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iambilliejeanok · 3 years ago

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🌼Baby boyfriend🌼

🍄Fluff Monday 🍄

Purely fluff🌈

Pairings: Kakashi x reader

🧚🏾‍♀️🧚🏾‍♀️🧚🏾‍♀️🧚🏾‍♀️🧚🏾‍♀️🧚🏾‍♀️🧚🏾‍♀️🧚🏾‍♀️🧚🏾‍♀️🧚🏾‍♀️🧚🏾‍♀️🧚🏾‍♀️🧚🏾‍♀️🧚🏾‍♀️🧚🏾‍♀️🧚🏾‍♀️🧚🏾‍♀️🧚🏾‍♀️

Hearing the door shut, you looked up from the couch to see your boyfriend step in the house, his clothes all dirty and his face wearing a weary expression as he slowly slid his mask off, slumping back against the wall in exhaustion. As quick as could be, you stood in front of him your arms wrapping around his slender torso to embrace him in a long and warm hug. Lazily, his arm came around you, pulling you closer with all the strength he had, pressing a small and quick kiss to your cheek. Looking up at him, you wore the cutest pout on your face, “You wanna come and nap with me? I’m sure you’ll feel better once you wake up. And we could catch up on other stuff later in the night”, you spoke while casually stripping him, taking off his flak jacket followed by his hitai-ate and mask, dropping them in a pile next to his shoes. You couldn’t help the smile that crept up on you at the small nod he made to your suggestion. “Poor baby, come”, you said, taking his larger hand in your smaller one and leading him straight to the bathroom. With his eyes closed he leaned against the counter, breathing in the soft mango scent of the melatonin bubble bath. While the tub was still running, you turned on a few candles the two of found together and instantly fell in love with, placing one on each corner, already excited for the evening. Cuddles were always amazing with the hubby. Closing the tap, you looked over to him, giggling when you noticed his droopy eyes staring right at the perfect view of your ass. “Oi sleepy head”, you giggled, walking over to him to wrap your arms around his neck, his own arms instinctively wrapping around your waist, running his hand up and down your back while you both made eye contact. “You’re too tired”, you teased, planting a soft kiss on his lips for the first time this evening. His lips immediately hungered for yours, his hand coming to rest at the back of your head and keep you in place as he deepened the kiss, running his tongue along your lips before you started pushing against his chest to get him to stop. You weren’t expecting the kiss to grow so intense, panting as you both got lost in each other’s eyes once again. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up baby”, you breathed, licking your plump lips as your hands set to work. Small kisses fell all over his body while you slowly undressed him, savoring this peaceful moment between the two of you. No work, no teenagers, no stinky puppies. Just the two of you, enjoying each other’s presence.

Kakashi shut his eyes, taking in deep breaths at the soft and warm kisses you planted across his naked body, little tingles shooting along his spine every time the rough skin of your hands met the skin on his body. Finally coming back up, you had to a take a deep breath at the sight of his naked body. Sure you’ve seen him butt naked more times than you could count, but there was just something so special about seeing him like this. No mask, all his feelings on display, his dick hard, completely vulnerable, to no one else but you. You felt chosen. “The water is ready”, you whispered in his ear, his eyes slowly fluttering open from the kiss you placed on his lips. “Hmmm. Let’s go”, he said walking over and settling in, reaching out for you to join him. “Baby, I already had a bath”, you pouted, absolutely hating the decision you made to bathe earlier on, but also glad that you could use this opportunity to spoil him. “But I want you in here with me! I wanna cuddle”, he whined in his deep voice, the begging tugging at your heart. “Here baby, just relax and I’ll take care of you”, you said, reaching for the loofah and a bar of raw butter soap, lathering up the loofah before gently rubbing down Kakashi’s chest, scrubbing away the dirt from the day. Working the loofah all over his body, a deep sigh he let out distracted you, and you smiled when you looked up to see his eyes shut. You were really happy he was just relaxing in this moment.

After going over his body once again with a sponge and some raw sugar scrub, you slowly started kissing his face again, waking him up from the delicious trans you put him under. “Babyyyy…”, you whispered. “Wakey wakey”. “Mmmm”, he moaned, slowly opening his eyes to your soft kisses. “Lets get you in bed love”, you spoke, making sure you weren’t too loud to pull him out of his relaxed mood. It really took a lot for Kakashi to relax and you would kill yourself if you ruined it right now. “Nooo”, he whined, the out of character whining making you giggle a little. “Baby, you can’t stay in here, you’re getting all pruny”. “Please baby…just stay with me for a little longer”, he fussed. “I’m not going anywhere goofy. I just need to get you out of this tub”, you laughed. “Oh”, was all he said, huffing in disapproval for having to move his body. Helping him stand up, you wrapped him in a fresh towel, leaving him to wipe himself down while you went to fetch some clean slippers for him. When you came back you found him still standing on the exact same position you left him in, a little glint of mischief in his eyes. “Kakashi you’re still wet?”, you spoke, placing the slippers down so he could step into them. “I thought you were going to wipe me down?”, he asked, his face wearing the normal casual look he always had, expect this time you could see him pout a little. “Kashi you couldn’t just do it yourself?”, you asked in disbelief. “No. I couldn’t”, was all he said, unwrapping himself to hand you the towel. “Omg what a fucking baby”, you mused, taking the towel from his hand so you could start patting him dry, paying extra attention to his private area and toes. “Your baby”, he randomly grumbled, while you tossed it in the laundry basket and handed him a robe.

Finally laying in bed Kakashi was dressed in nothing but a pair of puppy printed boxers, while you had on a sweater and a pair of grey undies. You couldn’t believe the whining you heard from the bathroom as you finished cleaning up, coming out to see Kakashi just laying there on the bed, his arms and legs sprawled out like he was dying. “Y/n! Hurryyyyy”, he called, not realizing you stood right in the bathroom doorway. You know you could be a big baby but he was superior at this. “Princessssss!”, he called again “Come quic-“, he called before you cut him off. “I’m right here love”, you laughed, watching him turn his head in the slightest to see you standing there. “Oh okay”, he softly said, “Come to me”. Walking over to him you began talking, “Kashi just rest a little and I’ll be right over to cuddle okay”, “But you know I can’t fall asleep if it’s not in your arms”, he said, pulling you closer to him, man even if he was tired he was still strong. “What nonsense is that Kashi, you always sleep just fine without me ho-”, you started to say but he simply hushed you with a single finger on your lips, a short moment before you both burst out in laughter. Kakashi pulling you into him and rolling on top of you so you were trapped, his face nuzzling your bosom and hand holding yours as he began to relax a little more. You sighed in defeat, running your fingers in his hair which you knew would take him out. Hearing him mumble stopped your hand in his hair, making him whine out in frustration. “Kashi I can’t hear you if your face is buried in my chest. “Okay fine, please take off your sweater. It’s too much for me”, he complained, tugging on it like he had not a single bitty bit of strength to even fathom the fact that you wore this skin barrier. Rolling your eyes you did as he asked, “of course baby, there you go”, you said, your upper body now completely bare. Slowly he started nipping and sucking on your breasts while you ran your fingers through his hair and before long, you could hear him softly breathing, his kisses having stopped a long time ago, but those left you a little sleepy too. Yawning, you looked down at him nuzzled between your breasts, smiling at how cute he was tonight. He was your boyfriend and you’d spoil him with as much attention and affection as possible.

#naruto imagines #soft kakashi #kakashi naruto #kakashi fluff #kakashi x reader #naruto fluff

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thegremlincrowsnest · 3 years ago

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Good Vibes - A Stripper!Kiri x Reader AU NSFW

This is my contribution to the Magic Mike Collab by the illustrious Angelashido

CW: Use of pussy, clit, cunt. Daddy used in a sexual context,

Disclaimer: All Reader inserts are brown and ftm trans! Reader will have he/him pronouns. All characters are over 18. Minors DNI!

“Good Boys listen to daddy don’t they, my darlin.’”

Those words rang through your head almost every day you went to work.

The deep bass of his voice, the warmth of his hands, the hungry look in his eye.

They all haunted your dreams since you started working at Fatgum’s Farm. A southern farm themed strip club where the servers and performers dressed as either cowboys, farm hands, or farm animals. Your “uniform” was a cow printed bikini with a matching tail, ears, and horns. The straps dug into the plush flesh of your brown hips and sides, but you reveled in the stares you would get.

However, you weren’t the only one who had a liking for your outfit.

Eijiro Kirishima was one of the house favorites. A stripper who went by Red Riot, was very intrigued by your appearance. Tall and built like a house, he wore assless chaps, a black thong, and a cowboy hat. Besides the outfit leaving nothing to the imagination, he did love to tease you. Letting his hand slip ever so slightly lower as he walked by, would leave you with a lingering warmth for the rest of the night.

He’s a sweet man though, always walking you to your car and taking care of any customers who got too handsy. Although you never did complain the few times he had to pretend to be your boyfriend. One time in particular, actually. You had a customer gripping your wrist, begging for a kiss, and refusing to let go. Eijiro came up behind you, pulling the man’s hand off of you before putting a protective grip on your waist. Your mind went blank for a moment, feeling his solid body pressed against your side as his fingers dug into the meat of your hip.

“-you go along now baby.” A voice said, shaking you out of your fog. You stood there for a moment before a strong hand gripped your cheeks gently. Turning your face to him, his grip lowered onto your ass.

He gripped it tightly as he spoke. “Good boys, listen to daddy, ‘ight darlin’?” He asked with a low growl. His eyes quickly darted down to your slightly puckered lips, thick and painted red, before looking back up into your eyes.

“Y-yes sir.” Was all you could say before running off to the back to cool yourself off.

That was weeks ago and since then you’ve had your fun with teasing him. Grinding your ass against his bulge “accidentally”, pressing your breast against him with soft groans laced into whatever you were suggesting. Every time, you saw his crimson eyes darken and he licked his lips, looking at your display with hunger. He would recuperate, grabbing your ass as he walked by or snapping the straps of your bikini bottoms against your ass just to see your fat ripple. Today, however, you decided to try and make a move. The two of you were closing for the evening and were the last to leave.

As you walked into the back to change you saw Ejiro standing outside of the entrance. “Ya know you don’t hafta wait outside when it's the two of us right?” You comment to him as you walk inside.

“I know but my mamas raised me to be respectful,” he replies as he walks closer, leaning against a nearby locker as he begins to scroll on his phone. You smirked as you began to strip in front of him, as your back turned to him you felt his eyes trail down your back. Usually, you just threw on some sweats and changed at the house. But tonight you wanted to see how far you could push him. As you pulled off your bra you turned back to him, placing your hands on your hips you smirked. He was standing awkwardly against the locker, face buried in his phone with the faintest of blush dusting his cheeks. “Don’t tell me ya never saw a pretty body naked have ya Eiji?” You taunt as you walk closer to him. Only coming up to his chest you giggled as you pressed up against him.

His breath caught in his chest as he looked down at you. “Now doll… I know we’ve been teasing each otha for a while not..” He started, gripping your chin to keep your eyes on his. “But if ya want this I warn ya… I aint gentle,” he finishes lowly. You can only giggle and bite the inside of your cheek.

"Who says I want it to be soft?” You retort.

Suddenly you’re lifted up and pressed against the lockers by strong arms as a pair of soft lips are pressed against yours. You moan into his kiss as his large hands grip the fat of your thighs and ass. “Fuck baby, do ya know how hard it is for me to just sit by and watch as these hips swing by my stage,” he growls. You can’t get a word out as he sticks two thick fingers into your mouth. Soft whimpers echo through the changing room as your drool drips down his hand. He pulls them out and kisses you gently before slowly sliding a finger inside of you. He groans lowly as he feels how tight you are, your pussy clenches around his finger, desperately trying to suck him in. You stay like this, him stretching you slowly as he adds one more finger, scissoring you apart as he watches your face. How it contorts, how your eyes cross slightly as he feels your sweet spot, it all goes straight to his cock.

“Look at you..taking my fingers like a good little boy should,” he remarks as he looks down at the absolute mess you’ve made. He gently lays you down on a nearby bench, taking off his sweatshirt and folding it up before placing it underneath your hips. You watch as he slides off his pants and boxers, drool escaping you slightly as you watch his cock slowly reveal itself. Thick as heavy that even with it fully hard it can barely stand by itself. He positions himself between your legs, tapping his cock against your pussy. He smirks as he hears your voice hitch, feeling how heavy it is. He looks at you with concerned eyes, studying your face for any sign of discomfort only to find lust-blown eyes looking back at him. He grips your thighs tightly as they push them up to your chest. Your pussy clenches as you feel his fingers sink into the fat of your thighs. He slowly pushes in, biting his lip as he feels the hot, tight walls of your entrance. You reach up, digging your nails into his arms as his grip tightens on your hips.

Eiji gives you only a moment to rest before he pulls out, watching as your lips grip his shaft, glistening from how wet you are. He can’t help the deep growl in his chest as he pushes back in. He picks up the pace, leaning down on his forearms he leans his forehead against yours. The slapping of his balls against your ass echoes loudly. “God damn… you’re so fucking tight-ngh- didn’t think you could take me so well,” he moans out.

You let out a shaky laugh as your legs tighten around his waist. “D-didn’t know you thought so little oh fuck yes of me Eiji~” You replied. Your mixed juices dripped down the curve of your ass, adding to the explicit sounds coming from your rendezvous. To keep himself quiet he buries his face in the crook of your neck, biting and marking his way down to your chest.

Your whines grew louder as you felt the head of his cock hit your most sensitive spot. Your back arched and your nails drew blood from how hard they scratched down his shoulders. “Ah there it is~” He remarks as he sits up a bit, angling his thrusts to keep hitting your sweet pot. Absolutely enamoured by how fucked out you look, eyes crossed and drool dropping from the corner of your mouth, he can see the beginnings of hickeys bloom across your warm brown skin. It made his cock throb. “You’re all mine baby boy, no one else can have this tight pussy except me,” he announced as he began to thrust faster. Rubbing your clit in slow stuff movements he can’t help but smile seeing how your body reacts to the softest of touches. You can barely respond, only nodding your head and whimpering as you feel the knot in your loins tighten. “Gonna cum for me baby? Go on, I’m feelin’ nice today,” he remarks as he feels your pussy tighten around him. He thrusts faster, pinching and rubbing your clit along with his thrusts as he watches your face. You turn your head as you feel yourself about to climb over the edge before you feel a strong hand grip your chin. “Now now. Good boys look at daddy when they cum, I wanna see those eyes cross when ya squirt on my cock,” he commands. His smirk, usually holding warmth and comfort, throws you over the edge with a loud moan. Holding onto him like your life depended on it, you can’t help the cacophony of noises that spilled from your lips. He doesn’t relent, continuing to pound away at your quivering entrance.

“E-eiji nngj s-sensitive,” you moaned out, hot tears streaming down brown cheeks as you tried to move away from his powerful thrusts.

“Shh baby let daddy use you a little bit longer,” he comments as he hooks your legs over his shoulders as he holds your face gently. His large palms squish your cheeks gently as he speeds up his thrusts, your toes curl, and your body quakes as you feel his cock throb inside of you. Looking up at him with unfocused eyes you hold onto his wrists.

“C-cum inside daddy~ please~” You squeaked. That broke him, holding you close to him he unloaded inside of you, groaning loudly he humps against you. Feeling his cock throb and pulse as rope after rope of cum unloads inside of your tight cunt.

He keeps your bodies close together, kissing your face and lips gently as he asks how you're feeling. “I wasn’t too rough with you, was I sweetheart?” He asks as he wipes away tears. You shake your head and lean into his touch.

“No no...that was exactly what I wanted,” you replied. He chuckles as he lets your legs down gently, rubbing your hips and joints to ease the tension.

“Good. Cause as soon as I get you home, you’re gonna need to call off tomorrow.”

#bnha kirishima eijirou #red riot #bnha kirishima x reader #kirishima smut #bnha kirishima #kirishima eijirou #x reader smut #kiri smut #poc!reader #poc reader #ftm!reader #ftm reader #magic mike collab #cernunnos thoughts #cernunnos writing #bnha smut

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 years ago

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We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 2: The Middle Of Nowhere]

You are a Russian Grand Duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You hate each other.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution (1917-1923) and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

Song inspiration: “the 1” by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Lots of shouting, if you never learned about the Russian Revolution then here's your mini crash course, references to historical stuff like violence and disease, Kroshka the mule emerges as the only emotionally stable character.

Word count: 4.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Taglist: @imtheinvisiblequeen @okilover02 @adrenaline-roulette @youngpastafanmug @m-1234 @tensecondvacation @deacyblues @haileymorelikestupid @rogerfuckintaylor @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @mo-whore

I wake up feeling harder, as if sleeping on the ground with all its stones and cool indifference has taught my spine to straighten, to endure. This is a welcome revelation. I will need to be resilient, for my family and for myself. I also wake determined to set things right with my rescuer. I am a perfectly charming person, Mother and Papa have always said so; I’m not painfully shy like Olga, or aloof like Tati, or rather dull like Maria, and I certainly don’t run around putting frogs in people’s shoes like Anastasia. I make for excellent company. Surely Ben will realize this and we will become inseparable travel companions.

Outside in the overcast brisk morning air, Ben is already busy tacking the mule. He glances over and tosses me an apple. It bounces out of my floundering hands and rolls off into the woods. This is not an auspicious start to the day.

“You’ll still have to eat that,” Ben says. “There’s no extra food. I was only able to ask for as much as I could justify needing myself.”

“Right.” I go fetch the apple—rummaging around in leaves and sticks and shrubs—and take a bite, even though it’s bruised and definitely tastes like dirt. I beam at Ben triumphantly. I am tough! I am daring! I am enchanting! I can pull my own weight on this journey!

Ben doesn’t seem to notice. He pats the mule’s thick brown neck and smiles fondly at her. “How are we feeling this morning, Kroshka? Hmm? Who’s a lovely mule? Who’s going to take us all the way to the Trans-Siberian Railroad without even one measly word of complaint? That’s right, you are! Yes you are!” He lands a smacking kiss on the velvety grey fur of her muzzle.

I attempt polite conversation; more than that, I endeavor to learn about my dashing yet evasive rescuer. “So, tell me Ben, have you worked for Sir Buchanan long?”

“Four years,” Ben replies curtly.

“And you are…” I think of his notebook. “A…writer of some sort for him…?”

“I’m his press attaché.”

“Ah.” I recognize the French word for ‘attach,’ but not its meaning in the context of employment with an ambassador. “I can’t say I know what that entails.”

“I handle Sir Buchanan’s relations with the Russian newspapers. Drafting statements and briefing him on local opinions and the like. And since his health has declined, I find myself delivering some of his particularly confidential correspondence.”

“Oh, I see. And he could spare you for this mission? It seems like a burden that would be better carried by a man with military or exploratory experience.”

“My Russian is passable. And I can tolerate rougher conditions than most.” He points to a pile of clothes he’s laid out on a tree stump. “Those are for you. There’s a stream out that way.” He flicks a thumb towards the east. “Get ready however you need to, but be prepared to leave in fifteen minutes.”

I examine the clothing: plain and practical undergarments, a heavy wool sweater, stockings, boots, and something unexpected. I hold them up with clammy hands. “These are…” I swallow noisily. “Trousers.”

“Yes. They’re travel attire. Comfortable and easy to maneuver in if we need to move quickly.”

“I’ve never worn trousers before.”

“I thought you were amenable to a…a…what did you call it? An adventure. A grand adventure.” He says this melodramatically, like there’s some humor in it. Like he’s mocking me.

“I suppose I am,” I mutter, still scrutinizing the trousers.

“Fifteen minutes,” Ben reminds me sternly. Then he begins to disassemble the tent.

I trudge off through the woods until I find the stream. I clean myself with ice-cold water, drink it down until my teeth ache, change out of my nightgown and into these strange new clothes—Trousers! Mother would lock me in church for a month!—and gaze up into the cloudy, pastel blue sky that peeks between the fingers of the trees. It is very still here, and cold, and deathly quiet. I try to remember the last time I was truly alone, without Mother or Papa or my siblings or servants or guards within shouting distance. There is none that I can remember; perhaps there is none at all. Out here in the Siberian wilderness I feel unmoored from civilization, diminutive, vulnerable, peculiarly inconsequential. I decide I don’t like being alone. By the time I return to our campsite, Ben is ready and waiting beside the loaded cart. His right hand is resting on a clunky metal monster with ‘Olivetti’ written on it.

“I’m a press attaché,” he says with a mischievous grin. “And you’re a typist.”

“A what?”

“You work for Sir Buchanan’s office as a typist. That’s our story, anyway. You came along to assist me during my audience with the former tsar, and now we’re traveling back to Sir Buchanan’s headquarters in Saint Petersburg. So if anyone happens to ask, that’s what you are to tell them. Oh, and you’re British. Your English sounds clean enough.”

“Alright,” I reply, still gaping at the metal monster like a black box with gnashing fangs. “But what is that?”

Ben’s jaw falls open. “You don’t…?” Then he rubs his forehead, sighing deeply. “Jesus Christ. You’ve never used a typewriter. Of course you haven’t. Great. Fantastic.”

“We always write by hand. My penmanship is flawless, Mother saw to that.” She’s still battling with Anastasia, but that’s a war that may go on as long as the one between the sun and the moon.

“Okay. Okay. This works out, actually. Because I’m not going to entertain you all day. So here is your assignment.” Ben slaps the back of what he tells me is a typewriter, and then waves for me to come closer. He reaches into the pocket of his coat and produces a British passport. Every line is filled out except for the name. He slides the paper into the machine and makes some bewildering adjustments. “So, you insert the paper, set the carriage—that’s this roller-type piece here—and type.” He taps forcefully on the keys until two words appear in the blank reserved for the passport holder’s name: Lana Brinkley.

“That’s me?” I ask doubtfully.

Ben smirks, amused. “That’s you.”

“So you could have given me a better name if you wanted to!”

“But then how would you learn humility?” He removes the fraudulent passport, shakes the paper until it dries, folds it into a neat little square, and slips it back into his coat pocket. “If you’re typing a longer message, the typewriter will ding when you’ve reached the end of each line. Then you use the lever to move the paper down, reset the carriage, and resume typing.”

I nod, but without much confidence. This seems complicated.

“You said you wanted a carriage,” Ben teases.

“Yes, one with magnificent draft horses and velvet seats and preferably no less than two servants. Not…whatever that is.”

“Well, if you’re going to pass for a typist, I’m afraid you must learn to type.” He finds me a stack of blank paper in his collection of bags and trunks, and then climbs into the front of the cart as I get into the back. The trousers, I hate to admit to myself, do make it easier to move around, although I’m not sure I approve of how much they accentuate the shape of my body. The thought of Ben looking at me in them gives me a plunging sort of feeling that is half-mortification and half-thrill…not that he has exhibited any interest at all. “Before we go any farther, do you have anything with you that I don’t know about?”

He means things like the heirlooms I have squirreled away in the large steamer trunk: the jewels sewn into my dress, the photograph. I can sense that he wouldn’t want me to have them, although I’m not sure why. In any case, I have no intention of giving them up. The jewels are the only thing of value that I have to trade if we find ourselves in a desperate situation. The photograph is the only string left that connects me back to my family, my home. “No,” I reply primly.

“Good.” He whistles at the mule and she tugs us through the trees and out onto the dirt road that leads, eventually, to the train station. As we ride joltingly along, the creaky cart wheels bumping over every rock and mound and muddy trough, I practice my typing: very slowly at first, and with only my index fingers. I read aloud as I go, gradually picking up speed.

“There once was a German princess born in the Duchy of Hesse. She was very beautiful but very shy. She had a wonderful talent for playing piano, but would run and hide if anyone asked her to perform in public. One day, when she was attending the wedding of her sister, the princess met a prince from a distant kingdom. They were only children, but they instantly knew they had found true love. They snuck off together and carved their names into a window pane. Over the years, each conspired to marry the other. They refused many suitors and wrote each other hundreds of letters. His family did not approve of the princess’s religion and lack of charisma; her family did not approve of the prince’s distant and troubled nation. But at last it became apparent to all that no earthly forces could keep the couple apart. Ten years after their first meeting, the prince and princess were finally married. And they lived joyously and peacefully in each other’s service for the rest of their days.”

Ben lights one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. The smoke doesn’t bother me; on the contrary, it reminds me of Papa smoking his pipe in his study, in the garden, as he read to us by the fireplace, as he danced with Mother in ballrooms back when she could still dance. It reminds me of home. “I’m not sure if you’ll ever give Shakespeare a run for his money, but I’ll admit I’m marginally entertained.”

I smile to myself, sentimental warmth rising in my face. “It’s Papa and Mother’s story.”

“Huh. I didn’t know your people were allowed to marry for love.”

By ‘your people,’ he seems to mean royalty, and there is some derision in his deep voice. “Well, surely duty must come first. But when love can accompany it, that’s a happy coincidence.”

“And what if duty compels you to marry a man who is, say, cruel? Or dreadfully boring? Or in love with another woman? Or who closely resembles a mole-rat?”

I resume my typing with a new exercise. For each letter of the alphabet, I type a French word that begins with it. “I don’t think that sort of thing happens very often.”

“But if it did.”

I shrug, not especially enjoying this topic of discussion. “Then duty comes first, as I said. But I believe most royal couples are perfectly content. At least nine out of every ten.”

“That many!” Ben marvels sarcastically. “Have you ever considered that your own personal experience, as pleasant as it may be, could be coloring your perception of how the world works?”

I ignore him and continue my typing. Attaché for A, bisou for B, croissant for C, doux for D…

After a moment, Ben says: “You aren’t going to regale me with another fairytale? I’m devastated.”

“I’m busy practicing my French now. Please don’t intrude.”

“You speak French as well as Russian and English?” He sounds impressed; for a split second anyway, just long enough for me to catch it like a firefly in my fist.

“And Italian, and Latin. And I’ve just started on Japanese.”

“But no German? That seems like it would be an easier beast to slay.”

“I’ve always purposefully avoided learning it, even though Mother’s family is German. I never envisioned myself marrying a German. I figured Maria could take that bullet. She doesn’t care, she’d marry anyone who could give her a castle and ten babies and a bulldog or two. I would say she was a milkmaid in a past life, but Mother’s heart would stop dead if she thought I subscribed to reincarnation.”

“Not fond of Germans?” Ben asks. “Well, who can blame you. Half the world isn’t fond of them at the moment.”

“I suppose they weren’t so awful before the Great War. But they’re rather boorish, aren’t they? They always sound like they’re angry. Like someone just stole their horse and they’re screaming at them from the front porch to come back or else.” I smile dreamily as I type. “I’ve always fancied the thought of marrying a prince from a glamorous, romantic kingdom. Maybe Italy or Greece. There has even been talk of me marrying Uncle George’s eldest son David. He’s rather beguiling. Tall and slim. Clear blue eyes like a lake. And he’s going to be the king of the British Empire one day, you know. We could holiday together in beautiful, sunny colonies like the Bahamas.”

“You’re still as important as all that? Important enough to make a marriage of that political significance, I mean.” Ben glances back at me and lifts one thick, dark, inquisitive eyebrow. “Seeing as your family doesn’t have a kingdom anymore.”

This is an insensitive thing for him to say. I frown down at the typewriter. “A wife almost always assumes the kingdom of her husband, so why should she require her own? She needs only sound breeding and a suitable temperament. And besides, we might yet return one day.”

Ben twists all the way around to stare at me, the reigns falling out of his hands. Fortunately, the mule seems to know her own way around. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It has been a brutal few years. The Great War, the supply shortages, the bad harvests…the people are frustrated, and understandably so. They lashed out blindly, at those who didn’t deserve it, at us. But the dust will clear. And when it does, I think the Russian people will come to their senses and realize that they want us back. That they need us.”

“Are you insane?” Ben snaps. “Are you utterly brainless? What’s floating around in that skull besides fiction and languages you’ll never use once you’re married off to some prince who only sees you as a broodmare?”

“How dare you! You can’t speak to me like this—!”

“For years, for a bloody decade, Sir Buchanan warned your father about what was coming. He tried to get him to moderate his views, to give the people more voice in government, to stop murdering them when they protested. And when none of that worked and the end was apparent, Sir Buchanan tried to convince your father to abdicate long before he did. Don’t you understand?! None of this needed to happen! Your family could have fled to Britain years ago, before the animosity against your father spread like wildfire across the globe, and Russia could have established their own parliament like Britain’s and negotiated a peace treaty to stay out of the war and none of us would be here now if not for your father’s selfish, pointless obstinacy—!”

“My father is a good man,” I choke out as hot, furious tears burn in my eyes.

“And he was a terrible ruler!” Ben shoots back like artillery. “He ordered protesters to be butchered, he sent untrained boys to die in some other country’s war, he clung to the throne for no one’s benefit but his own—”

“And what about my benefit?” I demand, still weeping, feeling monstrously like a child. “What about my mother’s and my sisters’ and Alexei’s? He must have feared for our futures if we were dethroned and left without any resources, any security, anyplace to call home—”

“He did you no favors,” Ben says harshly. “Half the country—the country that you obviously have not even a rudimentary understanding of—are moderates scrambling to secure the Provisional Government and disentangle themselves from the war while still somehow preserving their dignity and that of the millions of dead soldiers Russia has already laid on the altar. The other half are trying to instigate a wholesale communist revolution. There is no one, no one, who wants the tsar back. And you better pray to God that the communists don’t manage to seize power before King George gets your family out, or your father just might be guillotined on the steps of Saint Basil’s Cathedral.”

I bolt to my feet unsteadily, grip the side of the lurching cart, and leap out onto the dirt road.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ben shouts after me.

I take off sprinting down the road, the wind whipping my face, sobbing as I run beneath the shadows of trees until my lungs are columns of flames and my legs feel wobbly and boneless. I can hear the pounding of the mule’s hooves approaching, the hurtling of wooden wheels, the slapping of leather reins. I am forced to slow to a vigorous march as my body betrays me, wheezing and aching and as ineffectual as a woman is so often assumed to be. The salacious trousers have come in handy once again. Who would have guessed.

Ben pulls up alongside me, reining in the mule to match my pace. “Hey! Get back in the cart!”

“I’ll walk the rest of the way to the railroad station.”

“It’s 200 more kilometers!”

“See you there.”

Now Ben jumps out of the cart. The mule, perplexed but not rattled, comes to a halt and waits in the middle of the road with her long ears angled in opposite directions. Ben rushes in front of me and leans down until we’re at eye-level, breathing heavily. I can smell smoke on him, and something else too: maybe cologne, maybe soap, maybe aftershave, maybe just the scent of a man in his prime. His lips are pink and full and soft-looking, I notice, as if for the first time. His cheeks are irritated and red from the wind; the ruthlessness of the climate here doesn’t agree with him. It is the only way in which I am stronger than he is. His green eyes are wide and blazing. “Get. In. The. Cart.”

“No,” I whisper, tears all over my face.

“You can’t just run off like that,” he pleads, less angry now. “Where are you going to go? There’s nothing out here except trees and…I don’t know…probably bears and wolves and maybe even Siberian tigers. You can’t get ripped apart by wild animals. Don’t you want to make it to London? To argue for your family’s liberation? They could find no fiercer advocate than you, of that I am convinced.”

“How would you possibly protect me from a bear?”

Ben unbuttons his coat and pulls up his white wool sweater to show me a pistol tucked into the holster clipped to his belt. “Just in case,” he says, smirking crookedly, lowering his sweater again. “Now I am keeping no secrets from you, and you are harboring none from me. We’re even.”

I nod, sniffling, thinking of my jewels and photograph hidden in the steamer trunk. My words are so strained I can barely hear them myself, my hands are trembling; hell, I’m trembling all over. The possibility is unimaginable. “Do you really think they’re going to kill Papa?”

Ben sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t,” he replies gently. “I think the Provisional Government will be able to keep the communists in check for now. I think they will leap at the opportunity to ship the former tsar off to Britain without the potential controversy of a trial and execution. And I also think we should get back in the cart and keep moving now.”

“I’m sorry your boss gave you this assignment and now you have to risk your life for a family that you evidently hate,” I lash out like a cornered animal, hissing and brandishing its glinting claws. “For a grand duchess that you hate. This must be an awful inconvenience for you.”

“It’s rather more complicated than that,” Ben says. “There’s some opportunity in it as well.”

Of course: his leather-bound notebook full of observations, his scrawled recollections to one day build into a famed article about our journey. An article full of what he truly thinks about me. I feel suddenly, violently nauseous. I feel horrified.

What happened to the grand adventure that I imagined? Where did it go?

And all at once, I can’t even remember how I pictured this journey unfolding; I can’t conjure up some rose-colored vision of me and Ben falling into an effortless friendship, flirting lightly and innocently, discovering new corners of the earth together, parting ways in London as lifelong confidants. Now I can only see Papa as he murmurs folktales older than Christianity with candlelight dancing on his smiling face, as he chases me and my sisters around the gardens with outstretched arms and sparkling eyes, as he carries Alexei from one room to the next when my brother’s joints are inflamed and excruciating and useless, as he never unburdens his mind to his wife or children but spends long afternoons chopping wood as the sun sinks into the west and the lines in his pale face grow deeper.

He couldn’t be responsible for bloodshed, for mercilessness. He’s not that kind of man. He’s never been that kind of man.

“We really should keep moving,” Ben prompts.

“Fine,” I fling back as I shove by him. I mop my tears away with the sleeve of my wool sweater, climb into the back of the wooden cart, and sit as far as I can from Ben with my bent knees hugged to my chest. I stare silently off into the forest as the mule drags us towards the Trans-Siberian Railroad, towards Moscow and Saint Petersburg and the Baltic Sea and London, towards the conclusion of this tenuous partnership and the redemption of my family. I am looking forward to soon never having to see Benjamin Hardy again, and yet I’m also not; and this is a difficult paradox to put into words of any language.

We don’t stop until it’s almost dusk. Ben hops down from the cart, leads the mule off the road by her bridle (and gives her an encouraging scratch on the forelock when she hesitates), and begins to set up camp in a small clearing encircled by heaps of frost grass. Dinner is loaves of bread again—even more tough and dry than yesterday—and metallic-tasting water from canteens. Dessert is a hand-rolled cigarette for Ben and a handful of honeyberries I found in the bushes for me. And when Ben grapples with the tent, I come over to help him with it just to prove I can.

Ben builds a fire, and we sit wordlessly on opposite sides of it with the reflections of flames in our eyes. Ben jots down today’s thoughts in his notebook, every so often glancing off into nowhere and tapping his chin thoughtfully with the end of his pen, biting his full lower lip absentmindedly as he sifts through the ocean of word in his head to fish out the right one. Meanwhile, I read my copy of Tarzan of the Apes. I stumble across a few English terms I don’t know—quixotic, cartography, constellations, ruminate—but I don’t ask Ben about them.

After a long time, when the moon and stars have emerged bright and ancient in the night sky, Ben closes his notebook and watches me. At first I ignore him. And then, eventually, I can’t anymore.

“What?” I ask irritably, keeping my place in Tarzan of the Apes with my pinky finger, which is nearly numb from the cold.

Ben’s words are calm, restrained, painstakingly chosen. Firelight is fierce and bloody on his face. “I had two infant brothers die of pneumonia, a perfectly preventable illness had they had access to good doctors and proper nutrition and a warm dry home, which they did not. I had a sister die in childbirth because there was no midwife available to attend to her. I have had friends come home from the war with limbs or half their faces missing, a fate which I myself am spared only because of my employment with Sir Buchanan. You have no idea what the world has been through while you were off playing board games and reading novels in greenhouses and lounging on lakeshores with your idyllic little family. You have no idea what life is like for the rest of us. And perhaps that’s not your fault, and it is unjust of me to resent you for it, and I must learn to temper this wrath I’ve been carrying around in my chest since childhood. But it’s still true.”

He stands, clutching his notebook with hands that are red from the savage Siberian wind, and vanishes into the tent.

#ben hardy fic #ben hardy x reader #borhap cast fic

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nastyatticman · 4 years ago

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fuck it i’m posting this

remember that billy x oc smut i teased earlier? here it is! i have more to this but here’s what i’m comfortable posting for now >:3c

Billy Lenz X Chance, a trans male OC. No full on intercourse but they get pretty hot and heavy. I’d say this is a Lime on the citrus scale.

Summary: After weeks of pursuit, Billy Lenz gets some alone time with his new obsession. / Chance finally meets the asshole who’s been making obscene offers over the phone, and he’s honestly kind of into it...

Warnings: Non con/dub con into consensual. Trans male character with some female coded language to refer to his body. All characters are in their 20s but there’s a vague line that alludes to Chance’s childhood.

it almost seemed like I could get away - but his unpredictability was on his side. I’m pinned down by billy lenz as he’s finally caught me, all part of some sick game he’s been playing. the threat of the mystery caller - that creep on the phone who’s been dying to shove his tongue up my tight piggy cunt (his words, not mine) - seemed so distant before but it’s real now. if only I’d known to investigate the noises I’d heard at night…

I don’t know what he’s got planned for me as he pins me down on the couch, wrists held down above my head in one of his hands. but there’s something oddly tender about the way his free hand strokes my cheek before he presses his thumb against my lips, wanting me to open for him. I part my lips and let him in, suck on his thumb as he slowly fucks it in and out of my mouth.

this pleases him. “greedy little cunt,” he says teasingly, starting to probe my mouth with his thumb. running it over the sharp points of my teeth, pressing down on my tongue. “all worked up and sucking my thumb like it’s my fat, juicy cock. haven’t even got it out yet, must be fucking dripping for me.”

I don’t do much - I can’t do much in this position - my roommates are out of the house for the next couple hours, and who knows who could help me out here when the pervert who’s been hiding our attic has pounced on me? at the very least, we’re in the front room on the couch across from the window, and anyone who’s on the street could probably see me. pinned down under his weight, no doubt looking filthy as he presses a knee between my legs.

the pressure on my clothed sex makes me gasp slightly, and he just pushes deeper in my mouth. his obscene muttering continues, taunting me for how badly I must want him. he remembers, the way I’d pick up the phone and hang up the second I realized it was him. it made him switch tactics - pretending to be someone running a fundraiser or telling me I won a free cruise to the Bahamas, then flipping the switch and revealing who it really was.

that just pissed me off even more! but even so, I just avoided staying on the line... I try to think about what I could’ve done to provoke this, but the reality of him above me, physically here to make good on his promises, fills my head with a haze.

good thing he remembers for me.

“go fuck a light socket, pig,” he sneers, in an unnerving impression of my voice. “took you long enough to figure out it was me. who else would call you?”

he pulls his thumb out of my mouth, but doesn’t give me time to respond. “I never hear your friends on the phone, no one asks for you, it’s just little old Billy calling for you, isn’t it?” he pokes my nose, almost playfully.

I start to speak but he just grinds his knee against me, and chuckles when my body reacts to his friction. “you like that?”

“I -“

words fail me. all I can do is nod and whine and hope he doesn’t stop, it feels so good. my head rolls back slightly, and I struggle to keep my eyes on him.

“if you like that you’re going to love this.”

he reaches his hands behind my back, pulling me up to a sitting position. in the sudden movement I almost don’t realize he’s released my hands. but then he grabs my wrist again, and guides it up his thigh to grope at the growing bulge in his pants.

“gonna love how this feels splitting you open,” he continues, pressing my hand against his hardening cock, almost like he’s using me to jerk himself off. “when’s the last time you had something this big in your tight little cunt?”

“I - I don’t know,” I respond, my arousal and nerves making it hard to respond coherently. I mean, not that he’s very coherent either, but I still feel like I’m going to screw something up and he’s going to disappear, back to wherever he came from. never to be seen or heard from again. it scares me. but then again, if he’s been in our attic… he’s seen enough of me already, he would’ve left earlier if he was going to. “I had finals, I haven’t had time to... “

“aww, you poor, needy thing,” he coos, pulling me into his lap. “don’t worry, billy’s gonna fill you up.” he grabs my hips and grinds up against me, and it throws me off balance. I fall forward, and brace myself on either side of him. I’m able to use the back of the couch to push myself up to sit again, to grind back against him.

my face is close enough to his now that I can smell his sour breath, see his half lidded eyes watch me bouncing on his lap. watch me like he must have been for days? weeks? there’s a sick part of me, deep down, that gets a thrill knowing he’s been watching me all along. and now he’s at just the right angle to see my cleavage down my shirt.

this seems to … inspire him. his hands leave my hips and I hear the zipper. I can tell by the way he’s moving - shaking, almost - that he’s taken that juicy cock he’s bragged about in his hand and he’s jerking it for all it’s worth. but he won’t leave me out of the fun, of course - he guides my hand to it, and I gasp when I realize I can barely get my fingers around it. he only smirks at me in response, moving my hand for me.

I swallow, collecting myself. “please, I want you inside me.”

he stops completely - narrowing his eyes at me. his grip still tight on my wrist, though he’s moved it away from his body.

“say that again.”

“um,” I say. “I want you inside me.” his gaze is burning through me. here it is, isn’t it? Chance fucked up and did something weird without even realizing and now this guy doesn’t want anything to do with him, just like the kids at school.

but he doesn’t leave me, doesn’t even let go. just stares at me.

“I mean, if you want… we don’t have to,” I say finally. “do you want to? we can stop.”

he’s looking at me like I’ve grown another head. every bit of sex advice a straight person has ever given me is going through my head right now. on one hand, I know I should ask for consent and all first right? on the other… have I ruined the mood? is it really a sin to talk about it?

“no!” he says suddenly. “don’t stop, keep going, I - I want you too.”

the way he says that - there’s an air of seriousness to it, like he’s declared his last will and fucking testament or something.

I turn the tables on him - nod and smirk and guide his hand to my crotch, letting him brush against me through my clothes. it’s not much, since the fabric of my pants is so thick, but seeing his eyes light up as he starts rubbing me more is worth it all.

I start to unbutton my pants, then suddenly remember where I am. the curtains are open, sunlight coming in from the front window. right. anyone on the street could see us like this.

“wait,” I say slowly. “could we move this to my room? people can see us from here… and I have condoms in my room.”

“I know,” he says smugly, but doesn’t make much of an effort to move. “you’d hate to let them see you like this, huh? spread open for me…”

“yeah,” I say finally. “as … hot as that would be… what if there’s kids around, y’know? and besides, I also don’t want you catching something.”

“oh? right, right, and you don’t want me to knock you up either, do you?” he looks amused with himself.

I can’t help but turn away for a second, suddenly flustered even though I’m seemingly more in control of the encounter now. damn breeding kink. “yeah, I mean I got an IUD, so that’s not a risk right now.”

“scandalous! you know those promote promiscuous behavior.” he says that in another voice, laughing.

I give him a playful shove and get up. “come on, I have lube in there, I’m gonna need it for - you know.”

“oh, no I don’t, actually, what ever would you need lube for? my fat, juicy cock?” he teases, and gives me a shove in return. it’s a little too hard and makes me stumble but I recover easily, and take his hand to pull him to my room.

#nasty attic originals #billy lenz x oc #billy lenz smut #nsft text #lemon #chance the slasher fucker #thats his tag until i give him a last name lmao

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radiohand · 4 years ago

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Can you do Musashi, Hajime, and/or Samon with a trans male reader? Sorry I’m projecting lmao ❤️😔

We all do that❤️🤧 and I wasn’t sure if you wanted already transitioned or not so I decided to do both😌. I hope this is good❤️

Nanbaka Characters

With A Boyfriend

(That happens to be trans✋ but you are so fucking masculine it doesn’t even matter my king)

Characters: Musashi, Hajime, and Samon

Warnings: fluff, love, gender dysphoria mentions, binding mentions

Musashi

Musashi would literally not have any problems or worries about you being trans

He won’t even notice unless you tell him

Literally as long as he has you to touch and hold, he ain’t worrying about your incorrect body placement

When you told him he was like “Oh. Okay marshmallow. Thanks for trusting me”

Sure when you are having problems with dysphoria or you got misgendered, he will hold you tighter and call you more masculine nicknames

“God I wish I could see how handsome you are marshmallow. Sometimes touch isn’t enough.”

If you bind and end up with bruised sides, he is rubbing the area and heating it up

He is not afraid to confront people if they misgender you

If you decide to have surgery, he will be there every step of the way.

Feel sick? He is holding you up in seconds

Hurting? He is gentle rubbing the spot with his hand that doubles as a heat pad

He always calls you his prince🤧

Hajime

Another person that wouldn’t give two shits about you being trans

“Okay? So what?”

He just keeps going along with his paperwork

But if someone misgenders you...Hajime might be in a jail cell

He will gladly bash their heads in and put them in a coma

No one misgenders HIS BOYFRIEND

Protects you no matter what

Your family doesn’t accept you? Screw them. Hajime hates them

Hitoshi loves you so much...

Honestly I imagine Hajime coming to Hitoshi for advice if you have gender dysphoria

Hajime sets timers to remind himself of when you need to take your binder off

You don’t take your binder off on time? He is not afraid to force it off

When you need to take a break day from your binder, he will lend you one of his hoodies or oversized shirts to wear to hide your chest easier

He tries his best overall

Samon

He is clueless as to what being trans is🙃

He grew up in the mountains! He doesn’t know!

But once you explain it, he will understand

Prepare to hear so many compliments

He will probably introduce you in the sweetest way

“Here is my handsome future husband!! Isn’t HE so HANDSOME??”

He will literally almost scream those certain words just to get the point across

If someone still misgenders you, he will glare at them so hard

Pouts afterwards and apologizes that he didn’t get the point that you are male across

Poor baby...

Tell him he does good and that you are proud of him...

Buys you clothes and whistles when you try them on. Just get that vibe from him

“You are so much more handsome than that stupid gorilla ya know?”

DOESN’T leave your side when you have gender dyphoria

He wraps you up in a blanket and has a movie night with you to get your mind off things

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sissytobitch10seconds · 3 years ago

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The Skirt

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia Summary: Denki wears a skirt in front of her classmates for the first time. Warnings: Coming out, genderfluid character Word Count: 1,796 Ships: Kamanari Denki/Sero Hanta

Archive link!

“You can do this, you can do this,” she chanted to herself over and over again. Despite the affirming words, her hands hovered over the handle to the door. She could do it, she could leave her room and go downstairs. It wouldn’t be any different than it had been the other dozens of times that she had done it.

“Except this time it’ll be completely different,” she removed her hand from the doorknob completely and sat down heavily on her bed. “Everything’ll be different.”

Panic began to creep up from her stomach and sit heavily in her chest. She ran a hand shakily through her hair, though she was careful to avoid the cute clips that she had worked so hard to get into her hair in a way that didn’t look stupid. A couple more deep breaths had the panic simmering back down for the time being. She could tell that it was there, resting in the background and waiting to spring back up and choke her at any moment, but it was dormant for now.

“Come on, you’ve been female for a week now. You can wear a skirt in front of your classmates and ask to be called your proper pronouns,” she encouraged herself. “Kyouka promised that she’d be there for you if things go badly anyway. You can do this. It won’t be like last time. They’re heroes, they’re not going to be transphobic.”

The other voice in the back of her mind, the one that had stopped her from doing this up until now, spoke up again. It reminded her that genderfluidity wasn’t really accepted as an identity by quite a lot of queer people, and that it was a burden to ask people to remember the correct pronouns when they changed so often.

She didn’t get much of a chance to mull that over as someone knocked on the door. She sat upright as panic fluttered throughout her again, but it quickly settled down as she heard the voice of her childhood friend. “Hey, you missed breakfast. I’m heading to class now, but I’m going to force a granola bar into you during break,” she promised.

The other teenager heard Kyouka’s hurried footsteps as her childhood friend left to go to class. Denki let out a small hiss. She was hoping that she would have been able to get some of the reaction out of the way before class started, but she had waited too long and now everyone would see her at the same time.

She stood up, a fierce determination taking over her. She flung the door to her room open and fled down the hall after making sure it was securely latched. She was going to do this, she wouldn’t chicken out. She had Kyouka by her side, and she logically couldn’t be the only trans or queer person at this school. Hopefully whoever the other queer people were would recognize that her gender and feelings were real and back her up. If they didn’t at least she had Kyouka.

The trip across the campus was quick and painless. There were very few people traveling over the green or on any of the sidewalks, and those that were didn’t recognize her and she didn’t recognize them. The nervousness that she had been feeling all morning returned to her when she reached the door. She puffed up her chest, smiling slightly as the shirt hung over her differently, giving her the illusion of being physically female like she wished she could be at the moment.

The euphoria of looking like the gender she currently was inside let her open the door and she quickly walked inside. She could feel the eyes of her classmates following her, though there were still the normal speckled conversations that usually took place before their teacher woke up and began classes.

She sat down at her desk, placing her bag next to her. Panic was heavy in her chest but she was doing her best to keep it down and away from the surface. She was doing something that scared the shit out of her, and she couldn’t let them see weakness like she had done in middle school.

Nobody said anything, though more and more of the conversations were dying down as people realized that something was up. Soon she had nearly every single person looking at her, and it was really beginning to get to her. She shifted awkwardly, staring down at her lap. Her nervous mannerisms began to pick up and she started to brush her hands over her skirt and fiddle with the loose strings of her button up shirt.

“Uh, Denki?” someone finally spoke up.

The blond responded by snapping her head up and looking directly at who had spoken. Mina was sitting closest to her and had apparently been the one to finish reeling first too.

“Are you wearing a skirt?” Izuku asked from the other side of the room.

The blond shifted again, swallowing down nothing as she tried to dampen her nerves. She caught the confident smile that Kyouka was wearing and then nodded. “Yeah, I am. I’m wearing makeup too.”

“Why?” Hitoshi asked.

“If my boyfriend wants to wear a skirt and makeup then he can, whenever he wants to,” Hanta said from behind Denki, immediately getting defensive of her.

Dysphoria flared up in her again as she shifted in her seat. “Actually, um, I’m wearing makeup and a skirt today because I’m a girl.”

“You are?” Hanta asked, blinking. He then panicked, “Not that that’s a bad thing! I just wasn’t expecting it. I still want to be here for you if you need me.”

“Well, I’m not a girl all the time,” the blond got out before any more of the chaos in the classroom could unfold. “I just… I’m genderfluid. It means that I feel like my gender changes. Sometimes I feel like both, sometimes I feel like neither, sometimes I feel female, sometimes I feel male. I know it’s kind of an annoying thing, so I’m not going to ask any of you to change pronouns all the time, but I just want to be myself.”

“Nonsense,” Tenya called over the top of the clamoring of voices from some of the students. “Everyone will respect Denki’s pronouns no matter how often they change, and if you don’t I have some firm words for you.”

“Yeah, same! Disrespect my friend and you and I are going to have a problem,” Eijirou called. “Transphobia is so unmanly!”

To her surprise, the next person from her friend group to speak up was Katsuki. “More than a problem. You might not live to see your birthday if you decide to disrespect her. Got it, you bunch of losers?”

“None of us want to disrespect her, Kacchan!” Izuku called, having become a lot more outward now that he was comfortable around the rest of the class. There were a couple of crows in agreement, before the conversations began to pick back up and people returned to what they were doing.

Momo was up from her chair and gathering Denki up in a hug. “Thank you for coming out to us, it means a lot. I have a couple tips and tricks for this kind of dysphoria if you ever want to spend some time together,” she beamed.

“Ooh! We should invite her to girl’s night on the weeks that she’s feeling like a girl!” Tooru clapped her hands together in excitement.

“Yeah, we could do your hair and paint your nails!” Ochako chimed in, looking just as giddy and excited. “I bet that you could give us some tips on eyeshadow too, you look really good today.”

“Thanks. I used to do it on my sisters and I guess I just got really good over time,” she flushed and rubbed the back of her neck in embarrassment.

Tsuyu was the next one to speak. “Also, you don’t have to be female to come to girl’s night. You can be nonbinary or agender like me and still show up. It’s mostly just for us to do girly stuff like gossip and paint each other’s nails.”

“That sounds really nice,” she grinned. “I’m pretty good at painting nails and braiding hair.”

“This is going to be so much fun!” Mina grinned. “You and I have to go shopping the next time that we get a weekend outside of school. I want to have a fashion show with you.”

“Kyouka already took me shopping when I was in middle school, I’ve got some feminine clothes. And it’s not like I have much of an allowance to spend,” she shrugged awkwardly.

The pink teenager rolled her eyes. “My dads spoil me with a big allowance, and I’m sure that they’d be more than willing to help if I told them that it was to get clothes so that you would feel more comfortable!”

“Yeah, okay,” she nodded finally after a moment of deliberation. Mina quickly got caught up in a conversation with Tooru across the aisle about which shops that they should bring their new feminine friend to.

Denki jumped as she felt someone tap on her shoulder. She turned around to see her boyfriend sitting there with that stupid smile that he always got when he was looking at her. “Hey,” she whispered. “I hope that this isn’t too weird for you. And that you’re not mad I didn’t come out to you first.”

“It’s okay,” Hanta shook his head. “I now that coming out can be really difficult. It took me three years just to be able to tell my parents that I was questioning my sexuality, and even longer to admit to them that I was bi.”

She reached out to grasp the hand that was resting on his desk, threading their fingers together. “I just wanted to get it all done and out of the way at once. Coming out is so hard, so I wanted to do it once instead of half a dozen times.”

“I get that. Thanks for sharing this with us. I’ll try my best to remember your pronouns and change around some of the pet names that I use for you,” he brightened up. “Does this mean that I can finally experiment around with some of the girly ones?”

She laughed, “Yeah, it does.”

“Awesome,” he beamed, leaning across the desk to gently give her a kiss on her lips.

“I love you so much,” she giggled. “Thank you for being so supportive of me.”

“Of course. What kind of a boyfriend would I be if I wasn’t supportive?” Hanta snorted. His face softened and he rubbed the back of her knuckles with his thumb. “I love you too.”

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splendidlyimperfect · 3 years ago

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When Natsu runs into five-year-old Sting and Rogue at the Grand Magic Games, he thinks they’re cute kids with a serious case of hero worship. But when it turns out that they’re both Dragon Slayers and they belong to the ruthless Sabertooth Guild, something doesn’t feel quite right. Natsu and Gray quickly grow protective of the two little kids, and they do their best to build a relationship with them to try to keep them safe and figure out what exactly is going on at Sabertooth.

Chapter Summary: A job gone wrong brings Gray and Natsu back to Ciralto, and they learn something new about Sting.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Natsu/Gray, Rogue/Sting Characters: Natsu, Gray, Sting, Rogue, Lucy, Erza, Yukino Tags: Canon Universe, Dragon Slayers, Parenting, Adoption, PTSD, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, basically stingue are adorable baby dragon slayers and Natsu wants to adopt them, and then he kind of does, Trans Gray, Trans Sting, Nonbinary Rogue, ADHD Natsu, ADHD Sting, Autistic Rogue

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Gray was right. Both kids were asleep in their arms by the time they got back to their inn, and they didn’t wake when Natsu and Gray transferred them to the bed. Sting immediately reached out in his sleep, grabbing Rogue’s hand and pulling them close. Natsu sent a message to Yukino as Gray pulled the blanket up to cover both the sleeping kids.

“She said to meet her at the market instead of the guild,” Natsu said quietly, frowning at his phone.

“Jiemma’s probably not happy about us visiting,” Gray said. He rubbed his face and yawned. “He did tell us to stay away.”

“Yeah, well, what’s he gonna do? Call the Magic Council?” Natsu rolled his eyes. “He can’t stop us from coming here.”

“He could stop letting them see us, though,” Gray said. “We have to be careful.”

Continue reading on AO3

Natsu sighed and sat down on the end of the bed, careful not to disturb the kids. Gray stepped closer and Natsu reached out, pulling him close and wrapping his arms around Gray’s waist.

“They need help,” Natsu said softly. “Like I did.”

Gray sighed, running his fingers through Natsu’s hair. Sting’s outburst had been eerily similar to some of Natsu’s meltdowns when he’d been younger. Gray remembered being both frustrated at Natsu’s constant tears, and jealous that he could show his feelings so freely. It had taken Gray years to be able to cry for the family he’d lost, and Natsu had been the one to show him that his grief was okay.

“We are helping,” Gray said. He crouched down in front of Natsu and ducked his head until they were making eye contact. “Sting’s lucky to have somebody like you who gets how his brain works.”

“But I can’t always be here,” Natsu said sadly. “And it’s not just him – Rogue seemed upset earlier, too.”

Gray shook his head. “No, I thought that at first, but I think they were just excited. They were rocking in my lap when we were watching the jellyfish, too. The noise seemed to bug them a bit, they kept rubbing their ears, but they weren’t upset like Sting was.”

Natsu nodded as they both lapsed into silence. Gray ran his hands up and down Natsu’s thighs comfortingly, then leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Natsu smiled, turning and catching Gray’s next kiss on the lips.

“C’mere,” he said, shifting over and tugging on Gray’s arm. The bed was barely large enough for the four of them, but Natsu managed to lie down next to Sting, who made a quiet sound in his sleep as he snuggled closer to Rogue. Gray sighed and curled up against Natsu, immediately relaxing as the tension in his shoulders started to fade.

“I think we need a nap too,” Natsu said sleepily, pulling Gray close.

“Mm.” Gray kissed Natsu’s forehead and wrapped an arm around his waist, letting himself succumb to exhaustion. “Go to sleep.”

After that, Gray and Natsu visited as often as possible. Sting was always thrilled, throwing himself into hugs and telling them both a million stories. Rogue was still the more reserved of the two, but over time they started to open up as well, eagerly telling Gray and Natsu facts they’d learned since the last visit – most of them about jellyfish.

“They can make other ones of themselves,” Rogue said proudly the next time they went to the aquarium. “If they fall apart they turn into new ones!”

“That’s gross,” Sting said, pressing his face against the glass.

“You’re gross,” Rogue replied, bouncing on the balls of their feet and sticking their tongue out at Sting. “An’ some of them have teeths.”

“Super duper gross.” Sting looked up at Gray and grinned. “D’galu! Na?”

Gray’s face lit up, just like it did every time he spoke Isvanian with the kids. “Sy’at jant,” he chided with a smile on his face. “Be nice.”

Natsu leaned in and kissed Gray’s cheek, laughing at the blush that crept up the back of his neck. “I like seeing you happy,” he said quietly, kissing Gray’s ear. Gray didn’t reply, just bumped his head against Natsu’s and squeezed his hand.

Dropping the kids off with Yukino after visits was the difficult part.

“Why you can’t stay here?” Sting would ask each time, arms wrapped tightly around Natsu’s neck. “I miss you when you go away.”

Each time Natsu would explain that his and Gray’s families were back in Magnolia, and that they’d be back again soon, but as time went on, it got harder and harder to leave. The last time they’d headed home, Sting’s disappointment and frustration had ended with him yelling at Natsu and pushing him away, refusing to hug him or wave goodbye.

“He didn’t mean it,” Gray said gently as they rode the train home. Natsu lay sideways on the bench with his head in Gray’s lap, eyes closed while Gray ran cool fingers across his forehead and through his hair.

“I know.” Natsu’s voice was muffled by Gray’s sweater. “I did the same thing when I was little.”

“I remember,” Gray said with a small smile. “You told me you hated me.”

“I was kind of an asshole.” Natsu slipped his hand under Gray’s sweater and ran his thumb across his ribs. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t mean it either,” Gray reassured him.

Natsu didn’t answer, just sighed and cuddled closer. Gray tucked a wayward strand of hair behind his ear and let a burst of cool magic trickle across Natsu’s temples.

“He’s getting worse,” Natsu said after a while. “I’m really worried about him. Both of them.”

Gray nodded as he looked out the window. Sting’s outbursts had been happening more and more often lately – usually fighting with other kids or turning to shouting and tears as soon as something didn’t go his way. Rogue, on the other hand, never yelled. Instead, they would cry and withdraw if something overwhelmed them, and it could take hours to calm them down.

“I don’t know what to do,” Natsu said softly. “Sting was talking about fighting again today. He’s obsessed with being the strongest.” He hesitated, then added, “He had bruises again, too.”

Gray’s stomach twisted with the same unsettled sensation that happened anytime he saw marks on either of the kids. The first time Sting had shown up to their visits with a bruise on his arm, he’d insisted it was from falling while playing. It wasn’t unbelievable – Gray remembered the myriad of injuries he’d had from roughhousing as a kid – but something about it didn’t feel right.

“Maybe we should say something,” he said.

“To who?” Natsu sounded miserable. “We don’t have any proof. They both tell us it was accidents, Yukino won’t talk to us, and nobody’s going to make a move against one of the most powerful guilds in Fiore. And if we try, it could make it worse for them.” He sighed. “All we can do is keep visiting, and I feel so useless.” He rubbed his face with the back of his hand. “I miss them already.”

“I know,” Gray said, tipping his head against the window and sighing. “I miss them too.”

Their next trip to visit the kids started with a job gone wrong.

“I thought the job poster said it was one monster,” Gray hissed as he jumped backward, barely dodging the venomous spittle that flew through the air. He held out both hands and shards of ice flew from his fingertips, shredding through the group of snake-like monsters that were attacking them.

“Technically it was one monster,” Natsu said. He tossed a fireball down the hill into the center of the snakes, and Gray wrinkled his nose against the smell of burning flesh. “At least, until it turned into… that.”

The writhing mass of snakes hissed in unison. Half of them were blackened and burned in piles on the ground, surrounded by prisons of ice. The remaining ones quickly slithered together, making a squelching sound as they solidified back into one creature.

“Fucking hell,” Gray muttered, firing bolts of ice at the creature in an attempt to pin it to the ground. It snarled at him, opening its mouth wide and showing off teeth that were nearly as long as his arm.

“Go for its head!” Natsu shouted, scrambling down the hill as he blasted it with bursts of flame. It turned away from Gray, bright red eyes tracking Natsu’s movements as he leaped toward it. Gray quickly narrowed his magic into a spear, exhaling and focusing on the monster’s throat before firing.

The monster screamed in rage and pain as the lance pierced its neck. The ground underneath Gray trembled and he stumbled forward. Before he could catch his balance, something heavy slammed into him and knocked him onto his back.

Gray grunted in pain as he pushed himself up on one elbow and tried to focus on what had hit him. It took him a second to realize it was the end of the snake’s tail, tipped with a set of razor-sharp barbs. He blinked slowly, then looked down at himself. Blood dripped from five deep wounds that ran directly across his chest and stomach.

“Gray!” Natsu’s panicked shout filled the air and was quickly followed by an enormous blast of fire. The tail flailed a few times as the creature shrieked in pain, then dropped to the ground as everything stopped. Natsu appeared at the top of the hill and dropped to his knees next to Gray, quickly tearing off his shirt and pressing it to the wounds on Gray’s chest. Gray hissed in pain, grabbing at Natsu’s wrists.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Natsu reassured him. His hands shook as Gray’s blood quickly soaked through the shirt and started to stain his hands. “Hold this.” He took Gray’s hand and held it against the makeshift bandage. “We have to stop the bleeding.” He yanked off his scarf and folded it carefully, then pressed it against the wound as well. Gray’s vision swam as he gritted his teeth against the pain.

“You can cauterize—” He gasped as a wave of nausea hit him, and he quickly rolled onto his side and threw up.

“What the hell?” Natsu gripped Gray’s shoulder as he vomited again, shaking at the heat and sparks of pain that were quickly flooding his body. “What’s wrong?”

“Think it’s… poison,” Gray managed. Natsu swore as he carefully pulled back the corner of the shirt. The edges of the wounds were a dark purple color, and black coloring spread out from it in strange patterns across Gray’s skin.

“Shit.” Natsu covered it back up, wrapping the ends of his scarf around Gray’s torso and tying it off. “I can’t cauterize it if it’s poisoned. We have to get you to a medic.” He pulled out his lacrima phone and quickly sent a message to Yukino – Gray’s hurt, get a doctor to the inn. Please. Then he shoved the phone back in his pocket and shifted so Gray was behind him.

“C’mon,” he said, trying his best to be gentle as he maneuvered Gray onto his back. “You’re gonna be okay.”

It took almost two hours to reach the city.

“We must be getting close,” Natsu said, trying to keep his voice steady as he shifted Gray on his back. He slid his arms under Gray’s thighs to nudge him further up as Gray made a soft sound of protest. “You still awake back there?”

“’m fine,” Gray insisted, words slurred. “I can… walk.”

“Uhuh.” Natsu rolled his eyes. “Last time I put you down you fell over.”

“Did not.”

“Wanna try again?”

Gray was quiet for a second, then let out a quiet groan of pain and pressed his forehead to the back of Natsu’s neck. Even Natsu, who ran naturally hot, could feel the feverish heat of Gray’s skin against his, and he cursed under his breath. Gray was barely holding on, arms looped loosely around Natsu’s shoulders, and his breathing was ragged and uneven.

“Hang on, Snowflake,” Natsu said softly, sighing in relief when they crested the hill and the outskirts of the city appeared on the horizon. “Look, we’re almost there.”

Gray didn’t reply, just shivered, and Natsu flared up his magic just enough to keep him warm as they walked. It took nearly twenty minutes to reach the gate, and by that time, Gray was unconscious. Luckily, the inn where they were supposed to meet Yukino and the kids wasn’t far.

“The doctor is here,” said the innkeeper when Natsu stepped through the door. She gestured to the first room in the hallway, and he ducked inside, sighing with relief when he saw Yukino, Sting, and Rogue, and an unfamiliar woman in medic’s robes.

“What happened?” the doctor asked, gesturing to one of the beds. Natsu laid Gray down gently, making an apologetic sound when Gray groaned in pain. His face was pale, and the makeshift bandage on his chest was soaked with blood.

“A monster.” Natsu rubbed his face as he slumped down on the bed next to Gray. “It was like… a snake, sort of. Or lots of snakes. It’s dead, but it hit him with its tail.”

“A nagehi,” the woman said as she pulled back the bandage to expose the wound on Gray’s chest. It was still bleeding sluggishly, and the black marks had spread across his ribs and up to his throat.

“This isn’t good,” the healer said, pressing gently at the skin around the wound. “The nagehi’s bite is usually deadly – I’m honestly surprised he’s survived this long.”

“Can you heal him?” Natsu demanded. He took one of Gray’s limp hands between his and squeezed it.

“I can try.” The woman put both hands out, closing her eyes for a moment as a greenish light emanated from them. Natsu held his breath as he stared at the magic and held Gray’s hand tightly. After a moment, the healer pulled back and shook her head sadly. “The poison has spread too far,” she said, voice gentle. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“No,” Natsu whispered, leaning closer and touching Gray’s cheek. “You have to—there has to be something. Someone.” He looked over at Yukino, who was staring sadly at him from where she sat with the two kids. “Wendy,” Natsu said, looking back at the healer. “Wendy could fix it, she just—she’s in Magnolia, can you—”

“I’ll try to contact her,” Yukino said, pulling out her lacrima phone. She whispered something to Sting and Rogue, who stayed on the bed while Yukino stepped out of the room.

“He won’t survive that long.” The healer touched Natsu’s shoulder, and he shrugged her hand off angrily. “I’m so sorry,” she said again, then quietly left the room.

Everything around Natsu slipped away as he stared at Gray. An ache spread through his chest, pulling the air from his lungs until he couldn’t breathe. He brushed a sweaty strand of hair from Gray’s face with trembling fingers, shaking his head in disbelief. Gray couldn’t die. Not here, not from this, not—

“I can help.” A small, quiet voice snapped Natsu out of his pain, and he looked up to see Sting standing on the other side of the bed. Rogue wasn’t far behind him, staring over Sting’s shoulder at the mess of blood and venom on Gray’s chest.

“Sweetheart,” Natsu said, voice breaking. “I know you wanna help, but you can’t—”

Sting ignored Natsu and stood on his tiptoes, holding the edge of the bed and carefully reaching up to touch Gray’s chest. Gray made a pained sound, shivering violently as the fever wracked his body with chills. Natsu’s eyes widened when Sting started to glow with a soft, white light.

“Don’t be mad,” Sting whispered, refusing to look at Natsu. “Please.”

Natsu stared as the scales along Sting’s temples and cheeks started to shimmer, bright and iridescent. The magic flowed down his arm, pulsing out of his fingers and sinking into the skin around the wound. The black marks immediately started to recede, pushed away by the bright, healing light.

“Holy shit,” Natsu breathed, leaning against the edge of the bed as he watched the magic flow through Gray’s entire body. When it touched his temples, the pained look on his face faded. His gasping breaths evened out as the shivering stopped.

Natsu reached out to touch Sting’s hand, but Sting quickly flinched away and backed up toward the other bed. His magic faded, leaving him red-faced as he stared at the floor.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Natsu said gently as he stared at Gray’s chest, amazed to see scar tissue covering what had been a devastating wound only moments ago. “You... saved him.” He looked back up at Sting, who was holding his hands behind his back and looking like he might cry. “What’s wrong?” Natsu asked, pushing himself off the bed and crouching down to Sting’s level.

Sting just shook his head. There was a soft touch on Natsu’s arm, and he turned to see Rogue standing next to him, giving him a serious look.

“Sting can fix it when we’re hurt,” they said. “but he’s not allowed ’cause its not strong.”

A flash of rage coursed through Natsu and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from growling. That fucking asshole. He turned back to Sting and held out his hand.

“Sting,” he said, keeping his voice as soft as possible. “You aren’t in trouble. I promise. I’m so happy you’re here, you did such a good thing.” Sting peeked up at him but didn’t look convinced. “You are so strong and so amazing. You saved Uncle Gray’s life.” The words caught in his throat and he swallowed back tears. “I’m so proud of you.”

Sting looked at Rogue, then back at Natsu, his expression somewhere between uncertain and relieved. “I’m not supposed to,” he insisted.

“That’s fuc—” Natsu cut himself off, taking a deep breath. “I don’t care what anybody else says. Uncle Gray was very, very sick and he could have—he might have died, if you hadn’t helped. And you saved him. That makes you so, so strong.” He held out both arms. “C’mere. It’s okay.”

Sting chewed his lip for a second, then took a small step forward. When Natsu’s fingers touched his arm he flinched, but he quickly darted into the embrace and pressed his face against Natsu’s shoulder. Natsu held him tightly and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“How did you do that?” Natsu asked after a second, pulling back from the embrace and pushing himself to his feet. He helped both kids up onto the bed next to Gray, who was still unconscious. His expression was peaceful, and the occasional glimmer of white magic swirled under his skin.

“I maked it good,” Sting said seriously. “The black stuff was yucky and I can fix it.” Now that he knew Natsu wasn’t angry, he seemed to relax a little. He touched Gray’s forehead carefully and closed his eyes. “It still hurts so he’s sleeping but the bad stuff is all gone.” Then he shifted closer to Gray and curled up next to him, resting his head on Gray’s shoulder and keeping his hand over the scars on his chest. Rogue copied him, cuddling up to Gray’s other side and putting their hand over Sting’s.

“You’re a healer,” Natsu said softly as he pulled a chair next to the bed and settled down in it. “Like Wendy.”

Sting’s brow furrowed in a pout. “I can fight, too,” he insisted. Natsu was about to reply when Yukino poked her head back in the door.

“I talked to Wendy,” she started to say, then trailed off when she saw Gray’s peaceful face and scarred chest. Her eyes widened, flicking between Natsu and the kids.

“Did you know?” Natsu asked. “About his magic?” Yukino shook her head slowly as she stepped toward the bed. Sting refused to look at her, just curled up tighter against Gray.

“Sting did this?” Yukino asked softly.

Natsu nodded. “He saved Gray’s life.”

A calm descended over the room as Yukino leaned down, brushing Sting’s messy curls out of his face and kissing his forehead. Natsu’s heart ached at the uncertainty on Sting’s face, and the anger from before resurfaced.

He’s not allowed.

It’s not strong.

I’m not supposed to.

Natsu let the anger simmer as he watched the kid’s joined hands rise and fall with Gray’s slow, even breaths.

You are strong, he thought. And I’m going to get you away from that asshole if it’s the last thing I do.

#fairy tail #gratsu #stingue #gray fullbuster #natsu dragneel #sting eucliffe #rogue cheney #ft fanfic #fairy tail fanfiction #fanfic #let me be your haven #update #new chapter #my fic

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nonbinaryemonugget · 4 years ago

Text

Good Kid: Part 2- Roman

I wasn’t planning to do a squeal, but this was all my brain would let me think about for awhile and than my ADHD hyperfixated so.. *le shrug*

Part 2 to this

Summary: Roman just wants to give this kid another chance.

One more chance is all Virgil needs.

Ships: Pre-Established Romantic Anxceitmus, Pre-Established Romantic Logince

Characters: Virgil, Remus, Janus, Roman, Logan, Some OCs.

Warnings: Foster care/homes, bullying, fight mention, self-deprecation, implied neglect/abuse/emotional abuse maybe? Transphobia. Homophobia, Polyphobia? Is that a thing? She doesn’t like that they’re poly, if you catch my drift. If you find any more please tell me.

Listen I added a ton of Virgil angst bc I was bored so I you think the characters are in fact, out of character: You’re probably right, congrats, I don’t care. ALSO I did not research foster care/homes at all because my brain decided not to vibe with the info.

“Virgil, hun, someone wants to see you.” Miss Walker, Ms. Turner’s assistant, gave a shy knock before opening the door. At least she listened to his comments about not be called by his last name.

“Me, specifically?” He raised his head from it’s place on Remus’s lap, where he had been scrolling through Tumblr. Remus’s hands fell from Virgil’s hair, and Janus looked up from where he had been rubbing circles on Virgil’s hand.

“W-Well, he specified he wanted to see our most... ah how did he word it-? Right! ‘Any and all kids who have run out of hope! They need it back, and my quest is to give it to them!’“ She added a flourish of her arms, grinning at Virgil. “He’s rather... excited.”

“Excited? To see me?” Virgil snorted, looking at the torn up remains of his folder in the trash, “I doubt it.”

“Quest?” Remus piped up, “What is he, a knight?”

“His name is Roman Prince-Berry, and he really does want to see you. Ms. Turner’s out today, she left after she returned you Virgil, and it would be lovely if I could have an easy day for once.” Miss Walker looked at him, trying to be stern and lovably failing.

Virgil raised a brow, sighing. Miss Walker was so much nicer than Ms. T. Sure Ms. T was nice, and she wasn’t homophobic, which was always a plus, but she was a bit wary of polyamorous partners, and often kicked Janus out of Remus and Virgil’s shared bedroom. Miss Walker, on the other hand, was very accepting.

She also believed there was hope for Virgil.

He disagreed.

“Go tell Mr. Princey I won’t see him without my boyfriends. I’m not going back to another homophobic or polyphobic or whatever household.” Virgil grabbed Janus’s hand and set his head back in Remus’s lap.

He heard the sound of Miss Walker leaving, and let out a soft hum as Remus ran a hand through his hair. “You aren’t exactly making it easy for her, Spiderbite.”

“I agreed to come at least. Besides, what are the odds he actually wants me?” Virgil scoffed, and Janus pressed a small kiss to his hand.

“He’d be lucky to have the opportunity to raise you, darling.” Janus mumbles, and Virgil lets out at little laugh at the absolutely true sincerity in his voice.

“We’re being serious, Jumping Spider!” Remus sat up suddenly, hitting his head on the bottom bunk. He rubs his head.

“I know. I just can’t imagine anyone thinking that way.” Virgil admits.

Almost as if summoned by his self-deprecating, Miss Walker comes in, followed by a man who must be Roman Prince-Berry. Virgil’s hand instinctively went up to fiddle with one of his ear piercings. His earrings themselves had been taken out (”Impressions, Virgil!” Ms. T would chime every time she caught him wearing them.) but he still fidgeted nervously with the pierced hole.

Miss Walker gave Virgil an encouraging smile before quickly leaving at the sound of one of the younger kid’s cries. Virgil sits up, eyeing Roman suspiciously.

Roman had been planning a, rather loud, declaration of caring and hope for the young boy, but he could already see it wasn’t going to work for this Virgil Ann Storm. So instead he took a seat on the carpeted floor, setting the (newly printed) copy of Virgil’s file beside.

“Hello, my name is Roman Prince-Berry. It’s a pleasure to meet the three of you. What are your names?” The three boys glanced at one another. It was Virgil who spoke first.

“Isn’t that in the file?” He glanced at the thing before quickly looking away. Didn’t matter, Virgil was sure that guilt still flashed across his face. Whatever. Roman had wanted the most troubled, here he was.

“Sure it is, but I think your story is better told by you than by the people who threw together every bit of paper dictating who you were.” Roman was smiling, not too wide, but enough to encourage Virgil.

“I’m Virgil. These are my boyfriends, Janus and Remus.” They each waved at their name, but otherwise kept silent. They were here to support Virgil when he needed it, and he was doing okay right now.

“And how old are you?”

“They’re both older than me. Both 17. I’m 16, but I skipped a grade a while back.” Both of Virgil’s boyfriends were holding his hands, but he was staring at Roman with interest, mirrored by the man.

“Listen Virgil, you’re a good kid. I don’t believe anyone who tells me otherwise, so I don’t want you to either. But I am going to read your file, okay? I’m going to read it aloud, and you can tell me about it, if you’re comfortable, or not. But my opinion isn’t going to change after I read this. You’re still a good kid.”

Roman hadn’t liked the anxious look that passed over Virgil’s face as he mentioned his file (The poor boy must hate what that awful file said.) but Virgil still nodded, biting his lip and tapping Janus’s hand in a repetitive pattern.

“Alright. It says here that your second fight was a year after you got put into the system? Are you comfortable telling me what happened?” Roman looked up at him, eyes flickering between Janus’s expression and Virgil’s eyes.

“They were bullying Jan.” He whispered, staring down at his lap.

“And what a Night in Shining Amour you were!” Virgil had to do a double-take. Roman had not only called him a knight, but he had said it with something like... pride.

“How old were you Virgil? When you got put in the- when you met Janus?”

“Eight.”

Roman swallowed, trying to push down his anger. Not everyone could be as patient with children as him, he knew that. But Virgil was hurt. Defeated. Virgil was absolutely certain that he was nothing of worth. Roman planned to change Virgil’s mind. “And when did you meet Remus?”

“I was ten.”

“So you’ve been here longer than the two of them?”

Virgil nodded.

“Alright. Let’s see... for someone who is very smart, Virgil, who skipped a grade and passed all your tests with A’s... you seem to have dips in your grades. Here you got F’s for two weeks straight.” He looked up the boy, who’s hands wouldn’t sit still. He had removed them from his boyfriends’ grips and was now fidgeting with the end of his hoodie. “Do you feel comfortable explaining?”

Virgil nodded slowly, hesitating before he spoke.

“I just... They were hurting a girl. Because she was trans. And when I stood up for her, they gave me a choice. Either they could find her everyday and I could keeping getting in trouble for fighting or...”

“Or?” Roman stares up at Virgil, at the way he avoids Roman’s gaze, at the fidgets, and at the dejected look in his eyes. Virgil truly believed he was a hopeless case. Roman was certain his heart would break.

“Or they would meet me behind the school and... beat me up. And then when they found out I was smart they’d dump their homework on me so that they’d start getting A’s. And I know that I shouldn’t have let them do that, but it was so much easier to just let them.” He stares at his hands, flexing them a couple times.

“It’s alright, Virgil. I understand. Listen you don’t have to keep talking to me if you don’t want to.” Roman looks up at Virgil, who won’t meet his eyes. He turns to Remus and Janus, who both are looking at him blankly. But, they aren’t glaring, which is nice.

“No, it’s alright.” Virgil’s voice is quiet. “I just, didn’t really have time for my own work after that. So my grades started dipping.” Roman nodded, biting his lip and reading over the file.

“Your first fight. Do you feel comfortable talking abou-”

“No.” Virgil cut him off, staring at Roman, an apologetic look in his eyes. “I don’t.”

Roman nodded, “And that’s alright Virgil. I don’t want you to feel like you have to tell me everything. Because it’s my job as a guardian to support you. Not bring you down because of your past.”

Virgil stares at Roman, before ducking his head down and looking away. “Thank you.” He whispers. Janus nodded slowly, grabbing Virgil’s hand. Remus ran a hand through Virgil’s hair, giving Roman a grateful look.

Roman stared a the file for a second before setting it aside. “Listen Virgil. I really want to help. I won’t judge you based on your past. There.. are some things that we have to work on... Like fighting. I want you to understand that you can trust me. You don’t have to come with me at all. I just want to help.”

There was a silence, in which Virgil picked at his lips. He mind was bouncing between this and that and finally he asked.

“Can I- Can I visit Jan and Rem?”

“Of course you can!”

“Then I’d like to go with you.”

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merigreenleaf · 4 years ago

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Unexpected Inspiration Character Backstory: Blythe’s Past

It was pretty, really, the way the molten glass exploded across the room. In places it dripped, in places it pinged. A droplet hit Blythe's hand and she brushed it off before it could harden, then brushed a few more off her shirt as it was smoldering. The glassmaker gasped and snatched her hands away before she could clear off the rest. She turned Blythe's hands over to look at the palms. Okay, so they were slightly red. A few welts were already fading. Nothing big. Blythe rolled her eyes as she pulled her arms back. She'd always healed quickly and a brief touch of hot glass barely registered as pain. The real problem was that this was another mistake in a series of mistakes. If it turned out she didn't have magic and couldn't do anything with art besides make a scribble, a din, a tangle, or an explosion, she was going to have to live with her aunt. A week in her company was long enough to know that was the last thing she wanted. -Excerpt from an early draft of Colorweaver (book 1)

Blythe had a fairly normal Concordian childhood, but in a different way than Adair. While he grew up in a small town, she grew up in the capital city. He comes from a family of Artisans, the artists and craftspeople who have magic, while Blythe's parents and the community she grew up in were Protectorates, the elite group trained to guard art and protect artists. He had a huge, sprawling family. Blythe only ever had her father.

(More)

Blythe's father became a single parent after her mother passed away shortly after her birth. As a Protectorate who guarded trade shipments, Blythe's mother should never have been traveling so far from healers so late in her pregnancy. But, like her daughter, stubbornness was her defining trait. Truth be told, her father also possessed it in abundance and he was the biggest influence in Blythe's life. Blythe looked up to him: he was strong, brave, kind, and driven to succeed in whatever he did. With his blessing, she began training and studying to be a Protectorate from a young age, until his stubbornness got the better of him, too. As a single parent, his assignment should never have been dangerous. Blythe never learned the details, no matter how much she looked into this later as an adult, and at the age of thirteen was orphaned. She had hoped to be adopted by her father's closest friends until an aunt showed up to claim her. Blythe had no choice but to go with her after she failed every test to see if she had artist magic. Had Blythe shown signs of this, she could have stayed in Concordia. She didn't particularly want artist magic, but would have preferred this to having to leave the country with a family member she had never met, who she disliked immediately.

Her uncle had been the Concordian diplomat to the neighboring country of Galanvoth for several years, long enough that Blythe had barely any memory of him. Blythe didn't mind his company and would not have minded Galanvoth so much had he not been gravely ill. He had been sick for a long time, according to her aunt, and after he passed in the same year as his brother, Blythe's aunt became her lone remaining family member. Blythe was miserable. She wanted nothing more than to return to Concordia and her training as a Protectorate. Her aunt, meanwhile, was determined to turn Blythe into a perfect Named Galanvoy citizen, the perfect house-spouse to one day marry off for political advantage. Something about her aunt rubbed Blythe the wrong way and it always seemed strange to her that no one else saw her aunt the way she did.

This misery lasted only for a few weeks, weeks which were filled with arguments and teenage rebellion, before Blythe snuck out into parts of the city her aunt would never visit. There she saw medics clandestinely helping sick and injured No-Names, people without the protection of a recognized family lineage. This was a thing Blythe could do that would both spite her aunt and give her a purpose until she came of age and could leave! The busy medics brushed the teenager off at first, until her stubbornness got them to see how hard she was willing to work. She got little sleep in those few years, being dragged around to social events and "taught" by her aunt by day, working with the medics and reading their medical tomes by night and whenever she could sneak away from her aunt. Medicine became her focus the way guard training had when she was younger and within a few years she had the culture's equivalent of a medical degree. Before too long the medics realized that she likely possessed magical healing, something not native to Galanvoth. They urged her to find a way back to Concordia for training, a difficult trick with the border closed and Blythe still underage.

Blythe's escape eventually came in the form of a traveling carnival troupe, one of the few Concordian groups allowed to cross the border. It wasn't quite what her Protectorate training had prepared her for, but her experience with blades made her a passable performer. It was there she met Dray who, after a short conflict where they both thought they were competing for the same act as blade-dancers, became her performance partner and sibling-by-choice. Shortly after joining the carnival, she apprenticed to the troupe's healer, who became her friend and mentor and taught her the basics of magical healing.

After acquiring this particular medical license fairly quickly since she was already a trained medic and only needed to learn the magic side, she decided on a focus to study. She picked trans health because the two most important people in her life - - Dray and her mentor Wysta-- were transgender. She took a hiatus from the troupe in order to study, and returned to the capital city where she had grown up. Blythe, being Blythe, decided that while she was there, she may as well do the equivalent of a double major and pick up where she had left off with Protectorate training. By the time she got her second medical degree, she had passed the tests for the Protectorate rank. With these skills acquired and needing a break from academia for a while, she went back to her carnival troupe. There she became the assistant healer to her mentor while she tried to decide what she wanted to do with her career.

What she no longer had, however, was a sibling. She discovered that while she was gone, Dray had left the troupe to become a solo performer. Dray hadn't bothered to tell her. She heard nothing from them except a few stilted letters that sounded nothing like the verbose and argumentative sibling she had left behind. There was never an address to send anything back to, not with Dray on the road. She tried to keep herself busy by helping the troupe and almost managed to convince herself that she wasn't hurt by Dray's actions. She knew as much about Dray's past as they were willing to tell anyone and had picked up pieces of memories while healing them, so she suspected why Dray had left and understood the reason. This didn't make her happy, though. When Etri and Sol joined the troupe a few months later, she essentially became Sol's personal healer as she patched him up after every failed invention and bad idea. Before too long the twins became as close to her as she had been with Dray, and when Adair wandered into the carnival and needed help getting back his stolen art, she and the twins readily agreed to help. Blythe was less than happy when the search led the four to cross paths with Dray almost immediately. Communication had never been her or Dray's strong suit and it took a while before they were able to get back to where they had left off.

Her found family gave Blythe some much-needed direction. It might just be possible to be a healer, a performer, and a Protectorate. As Adair’s sentinel, the significant other to an artist with magic, she can use her guard training as the highest ranking level of Protectorate. Adair is free to travel with a carnival troupe, unlike most Artisans who choose to live in the capital city, because he's a cartographer. This would be the perfect solution if fate didn't have other things in mind than letting the five stay carnies.

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

This is the next in the series of backstory moodboards I’m doing about the dorks. I have one for Addy here, two for Dray here and here, and one for Rosalie & Camille here. I’ll be sharing Blythe’s updated character bio board later this week. :)

This was made for @homesteadchronicles theme “teaching and education” because who better to use this week than the overachiever who technically has three degrees lol

Tagging my series tag list. Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list and please definitely tag me in writing things you share, too!

@homesteadchronicles @ageekyreader @lynnafred @the-gay-hufflepuff @oceanwriter @desperatlytryingtowriteabook @muffindragon227 @theguildedtypewriter @toboldlywrite @wchwriter @dreameronthewind @shadow-maker @pen-for-sword @loopyhoopywrites @emptymanuscript @madmoonink @perringwrites @megan-cutler @elliot-orion @thatwriternamedvolk @indecentpause @writer-on-time @ravenpuffwriter @siarven @musicismymoirail @lady-redshield-writes @bluemartlet @reeseweston @worldbuildingwren @hiddswritingrefs @cay--scribbles @focusdumbass @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword-d @enasroterfaden @missrobinswritings @joshuaorrizonte @zofiehelen @kainablue @kalis-scribbles @inspirited-goddess

#writing #writeblr #character backstory #character moodboard #moodboard #character aesthetics #fantasy series #unexpected inspiration aesthetic #unexpected inspiration series #UI POV: Blythe #I really want to write more about Blythe as a teenager because that punk aesthetic is AWESOME #and I'm so bummed that she doesn't dress like that anymore lolol #the braid is something she's had for a while because all protectorates wear their hair in braids #it's kinda tradition that no one but your immediate family sees your hair loose

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vonnyphant · 4 years ago

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To Blog or Not to Blog?

“You should start a diary and write about your experiences. It may help people going through the same thing.”

Honestly? If there’s one thing I discovered about this diagnosis, it’s that it makes me pretty damn selfish. I don’t want to help other people (not just yet, anyway). But putting some thoughts down about this time in my life may be of some sort of therapeutic value, and I do want to help myself.

(Maybe for once, saving the world can wait. Do you remember how, soon after the pandemic hit, people stopped avoiding plastic and single-use items? When your health is at risk, suddenly rainforests and polar bears and the planet are deprioritised- not that anyone will admit to this. But this is my diary and I can say what I want!* Writing for myself it is.)

Having established my less-than-Mother-Theresa-like reasons for this blog, my conscience cleared, it’s time to start. This is where the Lifetime movie shows me, in a half daze, mellowed out on drugs while they sew a mediport into my chest to start administering chemicals. A fast lane to my bloodstream. A docking station. The soundtrack? Hopefully ‘Across The Universe’ by the Beatles (possibly Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. If I get a say in it, I veto The Walrus) Time to pump this body full of drugs that’ll make my hair fall out.

Wait, what?

Voice Over: “Yep. That’s me. You’re probably wondering what I am doing here…” //record scratch - freeze frame - fast rewind to the psychedelic outtro of A Day In The Life//

Two months ago, during rub-a-dub-in-the-tub (less naughty than it sounds, was just washing myself), my mind inexplicably went to an episode of Beverly Hills 90210, s1 (aired in 1992- yes, I am that old), where Brenda Walsh has a breast cancer scare. I say inexplicably, because my usual shower fantasies do not include Ms Shannon Doherty - if I was going to pick a shower lady, I’d opt for Charlize Theron, Kiera Knightly or Winona Ryder in their short-hair phases, but that is neither here nor there.

Say what you want for 90s television- weird outfits and ponytails notwithstanding, in their AfterSchoolSpecial PSA way, they dedicated a whole scene to the girls giving themselves a breast exam, including how-to instructions**, and eventhough I was only 11 years old when I saw it, I remembered what to do, and for the last 30 years, every now and then I have randomly carried it out while wondering how I always preferred Brandon over Dylan and how my tastes have changed over time.

But this time - my hand actually found something.

I took a deep breath and calmed myself down the same way I did after finding spots on my skin, lumps on my head and every time I sneezed since covid-19; by telling myself to fucking snap out of my hypochondria tendencies. One cannot go to the doctor every damn day after all. Breast tissue is pretty lumpy and I assumed it was just imaginary. I made an appointment to see a therapist, and put it out of my mind until a few weeks later, when one of the kids came crashing down on me (literally) and faceplanted in my boob (as they do).

Now this always hurts af, but it just hurt that little more that day, so that I grabbed the appendage in question and went “WHAT THE--!” And I felt it again- the lump, more defined than a few weeks before.

Cue a lot more freaking out than the first time, and after a sleepless night, imagining what my funeral would look like (as one does), I decided to go to the gynocologist the same day or risk never to sleep again.

After a long wait and an ultrasound, my doctor assured me that while there really was a mass, it had every indication of being benign. We should keep an eye on it. If I was worried, I could schedule a second screening, but would not likely get an appointment before April. I scheduled one and tried to focus on preparing our first lockdown Christmas.

But over the holidays, the lump started hurting, even when I wasn’t poking it or having a kid catapult themselves into my chest. I’d be Netflix and Chilling, and suddenly - ZAP - like someone stuck a hot needle into it. Repeatedly. My nipple would go numb or start tingling like a bodypart that fell asleep. It freaked me out, and in the new year, I realised I couldn’t wait until April - I had to get it checked out again or I may worry myself to death.

My gynocologist did another ultrasound and again, told me not to worry. I told her it was way too late for that as I had been worried for weeks, and I wanted the thing biopsied (they gave Brenda Walsh one too, after all! It’s the only way to be 100% sure). She referred me to the hospital. At the description of my symptoms, I could come directly, and the radiologist told me in no unclear terms: “I will not let you leave this room until we draw blood and take several biopsies.” Okay- not exactly what one wants to hear at that point, but at the same time, I figured knowing would be better than guessing by the shape of it.

Test results took a week. I went in, being prepared to be told (like Brenda) it was a harmless clump of random cells or a cyst we could have removed like a wart. Only it wasn’t. It was breast cancer, an aggressive, fast-growing kind, and had I waited until April, that could have had disastrous consequences.

While the doctor explained we now needed to determine the scope of the spread and take more tissue to determine what kind of chemo (if any) could be applied, all my 2020-PTSD brain could think was:

“.............of course”.

Didn’t hear much of what she said afterwards.

Another harrowing 4 days went by, with a CT screening with contrast solutions that gave me an intense stomach ache as well as a migraine, and finally, a fully rounded diagnosis and treatment advice could be made.

Thankfully, all my organs as well as lymphnodes were clear, so it appears to be a localised tumor. And here we are - to fight this thing with chemicals and then cut out whatever is left. Genetics testing to see about the likelihood of a recurrency (and a possible double mastectomy if so - ‘pulling an Angelina Jolie’, ‘not saving the tatas’, insert ‘Think About It meme’...can’t have breast cancer if you don’t have breasts! THINK ABOUT IT***).

Chances are good. I need to cling to that while I wait for this port and treatment to start. I have accepted the inevitable hair loss, have scheduled a ritual ‘crazy hair cutting party’ with my kids for this weekend (as I would rather shave it off in one go than clean up clumps and strands over the course of weeks and look like Gollum), and I have sewn several funny little hats for inside wear and ‘going out’ (though where will I be going in pandemic, idk).

I was going to end this post on a light and happy note - but I must admit my confidence just took a really big hit in real time, as I googled how to spell Shannon’s last name for this blog entry and found out that she was treated for breast cancer in 2015, initially succesfully, but it reappeared metastasized in 2020 (again: ‘of course...when else’) and she is now in stage IV. Fuck 2020.

What are the odds that the woman whose character made me discover my own breast cancer is now, in fact, dying of the same disease? This will surely haunt me for a long time to come.

More tomorrow? Or soon? It may take a while. Until then: outro to It’s Getting Better.

*also for the record I would like to state that I’ve sewn my own masks from upcycled pillowcases and continued using fruit- and vegetable nets to avoid plastic; maybe that makes up for me being utterly selfish at the moment. Karma +1?

** https://youtu.be/pkgYXITkrfw (the scene from BH 90210)

***cis men / trans women without breasts can also get breast cancer (even though it’s rare) so this meme doesn’t really hold up, but that’s the whole point of the meme ;)

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draftingtides · 4 years ago

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I’ll Find the Words

AO3

Words: 1343 Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood Relationships: JonMartin Warnings: Brief mentions of Martin’s mum being transphobic and generally unpleasant, Jons afraid Martin’s going to react badly to his asexuality but theres no actual aphobia Other Tags: Cottage Fic, Curtain Fic, Coming Out, Trans Martin Blackwood, Nonbinary Jonathan Sims, Canon Asexual Character, Getting Together, Canon Atypical Discussions of Emotions, Domestic Fluff, Post MAG159 Pre MAG160 Summary: Somehow maybe now I'll find the words to say Never thought I'd see the day —Brian David Gilbert, "See The Day" In a cottage in Scotland, they finally get to talk.

Jon wakes slowly, the dredges of some re-lived statement slipping out of his mind. His face is half-smushed in his pillow, but through his free eye he can see Martin across the bed, still asleep. Sunlight filters in through the lacey curtains and draws patterns across the quilt and their hands, which rest only inches away from each other.

Following the slow rise and fall of Martin’s chest almost lulls Jon back to sleep. For the first time in too long, he takes a moment to just lay there and… breathe; to feel his lungs contracting and expanding, his body pressing into the mattress. He closes his eyes and his eyelashes brush against the pillow. He doesn’t have anywhere to be. He doesn’t have anything to do. He can just exist.

A shift of the fabric makes him open his eyes again. Martin is awake now, watching him. Jon watches back. Neither of them says a word.

I really loved you, you know? Loved, past tense—but everything is past tense in the Lonely. It was once-there-was-someone-or-something-but-now-it-is-gone-and-I-am-on-my-own. It still lingers, still hovers on the edge of Martin’s being. His hair is shock-white where the Lonely leeched all the colour from it.

Jon’s limbs are heavy from sleep, so his movements are clumsy when he reaches out and puts one hand in Martin’s hair. Martin sucks in a breath, but his expression doesn’t change, nor does he ask Jon to stop, so Jon doesn’t move. Martin’s hair is soft as candyfloss, soft as a cloud.

“I love you,” Jon says, pleasantly surprised when his voice doesn’t tremble.

Martin’s eyes go wide like saucers. In a voice as steady as Jon’s and soft as his hair, he says, “I love you, too, Jon.” He puts his own hand on top of Jon’s and tugs it down to press a kiss to his open palm. “I love you,” he whispers again, so quietly this time that Jon’s not even sure he was meant to hear it.

Jon twists his hand in Martin’s so he can twine their fingers together. “Would you like breakfast? We can make pancakes.”

Martin squeezes his hand. “Yeah. Yeah, breakfast sounds great.”

~~~~~

Daisy doesn’t have any syrup, so they make do with butter and honey on their pancakes instead.

Martin fixes them both tea. If he notices Jon watching him while he does so, he doesn’t say anything about it. Jon accepts his cup with a murmured thanks.

The table is a tiny thing, and it’s no difficulty at all for Martin to link his left hand with Jon’s across it.

When he finishes eating, Jon pushes his plate away. “I… I’ve been thinking. About something Peter Lukas said.”

Martin’s expression tightens, but he nods for Jon to continue.

“He said we don’t know each other very well. And I… it’s true, I think. At least for me.” He focuses on a point just to the left of Martin’s face. “But I would like to know you. I want to know everything about you—not because of the Eye, just—just for me. And for you.”

Martin’s breath hitches. “I want to know everything about you, too.”

They leave the dishes in the sink and curl up on the couch, facing each other, never unclasping their hands.

“What do you want to know?”

Jon considers. “Is there anything you want me to know first?”

Martin bites his lip and looks to the side. “I’m trans.”

Without thinking, Jon says, “Oh, I know.”

Martin turns sharply back to look at him. “What? How?”

“Um. When I caught you in your pants when you were staying at the Archives? You didn’t have a shirt on and you were wearing your binder.”

Martin exhales and runs and a hand through his hair. “I thought you thought it was a tank top.”

“I did, at first. But it had the trans flag colours on it, and I recognised them. I didn’t want to do anything rude or—or transphobic, so I did a little research after that, and that’s when I figured out it was a binder.” Jon resists the urge to stick his hand in his mouth and chew on his nails. “I, ah, I’m trans too? Um, genderqueer.”

“Oh! What are your pronouns?”

“He/him, I think.”

Martin sighs, relieved. “That’s good. I hate to think I’d been misgendering you. He/him for me, as well.”

“When did… when did you start figuring it out?”

“Around fifteen or sixteen? I couldn’t really start transitioning until I was an adult. Mum was… not supportive.” He looks away. “I think I must have looked too much like my dad.”

Jon rubs his thumb over the back of Martin’s hand.

“I got top surgery last year, after she died. I… I was scared I wouldn’t like how it would look, after—after I realised how much it would make me look like him? I didn’t want to have that association every time I looked in the mirror. But I decided to go through with it, and I don’t think it makes me look like him. It just makes me look like me.”

“You look lovely, Martin,” Jon tells him sincerely, and Martin flushes to the tips of his ears.

“What about you? When did you figure it out?”

Jon recognises the attempt to divert his attention for what it is, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Just a couple years ago, actually. I came across the term while I was researching after I caught you in your binder, but I didn’t really… connect it to the way I felt until later. I also found another word?” This time, he does bring his thumb up to his mouth to chew on his nail. “Asexual.”

Martin nods and squeezes his hand.

“It means… not having sexual attraction. Which isn’t the same as romantic attraction, um, they’re separate things. So someone could be asexual and biromantic, which is like bisexual except romantic instead of sexual. It’s—um—” Jon gives up on the nail and just bites down on his whole thumb. “It’s—some aces—that’s shorthand for asexual—some of them like sex? But some—they just—it’s not—”

“Jon.”

Jon shuts up.

“Are you asexual?”

He nods slowly.

“And you don’t like sex?”

He nods again without meeting Martin’s eyes. “I don’t even like kissing on the mouth.”

Martin tugs Jon’s hand away from his mouth and holds it with his own, so they’re holding hands on both sides. “Hey. If you don’t want to have sex, or kiss me, I’m not going to make you. I didn’t fall in love with you because I thought the sex would be good.”

“But you like sex.”

“I—well, yeah. Probably. But—”

Jon looks up. “Probably?”

“I’ve never actually… done it? I never exactly had a lot of time, between working and caring for my mum. I’ve never even had a boyfriend.”

“Oh.”

“My point is, I’ve gone my entire life without having sex. I can go the rest of it, too. Especially if it means I get to be with you.”

“Oh.” His eyes start to sting. “Um.” He pulls one of his hands free of Martin’s to wipe away the wetness on his cheeks.

“Do you want a hug?” Martin asks gently, opening his arms a bit.

Jon nods and falls into them without a second thought. He’s not a loud crier, but he muffles the little sounds he does make in Martin’s neck. Martin rubs Jon’s back and rocks them a little, making quiet, comforting shushing sounds.

The strong wave of emotion peters out eventually, but Jon doesn’t move from Martin’s hold.

“You okay?” Martin murmurs.

Jon nods. “Thank you.”

Martin giggles a bit. “We really just started out with the the heaviest stuff, didn’t we?”

Jon laughs and holds Martin tighter. “Should I have asked for your favourite colour instead?”

“It’s brown. Like your eyes.”

Jon splutters and retaliates with, “Mine’s pink. Like you used to dye your hair,” and grins when Martin’s cheeks colour to match.

#jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #the magnus archives #tma #ace jon #trans jonathan sims #trans martin blackwood #tma fic #tma fanfic #jon sims #trans/gnc jon #trans/gnc martin #tma pride #iaw #starlight starwrite #my post

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onthevirgeofdestruction · 4 years ago

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A Whole Castle

In Little Ways Part II (Part I Here) (The First Short for New Readers) (The Playlist)

Words: 1,140 Warnings: Food Mention, Abandonment Issues Characters: Logan, Roman, Patton, Virgil Universe: Whole Castle Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff Additional Tags: Patient Parenting, Roman Sanders is Extra

Logan exhaled hard as he got home from work. It was a long afternoon of meetings with teachers who pretended Logan’s plight was not their own. Why scholars couldn’t agree that each department had its struggles was baffling. He rubbed his face and set down his briefcase and kicked off his shoes at the rack.

“Dad, dad, dad, dad!” Virgil came rushing up to him as soon as she shut the door. “Janus just got a new game, can I go? Please? Can you watch Pat?” He pleaded hurriedly, jogging on the spot.

“Virgil, you know I don’t like you running across the highway,” Logan huffed, shaking his head.

“I’ll take my scooter! It’s just two lanes. Janus does it all the time. The sun’s up, drivers will see me! Please!” Virgil shot back, gripping Logan’s arm and shaking it lightly.

“The game doesn’t have sexual content or gratuitous violence?” Logan raised an eyebrow at him. He always had trouble saying no to Virgil whenever he was this excited.

“No, it’s a multi-player JRPG, you get to ride dragons, please!” Virgil sounded desperate. Logan would never understand Virgil’s fascination with these things.

“Fine, go ahead. Please be careful. One of us will pick you up, just call when you’re done or we’ll get you before dinner. Only one soda,” Logan held up a finger and conceded emphatically.

“Deal! Thanks, dad! Love you!” Virgil pushed past Logan excitedly and headed out the front door. Logan blinked as it slammed shut. Janus usually spent him here rather than Virgil visiting him. But they didn’t have the newest game systems and Janus’s family did, so it made sense even if Logan was slightly suspicious. He hoped traffic was forgiving. The highway between the neighborhoods had light traffic, but Logan worried about either of them crossing.

Logan stepped in and headed into the kitchen to grab a drink before checking on Patton in his room. Patton looked concerned, scribbling hard on the paper in front of him with one hand and his rabbit doll in the other.

“Is everything alright, Patton?” Logan inquired gently. Patton looked up to him and sighed, not responding in any manner. He glanced sadly at Logan before looking down and gripping at his shorts. “Can I come in?” Patton shook his head. “Then would you like to come out?” Logan suggested and stepped out of the doorway to give Patton room. Patton sat motionless for a moment before he nodded and got up. Logan went out into the living room and Patton climbed up near him. “Do you think Mrs. Bunnyface would want to watch Wall-E?” Logan hummed and picked up the remote and Patton cheered up a little, making his doll nod a few times.

Logan loaded up the movie and sat back. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with Patton, but he was uncomfortable and upset about something. He hoped Wall-E would cheer him up. Patton liked the little robots. Sometimes when he was cleaning up his building blocks, he’d pretend he was Wall-E. Patton leaned on the couch and pulled his feet up to watch just like Virgil does, snuggling his doll close. Logan breathed a small chuckle out through his nose. He realized what might be wrong.

“Does Mrs. Bunnyface miss Virgil?” Logan inquired quietly, trying not to look pointedly at Patton. Patton sighed and squeezed Mrs. Bunnyface.

“Yeah,” Patton breathed. “He’s comin’ back, righ’?” Patton looked up sadly at Logan.

“Yes, he’s just playing a game with his friend. He’ll be back,” Logan nodded and smiled to Patton.

“He don’t… hate… um, Mrs. Bunnyface?” Patton furrowed his eyebrows and stiffened.

“No, Patton. He loves both of you. Did it make Mrs. Bunnyface worry that he was so excited to leave today?” Logan looked down at Patton, who nodded sadly. “Just so she knows, Virgil being excited about spending time with someone else doesn’t mean he loves either of you less. He just got excited about a video game and he wasn’t abandoning you… or Mrs. Bunnyface,” Logan cleared his throat. Patton nodded in acknowledgment and loosened up slightly.

“You promise?” Patton looked up glassy-eyed to Logan.

“I promise,” Logan smiled reassuringly. “Virgil is a little obsessed with animé and dragons, the game had both it seems. He also just wants to spend time with his friend. He still loves you, even if he has other interests,” He added genially.

“It’s lonely,” Patton whispered, looking dourly to the floor.

“I’m here for you, Patton. Anything I that can give you is yours,” Logan offered. Patton sniffled and turned back to watch the TV.

Patton didn’t move at first. He just shot Logan glances every few minutes. Logan observed Patton just as much as he watched the movie to make sure he was okay. After a bit of time passed, Patton took a deep breath and shifted closer on the couch. If Logan hadn’t watched him do it, he might not have been aware it was such a slight move. Logan put his arm up on the back of the couch to make it obvious he was okay with Patton moving closer. Patton looked between the floor and Logan a few times before shifting more towards Logan and laying down on his lap. Logan waited a few more moments for experimentally lowered his arm. He floated it over Patton before he rested it on him, and Patton grabbed his arm to hold along with his plush.

Logan pulled the blanket off the back of the couch with a one-handed effort and tossed it over Patton’s lower half. He snuggled up under the lopsided blanket and scooted up closer on Logan’s lap, pulling Logan’s arm with him. Logan sighed happily and watched Patton tiredly watch the movie more than the film itself. It was one Roman loved, so he already knew it by heart. He texted Roman apologizing that he couldn’t start dinner tonight with a picture message of Patton laying on his lap and Roman sent a solid eight messages of key smashes. Then he ranted about how far Patton had come and how incredibly jealous he was.

Patton was completely absorbed into the movie by the time Roman made it home, so Roman did a silent dance just out of Patton’s vision. The moonwalk was particularly impressive, and being able to spin soundlessly was a skill. He then retreated to the kitchen to make a ‘victory meal’, whatever that was. Roman’s cooking was amazing, so he was sure it will be lovely. Logan sometimes heard Roman’s soft singing from the kitchen over the film, but Patton didn’t appear to notice. He looked very comfortable and engrossed in the movie. Logan sighed in relief and smiled at Patton. It was so wonderful to remember that things could get better if you tried.

Taglist: @elizabutgayer @radioactivehelena @ollyollyoxinfree @kanene-yaaay-o-retorno The Taglist Repository Taglist: (ask to be removed) freakin’ everything: @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud @ananonsplace @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun Human AU: @somehow-i-got-an-account @starlight-era @just-your-typical-trans-guy @potatsanderssides @idont-freaking-know Logince: @idontcareaboutcanon @silverobsidion-speaks @a-fandom-trashdump @averykedavra @k1ngtok1 @potatsanderssides Moxiety (platonic): @kieraelieson @star-crossed-shipper Adoption: @enby-phoenix @idont-freaking-know Foster: @i-am-not-a-dinner-roll @nonasficcollection @idont-freaking-know Found Family: @supernovainthenightsky

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dolly-decadatia · 4 years ago

Text

Notes 12/1/20 s.c book

Incorporate altered consciousness into practice as soon as I move to Nevada.

Reach state of ecstasy during rites- incorporate Invocation of Lust rite from LaVey?

Eww so much gender binary bullshit... kind of toying with the idea of pop culture paganism using Spike and Drusilla but grossed out by the gender binary and heteronormativity of the god and goddess and I don’t want that ickiness all over my comfort characters. Something to ponder further.

Reincarnation is brought up. Not sure how I feel about that either. This all made so much more sense to me when I was like 12.

Magic is the practice of moving natural energies to effect needed change.

I’m like 2 pages in and he’s annoying me already. I was definitely remembering Scott Cunningham with a nostalgia lens.

Next chapter is The Deities. Skipping this completely.

Chap 3 Magic:

2 main sources of energy: personal power, earth power.

Personal power- is the life force that sustains our earthly existences. We absorb energy from the moon and sun, from water and food. We release it during movement, exercise, and sex. Even exhaling releases some power, though we recoup the loss through inhaling. In Magic, personal power is aroused, infused with a specific purpose, and directed toward its goal.

Earth power- is that which resides within your planets and in it’s natural products. Stones, trees, wind, flames, water, crystals, and scents all possess unique, specific powers that can be used during magical ritual.

No matter the magical system, personal power must be infused with the need and then released.

I am more than comfortable incorporating negative Magic in my practice. Scott is super judgmental and priggish and I am not feeling his sanctimonious ranting on the topic.

You don’t need elaborate rites every-time. If nothing else, light a candle, settle down before it and concentrate on your magical need. Trust yourself.

Chap 4 tools

The broom- oh lawd he really thinks there were Wiccans during the burning times before Gardner was born. I can’t with him....

Anyway the broom is used for spiritual cleansing (don’t let the bristles touch the ground). Visualize the broom sweeping out the astral buildup that occurs where humans live. This purifies the area to allow smoother ritual workings. Since it is a purifier, the broom is linked with the element of water. Thus it is also used in all types of water spells including those of love and psychic workings. To make your own broom the classic formula is a ash staff, birch twigs, and a willow binding. The ash is protective and the birch is purifying. The willow is religious and therefore non applicable. A tiny broom of pine needles can also be used. There are many old spells involving brooms 🧹. In general the 🧹 is a purificatory and protective instrument used to ritually cleanse the area for Magic or to guard a home by laying in across the threshold, and under the bed, in windowsills, or on doors 🚪.

I personally like cinnamon brooms 🧹. I used to customize them for the sabbaths when I was Wiccan with colored ribbon and sprigs of the appropriate herbs or flowers. I miss doing that.

The wand:

Instrument of invocation. Also used to direct energy, draw magical 🧙‍♂️ symbols or a circle ⭕️ on the ground, to point towards danger ⚠️ while perfectly balanced on a witch’s hand ✋ or even stir a brew in a cauldron. The wand represents the element of air.

Traditional woods used for wand: willow, elder, oak, apple, peach, hazel, cherry 🍒 and more.

Can even use a wooden dowel and carve and/or paint it.

Crystal can also be used.

Any stick you find will be infused with energy and power.

Censer:

Incense burner. I liked the gold swingy ones because they remind me of Spike but I’m uncomfortable with the concept of a breeding pair of deities and don’t want to taint spike and Dru by pigeon holing them into those gross roles. Really really like that censer though... will have to ponder.

When no specific incense is called for in rituals and spells, use your own intuition and creativity in determining which blend to use.

Spirits can be called to appear in visible form in the smoke rising from the censer. He said “command” which seems rude and I don’t vibe with bullying spirits. I want to be their friends. He also said this is not a part of Wicca. I’m not Wiccan sooooo. C’mon incense ghosties. It’s party time at my place .

Sitting while breathing slowly and watching the smoke can be an entrancing act, and you might slip into an alternate state of consciousness.

Cauldron- ancient vessel of cooking and brew making, steeped in magical tradition and mystery. (Grain of salt- he’s talking about Wicca which is not ancient at all.) the cauldron is the container in which magical transformations occur; the sea of primeval creation. The cauldron is often a focal point of ritual. During spring rites it is often filled with fresh water 💧 and flowers 💐; during winter ❄️ a fire 🔥 may be kindled within the cauldron but the reasoning behind this is very religious so.....

The cauldron should be should be iron, resting on 3 legs, with its opening smaller than its widest part. It can be used for scrying by filling it with water and gazing into it.

Athame:

Used for directing energy not cutting. Often dull, usually double-edged with a black handle because black absorbs power. When the athame is used in ritual a bit of energy gets stored in the handle for later use. A sword can be used (like in Church of Satan rituals) if space permits. My trailer is so small it’s tempting to temporarily use a pocket knife until I move 😂. Scott says knives are phallic but pre op trans men aren’t shaped like knives. Coming out has really opened my eyes to how bullshitty concepts of yonic or phallic are. Not feeling it.

Bolline -

White handled practical working knife you actual use as a knife unlike the athame.

Crystal sphere- used for divination. They remind me of Dru because anything psychic does but like I said- I don’t want to disrespect Drusilla by show horning her into the Wiccan idea of goddess. Can be used to store energy or receive messages. Periodic exposure to moonlight, or rubbing the crystal with fresh mugwort will increase its ability to spark our psychic powers. It may be the center of full moon 🌕 rituals.

Cup- simply a cauldron on a stem. Scott calls it a fertility symbol. Gross. Not in my practice. Contains ritual beverage imbibed during ritual. I need to decide what my liquid will be. It was cranberry juice when I was a teen witch, wine as an adult, and Jack Daniels when I was a pop culture pagan (for spike). Cup can be any substance. I have an awesome baphomet goblet in the storage unit I can use. I still love satanic imagery.

Pentacle- Wiccan specific. Non applicable.

Book of shadows- can be handwritten or digital. Ideally rites should be memorized which is daunting with my learning disability and memory issues brought on by depression but I’ll try.

Bell-

Ritual instrument of incredible antiquity. (Source needed on that, Scott). Ringing a bell unleashes vibrations that have powerful effects according to its volume, tone, and material of construction. Also rung to to ward off evil spirits (what does he mean by that? Let’s not be frigging fluffbunnies) to halt storms or evoke good energies. Placed in cupboards or hung on the door, it guards the home. Bells are sometimes rung in ritual to mark various sections and signal a spell’s beginning or end.

As you collect each tool, you can prepare it for ritual. If old, it should be stripped of all associations and energies; you don’t know who owned the tool or what purposes it may have been used for. To begin this process, clean the tool physically using the appropriate method. When the object is clean and dry, bury it in the earth or a bowlful of sand or salt for a few days, allowing the energies to disperse. An alternate method involves plunging the tool into the sea, river, lake, or even your own bathtub 🛁 after purifying the 💦 by adding a few pinches of salt 🧂.

Use common sense and don’t wreck your tool with water or salt if the material would get wrecked.

After a few days dig up the tool, wipe it clean, and it is ready for magic 🪄. If you use the 💦 method, leave the object submerged for a few hours, then dry it.

There are consecration ceremonies later In the book. Use common sense and edit them as needed to make them non secular or hunt on tumblr for alternate methods.

#atheist witch #secular witchcraft #witch journey #pop culture paganism #ex wiccan

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lettersandinkstains · 5 years ago

Photo

WIP Re Introduction | The Three Steps of Romance

genre ; romance, slice of life, lgbt, contemporary, contemporary romance themes ; navigating adulthood, unconditional love, semi found family, companionship, desires to escape, main female roles, main lgbt+ roles, loneliness, lgbt+ issues, self acceptance, transgender issues and rights, wlw romance, pride, longing, finding place in the world warnings ; some lgbt+ issues brought up -- mentioned homophobia and transphobia, but not from any main character (or loved ones), fluff, short romance, swearing, drinking.

pov ; dual first persons - alternating chapters progress ; planning stages, developing characters

#threestepromance #tsr

summary: “new town, new me” is a cliche mantra people say when they head somewhere new -- knowing they have the chance to reinvent themselves and leave their ghosts behind. for artemis, this saying is entirely true in every sense of the word. since her transition during vet school, she had always dreamed of getting away from the town she lived in and live entirely as herself even though her friends, family, and now ex girlfriend had been supportive of her. and when she found an opening for a needed vet in a small coastal town, she had immediately applied.

ember has always lived life through the camera, always off in her own world on an adventure in different parts of the world. there had never been a time in her life where she had felt at ease where she is, always bored and seeking thrill and daydreaming of meeting her future wife in a grand and unforgettable way. yet, she knows how impossible that is and knows that soulmates don’t exactly exist and questions the love at first sight notion.

until she meets artemis one night in a bar.

characters ;

artemis - 28 years old, lesbian, trans. she’s a laid back woman with a go getter attitude. she is a fan of olden day horror movies and works as a vet. she prefers dogs over cats, rainy days, and being able to sleep in. may or may not have a minor addiction to coffee.

ember - 27 years old, lesbian. a spunky woman with a heart of gold. she has a habit of talking too much, burning her food, and running late. the camera is her best friend, and lives entirely in a daydream. she wants to work for national geographic, but currently works for the local newspaper. has difficulties reading the atmosphere at times, and can be quite dramatic.

sky - 27 years old, bisexual, non binary. they’re ember’s closest friend, and has been since childhood. they tend to keep ember more grounded, and are generally supportive of her future dreams. they’re snarky and work as a vet tech at the same veterinary hospital as artemis does.

mason - 30 years old, gay, trans. newly engaged and always up for an adventure, mason is ember’s cousin. he tends to encourage embers’ more hyperactive side without meaning to. he works as a math teacher at the local high school.

ezekiel - 31 years old, gay, cis. he’s mason’s soon to be husband, and has kept his rebellious streak from his teen years. he absolutely loves conspiracy theories and shares a love for old horror movies. a flirt by nature, anything he says can make most people swoon and blush. he works as a chemistry teacher at the same high school as mason.

aurora - 28 years old, lesbian, cis. artemis’ supportive ex girlfriend and confidant. they broke up due to growing apart over the years, and due to aurora’s job as a flight attendant. she’s kind and quite shy.

paisley - 25 years old, asexual, cis. just graduated as a pharmacy tech, paisley has a dream of opening up her own pharmacy one day. she works at the local hospital currently and is in a relationship with sky.

eliana - 26 years old. aromantic asexual, cis. eli has a few novels published under a pseudonym. she hopes to make it big in the writing world one day, but so far, no luck. she had recently moved to the small coastal town of lakewood just a year prior, and enjoys hiking and sporting events. she’s currently working as a barista but hopes to get hired as a history teacher at one of the two high schools.

nova - 30 years old, lesbian, cis. nova works at the local gay bar as a bartender -- she knows her way around the kitchen and makes a mean drink. she’s been married for the last five years of her life, and acts as a mother hen to the younger patrons. she and her wife are currently hoping to adopt, and have a two year old. she is also a drag king in the local drag scene, and goes by Miles.

SCENE ;

The bar is nicely lit, with a large rainbow flag hanging behind the bartender, and the atmosphere is calm -- much calmer than I had expected it to be. But I guess large cities and smaller towns have different vibes, and at least here, there’s no expectation to get wasted.

“I guess I’ll have an aviation,” I tell the bartender as I look around. I’ve been here two weeks, and this is my first time actually going out and socializing. My only outlet before this had been Aurora and Zatanna, but dogs aren’t much for conversations and Aurora had been on a trip to another country and couldn’t talk very much or for very long. And as much as I’d like to call my parents to let them know I made it, I’m still not quite ready to speak with them.

When I announced that I was moving, mom had cried, saying that she had always dreamed of her family always being close by and coming home for Sunday dinners but now, that would be impossible. Dad was a little more supportive -- but asked if it was because of another woman, and when I told him no, he was slightly disappointed.

“So, are you new around here?” The bartender asks as she sets the drink down in front of me. When I give her a quizzical look, she gives me a sheepish smile. “Just haven’t seen your face here before.”

“Oh. Ah. Yeah, quite new,” I rub the back of my neck. Why is talking to women so hard? “Decided to check this place it. It’s quite chill.”

“Yeah, it is,” The woman agrees. “I’m Nova, by the way.”

“Artemis,”

“Hey, Nova!” A voice calls out and I turn to look at the speaker. A woman stands close to me, hands on the counter, her hair falling over her shoulders, messily and there’s a ray of light shining around her. I can’t help but stare. “Could I order a pink vodka lemonade and two whiskey sours? Mason just got engaged so I’m treating him and Ezekiel tonight!”

“Sure thing,” As Nova works on the drinks, this seemingly angel takes the seat next to me and watches her intently. “So, newbie, what brought you to Lakewood?”

“Work,” I answer as I take a sip of my drink. Red hot alcohol races down my throat. “And needed a do-over, I think.”

“Makes sense,”

Angel-girl looks at me, her pretty brown eyes wide. “Oh? You’re new here?” Before I can answer, a large grin breaks across her freckled face, and I feel mine heat up. “I’m Ember!”

Ember. Ember.

#violetvineyard #writeblr #amwriting #writers on tumblr #writers of tumblr #writing #wip introduction #wlw romance #romance #lgbt stories #ownvoices #fluff #wip intro #wip reintroduction #threestepromance #tsr: aesthetic #tsr: introduction #tsr: wip introduction

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