#or maybe i just bought a friend a binder

[mxalmighty]

.

[thrillered]

Spencer at a " Y/N L/N is dead | The funeral roast" pretty please🫶

(Bonus points if after roasting reader he gets all sentimental and reiterates that he CANNOT live without them or he'll just die on the spot)

"Y/N is dead. | The funeral roast" | Spencer Agnew x Reader

this was so fun to write! I hope you enjoy it!

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You were sitting in the blue velvet coffin, a bouquet of fake black roses in your hands and tears in your eyes. You were in the middle of shooting your funeral, surrounded by your friends and coworkers as they roasted the hell out of you. Right now Shayne was playing the CEO of converse, crying over who was going to keep them in business now that you were gone. You looked down at your pair of custom smosh platform converse you were wearing that Ian had bought you for your 3 year ‘smoshiversary’. 

Shayne finished his bit, earning claps from throughout the room. You peaked one eye open, looking to see who was going next. Tommy was stepping up to the podium, his signature lace funeral hat on. 

“Friends, coworkers… those who somehow managed to deal with Y/N, I am here to read the final will of Y/N L/N.” He began, pulling a piece of paper out of his long black leather jacket; a dig at your favorite coat you thrifted. “She left a lot of things for those she loved, I will not be reading those today.” 

You laughed, peeking at the offended looks on everyone's faces. 

“Courtney, Y/N leaves you her sense of humor. There wasn’t much of it but it was stolen from you to begin with.” Courtney gasped while Shayne let out a pfft. He turned his attention to Shayne, “Shayne, everyone knew of the “fake” beef the two of you played up on camera… so to you she left her 17 pairs of platform converse, this way you don’t have to look up to her… maybe now you'll see eye to eye.” 

You pulled a hand over your mouth, attempting to muffle the loud cackle that was escaping you. “Well damn.” Shayne sputtered. 

“To Angela Y/N leaves her entire Le Creuset cookware set. Everyone knew you were jealous of it.” 

“Okay that’s not fair, it’s literally all light blue, it's gorgeous!” Angela exclaimed.

“And finally Y/N leaves Spencer her heart… and yet he’ll still probably ask if she actually loves him.” 

“That's crazy…” You huffed, through fits of laughter. The entire crew clapping and ‘ohhh’ing at Spencer. 

Tommy left the podium, grabbing your knees as he walked by the coffin, knowing you hated it. “I gotcha!” He sneered, making you yelp.

The only person left to speak was Spencer. He was in a full suit and tie, dressed for an actual funeral. He looked really good, you just wanted to stare at him. He approached the podium, a large binder in his hands. 

“In honor of Y/N’s memory I would like to start by going through some of my favorite memories with her in this photo album.” Spencer declared, opening to a middle page of the album. “This is when Y/N and I met.” He turned the binder around, showing a picture from your first day at Smosh. 

Awe’s could be heard around the room. You scrunched your brows, not trusting Spencer to only be nice. “Then I got to know her…” He hesitated, pulling an awkward and tight grin across his face. “Then she passed. That’s my favorite” He showed a picture of you sitting in the coffin, clearly taken today.

“What the fuck?” you asked, “How did you print that so quickly?” 

“The dead don’t talk.” Erin reminded from the seats, earning a middle finger from you. 

“Anyway, time for the eulogy.” Spencer continued, tossing the album away from him, a loud clap echoing in the room as the binder hit the ground. “The world went quiet when Y/N died… mostly because she couldn’t cackle like a banshee anymore… frankly? Pretty peaceful.” 

“Oh my god.” Amanda laughed, covering her face.

“I think we can all agree that Y/N was an integral part of this company and an integral part of this cast.” Everyone nodded, Angela pretending to wipe away tears. “I mean.. Who else is gonna be worse Courtney? Or shorter Amanda? Or Taller Angela? Or less clever Arasha? Or Shayne if he was a lady barista who wanted to be a skater?” 

“Jesus Christ man.” Shayne said, shaking his head in confusion.

“He’s not wrong.” Courtney agreed, putting a hand on Shayne’s shoulder.

“But things will never be the same without her. I am reminded of her constantly… mostly because her hair is everywhere. I don’t know how she still has hair, she literally sheds like a husky; whines like one too.” 

You were shaking your head, holding in a laugh, not wanting to give Spencer the win of your laughter. 

“But seriously, I love you Y/N. I don’t know what I would do without you, I think I would actually die. Please don’t make me sleep on the couch tonight.” Spencer admitted, making eye contact with you, a smile on his face. “You mean the world to me.” 

Spencer sat down. You waited a dramatic few seconds before sucking in a large breath of air, pretending to wake from the dead. “How long was I out for?” you asked, making everyone laugh. “That was some… nice?... things you guys said about me, thanks guys.” 

“Luckily I just came from hell so I can handle the heat… I wonder if you guys will do the same,” you smirked, pulling a folded piece of paper out of your bra, unfolding it and reading it aloud, “Call me sometime, satan? Oops, wrong paper!” You joked, tucking the paper away. 

“Man what the hell?” Spencer asked.

“Well that's where she was apparently.” Shayne reminded, making himself laugh. 

“Okay this is the right one,” You began, unfolding a larger paper. “Tommy… ur gay. Courtney… ur gay. Shayne….” You stopped, staring at him for a moment before simply moving on. “Angela… me and your mom genuinely text, and I want you to think about that.” 

“That’s actually devastating.” Shayne cackled.

“Amanda… we need to hang out more.” You insisted. “But maybe just at my house, I’m tired of having to climb a beanstalk to come see you” You joked, turning Amanda's sly grin into a face of shock. “Erin… Erin Erin Erin….I lied when I said I lost that blue shirt I borrowed… I still have it and wear it regularly.” You admitted. “And you’re not getting it back.” 

“You bitch!” Erin gasped, disgust crossing her features as you blew her a kiss. 

“Last.. and least!” You emphasized, “Spencer.. My best friend, my boyfriend, and my other half… if I’m gone you’re a glass half empty. If you’re gone, I’m a glass half full.” You informed. “That’s all to say: You’re Y/N L/N’s boyfriend, and that’s your most impressive accomplishment.”

Everyone laughed, teasing Spencer with an eruption of ‘ooh’s and agreements. 

“Seriously though, I love you all so much. Honestly the specificity of each roast made me really happy, you guys really know me and that means a lot to me.” You smiled, looking around the room to each and every one of your closest friends. “And a special thank you to Spencer for loving me, even through all the quirks and flaws that were mentioned here, I love you.” You finished, suddenly pretending to have a hard time breathing before collapsing into dead weight. Then quickly waking back up, “You’re still sleeping on the couch though.” You noted, staying ‘dead’ this time.

[whoisneo404]

trans ftm dom nick bf smut? extra points if its rough degrading and filthy (if ur comfortable ofc if not i can give u more fluff prompts)

Eye roll.

Summary: you have been teasing (bf) Nick, he has been busy all day editing and recording, so when Matt and Chris leave to get food at night, Nick desides to make you regret your desitions.

Tw: degradation, cursing.

Note: this IS nsfw, if you don’t like it just don’t read. It’s MY FIRST TIME WRITING NSFW so maybe its not that good.

Note 2: reader IS FTM, so afab body parts will be used to describe their body, but I didn’t got into many ditails. Also, reader wears a binder.

It’s 8 in the morning and I’m looking at the tshirts infront of me, I don’t wanna wear any of them, I look at myself in the mirror, maybe I can just spend the day like this, its not like anyone in the house will care, besides, we have all been good friends since we were kids. I grab my pants and put them on, I look good.

‘’Are you coming to eat or not?’’ my boyfriend Nick enters his room and looks at me up and down. ‘’And your shirt?’’

‘’Didn’t feel like wearing one right now.’’ He closes the door behind him and walks over, standing behind me and wraping his strong arms around me. ‘’Is that so?’’ he whispers in my ear with a low voice sending shivers down my spine.

‘’Yeah… something wrong?’’ he leans down, his head resting in my shoulder leaving kisses on it.

‘’Nothing, you just look so fucking hot and its breakfast time not turn me on time.’’ His hands start trailing from my waist to my hips pressing me against him. ‘’But we have to go now, or I won’t stop.’’ He gives me a kiss on the cheek and walks to the door.

--

After breakfast and talking for a while with the guys, I help Matt clean the table. Chris is in his room playing videogames and Nick on the leaving room editing their last car video.

‘’And that’s what I bought this weekend, I think I can make great outfits out of those things, don’t you think so?’’ Matt talks as he finishes cleaning the spilled juice.

‘’Yeah, those are great clothing items. I love thrifting.’’ I smile at him. ‘’We should go together someday.’’

‘’Yes, that would be so fun. I’ll be going to my room now, see you around.’’

‘’All right, bye Matty.’’ As he leaves to his room, I turn around to see Nick sitting in the couch with his headphones off and a frown on his face. I walk to him and sit by his side. ‘’everything all right?’’

‘’I don’t know, why don’t you ask Matty?’’ he raises one eyebrow and I let out a short laugh. ‘’What’s so funny?’’

‘’Are you really grumpy because I talked with Matt?’’ Nick doesn’t say anything, he just shrugs his shoulder and crosses his arms over his chest.

‘’Baby, come on, we are friends. Besides, I’m dating the most handsome guy on earth, there is no one I would rather spend my time with.’’ I say as I kiss his cheek and play with his hair. I grab him by the cheek and make him face me, kissing his lips with passion. He leans back, putting his laptop to the side and grabbing my waist firmly pulling me against him until I’m on top of him.

‘’You are mine.’’ He says between kisses.

‘’I know.’’ I murmur back and stand up with a grin on my face.

‘’What the fuck? Why are you standing up? Come here.’’ He seems confused and annoyed.

‘’No, you have to finish editing the video.’’ He lets out a groan and I give him a kiss on his forehead. ‘’You can do it.’’ I say and start walking to the kitchen to grab him a drink, I see him adjust himself in the couch trying to hide the bulge between his pants.

--

It’s night time, I’m sitting on Nicks lap as he answers e-mail about collabs and up coming photoshoots. I start to get bored of scrolling on my phone and looking at the screen of his laptop, so I start nibbling at his neck and jaw, I feel his body tense up.

‘’Stop that.’’ He says serious.

‘’I’m not doing anything.’’ I say ‘innocently’ and keep giving him kisses and bites.

‘’Behave. Or you’ll regret it.’’

‘’You are no fun Nick.’’ I roll my eyes and cross my arms.

‘’Don’t roll your eyes at me or I’ll make them roll all night.’’ He looks at me dead in the eyes, my cheeks are red and I look away from him. I was gonna say something but Chris and Matt’s voice sound from the front door.

‘’We going out for dinner, I think we’ll take a while.’’ Chris screams.

‘’All right, we’ll order food, take care.’’ Nick screams back.

‘’M’kay, bye.’’ The door shuts and the engine of the car starts rumbling.

‘’As I was saying.’’ Nick grabs my jaw with one hand and makes me look at him. ‘’Behave, or you’ll regret it.’’

‘’Whatever.’’ I mumble and roll my eyes at him again.

‘’Okay, that’s enough.’’ He shuts his laptop and carries me over his shoulder into his room throwing me into the bed. ‘’I have been waiting for this all day.’’ He says more to himself than to me and climbs into bed.

Nick is now on top of me, kissing me roughly. I feel his hands going up and down my waist and legs until he breaks the kiss to take off my pants and hoodie that he gave at some point in the day. He grabs my legs and opens them up.

‘’I swear, I’ll make you scream so hard the neighbors will know that you are a whore for my dick.’’ He whispers against my ear and start kissing my neck, leaving marks all over it, he starts trailing his kisses down my chest, ribs, stomach, until he reaches my boxers which he takes off quickly.

He begins kissing my thighs leaving bite marks all over them, he gives my clit a kiss and then he starts licking and kissing it. My back arches and my hips move uncontrollably against his tongue, my hand pushing and pulling him by the hair.

‘’Please, please.’’ the room is filled with my moans and sloppy noises.

‘’Please what, baby?’’ he murmurs between licks.

‘’Need you, need you inside.’’

‘’Aren’t you so fucking needy? Always wanting to be fucked and filled. Does my fucktoy want me inside of him?’’ He grins looking down at me, I nod eagerly. ‘’Come on doll, use your words, or you won’t get anything.’’

‘’Please, want you inside, need you inside.’’ I slur out, Nick grabs me by the chin and kisses me roughly before spanking my thigh.

‘’That’s it, that’s my slut.’’

thats it, idk how to continue. again, this is my firts time writing smut or nsfw so its not the best. but i tried my best.

feel free to seend all the requests you want and ill try my best to do them as soon as i can.

take care and be kind.

[guizika]

Oii Gui! It's so cool to see another Brazilian here, anyway. Could you do a Rick Grimes x Ftm!Reader? I've been looking for something like this for days, but I just can't find it, lmao. Sou só um pobre garoto que quer fanficar 😭

My boy

Rick Grimes x FTM! Reader

Cw - FTM! reader, you/yours pronouns, pet name (My boy), angst to fluff, Maybe it's a bit ooc.

Synopsis - You've always loved Rick, but due to some life situations you ended up drifting apart. But thanks to the apocalypse, you finally found each other again after so long apart.

Word count - 906

Well, during your teenage years you had several friends, including Rick. You've always been close, and Grimes was one of the people who supported you the most when you discovered you were trans.

Rick never judged you, always complimenting you and reaffirming how much of a man you were to him, making you fall in love with him little by little. During your first dose of testosterone he was there to support you, encouraging you and holding your hand. What's more, he saved up and gave you your first binder as a birthday present.

At that time you were absolutely sure that he liked you back in a romantic way, thinking about the different way he treated you. Rick even called you "My boy." And also the way he looked at you, his blue eyes expressed things he didn't have the courage to say out loud.

The fact is that Rick loved you, but he couldn't date you, at least at the time, because he knew his father would probably never accept it. Besides, he knew it would cause a lot of problems for both of you, so he never confessed anything. Well, he never gave you an explanation either, not wanting to fill your head with his worries and problems.

However, you had your heart broken when you saw that he had married Lori, thinking that you probably couldn't date him over anymore and that he had never really loved you. With no alternative, you decided to get over this ex-love of yours and then moved on - tried to move on in reality.

Well, for a while you stayed apart, even lost touch completely, becoming strangers again. Rick went on with his life and you went on with yours. You've made friends, lost friends, got a job, bought an apartment in the city and even met some interesting people, but it never came to anything.

That is, until the apocalypse happened, a lot of things happened, you lost your apartment, you lost your car, you were hunted by zombies and even by people. However, your journey took you to Alexandria, where you were finally able to start a new life.

...

You hear some noises and go outside to check that some new people have arrived. You quickly go to Aaron to find out who these new people are. "Hey Aaron, sorry to come here out of the blue, who are all these people?" You ask as some of them are being interviewed by Deanna.

Aaron just smiles at you and then lets out a sigh, starting to tell you a bit about the group he's found. However, when you hear the name of a member, you raise an eyebrow, a gesture that leaves the man in front of you puzzled.

"Do you know him by any chance?" Aaron asks, he stares at you for a few moments and then you finally work up the courage to speak. "I do, that is, if he's who I really think he is." Fear and concern for Rick's safety suddenly come over you, causing you to fall silent.

Aaron, realizing your state, tells you to go back into the house, something you do without question, needing some time to calm your mind.

...

A melody resonated in your head, making you sing it out loud while you were drying the dishes, a habit you've always had. In fact, your mother used to do this, so you probably picked up the habit from her.

Soon you hear a knock on the door. "I'm coming!" You shout from the kitchen, wiping your hands with a tea towel and going to open the door. "Sorry for the delay, I was drying some-" You stop as you realize who is standing in front of you.

"Rick..." You say in a whisper, afraid that maybe he's not real. It's certainly Rick, a little older and maybe even a little trimmer, but it's still him. Soon, you feel a sensation you haven't felt for a long time and then you're sure that you still haven't gotten over the passion you had for him in the past.

"You haven’t changed much, my boy." His words bring tears to your eyes and then, without a second thought, you wrap him in a tight hug, which is soon reciprocated by Rick.

"I've missed you so much..." Your voice comes out muffled because your head is buried in his shoulder. Hot tears run down your cheeks and then stain Rick's clothes, and he hugs you tighter as he hears your words.

"Me too, I'm sorry for letting you down, I never wanted to walk away from you, I just didn't want my dad to-" You cut him off. "I know, it's okay." In reality, you didn't know and it wasn't okay, but that's a conversation for another time.

"I just wanted my boy back, I've missed you so much these last few years..." He says, his voice coming out muffled because his head is buried in the crook of your neck. His words make you blush and then stop crying, pulling away slightly.

"And now you'll have all the time in the world to make up for it, but first we need to talk." With that, you pull him inside and close the door, taking him into the living room so you can talk in peace.

Maybe you'll finally be together after all this time, it's worth the risk…

Author’s note: I hope you enjoyed it, I loved doing this oneshot. Aliás, é realmente muito difícil achar fanfics do Rick com leitores FTM, eu amei o seu pedido! ♡

Please don't translate or copy my work and don't repost on other social networks, if there are any grammatical errors I ask you to excuse me!

[cuntboyprincess]

(Disclaimer: This post shall in NO WAY sexualize a minor!!! It is simply a representation and explanation of one of my traumas and therefore my resulting kinks!)

I remember when I first came out to friends and my parents as trans when I was 12. I had very small-no breasts. SO much "damage" could have been prevented....

But I was not allowed to take blockers or do anything about it before I haven't turned 18.

I remember how absolutely traumatizing it has been to be so powerless and helpless as puberty hit me and when my body changed right before my eyes. My hips getting wider, getting my period, my breast getting huge. I have always been very thin and petite build, so my breast seemed extra big compared to the rest of my body even when they had a normal size. And there was no way to stop it. It didn't help that the boys at my school had a habit to grope girls every now and then to "check" if their breast have gotten bigger yet. I know it's sooo fucked up but I swear this really happened at my school and the teachers did nothing about it because "boys will be boys". The got lectured about how they shouldn't that but did it anyway...

I have been a victim several times to this and have been groped against my will by sometimes several guys in a row behind the school building as they were laughing about it, thinking it was nothing but funny. But to me it was more than humiliating since I was trans and my breasts made me highly dysphoric. It was sexual harrassment and bullying right before everyone's eyes and nobody stopped it, no teacher, no one.

It felt soooo horrible to have such obvious boobs. I was binding my breasts everyday by the age of 15, basically living as a tomboy but not officially outed as trans. One time one of the boys actually did pull my shirt up and another one holding me and pulling my binder up in front of 4 other boys, they all laughing about me and calling my boobs udders and jokingly gasping saying how huge they already are.

I was dying out of shame and it made my boobs my absolute biggest insecurity ever. I felt SO exposed wherever I went, I felt like everyone is staring at my chest..

When I was 17 and an end to it all seemed "nearer", I was not far away from turning 18 and being allowed to start t and have a double mastectomy; my boobs had to extra humiliate me one last time, as if they did it on purpose!!

They had a major growth spurt and within just a few months I outgrew my binder and had a D Cup. Which looked gigantic on my small, thin body. I will never forget how dysphoric they made me feel and the helplessness as they appeared bigger each week. I know it probably wasn't as bad but I basically FELT like a cow with huge milk tits in my body.

I was the happiest person alive when I finally turned 18 and when I finally got my mastectomy!!!

For years I had a major trauma by these experiences as you can imagine.

But eventually this turned into a hardcore kink, maybe it fucked me up mentally so much that this was the only way left to cope with it.

Nowadays I masturbate sooo often to these memories! And to thoughts of still having my huge, jiggling tits, people staring at me, at them, either laughing, looking disgusted, making fun or simply being confused about what I am (man or woman). Just being totally and helplessly exposed. I even bought big, realistic silicone tits with nipples on them, and a skin glue and pleasure myself for hours to groping them as I wear them and make them jiggle on me. Sometimes I contemplate ....wearing them and a thin tshirt where the nips are visible through it, walking around somewhere outside as they noticably and obviously bounce around, making sure some random people actually see me looking like an obvious transman who didn't have chest surgery yet, nor wears a bra... And then masturbate violently to their reactions and face expressions....

What gets me off so hard as well is the fact how much my bullies fucked me up and wondering what they'd say if they could see to what I masturbate to now and all the kinks I got from what they have done to me... 🥵

[m1ss-n0mer]

VENT

My mother is so annoying about gender/sexuality. She says she’s supportive and she’s probably trying to be but she’s just not good at it.

I go by he or it. My mother knows this. Usually she refers to me using she/her but she remembers she shouldn’t if we happen to be talking about gender. In those cases she uses they/them even though I have repeatedly told her those aren’t my fucking pronouns.

Also once I made a joke about maybe getting top surgery when I’m older and she was so horrified all she talked about for the next few months was how bad an idea transition, and she still does sometimes even though it’s died down. Her reasons being:

Testosterone causes people to be more reckless and aggressive. After you take it you dream less, you get fat, you grow more body hair, you become less desirable, and you can’t get pregnant if you want to.

You pay so much money for it, and it’s all just plastic surgery companies saying that everything will be better if you do it

She says those who are happy with the results are only happy because of the sunken cost fallacy

She ‘has a friend’ who works with trans ppl and says that all trans men only want it to pass and they usually aren’t happy with the results

She ‘has a friend’ who works for cps and has met trans kids who ‘just seem to think everything will get better when they transition’

Women who lost their breasts because of cancer really miss them and it’s a tragedy

I should keep looking like a conventionally attractive girl so that I can get better jobs

She joined a fb page of trans men and described them all as ‘fat, ugly, hairy, boring looking, etc’ and said how they looked prettier before they transitioned. I looked at some of the pictures. They looked fine and even if they didn’t, they looked visibly happier

‘Your brain isn’t fully mature until 25 so you should wait until that age to know for sure’

Trans people should learn to be comfortable in their bodies

I’d have to shave more so it wouldn’t be worth it (I also wouldn’t bleed so hard every month that I faint and throw up if it’s too hot but ok)

Top surgery scars are ugly and my future partners will hate me for getting rid of my perfect, gorgeous breasts

Also I casually mentioned I might be on the aro and/or ace spectrum at one point, and she just went on about how relationships ‘don’t necessarily form because of love, but because of circumstance’ and how ‘you won’t be able to find a partner who doesn’t want sex.’

Also I mentioned that one of my friends is asexual and she just straight up said it ‘must be because of trauma.’

Also she seems think the only reason I know my identity so well is because I was ‘given too much time to think about it’

Also ALSO whenever I ask for masc things like buying a binder or wearing a suit to an event rather than a dress, she’s not that receptive. (In the former case I had to remind her several times and in the latter she wanted me to at least wear SOMETHING feminine because I’m genderfluid not a full trans boy, so I ended up wearing sth more femme than I would have liked. Then she suggested we make a more feminine version just in case I feel like a girl that day. THAT IS THE FEMININE VERSION.

And I’d not even mention the bit about having to remind her to buy me a binder but when I expressed a SLIGHT interest in make up, the bought me a massive box to experiment with several days later. Like, she’s clearly desperate to have someone feminine because she finds masculinity unattractive.

[onewmin]

the perfume on the shelf. pt. 2 | bangchan

Pairing: Bang Chan x Fem!reader

Summary: Falling in love with your best friend was never a part of the plan. So you end it up. But does he want to put a stop to it, too?

Warnings: AU, mentions of cheating, profanity, Chan being completely oblivious, a cliffhanger in the end

Author’s note: this is Chan’s POV; the change from “she” to “you” seems very poetic to me as the story progresses lmao. There are a lot of flashbacks, they are highlighted so that you don’t get lost. hope you enjoy! Tell me what you think!

Disclaimer: the names and appearances of real people are used for inspiration and writing purposes only. I do not claim anything, everything belongs to its owners.

Part 1 | Part 3

The first time Chan ever saw your face was at a book fair six years ago.

He attended with his friends and girlfriend at the time; she was keen on adult novels so much, that she could never miss the opportunity to buy and read something new.

You were exactly were the girlfriend wanted you: at the “18+ novels” stand. Telling people about books, suggesting different stories to buy, and laughing at even improper jokes some customers were making.

His ex-girlfriend got an invisible hold on you, becoming the customer who seized your attention for the next twenty minutes. Every book was described in such details, that even Chris got involved and bought one. Not that he ever read it, though — he was more a fan of detective stories.

But his girlfriend? Bought a copy of each book. She spent so much money at the fair, and had to ask her parents send a little bit just so she wouldn’t die of starvation. Yeah, being a student was his favourite time, surely.

The book fairs at the campus happened every six months, so in a half year he was there again, that time volunteering at the children’s section. Only then he found out fifty percent of story collections and books were written by the students themselves. He didn’t see you at the fair that time, but he definitely saw an opportunity.

Three days later he was at the writers’ club gathering, having collected all his poems in a green binder. Chan was never socially anxious, making friends and new acquaintances anywhere he went, but that time was different. He felt out of place, thinking everyone was (or at least, looked like) really smart and he? He never felt that way. His, by that moment already ex, girlfriend had always been making fun of him for almost failing his maths classes. She used to say, “If someone is failing maths, they’re not good at anything”. Weird shot, but okay. It’s not like he was a genius, he reminded her and himself, and maths was pretty hard, too.

Was Chan’s not being a maths genius the main reason she cheated on him? Who knows, she blocked him right after he found out about her affair. Good for him. Good.

The breakup rediscovered his long-forgotten talent — writing poems. He had so much of them he didn’t know what to do. Before the writers’ club. Maybe here he’d find a way to show his true self to the world.

As he sat down in the corner of the room, at the back of the hall, he noticed just how many people were apart of the club. And they were all friends, too. “I’m not here to make friends”, Chan shook his head, “I’m here to get published”.

Suddenly the seat near him was taken. A girl with a pink binder, who, as Chan noticed only by a quick look at her face, was displeased with something. Maybe her book or story idea got rejected?

“Hey”, Chan started, slightly turning his torso in the girl’s direction, “d’you know how to get published?”

The girl’s eyebrows raised, eyes darted to him. “Shit, what did I even do?”, the wave of panic rose from his feet right to his head the moment he saw the look in her eyes. Dark, full of anger.

“You came here just to get published?”, despite the way she presented herself, her voice sounded pretty nice. “You have to get through professor Martins first”.

“Literature professor, yeah?”

She nodded. For some reason, Chris found her features… mesmerizing? No, that was too much for a person he’d just met. “He put me through nine circles of hell before even considering publishing. Change this, rewrite that, the characters are too unrealistic — yeah, like, he would know, how real teenagers communicate”, she wanted to say something else, but quickly covered her mouth with her palm. “Anyways, he knows if your work is worth it”.

“Did you get published?”

“Yup. I literally had to die and come back to life for this to happen”.

Chris raised an eyebrow. “Literally?”

“Literally, dude. Everyone here has done it, at least once”.

Later that night he carried two binders in his hands — the girl was kind enough to share her works with him. Professor Martins absolutely destroyed Chan’s poems (and will to live as well), stating,

“They lack in grammar. It’s too simple”.

And it was the nicest thing he said. Chan had never, even years after graduating, felt another sudden urge to weep in his car like it was that evening.

“Is he always like this?” he asked the girl, back at his seat.

“Did he brutally murder your dream of becoming a writer?”

Chris nodded, letting out a shaky sigh. The girl’s lips curved into a soft smile, and she patted his shoulder, a sympathetic look in her eyes. “Yeah, I know. You’ll ignore the next few meetings, but will come back, eventually. Martins’ like that horrible ex you keep coming back to, y’know?”

Such a pretty smile. It was somehow similar to his, Chan admitted, while staring at the ceiling of his dorm room: dimples on full display, and her left one deeper than the other, mirroring his prominent right dimple. Chan didn’t realize that a smile, so similar to his, would be as magnificent as it was.

And he’s been thinking about it since then. Only for her dimples to be shown more rarely the further the time went on; he hadn’t seen mush of them recently. Just her regular, half-smile to whatever jokes he was telling — even her favourite ones didn’t do the trick.

“A man walks into his home to find out all his lamps were stolen. D’you know what happened to him?”

“What?” If he had paid more attention, he would have noticed the flatness in her voice, the shaky breaths and head pressed into the pillow.

“He was delighted”, Chris giggled, expecting the same reaction from her. Dad jokes were her thing, something she snorted to whenever the chance was given. But then it was nothing. Just her humming to him in response.

“Goodnight, Chan”.

He didn’t say anything. She had told him previously she had some problems at work, so he assumed it was the reason for her putting distance between them.

“You should get more sleep, tiger”, Chan put the strand of hair behind her ear, his hand staying on her cheek, gently caressing her under eye by his thumb. She leaned into the touch, but he didn’t notice. He never did.

“I hate that nickname”, she mumbled.

“I also hate being called “shawty”, but it never stops you”, the corners of her mouth quirked up, her lips uttering yet another nonsense.

“It’s ‘cause you’re short”. The first time she said that Chan’s jaw dropped in disbelief. Six years later it was just a regular thing to hear from her. Being 4 centimeters taller than him, as she firmly believed, gave her a right to point out their height difference on every occasion.

“And you still have that ridiculous tiger costume”.

“Like it’s a crime”. She huffed and left his soft embrace, marching into the kitchen. “We all make mistakes when we’re young, you know that, right?”

“Mistakes don’t get engraved into a memory of twenty people. People trying to striptease in a tiger costume do”.

A flush creeped across her cheeks, and Chan couldn’t help but smile. Making her embarrassed about something was his ultimate favourite thing. She cleared her throat, trying to reply, but instead Chris only heard the buzzing. Shutting and opening his eyes twice to check if it was real, and the sound only intensified.

The reality hit him immediately. Jumping on his bed, taking the phone from the nightstand — failing miserably, as it slipped from his hands and fell on the floor — “Shit, shit, shit”, picking it up in panic (the screen wasn’t damaged) and sliding across to answer the call.

“Chan, we need you at the studio. See you in an hour”. Lee Know ended the call before Chris could even open his mouth. Great. Another day off ruined.

Chan laid back in the bed, his head hitting the headboard. “Ugh, shit”, he winced, rubbing the back of the head. What’s next? He’s going to get up and break his leg?

His idea to scroll through the news was interrupted by a text. From her, three hours ago. Did he forget something at her place?

“I’m tired of this bullshit. We r not a thing anymore”.

“Oh and yeah. What’s this between us? This bullshit? It’s no friendship. We stopped being friends the moment you decided to fuck me. You know I have feelings for you, all these months you knew. And you didn’t give a fuck about it. So why should I? So yeah, that’s it. Leave the spare keys under the rug. Never call me. Because whenever I hear your voice or see you face… Whenever you’re around, I just feel more alone. Bye, Chan”.

And he jumped from the bed.

“Hey, your button”, Chan took her pants in his hands and observed the troubled area carefully.

“Yeah, it’s barely holding. Every time I sit, I think it’s gon’ fall”.

“Why haven’t you fixed it?”

“Argh”, she scratched the back of her head, looking everywhere but at him. “Don’t have the time”.

“Bring me the needle and a thread”, he sat down on the bed. She went though all stages of something that time: scratched her ear, rubbed her rosy-colored cheeks, sighed and moved onto rubbing her neck.

“You don’t have to…”

“Now”.

“Okay, boss”, she mumbled, almost flying from the room.

“I can do it myself, y’know”, she was observing him sewing the button too carefully. Her standing right in front of him — overshadowing the light — didn’t help at all.

“Sit down, Bob the Builder”.

She complied, but with a heavy sigh and a violent plop on the bed, which made Chris jump involuntarily; if he hadn’t been holding her pants and the needle as tightly as possible, it all would have been on the floor.

“Every time you say ‘I can do it myself’, you end up breaking something. The nail, the shelf, the hand”. She groaned in response. “Stop bouncing your leg, it’s distracting”.

“Jeez! Stop bossing me around, Miranda Priestly”.

“I thought you like it when I tell you what to do”. He was too concentrated on fixing her button to see, but he knew. Her ears turned red as she covered her face, and then — bam! — smacked his shoulder. The regular routine of embarrassment.

“Ouch”, a little blood spot on his finger — the needle went into his skin right through the fabric of the pants.

“Oh shit”, she almost fell down from the bed, but ran to the kitchen to get her fist-aid bag. Chan smirked; it wasn’t like he’d been in pain — worst things happened to him during dance practices — but to watch her nervously going through the bag, to see her look for everything she needed.

And there she was. Sitting on her knees in front of Chan, applying something on his tiny wound. A pinched expression on her face — as if it was his fault — and her touch, half aggressive, half gentle. And in this last half, Chan swore on everything he had, in this half of tenderness he could drown, voluntarily jump from the cliff just to lose himself in the soft silk of her feelings. It was always so difficult to read her emotions, no matter how hard he tried or what he said — it seemed impossible.

She never said anything either. The fact, that Chan caught her crying in his bed, startled him so much he couldn’t even bring it up. Sometimes he was convinced she wasn’t able to feel anything except for positive emotions; and what’s worse, even the good ones were expressed rarely. In the six years he’d known her, he kept asking himself, when did she ever speak about her feelings?

Something about her dad’s emotional unavailability becoming her trait, too, as she blurted out once. And that was it — no other explanation. She spoke in actions, Chris knew that too well; however, hearing something about her feelings, at least once, would be a great idea. But she never did. And whenever he got in trouble, she scolded him, drove her car, sighing annoyingly too often, and then treated his bruises and scratches on the couch; or let him fix his broken heart by crying in her embrace. Her words were awkward (to her), but to Chan, hearing her utter under her breath, “I’m here with you, and for you, and… And I’m just here. I’ll always be”, was the only thing he needed.

“But when she showed her feelings, when she cried into your pillow, with your hand on her waist — were you there? Did you tell her that?”

“That’s it”, she put a bandaid with small pictures of Iron Man on his fingertip and blew on the covered wound. “Shouldn’t hurt you anymore”.

“It didn’t”, Chan cleared his throat for some reason. And when she got up from the floor and sat down next to him on the bed, his throat was dry again.

She looked at him — so… Lovingly? He couldn’t quite read the glance; not because of the usual reasons, but ‘cause it was the first time he noticed it. He didn’t quite know what to do. Bang Chan, the chief manager in the Affection Department, what would he do?

The palm of his hand slowly landed on her cheek, moving her face closer to his. His nose brushed hers in a swift touch, lips leaving a peck on her forehead. If she was saying something, the sound of the heartbeat, drumming in his chest, deafened Chan completely.

Chan touched her forehead with his, eyes locked on her eyes, dazzling in the dim light of the bedroom. Were they always this peerless? Or was he just blind his entire life, his blurry vision cured by her shining?

“Thank you”, he whispered, still focused on her eyes and unsteady breathing.

“You palm is sweaty”, she mumbled under her breath, and he chuckled, expecting to hear this kind of nonsense from her.

Staring into the wall in front of him, Chan wiped a tear from his cheek.

“I have feelings for you”. And you’re saying it through a text? A fucking breakup text?

Maybe, just maybe, consider asking about his feelings too, huh?

Yeah, and what would he say?

Chan didn’t quite know. He couldn’t wrap his head around the strange tingling in his chest whenever you were near, whenever you were laughing at his lame jokes, whenever you played with his hair. Whenever you did fucking anything. He ignored the feeling, putting it into a cage deep inside of his heart. You were his best friend, after all, a person he confided in. Wouldn’t it be wrong to fall in love with you?

“Whenever you’re around, I just feel more alone”.

That’s the reason for crying? That was it this entire time? Did he really make you feel this way?

Too many thoughts were spinning in his head, and he wasn’t able to catch at least one by the tail — they were slipping away, only to circle around your name and face, and hands, and smile, and fingers intertwined with his, and cold feet attacking his warm ones under the covers, and… Only you.

To never call you? To stop seeing you? Did you really think he would listen to your commands?

Throwing whatever clothes he found on the floor, putting on mismatched socks and sneakers, he ran down the stairs, calling Lee Know simultaneously.

“You’re on your way, I hope”.

“Answer one question”.

“What’s with the voice? Are you jogging or something?”

“D’you think I’m in love with her?”

‘Her’? Minho knew right away. “You dumb fuck. Took you long enough”.

“It’s that obvious?”

Minho rubbed his eyes with extra annoyance at that moment. “If I see you two staring at each other and then denying it one more time, I swear to god, I will kill you both. Romeo and Juliet style. Shut up and come to the studio already”.

“I’m gon’ be late”. Chan knew exactly what Minho’s next words were — not that he was willing to listen to them.

Shit, he panted on the street, the car keys were on the kitchen table. Running back would be too long, Chan thought, so the taxi he jumped in should be perfect.

The windows were open, wind blowing in his face — and even the air outside was filled with your scent. Floral perfume, that always reminded him of late spring nights spent with you.

“You don’t mind if I change the route?”, the driver asked. “To overtake the traffic?”

“Yeah, no problem”.

Five minutes later they were on the empty highway, going round the city to get to the neighborhood you were living in. Chan ignored the driver’s occasional texting — not his first rodeo with such people. It’d be better if he didn’t, though.

The next thing Chan remembered was his head hitting the back of the passenger seat.

Taglist:

@heylookwhoitis

[puddleglum-draws]

I’ve decided that instead of keeping that shit up in my head I’m gonna gender dump up in this bitch.

Okay SO

I’m afab but am thinking I might be a trans guy bc I bought a binder and I REALLY like having a flat chest but the pressure gives me panic attacks. I don’t like being a woman. Like do women think that? Do women try to convince themselves that their boobs are good for something? Like I’m aroace I’m not using that shit. I don’t want to a be a girl bc I don’t want to be sexualized. I literally have no desire for any of this bc like I’m not gonna use it. Can’t I just exist without that? Is my being aroace the ONLY reason I feel that way? Do I just have internalized misogyny? Do I just hate that women have to deal with more shit? Is it normal to have no image in your head of your future self? It is normal to feel like your name isn’t one that you can use forever? That the dumb name you have now is something to grow out of? But like I loved princesses and pink as a kid? I loved sleeping beauty but also it’s kind of just Philip mostly and I just like seeing him joke around with his horse and save the day? I wore my hair long forever and don’t hang out with guys, that maybe that’s because I’ve been taught to fear men my whole life. I like dresses and fabrics but every time I put them on I feel like something’s wrong? Like I feel pretty in them sometimes, but usually I end up self conscious. Then I just don’t like my body. My thighs and calves are so like curvy?? Like the shapes are bad. I have a body that I guess is pretty attractive for a woman, but I don’t like it. I should, but I don’t. I should want bigger breasts and like when they fill out a shirt, but they just get in the way. I recognize that that makes me conventionally attractive, but eh. Plus my friend and I joke that he always picks female characters and me male? Like I wanna be a chivalrous knight or a cowboy gunslinging in the Wild West. I want to wear suits and idk be taller. Like I feel it’s easier to be a man? That’s it’s better to be a man? Are these cis girl (slightly misogynist too bc I know that men as well face issues and are complex ppl but my heart says them anyway) thoughts?

Thanks for your time FOLKS

[foster-the-moths]

The Disappearance of Mark Heathcliff (Led Astray AU)

Mark is ten years old when he begins to wish he could disappear forever. God does not answer his prayers, but something else does.

Warnings: self-loathing, self-harm, vaguely suicidal thoughts, family issues, religious guilt, mentioned & attempted kidnapping, body horror, and gore.

(Can't believe I have to say this but don't reblog or like this if you are a 'proshipper' or break tmc creators' boundaries.)

6,464 Words. Ao3 Link.

Mark is nervous.

His parents have reassured him time and time again, but he’s still apprehensive about going to this new school at the start of fifth grade. His parents had bought a new house, and rather than delay moving until he finished elementary school, they decided it would be best to have him start fifth grade at a new school. They said this way he could make some friends in the area before going into middle school, but Mark hadn’t really liked the idea. He’d wanted to stay and graduate with the friends he already had, especially since he lived so far away from them now and would likely never see them again. He hadn’t even wanted to move in the first place, but he supposed he trusted his parents — and it’s not like he ever had a say in the matter anyways. 

He sighs, adjusting the straps of his backpack as he waits for his father to unlock the car. He just hopes he makes some new friends quickly, this summer was lonely without anyone to talk to. He’s sure it’ll be fine, though, he had made plenty of friends at his old school, he’s sure he can make new ones here, too.

—

The other kids hate him.

Well, maybe they don’t hate him — hate is a strong word, afterall — but they certainly don’t like him, either. When he tries to talk to them, the conversation dies out, replaced with darting eyes and uncomfortable whispering. When he tries to play games with them, they stop and switch to another game they know he doesn’t like. He doesn’t know what he did wrong, he’s thought over every single thing he could have possibly done for them to dislike him, but he can’t pin down a reason why. Did he talk too loud? Speak too fast? Maybe he was just too much for them, he knows he gets a bit enthusiastic sometimes, but why didn’t they like him now that he was quieter? 

He even stopped trying to talk to them for a bit, “giving them space,” as he’s heard before. He’s stopped trying to talk or play, and instead buries himself into a book during recess, but this only seems to make his classmates dislike him more. Everything he does to try and fit in just makes him stand out more, and he’s starting to lose hope he’ll ever make friends here. He’s even starting to believe they might truly hate him, because why else would they shun him every time he tries to be friends with them? He doesn’t understand, all he knows is that this is not the “fresh start” he was promised. He misses his old friends — his real friends, more and more each day.

—

He can’t find it.

He’s lost his math workbook, again, and he has an assignment in it due tomorrow, and he can’t find it anywhere. He rakes his hands through his short hair, and tries to take a deep breath, but still feels tears pricking at his eyes. His teacher had said if he kept failing to bring in his homework then it was going to become an issue, and Mark didn’t want that, couldn’t bear the thought of it. He’s always been a good kid, a good student, so why was everything falling apart now? This had never been a problem at his old school, he never got in trouble there, but there were new rules he didn’t understand — and not just with his peers. They were less patient with him, more demanding, and his parents said the pressure would only increase in later grades. He felt like he was drowning, sometimes, just barely able to make it through each day before something new was thrown at him. 

He rifles through his backpack, binder, folders, and room for the fourth time tonight, his search still fruitless. He clasps his hands together, and once more he prays, prays that God would let him find it — it wasn’t really a huge request, so why wasn’t he getting an answer? Doubt trickles into his stomach, and it makes him feel sick. He shouldn’t be feeling this, shouldn’t be doubting God like this, but he couldn’t make it go away no matter what he does. This wasn’t good, Mark Heathcliff was supposed to be good, but he feels like he’s been doing a very bad job of that lately.

He grasps his hands together even tighter, fingers pressing into the space between bones so much it begins to ache a bit. Could God not hear him? He chews the inside of his cheek. This week they had taught about sacrifice in his religion class — about how God told Abraham to kill his only son, Isaac. About how Jesus suffered, how much pain He went through. Maybe that’s what Mark was missing, maybe he needed to show God that he was serious about how much He meant to him.

He swallows a lump in his throat, and brings his hands to his mouth. He bites down on the back of his hand, around the knuckle of his pointer finger, and it hurts. He cringes, stopping immediately. He hadn’t expected it to hurt that much, the area he had bitten down on burns faintly as the pain fades. There are condemning marks left on his hand from where teeth dug in, and he rubs the skin harshly, trying to make them fade quicker. Maybe that wasn’t such a great idea. He gingerly threads his hands together once more, and sends another prayer to God, hoping that this act would prove his devotion.

He repeats his cycle of rummaging through every place his workbook could be and praying, now with the addition of biting his hands, with more and more fervor each time. He grows frustrated, no, angry — why wouldn’t God listen to him? Why wouldn’t his parents and teachers listen? Why did nobody ever just listen to him? He finally gives up, tears in his eyes and hands aching as he gets ready for bed. 

A few days later, his religion teacher reads aloud a passage from 1 Corinthians, about how the body is a temple, and must be taken care of. She reads another about the prophet Elijah defeating the false prophets of Baal, how they cut themselves with swords and spilled their own blood but their god did not answer. His teacher tells them that God didn’t listen to people that hurt themselves, and Mark feels sick. No wonder God hadn’t answered him, he was selfish. Shame roils in his gut for the rest of the day, but he can’t stop thinking about the feeling of teeth sinking into the flesh of his hands.

—

He can’t do this.

It’s been hours of staring at pieces of paper with words that swim in his head, trying to find ways to answer them but he can’t. He doesn’t know why, he’s trying so hard, and he knows the answers to these questions, but he just can’t. None of his sentences make sense, so he erases them and starts over, but he forgets what he was going to write, so he rereads his textbook, but he’s already read it, and he can’t read it again without losing focus, so the words swim off the page and he can’t make sense of it anymore, and by the time he figures out how to word what he wants to say, it’s hours later and he’s exhausted, and he knows it shouldn’t be like this; he knows something is wrong.

But when he tries to tell his parents, he never knows how to explain it, and they just tell him to keep trying because “it’s not that hard,” but it is. He knows he’ll never get them to understand, though, so he tries again anyway, hoping that maybe they’re right, and this time he’ll be able to do it right. He never manages it, no matter what he does differently. Now it’s 10:15 pm, he still has three whole assignments left, and they are all due tomorrow. He’s tired, his head keeps falling to the table and startling him awake, and he knows there’s no way he’s going to finish them all tonight. But his parents won’t let him give up. 

They’ve gone to bed now, leaving him alone in the dining room, but he knows if he goes to bed now they won’t take any of the excuses he gives them in the morning. They will call him lazy, and a liar, and all the things that hurt him because it’s not true, but they don’t seem to care. They don’t care how much it hurts him, they don’t care if what he says is true, they don’t believe him. Anger burns in his throat, hotter than the shame he wears on his shoulders, filling the hollow pit in his stomach with a raging ocean. It isn’t fair. None of this is fair, he’s trying his best, and his parents always say that as long as he’s trying his best nothing else matters. But his best isn’t good enough for them anymore, and he hates it, hates himself, hates them. Maybe he doesn’t wish he could disappear, maybe he wishes they would disappear instead. 

He wishes his parents would die.

He’s still, for a moment, so startled by the thought taking root in his mind that he loses awareness of everything else. In the blink of an eye, the shock gives way to a searing, all-encompassing guilt. How could he even ever think that towards another human being, let alone his own parents? He gasps for air, not realizing he had stopped breathing, and curls into himself tightly; drawing his feet up onto the chair and tucking his knees underneath his chin. Tears slip down his cheeks, and he can’t seem to catch his breath as he stifles his sobs so his parents won’t hear him. His fingernails leave indents on his knees from where he digs them into his skin, and he half-wishes he would bleed. 

Mark is a terrible person. A terrible son. How could he wish for his parents to die?

He rips the sinful thought from his mind like uprooting a weed from a garden, and frantically replaces it with a haphazard, almost frenzied prayer.

He’s sorry, he loves his parents, he should be so grateful for everything they give him, he doesn’t deserve it, but they love him anyways, he didn’t mean it, he’s sorry, it wouldn’t happen again, he would never let himself think like that ever again, he would do anything, he’s sorry, he loves his parents, he would be lost without them, he would be lost without God, he’s sorry, he would do better, he just needs to try harder, just like his parents said, he just has to listen to them, he’s sorry, he deserves something horrible to happen to him, he’s been so ungrateful, he’s been so selfish, but he hopes God will forgive him anyways, even though he doesn’t deserve to ever be forgiven, because God loves him, and God would understand, and he’s sorry, he’s so sorry it hurts.

He knows, now, that hurting himself will not make God listen, but he cannot help biting into his palms and wrists. He is disgusted with himself, and he wants to never think those sorts of things ever again, so he will use the pain to remind himself not to. He digs his teeth into his skin, closing them tighter, and tighter, until he cannot bear the sting of pain anymore, and releases it with a choked whimper. As soon as the pain fades, he bites down again, somewhere new, and repeats his self-flagellation. 

After what seems like an eternity, he calms down enough to breathe without his breath hitching, or new tears to shed, and he goes still. He looks down, eyes vacant, and sees his hands are littered with angry red indents left by his own teeth. He sniffles, and drags his gaze up to the clock, seeing it is now 12:08 am. Three hours past his bedtime. He feels hollow, drained of everything from the effort of feeling so many emotions at once, and he decides this simply isn’t worth it. He slides his chair back and stands up, flicking the lightswitch off and beelining it for his bedroom, barely able to keep his eyes open enough to see where he is going. He doesn’t bother to brush his teeth, or change his clothes, or do any of the things he usually does before bed. He just crawls onto his mattress, hides under the covers, and tries desperately to forget the past hour and just fall asleep, to have just a moment of peace before the disappointment and anger he will face tomorrow morning. 

He does not succeed, and gets little sleep anyways.

—

His parents are fighting again, and as it usually is these days, their argument is centered around him.

He’s been lying recently. At first it was just a panicked fumble, a hasty, “Yes, I finished my homework,” or, “I forgot it at home, but I can bring it in tomorrow,” nothing more than a rushed excuse in hopes it would distract whichever adult he was talking to long enough for them to forget it. He hadn’t even realized it was a lie at first, because he was planning on finishing his homework and handing it in! He just… needed more time, and didn’t want to admit he wasn’t done with it yet. 

It wasn’t until later that the realization he had actually lied dawned on him, dread flooding his veins with ice as he sat at the dining room table, fist clenched around a pencil, pressing lead into the paper so hard the point had broken off. His head felt scrambled by the barrage of thoughts that accompanied the revelation, running rampant through his head as he tried despairingly to think up a penance for his transgression, and a solution to his newfound problem. The mere thought of admitting it to his parents had made him flinch, his own scorching fear rendering that option impossible. So he had decided to hide it — if nobody found out he had lied, then it wasn’t hurting anyone, was it? 

In the end, he had managed to finish the assignment and turn it in the next day, just as promised. No harm, no foul. It was almost vindicating it a way: he had proved he wasn’t a liar, not really. He knew he just needed more time, but the adults wouldn’t let him have it, so he took it himself. Was there really anything wrong with that? Was it lying if he delivered on his promise in the end? No, Mark decided, he was learning that adults weren’t always right about things, and when they were wrong he would take matters into his own hands. That’s what he told himself that night, shoulders hunched and wide eyes staring into the dark when he was supposed to be asleep. Liars are sinners, but he was no liar. 

But the time he had spent working on that one assignment had cut into the time he had to work on the others, and after just a few days he found himself in the same position. He knew the solution, he knew he could lie, but this time he knew he was lying, and it made his skin crawl with a prickle of shame. 

This repeated, until he had lied more times than he could count now, and he was finally caught. He had told his teacher he had, in fact, turned in his assignment, she must have just lost it. He had planned to turn it in the next day, to slip it into the assignments bin while nobody was looking. He had not expected his teacher to spend hours looking for it, only for her search to be futile. He had not expected her to hold him back after class, eyes narrowed into a glare of suspicion . 

He had broken easily, immediately confessing with eyes fixed on his shoes, voice barely audible as he admitted he had lied to her. She was furious, hours wasted for him, she had said, and he had never felt so ashamed in himself, queasiness coiling in his gut as she chewed him out. He couldn’t even remember most of it, he felt sick to his stomach even recalling a moment of it. He had never considered that this might happen, that his lie could ever affect someone other than himself, and remorse poisoned every fiber of his body with blistering anguish. He had felt like the floor had vanished from beneath his feet when she had informed him she was telling his parents. Despite his despondent pleading, endless tears, and choked apologies, she had refused to change her mind, and dismissed him to go to his next class. 

The rest of the day seemed to drag on infinitely, leaving Mark hollow besides a horrible buzz of shame and dread. He had almost considered hiding from his father when he came to pick him up, but decided that was much more trouble than it would ever be worth. From the moment he got home, he delayed the inevitable. He had half-hoped that maybe if he said nothing, and prayed hard enough, that his teacher would miraculously forget to call his parents, and they would never know. But she had not forgotten, and he was called later that night to the kitchen by his mother with a tight, almost pained expression, and his father with crossed arms and furrowed brows.

His parents had not been happy.

He curled up on his side even tighter as he heard the word liar be whisper-shouted by his father. They thought he was asleep, that he couldn’t hear them, but he could hear almost every word through the cracks in his bedroom door. His pillow was drenched with tears and snot, and he felt utterly pathetic. He prays for his parents to stop, for him to be able to fall asleep, for him to sink into his mattress and never wake up. 

Then again, why would God answer the prayers of a sinner? His parents had been right: he was a liar, and God does not love liars.

—

There is a boogeyman in Mandela County.

That’s what the newspeople call him, at least. He steals children, they say, whisking them away into the night never to be seen again — and nobody knows how he does it, who he is, or if it’s even a human being at all. There have been all sorts of rumors from the kids at school: aliens, demons, even an evil laboratory kidnapping children for their experiments. Mark isn’t really sure what he thinks of it all — he’s far too old to believe in monsters under the bed, and he’s more of a skeptic to things that stray from his faith. Whatever the case, the adults don’t seem to know what it is either, keeping a closer eye on the younger kids, and sending out broadcasts that make Mark feel sick with worry.

They say it’s taking children as young as newborns to as old as six. Sarah is five, and their parents have talked in hushed whispers about moving again, for her safety. He sits with her now, using a binder as a surface to write on so he can keep an eye on her while he does his homework, just like his parents told him to. She plays with her dolls on the carpet in front of the television, chattering to them as she weaves a story only she can comprehend. As Mark watches her, he almost feels… jealous. She’s been the favorite since she was born, and it’s not that he wants her to disappear, no, he loves her far too much for that, it’s just that… 

Mark is too old to be taken by the boogeyman. He’s ten years old, far beyond the target age-range. Yet every night he almost wishes it would take him anyways; away from school, away from his parents, and bring him somewhere he didn’t have to worry about anything. He doesn’t know what happens to the kids that are taken, nobody does, but at this point he doesn’t really care. If something terrible happens, then maybe he would deserve it. It isn’t fair, that it could take Sarah instead of Mark. Sarah doesn’t deserve to be taken, she’s never done anything wrong, but Mark deserves to disappear, he wants to disappear. He’s pretty sure his parents wouldn’t even miss a liar anyways, and they would still have Sarah, so really it would be the best for everyone, wouldn’t it? Mark would get to disappear, and nobody else would be upset by him ever again.  

He watches over her, and he feels an envy for something he knows he shouldn’t want.

—

There is someone in the house.

Mark holds his breath as he hides under the dining room table, squeezing his knees to his chest so tightly his body aches. He had been staying up late again, working on homework he would never finish, when the television turned on by itself, and a far-too-large hand pushed itself through the screen. There was no time for him to do anything else but kill the lights, throw himself under the table, and pray. 

His lungs burn, but he doesn’t dare to take a breath. He can’t risk making a single noise, not when a living shadow lumbers through his home, head nearly scraping on the ceiling as it trudges past his hiding spot, achingly slow, each step it takes feeling like it shakes the very foundations of the house. He cannot breathe, so instead he prays, pleads that whatever it is does not find him. He has no idea what the intruder even looks like, he hadn’t gotten a good look at it, but what little he did see is enough to set his pulse hammering against his ribs. His heartbeat is so violently loud that he’s already half convinced it will hear him anyways, and spindly arms will reach down to rip him out of his shelter and tear him to shreds. 

Achingly slow, it claws its way past him, and Mark squeezes his eyes shut, too terrified to look at what might be his doom. His head is filled with images of monsters, demons, and a faceless Boogeyman that haunts his town like a phantom. He hears more shuffling, more thuds, each one makes him curl into himself even more, but they slowly sound further and further away. He just barely opens his eyes, and he nearly sobs in complete and utter relief. It has gone past him, shambling out of the dining room, and into the hallway. It had not noticed him. He finally allows himself a breath when he is sure it is out of earshot, stifling the sound with his hands. Joy floods his veins, he is alive. That relief crashes like a vase to the floor when he hears the click of a doorknob turning, and the accompanying creak of a door being opened. 

It had gone to the hallway, he realizes. The hallway that leads to Sarah’s room.

He unfurls from his hiding spot stiffly, urgency thawing out the sheer panic that had kept him frozen. Whatever that thing is, he was not going to allow it to hurt her. What if it really was the Boogeyman, and it took Sarah away? He couldn’t let that happen, wouldn’t let that happen. 

He creeps down the hallway, pulse pounding in his chest as he slides his sock-covered feet along the wooded floors. His legs are shaking, and he feels like he might fall to the floor at any moment, but he keeps going. He briefly looks to his parents’ room, considering waking them up, but if it’s already opened Sarah’s door, then by the time he wakes them she might be gone. He has to face it alone. He steels himself, placing a hand upon the doorframe of Sarah’s room as he looks inside, and has to choke back a scream at the sight of something far too tall to be human hunched over Sarah’s bed, reaching something that must be a hand towards her. He almost backs away, frightened out of his mind just by seeing something so obviously inhuman, but instead he steps into the room, and opens his mouth to speak.

“What are you doing?” he croaks, his voice strangled by fear.

It turns to face him, and what small amount of bravery Mark had mustered up is gone in an instant, replaced by a soul-devouring terror. Although it is dark, there is enough light seeping in through the window for him to make out the features of the monster clearly. It has no lips, just a gaping mouth carved into an uncanny smile, filled with far too many teeth. Its lower jaw is split into two, weaving together and undulating in a way that almost resembles an insect’s mandibles. Its face is smooth, catching light in a way that makes it look as if it has molded clay in place of skin, sculpted around a blank eye on one side of its face. The other eye is set within a void, a glowing pupil flickering to focus in on his face.

It cocks its head to the side, considering his question, before it speaks, “I am taking her away.”

He can’t breathe, he feels as though his ribcage has collapsed in on itself, and he’s forgotten how to even inhale. Its voice digs claws into his head, static erupting in a horrid cacophony of incomprehensible noise, and he would raise his hands to clamp over his ears if he wasn’t petrified, if his arms weren’t so weak. His gaze is locked on it, but he remembers the reason he ever entered the room in the first place, and his eyes flit over to her. Sarah is asleep still, clutching a stuffed animal as she slumbers peacefully, blissfully unaware of the danger looming above her. It strengthens his resolve, and he remembers how to breathe, wheezing in a weak breath, as he looks the monster in the eye once more.

“L-le-ave,” he demands, voice cracking, “Le-ave her alone. T-take someone el-se.”

Its pupil flickers, and it blinks its vacant eye, perplexed by his request. “Who else would I take?” it inquires.

Mark can feel its gaze burning a hole through him as it awaits his response, and he scrambles for something to say. He has a feeling if he does not answer its question correctly, something terrible will happen, and it will take Sarah anyways. This vague fear sends his mind racing, half-formed thoughts clambering around the inside of his head, as though his brain is overturning each of his memories for something, anything to save his little sister. He remembers many, many things at once, but the recollections he latches onto the most are those of guilt. Of shameful lies, clenched teeth, crushing despair, and unanswered prayers. He remembers coveting a fate he shouldn’t want and couldn’t have. He remembers a wish he made as his little sister puppeteered toys in front of the very television the demon before him had emerged from. He knows his answer. He hopes it is one the monster will accept.

“Me,” Mark breathes, “T-ake me inste-ad.”

The Boogeyman, for that’s what it must be, drags itself towards him — hands that are gnarled and twisted like the roots of a tree pulling its sunken body forwards. He notices its chest is see-through, and he can see what look like ribs, but on closer inspection appear to be segmented insect legs. He gawks at them as they twitch and writhe, before snapping his attention back to its face. He forces himself to stay still as it lowers its head, arms creaking as it bends itself down until its eyes are level with his own.

“Why?” it implores, voice still buzzing with static, but no longer unbearable. 

“Be-because I-,” Mark swallows, trying to clear the lump in his throat. “I don’t want to-to be here anymore. I-,” his voice warbles, and his breath hitches, but he continues. “I w-want to dis-appear, I’m a-a bad person, and I d-don’t want to stay here,” he gasps, fully crying now. “I d-on’t deserve to sta-y here, I d-on’t w-ant to stay here, please,” he wails, voice muffled as he buries his face into his hands. His chest heaves as he trembles, barely holding himself together enough to stay upright. He had never admitted his wish to anyone else before, and it felt like the dam he had built around it had finally burst, forcing him to feel the full brunt of the emotions he had locked away for so long. 

He feels something drape itself across his shoulders and back, and can’t even find it in himself to recoil. He leans into the touch, letting it guide him through the doorway, and out into the hall. The weight on his back distorts, shrinking until it feels more like a real, human hand, now resting on just one shoulder. He looks to the monster, and sees it has condensed itself into the form of a man, no longer craning down to fit under the ceiling. He crashes forwards, burying his face into its side and wrapping shaking arms around it. He doesn’t care anymore, if it’s going to take him then he’s going to be selfish, and take as much comfort from it as he can get. It pauses, evidently not expecting Mark to cling to it. He feels a trickle of dread, had he made a mistake? He expects to be shoved away, for it to change its mind, but instead he feels an arm wrap itself around his shoulders, resting upon his back tentatively. He sniffles, and leans further into it.

They stay like that for a moment, before the monster starts to walk, and Mark forces his legs to move along with it, stumbling to keep in step with the other. It does not rush him, simply waiting for him to match its movements, almost like it wants him to copy it. It leads him out of the hallway, and he follows it blindly, not bothering to check where it is taking him. He doesn’t care, as long as it’s away, far away. 

After a short while it stops, and stays still — but they had not walked for nearly as long as Mark had expected, he’s pretty sure they hadn’t even left the house. Mark forces his head up, blinking tears out of his eyes to look at their surroundings. It has brought him to the living room, right in front of the television. It makes sense, that it would take him away through the same thing it had come from. He supposes this is it, then. Something crosses his mind, and he balks, suddenly, tugging on its arm.

“Where… where are you going to take me? What will… happen to me?” His voice is small, he is already resigned to his fate, but he wants to know what his doom will be before he commits to it. 

It tilts its head, gaze boring into him. “I am going to make you like me. And then we will go to the others,” it states.

The words catch Mark off guard. He isn’t sure what he had been expecting it to say, but it certainly hadn’t been that. “So… I’m not going to die?” he asks haltingly, almost apprehensive. He isn’t even sure which answer he wants to hear.

“No,” it vows, “you will not die, but you will be different.”

Mark can’t help but feel a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. He doesn’t know exactly what it means by ‘different’ but he doesn’t care enough to question it. He can guess well enough what it means anyways, with the way that it had looked before he agreed to go with it. He shivers as he imagines his jaw breaking in two, and his eyes becoming blank and lifeless. He shoves the images out of his head, and reaches out to grasp one of its hands to ground himself. He can’t let himself second guess his decision now — he has a feeling it would not react kindly to that. Besides, he was doing this for Sarah, whatever was going to happen to him didn’t matter.

The thought makes him realize that he should probably make sure the monster understands what he wants from it in return. “...What about Sarah? You… aren’t going to take her, are you? Just me?” he rasps, barely able to even make his voice audible.

“No. Just you,” it affirms, “unless you want me to take her as well?”

“No! No, I don’t- I don’t want that,” he yelps. “Just me, not her.”

“Then I won’t,” it assures, turning its face towards the television. Before it can so much as step towards it, Mark stops it once more.

“Will it hurt?” he whispers, the question itself feeling like a condemnation.

It freezes, stiffening like a statue as it considers the question. “I don’t know,” it admits.

Mark looks down, staring at the floor as he considers asking more questions, before deciding he doesn’t want to know more. Instead, he grits his teeth and squeezes its hand, trying not to show how much its answer scares him. It seems to take this as a sign that he is ready to go with it. It squeezes his hand back, then pulls away, prying its hand from Mark’s as it steps forward. Mark takes his hand back, but watches with curiosity as something occurs to him. How did it even fit in the television? Even in its more ‘human’ form, it towered over him, surely it couldn’t just cram itself through, right? He supposes he’ll just have to wait and see. 

It straightens itself out, and then its body lets out a series of cracks as it begins to jolt and shake, and it buckles forwards. Mark suppresses a shout at the sudden noise and movement, then stares, transfixed, as its body breaks apart even further. 

Mark can see its bones bend, twist, and snap under the thin cloth covering its form — its very skeleton seeming to fold in on itself as though being pulled apart by invisible hands. It hardly even has a shape that could be considered close to human as it drops to the floor and crawls towards the screen, its form distorted and broken beyond recognition. It’s the most horrific thing Mark has ever seen, and although he hastily darts his hands up to cover his eyes, the afterimages of it flash in his mind’s eye. It is as mesmerizing as it is repulsive, like watching the inner workings of some ghastly machine. Mark cringes at each sharp crack and wet tear of muscle, until finally it goes quiet. 

He peeks out from behind parted fingers, only to be met with an empty room, the television still blaring white noise. He blinks, bringing his hands back down as he slowly inspects the room for any sign of the creature, yet finds nothing.

Had it… left him? 

Just as he feels his heart sink to the floor, the television’s static changes pitch, and something emerges from it. Mark feels a sense of deja-vu as he watches a hand claw itself out of the screen, but unlike before, it is turned upwards. Its palm is open, inviting him to take hold of it once more. An offer, waiting to be fulfilled.

He hesitates — how could he not? He knows, deep in his bones, that whatever was beyond the screen would change him; that the static would devour him wholly and his life would never be the same. If he would even have a life at all, the monster could very well be lying to him. He considers, briefly, going back on his promise. He imagines running down the hall, bursting into his parents’ room and waking them up, taking solace in the inherent safety adults provided. But this is what he had wanted, wasn’t it? If he went to them, things would just go back to the way they were before, and he couldn’t bear the thought of that. 

He reaches out, and grasps its hand tightly, his palm tingling from where it touches the skin of the monster. It reminds him of static electricity. It tugs his hand through the screen ever so gently, and his hand is swallowed by prickling white noise.

Static ripples up and down his arm, electricity coiling in his tendons and nerves as it boils in his veins. It does not hurt, but it surges under his skin, overwhelming as it floods his nerves with noise and colors and all sorts of things that should not be held within human flesh. He can hear an endless cacophony of radio channels and transmissions, the signals reverberating with his skull and skittering into nothingness. His teeth ache as they buzz in their sockets, and he feels the need to clench them tightly, lest they rattle themselves out of his jaw. 

He can no longer feel his own hand, as if his flesh and bones have unraveled into radio waves and beams of light, no longer bound to such a simple, human shape. Despite this, he can still feel the monster holding it, as if it is grasping the concept of his hand, rather than a physical object. He thinks it might be the only thing stopping him from falling apart into nothingness. It is reassuring, a beacon of stability amongst the overwhelming chaos he has plunged himself into, and he tries to hone his attention to it and it alone. 

The sensation is unbearable, just barely bordering on a painless agony, but he surges forwards anyways. He shoves his head through the screen, and falls. Down through the screen, far away from his home and humanity, he falls, but there is something there to catch him. He has no body, no mind, he is nothing more than a tangled, writhing mass of channels and currents and light, but he does not fall apart. He is cosmic dust, held together only by the gravity of a star as he is remade anew, into something whole again. He opens his eyes, that are not quite eyes, and an angel stares back at him. 

Mark Heathcliff disappears — leaving no trace other than unfinished homework on the dining room table, his little sister’s door left ajar, and a television pouring out an incessant hiss of static.

[brrrkdslek]

not a post i just need to vent a bit.

i remember when i just started middle school, i was super nervous and felt like absolute shit. i didn't know anyone since i transferred from a different primary school so i was absolutely fucked. but i met a few friends and one of them, judy.

judy was a sweet girl and she was a bit awkward and weird, nevertheless it made me grow more fond of her. we spent the entire year together growing closer and doing more things together, i even went to an anicon in cosplay with her, we even became each other's best friend.

but a year later, her change started to show. she said she didn't like the name judy and changed it to eryn, of course i brushed it off and said it's cool. she also cut her hair and looked a bit more different from judy. from then on, judy and eryn became two people.

we were in class when she suddenly told me about getting a binder. at first, i thought she meant a binder as in folder for her notes and worksheets and i was confused. she clarified and said it was a binder for her chest, like the bandage. i didn't make any comments and just took it in. i wasn't disgusted, or happy to be frank. i was just fairly confused, but of course i supported her the entire way.

a while after that she told me about wanting to transition, we were 13-14 at the time so it was really shocking news for me, especially since the place we resided in is not fond of trans people, it made me worried. i told her how it's a tad bit too early for her to make that decision and the journey towards it would be hard. she told me it's fine and she could do it, adding that she felt more comfortable that way.

sometime after, she dropped the news of transferring to a new school. i was shocked and my other friends were too. she said that the workload was too much and she didn't care if she was in a bad school, as long as she was happy. i was a bit reluctant but still supported her, giving her a small smile.

after she changed schools, we talked less but she'd come visit us sometimes after school. a while after i heard from a friends that she changed her name again to quinn, something about being male and female? we met a while after and she told me how she could wear pants for the uniform instead of the skirt like the other girls. i told her it was cool but she said she went back to the shop to but the pants secretly after her parents bought her the skirt uniform.

i was a bit appalled since her mother and i were also close and i knew she was having a hard time with money. she works 5(?) jobs to provide for her and her little brother and also her dog, which she got as an emotional support from her therapy suggestions. i then learnt she wasn't taking her adhd meds and i honestly didn't know what to say, so i didn't.

at that point, me and friends slowly started to distance ourselves from her since she was acting so weird. she was always excited to talk about how the people in her school would ask if she's a girl or boy and she'd act mysterious and not answer. maybe it's just me but i felt that she was using this 'transgender' thing to her entertainment. like she wanted people to question her gender and identity and she was having fun with it.

my friends agreed with me saying it wasn't fair to other transgender people that actually go through so much shit just to he comfortable in their own bodies. she was just playing around and making fun out of being 'transgender' to which i should add is not even true.

quinn then developed feelings for another friend in our group, M, and wrote self-insert fanfics of them. it made M uncomfortable and weirded out so all of us just stopped communicating with her as much as we could.

i was on a cruise one night with my family to celebrate my mom's coworker or something i didn't even know. i had a few too many drinks then and dialled her number. we chatted a bit and i was still drinking, then i suddenly blurted out that i was in love with her, which is not true. i just said it in the heat of the moment and blacked out.

i heard from another friend that i wasn't supposed to know she was in love with M since she didn't want to hurt my feelings. i was a bit angered that moment cause i thought she was being narcissistic, to which it had been two months after the incident. maybe i was being a huge bitch and i was the real narcissist but i was really mad she felt the need to 'care' for my feelings.

she went out with another friend, C, a while later and they had a good chat. quinn asked what she thought about trans people and C replied saying most of them are cool, except for the really weird ones. weird as in toxic and the cringe ones you see on tiktok. quinn got offended and yelled at C telling her trans people are also people and that she was being transphobic. C was incredibly upset and cried to us afterwards.

it was around christmas last year when quinn called me crying, telling me she was sorry for being a bitch and making me and the others hate her. i told her we didn't hate her and we just don't support the things she's doing and saying now.

i created a separate group chat with all the friends including quinn and she apologised to everyone. i thought it would've been resolved but my friends started to hate me and said i was a traitor for telling quinn all the things we said about her, which wasn't true. but they distanced themselves from me and i heavily blamed quinn for it, even thought it wasn't her fault.

some time after new years, quinn's school had a casual wear day and she was telling me how excited she was for it. i scrolled on instagram on that day after school and cringed when i saw her wear a maid dress to school. again, maybe it's just something wrong with me but i couldn't help but feel the second-hand embarrassment, and the fact that she doesn't really have any real friends there makes it more awkward.

i screenshotted the picture and posted it in my close friends, not to make fun of her, but to just let out the cringing feeling i was feeling right then. my other friend, A, saw this and told quinn. they met one day after school and they were talking about how me and quinn were growing more distant from each other and that's when A showed her the picture. A told quinn to talk things out with me and communicate with each other.

i was a bit taken aback when i found a long text paragraph from quinn in my whatsapp just a day later, telling me i'm rude and bitchy for doing that to her and that she didn't want to be my friend anymore. i know calling her cringe was very mean and bitchy on my part and i wish i never did that.

we argued and i told her all my thoughts on her actions up until that point and she just kept calling me transphobic and a traitor. i got angry and told her that if she didn't want to fix things then she could just cut me off, she told me i was a bitch and only lived in my head.

it's been a year or so since this happened but i can never forget about her, not because of what she said but because of how i handled the situation. i was the person who taught her to be herself and do what she wanted but then i stab her in the back and tell people she's cringe and whatnot. i won't make excuses for myself but i really did cherish her and the friendship we had.

maybe this was also her fault, or maybe entirely mine but who knows? i just feel really sorry i made her feel that way, when i was the one she considered best friend. i hate myself for this, for ruining us. but i'm too much of a coward to apologise, when i know in my gut she was wrong on some parts.

maybe this is how it is, we meet and say goodbye. we teach each other things the other had never known. and when the time comes, we part, one way or another.

[laundrybiscuits]

Hey hey adoring battleship move incoming, so how about: 16 for that Spotify prompt? Hope life (the move? There was talk about a move I think?) Is treating you well!

can you tell I’ve been posing / this way alone for hours / waiting for your affection / waiting for you

Steve had still been feeling pretty stupid until maybe five or ten minutes ago. He’s not sure exactly what happened, but something had shifted right around the time he’d realized it was too late to get everything untied and put away before Eddie was due back. Even if he changes his mind right now, he won’t have enough time to hide the evidence. There’s no backing out of this anymore.

It’s not his usual kind of thing. None of this is. He doesn’t do any of this, normally.

But someone had donated a bag of VHS tapes to the library, and Steve got assigned to go through them, and there had been one—

It hadn’t looked that difficult, and he’d told himself he was just curious. He’s always been good with his hands, so how tough could some knots be? 

Pretty tough, as it turns out, but manageable. He works through the basic ties pretty quickly, and he’s still flexible enough to do a lot of it himself, even though the video is very clearly meant for someone to do on someone else. 

The idea is…not unappealing. As he works through securing his ankles in a messy double-column tie, it’s easy to start thinking about what it might be like to loop the rope around someone’s wrists and pull it snug. Yeah, he could see why people might like that kind of thing. It takes a lot of trust, right? There’s no way to laugh it off, when someone hands you that kind of control. It’d be exactly like saying I can take it, I want to take it. Whatever you want to give me. 

And that’s when he gets the idea.

It takes a little more preparation and a shopping trip, because he can already tell that the random stuff he’s been using to try different knots isn’t going to be comfortable enough for what he’s planning. Plus, he likes the idea of getting something that’ll look good on his skin. Something that makes people want to touch.

By this point, he’s stopped pretending that this is anything other than what it is: a hail-mary, last-ditch attempt to get Eddie Munson’s hands on him again. 

He doesn’t try for anything too advanced, just the easiest harness on the tape and a frog tie holding his legs into a kneeling position. He practices the whole thing all together a couple times and it seems to go okay. He wastes some rope early on when he fucks up a knot so bad he has to shuffle all the way to the kitchen and grab some scissors to cut it, but it’s fine, he’d bought enough silky blue rope to tie a dozen harnesses at once. It had been way too expensive for freaking rope, but it had looked so much better than the hemp that he’d handed over the cash without a second thought. 

He doesn’t try cuffs or a collar. It’s not—the cuffs feel okay, actually; the rope is soft and snug, and he can glance down any time and see how good the blue looks looped around his wrists. But he struggles to get them tied evenly when he’s one-handed, and he doesn’t want it to look sloppy. 

Eddie likes effort. It’s a weird thing to notice about a friend, even a friend you might’ve hooked up with a couple times. It’s pretty obvious, though; Steve watched him run a game for the kids once, and promptly decided never to watch again. 

Eddie throws all of himself into the game, all the time. It’s so much work. Steve’s seen the pages and pages of notes he keeps in his ragged binders, the way he commits to acting out all the different characters even when he sounds objectively dumb, how he gets so caught up in the moment that he’ll climb up on the goddamn table. Eddie never holds back.

He demands a lot from his players, too. They can fail. But even in that one game that Steve watched, it was obvious that Eddie doesn’t want them to fail; he just wants them to win while struggling against the toughest possible challenge. He wants to find their limits, and then push just a little to find their real limits. 

Nothing’s happened with Eddie since before Steve saw that stupid game, but now it’s all mixed up in his head. He keeps thinking about how Eddie had crowded close, hands hovering and light, darting in and then away again; he keeps thinking about what it would be like to hear Eddie’s voice sound the way it does when he’s telling his players off, firm and deep, as he put his hands wherever he wanted on Steve. 

So that’s what Steve’s been thinking about lately. 

And it’s why he’s here on Eddie’s bed, frog-tied and wearing a rope harness that he wishes he’d done a little fancier, because he thinks Eddie would appreciate that. Every time he’s tried a fancier harness it’s gone wrong or looked weird, though, so this will have to do. He hopes it’s enough. 

He’s not worried about it, exactly, because all of that stuff seems far away and smoothed over right now. He can remember worrying about a bunch of stuff, like whether he should be wearing clothes or not. He’d settled on just underwear because it had seemed a little too vulnerable to go without, but now that he’s all settled and feeling pretty good, he thinks that was a dumb thing to worry about.

Despite the weird way Eddie’s been avoiding him lately, Eddie had really seemed to like his dick at least twice before, so even if it’s not anything more for Eddie—even if dick is the only thing Eddie wants from Steve—he should get to have it. Eddie should get whatever he wants.

Steve shuts his eyes. He fills his lungs all the way, feeling the harness grip him a little tighter, and he exhales slowly.

He waits for the door to open.

Send me a number between 1-100 and I'll write a ficlet based on the corresponding song from my Spotify Wrapped! It will definitely be gay and may possibly be musical theater

[luna-eclipse2000]

Broken bones

Jean x gn!reader

“Remind me how you did this to yourself?” You ask as Jean enters your dorm room with a leg cast on and using crutches. “Eren was being a little shit again.” Jean answers. “Uh huh, it’s always Eren’s fault.” You say sarcastically as you close the door. “From what I heard, you started it.”

“Mikasa probably said that, she’s always sticking up for him when she knows it’s his fault!” Jean says angrily. “Ok, calm down.” You say, throwing your hands up in surrender. “Just take a seat and I’ll go get you the homework.”

You head down the small hall as Jean hobbles over to your saggy couch that you bought off Craigslist for only $50, and into your room. You head to your desk, grab your binder labeled ‘History 102’ and flip to the very back of it. You bought one that had the front and back pockets for your own homework and a spot to put those who weren’t able to make it to class that day. Once you grab the sheet with the small list of things to do for next class, you head back out to the living room to see that Jean has put his foot up on the coffee table with a pillow under it. You hold back a snicker at the sight.

“Aw, poor baby.” You tease. “You want me to kiss it better?”

“Well, now that you mention it-“

Jean says, causing you to smack his shoulder. “Hey, hey! I’m already injured, thank you.”

You roll your eyes and hand him the sheet. Jean grabs it and looks over the list. “We have to write an entire essay by Friday?”

“Yup. So you better get to it.” You say. Jean sighs and you can practically hear the wheels turning in his head as he tries to come up with an idea for this assignment. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Mhm.” You hum. “But I’m not saying because I don’t want you stealing my idea.”

“Have at least a little bit of faith in me.” He says. You look down at his cast and see that no one’s signed it yet. Maybe signing casts was an elementary thing only. You wouldn’t know because even though your high school was full of idiots, you never saw anyone with a cast on. Maybe a brace, but no casts. You remember the time when you broke your wrist from trying to do a trick on the monkey bars in second grade and how happy it made you to have your friends, family and just random classmates sign it.

So you get up from the couch and head back to your room where you grab out your pack of sharpies. You discard the boring colours- black, browns, greys, just all the darker colours because that won’t spark any joy- and re-enter the living room. You take a seat on the floor, grab out a green sharpie and sign your name in bubble letters. Then you pull out a red and pink sharpie and start doodling little hearts all around your name.

“Uh, (y/n)? What on earth are you doing?” Jean asks once he notices you. “I’m drawing.” You answer simply. “But why hearts?” Jean asks. “Because then you’ll always know that I love you even when you’re being a hot headed jerk.”

“How was I being the hot head?” Jean asks rhetorically. “Eren pushed me down the stairs!”

“Or you tripped and your ego is making you place blame on an easy target.” You say jokingly as you grab out your yellow sharpie and start drawing little smiley faces. “Ok, will you stop that?” Jean says as he shifts his leg away from you.

You look up at him with a hurt expression on your face. “Sorry… I thought you’d like it.”

“I’m sorry…” Jean apologizes. “I do really appreciate it.”

“Then can I go back to what I was doing?” You ask hopefully. Jean hesitates with answering so you pout, knowing how weak it makes him. He sighs and shuffled his leg back towards you. “Fine. Just as long as you help me with this stupid assignment.”

“Done!” You agree with a smile as you go back to drawing your smiley faces. Jean just smiles softly, shakes his head and then pulls out his phone to do a little bit of research just to be able to say he did some.

[ejzah]

In Miss Blye’s Class, Part 20

***

Since neither of them had planned on spending the whole day together, Kensi and Deeks decided to part ways for a few hours. Kensi knew she needed to finish some prep for next week, just in case they ended up spending tomorrow together too.

As she walked back into her apartment, her phone buzzed with a text from Nell.

Hey KayKay, wanna grab lunch?

Sorry, I already ate.

Rude.

I know, I’m a terrible friend. I was with Deeks.

Oh, then say no more. Actually, say lots more!

Kensi rolled her eyes at the winking and kissing emojis Nell added to her response.

Seriously, I feel bad I’ve barely spent any time with you recently.

Hey, a good friend never steps in the way of true love. Besides, you can pay me back by giving me all the dirty little details.

You’re awful.

And you love me for it. So when will my best friend be available again?

Kensi dipped ducked her head sheepishly, even though she was all alone, debating what to type back.

Um, maybe tomorrow evening? Caleb’s visiting with his grandma so we’re probably spending most of the weekend together.

Kensi Marie Blye! Nell responded and Kensi could almost hear her delighted shock through the screen.

Not like that.

Well why the hell not? Climb that gorgeous lawyer like a tree.

Nell Jones! That’s it. You’re out of control.

You know you want toooo!

Ok I’m putting you on silent.

Shaking her head, Kensi grabbed the binder of paperwork she brought home with her yesterday, and started in on the most intense grading session of her career.

***

While Deeks did had a few contracts to finalize, the real reason he’d suggested taking some time at home to prepare for their dinner. Given the late notice, he knew there was no way he’d get a reservation for one of the nicer restaurants.

Kensi wouldn’t care where they ate, he was almost certain, but he wanted their first real dinner together, alone, to be special. He’d decided on cooking dinner, but that required a trip for supplies.

When he got back three stores later—the first two were all out of bed tips—he started prepping potatoes, carrots, and onions and seared the beef tips. He hadn’t made this recipe in quite a while. Probably at least a couple years, so he had to actually pull out the stained cookbook his mom had passed down to him when he moved to college (the particular page he needed had actually fallen out years ago). He probably should have preserved all the recipes on index cards, but there was something special, almost sentimental, about squinting at the faded type and trying to interpret his mom’s handwritten notes.

Singing under his breath, he peeled several cloves of garlic, imagining Caleb’s reaction if he found out he’d missed out on one of his favorite meals. Of course, Grandma Deeks would almost certainly be filling him with a combination of her own home cooked delights and his favorite junk food, so he’d call it even.

He got into the flow of the things, chopping and sautéing that by the time he looked up from dumping a pot of perfectly boiled potatoes into a colander, it was almost seven, which gave him a little over an hour to finish everything up.

The beef tips were just about done, so he covered them with foil, setting them off to the side in the oven, and hurried out back to set up a table with the blue dishes head bought on a whim a few weeks ago because they reminded him of the ocean. Maybe surrounding the perimeter of the patio with lights and miniature lanterns was a tiny bit overkill, but he didn’t believe in doing things by halves.

Decorations and table set, he returned to the kitchen for the finishing touches. The doorbell rang just as he was tasting the gravy he just made.

“Oh yeah, you still got it, Marty,” he muttered to himself, then called over his shoulder, “Be there in a minute!”

He stashed a few dirty pans he hadn’t gotten around to cleaning in the dishwasher and glanced around to make sure there weren’t unsightly messes he’d missed. Though at this point, Kensi had probably seen worse and it didn’t seem to faze her in the least.

Kensi was patiently waiting on the front porch when he opened the door. She wore a red sundress, this one with a halter neck that displayed the defined muscles and lines of her shoulders and collar bones to perfection. Deeks didn’t know if she’d chosen it with him in mind, but the color suited her perfectly.

“Hey.” He kissed her briefly as she stepped over the threshold. “You look amazing.”

“Hi. And thank you.” Her eyes drifted over him approvingly, though she didn’t comment on his appearance. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. “What smells so delicious?”

“Dinner.”

“Wait, you cooked for me? I thought we were going out,” Kensi said, turning in the direction of the kitchen, though she couldn’t see from here.

“Yeah. I, uh, wanted to surprise you.” He shrugged, suddenly overcome with the rare bout of uncertainty that Kensi. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve loved everything you’ve made.” Kensi clapped her hands together, her enthusiasm making Deeks grin. “Ok, so I’m ready to be dazzled with your cooking expertise.”

“Follow me,” Deeks said, holding out his hand. She took it without question, letting him lead her out to patio.

“Oh my god, Deeks, this is beautiful!” Kensi exclaimed, turning in a circle to take in the twinkle lights strung around the patio and the table decorated with candles. “You did all this yourself?”

“Yeah, I told you my mom’s a caterer. I used to help her set up when I was a kid. I can turn a napkin into a swan in 20 seconds,” he responded, making Kensi giggle.

“Impressive.” She spun around in a circle, bringing her within reach of Deeks. Settling her hands on his shoulders, she covered his mouth with hers for a brief but sweet kiss. “Seriously though, this is amazing. Thank you, again.”

He smiled, pleased by her reaction. “Here for all your party planning needs,” he joked.

Kensi tipped her head to the side, her expression shifting slightly.

“What are you thinking about?” Deeks prompted, giving her hand a shake.

“Oh, all of this. You. How much my life has changed,” she said, moving her hand around to encompass Deeks and their surroundings. “I didn’t realize how much I was…missing until I met you Deeks. I mean, I was happy enough, but not like this. A few months ago, I would have never taken a day off like this. You’ve made everything brighter, and fun. Carefree. You and Caleb. You’ve changed my life without even knowing it.”

“Kens—” Deeks shook his head, overwhelmed by everything Kensi had just attributed to his influence. It was heady and a little scary.

She leaned up and kissed him, lingering for several moments. When their lips parted, she brushed his hair back from his temple with her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“You know you’ve changed my life just as much, maybe more,” Deeks told her, laughing breathily. “I mean, I was kind of prepared to become a hermit and spend the rest of my life alone. Then this really hot kindergarten teacher walked into my life.”

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous.” Kensi rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “I meant it, you have changed my life, Marty Deeks.”

***

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this little mix of fluff, romance, and humor.

I’m sorry if it’s unrealistic, but I can’t bear to write in text jargon.

[all-risejd]

I Can’t Do This Anymore

Warnings: The Judgment Day, Kinks (variety), polycule, Axiom did not approve of this, crack, plot what plot, oops, mentions of aftercare, mentions of lube, nudity, anal, awkward situations, mile-high club

1. Prelude - Axiom gets a promotion

Axiom stood stock still staring down at the piece of paper he’d been handed by a member of the Creative team. Shawn AND Hunter wanted to see him. He was either getting fired or an opportunity worth his weight in the division. They were relatively close to the Draft so maybe, maybe, he was getting a call up to Smackdown. That would be nice. He wasn’t sure how he felt about moving away from the friends he did have in NXT but he didn’t want to disappoint anyone. Frowning, he hurried to find the office in the arena. 

Hunter and Shawn were both behind the desk, the pair looked up at him as he entered. “Axiom, glad to see you!” Shawn smiled, “We have a potential career advancement for you.” 

Well, that sounded better, “We want to bring you up to RAW, potentially.” Hunter explained, “We want to start you with a trial run with The Judgment Day.” That was not what he expected, he thought for a moment that Hunter had wanted him to join LWO, which, given his whole masked persona made sense. But nope, it was the Goths. Axiom cocked his head to the side, clearly confused. Hunter chuckled, “I know you were hoping for the LWO, but we think you’d be a great fit in Judgment Day.”

Axiom cocked his head to the side before he nodded his head, “Alright, I uh, ok.” He shrugged, “When do I start?” He asked softly, still a little confused, “And do I need to change my gear?”

Shawn chuckled, “You need to go with black gear, for now, we aren't sure if you will uh, get any TV time, but for the first two weeks we just want you traveling with them.” Shawn cleared his throat as he pushed a folder toward him, “These are the latest spending accounts for The Judgment Day, we know you are good with numbers, so we’d like you to review their spending accounts, and get back to us.” Axiom nodded his head as he took the binder, and headed back out of the office, with the sinking realization that he wasn’t performing tonight. 

2. Axiom reviewing the spending of the group

His first night ‘on the job’ Hunter wanted him to review everything the Judgment Day members bought regularly. He spent a long time highlighting different purchases that he felt were… odd. Thirty-three separate handcuff purchases, nineteen Mami collars, seven industrial bottles of lube, three rather odd industrial chain purchases for seven feet in length, what amounted to seventeen mini-feast in hotel rooms across America, and several purposes from a Leather Dom Shop, that after googling had him panicking about his apparently vanilla lifestyle and sex life. He flicked his gaze upward to see that this was only a monthly total of their accounts. What the hell had he agreed to?

3. Axiom asking about handcuffs

He slid into the outside seat on the flight, and looked between Dominik at the window and Rhea in the middle. “I have counted thirty-three handcuff purchases. I’ve reviewed the footage from recent RAW and SmackDowns, and you’ve only used three sets on television, exactly where are the other thirty.”

Rhea snatched the papers, and pointed at a singular purchase, “Bolt cutters.” She said things like that explained anything. Axiom gave her a long, patient look, she continued on, “We can’t seem to keep up with the keys, so like Dom and I will be… having a night in.” He was so relieved he was wearing a mask he could feel the flush on his cheeks, “And we like to play with the cuffs, but then I… uh, we can't find the keys.” 

“So you cut them off?” Axiom asked.

Damian leaned forward from behind them, “I once had to go to a Harbor Freight in the middle of the night to pick up those bolt cutters, because Rhea had his ass up, shoulders down, hands behind his back, naked, and couldn’t find the keys.” 

4. Axiom asking about Mami collars

He had tried to get Rhea to answer his questions but the woman was infuriatingly good at ducking him, Damian and Dominik had turned out to be openly sexual with no problems, so Axiom opted to go after Finn. “Hey, Irish?” Axiom caught the man by his arm - he hadn’t had a chance to really spend that much time with him. 

“What do ya need, lad?” Finn asked, clearly in a hurry.

“I’ve been going over the reports…” He indicated to the papers in his hands, “In the last thirty days you had to purchase nineteen different collars with MAMI on them?”

Finn gave him a rude look, “Look, buddy, you are welcome here, as you know, but there are some questions you shouldn’t ask-”

“I’ve watched the RAW and SmackDowns…” Axiom started, “And I’ve counted eight possible collars-”

Finn ran a hand down his face, clearly irritated, “Look, she breaks them, ok, either in the ring, or when she and Damian are playing, he tugs on our collars.” Axiom almost asked about the our but decided that he didn’t need that information, “When the letters pop off, it’s cheaper to replace the whole thing then the letters.”

Axiom felt his face flush under his mask, as he thought about his next words, “Ok, thank you… for that, should I be on the lookout for other collar purchases?”

Finn blinked, “No, mine is leather, and Dom’s is a cute little velvet thing. We have bells on ours, not our name.” With that the man turned and stalked away, leaving Axiom awkwardly bouncing from one foot to another. He thought about texting Hunter, because this was maybe getting out of hand - he couldn’t tell if they were being honest or not about these purchases. 

5. Axiom asking about industrial bottles of lube

Hunter had asked him to hurry up with the itemized reports. It was nine in the morning, a perfectly reasonable time to be up and out of bed, he’d knocked on the door multiple times, when no one had answered, he’d opted to go down to the front desk, and based on him being the ‘manager’ of the Judgment Day (at least on paper) he got a room key for the hotel room he thought belonged to Damian.

He should have listened harder, he adjusted his mask, slid the key card into the lock, and pushed the door open - Finn’s back was the first thing he saw, sweaty and muscled, as the man on his knees bounced up and down on Damian’s lap. It took a full minute for Axiom to connect the dots - Finn was riding Damian, the sheets pooled around Finn’s hips, “Fuck.” Damian hissed, as he caught sight of Axiom, pausing his hips, and sighing.

Axiom blinked rapidly, unsure for a moment, “Hey, Damo can I grab the-” Rhea paused as she emerged completely naked from the bathroom, “-lube.” She gazed at Axiom, “Are you joining? Did you invite another boy into the bedroom without asking me?” 

“Nope.” Finn and Damian said at the same time. Rhea shrugged her shoulders, stalked across the room and grabbed one of the seven industrial bottles of lube that Axiom had meant to ask about - there were strawberries and kiwis on the front label. “What are you doing, lad?” Finn asked, curious.

“Mami, I’m colllllld.” Dominik whined from what Axiom assumed was the bathroom.

“I’m coming Dom Dom, Axiom has a question.” Dominik loudly whined, Damian made a motion with his hand indicating that Axiom should ask his question. Rhea shifted her weight, “So?”

“Uh, I don’t need to ask, I can see what you use it for.” With that he quickly retreated, slamming the door, and rushing down the hallway to his own hotel room, he tossed himself into it, locked the door, and threw himself face down on the bed, screaming - why the hell did they all have to be naked and comfortable. 

6. Axiom asking about industrial chains

For once Axiom had managed to be the passenger rider in the ‘travel’ SUV. Finn and Rhea had both flown home to visit family, so right now Axiom was riding with Damian (who was driving) and Dominik who was stretched across the backseat, playing Candy Crush on his phone. “So, you know I’ve been reviewing what you, uh, collectively have been spending money on.” 

“Right.” Damian hummed, “Find something interesting?”

The way he said it made Axiom a bit worried, was there more interesting things in their past? Should he be looking at previous month purchases? What was this man about? He cleared his throat, adjusted his mask, when it had gotten so hot in here, “There were three purchases for industrial strength chains, seven feet in length… ordered over a three week period.”

“One was for hitting my dad, but Bunny got in the way.” Dominik offered, “One was for choking Finn, right Damian?” The man behind the wheel chuckled as he agreed, “And the third one was for tying me to the hotel bed in Vegas…” He offered, unbothered. 

Axiom blinked, “Who tied you to the bed? Was it consensual? And did Finn enjoy the choking?”

“Oh, I asked for her to tie me up, I like when she’s mean.” Dominik said with a shrug.

Damian was contemplative, “Finn couldn’t really complain between my dick down his throat and the chain around his neck…” Axiom promptly slammed his head against the window and let out a painful cry. This was not information he needed, a sufficient ‘bedroom usage and ring usage’ would have been fine. Damian and Dominik were both chuckling so hard he feared for their lives. 

7. Axiom asking about late night food orders - the whole group aftercare

There is no safe time - Axiom has decided - to talk to these sex crazed goths about anything, except on the flights. Even that has to be timed properly, because they disappear in odd intervals in pairs to the bathroom, and Axiom is fairly sure they have so many mile-high club points they could fly for free. Heathens. 

The four were mercifully tired out, so he sprung the next question, leaping half over the first class seats - “What is all the room service for, I just don’t understand!” He demanded. “Seventeen late night feast? You ordered everything, everything, off the menu in seventeen different hotels, at like three in the morning.”

“Aftercare.” Rhea offered, popping a cookie into her mouth - where had she gotten those?

“Aftercare.” He repeated, “Care to elaborate?”

Damian grinned, the grin that turned Axiom’s stomach, “Well after I fuck these three I need a steak and shrimp and a shit ton of fruit. I like whiskey, too, and sometimes some wine. Finn likes to get something hearty like soup, to get his energy back, Dominik is a chocolate fiend, and needs all the desserts, and Rhea likes all the salads and steals my fruits.”

Axiom blinked, “I’m sorry, could you run that back by me again, when you… seventeen nights in the last month you fucked all three of you're stable mates?” He felt his face heating up under his mask.

“Yeah, sometimes we do marathon sex.” Dominik popped a cookie in his mouth and shrugged.

“Marathon.. The other thirteen to fourteen nights what… do you sleep?” Axiom regretted the question as he asked it.

“We rotate.” Damian offered, “Every night I’m not keeping them up all hours of the night, we trade off by drawing our names out of a hat.” 

“A… hat.” Axiom slid back into his seat, his mind trying not to crack open like an egg. It wasn’t safe, he decided, to ask them questions whatsoever. Maybe he should just stop asking, wait for his week to be up, then go back to NXT, that seemed safer - he wasn’t sure if he wanted Damian’s attention on him or his body, the older man had turned to size him up with a crooked smile. “Interesting.” 

8. Axiom walking out of the bathroom only to find a stack of leather clothing, clearly just ordered

It was his last night, thankfully, thankfully, with the group. He had planned to tell Hunter and Shawn that he just couldn’t. He had locked his door, and had considered putting the desk against it - all four of the Judgment Day stable had increased their over the top flirting and touching of him since the discussion of late night orders, he knew for a fact there had been a feast the night before. He wrapped the towel around his waist, made sure his mask was in place - just in case, you could never be too sure - then he stepped out of his bathroom.

Neatly on his bed, wrapped in purple paper with a huge black bow was a gift box. He scanned the room and saw no one, his door was still shut, the curtains still pulled. He made sure the towel was properly around his waist, as he moved closer to the bed. A cute little note was on top:

Axiom, we are so glad you have decided to join us, as a thank you we got you some new duds, and your official scroll with your name on it to be added to our hat rotation, XOXO - TJD.

He dropped the note, letting out a deep shriek, “Noooo.” He wasn’t going to open it, he paced his room, but his curiosity got the best of him. With shaking hands he opened the top, inside was a new gear set which was admittedly nice, below that however, was a leather thong of sorts, with tassels hanging off of it, and additional leather straps, that seemed to do some sort of crossbody design. Under that was a collar with AXIOM embossed on the top, he wasn’t sure what noises he made, but he knew he prayed harder than he’d ever prayed in his life, he packed everything back up in the box, put the letter back, and hurried into his street clothes. He packed up quickly, and headed to check out before the others could miss him.

9. Axiom is done

“I appreciate you thinking about me for RAW or Smackdown, but I can’t do this anymore.” Axiom slammed his fist down on Hunter’s desk, “I can’t stand the thought of seeing one more naked body part, I don’t want to know what they purchase or why, and I don’t want to have to bleach my brian at least once a day to get over the fact that one of them has either overshared or announced a kink that I just can not…” Axiom slammed a bunch of papers down on the table, “They enjoy a strange life and I can’t…”

Hunter gazed down at the papers, “Damnit, I thought you’d like it, now I’m going to have to try JD…” 

Axiom twitched, “How many have you tried to put in the fifth position with the Judgment Day?”

“Oh you're number eleven…” Hunter sighed, “Seriously, I asked them to tone down the sex…”

Axiom opened his mouth, then promptly changed his mind. “I’m going back to NXT, at least I know what to expect in the Hellspace that is our parking lot…” He trailed off, as he slowly backed out of the door, bothered. 

10. Bonus

“Do you think Hunter is going to stop trying, now?” Dom asked, as he cuddled into bed with Rhea, Damian and Finn - the four were watching Lady and the Tramp in matching pajamas, under their black comforter, in the shared hotel room. Rhea had the popcorn balanced on her lap, while Damian was holding Dominik’s cup of milk.

“I’m sure if he tries it again, we can just get rid of them, like we did the last dozen.” Damian promised, as he chuckled. Finn hummed his agreement, “Think of how upset that poor boy would have been to know that we really order room service every night, just we use our own money half the time.”

[luffythinker]

how do you feel about this Ojiro and Tokoyami

Tokoyami always felt bad about having flat chest all the other girls had bigger ones so he grew up feeling inadequate. Ojiro just wants to get rid of his larger chest they meet at the first day of UA start a friendship. Ojiro is shy to bring it up but tells Tokoyami he wants to go by he/him and Tokoyami tells him he has no problems and appreciates Ojiro telling him. Tokoyami also goes by he/him.

It's hard on Ojiro to have to use the girl's bathroom it makes him feel terrible and he probably struggled with this in middle school he feels like he's made no progress with his gender because of this but doesn't tell his friend about it, this stays with him.

Before the sports fes Ojiro is just sparking conversation one day and says he's jealous of Tokoyami, his chest is flat and doesn't get in the way (Ojiro uses a binder, he didn't at first, first he used to just wrap his chest until he finally bought one)

Tokoyami never had anything like this said to him and assures Ojiro he isn't without his own wants and needs for his body. Tokoyami used to be jealous of girls because his body was never like one. He always felt different (totally not cause the bird head)

Tokoyami says maybe one day they will have the perfect bodies they both want.

INDEED THEY DO Tokoyami doesn't have the desire to change his body he just wants to be a boy and thats what his friends at UA allow him to be a boy.

Ojiro on the other hand he wants to change his body, he starts taking the necessary steps, he's using T everything in his life is going good. Ojiro is finally able to look at his self in the mirror and smile.

Tokoyami was apart of this journey the whole way through, he supported Ojiro along with the whole class it made Tokoyami so happy to see his friend comfy in his own skin, this is the part where they fall for eachother they did so much time helping eachother and exploring their own bodies they were now ready to start exploring each-others bodies.

You know the drill, sneaking into eachothers dorm rooms to sleep together (And i mean actually sleep but maybe they mess around sometimes) touching hands in the dorm kitchen somehow my hand ended up on top of yours, hugs lasting longer, hands being held, hurting with eachother when things go wrong, remembering their past and creating their future

I think the gays are gonna be ok :)

Another pairing I have never ever considered but let's dive in together shall we

Oh we going t4t here?? love that already So what I'm getting is nonbinary he/him Tokoyami and transmasc he/him Ojiro? are we on the same page? bc i really love that

the bathroom part broke my heart bc I get it!! Imagine Tokoyami taking Ojiro to the men's bathroom for the first time, he's very nervous so they hold hands, take a deep breath, and go in together, it may seem small for everyone else but it's huge for them, ojiro is so thankful to have someone who gets him as a friend (at this time)

I vibe with this Tokoyami so much, bc I'm nonbinary too and besides my chest, I don't have many issues with my body, so I can understand him not wanting to get surgery or any major changes but still having that lingering feeling about it

Love that for our boy Ojiro, i can see tokoyami helping him film those videos that record your voice and body progress on T, they totally do this every other month

I think falling in love was inevitable for them in this scenario, they were each other's first love, in the sense that they were the first perosn to truly love the other in all the ways there is, and understanding the other in the deepste level

youg trans love is so sweet, let's all give it up for trans teens in love guys!!

[bearberrythief]

Realizing a lot of things I took as being uncomfortable with how women are sexualized are, in fact, disphoria, made a lot of things make sense.

I was an early bloomer. I started developing breasts at nine. The boys I was friends with instantly started treating me differently. I didn't like it, but I thought my breasts would stay small. They didn't. I was into the drawer of beige and black large cup sizes by the time I was thirteen, decidely larger than my peers, larger than my Mom, than most of my teachers.

I spent hours of my youth staring at my new breasts imagining a sharp kitchen knife making neat incisions, the skin peeling back neatly and that same blade perfectly removing the wet lumps of tissue, areolas cut to a manageable size, the skin folding down and leaving me with a perfectly flat chest. I learned that sometimes women lost their breasts to cancer, and I fanatsized about needing a masectomy. Sometimes, I wouldn't imagine a knife. I'd imagine my fingers digging into the skin and tearing them from my chest in two big handfuls, and it would hurt, but I'd be free. I imagined them withering away into nothing, of them simply sloughing away at a touch, being trimmed away with a giant pair of scissors, frozen off like a mole, melting away like wax.

I hated how big they were, that I couldn't hide them. I felt the same thing about my hips, but the violence of my thoughts about my breasts overwhelmed me. It didn't help that they were decidely above average, a full G cup. I thought if I was beautiful, if I learned how to dress with them, I would be happy. I played a confident, feminine woman at home in my body. But I never stopped feeling like my breasts belonged to someone else, being surprised and horrified that this was my body.

(I still remember the pain and disappointment when my first boyfriend told me he only talked to me in the first place because he liked big boobs and I had the best he'd seen on a real person. It was a cold reminder of how other people saw me)

I finally got a breast reduction when I was twenty one, and I was so happy they were smaller, in the average range instead of the big tiddy range, but I was also profoundly disappointed they weren't small enough. I still had big boobs. Some of those violent fantasies returned, my fresh incisions peeling open like flower petals, the unwanted tissue falling away. We're so sorry, the doctors would say, there were complications we had to remove more. It's all right, I'd reply serenely, it's not your fault this isn't so bad. When I recovered, i felt so ungrateful in my disappointment. My back didn't hurt anymore, my breasts were still large, but averagely so, I didn't have to tailor my clothes anymore, I wasn't being catcalled regularly anymore. Why was I disappointed? Why couldn't I be happy? I got what I wanted.

I started dressing much more conservatively as I got older. Higher necklines. Looser fits. A therapist pointed it out to me once, asked me if I was dressing to try and hide my body. No, I lied, I used to wear tight clothing when I was younger to try and be beautiful to try and take up less space this is me dressing comfortably. I stopped taking photos of myself that showed anything but my face. I didn't look at myself in the mirror. I couldn't hide them they were still too large. My partner ignored my breasts for the most part, a blessing.(The nerves were weird after surgery anyways.) I healed more from surgery, and the scar tissue softened. I hated it. I wished they were hard and small again, like when I looked at myself with the bandages freshly removed, the incisions still red and angry.

I switched to progesterone only birth control in an effort to stop my period. I cried when I realized the hormones meant my breasts got bigger. Shit man, I thought to myself, I'm probably nonbinary anyways maybe I should have just gotten top surgery. I ignored that thought for years until, eventually, I bought a binder. I was too scared to try it on for months. I tried it on after months of it sitting in my sock drawer and put on one of my partners sweaters over it. I could still tell I had breasts, but the binder and the loose sweater made them flat enough that I could imagine myself without them. It was like I was seeing myself for the first time in years.

I started imagining the knife again, skin peeling away in a thin sheet, the fog of anesthesia, the strange feeling of drains in my side, and the dull ache around shiny red incisions. I longed for it, a fish hook in my ribcage tugging gently. It didn't feel like violent desire anymore, so I let it pull me.