tucked over her shoulders, still enjoying the snugness of her bed.

She was surprised to find she didn’t feel tired. She had been up a little later than usual last night, busy mulling over her thoughts over what had happened that day. 

Her leg did ache, though. Damn, ice worms had rough skin. When that thing ran over her skin it felt like she’d had an electric sander pressed into her - the heat generated from its quick movement burnt her where it touched, but she didn’t get to experience the burn very deeply because she was practically shredded by its razor-sharp skin before she even had time to react to that heat. 

Although it left a nasty raw spot and some burns, she should’ve felt lucky she got away from the situation with only a few scrapes and bruises. 

But that was one of the main sources of her conflict. She didn’t feel lucky. 

The entire thing had happened so fast - Al-an had suggested they end their searches for the night, picked her up with his stupid beam, put her on his back, and wordlessly blinked across the basin towards the water. And then out came that big ugly worm, knocking her off her already unsteady seat and onto her ass where she was ravaged by its attack. And she had done nothing, because she couldn’t do anything. 

She felt like a rag doll, like Al-an had just picked her up like a child picks up a toy when they’re ready to go home after a day at the park and then dropped her into a dirty puddle of… cheese graters? Robin shook her head as if to shake the analogical line of thought away. 

She knew he hadn’t been being careless and he didn’t intend for her to feel this way, but she felt like everything that happened that night was completely out of her control. The way that he grabbed her, dropped her, grabbed her again, then tried to strip her clothes off - it felt inhumane, no matter the nobility of the actions. 

Robin understood that Al-an wasn’t the best at communicating, especially in stressful situations. He tended to just shut down verbally when they were met with frustration or fear and she found herself missing the connection they had had when he was in her head - as uncomfortable as it was, she at least knew what he was feeling. It was so much harder when all you have to go off is the colors he shines (maybe? She still wasn’t sure about that theory) and the movements he makes, half of which he does with these mechanical arms of his that somehow feel separated from his person regardless. 

Frustration bubbled within her. She had the night of rest to gather her thoughts and yet she somehow felt more conflicted about it now than she had yesterday. 

Robin squeezed her eyes and took in one, two, three breaths. She opened them, now nourished with a sense of freshness, and decided to really think about this. 

She decided to bring herself to a point in her past she hadn’t intentionally recalled in years.

A young Robin, perhaps 5 or 6, sat on an exam table. The memory was fuzzy, but grasping at the edges (an effort she didn’t quite want to make but happened nonetheless) she was able to recall a few things - the bright fluorescent lights that overpowered the sun that shone through the little window, the coldness of the office, the smell of rubbing alcohol. 

She was swinging her legs off the side of the exam table, muttering to herself things she could never hope to remember, just bits of imagination and play that occupied her mind at the time. Her mother sat in front of her reading a magazine, or perhaps a book, or maybe flipping through her phone? 

The doctor, a man with a gruff voice but a face she couldn’t remember, knocked twice on the door before opening it. It had startled Robin and she looked up at him as he entered, watching him as analytically as such a little kid could. 

The doctor barely gave Robin a passing glance and instead shook her mother’s hand, expressing some sort of request to speak about her visit. Mom stood up and joined him by the door. 

Robin could only watch them as they planned - she would be getting three inoculations today and a blood draw, a hearing test, they would be testing her reflexes and evaluating her on how she was adjusting to school. 

Robin furrowed her brows. Her memory at this point was young and she couldn’t remember the previous appointments she’d been to with much detail, this was all very new to her, and very… scary. “What are you guys talking about?”

At her voice the doctor glanced at her, as if just seeming to notice her, and waved her off. “The adults are talking, honey. I’ll get to you in a second.”

Robin frowned. It felt like all she could hear was ‘Robin’ this and ‘Robin’ that, but she wasn’t even being offered the courtesy of being included in this conversation? She wasn’t even going to be told directly what was going to happen today, none of it was going to be explained? Indignantly, she spoke again. “Hey, you’re talking about me, you know.” 

The doctor pried himself away from the conversation with Robin’s mother again to shoot her another look, one she couldn’t quite recall but that sent a feeling of anxiety down her throat. Robin’s mom laughed nervously and apologized for her behavior, turning to Robin and giving her a demanding look.

What? Now Mom was APOLOGIZING for her? She wasn’t sorry. She felt like she had a right to be included in this conversation that’s about HER, why are they just pushing her aside and treating her like she’s being annoying.

Why are they ignoring her?

Why are they giving her those looks?

Why are they using that big language she couldn’t yet understand, why isn’t she allowed to know what’s going to happen?!

Robin had followed that memory as far as it could bring her. The vividness faded quickly and she was left with only the feelings associated with it - a sense of anxiety, anger, fear. 

So that’s what their little ice worm encounter yesterday reminded her of. All those times in her childhood that she was expected to just sit by and pretend not to listen as ‘the adults’ spoke about her, as they planned for her without even asking her what she felt about any of it.

Sam was the only one who ever understood. The thought was sudden and brought a pang of pain to her heart. 

Sam had always been easily convinced to meddle and figure out what was happening, and even though she was a good few years older than Robin, she’d always treated her seriously. She couldn’t recall a single time where Sam would brush her off, she never had to hear ‘The adults are talking, Robin’ from her big sister. 

Until she started working at Alterra and suddenly every communication held this serious air, like they were being monitored, and all Sam did was exchange pleasantries with someone she had shared a womb with - it really hurt. 

After Sam began working for that god awful company, every time they talked it felt like she was talking at her, not with her. It was hard to speak to her those last few months, she even avoided it, before…

Robin swallowed, feeling tears well up in her eyes. She bit her tongue and looked up at the roof, blinking them away. Not the time. There was something else to focus on right now. 

After a few grounding moments, Robin calmed herself. Using her bed frame, she pulled herself up. 

It was time for coffee. Too much thinking for… 8am? She had been laying there just reveling for an hour? Jesus. 

Robin tried to keep her mind away from any more heavy thinking as she hobbled her way into her makeshift kitchen. Seriously, it felt like if she poked at it any further the dam would burst and she’d just be sitting there blubbering.

Al-an was in the kitchen, flexing his claws nervously and idly tinkering with forgotten tools. He was just trying to keep his hands and mind busy while he waited for Robin to awake. 

He wasn’t quite sure if she’d be able to walk after yesterday’s event and once her usual wake up time had passed he was wondering if he should check on her. 

He felt it would not garner a good response, considering how they left off yesterday. So he just decided to wait. 

Al-an turned to face Robin as she entered the room, acutely aware of her approach. He looked at her analytically, but was more focused on keeping himself meticulously composed, ensuring the pulse and colors of his energy channels didn’t give away anything he didn’t want given away. 

As he considered whether or not to greet her first, she spoke. 

“Hey there, big guy.” Robin shot him a warm smile and it cut a tension that neither of them had even known was there. 

“Good morning, Robin.” Al-an felt a weight he didn’t even know was there lift off of him knowing that she was willing to talk to him. A good start.

“What’re you doing here? You’re never in my base this early in the morning.” Robin tilted her head, emulating that habit of Al-an’s unconsciously. He noted it.

“I was concerned for your well-being. I did not want for you to experience any distress as a result of your injury.” Al-an took a few tentative steps towards Robin, voice soft now. “I thought it wise to stay here, waiting for you.”

Robin scrunched her nose and sniggered. “Al-an,” her voice came out sweet, but with an undertone of annoyance. “I didn’t split in half. I’m okay.” 

Al-an looked down at the ground in front of them for a moment, unable to stifle a bit of guilt. He looked back up at her. “I know. But it was still dangerous, even frightening.”

“Maybe for you.” She laughed and put a hand on his claw. “I’m fine, Al-an. Could we talk about this later?”

Al-an stared at her for a few moments. He wasn’t sure he wanted to wait to further discuss this, it seemed pretty important for her well-being and the health of their companionship. He still wasn’t quite sure what had caused her to become so agitated yesterday and he certainly didn’t want to repeat it. 

But he didn’t want to push either. “Okay.” He turned away and walked to the fridge, opening it and taking something out. Robin looked at him curiously as she set some coffee to make.

He walked over to the table and placed down a marblemelon. It was sliced a few jagged and uneven ways. Al-an looked at Robin. He enjoyed the radiating warmth that seemed to come from her joy. (It was illogical - how could a smile create warmth?) He spoke carefully. 

“I have gotten you breakfast from your greenhouse.” To make amends. But he didn’t mention it, because she didn’t want to entertain that topic. 

He had been searching Robin’s PDA last night to try to figure out what sorts of acts helped with making amends and difficult conversations. It was much harder to find than he thought it would be, seems that when something is common courtesy in a society it is seldom documented in writing. 

Just another aspect of human history and culture he found fascinating (and perhaps a little inefficient). The fact that some things simply existed in this raw form, a trained behavior passed down through pure culture. 

But he had managed to find some sources. One recommended he make her a breakfast. 

He wasn’t exactly a cook and they didn’t have the most fabulous ingredients here, but he tried anyway.

“Aw, Al-an…” Robin limped over to him, a big smile on her face, and wrapped her arms around him. She gave him a little squeeze before separating. “Thank you. I was craving marblemelon.”

She actually wasn’t, but Al-an didn’t know that, not that he knew much of anything except how nice it felt to be embraced right now.

[acorpsecalledcorva]

Identity Dysphoria

Reading The Sisters of Dorley before during and after TDoV has honestly completely unmade me and reminded me how fragile my identity really is.

For those who don't know The Sisters of Dorley is a serialised novel posted on AO3 but since published in print form that's essentially the extreme version of this post

It's a subversion of the force feminisation trope that takes aim at toxic masculinity, the patriarchy, misogyny, and particularly the transmisogyny implicit in the institution of medical transition.

The narrative is shown through the PoV of multiple characters, starting with Stef, a transfem egg who noticed her town has a "missing person/slightly higher than average height female population" problem and wants to be inducted into the hall. Christine, an inductee in the program in her 3rd year of feminisation struggling to fully embody her new identity, and Aunt Bea, the matron of the organisation and her experience with the previous much more brutal and sadistic regime.

Something that's very common and very carefully explored throughout is all the troubled boys history of trauma and abuse and the incredibly complex relationship that can have when interacting in a cisnormative Patriarchal society.

Essentially these boys have all been victims in their lives, something which society historically has no place for. That identity, of being a victimised male, is rejected at every turn and so they reject it internally as well. Pushing it to the deepest parts of their psyche and replacing it with something else. The thing that media and culture and the legal system have been screaming at them is what a man is supposed to be.

Dorley Hall offers an alternative. A really fucked up abusive and arguably even more traumatising alternative, but an alternative nonetheless. To let go of the "driftwood" they've been clinging to all their lives and learn how to create a completely new identity for themselves that's free from the intense pressures of masculinity.

And uhhhh yeah, that's a lot to think about as a AMAB person with DID that has been through the medical transition system in the UK.

Because hey guess what, realising that my current identity isn't really working out, rejecting it and burying it deep inside me and then coming up with a brand new identity to embody and explore is something I have done many many many times throughout my life.

I have tried to become multiple different kinds of male/masculine person over the years, none of them were sustainable for more than 18 months. Some were queer, others were painfully compcishet, often I thought about the possibility of womanhood and femininity but the conversations around trans people at the time just weren't receptive to the feelings I had and it was very clear to me that being trans was the only way you were allowed to do that.

The doors to feminity were eventually opened just enough for me to slip in (if you wish you were a trans girl then you're probably a trans girl) and so that's the identity I chose for myself. I came out to my wife, I went to the GP to get my referral, and then I just...waited. A 2 year waiting list before my first appointment was welcome at the time to give me a chance to try to understand myself and decide what i wanted, but things are never simple.

This new identity as a trans woman still felt wrong. Presenting femininely and being viewed as a woman was something I very much aimed for, but made me deeply uncomfortable. I told myself it was the dysphoria, that my issues with my body were exacerbated by feminine clothing that stood in contast to how I physically looked. That when I got on HRT this would change and I'd feel better, I just need to trust in the programprocess and one day I'll get there.

Two things happened at the same time. I turned 30, and got my first appointment. Turning 30 made me panic at the idea of spending another decade as who I was and pushed me to order DIY hormones, and I got the letter for my first appointment which meant it was time to start socially transitioning.

Because the NHS does not believe that you can make physical changes to your body without also changing your social status. You have to be out to family and friends and work and college or whatever, you have to legally change your name and have lived experience to prove that you are committed (in reality it's not that harsh but the message is very much that your life will be much harder and you'll be viewed with more suspicion if you don't do these things)

So I was a good little tran and did what was asked if me. And if there's one aspect of my transition I regret? It's that. Because no matter how affirming and inclusive the message from the community is, society doesn't work that way. By coming out as a trans woman, I told the world to expect something from me. And there are much higher expectations placed on trans women for performative feminity than there are on cis women, there just are. A trans woman is a very specific object in the eyes of most people in wider society and I am not that, like, at all.

I hate my legal name and title, showing my ID makes me cringe, going to the doctor and having F on my record and then showing up as me is physically painful. I hate that I feel pressured to dress a certain way when going to events with other trans and queer people just to communicate to them "no no I promise, I'm one of you, don't look beneath the mask please don't look beneath the mask"

Because truthfully? I'm not. I'm not trans. I'm not queer. I'm not anything. Because I was never allowed to be anything.

My trauma extends back to infancy, my development has never progressed in the absence of it. I am completely and comprehensively informed by it. If I'm anything it's Assigned Traumatised at Birth. My identity as a child was formed as a reaction to an unstable environment and trying to survive it. My teenage identity was formed as a means to escape my childhood and trying to become the kind of adults that were more than happy to let a troubled teenager hang out with them. My adult identity was formed as a reaction to "oh shit I'm supposed to actually function now fuck how do I do that" and the many ways I failed. My internal female identities were formed because what happened to me isn't supposed to happen to boys so I made up a girl for it to happen to instead. And my trans identity formed because fuck, what else is there left for me to try? If we wanna get really really real with it, transition was an act of suicide. The attempt to completely obliterate who I was so that I could try to become something new.

The problem is that none of these identities are me, because there is no me. I never formed. I am only and have only ever been a collection of attempts to survive, a reflection of the society that's attacked and assaulted me at every turn. That constantly views me with suspicion because they can tell that I'm not being genuine. Because I can't be genuine.

I never can.

[myristicisms]

When would those damn scientists be satisfied? Surely their research had to have gone stagnant at some point and yet the demands kept coming and coming. Just a few more cells they'd plead, just a bit more blood to observe, excuses and more excuses and he was swiftly growing sick and tired of it. Were there no inhibitors keeping a close eye on him, Genesis would have happily sliced their heads from their shoulders with rapier and call it a day but instead he has to comply just as he has for the last four years. The gentle clicking of his heels served little comfort, nor did the fact he was letting mere bugs lead him to the lab.

Nothing quite compared to the feeling of loss that always came with their damned experiments, though it's not as if he wasn't used to these foolish ‘ doctor's visits ’ anyways, he'd gone through plenty throughout the years but whereas the researchers of Deepground seemed to take joy in inflicting wounds upon the auburn haired man, Hollander at least had the decency to be cautious in each touch and injection during his visits. It was nicer then too because at least Genesis had someone to bond with during the many tests administered upon him, that and the fact that at the time he thought it was completely normal.

Nowadays though, there was no Angeal to keep him grounded and the ever constant threat of being placated through whatever means necessary was all the crimson commander had to keep himself from lashing out and destroying the entire damned room the moment one sank their fingers too deeply into scar tissue. There is, however, an odd amusement that comes in seeing Deepground's Emperor sat atop a table, he'd liken the imagery to that of a drowned rodent from the way water weighed down the immaculate one's spikes but that would be far too cruel given they're both not in ideal positions.

There is some gratitude though that comes with the other man's presence, the scientists were busy bodies who loved to gossip therefore it's in both their best interests to be cordial with one another and act as though they have no place they'd rather be. Heels gently click against the tiled floor once more, long legs guiding the ginger to stand beside the Emperor with a scowl pulling taut upon his lips. He stands silently, waits to be regarded in some way for the sake of formalities and to not offend any of the lab workers in the room.

He'd been mulling over prior interactions, after all.

@sleeplesswork | Weiss the Immaculate

clean labs and fluorescent lights had long been the emperor's life; raised beneath the city of midgar as an experiment, weiss had never known any other life. he could still recall his earliest memories of a sobbing nero, barely a toddler as men in white coats stabbed needles into his beloved brother. memories of sitting on a metal bench, freezing against his clammy skin, still conscious ( not even ten years old ), surfaced to the forefront of the white - haired man's mind as the scientist above him cleared his throat. another round of battle simulations — useless, weiss had defeated every program created — and then experimentation… no longer a scared child, the freezing cold against his blood - covered skin was uncomfortable, nonetheless. he's supposed to sit up and allow a man he'd rather strangle to dump a bucket of water as a half - assed attempt to wash the emperor; then he'll be sent on his way. likely chained up after the struggle he put up today. but weiss stays still, ready to snap the hovering wrist if he dares try to force him up… but before that can happen, the sound of the automatic laboratory door interrupts. in walks genesis and two more men in white coats who apologise for interrupting, while one of the others working on weiss shrugs it off, saying it had taken longer than expected — speaking as if both soldiers aren't even there.

[natasha-in-space]

Okay I understand, maybe you can do headcanon of RFA and Saeran with MC who look exactly like Rika, maybe same name

Well, this would be a very sensitive and complicated situation for everyone involved, really. Rika was an important person for everyone in the RFA, albeit in very different ways. Imagine mourning someone who has left such a big impact on your life, only to have someone who looks just like them show up one day. It'll be awkward and weird. To put it simply. Everyone is aware that this is not Rika, of course. It would be highly disrespectful to treat this newcomer like they are not a completely different person. I think everyone would be as respectful as can be. However, it would still be extremely uncomfortable for everyone involved.

The circumstances are what determine everything, though. If MC bonds with everyone the way you do in the game, I think all of the issues I'm about to mention would be lessened. That is, without interacting face to face. No one will care how you look, if they already know you as a person. But, if you're asking about their reactions to seeing someone who looks very similar to Rika, without having the opportunity to get to know them first, here's my interpretation.

I don't think Yoosung is going to be able to actually meet MC face to face for quite some time. Both for his own mental health, and because he knows he'll probably make them feel very uncomfortable. And he doesn't want that. But you can't really blame him for seeing his lost cousin every time he looks at them. It's an agonizing experience. He'll need to overcome his grief before actually starting to form a genuine connection with the MC. Out of everyone, he'll definitely have the hardest time of all. But, he'll do his best to be respectful and kind to MC nonetheless. He'll probably experience a lot of guilt over his inability to connect with them properly. But, with time and health communication, I believe he'll definitely pull through it and open himself up to this new relationship.

Zen would be more relaxed since Rika wasn't as essential to him as to some other members. Even so, for quite a long while, she remained a woman he deeply admired and trusted. It's a weird uncomfortable feeling to be met with the stark image of her. Still, he will be mostly respectful and welcoming. I think he's the most comfortable person to get along with out of everyone in this situation. I believe it will take him the least time to fully embrace MC as a new member. He'll probably be their rock of support in this very strange predicament. He understands what it's like to feel a certain way because of your looks. And he doesn't want their new member to feel that way. It’s actually rather sweet to think about him getting all protective and caring over MC in this situation!

Jaehee is... Well, she arguably grieved Rika the least out of the RFA, but that doesn't mean she'll feel any less weird about the whole ordeal. In my opinion, she will be mostly professional and polite in her demeanor. She won't make MC feel uncomfortable, but there is an obvious feeling of distance between them, and that's intentional on Jaehee's part. She might mellow out with time, though. But, for the time being, she'd prefer to keep the relationship strictly professional.

Jumin is pretty similar to Jaehee in terms of his overall attitude, but his situation is far more complicated. Rika was his closest friend after V. Although he doesn't show it in the same open manner as Yoosung does, his grief for her is deep and strong. He'll definitely feel very uncomfortable on the inside the first time he sees this MC. He'll dislike that feeling even more because he understands that this is not Rika, and he shouldn't compare the two. While Yoosung is struggling with the constant reminders of Rika whenever he looks at MC, Jumin will face more frustrations with himself and his own inner feelings. He doesn't like acting illogical. And realizing that he's losing the grip on his emotions is... hard for him. Mostly because it feels like he's not in control of himself. And that's something he can't have, for more than just one reason. I believe that, much like Jaehee, he will keep the relationship mostly professional. He will be polite and respectful towards MC, and he will do everything in his power to make sure that the party is successful and that their new member feels comfortable. But on the inside, he will definitely be having a very difficult time.

For Saeyoung it's... complicated, to say the least. Although he was much closer to V than Rika, their relationship was still very important. Ultimately, she was the one he first met back in the cathedral. As a scared, hungry boy, with no one to turn to. She's the one who cared for his brother, and she's the one he feels forever indebted to. That being said, I do not think it will be as difficult for him as it is for Yoosung and Jumin. But it will still be very uncomfortable. He'll find himself being less playful and more serious around MC, something he has done with Rika whenever she was in the chatroom. He'll probably berate himself for that, distracting himself with his job. In my opinion, he will warm up overtime. After getting to know MC as an individual person.

And for Saeran, well... It really depends on a lot of factors. But if we're talking about him just meeting MC who looks like Rika, it won't be pretty, and he will need to excuse himself to breathe for sure. It's fair to say that Rika is the source of the most trauma for him. It is nothing against MC, but you can't really do anything about your body and mind acting on their own accord to protect you. It really depends on which Saeran we're talking about, as well. SE Saeran will have the strongest reaction of all, while GE Saeran will most likely settle down with some time and space for him to sort through his emotions. With Saeran, it's a very similar situation to Yoosung, only in very different circumstances. Both will have the hardest time of all to avoid the visual similarities. But, while Yoosung it's the feelings of grief, for Saeran, it's the feelings of discomfort and fear. It is very much possible to work through those emotions with lots of time and patience, though.

That's the sentiment for all of them, really. It might be difficult at first, but, none of them would want to make MC uncomfortable. And all of them would come to appreciate and love them regardless.

[hellishradio]

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

I put many of the hearts as a warning, this does contain my personal experiences of what I am going through right now. I am only anonymous because it was asked that we do so. I can't really talk about this anywhere else, so seeing this opportunity I took it. I've never ranted like this before.

-My warnings are abuse and SA-

Please be weary and informed going forward, I do not want to cause anyone distress.

I am going on twenty years old, and finally spoke up about the sexual abuse I went through when I was thirteen. It was done to me by a step father that has not been in my life for years now.

It wasn't until my younger brother confessed that he also had an uncomfortable situation happen to him by the same man, that charges were filed recently. My brother never was assaulted the way I was, and I thank whatever God there is for that, but the trauma is still there. He is going to counseling and is happy. He wasn't, and isn't, old enough to understand what exactly happened, he just knows it felt wrong.

The whole situation has opened that door of memories for me recently. It's something that doesn't leave me through the day. I dont allow it to define me as a woman, however, that doesn't stop the anxiety and panic that comes with trusting people.

I've found it uncomfortable to hug even my family for years, to which they all forced it upon me since they assumed I was just being a difficult teen. I dont think even after my confession that they understand my hesitancy. I do not hold any ill feelings about it, my family is just very physically comfortable.

The amount of times I had been sexualized at a young age makes me feel sick, so much so, I feel untrusting of any male, man and boy alike. Now that I'm older, and interested in dating, it really makes it hard for me to connect with anyone.

Which brings me to my next confession that only my three closest people know, they knew before I did, I may be into woman.

I've thought about it for years, the only thing that ever held me back from trying it out was, indeed, my family. Whom are against it.

I hope this wasn't too much, but I thank you for the opportunity to confess this.

I could keep going on with secrets buried deeply, however I don't want to trauma dump.

I hope you have a wonderful everything.

And if any have ever suffered anything like I have, you are not wrong in your silence, but if you can find the extra strength to speak up, even if you cry whilst doing so, you'll truly have defeated any abuser.

~<3

" An experience with such a tragic and personal element... the scars of such an incident are quite difficult to heal, no? Especially when it comes to such personal matters. It is quite fortunate that you do not allow it to define you. "

mod : i'm glad you took the opportunity to share your story. it must've took courage to open up about something as personal and difficult as sexual assault, especially when it happened during such a formative time of your life. thank you for letting me know about it, anon. it's natural that this event has brought back memories that make you feel anxious and panicky. it also makes sense that this experience has made you feel uncomfortable with physical touch and the distrustful of men. nonetheless i'm proud that you pushed through this happening, take care, anon <3

[summisdesiderantes]

About Marissa

OOC About page for Marissa Eirkegaard, an extremely old ghoul and vampire hunter in the setting of Vampire: The Masquerade.

The short of it:

Marissa is a ghoul Mage who views vampirism as a disease, and vampires as its victims. She has contempt for the whole, but sympathy for the individual.

She's is a former Shadow Inquisitor, disillusioned by the Inquisition's failure and the corruption of the Catholic Church. She no longer believes in extermination or domination as an effective strategy of disease control.

She currently works as the right hand of the Anarch Baron of San Fernando, believing the Anarch movement capable of giving her the freedom and resources to build something that could truly change Cainite society. A writeup on San Fernando is currently in-progress.

She's here, largely, to spread Anarch propaganda, influence existing Anarchs towards legitimate political action and ideological unity, and potentially find like-minded individuals to recruit to San Fernando's cause.

FOREWARNING: RELIGION.

You've found the blog of a Catholic Sister, or at least someone with enough True Faith to call themselves a devout believer without lying.

...No, I am not Catholic, or even Christian in real life. I am an atheist. I was raised Catholic, but that's honestly irrelevant to my roleplay here. Marissa's experiences and views are not my own. I've studied religion (as in, the history, practice, and philosophy of religion) in college (nearly completed the coursework as a secondary major, but didn't quite have the time), but in honesty, I studied Buddhism more than I studied anything Christian. I may get stuff wrong. Please correct me.

There will probably be religion here. There might be lengthy discussions of religion, which might touch on subjects that could make people uncomfortable. Analytical and historical discussions of religious subjects might occur, which can be uncomfortable for both believers and nonbelievers. Marissa isn't the sort of person to dismiss evidence on the basis of conflict with pre-existing notions. Religion can and has co-existed with both physical science and anthropology for a very long time. I will not be entertaining bad faith discussions about this topic.

It'll be tagged "inquisitor's faith" whenever discussed at length, or with particularly evocative imagery. Commonplace mentions of religion will not be tagged. I'm not tagging every time my Catholic Sister character tells someone she's a Roman Catholic. If that bothers you, please do not follow this blog.

Also, in case there's any doubt, there's not going to be any real-life bigotry on this blog. No homophobia, transphobia, anti-Semitism, racism, nothing. Marissa isn't even a mindless bigot against vampires, the thing she hunts. Some discussion of fantastical bigotry might exist, like discussions of the nature of vampires, but that is where the line is drawn. Any bigotry presented by the Roman Catholic Church or any sizable majority of its practitioners will not be repeated by Marissa.

From an outside perspective...

Marissa is a motherly, soft-spoken, anxious woman. She's a devout Catholic, though she's not big on being forceful with her beliefs. She's kind and generous with her time, and lives a life of modesty and service as a Sister, having taken vows of piety, poverty, chastity, and charity.

She's a very open-minded woman, having thought quite deeply about her belief. If you, with the right approach and demeanor, interrogate her while she's in the right mood, she might reference the works of Aquinas, Maritain, and Rahner. Press her more, and you may hear of the philosophies of those outside of the Catholic sphere, like Otto or Kierkegaard. Synthesize everything she's said, and compare it to the Church she serves, and you might wonder if she's truly a Catholic at all. Nonetheless, she holds firm in her beliefs. She's open-minded, but there's likely scarcely an idea you could present to her that she hasn't reflected on before. She's been in this business for a while, after all.

She likes jazz music, though she'll dabble in other styles. She's not much of a musician herself, and she doesn't know much theory. Rather, she likes what speaks to her, and what speaks to her is something that she's become very attuned to, but doesn't feel the need to put to words.

She's decently well-read, but most of what she's consumed is philosophy. She's always looking for a good book recommendation. There's plenty of work, but also plenty of waiting as a Sister, and while patience is a virtue, it's good to spend your time well.

Beneath that...

Marissa Eirkegaard is an Inquisitor.

As in, from the Inquisition. Not the Second Inquisition; she detests the modern United States and its government. She's an Inquisitor from the Catholic Inquisition. She is one of the oldest, if not the oldest-living Catholics in the United States. She has many grievances with the Church. She has many grievances with other practitioners of her own faith.

She was a witch-hunter in Europe before she came to America, where she hunted and killed a Tzimisce Koldun Methuselah in Salem that mortally wounded her. To continue the hunt, she drank its blood and became a ghoul. She's survived through the modern era this way, sustaining her need for vitae with the blood of the vampires she kills.

In today's world, she's integrated herself into Kindred society. Most who see her believe her to be a ghoul of the Anarch Baron of San Fernando, Vincent von Arkham.

While this is rather far from the truth, she cooperates with von Arkham, who offers her shelter and covers for her actions so long as she abides by his rules. She keeps San Fernando clean of impurity by hunting down rulebreakers and dangerous renegades, while pruning the Camarilla when they spread their branches too far, and exterminating any traces of Sabbat she comes across.

In this way, many Kindred likely see her presence as an overall good—so long as she keeps away from them.

Marissa, however, isn't blind to modern patterns. Gehenna is approaching, be it slowly or quickly. The world is woefully unprepared for the return of the Antediluvians. To this end, she seeks to revive the Inquisition. Great things start small, and she's already begun to teach a regiment of independent ghouls, Caitiff, and Hunters. One such student is Vincent's own adoptive daughter, Frigg von Arkham.

As her Black Band of hunters grows larger and more capable, their sphere of influence will naturally grow. Just what they'll accomplish, however, is still rather unknown.

—

...Wait, how did a human kill a Methuselah?

Beyond being a ghoul, Marissa is Awakened—that is, she's a Mage. I'm taking the concept, but not necessarily all of the lore from M:TA.

For those of you who are only somewhat familiar with the World of Darkness lore...none of the books are written with the others in mind. There is no singular canon, and while we know these things exist in the same setting (e.g. House Tremere used to be a mage order), the actual sourcebooks between them can be at times wildly incompatible in frustrating ways. This is fundamentally a V:TM blog, I'm using the V:TM canon.

A very quick overview of the concept of Awakened for those unfamiliar:

Every human being has the potential to become Awakened, to realize the means by which they can change the fundamental nature of reality. Very few humans will ever become Awakened, and even those who do become Awakened very seldom learn to do much with it.

Awakened can bend reality to their will, as far as their Arete will allow—but with one very big limitation. Paradox is the reaction to a Mage's abilities, the inertia of a conceptual reality backed by an entire world full of Sleepers who believe it to work a certain way, and whose conception of the world directly influences its state of being. In effect, Mages have to argue their magic, and compromise on its implementation in a way that generates the least Paradox. They need to decide not just what happens but how and why it happens, and really make a calculated decision on the fly about how to accomplish that without reality deciding to go catastrophic in retaliation. It's a conceptually neat system where you can in theory accomplish anything, but you'll also need to reckon with the consequences, which can get extremely severe.

Magic is very different than Blood Sorcery. Vampires have no ability to practice Magic, much to the chagrin of the founders of House Tremere. Blood Sorcery does not fundamentally change the laws of reality, which is both a limitation and a boon. It may restrict what Blood Sorcery is capable of, but Blood Sorcery of any power won't generate Paradox. The same cannot be said of Mages, who need to be very careful with their magic.

Marissa was from an order of mages within the Inquisition, mages who were specialized in hunting down that which lurks in the dark. They were somewhat similar conceptually to the Knights Templar, but with a much more scientific approach to magic that focuses on Forces, Entropy, and Life more than the other Spheres. As far as she's aware, the Order of Thorns died with the Inquisition.

As a Mage, she has studied physics, chemistry, and biology extensively in order to ensure the lowest amount of Paradox is generated during her fights. With the amount of experience she has, implementing her knowledge has become second-nature.

—

A bit about meta.

First—the Masquerade. Marissa is upholding the Masquerade at the behest of von Arkham. She doesn't particularly care about the eternal maintenance of the Masquerade, and in fact desires to one day break it, but she does believe that overt Masquerade breaches can be dangerous if they're not properly managed. Both humans and vampires need to be ready the day that those walls come down, and at present, they aren't.

The Masquerade is a subject that everyone here is going to have different feelings about and approaches to. My personal canon, which I'm upholding for Marissa, is that unless communicated otherwise, open discussion of vampires and the supernatural on the internet is done using untraceable coded language that we're simply "translating" automatically. That's a way for me to uphold my suspension of disbelief in general situations that someone would just actively call themselves a Ventrue on the internet. This is how Marissa will be communicating. If this doesn't work for you, let me know, and we can work something out. Roleplay is malleable, and we make up the rules.

Second—power and narrative. Marissa is a "powerful character," being a centuries-old Inquisitor mage who can take on Methuselah. In the vast majority of interactions, this won't matter in the slightest, and if it ever does matter, it's because we've both decided to use that power as a narrative tool in whatever roleplay we're doing. I am not interested in internet discussions about whose blorbo is stronger, unless that's a specific question that needs to be answered because of the story we want to tell. I have not explicitly outlined Marissa's magic for this reason.

She's not the kind of person to openly brag about her power, and even without the necessity of a Mask or the Masquerade she'd still want to conceal the extent of her ability for (justifiably) paranoid reasons. She's not taking to the internet to hunt. In fact, if there is a reason why she's here, it's probably because her close bond/unofficial girlfriend (a Malkavian named Aerinthal who, incidentally, accidentally embraced Honey's adoptive sister Nerisella) told her that talking to people online might be good for her anxiety. That's not a mask—Marissa is actually a nervous wreck. She just has means of suppressing her emotions when circumstances require it.

Beyond this, I trust that we're all adults who know how to responsibly play make-believe on the internet. If you've got a problem with how our RPs are going, let me know. This is a fundamentally collaborative affair, and communication is a two-way street. On that same note, if I see a problem, I'll try to rectify it myself. If I do message you about something, it's because I want your input. There's no real-life stakes here, so don't worry if things don't work the first time. We can figure it out.

—

PFP/Sidebar art, as well as the arts of Vincent and Frigg, were done by Bunny, @jujulebee!

Inquisitor Marissa by me.

[kiefbowl]

“when someone describes their bisexuality in relation to the quality of their attraction to one of the sexes with the quality being one of discomfort, unhappiness, and lack of desire, why should we accept that as describing attraction at all?” because it’s not as simple as that. a woman who is not homosexual may end up feeling discomfort and unhappiness with men for many reasons, especially considering that we live in a deeply misogynistic patriarchal world, where many women have horrible experiences with men that may end up putting you off of them. this is especially likely to happen to bisexual women who naturally felt a stronger sense of desire for the same sex anyways. despite not being incapable of attraction to the opposite sex, they may start noticing how the dynamic negatively differs from same-sex relationships, and as such will not feel a strong pull to be with a man. for example i know i’m bisexual because i’ve fantasized about men before and still do sometimes, i’m not repulsed by male anatomy and am capable of finding men hot. i am capable of enjoying thinking about men sexually, and lesbians obviously cannot. but realistically i am uncomfortable with the way relationships tend to work between men and women. i am uncomfortable knowing that most men are incapable of seeing me as a human being. i would never be able to have an equal relationship with a man, and any misogyny i see from one disgusts and revolts me. men make me feel inhuman. and i cannot be relaxed and off-guard with one the way i can be with women. i cannot connect as deeply to them as i can to women because we don’t have our sex in common. and in my past experiences i didn’t experience a complete lack of attraction but i did experience feeling like i’m missing out on being with another woman and being truly happy. so i would never enter a serious relationship with a man, and every genuine comfortable romantic connection i’ve ever felt has been to a woman. so, men make me uncomfortable and unhappy and i don’t actively desire a relationship with one- but nonetheless i am bisexual. this differs from the lesbian experience of never thinking of men sexually at all and not wanting to be with them not because of poor experiences or misogyny or a preference for the same sex- but just because of a innate and complete lack of attraction point blank. hopefully i put this in a sensical way. i actually used to be convinced i was a lesbian because of people saying that bisexual women could never feel this way about men, and that bisexual women must feel equally about men and women, and that if i can’t be happy in a relationship with a man and can’t see myself marrying one and feel uncomfortable being sexualized and objectified by them i must be a lesbian. but really i’m a ssa-leaning bi woman who is intolerant of and averse to gross male behavior. the only way my OSA gets expressed is by fawning over attractive famous men sometimes, maybe reading some romance, and fantasizing in my head, and that’s enough for me. bisexuality doesn’t have to be equal excitement and love towards both sexes- people who say that end up making a lot of bisexuals convince themselves they’re not bisexual.

this is a bit hard to read as a wall of text, but it sounds like you are describing external forces effecting your attraction, so we are in complete agreement. everything I've said is being described here. a bisexual woman may find herself less attracted to men in general due to her experiences with them, but it's not that she's innately less attracted to men or her innate orientation changed. men have made her uncomfortable, hurt her, are unappealing due to their misogyny, all understandable reasons why she finds dating them, sex with them, relationships with them unappealing afterwards. in that anon that you quoted, I was describing more the experience of a conversation I had earlier today with a woman on a post which is fair if you haven't read it, it was hours ago yadda yadda, where she said she's just not comfortable dating men anymore because she's tried and it doesn't work it's never worked for her, she prefers women. ultimately, my point is, when it comes to the kinsey scale, lots of people of all 3 orientations might find reasons to identify themselves between 1-5 for reasons that have less to do with actually identifying their innate sexuality, and more to do with external factors motivating them to perceive their sexuality a certain way. As I said earlier, again you might not have seen it, if you want to assign a number to yourself in that way because you feel it's helpful, that's really up to you, but it might be worth thinking it less as a number or a measure and more of "I'm a bisexual no matter what, and I have my own personal history about what relationships and sex I'm deciding to have." If you think that preference is innate, we're probably just going to have to agree to disagree.

I personally have experienced women on tumblr that make me very suspicious about the way they talk about bisexuality and their attraction to women when they claim they're bisexual. I've also talked to women who think they're bisexual and are uncomfortable with their attraction to women that don't make me suspicious, and it just sounds like someone having trouble with their internalized homophobia. I do believe there are straight women who claim to be bisexual with a preference for men in order to gain access to lgb spaces, I feel like I've talked to them before. Again, I have never and will never argue with a person about their own orientation.

[crocheting-cupio]

A little while ago I said I was changing labels and I'd explain later, when I had more energy. Said time is now, so get ready for a long one.

I'd been rethinking all aspects of my gender and sexuality (except being Agender) the last two months or so. Trying to pin down why exactly I wasn't fully comfortable yet. So I'll just go one by one.

Demiromantic -> Aromantic: A part of my brain insisted that I simply "hadn't met the right person yet" and that was why I'd never felt romantically about anyone. But when I learned about Queer Platonic Relationships everything changed. I realized the one person I thought I had a crush on wasn't a crush at all. Without even knowing about them, a QPR was actually what I wanted with that person. I think also crushes and romance are so widely accepted as "something everyone experiences" that I'd unknowingly assumed I just hadn't had a strong enough connection with anyone yet to develop feelings. I am happy with letting it go so far. I don't think romance is for me.

Demisexual -> Greysexual: I will admit my understanding of sexual attraction was just never very good. Especially pre-surgery, when any sexual arousal or thoughts of being in a sexual situation I felt made me deeply uncomfortable. On top of this I misinterpreted preferring partners that I know personally/friends, or wanting to get to know someone first, as Demisexuality. Despite reading many times that these aren't the same things. Also sometimes I would get really stressed out because I became attracted to a stranger. I feeling pretty good about this change. I think my levels of sexual attraction are just very low compared to an Allosexual, but still there nonetheless.

Lesbian -> Straight: Okay, this is the big one. I had been trying for a long time to make being a lesbian work for me, but I'd been trying for the wrong reasons. Long explanation short, I'm around a lot of Feminist people and gay people. So for a very long time I heard "Women good, men bad." And for the last couple years I was also surrounded by "Gay good, straight bad." And thus my brain said "Well then we can't be masc/male and straight because then no one would like us. Everyone around us likes women and gay people more than anyone else." So I convinced myself that I "had to" be a Nonbinary Lesbian if I was attracted to women. Because Lesbians can be Nonbinary, and Lesbians can be masculine. But I was only trying to fit myself in a box that was the wrong shape for me. It probably didn't help that every person I personally knew under the Nonbinary umbrella was Ace, Aroace, Pan, or Bi. And frequently Nonbinary OCs I saw float by in my feed were always either gay or pan/bi. I think I like not being gay better. My attraction to women/girls feels kinda half MLW and half NBLW, but not in a queer way if that makes sense. It's in the way that this is just how I am.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. We will now be returning to your infrequently scheduled posts.

[rachaellawrites]

June 2023 Wrap Up

I hit a bit of a reading rut this month, so I only tackled two books. But both books were incredible! So it balances out.

What I’ve Enjoyed

Books

Highly Suspicious and Unfairly Cute by Talia Hibbert

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Talia Hibbert once again hit it out of the park. I loved this book and absolutely flew through it. The characters are funny and the tension is perfect, plus there’s some awesome, non-stigmatizing rep of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Looking forward to rereading this one!

Greedy: Notes from a Bisexual Who Wants Too Much by Jen Winston

This book wasn’t what I expected, but I loved it all the same. Over the past few years I’ve discovered that I really, really enjoy memoir-adjacent books told in the form of essay collections, and this book definitely hits that sweet spot for me. The writing is quick and clever and genuinely pretty funny, while still managing to tackle some heavy and deeply uncomfortable topics. Even though I couldn’t relate to the specifics of this author’s experience of bisexuality, I felt seen nonetheless.

What I’ve Created

Articles

Queer Books to Read This Pride (And Year-Round)

It’s never a bad time to shout out queer books, but Pride is certainly when they get the biggest spotlight. And I love queer books! So I thought I would share some of my favourites, just like I did last year.

Other

Two Books, Two New Faves | JUNE 2023 READING VLOG

A much quieter reading month compared to April and May, but a highly successful one all the same.

-

A shorter list this month to be sure, but I’m still happy with what I’ve read and released. Hopefully July will see me out of my rut and ready to dive into more books again.

[selfpivot]

Rewriting script: Exploring Uncomfortable Questions for Self-Reflection and Healing

What is The Role I am Playing in My Own Suffering?

One important self-reflection question for adults to ponder is: What is the role I am playing in my own suffering? What can help me with Self-Healing?

Most of us never started with being the cause of our own suffering. We did not initiate it. We did not have a choice in deciding the roles we were going to play in our lives. For instance, if you did not receive love and affection growing up, it is only natural for you to internalize certain fears and insecurities. Thus, the intention is not to blame. We have to learn what is rewriting a script.

But even though we did not consciously choose these roles, they have nonetheless become integral parts of our identity, shaping the way we perceive ourselves and interact with the world.

As adults, when we do not realize it, we continue to maintain or even perpetuate patterns of behavior, thoughts, and beliefs. It helps in preserving the familiar and comfortable aspects of our reality, even if they contribute to our suffering. These patterns serve as coping mechanisms that help us navigate the complexities of life and maintain a sense of stability amidst uncertainty. However, they can also keep us trapped in cycles of unhappiness and discontent.

By acknowledging them, we can explore them, understand, why they exist, and maybe make attempts to change them.

Some common patterns that I often get to see in therapy sessions include-

The fear of abandonment: I fear abandonment, so I continue to avoid forming connections because of the risk of losing them. As a result, I always feel abandoned

This fear can manifest in various ways, leading us to push people away or avoid forming close relationships altogether. We may rationalize our behaviour as a means of self-protection, believing that if we never fully invest in someone, we’ll never experience the pain of abandonment. However, this self-imposed isolation only serves to reinforce our belief that we are inherently unlovable or unworthy of genuine connections.

The fear of failure: I fear failing so I never put myself in a challenging environment

It can be paralyzing, causing us to avoid any situation where we might not excel. This avoidance shields us from the discomfort of falling short but also prevents us from taking risks and pursuing our dreams. As a result, we may find ourselves stuck in a cycle of stagnation, never fully realizing our potential or experiencing the satisfaction of achievement.

The fear of responsibility: I fear being responsible for my life, so I continue to blame others while not taking any actions for my benefit.

By shifting blame onto external factors or other people, we absolve ourselves of accountability for our own lives. This avoidance of responsibility not only hinders our ability to effect positive change but also reinforces the belief that we are powerless to shape our own destinies.

The belief of being unlovable: I am unlovable so I continue to put myself in positions where I settle for less or serve others at the cost of my well-being

 If we grew up in an environment where love was conditional or scarce, we may internalize the belief that we are undeserving of genuine affection. Consequently, we may settle for less than we deserve in relationships. And as a result, continue to believe that I am unlovable.

While writing this article, I kept asking myself a question, Am I being harsh? But the truth is- facing the idea that I could be adding to my suffering, is daunting. Bringing a change is uncomfortable, questioning things that have remained intact for years is difficult. Rewriting script encourages us to tackle difficult questions, uncover new insights, and foster profound self-healing.

Breaking free from these patterns requires courage, self-reflection, and a willingness to challenge our deeply held beliefs. While the journey may be daunting, it is also immensely liberating, offering the opportunity to rewrite our narratives and reclaim agency over our lives. With patience and compassion, we can transcend the roles that no longer serve us and cultivate a future defined by resilience and most importantly authenticity.

A few other questions that you can ask yourself to understand it better are-

How have my early experiences, such as childhood relationships or familial dynamics, shaped my beliefs about myself and the world?

What recurring themes or patterns do I notice in my thoughts and behaviors, and how do they contribute to my feelings of suffering or discontent?

Are there certain beliefs or assumptions I hold about myself or others that may be limiting my potential or perpetuating my suffering?

How do I respond to challenges, setbacks, or difficult emotions, and are there recurring patterns of avoidance or self-sabotage that contribute to my suffering?

Conclusion:

Therapy provides a unique and safe environment to answer these difficult questions, to bring you to a place where you can sit with discomfort and process life’s big questions. At least as a therapist, that is my hope for you! Rewriting script helps us confront challenging questions, ultimately guiding us toward deeper self-reflection and meaningful healing.

Create an in-depth self-awareness, self-reflection, and healing through our Online Mental Health Counseling Program, to know more get in touch with Us.

[paragonrobits]

OC Squad thoughts; thinking about them, and by extension the society that winds up forming around them and their extended found families (and THEIR extended found families, generally founded from outcasts; mutated animals, sapient robots freed from programming, unique and anamalous spirit things, scattered survivors of a bygone human empire trying to escape the stigma of their ancestors, vampires and werebeasts, frankenstein constructs, and this skateboarding vampire who isn't an outcast but got dragged along and is honestly happy to be included)

and that this society is a deeply spiritual one with some particular beliefs mostly based around 'i think this sounds neat so what does it say about their religious beliefs'; among them, they have a close bond with the spirits of the world around them as well as spirits of life, death and rebirth thematically linked to the bogs, swamps and wetlands most of their territory encompasses, as well as a great focus on harmony with the spirits and ecological world, actions that support that harmony, and the cycle of life, death and rebirth.

And my thoughts circle around to a particularly iconic depiciton of this; raising the bodies of the dead to act as laborers is all but universal (unless you actively ask not to have this happen to your body) and regarding the process of decay as a sacred thing.

So, undead. Raising the undead is not a controversial practice at all. They make a firm distinctive between sapient undead (vampires and similar creatures), reanimated living beings (Frankestein-style guys), and animate undead. These last are your zombies, ghoulish custom-made super monsters, and whatever you might call the summon minions used by the Witch Doctor in Diablo 3. These undead often serve as soldiers, but in practice tend to be heavy laborers, doing that work so other people don't have to; performing dangerous but necessary work, doing agricultural stuff, and so on.

Most of their undead are often animated by spirits invited to experience the mortal world for a time, or bound to do it in exchange for certain services (as contracts, bargains and patronage form a massive part of this group's magical power, in a mostly positive context). If no such entity is available, nor willing, ambient energy is placed into the corpse and magical directives are installed into it, telling it what to do (basic instructions, what to do in response to situations it encounters, and so on).

These undead are then tasked to perform whatever task is required, usually acting autonomously and not requiring any kind of oversight. They might fight protectively, or do tasks like help find people's lost pets and take them home, but mostly they just perform important jobs, and a great deal of spiritual significance centers around them. It is considered a sacred thing to have your body recycled in this way, and they are usually allowed to decay naturally over time until the body completely gives out, and the bones returned to the world. (As decomposition sets in, they are usually covered in full body bags to save the discomfort of others watching a shambling, infested corpse walking around, but even this is considered controversial!)

a key point here is the sacred nature of decay, decomposition, and allowing the cycle to continue. It is considered deeply inappropriate and uncomfortable to use preservatives, embalming and similar practices to preserve these undead, even if its more efficient. It denies the world, daring to dictate your own will over the cycle of what Must Be. The disgusting and grotesque side of walking corpses, slowly falling apart with all the horror of decay, is nonetheless a sacred thing here, and denying it or delaying it is considered inappropriate at best.

(It is probably not unusual for these zombies to have cybernetics installed onto them to extend their shelf life, so to speak, and this is not considered controversial, but also leads to the curious situation where more and more of the zombie is replaced by machinery as its body falls apart, until the zombie is completely gone and what you have is just a non-sapient robot. Strangely, it still magically registers as a zombie and resonates with the spiritual magic of the swamps; make of that what you will.

Sometimes these robots spontaneously grow a soul and become sapient. They are typically considered to be part of the family of the zombie they came from, but otherwise its considered 'oh shit that's cool!' for the most part.)