#but like maybe the transit is exactly what i mean

[mimir97477906]

im so sosry for ranting abour this again but auhgufhgh im making a ref sheet of my ocs for myself beacse EVERYTIME I DRAW THEM THEY LOOK SOOOSK DIFFERENT os i thoguht maybe this can help me memorize their faces but EVEN THO IM USING GUIDELINES THE SAME CHARACTER LOOKS LIKE DIFFERENT PEOPLE ITS JUST A HEAD TURN AROUND I CANT DO THIS I FEEL SO VIOLENT WHY IS MY ART STYLE HAVING AN IDENTITY CRISIS HOWWWWWWW DO I FIX THIS

[muu-kun]

"I've been.. thinking on all the day, and.. I've made my pick to be going forward with.. socially transitioning into being a woman Muu."

[mariasont]

can you please write Spencer and shy!reader for valentine's day? 💕💝💖💖💞💝💖 I love them so much and I love you more

Lover Girl - S.R

summary: spencer has a hypothesis about love on vday & it’s not something you agree on pairing: post!prison!reid x shy!medialiaison!reader warnings: r going crazy over something spencer said hours ago (get a grip girl), r kinda goes out of character, spencer being the sassiest human alive wc: 1.9k a/n: thank u sm for requesting i love this and i love you even more ✨💖

The draft on your laptop was starting to look less like a press release and more and more like a psychological cry for help. Words sprawled like abandoned thoughts, entire sentences had been brutally sacrificed to the backspace key, and you'd rewritten the same transition phrase so many times it no longer felt like a real word. The whole thing read like the work of someone who had just sustained a minor head injury.

Objectively? It was bad.

Subjectively? It was an unmitigated disaster.

You blamed Spencer. Or maybe you blamed yourself for still thinking about it, for letting his words linger in your head like an incorrectly formatted footnote that you couldn't stop rereading.

You had never been a hopeless romantic, exactly, but you liked the idea of it, the structure of it. Believed it was more than a sum of its parts. More than just wires crossing in the brain and pattern recognition.

And yet, he had discarded the notion so easily, reducing love to a series of neurochemical reactions misinterpreted as emotional depth, something logical and completely stripped of any sort of real feeling.

He hadn't meant it cruelly, but his voice carried a kind of detachment that made you want to launch your coffee at his ridiculously well-structured face. It shouldn't bother you.

It really, genuinely, in no universe, should not bother you. It wasn't like you had a chance with him, so why did it matter what Spencer Reid, certified romance cynic, destroyer of sentimental ideals, and casual heartbreaker, thought about love?

If anything, his lack of belief should make it easier to kill this absurd crush before it spiraled into something unmanageable.

You squared your shoulders and looked back to the screen, back to the carefully worded Bureau-approved phrases meant to sound polished and agreeable.

Strengthening community trust. Bridging the gap between law enforcement and the public.

Meaningless, hollow, designed to be palatable without saying anything real. Blah. Blah.

I mean, did he really think that love was like an outdated scientific theory? It was Valentine's Day, for crying out loud—if nothing else, wasn't that proof of its existence?

You had considered the possibility that he had stopped believing because he had to. That prison had stripped the softness of him, turned love into just another abstract concept that didn't hold up under scrutiny, like time, like trust, like freedom.

Or maybe (and this was the more infuriating possibility) he had always been like this, too pragmatic to believe in something he couldn't technically hold in his hands.

You groaned under your breath, rubbing at your temple like you could physically press the words out of your skull, like they were just another headache waiting to pass. Why were you still thinking about this? It was stupid. He was stupid. You were stupid of caring.

Except he wasn't stupid. He was obnoxiously brilliant, the kind of smart that made other geniuses insecure, and that was the problem. Because if someone that intelligent didn't believe in love the way you did.... did that mean you were in the wrong? Had you been naive this whole time, blindly buying into a romanticized fantasy while Spencer had long dissected it and found it lacking?

The knock on your office doorframe startled you so badly that your entire skeletal structure attempted to evacuate your body, knee jerking up, colliding with the underside of the desk with an unforgiving whack.

You barely had time to wonder if you'd just concussed your kneecap before you looked up and—Spencer. Standing in the doorway like some cosmic punishment for thinking about him too hard.

Heat flooded your face like an admission of guilt, because why—why—did it suddenly feel like you'd been caught red-handed?

"Hey," he said, tilting his head. "You okay?"

No, you wanted to say. Not at all. Because what were you supposed to do when they very subject of your over analysis materialized in your doorway, looking at you like he could see every freaking unspoken thought folded between your ribs?

You swallowed, forced yourself to look anywhere but directly at him, because everything about this, about him, felt like some kind of cruel irony.

"Uh, yeah," you croaked, voice pitching embarrassingly high. Great. Perfect. Totally normal human behavior.

Spencer's brow furrowed, his head doing that thing he did when something wasn't quite right. But miraculously, he didn't say anything about it.

"I was just...," You gestured to your laptop.

Spencer nodded slowly, either accepting your excuse at face value or deciding it wasn't worth the effort to call you out.

"Right. I was just going to ask if you had finalized the press release for me to proof."

Your stomach lurched, a sharp drop like missing a step in the dark. Finalized. Bold of him to assume you'd done anything besides stare blankly at your screen for the past fifteen minutes.

"Oh! Yeah, of course," you said, throwing out the words with a half-hearted smile as if that would seal the lie. "Almost done. Just... you know, making sure it's perfect."

Spencer stepped inside, moving just past the threshold. His expression changed. Less neutral. More aware.

"You're acting strange."

Which was unacceptable, because if anyone in this scenario should be acting strange, it was him, standing there like a walking contradiction.

"I—what?" The laugh escaped before you could trap it behind your teeth, jagged and surely unnatural.

"You're tense. And you don't usually second-guess yourself this much. If it was almost done, you'd just say so." His eyes flicked to the laptop. "Did something happen?"

Your face went nuclear, looking away, hyper focused on the edge of the desk like it was the most fascinating thing you'd ever seen. "I don't know what you mean. I'm acting normal."

Spencer made a thoughtful noise. "Denial first. Then contradiction."

"I—"

"Oh, and there's the hesitation. That usually happens when you're trying to figure out how to backpedal without making it obvious."

"Do you always do this?"

"Only when people are lying about something." He squinted at you. "And you're a very bad liar."

He tapped a finger a finger against his arm in a way that made your nerves itch, before stepping forward and sinking into the chair across from your desk.

"Huh."

You frowned. "What?"

"You're doing the same thing you did earlier," he said matter-of-factly. "Avoiding direct responses, looking everywhere but me, shifting in your seat."

His gaze lingered, and then—Gods, help you—his lips curved, just slightly.

"Almost like the conversation was bothering you then, too."

Oh. Oh, this was bad. He was trying to talk about the one topic you'd spent the last twenty minutes trying to erase from your brain.

"I just, well, it's not that I had thoughts or feelings on it or anything, I just didn't, well, I mean, I just didn't want to be in that conversation, you know? Not that it was bad. Just—not my thing."

Spencer's eyebrows lifted. "So you disagreed with me?"

"I—I did not say that."

"No, but you just said everything but that." He leaned forward. "So tell me. What was it?"

You finally look at him, actually looked at him, and immediately regretted it.

You tried to gauge if there was any chance you could turn this conversation in your favor.

Nope.

"I mean, I wouldn't say disagreed, per se, I just... thought maybe your take was a little—," you sighed, "dismissive."

"Oh? And what exactly am I dismissing?"

You hesitated. Not because you didn't have an answer—because you had too many. Love wasn't just science, romance wasn't just a byproduct of biology, that it meant something. It's real. It matters. It's— "You're dismissing everything beyond your own reasoning."

You waited. For the rebuttal, the deconstruction, the inevitable moment Spencer laid your words bare and left you scrambling to rebuild them. But this time there was nothing. He just sat there. Looking at you. Like he was waiting for something else.

You fidgeted. Crossed your arms. Uncrossed them. "What?"

"Nothing. Just... thinking." A pause. "You clearly have an opinion on this, just trying to figure out what it is."

Your lips pressed together, your brain begging you to let it go, to shut up before you started. But the words were already forming, bubbling up too fast to stop.

"Okay, look. I get it. I get the science. I get that love can be explained in chemical terms."

Spencer nodded, like you were finally seeing his point.

"But that doesn't mean that's all it is," you said, sitting up straighter. "Love isn't just an instinct. If it was then why do people stay in love when it doesn't make sense? Why do people wait years for someone who might never come back? Why do people hold on to feelings they know won't be returned?"

You inhaled sharply, only to realize what you had said felt a little too personal. Heat flared to your toes. "I just, uh, you're looking at it like it's an equation when it's more like—like art. You can break down why a painting is visually appealing, but that doesn't explain why it moves people."

"So love is art then?" A small smirk tugged at his lips. "That would mean it's subjective. That one person's version of it isn't the same as another's."

"Well, yeah, that's my point." You nodded. "Everyone experiences it differently. That's why it can't be reduced to formulas. You can recreate the exact conditions of a moment, use the same words, set the same scene but it won't feel the same to someone else. Because love isn't about external factors, it's about who you're with, how they make you feel."

"That sounds dangerously close to saying it's entirely irrational."

You exhaled. "If it is, then I guess that means you'll never understand it."

Spencer pushed himself to his feet, adjusting his cuff like this was just another conversation and not something that had you actively fighting for oxygen.

Then, with an infuriating self-satisfied smile, he murmured, "Well, maybe I just need the right person to teach me."

You nearly choked on air.

And with one last glance, he grinned and said, "Happy Valentine's Day, lover girl."

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[mandalhoerian]

childhood friends who became family, who blurred the lines of sibling-tight bonds and something softer, sharper, and more yearning — it's a trope that feels like sitting in the quiet hum of a summer evening when the sun lingers too long on the horizon. because the truth of it is: nothing lingers forever. and you both know that, but you’ll still talk about the old days like maybe you can bring them back. like maybe if you name the memories, you can summon them. like if you say, “remember when we built that fort in the back garden and swore to live there forever because i had a fight with gran,” it’ll mean something now that the garden has been bulldozed and forever has been whittled down to awkward meetings where you can't talk about the elephant in the room.

it’s the uneven ground of being the one who died and the one who was left behind, or the one who grew and the one who wanted to keep the other captured the way they used to be in a snowglobe — or maybe just the realization that you’re both standing on shifting sand now. you talk about the past like it’s a shared secret, but neither of you knows how to talk about the present. maybe you’ve started running out of things to say because the summer nights you used to fill with fun and games are quieter now, and you don’t know how to breach the distance between you that yawns exponentially bigger every single day.

because that’s the ache of it, isn’t it? thinking you’ve grown together, but ending up having grown apart in the blink of an eye. the ache of seeing his face and realizing you don’t know him the way you used to — not like when you could read the curl of his lips or the way he bit the inside of his cheek and know exactly what he was thinking. you still know the shape of caleb, the blueprint of who he was, but he's a house rebuilt in the same place, and you’re standing on the porch like a stranger.

and you miss the summers, the cicadas, sleeping on the floor together with the attic window wide open, sharing ice cream together and being carried because of a scraped knee. even being scolded you refused mosquito spray because you hated the smell. you miss the easy, endless days of being inseparable and being spoiled rotten because time didn’t mean anything then. now, every second feels like a countdown. you sit across from him at a diner, laughter ringing too alien because it doesn’t reach his eyes the way it used to, and you’re counting the minutes until he leaves for skyhaven. or maybe it’s until you leave, because isn’t that the worst realization? there's always a deadline. you tell yourself it’s enough that you were everything to each other once, and there's still something between you like the transition between summer to autumn. but there’s a kind of grief in knowing you’ll never be those kids again, barefoot in the grass, shouting at the stars.

grief. you thought you knew it well.

because you know how to grieve a death — you’ve rehearsed it in your head, folded it into something manageable. it’s a well-worn myth, a story you tell yourself when the silence gets too loud: he’s gone. he’s not coming back. you cried once, twice, a hundred times in the soft, gold-light glow of dusk, in the places you once knew together, and you thought that was the worst part.

but then caleb came back. and now you don’t know what to do with yourself.

because it’s him, isn’t it? same voice, same face, same hands that once shoved you playfully into the lake on a summer afternoon. he looks at you with eyes that are so painfully familiar you want to throw up, but something in them is off — like a song played just a fraction of a second too slow. like the ghost of a childhood home, walls the same but empty, the warmth gone.

you want to say, you’re different. you want to say, what happened to you? but all he says, over and over, with that too-smooth, too-homey certainty is, i’ve always been like this.

and that’s the part that burns. because no, he hasn’t. you would know, wouldn’t you? you spent summers mapping out the topography of his voice, the way it cracked when he laughed too hard, the way he whispered conspiratorial plans under the sheets when you were supposed to be sleeping. you knew his every restless fidget, every dream he had about taking you away to somewhete but never actually going through with it. you would know if this was always him. wouldn’t you?

but what if you’re the one who’s wrong?

the memories are there, but they feel like borrowed pages from someone else’s story now. he tells you, remember when we built a treehouse in the oak by the creek? and you nod, it's like he's trying to coax the sparks out. remember how you used to hum under your breath when you were nervous? and he smiles, but it’s an aching, tight thing.

so you sit there, across from him, trying to measure the distance between the boy you knew and the man wearing his face. he talks about the past like maybe he can drag you back to it. like maybe he can make you remember. but you're here, waiting for him to join you in the present.

but the worst part isn’t the change.

the worst part is the knowing that he’s still here. still breathing, still existing, still talking to you. and yet he’s light-years away with the you of the past.

[dontbesoweirdkira]

howdyyy, what do u think of plat yan! dick grayson (or platonic yan father bruce wayne up to u) with a batsis who is very disinterested with him primarily bc when she was younger she idolised him a lot but now not so much. there are comics where grayson has cheated on his partners before so imagine batsis coming to realise as she aged and matured that her doting brother is a bit of a playboy…. a lot like a playboy actually—

You know, this is actually extremely realistic. There's nothing like the rose color glasses falling off and realizing just how messed up your family truly is.

I'd like to think that there was plenty of jokes and mentions about Dick being a playboy but Batsis would just be absolutely clueless. You probably just thought it was a reference to his charming appearance or the way he gets hit on at least once whenever he goes out. Not really that he was an notorious heart breaker.

Like i don't think the other batkids had serious talks about it in front of you because of your (then) age or maybe it was a request by Dick so he could keep on his perfect mask with you?

Ironically, he wouldn't want any man to treat his little sister (or any of them) the way he does to other women but he has a problem. I will say though, it makes absolute sense that Dick or even the others would have issues keeping relationships or even have sex addictions. I mean it's a real issue that many people are struggling with right now. But can you imagine your father constantly bringing home women and cheating your entire childhood? Like Bruce introduces some of these women to them, they get attached to this potential mother then it's ripped away to be discarded for the new catch. I think that definitely warped Dick's view of women and romance stems from that. *intense mommy issues* But also i mentioned before that it's hard for him to maintain relationships while taking on the fatherly role in the family. His obsession with making sure all of his siblings are cared for and protected(mixed with being nightwing), makes it all the more difficult. Maybe that leads him to just hooking up with and being sloppy in his relationships. Maybe its just a means of stress relief and that causes him to almost dehumanize/objectify the women he "romances".

I'm not saying this is justifiable, cheating is disgusting and his behaviors are something that needs to be corrected regardless of mommy issues but for headcanon sake we are entertaining the concept

I'm not sure how you'd exactly find out about it. Maybe one of the kids let it slip and didn't bother to do damage control because you're old enough now? Maybe you spoke to one of his exes that is still friendly with the batfam? Or maybe your brain started to develop and you realized he wasn't hanging out with that new super model as just friends all night...it was something more and his girlfriend definitely didn't know about it.

Regardless, I think when you finally found out about everything, your world crushed. I don't think you'd hate him but you just feel yucky about the whole thing. Now when you look at him something in your stomach just sinks. You might even wonder if you can trust him. I mean if he's got that much of a problem to be dishonest with his lovers, then why would it be so left field to suggest he lied to you too when he said he loves you or that you were his favorite? The transition from you idolizing him to being standoff-ish would be extremely noticeable to him. I mean it's hard to ignore when you were his mini me. Even as you got older you followed him around and never skipped an opportunity to be near.

He wouldn't think that it was because of the playboy thing, maybe just you needing some space as a teen. Everyone has gone through that phase before but when he notices your shift is only directed towards him, he's a little upset about it. He doesn't understand what he did wrong? One day you guys are eating ice cream together while having a sleepover in his room to you treating him like a disease.

Eventually your big brother corners you and makes you to confess whats bothering you. He apologizes if something he said rubbed you the wrong way but you couldn't keep treating him this way.

"uhm..i dunno, dick? I found out how you've been treating you partners and i think it's kinda gross. I guess i just don't really wanna be around someone who treats women like that right now..."

I think Dick's reaction would be complete shock....who tf told you?! He has no defense but he tries to muster up one before realizing this is just making him look worse when EVERYBODY knows how much of a whore he is lol. He'd back off of you and maybe even mutter an apology before walking away to go collect himself.

He's furious as well...whoever told you will be getting an earful because they just ruined something precious to him. (yeah they did. totally not his OWN actions) If it was one of his brothers, he will be throwing hands.

Dick does very much care about others perception of him, i've said this before. He knew he had a problem and his other siblings have spoken to him about it and it affected him but never enough to change. It's just a far deeper issue than wanting a quick fuck in the expense of his partners...But seeing his baby sister look at him with just so much disgust and disappointment was enough to cause him to spiral. He's not proud of his actions and knows he's hurt and discarded of many, many women for his own satisfaction. It's deplorable. I can imagine him taking maybe a few days to himself, he's just in his head while being overtaken by heavy guilt.

I'm not sure if Dick would actually change for you though? I think he is even debating it. Yeah he's a yandere for his batsis but is his obsession with you enough to kick the other one to the curb? That's up to you. A hopeful person would say, yes he would. Anything for his babybat! He's going to do whatever it takes to prove himself again, anything to make you proud. This habit isn't worth it if hes loosing you.

My opinion? No, he won't change after his guilt wears off. He'll just pretend like he's reborn. Dick would try for like a week and then go right back to doing his habits. He's a manipulative piece of work and yeah, lying to you is bad but he wants his cake and to eat it too. He's not willing to give up anything that gives him a euphoric boost. Shh...what you don't know, won't kill you.

[p0orbaby]

All This Money, Darling, What Else Is Left to Do?

summary: you’ve moved to barca for work, you meet alexia

warnings: SMUT 18+, strap use, bathroom sex, how original

a/n: based on this request !

word count: 1.1k

other parts found here

-

You’ve never been good with Spanish, which is unfortunate considering you’ve just moved to Barcelona to film a series that’s supposed to be your “dark, gritty” transition from Hollywood darling to Oscar-worthy actress. A role that will, in your words, “finally earn me that little golden bastard.” The director had only sighed in response, muttering something about Brits and their insatiable thirst for awards, before handing you a script written entirely in Spanish.

You’ve got all the superficial things down: tousled hair that looks like you just rolled out of bed in a sultry way (when in reality, it took your stylist an hour to perfect), designer sunglasses that scream “I’m too famous to be bothered,” and a wardrobe carefully curated to say, “I’m an artist, but I could still outdress you at a red carpet event.”

The language, though, remains your Everest.

Which is how you find yourself at a party hosted by some up-and-coming director who might actually be a waiter – it’s hard to tell when everyone here looks like they stepped out of an indie film. The only reason you’re here is because your agent insists you need to “immerse yourself in the culture.” Apparently, the key to embodying a brooding Spanish detective is to drink sangria and eat patatas bravas at a rooftop party with people who don’t recognise you. Or worse, pretend not to recognise you.

You’ve been nursing the same glass of wine for an hour, half-watching as a group of women discuss something with intense, dramatic flair. You’re only half-listening until one of them catches your eye.

You don’t know her name. Not yet. But you know she’s trouble from the way she moves. She’s all sharp edges and grace, the kind of woman who makes every hair on your body stand on end before you’ve even exchanged a word. When she looks at you, it’s like she already knows you – all of you – even the parts you try to keep hidden behind layers of well-crafted mystique.

You make a mental note to stay away from her. Which, naturally, means you’ll be making out in the bathroom with her within the hour.

And that’s exactly how it happens. One moment, you’re trying to figure out what the hell “Tarjeta amarilla” means, and the next, she’s pressed up against you, lips smashing into yours like she’s been waiting her entire life to taste you. It’s heady, intoxicating, the way she devours you like you’re something she plans to enjoy slowly – but not yet.

The bathroom is one of those annoyingly chic setups with a waterfall tap and hand towels that look like they should be in a palace. It’s also incredibly small, which is fine because she’s pressed up against you, and suddenly there’s no need for space.

You don’t know who makes the first move. It’s all a blur of hands and lips, and somewhere between her tongue tracing the line of your jaw and your fingers digging into her hips, you figure out you don’t actually care.

Her name’s Alexia. You learned that somewhere between her pushing you against the wall and slipping her hand under your bra. Alexia, whispered like a prayer. Or maybe it was a curse. She’s too good at this. Too good at the way she takes control, the way she knows exactly where to touch you to make you gasp, arch, and cling to her like she’s your lifeline.

And then she’s guiding you to the sink, bending you over like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It probably is for her – something about the way she holds you down with one massive hand and undoes her jeans with the other tells you this is far from her first time.

You glance up at the mirror, and there you are – tousled hair now a genuine mess, eyes blown wide, lips kiss-swollen and desperate. You look every bit the part of a woman who’s about to get absolutely wrecked.

Which is exactly what happens.

Alexia’s behind you, and then something cool and smooth is pressing against your entrance – a strap, because of course, she’d have one at the ready. You bite your lip, half to stifle a moan and half because you don’t want to give her the satisfaction of hearing you already coming undone. You’re an actress, after all, and the best performances are always the ones where you keep the audience guessing.

Not that it matters. The second she pushes in, you’re a mess, nails scraping against the sink’s surface as you try – and fail – to keep yourself together. She’s ruthless, setting a pace that leaves no room for pretense. It’s rough, raw, the kind of fucking that makes you forget your name and what you’re supposed to be doing here in Spain in the first place.

“Te gusta, ¿verdad?” she murmurs in your ear, voice low and teasing. And by her tone you just about make out she’s asked you a question.

“Fuck, yes,” you gasp, any attempt at playing it cool flying out the window as she thrusts harder, deeper. The sound of skin against skin fills the small bathroom, along with your increasingly loud moans. There’s no point in being quiet now – everyone out there either knows what’s happening or will by the time she’s done with you.

It’s filthy, the way she fucks you – no pretense, no gentleness, just pure, unbridled lust. You’re half-certain you’ll have bruises tomorrow, and the thought only turns you on more.

“Mírate,” she breathes, voice laced with dark amusement. “Miss Hollywood, siendo follada como una vulgar zorra"

You whimper in response, because you don’t know what else to do. You don’t understand a word she’s saying. Yet you’re still reduced to nothing but pure pleasure, body trembling as she drives you closer and closer to the precipice.

And then she does something with her hips – some angle that has you seeing stars, and you’re gone, crying out her name as you come harder than you’ve ever come in your life. The kind of orgasm that leaves you breathless, boneless, clinging to the sink like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

But she doesn’t stop. Not until you’re shaking, overstimulated and begging her to – not until she’s milked every last bit of pleasure from you, until you’re nothing but a panting, sweaty mess in her extremely toned arms.

When she finally pulls out, you collapse against the sink, legs barely holding you up. Alexia’s still behind you, hands sliding up your sides in a way that’s almost affectionate. Almost.

“That was…” You try to find words, but they’re lost somewhere between the haze of lust and the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Sí,” she agrees, smirking as she steps back, giving you just enough space to turn around and face her.

There’s something in her eyes, something that says she’s not done with you yet. And despite the fact that you should probably get back to the party, should probably straighten yourself up and pretend like you haven’t just been fucked within an inch of your life, you can’t bring yourself to care.

[chainmail-butch]

i was talking to a friend who's a trans woman about this. she used to be really weird about butch trans women, but ended up being butch herself. she told me she was adverse to it because "it was like watching someone leave their house completely naked. you feel maybe a little embarrassed for them but you're mostly scared for how other people are going to treat them too. [she] thought "well, [she'd] be embarrassed doing the same and maybe they were having a hard time passing. but then finding out they're doing it on purpose, [she] thought that they were making a joke of being trans, like they were enforcing the stereotype of just saying you were a woman despite not making any effort to look like one. [she] was confused as to why anyone would do that, especially when she'd been having a hard time being treated well even though she did everything to make herself like a cis girl." she hated having to put in so much effort into looking feminine but did it because she was sure that's just what you had to do. obviously, probably regardless of how she looked, she was going to be treated like shit on the principal of being trans and after actually talking to butches and thinking about it more, she decided to just dress how she felt comfortable and still be proud of being a woman.

That's very interesting to hear. That is the consistent impression I've gotten from well meaning trans women.

I had to wrestle with the whole, "declaring myself a woman without making the effort," thing. When I first transitioned I put on dresses, tried on makeup, and got cute jackets. None of it felt right. I knew, entirely, that I was a woman. But doing all of the things women were supposed to be doing made me feel even worse than when I had lived as a man, which is saying something.

I eventually figured out that there is plenty of effort to being a butch woman. There are still styles, there are still pieces of gendered clothing, there are still gendered actions, they're just hidden in plain sight. They're all the things I wanted to do and all the ways that I wanted to be perceived that I couldn't understand until someone (Leslie Feinberg) held a mirror to my face (SBB) and said Butch. Then it all clicked.

I've been doing HRT for three full years now. I've been socially transitioned for three full years now. It is work. It is a challenge. It is walking out of the house with nothing but your soul and what you choose to armor it with. For some women the armor is a dress and a full face of makeup. For me its leather and boots.

I love my sisters deeply. I love women deeply. I love womanhood deeply. But my womanhood is also deliberately not womanhood. My selfish desire is a world where I can be exactly who I am without having to justify it to every woman, trans or cis, that crosses my path. But that's not gonna happen any time soon.

As so many butches, cis and trans, have said, It is a difficult road to walk and I have no choice but to walk it.

[hrrtshape]

hi lovely!! i literally screamed when i saw the post of you shifting, you're my beyoncé. anyway, cause you've experienced shifting for long periods of time (15 days🥳) , does it ever feel like you have imposter syndrome / feeling out of place while you're there?? or like there's an impending doom for when you'll come back? i'm sorry this is terribly worded idk how to express my own fears of this 😵‍💫 did you feel as though you belonged? like it was yours completely? maybe i'm just overthinking but that feeling is a fear of mine. thank you!! (btw i'm thrilled for you!!) 💋 💋

fifteen days of silk & then a faceplant into the pavement. AKA my adjustment period.

it’s the morning after after, and i am back. back where? back here. alright. i’m back. ta-da. curtain drop. applause. except no one is clapping, and i don’t have the grace to bow. i woke up, and the ceiling wasn’t mine. the sheets weren’t mine. the air wasn’t the same expensive, citrine-tinged, cocktail-laced kind of air that had been curling in my lungs for two weeks. and i, hypocritical sucker that i am, had the nerve to be shocked about it.

i mean, sure. i knew it was coming. you don’t get to play house with a world that isn’t your baseline forever. but the thing is, i didn’t leave on purpose. i didn’t wake up with some cinematic, soft-focus farewell to my penthouse and my perfect cheekbones and my whole life of rich-girl ease. i got bpd'ed out of there. i had a moment, no, a stroke, full collapse, full-sent spiral. and the next thing I knew, i was here, in this reality, where my skin feels like it's on a half-second delay and my body doesn't move quite right.

fifteen days. the number sits heavy on my tongue for a reason. a reality where i belonged in the way that swans belong to lakes. without question, without effort, slipping into the water as if it were their own reflection. my existence hummed in sync with the great, golden machine of my cr, and yet. and yet.

did i ever feel out of place? i don’t think out of place is the right word. it wasn’t a foreignness, not an exile, more like standing in a room where you know every guest, yet you catch your own reflection and flinch. who is she? the one with pearls at her throat, ease in her fingertips, a name that opens doors before it’s even fully spoken. she is me. she was me. she was me for fifteen days, and then i blinked, and she is somewhere else, still living, still breathing, still slipping into taxis and tilting her chin in the golden hour light.

and yeah. it stings. a lot. like falling out of a dream where someone loved you exactly right, only to wake up and realise your phone is on 2%, your bank account is a joke, and the best thing in your fridge is an almost-empty bottle of soy milk. i spent fifteen days in a world where i never had to check my bank account because obviously i was wealthy, and now i have to talk myself down from a full-fledged existential crisis just because i blinked and lost it.

so, do i feel like it was ever really mine? and the answer is: yes, yes, of course, yes. i don’t care what reality says. i belonged there like my name was engraved on the buildings. i had favourite cafés, i had people, i had a version of myself so polished and effortless she felt inevitable. i belonged there in the way that clouds belong to the sky, like obviously, what else would i be doing?

and yet. and yet !!!!

i woke up here. which means what? that this reality wins by default? that i’m supposed to accept it, tuck myself back into it like an old sweater, pretend like my body doesn’t feel like it got kicked out of the garden of eden for crying too hard? i don’t know. i don’t know. what i do know is that the transition is brutal, and i miss myself. i miss the version of me that didn’t have to think about belonging, because she just did. i miss the feeling of it, the seamlessness, the way my life there was perfectly hemmed to fit me.

but i won’t lie. i woke up today, and for a split second, i expected the skyline to still be waiting for me. i expected to turn my head on the pillow and see the drape of new york twilight against a window that was mine. instead, i saw this world, my room, this life. it took me a breath, a deep one, the kind that scalds the lungs, to remember that i belong everywhere i have ever been. the city does not crumble because i have left it. it remembers me. it holds my laughter in its pavements, my perfume in the folds of its air. i will return. i will always return.

maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. and when i do, i’ll stay longer. i’ll land softer. i’ll make sure the next time i wake up, it’s because i decided to.

[reiderwriter]

Happily Ever After

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: You have a big fat crush on Spencer Reid. And now you have to share his clothes, his hotel room and his bed for one special night.

Warnings: Day 31 of Kinktober - The End, vanilla sex, love confessions, p in v, pretty softcore compared to the other stuff. Fluff.

A/N: We did it! It's literally halfway to December, but I finally finished all of the kinktober fics! Thank you, everyone, for coning with me on this amazing journey. Thank you for all your support for thesr 31 fics, I literally wouldn't have done it without you 💖

It was hard being hopelessly in love with your coworker. This was a fact that you'd learnt upon entering the BAU and meeting Doctor Spencer Reid. 

You'd never believed in love at first sight  and to be truthful, you were still a sceptic, but there was something about him that had you leaning in, eyes sparkling as you hung on his every word. 

If you were asked what exactly it was about him that you liked so much, you'd probably tie your tongue up trying to answer. 

Maybe it was his intelligence. Maybe it was the complete obliviousness that went along with it. 

It could have been the way he made sure to check in on you regularly, made sure you were managing the transition to the BAU well, and let you know that he'd be there to support you. 

It was probably also because of how goddamn attractive he was. You swore that he was walking around like the female lead in a 00s rom com - he just didn't know how hot he was. In fact, he was so oblivious that he still didn't reconcile the fact that ‘Pretty Boy’ was less an insulting nickname and more the cold, hard truth. 

You'd accidentally reminded him of that fact about a month into being deliriously into him. 

“Pretty Boy…? Hey, Spencer? Doctor Reid? Nothing…” Morgan sat on the edge of your desk as he called over to the man just opposite him, sitting completely still bar his hand that was racing across a page as he read furiously. 

“He's busy, Morgan. I'm sure if you just call his name Louder, he'll answer.” You sighed. Watching the two men quibble had become an interesting pastime, to say the least. 

“Spencer, the office is on fire. Spencer, Hotchner, is naked in his office right now. Spencer, Rossi is naked in his office right now. Spencer, Y/N is-” 

“Okay, that's enough,” you said, standing up from your desk and clearing your throat. You thought you'd just stand up and get Spencer’s attention the same way Derek had, projecting your voice just a little bit more.

“Pretty Boy.” As soon as the words fell from your lips, the man in question bolted upright, hitting his knee on the desk as he rose, locking eyes with you. 

“Yes, Y/N?” Almost as soon as he was upright, Morgan was in fits on the floor, partly from the reaction, partly from Spencer's self injury. When he turned back to you and noticed your red face, the laughing fit only doubled. 

Spencer joined you in perpetual embarrassment as Morgan slipped off, still laughing  but seemingly no longer interested in whatever it was he wanted Spencer for in the first place. 

“Y/N, did you need something?” He asked, clearing his throat as he sat down once again. 

“No! No, actually, Morgan… it doesn't matter.” You smiled politely and sat back down, quickly pulling some paperwork together to make yourself look busy. 

“Usually only Morgan calls me pretty boy.” He murmured from the other side of the desk  

“That's because it's the truth.” 

“What?” His eyes locked with yours as you suddenly realised he'd been talking to himself, not engaging you in further conversation. 

“I… well, I mean, he wouldn't say it if you weren't actually pretty, Spencer.” He looked at you for a second, then relaxed, smiling softly as he continued his reading. 

You could've sworn you heard a tiny thank you under his breath  but you just continued your work and tried to calm your heart rate down. 

After that, you made it your mission to out an arm's length between yourself and Spencer Reid. You were polite about it, of course, but you felt an awful lot like a teenager with a crush. Or maybe a pre-teen with a crush. Sometimes, to be honest, you were probably acting like a complete child. 

Fate, or Aaron Hotchner, had other plans for you, though. 

“If you can't make it, that's okay, but it's regulation to send two agents because of some prior interviews that have turned particularly violent.” He explained after he called you into his office. 

“JJ has Henry to take care of, same for Kate and her niece. Morgan has a trial tomorrow, so he's unavailable as well, so I really only have you and Reid to ask. Can you do it?” 

You weren't sure if it was some need to please the man in front of you as if you were his child who had scored badly on a pop quiz, or his perpetual state of exhaustion that had you giving in and nodding to the man, agreeing to five hours in a car with Spencer. But you did. 

The ride wasn't all that bad, to be honest. In typical Spencer fashion, he'd bought along a few audiobooks to listen to, so most of the time was filled with The Faerie Queene and the sleep that you'd fallen into after listening to The Faerie Queene. 

You couldn't fully escape conversation, though, and in between changing tapes, he started asking questions. 

“How are you liking the unit?" He asked casually, his eyes on the road as you turned to stare at him. 

“It's been good. The only downside is all of those field work fitness tests, though.” 

“Be glad that you had to do those before you joined us. Morgan decided to be helpful and train me and Penelope.” 

“That doesn't sound too bad,” you laughed at him as an honest frown coated his face.

“Have you seen the guy? He's like a walking weightlifting advertisement, I think he could bench press me. And it turned out that we didn't even need the training anyway.” 

“Wow, and you fell for it? I thought you were a super genius, Doctor Reid.” 

“Hey, that's discrimination. I can be very stupid, too. I contain multitudes.” You laughed and relaxed into the seat some more, memorising each detail of his face as you looked at him. There was a small awkward pause as he waited for you to say something else. Just as he made to turn and look at you, you straightened again and looked away before he could catch you. 

“I'd love to see those multitudes some day.” 

“I'd love to show you them.” 

After that, you'd sat silently in the passenger seat, staring out of the window so he couldn't see the effect his words had on you. 

You were thankful that the actual interview finished shortly, the death row inmate becoming rather chatty in his final days and gracious in the details he was willing to give out. The prison still put you on edge, though, so you were glad to have your gun back on your hip and fresh air in your lungs as you moved towards the car. 

You were just waiting for Spencer to get off the phone so you could get back on the road and into your comfy bed. 

“That was Hotch,” Spencer said, walking over. “We've got a case. We're closer than they are, so they want us to drive there and stay in the hotel for the night, and they'll see us tomorrow.” He smiled in sympathy as he watched your face fall. 

The stuttering of your heart was so loud that you almost couldn't hear his words. Surely, that didn't mean you had to spend the night with Spencer Reid? You didn't know if you'd actually survive that. 

“I-I don't have my overnight bag.” You said. 

“Hotch said JJ is picking it up. She'll pass it to you tomorrow.” 

“But it's winter, what am I going to wear tonight?” You practically whispered the words as your brain finished functioning once again. 

“I have something you can change into. Of that's okay with you, of course!” You didn't trust yourself to talk, so you just nodded at the man and climbed into the car, ready for him to take you to your home for the night. 

Fate didn't stop there, though. 

“There's been some kind of mistake,” you heard Spencer mumble as you walked up to the front desk behind him. You'd been sat on a sofa in the foyer waiting for him to return with your key and his when you realised he'd been taking too long. 

“What's the problem?” You asked as he turned around to look at you, running his hands through his hair in frustration. 

“They only booked one room.” 

“Sir, I'm sorry, but you're going to have to take up the issue with your company. But there's only one room here in your name, and we're otherwise fully booked for the night. We had two weddings and an academic gathering this weekend. Guests are still trickling in and out.” 

“Okay, what about my name? Can you see if there's anything under Y/L/N?” 

“I already tried that. They have Hotchner down, but only from tomorrow.” His jaw tensed again as he turned to you. If you knew him better, you'd probably be able to recognise his nervousness. God, how you wished you knew him better. 

“It's one night?” You nodded and took the keys from the receptionist as you and Spencer walked towards the room you'd be sharing for the evening.

“Derek says I talk in my sleep, but that claim has never been substantiated with any real evidence. Also I prefer to sleep on the bed nearest to the window, is that okay?” Spencer rambled slightly awkwardly as you approached your new hotel room. 

You smiled at him and flexed your hand slightly, trying to reach out to comfort him but holding yourself back from the casual physical contact. 

“It's okay,” you said, grabbing the key card. “Let's go in.” 

If that day had taught you anything, it was to expect something else to go wrong. 

The room was wonderful, with a large window, a competent bathroom, surprisingly spacious for the usual FBI budget. There was, of course, only one bed.

“I'll take the sofa. It's right next to the window anyway.” 

“Spencer it's not a pull-out. You're never going to get any sleep on that thing.” You stood your ground, dumping Spencer’s bag and your own small purse on the sofa so he couldn't take up permanent residence there. 

You weren't sure why you were fighting so hard to get him in the same bed as you, knowing what effect it would have on you, but you didn't care to think about that right this second. 

“Okay, let's just get ready to sleep, and we can talk about it again.” He said, digging you out an old pair of sweatpants and a caltech jumper and gesturing for you to use the bathroom first. 

You quickly showered up and changed into the warm clothes. It was strange to be able to feel how much bigger than you he was since you'd never really considered it. 

Spencer was tall, but you weren't exactly petites, and yet here you were, getting swamped by his college sweatshirt. And you knew for a fact that he'd been practically a child still when he'd last graduated. 

“All yours, Spencer,” you said, walking from the bathroom and over to the bed where you'd left your phone on charge. 

He didn't say anything, but you noticed he'd stayed stuck to the spot and sat at the opposite end of the sofa reading a book. 

“Spencer? Did you hear me?” That seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in, and he finally diverted his eyes away from you. 

“No pretty boy this time?” He pouted under his breath, but you laughed all the same, watching him grab similar garments from his bag again and travel to the bathroom.

You must've drifted off slightly between him going in and coming out, because when you woke, there he was again on the sofa. 

“Spencer? What are you doing? Get into bed.” You blinked your eyes a few times, rubbing away the sleep in them as you sat up. Spencer had sat up on the sofa, reading his book again, his hair still slightly damp from the shower. 

“I said I'm fine here, Y/N. I don't want to make you uncomfortable.” Sighing, you pushed yourself out of bed and walked around it to where Spencer was. 

“Spencer, you're like 6’4. This sofa couldn't even sleep a five year old comfortably, let alone all of you.” You slipped the book from his hand, shutting it and placing it on the side table. 

“I'm assuming you don't need a bookmark?” When he shook his head with a resigned sigh, you grabbed his hand and pulled him up. 

“Y/N, are you sure?” 

“Spencer, you already gave up your clothes for me, I'm not letting you give up the bed, too.” 

“It's okay, I enjoyed giving up the clothes.” You couldn't really help the nervous goggle that slipped from your mouth at that statement. 

“Sorry, I just meant I'd-” 

“I know what you meant, Spencer. Let's just go to sleep now.” Grabbing his hand once again, you turned the main lights off, lamps lighting your way to the bed. 

Turning Spencer around, you gently shoved him onto the bed. Though, expecting him to let go of your hand, you'd planned that only he would land there. 

Instead, he doubled down on his grasp of your hand, and you fell with him, landing directly on top of him on the bed, mouths inches from each other. 

You paused there for a few moments, not sure what move was the right one to make. His hips shifted upward slightly, but that was all the movement you needed for you to settle over his crotch rather than his legs. 

“I'm sorry,” you whispered breathlessly as you felt every inch of him harden underneath you. 

“I'm not,” he said, eyes searching your face for god knows what. 

When he found it, though, he didn't hold back. His free hand slid up to the back of your head, slamming it down so your lips could lock together, a passionate joining that rid you of all the oxygen in your body. 

“Spencer,” you gasped between kisses as he worked his hand lower, both hands free to wrap tightly around your waist as he continued kissing you with a passion. 

“So beautiful,” he whispered as he finally pulled away again, holding you as close as he could before capturing your lips one more time.

Your head swam through the sensations blindly, both confused and considerably fused to him at the same time.

Spencer's lips, Spencer's hands, Spencer's everything pressed up against you as you sighed contentedly at his ministrations.

“Spencer… what are we doing?” 

“I don't know. I don't want to stop, though.” His lips matched yours furiously as he pushed his sweater off your body, whining slightly when he had to break contact to get it over your head.

His hands were instantly exploring your chest, grasping your body like it was his lifeline, as your hips rocked against his own. 

You knew you needed to stop this, and soon. Your body didn't agree. If you had sex with Spencer Reid right now, you knew there was no way in hell any other man would ever match up. 

“Spencer, stop.” 

To his credit, he did, hands dropping instantly as he created space between the two of you. Or as much as you'd allow, still sitting on top of him. 

“I'm sorry, I took advantage, I shouldn't have kissed you like th-” 

“I love you.” You blurted out, so desperate for him to shut up and listen to you. Which  again, to his credit, he did. 

“What?” He whispered, stars shining in his eyes.

“I told you to stop because I love you. If you don't feel the same way, that's okay, but I don't think I can do this if you don't.”

“You love me?” 

“Yes, I just said that. Aren't you supposed to have an eidetic memory?” 

“Individuals with eidetic memories often struggle with short-term memories, hanging onto older memories more vividly and recalling them faster.”

“So you want me to say it again?” 

“Over and over, preferably.” He said with a grin, flipping you over so your back was on the bed as he hovered over you. 

“I love you,” you whispered as he kissed your cheek. 

“Again.”

“I love you,” you whispered as he kissed your neck. 

“One more time,” he whispered, stroking your hair as he finally looked into your eyes. 

“I love you,” you whispered as he kissed your lips once again, holding nothing back as he poured all his joy into you. 

“I love you, too.” 

Your legs tangled together in a blur after that, both hopelessly breathing each other's oxygen. You were giggles and moans, whimpers, and confessions as you found yourself pushing down the covers and your pants so you could slide into bed. 

Neither of you stopped your confessions, still professing your love in each scrape of a nail, each lick, each bite. 

When he finally entered you, your eyes rolled back in pleasure, drunk on him and every reaction he was giving you. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he moaned. “I love how you feel wrapped around me.” His hips snapped softly into you, but he went deep, pushing in the entire way before even letting himself think of drawing himself out of that beautiful heat. 

“I love how reactive you are for me. I love seeing each of your emotions cross your face. I love how you called me pretty. I love how intelligent you are. I love you.” You were overcome with emotions as you finally felt pleasure wash over you, tingling through your body in ripples as he grunted into your ear, close as well. 

Wrapping your legs around him, you nuzzled into his neck and held him tight as he finally finished inside of you. 

You fell asleep like that in each others arms, clinging to each other for dear life. 

When you woke the next morning, it was with a start as you realised the sun was already awake. 

Spencer, however, wasn't, and you jolted up in a panic as you rolled him off of you. 

“Spencer, wake up, the others are going to be here any minute, it's 8:45.” 

“No, they're not,” he said, pulling you right back into his chest. 

“You said yesterday that they're coming today ready for the new case.”

“They started driving at 7am. Driving is going to take them 5 hours 34 minutes, give or take half an hour if there's an accident on the roads. We have plenty of time.”

You relaxed slightly into his hold, then feeling his warmth against you as he stirred slightly again. 

“Of course, we could always do something else to pass the time.” You opened one eye and turned back to face him as his hand traced down to the parting of your legs.

“Nice try, lover boy. If you're awake enough for that, you're awake enough to get started on the case.” 

“I preferred pretty boy,” he groaned but rolled away from you, as you both started getting ready for the day. 

Within half an hour, the two of you were up and ready to answer an incoming video call from Penelope Garcia. 

“Hello beautiful, how is upstate treating you?” She said as you picked up and beamed at her, somehow unable to control the happiness rolling off of you.

“It's been good,” you practically giggled, wiping a hand across your face as you attempted to clear away the grin there.

Spencer approached the laptop screen, too, greeting Penelope with a small squint as he looked down. 

“Hey, Penelope. Do you have the case details for us?” 

“I sent through the files to your emails, Hotch has a paper copy for you too, Reid, when he gets there. We've got a copycat or a resurfaced killer from the 80s. Rossi says the details are familiar to him, but he was going to ask you when he found you.” You both nodded and thanked her, but still, she didn't hang up. 

“So, one hotel room, how was that?” Penelope asked from the other side of the screen, eyes dancing between the both of you. 

“How did you…?” You squinted as Spencer hurriedly closed the laptop to the sounds of her laughing victoriously. Spencer's face flushed again as he brushed his hair out of his face, trying to discuss the files with you as he changed the topic almost expertly. 

“Stop. Spencer, how did she know about the hotel room?”

“Penelope books most of our hotel rooms.”

“Spencer, what aren't you telling me?” He shifted uncomfortably and looked at you in the eyes. 

“I may have asked her to book only one room.” 

“What? But the receptionist said-” 

“I slipped her a twenty before you came up.” 

“Why?” 

“I wanted to be closer to you. When Hotch said he had this interview, and he said he was sending you too, I was so excited to spend time with you, because you've been avoiding me, and I wanted to know what I did wrong so I could make it better, but I guess I didn't do anything wrong because you love me somehow, so I must have done something very very right to deserve that.” He was rambling, but you didn't stop him, smile spreading as you listened to his accidental declarations of love. 

“And then I had to beg Hotch to take this case next, because then we'd have an excuse to be alone longer if we were so close.” 

You tried to catch his attention then by calling his name, but he didn't listen, too intent on his confession. 

“I was going to tell you later today, once we were off work, I didn't want to say something in the middle of the case because that would've been unprofessional  and honestly I didn't want the others to hear because I want you all to myself.”

“I'm rambling, aren't I?” 

“Yes, God  just shut up and kiss me.” 

“You're not mad?” 

“I might have been if I weren't so damn in love with you. But lucky for you, I'm crazy for you.” He smiled at you again, pulling you in close for one more kiss. 

[kinopio-writes]

Hi! Would you be willing to write something for Adam with a sensitive reader?

Everyone knows that he is loud-mouthed jerk, even reader, and she loves him regardless, but one day he crosses the line and says something particularly mean that makes her cry. Like REAL mean. To the point that he pauses because he did not think before speaking (or, well, less than usual lol)

I'm happy with whatever format you feel like using! Thank you!

A/N: I will be more than delighted to write that for you. But would you excuse me for a moment? AHHHHHHDISJDIOEOFJSKXJND—I’m sorry; I love this idea so much. Reading ‘Adam with a sensitive reader’ got me hooked instantly. But I’ll go over that in the headcanons, along with the general stuff. And I’ll add a oneshot at the end that plays the exact scenario of Adam taking it too far.

Holy sh!t. I made it so that the reader being sensitive is their greatest but also weakest point and it turned out pretty angsty. Has a bit of hurt/comfort, though. Did I go overboard? Maybe. That’s why it took so long. Sorry, anon.

Words: 2,328 (edited)

Warnings: Sex is mentioned (only a bit, surprisingly), Angst, Adam being Adam

———

Adam w/ a Sensitive!Reader

• ha, this man is also sensitive himself

• well, sensitive about himself

• he feels his own emotions strongly, so he’s not the caring, easily able to pick up on other’s feelings and empathize type of sensitive

• you, on the other hand, are on the opposite end of the spectrum compared to Adam

• so you experience other people’s emotions just as strongly as yours

• you easily know what makes someone tick

• you’re selfless

• you’re able to admit your mistakes and apologize

• you’re respectful and actively listen to people when they talk about themselves

• you don’t push people down to make yourself seem better

• you try to make everyone feel good and comfortable

• you’re everything he isn’t

• because you fit in Heaven perfectly

• you deserve to be there

• and Adam knows that he doesn’t belong (subconsciously at least)

• you’re able to draw people in just for being yourself

• and he’s envious of it

• so he demeans you and is snarky about everything you do, and every time people give you praise or affection, he tries to divert the attention to himself or just stares at you with utter hatred from afar

• although all of that is just when he hasn’t even had a conversation with you

• after a while of being around you, he’ll cling to you because you give him the reassurance and validation he oh-so craves (he acts as if he didn’t hate you before. What do you mean? You two were always buddy-buddy!)

• you acknowledge all of the things he puts his worth to

• heck, you hang out with him—you sometimes even initiate it—willingly, and you’re genuinely interested in everything he has to say

• but he‘ll only hang out with you where no one recognizes you (so you don’t get all the attention)

• terrible transition here, but he notices that you mimic people’s expressions often

• he definitely makes fun of you for it

• and also mocks you

• up until he realizes that you do the same thing to him, too

• which is fine and all, if only you didn’t do that when he’s upset

• well, you mimic him when he’s joyous as well, but he (already subconsciously) expects you to. I mean, why wouldn’t you? He’s fucking hilarious!

• so you copying his negative emotions just stands out more

• and he…doesn’t like it

• that’s only really what he doesn’t like about you

• and the fact that you hog all the attention

• and the fact that people see you as perfect…

• buuut what happens when he gets to see a new side of you that isn’t exactly upholding that image?

———

Your phone lit up from your bedside table, brightening your otherwise dark room along with the soft glow of your halo. You only moved your eyes to the light, not wanting your tears to spill and dampen your pillows.

You had an inkling as to who was texting you this late—if the fact that your phone lighting up several times in the span of 5 minutes had anything to say.

When the texts stopped pouring in after a few seconds, you heavily sighed, wings ruffling. You resisted the urge to rub your face as you went to grab your phone.

HEY (2:34) HEY (2:34) HEY (2:34) ARE YOU UP? (2:35) I’M BORED (2:35) GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE (2:36) IF YOU’RE UP (2:37) ARE YOU? (2:38) DID I TELL YOU THAT BITCH WITH THE HUGE TITS GOT FIRED TODAY? (2:39)

Figured. Of course, it was Adam. He was the only person you knew who’d be awake at this ungodly hour. And the only person you knew who’d disturb your peace if it meant curing anything that ailed him. Which was now about boredom, it seemed.

You read a few of his texts displayed on your lock screen before tapping one of the notifications and opening the app, scanning the rest of the unread messages.

Adam was going on about ‘that bitch with the huge tits’—her name was Tiffany, you were sure—and how she was rumored to have slept with an archangel to assume higher authority. He also went on to complain about how he didn’t have the chance to bed her anymore since she was basically deemed an outcast and that he couldn’t be seen with someone like her.

You frowned, not believing any of it, but you didn’t have time to think about it enough when he began typing again.

SO YOU’RE AWAKE (2:43)

You barely finished reading the new message when another one popped up.

DON’T IGNORE ME BITCH (2:43)

You frowned deeper, quick to type out a reply.

i’m not (2:43) i was just reading your texts (2:43) don’t worry (2:43) i’ll be there soon (2:44)

When he stopped typing, you placed your phone back on the nightstand, sitting up on your bed as you carefully wiped away your teary eyes. You hugged yourself for a moment, wings functioning as a cocoon while a hand tugged on your hair.

Today had been draining—both mentally and emotionally. Just like the day before, and the day before that. But you didn’t want to think about it, lest you start to cry some more and smear your face with tears this time. What mattered was that everyone was back on their feet again.

Since you didn’t bother changing into your sleepwear when you got home, you only checked your face in the mirror to see if your eyes were puffy or not. You then took in deep breaths, holding up your drooping wings before putting up a charming smile.

You couldn’t stay in the bathroom for long, quickly leaving to tread the path to Adam’s.

•••

“BOO!” Adam’s masked face suddenly peeked from the corner of his hallway, earning an indescribable scream from you as you jerked back. He burst out laughing, brows creased in confusion but also amusement. He couldn’t even make fun of you for getting scared. “What the—what the fuck was that scream?”

Recovering rather quickly as you blinked, you only smiled at him. You were expecting him to wait for you on his couch as his front door was left unlocked, but you weren’t complaining; his action took away any drowsiness you just had.

When Adam didn’t hear you laugh with him, his laughter subsided as he opened his eyes to look at your face. He raised his brows and placed the back of his hands on his hips. “What’s up with you?”

Shit. There was no way Adam was seeing through you.

“Nothing; I just love hearing you laugh.” You heard a tiny squeak in response. “Anyway, what did you make me come over for? Surely not just to scare me.” You moved past Adam and tightly crossed your arms, entering his spacious living room.

“Pshh, fuck no. You’re so easy to spook. Though that was a first. Didn’t know you could hit high notes, (Name).”

You didn’t know what to say to his…compliment? And sort of insult? Was it really either of them? Should you thank him? But in a sarcastic way? No, you weren’t known for being sarcastic, so he might think you were being genuine and look at you weirdly. And it would also seem highly egotistical.

Not as if Adam had much to say about that…

You tugged at your hair when you caught yourself with those thoughts. Shit, that’s so rude! You can’t think that! You shouldn’t think that!

You settled on an awkward chuckle, making yourself appear smaller as you averted your eyes to his TV space.

It was different, certainly. The modular couch pieces were rearranged into a pit sectional. And it looked as though he had chucked a bunch of pillows and one large blanket as an afterthought. It appeared messy, but at least it looked cozy.

“What’s this?”

“Hm? Oh, well, since you were taking your sweet ass time coming here, I thought to switch things up a bit.” You flinched when his head appeared right on your shoulder. “What’d ya think?”

“It looks super comfy.” Adam wore a goofy grin behind you as you walked closer to the area and noticed that he already prepared snacks on the low table. “Is this a way to say you wanna do a movie marathon?”

“You know it, baby.” He flew past you and landed on the sofa, patting the space beside him with a smile you just couldn’t reject.

•••

Heaven’s natural light beginning to peek through the open windows indicated that it was already dawn. Thank goodness you didn’t have work today.

You two—or rather, Adam—had settled on watching the film series, Die Hard. Every single one. You didn’t mind, but you didn’t understand why Adam invited you over if you two were just going to rewatch the film series for the eighth time.

He had also been pretty immersed in the large screen in front of him, so he hadn’t attempted to converse with you ever since the first movie started. In all honesty, he could have just watched them all by himself.

But you didn’t question it. This time was the same as the last seven, after all. You always concluded that maybe he just wanted someone to watch movies with, no talking necessary. Even if the no-talking part sounded a bit out of character.

Was it though? Because he did that quite often. For instance, he constantly brought you along to whatever mundane errands he had to do during the weekdays and never really talked with you unless he found something cool and pointed it out.

Although, the earlier times you tagged along with him on his errands, he kept yapping his mouth off about the ‘totally awesome’ things he does. He talked about music, his own albums, his band, women, sex, and himself as the first-ever man.

As time went on, however, the talking was replaced with silence. You wondered if he just ran out of things to say or if he found it unnecessary to talk anymore.

You also sometimes wondered what was going through his head when he thought you didn’t see him glancing at you while he was doing something he believed was boring.

The sound of Adam’s stomach rumbling broke you out of your train of thought.

You both looked at each other blankly as if either of you were to blame.

He blinked to break the eye contact between you. “(Name), I’m hungry.”

You snorted, facing ahead. “You ate all of our snacks before the first movie even finished.”

“Don’t blame me.” He hugged the pillow he held tighter. “I’m still fuckin’ hungry, though.”

You hummed as you reached for your pocket. “Do you want me to—oh. I…I forgot my phone.” You frowned. You never forget to bring your belongings.

Adam merely stared at you, unblinking.

You averted your eyes and held your legs tighter. “Uhm, We could get delivery if you want. Can you lend me your phone?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” He casually tossed you the device before laying on his back and looking up at you. “I’m down for anything.”

His phone hit your knee before you could catch it, silently landing on the cushions. “Are you sure?” You picked it up, opened his unlocked phone, and stared at his basic home screen.

He didn’t really use his phone that often to know that it could be changed. He only really used it to fetch one-night stands or occasional dates, text, play music aloud, look at outdated memes, take random blurry photos, and right now, order delivery.

“Totally.” His crow’s feet displayed on his mask as he puffed out his cheeks.

“Because last time you said that, you didn’t like what I had to pick.”

“That’s because the 5 ʼn 2 is so fucking overrated!” he suddenly started to complain. Your wings ruffled. “Jeez, I swear, every fuckin’ time I take a chick out and ask her what her favorite eatery is, basic bitches always go, ‘Oh, bREaD & fIsH, ceRTAinLy’ or ‘bReAD & FiSh’S a cLAsSIC’” He used his hand as a puppet to imitate their words before waving it. “Like, helloooo? Can’t you see the joint that’s literally on the other side of the street’s a hundred times superior? It’s cheaper, too, unlike Bread & Fish. Overpriced ass. You get me, right—?”

“Then you pick!” Adam jumped at your volume, and your eyes widened upon noticing yourself. You quickly gave back his phone as you turned your face away from him, and he slowly took it with a weird look.

“Shit, chill, (Name). The fuck’s up your ass?” He kept his gaze on you before turning to his phone.

While he was serious about his opinions of your bland tastes, he didn’t think it was that personal. Your preferences were the same as everyone else and that was boring. He was just being honest. And you usually didn’t take the things he said that seriously.

“Adam, I’m sorry,” you spoke up after a moment of silence and ran a hand through your hair. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“ʼs not a problem.” He was still a bit weirded out, but he was willing to shrug it off.

You insisted, however, “I mean it. I’m not mad at you.”

“Okay…?” he muttered when he saw a notification pop up from Lute. Her message consisted of how some of the exterminators got into a quarrel during roll call and the ones involved got injured in the process. She said she was going to discipline them.

Adam did not want to know what she meant by that and was most likely not going to stop by their place today.

“Really. I’m not. Sorry. It’s just that yesterday’s been…”

“Uh-huh…” At this point, Adam was not listening to anything you were saying. But when he still heard the static noise that was your words, he groaned. “Look, sweetie, I really don’t give a fuckin’ shit about your fuckin’ apology, ʼkay? I don’t fuckin’ care. Now what do you want?”

You saw Adam’s confused yet concerned expression after he looked up from his phone and immediately noticed that you were starting to cry. You instantly turned your face away as you carefully wiped your eyes.

“Sorry. Sorry. I’m not crying because of you.” You didn’t know if that was true. You didn’t know if you were crying because of his words or were crying because of everything else.

That was the first time he ever used a sweet petname for you in a long time. He only ever used that to demean or mock other people.

Shit. Stop thinking—you were going to cry more. But even after carefully wiping your eyes away, new tears kept flowing. You couldn’t stop. This was humiliating. You wanted to disappear. You didn’t want anyone to witness you in this state. It was mortifying.

“Shit.” Adam’s voice came out panicky as he held his hands out towards you, but he hesitated. Hesitated in what, he didn’t even know.

He…didn’t think you could cry.

Adam didn’t know what to do; this emotional shit wasn’t his thing. He couldn’t ask you to leave, he knew that much, but he didn’t want to leave himself. This was his place. Why should he leave?

So, he did the only thing he could do in this situation.

You suddenly felt something warm envelop you.

You didn’t look up, but you knew it was Adam. You could feel the texture of his robe on your hands and the side of your face. You could feel his hands on your shoulder blade, but you couldn’t quite feel his arms on you.

You stopped wiping your eyes for a moment.

No one had ever hugged you before when you were sad.

No one had ever let you be sad.

Adam heard you sob.

Fucking great. He made it worse. What the fuck was he supposed to do then?

But when he went to unwrap his arms, he felt yours slip around his midsection, pulling him closer than before as he grunted from your firm hold.

So you wanted to be hugged? Alright. Whatever.

Adam slowly hugged you back after you muttered a ‘sorry’ and loosened your grip.

The next seconds were silent, so when he heard muffled words coming from you, he looked down. You also looked up moments later when he didn’t respond, realizing he must’ve not heard you.

Your gaze softened as you two held eye contact, and with teary eyes, you smiled. “Thank you, Adam.”

Something about his expression changed, but before you could stare any longer, you felt a hand behind your head push you back to his chest as the arm on your back held you tight.

“Yeah, whatever…”

[sweetlyvibe]

PAIRING : Naruto Uzumaki x GN!Reader,

GENRE : fluff

WC : 1.3k

SUMMARY : Naruto starts noticing a shift in his feelings, a warmth that goes beyond friendship. As memories resurface and new emotions grow, he realizes there’s one person who’s always seen him for who he truly is—and means more to him than he ever expected.

CONTENT/WARNINGS : mild violence, heartfelt moments, a soft transition from friendship to romance, no use of y/n, just lmk if I missed anything…!

The first time he’d seen you again after three years, he was stunned.

It wasn’t just that you’d grown taller, or that your smile was brighter, or even that you seemed to carry yourself with a confidence he hadn’t seen before. It was something deeper, something he couldn’t quite put into words. As he stood in front of you, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, he felt this pang in his chest—a feeling he’d never experienced before.

You greeted him with that same warmth you’d had since you were kids, the same smile that had always welcomed him on his toughest days. Naruto realized, with a mix of awe and confusion, that he hadn’t been able to forget that smile during his training with Jiraiya, no matter how hard he tried to focus on his new jutsus or pushing past his limits. Somewhere, deep down, he’d been waiting to come home to that familiar face.

In the days following his return, Naruto noticed that things felt both the same and completely different between you. You laughed together, like you always had. You joked, shared memories, and talked for hours. But every now and then, Naruto would catch himself watching you just a bit too long, feeling his heart pound in a way that made him fumble over his words.

“What’s going on with me?” he’d mutter to himself, lying on his bed at night, staring up at the ceiling. You’d always been his best friend, his first friend—the one person who’d never seen him as just the Nine-Tails kid. You had seen him, truly seen him, when no one else had.

For weeks, he wrestled with this strange, growing feeling. He didn’t know how to handle it, didn’t even know if it was something he could handle. But each time he saw you smile, each time you reached out to support him, Naruto felt that tug in his chest, and he realized that he didn’t want to ignore it. He wanted to understand it. He wanted to understand you.

Months passed, and Naruto grew stronger, as did his bond with you. Then came the attack on the village. When Pain tore through Konoha, Naruto fought harder than he ever had before, not just for the village, but for everyone he cared about—and you were at the top of that list. Through each punch, each jutsu, he held onto the thought of protecting the people he loved.

The village hailed him as a hero after that battle. People who had once looked down on him now cheered for him. They clapped him on the shoulder, they smiled, they praised him. It felt… good, but also strange. Naruto had always dreamed of being acknowledged by the village, but now that he had it, he realized something important.

All this time, when people hadn’t cared, when they’d treated him like an outcast, you had been the one standing by his side. You had seen him for who he was, and your support had never wavered. Naruto had always thought he’d wanted the approval of the entire village, but now he realized that your belief in him meant more than anything else.

And that’s when it hit him. You’d been there for him, always. Through every failure, every triumph, every moment of doubt and every rare victory, you’d been his rock. And in the middle of that realization, Naruto finally understood the feeling he’d been carrying since he came back from training.

He was in love with you.

A few months after the battle, Naruto invited you over to his apartment one evening. He didn’t know why, exactly. Maybe he was tired of keeping this feeling to himself, or maybe he just needed to be near you, to remind himself of everything you’d been through together. But tonight, he felt different. He felt ready.

You were sprawled on his couch, laughing about some memory from your childhood. Naruto watched you, a fond smile playing at his lips. It amazed him how easily you could talk to him, how you seemed to know exactly what he needed, even when he didn’t. For a moment, he got lost in the way you looked—comfortable, at home. The way you always looked around him.

“So, Naruto,” you said, breaking his train of thought, “what are you going to do now that the whole village loves you?” You raised an eyebrow, teasing him. “Guess I’ll have to get used to sharing you.”

He felt his heart skip at that. “I don’t… want to be shared,” he replied quietly, surprising even himself with how serious he sounded.

You tilted your head, curiosity sparking in your eyes. “What do you mean?”

Naruto took a deep breath. He’d been practicing how he would say this for weeks, running through scenarios in his mind. But now that he was sitting here, looking at you, he realized that words wouldn’t come easily. Still, he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I mean… I don’t want anyone else,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to share what I have with you. I want it to just… be us.”

Your expression softened, but you didn’t speak, waiting for him to continue. Naruto’s hands were trembling as he reached out and took your hand in his, a gesture he’d never dared to make before. The warmth of your skin against his sent a wave of courage through him.

“When I was training with Jiraiya-sensei, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, his cheeks flushed. “No matter how hard I tried, you were always there. In my mind, I mean. And when I came back, I didn’t understand what I was feeling. I thought maybe it would go away. But it didn’t. And then… after the fight with Pain, when everyone started caring, I realized something. I realized that no one’s ever cared about me the way you have. No one’s ever seen me like you do.”

Naruto took a deep breath, his blue eyes searching yours. “You’ve been there for me, through everything. You didn’t care about the Nine-Tails, or how everyone else looked at me. You just… cared about me. And now… now I think I know why that matters so much to me.”

He paused, his heart pounding, every nerve in his body on edge. “I think… no, I know… that I’m in love with you.”

The words hung in the air, and Naruto felt his face go warm as he finally, finally said it. For the first time in his life, he was vulnerable, baring his heart to the one person he knew would never hurt it.

You looked at him, and for a terrifying moment, he couldn’t read your expression. Then, slowly, a smile spread across your face—a smile that melted every ounce of anxiety inside him.

“Oh, Naruto…” You squeezed his hand, your voice soft. “I’ve always been here because I love you, too. I don’t think there’s been a day where I haven’t wanted to be by your side.”

The relief and joy that washed over him was overwhelming. He felt like his chest would burst, like he’d found something he didn’t even know he’d been searching for.

Without thinking, he leaned in, closing the distance between you. Your lips met, soft and warm, and for that brief moment, nothing else existed. The village, the battles, the world—they all faded away, leaving just the two of you in a moment that was perfect, that was everything he’d ever wanted.

When he pulled back, Naruto looked at you, his heart still racing, his hand still holding yours tightly. “I don’t know what the future holds,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “But I know that whatever happens… I want you with me. Always.”

You smiled, resting your forehead against his. “Always,” you echoed, your voice filled with the same promise.

And for the first time in his life, Naruto felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be. Right there, with you, the person who’d always been there, the one who had seen him at his worst and stayed. The person he loved.

[veranavera]

PSA: most trans people on hormones don’t pass after a year. I think the prevalence of “passing at 11 months!!!” type stories has given a lot of people the impression that somewhere around there is when people start to look like what they want. And like yeah, some people do, and fucking great for them, but you don’t see nearly as many people talking about how they don’t pass at that point because a) people share those things online less often and b) those posts get less traction because they’re heavier

Me? I passed for the first time at 7 months. I passed for the second time at 19 months. That fucking sucked. I felt like I had been given exactly what I wanted and watched it get taken away from me, and the idea that I should be passing more regularly in the months following really ate away at me and made me feel like I “failed” in my transition - I legit thought that I would never pass

It certainly didn’t help that, in addition to overwhelmingly seeing narratives online of passing early in one’s transition, every piece of medical information that was presented to me said that most changes would happen over the first two years. Maybe I was deluding myself, but baby trans me thought “oh that means I have two years to transition or else I fail because hormones won’t do anything past that”. And that ate away at me more than the not passing, cause I felt like I was “missing my chance” at having the body I wanted

And boy was I wrong, in the last year (my third year on hormones), I feel like I’ve seen more changes than I saw in my first year. My boobs are filling themselves out, my body hair is getting even lighter, my skin is noticeably softer even though I stopped moisturizing/doing most of my previous skincare routine. Hell, even my hips and ass have gotten wider. And this was *all* during an era that the medical information I was presented with gave me the impression that any changes that did occur would be minor

To show you what I mean, compare one of my first trans-flag photos, taken at 11 months on e, verses a semi-recreation I did earlier today at 33 months on e (same clothes and roughly the same pose/lighting, different mountains)

Notice a difference? I sure do - and to prove to you that this happened in the third year, here's a similar photo of me in between these two at 23 months on e:

I’m usually not one for transition timelines, mainly because my whole project is kind of a transition timeline, and if you wanna look through and see more of what I'm taking about feel free to either scroll a few posts down on my blog, or check out my google drive with all the photos from my projects. The difference doesn't look *too* dramatic to me, but some people I know irl have expressed that it is

Regardless, the point I'm trying to make here is that my experience on hormones was *not* passing at one year - and that's the experience of the vast majority of people I know who've been on hormones. Puberty takes many years, and yeah, that can suck to hear when you're expecting it to take two, but trust me, it's a healthier mindset to think of yourself as continuously moving in the direction you want, rather than waiting to arrive at a particular destination

If you've started hormones in the last year, be sure to give your body the time it needs to make the changes you want - transitioning is a marathon, not a sprint

[kaija-rayne-author]

The elves 'needed a win' in Dragon Age Veilguard, huh?

Obligatory 'I'm not an asshole' disclaimer. Feel free to jump to the cut if you've read it.

Something came to my attention. I need to make it crystal clear that I utterly love the diversity in DAV. It's fantastic. I'm also a heavily left leaning, non-binary, queer as fuck reviewer, editor, and author.

I was on media blackout while I played DAV. Please be safe and take care of yourselves. Arguing with incels and white supremacists is completely pointless. They sea lion worse than an actual sea lion. Your mental health is important.

Though, every single time the anti-queer brigade comes out for a new DA game, I sit there thinking 'have you bozos ever played any DA game, like, ever?' My guess is nope.

Note. None of my writing on DA, but especially DAV, is edited. This is just my off the cuff writing. I don't have the time, energy, or heart to edit them properly.

Grab a drink of preference, walk the dog, then find a comfy spot, this is gonna be a long one.

I'm referring to a quote of John Epler's. Creative Director for DAV at BioWare in this Polygon article.

"elven historian Bellara Lutare and Grey Warden Davrin, come from Dalish clans themselves and even though they’re a little shaken about confronting their gods, they’re not conflicted about doing so. In fact, among Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain’s lackeys and puppets, there’s not a single elf to be found. Epler said that it’s vindication for the Dalish — which is nice to see considering how they’ve been portrayed in past games."

Okay. Let’s think about this first part. Epler says it's vindication for the elves and how they've been treated in previous games. You know? Ever since I read that article, confusion has just run around in my head. How? How can absolutely anything that happened in DAV be considered as ‘vindication of the elves’?

Firstly, I'm not sure if vindication is the best word for the concept he's going for. Vindication means to Justify, Confirm, Substantiate, or Avenge. I can't honestly see how any of the events in DAV do even one of those things for the elves.

You know what it really is? It's not anything good, regardless of which transitive verb you use. It's just bad writing. Like absolutely awful, pretty deeply racist, terrible writing.

You’re trying to actually have me believe that within the entire race of elves, city elves, Dalish, veil-jumpers, enslaved elves (who we conveniently don’t see at all in DAV, even though we spend time in Tevinter… the capital of enslaved elves…) there aren’t some who would follow Elgar’nan and/or Ghilan’nain? At least for a little while? The enslaved elves wouldn’t follow their old gods if they promised to free them? Really?

More realistically, there would be a schism within the elves. Some would follow the returned gods, some would deny them, and some would be like fuck this, I have halla to feed or floors to scrub.

Having the gods return would be a world shaking event on every front. Not just in the Disney villain mustache twirling way, like in DAV. But also culturally, religiously, anthropologically.

Every single elf in the entire elven race is ‘good’? There aren’t any who are power hungry? (Raises an eyebrow at Zathrian DAO.) No power hungry, not exactly ‘good’ elves, huh? Riiiiiight.

Would some, maybe even most, change their minds once they realized what Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain really were? Of course, there would be some. But there would be just as many who might stick with their gods.  For so many reasons. Revenge, greed, desire for power, unwavering fanatical faith... I could keep listing reasons for a while. That's just, realistically, how intellectual beings behave. There wouldn’t be any elves on that entire continent that wouldn’t throw their fists up in victory, and shout, ‘Yes! Finally! Let’s squash Tevinter first, then Orlais.’?

Really? Isn’t that kinda reducing the existence of elves to the same old fashioned child ‘not to be seen or heard’ thing? It’s infantalizing an entire race.

That’s both so naïve it’s sad and so disrespectful of the elves as intellectual beings with free will.

And how would most elves even know that the two returned gods were, y’know, returned? Much less that they’re actually mustache twirling bad guys a la Disney? (I could personally think of a few ways, but they weren’t shown or even mentioned that I saw in game.)

THEDAS is depicted as a fantasy medieval-esque world. Communication is depicted by courier and letters. The travel time alone would mean that most elves wouldn’t have a clue about even the return of the gods, much less their character. There’s nothing shown in the games that I can recall that covers this.

It’s unrealistic that even Bellara and Davrin know they’re evil until a few story quests in, leading to the second act. They just automatically know? How?

It’s already firmly established in Dragon Age Lore that the elves will willingly, some even happily, leave behind everything to serve an ancient Elvhen God. Even one with dirt, blood, mistrust, and disgust directed at him for millennia.

In the end pages of DAI, it’s clearly shown that elves leave their current circumstances to go serve Solas. Fen’harel, The Dread Wolf, The elven trickster god. The most utterly despised God of all of them has an extremely large following of elves. (Who we don’t see anything of in DAV, convenient, no?)

And we have a retcon from our dearly talented /s John Epler on that from /theplaydragonage reddit group. Paraphrased, Solas decided to work alone because he hated being a leader. He didn’t care about the elves. Somewhere between DAI and DAV the elves sworn to Solas sparkle glitter farted poof into the ether’

You know? That’s just so uneducated on how intellectual beings work that I’m not going to dignify it with a response.

And there are so many quotes from Solas about truly caring about the elves in Inquisition and supplementary materials that it's an utterly ridiculous Solas-hater thing to say.

So, why in all the worlds wouldn’t elves want to serve Elgar’nan, All-Father, the Eldest of the Sun, He Who Overthrew His Father, The Father of Retribution? He represents promise before acceptance. The power before the price. The moment of choice that precedes justice or vengeance, rise or fall.

Why wouldn’t they want to follow Ghilan’nain? Mother of the halla and Goddess of Navigation. The price and acceptance of purpose, and the becoming that allows no return. Betrayal and devotion are as equals to her.

Many, many elves throughout the history of the Dragon Age franchise have been depicted as extremely faithful to their gods, especially amongst the Dalish.

They stoned Solas and drove him away when Solas tried to tell the truth about them to at least one Dalish clan. It’s why Solas isn't particularly fond of the Dalish. If you stoned me for trying to tell you the truth of a thing, I doubt I'd like you very much either.

It really just feels like self-insertionism on Epler's part. Or poorly thought out ideas suitable to a first draft that any decent editor would've suggested get scrapped. Or maybe a bad case of CYA (cover your ass). I honestly have no idea whether Epler is faithful to any religion, agnostic, or atheist, nor do I care, it isn't anyone's business but his.

But the writing and actions surrounding both Bellara and Davrin, as well as the elves in general, feel like a modern atheist trying to self-insert their belief structure onto a fictional group of people it just would never fit for. Or that someone doesn’t actually know the Lore very well. (Yes, I’m aware how long Epler has been with BioWare. DAV, interviews, and AMAs absolutely prove he doesn’t know the Lore. And doesn’t seem to care? I’ll never understand that. Nor does he understand the people of THEDAS. Or maybe even people in general? Writing well demands at least some understanding of how people work.)

I can't for a second believe that absolutely none of the elves, a people who have been enslaved, abused, tortured, and used for thousands of years, wouldn't willingly and very even possibly happily, follow beings who are, in fact, their Legendary Gods. Beings that in elven cultures are still venerated. Beings whose bad actions have been forgotten. It just doesn't make sense to say there wouldn't be.

“Still, though, why haven’t any Dalish elves decided to join forces with their gods? As Epler put it, the gods simply don’t care about them.”

No. You know what saying there’s no elves in the entourages of either Elgar’nan or Ghilan’nain really does? It doesn’t provide vindication. Nor even surcease, which might be a better word. All it does is infantalize and remove agency from an entire race of people. From all elves.

And that somehow means the elves don’t care about the gods? That’s, uh, not how that works?

Agency, in writing, means that characters make decisions and it affects the plot (good!) or that the plot pushes your characters around, (bad).

Agency is whether the character happens to the plot, (good!). Or if the plot happens to the character (bad).

It’s honestly the essence, in some ways, of ‘choices matter’.

There is a severe dearth of good agency in DAV. Sad as that makes me.

So let’s talk about faith amongst the elves, generally, and the Dalish, in particular. Because following a god requires faith.

Saying 'there's no elves in the group of 'lackeys and puppets' following Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain is like saying that die-hard Catholics wouldn't follow a proven return of their savior, Jesus or even the father, god. Or insert any other cultures' living/dying gods return. Illogical, kinda offensive if you happen to be religious, and honestly? Foolish.

For many elves, their faith would be something they cling to. It would be hope in the darkness of abuse.

It’s kinda rude to say it’s a win for the elves to ignore their ancestral faith when it’s often, likely, the only thing they have left.

Honestly? It’s pretty offensive. THEDAS, elves, their rampaging elven gods, none of that is real. But there are plenty of abused minorities on Earth that they modelled the elves from. I didn’t grow up within the cultures, and I’m of Mohawk, Mikmaq, Irish Romani, mixed European, and (previously enslaved) African descent. Some things were passed down, regardless.

It's both my personal experience and proven in cultural anthropology that abused peoples will often cling to anything colonizers leave them that the people value. It’s the only way to maintain culture.

It’s why the residential schools took our hair first. Many native cultures don’t cut hair for numerous reasons. Then came the theft of language. My grandparents on both sides were kidnapped and taken to residential schools. The last one closed in 1996. I was a sophomore in university. This isn’t ancient history. And while, yes, Dragon Age is fake, people with similar experiences or backgrounds in the real world are hurt by crap we see in fiction every day. This is just a particularly egregious example of it.

History lives on in those still bleeding. No, if you’re of any abused minority, you’ll know what I’m talking about. We hang on to anything we can, because it’s all we have left.

So how and why would the Theodosian elves be any different? Because the gods don’t care? That’s some ridiculous authorium handwavium right there.

I could buy either Bellara or Davrin as being atheist or agnostic (more likely Bellara IMHO) but not both.

But as far as artistic depictions go? Regardless of anything anyone may say, they're shown as elves who are both pretty faithful. Here's why. They both wear Vallaslin.

It's pretty well laid out in the Lore (which we already know they ignored or retconned into insensibility in DAV and OMG in the interviews and recent AMA!) that the application of the Vallaslin (which translates to blood writing) is a sacred right of passage only offered to Dalish youths around the age of eighteen who will be staying with their people.

Regardless of the meaning of the Vallaslin in the past, they’re considered sacred by modern Theodosian elves.

They aren't just cool decorations. They're not make-up they can just wash off. They indicate which of the nine gods that particular elf has sworn themselves to in Dalish culture. (Technically eight, because Solas, The Dread Wolf, God of Rebellion and Trickery, never claimed or designed Vallaslin. Because he never owned slaves that is ever indicated anywhere.)

And only the Dalish use them. The specific design each Dalish elf wears is indicative of which elven god they both feel drawn to and wish to work to emmulate in their life. Making them even less likely to be worn casually.

The Lore is clear that application of the Vallaslin is ritual. It’s sacred. It would likely take multiple days to tattoo them into someone’s face. It would be excruciatingly painful. The face is one of the most painful places to get inked. I’ve got ink. It’s not comfortable even in ‘easy to tattoo’ places. On the face? Ouch!

Vallaslin would never have been given to Davrin. Davrin’s story shows some of his past, and in his heart, he always knew he wouldn’t be staying. His mentor Eldrin said something along the lines of ‘he knew/felt Davrin wouldn’t stay with the clan’. In the kind of social structure that’s been described for the Dalish, a youth’s mentor would absolutely be consulted on whether they were ready for Vallaslin. So why, for all the halla’s in THEDAS, would Davrin have Vallaslin? He wouldn’t. They’re marks of clan belonging, of pride, of faith in their gods and the Dalish way of life. Davrin just wouldn’t have them unless he deeply believed in serving Ghilan’nain. Which would mean being a Dalish wayfinder and halla keeper. Not a Grey Warden. 

While it’s cute given his backstory that Davrin wears the Mother of Halla’s marks. He just wouldn’t have them, no matter how sexy he looks with them.

If we handwave all that though… oh, the missed opportunity to have any Dalish wearing Vallaslin as a traitor to Rook’s cause, by wearing the blood writing of the God/Goddess they’re fighting? I was just waiting for the Vallaslin to actually mean something. For the gods to control, puppet-like, those wearing their blood writing? The missed angst, character development opportunities, and just… gah.

I don’t know if I’ll ever stop grieving what DAV could’ve been.

So if Bellara is more into science and questioning things, I could see her more as an atheist. So why does she wear Dirthaman’s Vallaslin? She’s not even technically Dalish that is ever truly shown in game. Dalish have a clan that is usually pretty important to them. Lore states there aren’t many, if any, Dalish who brave Arlathan because of slave-hunters. Where is Bellara’s clan? The veil-jumpers don’t count as a Dalish clan regardless of the window-dressing. They haven’t even been around that long according to some of Bellara’s lines. Okay, so if Bellara is actually Dalish from somewhere? I could see a scientist type having Dirthamen’s Vallaslin. But where in all the mysteries did she get them? Why would she have them? Given the why’s listed above, she just wouldn’t, no matter how beautiful she looks in them.

I mean, in a lot of ways, someone getting their Vallaslin would be sort of similar to anything sacred that is deemed ritual that dedicated a person to a faith/god-dess/religion.

So a quote from the Polygon article states, “instead of being accidentally (or purposely!) killed off by the player character, the Dalish elves in The Veilguard get to righteously rally against the mages that they once called gods and reclaim part of their history.”

Er… call me mistaken but wouldn’t that be sort of like destroying part of their history? Y’know, with destroying parts of Arlathan, banishing Anaris, and outright killing two of their venerated gods? Even if those gods weren’t as advertised? (A lot like this damned game tbh.)

Epler. “I love that the Dalish in this game, by and large, are saying, No, we were lied to. We were the first victims of these gods. We’re going to fight back,” Epler said. “And they really get a sense to kind of rise up in this game and start establishing themselves in this way that in the future I can’t wait to go back to, but in this game gives them a sense of a win. They get a victory in how they respond to the threat of the gods in this game.”

Future? What future? Given the events in DAV, there isn’t even a statistically relevant breeding population (in the scientific sense) of elves left!

In the Lore, the blight is a death sentence, one way or another. Between the Venatori’s favourite blood bags being enslaved elves, the gods using them as sacrifices, and the entirety of southern THEDAS being overwhelmed with blight, just how many elves does Epler think might possibly be left?

This is what I mean about DAV having bad planning, lack of Lore adhesion, poor attention to detail, and just crappy writing. Nothing. Makes. Sense.

Completely pushing aside pretty much everything I’ve just talked about… can someone please explain how most of the elves on the entire continent of THEDAS dying from the blight… y’know, the Dalish, named after the Dales, in southern THEDAS, which were quite clearly overrun by blight and not-fucking-darkspawn in the codices… y’know, the Dalish, on the wide open Dales, in land ships/Aravel, and with herds of Halla, children, and elders to care for… how is all of them being dead or blighted a win? The only potential ‘win’ for any of them is for Bellara/Davrin, who aren’t even technically Dalish by the ways of the Dalish in the Lore. And depending on player choice, its possibly a win only for one of them?

Bellara, in speaking about the gods, sounds like the worst sort of uneducated twit. And she's supposed to be smart? The thing with smart characters? You have to actually show them being smart.

I just can’t see how one or two ‘Dalish’ being kinda creepily uncaring of their venerated gods coming back to reality and being on the team to kill them… is in any way ‘a win’.

The racism in DAV is woven all throughout. And it seems it's baked right into the core of BioWare.

[doberbutts]

I think, honestly, the thing that gets me about The Collection of Posts from last night is:

“Trans men would rather be misgendered than admit any culpability or power”

1: culpable for what? What exactly did we do? I’m not talking individuals. Individuals of any demographic can be bad people. What are we, as a demographic, culpable for?

2: what power? Seriously, outside of some social power in individual interactions, which can change on a day-to-day or even scenario-to-scenario basis, what power to trans men have?

3: you know, it really sucked to be called a gender traitor by someone who I once held as a friend before they went full mask-off TERF. I was so incredibly hurt by it and I didn’t speak to that person for several years, nearly a decade, before they approached me to apologize and extend an olive branch. Even now, our relationship is strained at best because I cannot get over the amount of pain I felt at their words. We talk... maybe once a month or so, where we used to videocall every night and chat for hours about everything and nothing. And... this type of thing now coming from other trans guys is really not any better.

And

“Trans men have transition goals that match their Anime Boyfriends while refusing to break up with cishet men who won’t let them even cut their hair”

1: it’s now funny to joke about transphobic abuse in romantic relationships?

2: you know every single abused person in a relationship has heard “just leave” and “it’s your fault because you didn’t leave sooner”, yeah? Victim blaming is okay when it’s trans guys though? Is that the lesson from this?

3: again, TERFs and TEHMs say this. “You just want to look like an anime boy” and “you’re trans because you watch too much yaoi” and “you’re not really a gay man since you’re trans” are nothing new and having it come from other trans guys is, shockingly, not better.

Can you hear yourselves? Do you really think you’re doing anything but being outlandishly cruel, mean-spirited, and, yes, transphobic? Who are you helping by doing this?

[kabr0ztrousers]

Naive curvy fem reader who recently gave birth but her man left her to fend for herself. Mother in-law + father in-law (who are both vampires) disown their son and allow the reader and their grandchild to stay at their estate. They convinced her they will help relieve any tension. Like massaging her sore breasts, suckling or squeezing any excess milk, and licking and rubbing her pussy. Starts off as dubious consent but transitions to full consent when they tell her that she's more than a daughter in-law to them.

Kabr0z Episode 54: The In-Laws

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: blood; vampires; incest (no blood relation); age gap; power imbalance; dubcon to enthusiastic consent; receiving cunnilingus; giving cunnilingus and fellatio; very mild foot mention; technically intox; ghoulification;

A/N: Nobody's claimed the prize from my previous competition regarding vampires, but I had fun posing the question, so if you can give the clan the in-laws belong to with your request, you get to skip the queue! Two prizes up for grabs as the clan changed its name with Vampire V5 😁

Again, here's the daily reminder that I won't know what you want if you don't request it, so by all means request! My DMs and asks are open for a reason!

#######################################

You pulled up outside the wrought iron gates. You knew Nick grew up with money but this is old-school aristocrat level, a real Great Gatsby mansion. You reached out of your window to hit the buzzer

"Name?" A bored voice called over the intercom.

You told them who you were, you were getting to why you were there when the gate swung silently open. You drove on, gate swinging shut behind you. You didn't see the men with automatic rifles from the road, but you bet they saw you. Sophie fussed in the baby seat. You stopped to shush her back to sleep, the last thing you wanted was to make a poor first impression.

Too late. A pair of figures stood in the doorway to the house. The lights flattered them in the late evening, artfully curated shadows highlighting the razor-sharp creases of his suit, the elegant drape of her long red dress. They were looking at you.

Here was as good a place to leave the car as any, you supposed, and got out. Cradling your baby you approached the figures in the doorway. They smiled at you, the light making them look washed out and pale.

"So, we finally meet! So sorry we couldn't make the wedding" The woman spoke first "I am Lucrezia, this is Alfonso" the man bowed neatly at the waist, allowing his wife to continue "When we caught wind of what our dog of a son did! We're both so very glad you came to us"

You smiled, it's not like you had much of a choice. Both of your parents had passed while you were expecting Sophie, and you didn't really have any other family. "Thanks for having us, we'll try not to be a burden"

Alfonso laughed "It's not a burden at all! It will be so good to have a child about the house again, it gets awfully quiet with just me, your mother, the security, the cleaners, and the servants"

That sounded positively bustling to you, but their perspectives were probably different you guessed, a house like this needs upkeep

A man cleared his throat behind you "Your keys, ma'am?"

You turned, he was wearing a flak vest and an earpiece, his rifle secured to him with a strap "so we can park your car and unpack you"

The woman waved him away "There's time for that later, Giacomo. Now, let's get out of the cold"

It was a warm night. You followed the pair inside. They looked exactly like the old paintings on the walls of the house, though the varnish had darkened with age. Some of them looked to contain a young Peter too... Maybe these were of Alfonso's side of the family? There was quite a strong family resemblance with the boy, but then how was Lucrezia there?

They led you to a lounge, where they took seats on either end of a long sofa. You sat in an armchair, sinking into the plush velvet. "So," Lucrezia began "We'll hear no more of this not wanting to intrude business. You're family, and family takes care of family. Besides, it's not like we're hurting for bedrooms" They both laughed. You felt like a deer in headlamps. A rabbit cornered by circling wolves. The light in here was warmer than outside, but it didn't diminish the corpselike pallor on their faces, bluish lips on pale faces, dry eyes that didn't catch the light, and aside from when they spoke... No, that's silly.

Obviously they must breathe, right?

Sophie was picking up on something, too. She hadn't stopped fussing since you came in. Lucrezia stepped over to you, or at least you assumed she did, you looked up and she was simply there, dark eyes staring into yours

"There, there, the little one is tired! Come to Nana, little one"

You let her take the restless baby from your arms, playing with her with a fingertip. Sophie calmed at once, gurgling happily before settling into a deep sleep. Lucrezia gave her back to you. Was that... Blood on her mouth?

You blinked, it was gone. Probably just your overactive imagination. Driving for four hours after packing up your entire life would do that.

You looked at Lucrezia again, into those deep black eyes, dark in a sea of white "Let's get my granddaughter to bed, then we can talk about your future here"

You nodded. It's the best thing for it. She led you upstairs, to a nursery with a beautiful cot, pulling a tablet computer off the wall and handing it to you "Only the best for you, 4k camera and the best audio money can buy. If she so much as peeps, you'll hear"

You put Sophie down in the cot. Finally the two of you were safe again. "Can I have a bed in here with her?"

Lucrezia smiled at you, those eyes meeting yours again "Of course, I'll have the staff bring one in. She stepped out of the door, clapped her hands twice and shouted in the fastest Italian you'd ever heard someone speak before coming back "The bed will be brought in soon, now let's go back downstairs"

You followed her again. Alphonso looked up from a book when you entered, before getting up and ushering you down to the sofa between them.

Lucrezia's hands were on your shoulders, thumbs digging into the muscles of your back "You're so tense, why don't you relax?"

You had to admit, you ached. The massage hurt a little as Lucrezia eased the knots in your back from driving so long. Alfonso slipped off your shoes and began massaging your feet, pulling you so you lay across the two of them as they rubbed and squeezed you, their too-strong hands loosening you up. Your eyes closed gently as exhaustion took over.

Your dream was dark, and troubled. You were running down the hallway of the house, chased by armed men. Every door you opened had either Lucrezia behind it, Alphonso, or both.

You snapped awake. In the bed in the nursery, morning light visible against the curtains. A maid was there, she curtseyed and left a tray on the end of your bed. Some toast, butter, jam, and a small cup of strong-smelling coffee. You checked on Sophie. Sleeping like an angel.

Breakfast was simple, but every bit as good as it looked. That was possibly the best coffee you'd ever had.

You picked up Sophie and started to explore your new home. Three floors, the maid told you the top floor was only for Lucrezia and Alphonso, their studies, the private chambers and whatnot, she told you you'd probably be allowed up eventually being family, just not yet.

And so your days passed, at first. Daytime was spent with Sophie in any combination of a dozen rooms between her nursery, the library, the TV room, or walking through the gardens. You looked forward to when she'd be old enough to teach to swim so you could use the swimming pool.

At night, your hosts finally finished whatever work they did all day and came downstairs to spend time with you and their granddaughter. They never seemed to eat with you, every day around nightfall a maid carrying a platter would walk up the staircase to their suites, but never seem to come back down until the following morning. Always a different one, too, which seemed odd.

It was amazing, the way Lucrezia had with Sophie, she could put her to sleep in moments. You'd stay up with them talking about your day, how your daughter was doing, never about them or their business... You let your mind wander as Lucrezia massaged your back again, you didn't know why she liked doing that, but you weren't going to stop her...

Shit. They were mobsters, weren't they? It checked out, armed guards, inexplicably wealthy, a preoccupation with privacy, family, and trust above all.

A roving hand snapped you out of your reverie. Alfonso had just pulled aside your underwear, his hand up your skirt. You yelped, Lucrezia held your shoulders.

You looked up at her, she smiled back "Now, now, we said we'd take care of all of your needs, and we meant it"

Alfonso's hand was rubbing the lips of your pussy. You were already wet, the massage had loosened you up more than you thought. His fingers slipped around your clit, making you whine as Lucrezia's attentions moved to your collarbones and your milk-filled tits, squeezing squirts of milk from you as you whimpered and gasped under their attention

Alfonso's tongue joined his hand, fingering your hole while he licked rings around your clit. You could feel the pressure building in your cunt as it twitched and your back arched. Lucrezia kissed your lips, and you came. You ground your cunt into Alfonso's face, no longer caring that these two are your parents in law, just wanting to prolong the orgasm running through you.

Your spasms subsided, you looked up at Lucrezia as you panted.

"Oh, child, I can't imagine what you think of us... You must think we're criminals?"

You nodded weakly. Alphonso laughed, looking at you from between your legs "Shall we give her the truth?"

Lucrezia manhandled you to the floor, forcing you to your knees, holding your head up as Alphonso stood over you, pulling out his cock as it hardened in his hands. "I'll need a drink after we're done. Hopefully it's as good as it looks"

Your mouth was forced open. Alphonso stuffed his semi-hard cock inside. You could feel it hardening as he thrust it in, invading you again and again as his wife crooned in your ear.

You bit down hard. He didn't stop. His groans got louder as he railed you harder, his cock pushing your throat as he came. It wasn't cum. His cock twitched a d throbbed, pulsing like he should be spraying cum down your throat, but it wasn't. It was blood.

The blood fell out of your mouth, but some trickled down your throat.

The world got sharper. Your head spun as you became hyper-aware of everything around you. Around, and in you. God you're horny. Your hand shot to your cunt, furiously rubbing yourself as you sucked his cock. He pulled out, rubbing the mix of blood and spit on your face. You tried to catch as much as you could before Lucrezia turned your head and licked your face, cleaning you of the mess her husband had made.

She stood before you and lifted the front of her skirt.

You couldn't stop yourself even if you wanted to. Your face was in her cunt, slurping and licking like an animal as she held you to her. You could feel her, already getting closer and closer as you licked and nibbled, her cunt oozing more wetness onto your face as you buried yourself in her folds. All you could taste was blood, all you wanted was more.

Lucrezia came hard, twitching and squirting into your mouth, covering your face.

You opened your eyes. You could see blood pooling below you, staining your top and your skirt. Alphonso was looking at you, so was Lucrezia, predatory eyes taking you in.

Alphonso bit you first. The searing pain of his fangs sinking in to your wrist making you grit your teeth. You screamed when Lucrezia bit the other.

The world became cold, your head spun a little as the vampires released you, licking the wounds to close them. Lucrezia barked a command in Italian, a man ran over and stabbed a needle into your arm. Giacomo. You saw a blood bag held over your head as you closed your eyes, letting sleep take you.

Giacomo was there in the morning when you awoke "Afternoon, ma'am. The bosses have asked I explain everything. Welcome to the beginning of the rest of your life."

######################################

So, fun fact: it's canon that literally every liquid a Kindred produces is vitae, except for in very specific circumstances. So, if you let a Kindred cum down your throat, you become a ghoul.

Honestly, goals.

To reiterate from the start, if you correctly identify which clan Alphonso and Lucrezia belong to you'll get to jump the queue! 2 prizes to claim this time as the clan name changed when Vampire V5 was published, so get to guessing! Promotion ends when the first winning guess is published 😉

On that note, even if you don't want to guess, I want to hear your requests, ideas, fantasies, whatever! This challenge is set to run right through to the end of the year and I intend to go the distance!

[lampost-in-winter]

Look I don't wanna get too personal on main, but boy did Taash's storyline fucked me up as an enby (not exactly the same flavour of enby as Taash, but makes no difference) with mommy issues. Say what you like about the writing, but the writer really captured how messy the relationship with your mother and/or older female relatives can get when you're a queer AFAB; how they seem to know what you are before you even know it yourself, and at the same time hiw they seem completely incapable of understanding you *in your own terms*, once you have them. How even from a well-meaning place, they can get under your skin like nobody else can. How hard it is to figure out who you can be beyond being a "failed daughter".

During the dinner cutscene I was so mean to Shathann; I wanted Rook to stand up for Taash in the way I always wanted someone to stand up for me. And then, when Shathann dies, I was heartbroken and I regretted everything. What do you mean, that she and Taash never get to talk things out, and that I made it worse by putting even more anger and separation during their final times together? The whole situation fucked me up like nothing else in the game.

So yeah, Taash storyline made me suffer, but it was a welcomed kind of pain. Like, if this shit is hard even when you're a badass dragon hunter in a fantasy realm, maybe I'm not doing so bad irl. It was also nice being able to play as an nb Rook and sort of "mentor" Taash through the early phases of their transition and, again, just have Rook be the kind of person that I would've liked to have at my side when I was going through the pains of my own self-discovery.