#sand in my toenails | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xo2dee · 1 year ago

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NOW LOADING. .

TRIGUN MASTERLIST

GOOD LOOKING

PAIRING: Vash the Stampede x Reader WARNINGS: Implied Sexual Content. MDNI/18+. WORD COUNT: 6,659 SUMMARY: Oh, my good looking boy.

A/N: any vash you wanna imagine here really, though he may lean little into trimax but still imagine whichever vash you want

The sweat on the mirror dissipated as you ran the pad of your finger down the glass, a muted squeak from the action making you squint and pull away from it with an exhausted sigh while glancing at the door for the umpteenth time. Mind running miles at the fastest millisecond, you licked your lips and looked into the mirror once more and pondered over the tumultuous thoughts that had been plaguing you.

You had turned the shower on three minutes beforehand, yet your clothes remained stuck to your body and your mind moving too fast for your own liking despite how you longed for that moment for days.

Like the reflection in the mirror fogged over, your outline was nothing more than a hazy memory caught in a near forgotten dream as you ran the heels of your palms over your eyes and cheeks; heavy fatigue was beginning to set in your body and you knew it’d only be moments before you mulled over forgoing a shower and collapsing into bed if you kept just standing there in a lust of lethargic want (much to the chagrin of yourself in the morning and your companion sitting just outside the bathroom door).

A wisp of warmth curled itself around your neck after a few seconds of contemplating the idea, the first sensation to heat before actually seeing it. A glance over your shoulder let you watch the steam rise before you looked back into the sink, the tap water that had ran a lukewarm in contrast to the boiling temperature you had pushed the shower knob towards. The sink faucet occasionally dripped into the dull porcelain bowl; a telling sign of the conditions of the Inn that you couldn’t complain over, more than glad enough to have made it somewhere to actually rest your head in the comfort of a blanket rather the cold nights No Man’s Land brought. It was nice to have made it to civilization after several days, an itch already settling in between your shoulder blades and your fingernails gritty from the ground that made your teeth ache after just two cycles of seeing the suns and the moons.

You were (explicitly) dirty.

Not to mention, you had sand everywhere, and it itched.

(And you meant everywhere.)

The heel of your boots had somehow gotten severely cuffed from the sand, pressing down on the said heels of each to relieve your feet from them, your socks having folded down to the arch of your foot from sweat and painted a dark beige from where sand have caved itself into your shoes. It was soggy and made your nose wrinkle, your tired and sore broken soles finding solace in the cold tile of the bathroom floor once you kicked them fully off with a sigh, only to sneer at the sand wedged up into your toenails and gripped onto your knuckles. A slight shift backwards from where you had leant up onto the counter let you feel the chafing along your thighs, rolling your neck with another heavy sigh as the importance of a shower suddenly was at the top of your list before sleeping.

You were sure it was also on the top of your companion’s list as well, your ears picking up on the creek of the mattress through the thin, wooden-paneled door as he shifted and two low thuds followed – perhaps taking his own sand-clogged boots and leaning back on his elbows as he waited on you. A twitch of your lip had you remembering the night before when you complained about the back of your knees itching, his cheeks comically full of food as he boasted that he didn’t have that problem until you had ran a hand through his hair and commented that it felt like straw. He had wailed and swatted your hand away, running long fingers through his blonde locks with a glob of tears in the corner of his eyes as he begged you to tell him it wasn’t true and you were just teasing him.

With his face in your chest, you had said, ‘No, Vash, your hair doesn’t feel like straw. I was just teasing you’, while running a hand through said hair that did feel like straw. You figured you’d let him down easily... after he washed his hair and he found his face in your chest again.

Speaking of… you bit your thumbnail before promptly removing it and spitting out pieces of grit, glancing to and from the shower and the door as the temperature of the shower seemingly started slowly waning and the misty dew on the mirror began to drip. The oncoming clear view of yourself let you know the hot water wouldn’t last too long, something you’d gotten accustomed to since the Plants were often working minimally unless Vash stepped in. It would easily be resolved if you took a short shower, however, you were aching and needed to seriously scrub parts of you for some time, and you knew Vash wasn’t too keen on taking a brittle-boned, cold shower and would most definitely hog the blankets that night as his own form of revenge. Soooo, if you both wanted hot water…

In retrospect, the idea wasn’t an oddball considering the complexities of your relationship, though you knew of certain limitations and boundaries that came with the each of you. Considering Vash’s… ‘biology’, as quoted to you once by him, and what he kept hidden underneath the several layers of clothing he wore, it was very rare you got to see an ounce of skin that wasn’t the peek-a-boo of his throat whenever he tilted his head back and you squeezed your thighs together when his Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. Sure, you’d seen him completely free of constrictions, ran your fingers and kissed along the multitude of his scars as he shuddered and wiggled underneath you, but you knew some things were better off to be left undone for the sake of boundaries and respect.

You two were long gone since the days of getting separate rooms or one with two beds, instead finding your arm slung around his waist and him snoring into your collarbone well into the late hours of the night. Yet, you and Vash had done more things together than you’d done with anyone else, a low twist in your stomach reminding you of that as you grimaced from the course of your thoughts. As much as you’d done, you’d never actually showered together; be it the teasing or jokes, it still was left at that, so your uneasiness on the matter left you pausing and rolling your ankles absentmindedly wondering if you should even try and ask since it’d been brought up multiple times but nothing had ever carried through.

Then again…. what if he just didn’t want to shower with you?

“…” You decided to rethink that a little.

Red cheeks and ears with that hand behind his head as he tried to wink flirtatiously at you anytime you talked about showering? Yeah… Maybe your problem was overthinking when the answer was right and front of you and he was waiting on your consent.

You made up your mind.

You pushed yourself away from the counter, bare feet padding along the floor as you made your way to the door and pushed it open, wondering why Vash hadn’t voiced on what was taking you so long and giving you full sight to him lying fully on his back with his arms behind his head, eyes closed and you were wondering if he was pretending to be asleep again in the dull lighting of the room. The floorboards creaked under your light steps and one of his eyebrows twitched – not sleeping; aware and waiting on you to speak first. You let your eyes trace over the sharp jawline and lone mole he possessed before speaking, his red coat garnering your attention for a brief glance as it laid draped on the chair just opposite the bed.

“Vash.”

He blinked once, twice, before he turned his eyes over to you, his glasses sitting along his hairline letting you fully see the blue of his irises, and that eyebrow that twitched before rising fully as he awaited to hear what you had to say.

You waved your hand forward in nonchalance, “C’mere.”

A few seconds was all you got to watch for the shift in several expressions playing across his face, inquisitiveness settling into playfulness as the corner of his mouth lifted and his eyelids lowered, “Something wrong? Can’t get the shower working again?” he snickered at his own joke, the heat in your cheeks reminding you of the numerous times you had seek him out for help working some of the Inn’s showers you had stayed at.

Eyes narrowing down, you sent him a half-hearted glare and embarrassed frown, “You hear it running, don’t you?” His hands rose as he did, sitting up as lifted them in defeat at your snark, leaving you to sigh and relax your shoulders as a familiar knot made its way into your belly and slithered into your throat. Vash momentarily looked concerned for a moment when you just stood there at the doorway glancing around until you finally got your tongue to work with your vocal chords, “No, just… come shower.”

There… you finally spit it out, albeit in the lamest and most awkward way you could’ve managed.

(It was a miracle that Vash was just as lame and awkward as you were when it came to voicing wants.)

His hands fell into his lap, rolling his joints and knuckles around as one of the blonde pieces of hair brushed across his long eyelashes, “You… You haven’t got in yet.” You certainly didn’t miss the way he ‘discreetly’ drew his eyes along your shape, knowing that while you looked and felt a mess, he was ready to drop dramatically down onto his knees and declare that you were the most beautiful person in the entire world if you so much as voiced feeling gross. Nevertheless, you waited for him to finish swallowing, the gear already seeming to turn on his brain and you briefly thought about slamming the door shut and pretending you never asked. Vash’s hand found its way onto the back of his head again, eyes creasing as he gave you an embarrassed smile, “Awh, but I always let you shower first.”

Beating around the bush… That’s what you both were doing, making you exhale deeply through your nose through a never-ending bout of nerves shooting into your heart. Vash had seen you nude multiple times, what did it matter for that time? Asking him, you reminded yourself sourly, steeling down anxiety balling itself up in your gut as you pointed at him, “I know, but the hot water will probably be gone –”

“You do shower for a long time –”

“– And,” you ignored his interruption with a scathing look, “I figured it’d be best if we preserved.”

“…’Preserved’?”

“Yes.”

“As in…?”

You rolled your eyes and sunk your nose into your palm, getting nowhere and everywhere but your destination at the same time, before sighing heavily and leaning against the threshold, “Vash, come shower with me.”

There was a beat and his glasses slid back down onto his nose, askew and his eyes peering over them the longer his face seemed to take on a different hue. The blush was at its minimum at first, though the longer the words and meaning held themselves in the atmosphere between you both, the deeper it began to color his cheeks. You had to stop yourself from giggling at how dumbfoundedly cute he looked, reminding yourself of your own growing embarrassment at how aggressive you nearly made it sound, nearly just actually shutting the door and forgetting you ever asked because the longer you two sat there gawking, the colder the shower was going to get.

(And it wasn’t like you two literally hadn’t explored each other’s body, however you knew the problem of lied within the individuality of the proposition without the confines of wanton heat.)

The damning silence was getting insufferable, Vash finally blinking out of his stupor and sitting up straighter since you had gotten his full attention from that, “I mean – Are you sure? I didn’t think you’d ever want to.” He was back to rolling his wrist – the prosthetic one.

Thinning your lips, you rose an eyebrow, “Of course. I just asked you. And you’ve said things in the past about it.”

“I know! But you know me…” he clapped his hands together with sheepish laugh, “Don’t wanna put you into a situation that you’re uncomfortable with.”

Wasn’t that the truth, if the numerous times he’d nearly left your ass the very first days you started hiking along with him. Learning that, no, he wasn’t being an asshole in trying to leave you behind, and more yes, he was definitely trying to protect you from the magnet of misfortune he carried on his back rather than just blatantly not wanting anything to do with you. It was heartwarming, but you weren’t about to be left behind just for all that when you’d had your own course of problems hightailing you as well, and it wasn’t like you were ever uncomfortable with anything that had to do with Vash, more-so worried if you were the one ever making him uncomfortable.

The lingering thought had you spiraling for a moment, your brash approach on the matter causing you to take a couple steps back mentally as you rolled your ankle around and flexed your fingers along the threshold of the door. Perhaps you had misjudged in your steps and needed to remind yourself you still needed to actually ask him. You blinked and parted your lips, the words coming out like vomit and making your cheeks burn the more you spoke, “I should be asking you that though… I mean I know about everything else, but if the idea makes you uncomfortable…” you trailed off, deciding that the conversation would be number two on your list of most awkward things you two had talked about, right above, ‘intercourse with an Independent Plant’ and just below, ‘our feelings’.

Vash waved a hand, body turning on the bed so that he could face you and held his hands out palms up in a sign complete surrender, “No, nothing like that…” He was back to the lingering stare, tracing from your throat to your chest, until he settled down onto your legs, the swallow not hard to miss with the bob of his Adam’s apple and his voice a little rougher when he spoke again, “I’m not uncomfortable at all with the idea.”

Ah, just too shy to actually do it you supposed. That made the two of you, relief coming onto in you in waves as your shoulders relaxed and that knot of anxiety nearly diminished. You smirked while leaning forward, lowering your eyelashes at him and reveling in his red face and frantic swallowing, “What’s the matter, Stampede? All bark and no bite this time around?

He groaned, his head falling back, “Don’t call me by my government name… And no, I was just worried you didn’t want to do it.”

This man.

“Vash.”

He flinched, “Yes...?”

“Do you want to shower together?”

He was up, almost in the most cartoonish way standing ramrod straight from his lounge on his bed and faster than your eye could follow, wiping his hands down on his pants and jogging in place for moment, “I thought you’d never ask.” Vash seemed proud of his own joke, albeit that tilt of a jitter in his laugh led you to believe he was still just as nervous about the idea as you were.

You pushed off the door with your own swallow, the confidence beforehand waning within you as you were forced to look at the shower running again and could hear Vash following after you, the soft click of the door shutting behind him dropping down into your stomach and making your wring your hands. It was one thing undressing each other in the heat of a moment, but doing it in front of each other…

Vash rounded up in your peripheral vision with his tall form shadowing the dull bulbs of the bathroom, glancing to the shower and at you as he wobbled in his stance in front of you, his nails beginning to scratch at the fabric of his gloves as the awkwardness of the situation began to finally settled into him as well. He was looking everywhere and at you at the same time, irises jolting about in the small room as he seemingly awaited for you to say or do something that gave him the get-go, and perhaps just too nervous to begin undressing just yet.

Let’s get this over with.

It was just showering… Nothing too incriminating about the idea.

Your fingers hooked into your bottoms in finality, shimmying them down your hips and the length of your legs as you toed them free to leave yourself in your underwear – something that Vash was desperately trying not to look too hard at. He’d seen you naked more than enough times he could count with his fingers and toes combined, but you supposed the intimacy of the situation was clogging up his throat and making it so that he wasn’t sure on what to say or do other than shying away. You wrapped your arms around your middle, fingers beginning to dig into the hem of your shirt as you shakily sighed, “I don’t know why you’re so shy now, you’ve seen everything I have to offer and I’ve seen you.”

“Haah, it’s – uh, the intimacy…” Vash scratched his nose, feigning nonchalance as he ran his finger along the buckle of his belt while his eyes darted from you to a water stain on the wall to his right, “Y’know, all the passion and intimate details… It’s missing that pizazz.” His glasses came off first, setting them down onto the counter next to him before his fingers slid free of his glove and he began to play with the hem of his shirt.

You snorted, peeking through your eyelashes at the skin his abdomen coming into view the more he twisted his shirt around before he reached behind to grasp the collar of it instead, “How could I forget you’re such a romantic?”

Vash hummed, a grin sneaking its way onto his lips while his ears grew a pinkish hue, “You know me, my middle names are Love, Peace, Passion, and Romantic.”

Corny. You held back your laugh with a deep breath, pulling your shirt over your head as you spoke, “I thought your middle name was The.”

You snickered at your own joke while hearing Vash sigh, pulling your head free from your shirt to fully bare your torso to him, yet the fabric of Vash’s shirt landing on top of your head and covering your face from any sight made you pause. The frantic clicking of his belt buckle was next, your lips thinning and nostrils expanding at the scent of him saturated into his shirt, and his voice nearly a murmur when he spoke again, “Haha, you know what I meant…” his tone was guarded, and for a moment you thought you may have offended him with your teasing, grabbing his shirt to throw it off into the floor to get a better look at his face, yet coming up short at his frantic shuffling and girlish yelp, “Wait – !”

You blinked, free from the black of his shirt and let it flutter onto the floor at your feet, and let your eyes wander over Vash cautiously. Seeing him shirtless was nothing new, having spent nights tracing different scars and the knotted muscles along his abdomen, albeit Vash was rather particular of parts he remained shy of. His belt undone and fly unzipped, you traced along his skin there and a few new bruises he sported along his right ribcage, coming up onto his hand and fingers coiled along his prosthetic arm with his cheek sunken in to let you wonder if he was biting the skin between his teeth. You kept your mouth shut, between Vash nearly cowering and looking as if he was trying to hide from you it seemed best to wait until he was ready to speak.

For a moment, you wondered if you had overstepped a boundary, yet you couldn’t quite think what would cause a visceral reaction from him like that.

He sighed after a moment, sullen and saturated with dejection, the whirring of his arm pricking your ears as he readjusted his grip and rolled his shoulder, “I… I usually take it off when I shower… ‘M not around for regular tune ups so I can’t risk it tightening up on me…” Vash continued to look to and from you, eyes bright despite his tone while gauging your expression for anything and shifting his stance, “But – I mean – if it bothers you I can keep it on –"

“Vash… why would that bother me?” you interrupted quickly, realization dawning on you immensely for what was the cause of his sudden hiccup and timidness. You’d never really seen him without, not that it even ever particularly bothered you, Vash’s hands (prosthetic or real) were all the same to you; neither differentiated in how they felt when he held you. However, you supposed it was his own self-preservation on the matter and really the only thing you could do was listen to his concerns and try to console him.

Vash’s expression flickered for a brief second, the ashamed worry shifting into a tangible hope at your question before it quickly vanished into something you couldn’t quite place, “I just… you’ve never really seen me without it; figured it could be a lil jarring.”

Ah. You had been correct in your assumptions; even seeing the skin of his torso had been a giant leap of your relationship. Glimpses of his hand free of his glove had been the start, a lingering scar over the top of it you had ran thumb over multiple times whenever you interlocked fingers with him, were the first you experienced, and soon after it was letting you curl your hands underneath his shirt whenever you were cold, the textured blemishes something you felt rather than seen as the fire crackled close to your face and you sat in his lap at night. Chaste kisses got more passionate, your hands and his own seeking for purchase on each other; a spinning jewel ready to melt into igneous magma the more you two gripped and grasped for one and another.

You remembered the night clearly – you had spent every moment he let you marking the scars with your lips to reassure him, his hands shaky and unsteady on your hips with every whimpering noise that left his lips.

Nevertheless, you understood then, each time Vash kept both hands so that he had enough to hold onto – enough to hold onto the fabric of reality that dissipated whenever you two were together and interjoined (be it intimately or not). You offered him a smile, turning your palms face up and letting your voice feel as soft as he looked, “No, you’re still you. Regardless of anything. I wouldn’t want it any other way.” He swallowed and you took a step forward, then another whenever he didn’t protest, until you were close enough to touch him, the cold buckle of his belt pressing into your hip bone and his scent overloading your senses, “You’ll look exactly the same to me regardless.”

The air shifted and he inhaled sharply, blinking furiously enough to wonder if he was going to start crying before he pulled himself together, “That’s –” he licked his lips, an uneasy laugh following after and you focused on the sharpened tips of his canines once he gave you a small in smile return. Almost looking pitiful. “You don’t have to say all that, but okay, just… promise not to freak if I look weird.”

“I promise, but I never will think you’ll look any different,” you answered, shaking your head and stepping back to let him undress in his own space.

A quiet, ‘Okay’, left him as he dutifully took his arm off, twisting it a few times where it was attached as you listened to the soft whirring before he gently removed it, setting down next to his glasses on the counter. He sighed as he rolled his shoulder, clearing his throat once he made eye contact with you and moved to his pants with a shaky hand. The old scars on his shoulders and down the length of his arms stretched as he moved, veins protruding outward as he pulled his belt free and used his feet to help pull off the rest of his pants – boxers following, you acutely noted once you saw the familiar pattern signifying a plant tattooed across his pelvis. All in all, it was truly a wonder to you to see the expanse of Vash’s body, often wishing he’d show you more so that you remembered how beautiful he was.

(And a reminder of how much you needed to remind him as well.)

The clatter of the buckles along his pants falling into the floor broke your attention away from the glowing symbols, a loud cough from Vash afterwards as you trailed your eyes back up along the V-line of defined muscles and his naval, counting the knotted row of abdominal muscles until you were back up to his face, the discomfiture apparent on his expression as he stood fully nude in front of you and you had been blatantly ogling him. You didn’t say anything else, remembering your underwear you still wore as you shimmied those off as well, eyeing Vash’s Adam’s apple bob with his heavy swallow once you bared yourself fully to him. You saw no reason to be embarrassed any longer, the confidence not necessarily something you needed or had in that moment, as long you were feeling comfortable with Vash and he was feeling comfortable with you nothing else mattered.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”

You hummed absentmindedly, toeing a tile on the floor as you pushed your clothes together in a pile atop the floor, glancing up at him as he gazed into the mirror next to you for a long moment until looking back to you, something brewing in his irises as you sighed and rolled your ankle in wait. You knew he had something he wanted to say.

Suddenly, he smiled at you, eyes creasing once more and cheeks boring the color of blood.

“Looking in the mirror next to you makes me realize how flawless you are.”

You balked and looked away, embarrassment flooding into your cheeks and your ears getting hot as you wrapped your arms around your chest, “Hardly.” Truly, Vash’s ability to just blurt those compliments out would eventually be the death of you.

“Awh, c’mon, why are you getting shy?” his hand moved to lie on the back of his head once more, his cheeks garnering more of that red hue as he started to take note of the both you standing there completely nude in each other’s presence.

“I’m not shy, it’s cold…” You didn’t sound convincing at all, shrinking in on yourself as your nipples hardened and skin broke out in chills. Luckily, Vash caught onto the body language (and the awkward conversation that was beginning to brew).

“Uh, right… we should probably…” he looked into the steam-infested shower, eyelashes flickering with numerous blinks and a tilt upward on his lips.

“Yeah, so,” you straightened back up and sent him a sneaky grin, “After you.”

He nearly looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, guiding you to the shower once he grabbed your hand while keeping it tucked tightly against his own before sliding the curtain back and gesturing you to go in first. You didn’t argue, walking in before him and sighing in satisfaction whenever the hot water massaged down onto the crown of your head and your back at the same time. The muscles in your legs and back relaxed, easing you as you twisted your body around to get every inch of your skin wet and tilting your head back to let it shower over your face and under your neck, expression and body relaxing as the sand and dirt stuck to your body slipped down the drain in brown residue. You nearly wanted to ask Vash what was taking him so long, only to stop yourself short at his loud yelp and fumbling behind you.

“Ack! Why’s it so hot?” he whined, stretching his back to get away from the onslaught of heat it brought into his skin. He nearly had himself wrapped in the curtain when you glanced over to him, half of that gravity-defying hairstyle plastered in wet strips along his cheeks as he looked downright appalled at the temperature of the water.

You snorted, “I like my shower water hot enough to melt my skin.”

He huffed, unwrapping himself like a frazzled maiden and coming closer to the water to stick a leg out under the spray of it and get accustomed to it. He hissed and whined, “This can’t be safe.”

“Don’t be a baby.” Turning away, you let the water spray down your chest, eyeing the soap bar next to you until you heard Vash clear his throat behind you, turning back to him with a rising eyebrow, “What is it?”

Vash jerked like he’d been caught eating the food off of your plate again, scratching his head and trying to not look where you supposed his eyes wanted to, “Nothing! Just… admiring the scenery you could say.”

It was cute, however you knew neither of you were in the mood and given Vash’s lack of an obvious excitement that you couldn’t see, you knew he was perhaps really just admiring you in a nonsexual gesture. “Hmm,” you squinted at him, discreetly eyeing him from head to toe before smiling sweetly at his blushing face once you had another idea, “Can I do something for you?”

You didn’t necessarily wait for him to answer, and he realized he didn’t have to move the moment you stepped free of the spray coming from your end, stepping leisurely towards him in the small space until you were right up on him. You stopped in front of him, hands raising and placing your palms flat on his pectorals, blinking up at him when all he did was stare. It was unnerving to a degree, his pupils contracting larger as you tapped his chest with a finger.

“Vash?” you asked, eyes squinted from the harsh spray of water pounding down onto the both of you.

Vash dazedly looked around, blinking like he was delirious and dark eyelashes lowering as if he wasn’t sure he was seeing you truly. Though as the awkwardness began to settle in your gut and you thought briefly about pulling away from him, he answered you nearly dreamily.

“Anything.”

The smile that lit up your face made the blush on his face grow even more noticeable as you looked away from him and watched your fingers walk across his chest and along an aged scar. You wanted to sigh at how he shuddered and his breath close to your came out shaky; he still seemed slightly insecure over you seeing his bare chest and abdomen, knowing good and well you had already seen it once before and had your fair share of groping his chest in late nights in the bed together and drooling on them while you slept. Still, you also wanted to kiss away his worries in reassurance and compassion since he was feeling the same as you were, and for that you only wanted to return the favor when all Vash had done even before that moment was worship your body while you only had chances to when he let you take control some long nights.

With Vash’s sculpted body on display you slid your hand down and pressed it onto his tight stomach, feeling the muscles twitch and flex underneath your touch as you began walking your fingers up and down each abdominal muscular tissue with a small grin on your face. Once you got to his faint happy trail you ran a slow fingertip along it while hearing him hiss through his clenched teeth in pleasure and his body twitch at the sensation as you did so, a quiet laugh leaving you before tracing your fingers back along each taut part of him.

His body reminded you of a painting, dips and texture when you ran your fingertips across the canvas akin to how it felt to caress his skin. Each scar was his own brush of paint, roping together into an abstract of art that you were eager to admire and even more eager to be able to touch.

A hum left you before you began to speak, discreetly watching as he raised his arm and placed his hand atop your shoulder, letting you skim along his ribcage as you spread your fingers out to feel each bone as he shuddered, “I found it hard to believe you were hiding all these muscles underneath that coat.”

A noise escaped him, throaty and quiet, as his fingers tightened on you, “Yeah, well, for good reason. Didn’t want you running away from me at first look.”

You frowned, leaning forward to skim your lips across the blemish on his chest, “Not what I meant… And I’m still here though.” He didn’t answer you, leaving you to press a kiss in the middle of his pectorals. His low sigh encouraged you, peppering kisses along his torso much like he did your own in your own form of body worship. A higher-pitched noise sounding like a whine left him as whenever you pressed your body fully into his own, kissing around his ribcage as he jumped and you backed off to blink coyly up at him, watching as he kept his eyes on the ceiling and his parted, pink lips continuing to match the coloring on his cheeks, “Still so ticklish? Or sensitive?”

Vash’s fingers dug into you deeper, his stance shifting and a sigh pushing through his lips whenever you pressed your cheek back into his chest with your arms weaving around his body. His tone was slightly shaky when he answered you, “I don’t know… It – It feels good though, so you can keep going,” he admitted perhaps a bit too shaky for his own liking as his breathing began to speed up the more you kissed along his chest.

You hummed against his hot skin and with Vash’s sweet sighs and relaxing muscles egging you on, you kissed some of the old, fading scars and the rather new one along his sides tenderly only knowing they existed in the times you spent tracing a finger around his skin those nights you spent cuddling. You kissed them with an overwhelming amount of affection, a reminder that he was still gorgeous with them and a reminder that he was strong enduring even the harshest of battles and coming out from them alive; a reminder that his scars were a symbol of keeping his promise. He blew air through his mouth then, a sigh so soft and full of longing, it made you realize he never really had the attention towards himself that way – be it his own reasoning and all.

Each kiss you placed onto his warm skin you sighed afterwards, discreetly inhaling his scent each time you did so for how good he smelled and how his natural scent brought you comfort more than you could imagine. As you felt along his body, you began to feel the jittery nerves you had before slowly begin crawl back into the depths of your mind to be forgotten for the time and to be replaced with the burning affection you had for him.

Lastly, you placed a chaste kiss to his arm, pressing your cheeks against the beating of his heart and leaning fully into him, “You’re gorgeous, Vash. I hope you know that.”

Vash inhaled sharply once more, chest shaking as his hand slid down your body, “I – You don’t have to tell me that. Not to make me feel better.”

You frowned, pressing your lips to his skin to let him feel it, “So you can tell me, but I can’t tell you?”

“It’s different –”

“It’s not, Vash,” you interrupted, pulling your face free from his chest and lifting your chin to look him in eyes, finding wet eyelashes and rosy cheeks, “You should already know your face is already handsome, but the rest of you is just as beautiful – inside and out.” Your own cheeks warmed at reassuring, the words unfamiliar in your mouth yet not sour in the slightest; comfortably saccharine and rewarding by the look you were getting from his expression. You placed another kiss to his chest, just above his heart where an arguably near life-threatening scar remained, “I mean it.”

You couldn’t see his face from your position, but the sound his breathing and the fast pacing of his heart told you everything you needed to know. His swallow sounded wet, his hand moving once more to find your cheek and pull you away from his body. You nearly didn’t want to meet his eyes, embarrassed by your forwardness, but you realized you didn’t necessarily have a choice. His palm was hot, matching the temperature of the shower (as well as the temperature both of your cheeks were emitting), and you had to swallow through that anxiety-ridden knot when his fingers brushed along your cheek and he was pulling your face back up to his own. Your eyelashes fluttered through the sweltering heat and steam, wondering if his own were fluttering because of the same, or perhaps he was blinking away a hot course of tears.

“Come here.”

Vash never did have to tell you twice.

The kiss was chaste in its own way despite the heat around you both, yet enthusiastic in the way he pulled you into him. Your heartbeat slamming against your ribcage into his own, his fingers digging slightly into your face and yours lingering about on a long scare atop his spine, and the wisps of his hair tickling your cheeks as your lips molded together in the perfect fit of the puzzle you’d been searching for. His gratitude in the form of words he couldn’t find for the situation, and you realized suddenly neither one of you minded that each other were naked and could find comfort in the skin-to-skin contact.

Vash pulled away while keeping a firm hold of your face, pupils dilated as he gazed at you, whatever gloss you had seen beforehand still, yet that time not ready to spill over, “Thank you.”

You smiled, “Of course,” you smacked onto his mouth with another longing kiss, laughing as he chased after when you pulled away stepped back to grab the bottle of shampoo the Inn had provided, “Now, come here. I’m washing your hair.”

“You don’t have to –”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s dirty and feels like straw, Vash.”

“Excuse me? How dare you? You just told me last night it didn’t!”

“Oops?”

“’Oops’? This is the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me. I can’t believe the love of my life could be so cold to me… An honest man who –”

“This would probably be a good time to tell you that I did eat your sprinkled donut that night too; not the tomas.”

Vash screamed.

#{ 🩸 } nee fics #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #vash the stampede #trigun stampede #trigun maximum #trigun 98 #vash #vash x y/n #vash x you #trigun x reader

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witchofthesouls · 1 year ago

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Oh~ I just saw your latest post about cybertronians and human dances and I love it!

As a former ballerina, I loved the admiration from the audience but over time grew to hate the process of ballet dancing. Between the cut-throat competition, the EDs, the amount of toenails that have fallen off and lost, and the fact that I don’t really have much feeling left in my feet due to the 15 years worth of ballet that damaged them.

I still love dancing, I just don’t put it above my peace and health anymore, so I can look back at my ballet career and all the stuff that happened and laugh. Trust me, my story isn’t unique among the thousands of ballet performers out there.

I think that cybertronian would be kind of horrified about the ‘smile behind the pain’ and ‘there is beauty in pain’ aspect of ballet, especially the medics and especially about the falling off toenails 😂

Ohhh, thank you for sharing! I actually had some thoughts about this since my mom is a nurse with patients who were professional dancers and holy hell, the kind of injuries that could happen! Ballet feet, indeed.

First Aid would be absolutely horrified and feeling guilty that he enjoyed the performances when it brings on that much damage. He didn't think such beautiful, effortless movements could do long-term damage. The poor thing will start digging into things to learn about the human body and how to mitigate injuries and fall into a weird spiral of "what?! No... What?!"

(It's Skyfire that needs to drag him out that funk since xenobiology on Cybertron was a massive field with so many specialties without going into different species.)

Ratchet, on the other hand, isn't surprised. He's ancient compared to a lot of the crew. He definitely remembers when professional dancers on Cybertron had to have their latches sanded or permanently removed, so it wouldn't catch the costumes or hurt their partners when their bare frames glided together. Luckily, the tech improved, but there are still common injuries like pulls and stains and breaks, especially without proper warm ups or among those without the trained flexibility on an intense choreography or heavy costumes. They still have long term-health impacts as well.

Professional dancers from Cybertron have issues with hyperflexiblity since armature has a key role in protecting joints and ligaments and cables from overusing and overextending. Very set or old professionals have a knack in popping back their parts without a grimace. A must know trick, especially during a performance. The younger ones have masks during the shows until they can master that necessity because crowds don't want to see dancers in pain. Unless it's part of the script. It can get to the point where it severely impacts their own lines (fuel, coolant, lubricant) and need either invasive corrective surgery or retirement.

They also have issues with their sensory perception. Quite a few feel too contained or claustrophobic with proper plating to the point that they're basically in root-mode all the time, so many high-end tailors leverage that. Or use really specialized plating that tricks the outside eye that it's thick when it really isn't.

Another common injury is protoform burn, especially among the dancers that do aerial performances with rigs since the straps are set deep into their base, and they're in direct line of fire of special effects. This can lead to deformations and scarring, which messes with their sensation. Many dancers see this as a matter of pride in their craft and take to highlighting their scars as a calling card or a showing at performances.

Similar to the gladiators' war paints, dancers would utilize specialized paints upon themselves to create a variety of effects: trailing mirages, bold streaks, color shifts, gradients, fog trails, and so on. Some power couples and cohorts among them coordinate their own scarring and preferred effects to create memorizing and stunning visual masterpieces.

Those of the Artisanal Caste were/are very intimate between the fine line of passion and pain.

#ask #transformers #ratchet #first aid #skyfire #cybertronian culture #cybertronian biology #maccadam #i know they dont have toes but they have an equivalent of a cardiovascular and skeletal system and muscles #i will make this fucking work #my writing

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judasisdrafting · 5 months ago

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betray me like a god - a wip intro

this is my original work, please do not plagiarize.

tws : suicide, religious themes & trauma, catholicism, mental illness, psychosis, abuse, queerphobia, eye injury, sexual assault, substance abuse, self destructive behaviors, mild sexual content.

summary : Betray Me Like A God follows a devout Catholic teen, Darja Ausmeel, who wants nothing more than to be normal, as ever impossible that may be. After a traumatic injury to her eye in childhood, she began to see apparitions of religious figures such as Mother Mary and Christ, alongside hearing what she believes to be the voice of God. Through everything they kept her company… Until the suicide of her best friend, Diana. Beautiful, forever young, and stuck in time, Diana haunts every corner of her life, while the eerily similar face of Darja’s estranged mother taunts her in shadow. Darja must attempt to grapple with her rippling faith, as she continues to run from the feelings (perhaps of veneration) she still carries for the late Diana, the addled state of her mind, and the question of: can a child truly come out right without the deific hands of a mother?

genre : coming of age adult literary fiction.

setting : Manigan (fictional city), New Jersey, early 2000s.

pov : 1st person, past tense.

vibe : the immaculate heart of mary. sprawling cathedrals. oxfords clicking on linoleum floors. a clouded, white iris. cross necklaces. the sacrificial lamb. the feeling of breath on your neck. snake venom. yearning for a childhood you never had. the bubble of bile. suffocating in water. nails dug into flesh. snowfall. a woman who feels familiar but is faceless.

playlist : spotify.

characters ;

darja ausmeel (mc, 15-17, estonian, they/them*) - religious, uptight, analytical, unsettling, devoted, well spoken, impulsive, set in their ways, responsible, troubled/unstable, patient, self-righteous.

diana feigenbaum (f, 15-17, german, she/her) - bold, unstable, confident, stubborn, fears rejection, dogmatic, sensitive, loyal, manipulative, overbearing, overprotective.

eduard ausmeel (mid-50s, estonian, he/him) - workaholic, hesitant, protective, caring, geeky, observant, introverted, lacks assertiveness.

maria ausmeel (late 70s, estonian, she/her) - eclectic, nurturing, erratic, holds a grudge, candid, resilient, affectionate, open-minded.

terhi rebane (late 30s, estonian-american, she/her) - troubled, intellectual, avoidant, charismatic, quick-witted, cynical, short-tempered, hypocritical, articulate, selfish, loving on own terms.

f - foil.

* within the story, they are referred to with she/her pronouns because they (at the present time in which most of the story is set) are not aware of their queerness nor are out

excerpt ;

Even now at seventeen years old, Diana’s head was stuck to the other’s right shoulder, both of their hair whipping wildly from the crisp whistle of wind. Crystals of sand crackled under Darja’s polished, black oxfords and crests of sea foam lapped at her fingertips, hand held just above the water. Diana had her bare feet dug into the seashore, black toenails taking on the appearance of mussels burrowing out of sight. Her face was flushed pink and her entire body trembled each time a gust of wind rushed over them. Regardless, she kept the sleeves of her button-up scrunched around her elbows, her skirt abandoned somewhere nearby. Winter was rearing its frostbitten head as November approached over the horizon and, yet, Diana didn’t seem to care.

#p: ocular #wip: betray me like a god #writeblr #writerblr #wip intro #wip introduction #writing #original writing #literary fiction #junoisdrafting

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changelingsandothernonsense · 11 months ago

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Wips on Wedsdays

He kiddos, it's actually my Wednesday so imma post a few wips. tagging @thequeenofthewinter @archangelsunited @kookaburra1701 @rhiannon1199 @viss-and-pinegar @saltymaplesyrup @rainpebble3 @throughtrialbyfire @rosette-dragonborn @mareenavee @snippetsrus @snowy-weather No pressure, this is all just for funs <3

We got art and a smidgen of writing:

Starting with a close-up of the tat details in the render I'm working on. This redo that isn't purely a redo is coming along well. Just gotta add three more tattoos and alllllllll of his scars. Full art and a writing snippet under the cut.

IDK I think it's going well so far ;) and a snippet from Sleepers Awake chapter 7

Teldryn hated tombs. He hated tombs, the undead, the fucking bleached ash that covered the floor after centuries of recycling the same old fucking urns! He hated the way the tombs would wind like a maze. These halls had turned him around to the point of utter confusion! Teldryn hated having to enter the halls of the Dunmeri dead. It creeped him out, to put it bluntly. He had complained about this assignment, of course. It was the last thing he expected when Cosades sent him to go meet with a Blades informant who studied over at the Balmora Mages Guild. The old sugar-tooth had been vague about what this might entail. Just telling him that the notes he got from his last mission weren’t fucking enough and he had to go bother some mage about a fucking myth! The Nerevarine, how fucking ridiculous! The expectation with these missions seemed to be something along the lines of ‘a favour for a favour’ and the mage he’d been sent to, an orc named Sham gra-Muzgob was asking one hell of a fucking favour! She was after the skull of some poor sod named Llevule Andrano. That meant he had to break into the Andrano Ancestral Tomb out on the Bitter Coast. Shit was pretty much a one-way ticket to an execution if he was caught. When he’d mentioned that, the woman merely replied- “Then don’t upset the natives when you do it.” Cosades had said this would be a ‘silly little errand’. How the fuck is desecrating the remains of a member of a fucking hugely influential family in House Redoran a silly little errand? Then there was the justification gra-Muzgob gave him for all of this shit. Something about his people’s death practices being primitive, superstitious nonsense. Teldryn had held his tongue as best as he could. The last thing he wanted was to be thrown in fucking Fort Moonmoth again. The shit they did there…he was glad they’d only pulled out his toenails. Teldryn sucked in a deep breath, trying his best to calm his nerves as he stepped into what he hoped was the chamber that this skull was being kept in. “Look for the one with the ritual markings,” he murmured under his breath as he pulled down the old, silk scarf he’d taken from Suran. A keepsake he allowed himself amongst the things of his that his mother managed to save after his grandfather had thrown most of his belongings into the fire. Llaro had really tried to erase his existence entirely. He wanted to shake the hand of the guy who killed the miserable old cunt! Teldryn tapped his fingers on the rough chitin of his pauldron as her scanned the small, sand-coloured room. Carved into the earth thousands of years ago, the clay walls were smooth and rounded around the edges. His eyes fell on what looked like a small altar at the lip of a pool of ashes. An enchanted chitin dagger and a skull with something carved into its forehead, Daedric runes by the looks of it. Red pigment coloured the thin grooves in the bone. It made him shudder as he knelt down by the altar and stared into Llevule Andrano’s hollow eye sockets. He wondered if he should say something before he went and just took the thing. He knew that there was some sermon that one would recite when they visited the dead. Something that eased the ancestor’s spirit of some shit like that. He had never actually listened to what was said in those sermons. Never listened to the shit spoken by the temple priests either. Honestly, he found it boring, preferring instead to disappear into his own head whenever they started to rattle on. Shit was way more entertaining…until his mind became the enemy of course. He longed for that simplicity. Shit was folly. Teldryn wracked his brain for something appropriate to say. Sure, he might not have cared much for the Tribunal’s teachings as a kid but fuck if he wasn’t bitterly fucking aware of how wrong this all seemed. Teldryn sighed as he took the skull into his shaking hands, opting to mutter a simple “Sorry,” to the spirit before he pulled his scarf from around his neck and wrapped the skull in it before he carefully placed it into his pack.

#wip wednesday #my art #my writing #my wips #teldryn sero #danger!josh #dunmer #morrowind #skyrim #the elder scrolls #nerevarine #tesblr

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aparticularbandit · 3 months ago

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Sandcastles in the Sand

Summary: Junko takees Mikan to the beach!

For DR WLWeek 2024: Prompt One: Your OTP.

Rating: T.

AO3

“What are you doing?”

“Um!” Mikan looks up to see her girlfriend the Ultimate Fashionista standing over her, one hand shielding her stormy blue eyes from the glare of the sun. “I….” She glances down to her hands and the molded mismatch of sandy shapes between them. Sand coats her fingers, stuck beneath her shorn nails, but she doesn’t mind. She’d needed those bits of nail to dig grooves along her creation. “Making a sandcastle.”

“Don’t you want to swim? The ocean’s right there.” Junko thrusts a hand out and gestures wildly towards it.

Mikan can’t see the motion, can only see the shadows Junko’s movements cast against the sand, since she’s avoiding looking at her, knowing that she’ll only see disappointment or annoyance on her girlfriend’s the Fashionista’s face. “I…I can’t,” she forces out, face flushing a brilliant red.

“Huh?” Junko bends down lower and cocks her head to one side. “What did you say? You gotta speak up, or I won’t—”

“I can’t swim!” Mikan squeaks out, shrill as steam bursting through a tea kettle’s spout. Her hands clench into fists and instinctively come up in front of her chest as she hunches forward, prepared for a smack on the back of her head. “I-I-I’m s-s-sorry!”

Mikan waits for Junko to say something, but she doesn’t say anything. What’s worse is that she doesn’t do anything either, like she’s frozen by what Mikan’s said. Sweat trickles down Mikan’s back. “I-I-I’m sorry!” she repeats in that same squeaking tone. “I know you…you planned this great…this great—” (Date.) “—outing, and I! I didn’t want to! Didn’t want to s-s-say anything! You were so…so e-e-excited, a-a-and I didn’t…didn’t want to—”

Junko plops down in the sand next to her, bare legs splayed out on either side, her toes just touching Mikan’s, manicured toenails bright red against the golden beige of the sand. “So we’re making sandcastles, then. You wanna make one big castle, or can we, like, make an entire village?”

Mikan blinks twice and looks up hesitantly to meet Junko’s eyes. “Wha-wha-huh?”

“If we make an entire village, then we can pretend to be dragons or giants or something and smash through all of them later!” Junko’s eyes light up, and a huge grin splashes across her face.

“Um!” Mikan’s fingers begin to tap together, and she drops her gaze, unable to keep looking at the light in Junko’s eyes. “Y-y-you’re not…you’re not mad at me?”

Junko shakes her head so quick that her twintails slap back and forth on her face. “Nope!” Then she reaches over and takes Mikan’s hand in hers, interlacing their fingers before giving her a gentle squeeze. “I love making sandcastles. It’s my favorite thing to do at the beach!” She leans forward, so close that Mikan can feel her breath hot on her face. “How did you know?”

“I-I-I—”

She’s playing with her. Probably. No one asks their girlfriend friend someone out to spend a day at the beach and then expects to just sit in the sand all day making sandcastles. They ask them to the beach to go play in the ocean! (And, if it’s a large enough group, to play sand volleyball.) Sure, there’s a lot more to do at the beach than swimming in the ocean – sandcastles, of course, and sunbathing and people watching (which Mikan has done frequently on beach trips, when everyone else goes swimming – or because no one else really wants her around) and collecting seashells, but….

Mikan turns away from Junko, takes her hand away from her girlfriend’s the Fashionista’s, and clasps her hands together in her lap. “You really…really don’t mind?” She presses her lips together again. “Th-th-that I don’t….” Her voice trails off, and her gaze falls again.

“I mean, not going to lie, it kind of sucks because it’s fucking hot out here, and the ocean’s the best fucking way to cool off.” Junko grabs her ankles and leans back, tilting her head to look up at the bright blue sky. “But.” She glances over to Mikan and grins, one of her canines just poking out over her lips. “I still get to see you in a swimsuit,” she says, reaching over and running a finger up Mikan’s waist, “so I can forgive your little…indiscretion.”

As Junko brushes her finger ice cold along Mikan’s skin, Mikan flinches. “S-s-sorry,” she whispers, gaze lifting just enough to take in Junko and what she’s wearing. Junko’s swimsuit leaves little to the imagination, nothing more than strings in most places, perfectly fitting of the Ultimate Fashionista. They should take pictures of her like this (they probably already have); they should make sand sculptures in her honor and place them in museums so that future generations can—

“Mikan,” Junko murmurs, reaching up and gently lifting Mikan’s chin, “my eyes are up here.”

“S-s-sorry—” Mikan barely squeaks the word out, until she notices that Junko has lifted her gaze so that it falls on her lips, not on her eyes. She swallows. “J-J-Junko-sama…?”

“Hm?” Junko purrs.

Mikan’s gaze flits up to meet her girlfriend’s eyes and then back down. She licks her lips. “M-m-may…may I…?”

“Always.” But as Mikan leans towards her, Junko holds up a finger and places it on her lips, brow furrowing. “But if you ask if you should take your clothes off while we’re in public, we’re gonna have a problem, because that’s kind of nasty. I love a good fucking sicko, but—”

Mikan kisses her fingertip.

“—not in public.” Junko leans forward and brushes her nose against Mikan’s. “Okay?”

Mikan kisses her and hums as she feels Junko smile against her lips. This is the best part of being together – being able to do things like this. She nearly pouts when Junko pulls away from her, although that expression disappears in her fear that Junko will be displeased with her.

“Sandcastles,” Junko murmurs against her lips. “We were going to make sandcastles.” She taps the top of the building Mikan was crafting when we found her. “And we’re going to put a little you and a little me right here at the top of the biggest one.”

“I-I-I thought you said we were going to…going to destroy them—”

“Well, sure.” Junko flashes her a grin. “World’s not big enough for two of me, even if one of them’s in miniature!” She brushes a kiss against Mikan’s cheek before whispering in her ear, “You’d probably love multiple of me, though, huh? Two of me to pay you such good attention—”

“N-n-no!” Mikan says in a near panic, eyes wide as she draws back from Junko. “I j-j-just…I just want you, Junko-sama! Just you.” Her gaze drops. “There can’t…there can’t ever be another you.”

Junko runs her fingers through Mikan’s hair and brushes it back behind one ear. “Sure there can,” she murmurs, “but it’s nice to hear you say that.” Then she grins again and digs her fists into the sand. “Let’s build! I’m sure you won’t believe this, but I’m fantastic at building sandcastles!”

(She’s fantastic at destroying them, too, but Mikan doesn’t learn that until later, when they’re dancing barefoot in the sand, just before Junko drags her to the open waves to rinse off their feet.)

#bandit fic #danganwlweek2024 #danganronpa #dr2 #junkan #mikan tsumiki #junko enoshima

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missamyrisa2 · 7 months ago

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How would you tickle a silly boy who loves being heavily verbally teased the whole time and is veeeeery very ticklish between the toes? Absolute death spot but loves it

Maybe it's not what you have in mind but a cute boy with ticklish toes susceptible to teases? It's summerrrrr~ and you neeeed to be buried in the sand yes you doooo~ because with your adorable little toes sticking out I can just relax and flip my hair aside and tease and cooooo at your wiggly helplessness ~ particularly as anyone who walks by gets to enjoy our little fun. Mmhmmhmmmm just inspecting these toesies and soles with my fingers gliding up each wrinkle and my thumbs rubbing under them toes~

Ooh yes scrunch and crunch your toes darling, I'm sure you'll break freeee but if you can't I'm afraid we'll just seeee how many feathers I can set up between each toe. Coochie cooo giggle boy, here's the first one, going between your big toe and index toe. Yesss, glide that feather innnn and now the next oneee mhmmm tickle tickle. Ticklish toes. Good thing we're here with an unlimited supply of feathers huh? All these feathers? Tickle tickle? Right between the next toes and oooh the little toes get a liiiitle feather! Now don't moooove don't you dare drop one of those feathersss! I'll just tickle you more~

I'll tickle you more yes I will. You're a cute sassy teasyyy boy walking around with those toes. Who said you could have them ticklish cute toes huh? You know what I do with teasyyy boys like youuu? I make you sing ~ I make you squirm and I make you screeeam! Nowww your other fooot is gonna get something special mmhmm. No offense to the right, but the left foot is my faviee probably because I'm a lefty. And oooh did you notice my braid? My loooong blondish braid. I'm kind of a dirty blonde but don't call me dirtyyyy and it gets sooo golden in the summer and the best part of a braid is the little tip~!

You seee you twine the hair like rope and at the end, right past this fuzzyyy tie, is the braid tip. And oooh! Look what happens when I dip it in water. Now I can twistttt it up like soooo and ahhh yesss a perfect built in tickle toooool. A softtt feathery spike I can draw over allll your wrinkly solesss. Does that tickle? does it tickle tickle my darling boyyy? Coochie cooooo cutie pie, laugh it uppp because we're not stoooopping. Ooh I think people are getting jealous that I get to tickle you ~ I've got you alll to myself mhmmm tickle mama has you boy and she's not letting you gooo noooo~

And now we take this braid and weave it throughhhh your toes. Over ~ under ~ over ~ and you guessed itttt, under! Ahh yes my soft hair betweeeen the toess and now I can use the tip to stroke and poke and play with your cute toes. And that fine tip is sooo perfect to get that rare tickle spot right at the edge of your toenails. Mmhmm no one expects that spottt but I knowww about it! Ticklish toes! Ticklish toenails! Silly boy. You just can't not laugh can ya? Can ya? You're a messsss darling ~!

Alright, let's make you sing. Let's see what you can do for this crowd. We'll take the braid out, take out the feathers and now it's thumbs. Allll thumbs for you babydoll, rubbing endlessly under your toessss ~ the breeze and little bits of sand reallly get you that tickly texture huh? Nope nope nope not stopppinggg nott stoppping ~ I'm your tickle bully now and we're not quitting until ticklemama is satisfied. Coochie coochie coooo!! Over and over we goooo you can scrunch and wiggle alllll youuuu like I'll just tickle you more! I'll tickle you moreeee! Ha ha ha ha~ you're buried and I'm not you silly boyyyy you're getting tickled and I'm notttt ~ how does that feeeel? Making such squeaky silly sounds alll from a little girly tickling on your toesssss~

You just wait until I tunnel to that tummyyyyy and get your face toooo ~ we'll seee exactly how giggly of a silly boy you are~!

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adore-laur · 1 year ago

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SUMMERBOY

— a summery southpaw flashback🍦

——

JUNE, 1987

Cocoa Beach was where Harry first laid eyes on the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

On a sunny day by the ocean, he admired her through the flimsy mesh of the volleyball net during a recreational game of girls versus boys. Her painted toenails stood before the serving line that had been drawn by gliding a piece of driftwood through the scorching sand. She wore a clementine-colored bikini while her golden hair fell over the straps in majestic waves. She was so ethereal, with the sun shining down on her and accentuating the natural beauty she lavishly possessed.

She managed an effortless topspin serve, the smack of her palm against the leather ball in perfect time with the start of a song about emotions in motion coming from a nearby boombox.

As for Harry, his emotions were thoroughly in motion.

A dollface like hers was rare. With tan, satiny skin, dark brown eyes, and plump lips of absolute perfection, her features caused his stomach to erupt with summertime butterflies. Thankfully, the sunglasses he had on hid his blatant ogling. He didn't even know her name or where she was from, but he had a strangely intense feeling that told him he was meant to find out.

Thwack!

Without warning, the volleyball hit Harry square in the forehead. His sunglasses flew off as his ass fell backward onto the sand. His vision blackened around the edges while his brain experienced a high-magnitude earthquake.

"I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

His ears rang, yet he could barely make out a soft voice laced with concern. Some of his friends crowded around him, yet one person nudged their way through, like how the sun gloriously peeked past the clouds that morning.

Oh, it was the girl he'd been admiring. How terribly embarrassing.

"Y-yeah," Harry stuttered. He rubbed his pounding temples and blinked fast to clear his blurry sight. "All good. You have a powerful serve."

Doe-like eyes stared at him apprehensively. "Do you feel dizzy? Should I call an ambulance? Is the sun too bright for you?"

"No," he replied, laughing. "I'm sure I'll just have a bruise. No need to worry."

She crouched and moved her dainty pointer finger back and forth in front of his face. He followed it, mesmerized. After repeating the motion a few times, she said, "Okay, your eyes seem to be focused."

He bit back a smirk. "I'm glad they are."

"What's your name?" she asked, ignoring his charm.

"Harry Styles." He gave her his best dimpled smile. "What's yours?"

Gently touching the bump forming on his forehead, she continued, "And how old are you?"

"Nineteen." He would have been lying if he had said his skin wasn't on fire, with heat blooming everywhere. "What's your name?" he repeated.

She pursed her pretty lips in thought. "What day is it today?"

Harry quickly realized she wasn't trying to get to know him—she was conducting a memory loss test. "Uh... Sunday," he answered defeatedly, his ego deflating a little. A lot, actually.

"Well done." She dusted off her sandy legs and stood up. "I don't think you have a concussion. Just some slight swelling."

"Thank you, nurse."

She narrowed her eyes and sassily put a hand on her hip. "However, you need to stay hydrated. Here, let me grab my orange juice."

"Your orange—" His dream girl was off and running under the volleyball net before he could speak any further. Wiping sweat from his hairline, Harry waited patiently while grooving along to the rock music playing from a group of teenagers' boombox farther down the beach strip.

When she returned, his body delightfully shuddered at how her skin seemed to glow under the summer sky. Thrusting forward a clear bottle of orange juice, she said, "My name is Sawyer Clemente, by the way."

Sawyer. Such a unique name for someone who felt so familiar to him. He wouldn't have minded if those two syllables rolled off his tongue for eternity.

"Thank you, Sawyer," he chirped, taking the ice-cold bottle from her. He held it up to his parched mouth, but right before he took a swig, he asked, "Pulp or no pulp?"

"No pulp," she said, tapping her acrylic nails against her arm. "I'm not a psychopath."

His head lulled back as he smiled lazily. "Whoa, am I hallucinating? I think you're perfect for me."

She snorted, unimpressed, yet a pink flush colored her cheeks. "Are you seriously flirting with me?"

"Dunno. Do you want me to be?”

"Not really. I have a boyfriend."

Harry swore under his breath. "Is he nice to you?"

"Yes, he is." Sawyer glanced around and furrowed her eyebrows when she spotted her friends abandoning the game and congregating near the water. "Well, I'm going to get ice cream now. I’m truly sorry about hitting your head."

He should have been thanking her since he didn't know if he would have been able to find the courage to talk to her otherwise. Typically, he could walk up to anyone and strike up a conversation, but something about her made him the good kind of anxious.

"Are you up for a game of 1v1 volleyball?" Harry asked abruptly, hoping he could suggest a way to spend more time with her without sounding like a desperate loser.

"No, thank you," she said politely. "Boys play unfairly. Plus, it's hot out, and I need something to cool me down."

She was off again, like some unreachable enigma he couldn't quite grasp. Her steps were delicate, and her wavy hair bounced with each one. Harry forgot where he was for a second while getting lost in her movements. She was captivatingly magnetic, and it would be a downright shame if he never saw her again.

Blinking out of his trance, he watched her head over to an unoccupied beach umbrella close to the shore with a melting ice cream cone in her hand. Would it be annoying if he walked over there? Possibly. Was he going to do it anyway? Absolutely.

Harry got up, taking a few seconds to restore his balance, then jogged over while rubbing his forehead to ensure there wasn't a huge bump. That would have been the pinnacle of embarrassment.

Once he was next to Sawyer, she looked at him unamusedly. "This better be worth it, summerboy."

He was the one blushing now. "Hello. Hi. Vanilla, right?"

"It's Sawyer."

Harry swallowed, internally panicking, and scratched the back of his neck. "I meant your ice cream flavor."

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. How were they able to do that when they were so dark? "Yeah, I know," she said casually. "I was just joking."

"Oh. Oh, my bad."

Scrunching her nose, she giggled quietly. "You're funny. I've never met a boy like you."

"What's a boy like me?" he asked.

"Someone I could be friends with. You backed off when I said I had a boyfriend. That was nice of you." Sawyer licked her ice cream and shrugged nonchalantly. "It's rare for Florida boys to take the hint."

"You'd want to be friends with me?"

"If you want," she mumbled around a bite of her wafer cone.

"'Kay. Sick." Harry nudged her elbow with his own. "Let's be friends."

"Are you in the mood for a friendly game of chicken fight in the water?"

"Duh. If I win, though, you have to go out to eat with me. Friends need to get to know each other, don't they?"

Sawyer smiled and threw her hair in a ponytail. "Deal."

——

#harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #harry styles x oc #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #adore-laur #summerboy #southpaw series

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wendievergreen · 8 months ago

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Hraetnug

I've been reading @maniculum's bestiaryposting to my siblings for a while and now that we've caught up I could not resist the urge to participate! I literally made a tumblr just to post this, maybe I will also use it for other things :O

I'm 99% certain I know what the original animal is, and it was really fun trying to make my beast look as unlike it as possible! I used elements of the dromedary camel (feet, hump, general head shape), leatherback sea turtle (shell, lays eggs in sand), and the Egyptian goose (wings, beak, general coloring). There are seven eggs and stars because the Pleiades are called the seven sisters and they're rainbow because June is pride month. The toenails are pink because why not!

I didn't finish a full drawing last week, but I have some sketches of the Rabyeang I might post if anyone wants to see them :)

EDIT 6/16/24 just realized I spelled the name wrong😭 fixing now

#artist: me :)#hraetnug #maniculum bestiaryposting #art

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svndrenched · 11 months ago

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@infernalpursuit sent:

a weird headcanon for ALL of them!!!!!!!! or at least the ones you have most muse for

all of 'em?

Adisse, Ellera, and Hadren - When they were all little, Hadren would scare her younger sisters with stories of dragons and werewolves and draugr and brigands. Adisse grew out of that fear on her own. Ellera took a bit of encouragement.

Alia - Phantom limb pain. And itches. And leg being asleep. It's all still weird, even though the leg has been gone for years. Sometimes she still goes to paint the toenails on that side and is thankful no one else is there to see her do it but her cat.

Anaïs - When she first left the Vault, the first ghoul she encountered, she treated like a friendly face. It was not. Not anymore. Her trauma convinced her that used to be her neighbor, Mr. Sumner. It wasn't.

Arlo - He tried to convince his sisters that the family pet Growlithe was going to evolve and eat them when they were kids. He was grounded for this and doesn't care for Growlithes now.

Asa - They've made countless pipes in their glass blowing class and the professor is too much of a chicken shit pushover to say anything. Their favorite one is a clear blue one.

Baz - Honestly, he's not great at arm wrestling. Something about the angle, he says, but it's bullshit. He's just plain bad at it.

Beam - Once ate someone's pet Saluki. It was an accident and he was stuck picking dog hair from his teeth for days.

Brier - Ask her about the time she got arrested for trespassing. And the other time she got arrested for trespassing. And the other time. She has boundless curiosity and bolt cutters.

Chira - In her Pokémon verse, she's a massive fan of Grusha. When he announced he planned on retiring from snowboarding, she cried.

Dar'jhan - Regularly gets told he's going to get scurvy because citrus fruits give him heartburn. He is terrified of this.

Deacon and Glory - They have a chess tournament at the Railroad HQ when things are quiet. Glory cleans house during this and wipes the crypt floor with those scrubs. Deacon does not.

Empyrean, Thara, and Un-kyong - When Empyrean first got to the Church, Un-kyong definitely started a rumor that she and Thara hated each other. It wasn't true at the time, but it had been brought up enough, it was like she manifested this beef into being. She isn't sorry. Empyrean and Thara can respect the other's grind, but they don't like each other.

Fumiyuki and Hanami - The first time Fumiyuki met Hanami, he scared him beyond his fucking wits. Hanami knows this to be true and terrorizes this poor curse user, just because he can. Something about the voice is scary as fuck.

Gakuganji - He cannot drive. It sends his anxiety through the roof. So while on paper, he is able to do this, in practice, old man's a mess.

Gardenia - She hates sand. Hates it. She has to wash off outside, change out of sandy clothes, and shower immediately. Probably even vacuum afterwards, too. She hates sand.

Hornjolf - Bazulmorz was his gay awakening and now they're in love.

Iruka and Nezumi - Nezumi broke Iruka's nose when they were kids. It was on purpose because he made an ill-timed joke about her.

Itzli and Timofei - These two cardinals are so, so wretched, they schedule a weekly bitchfest just to talk shit about everyone else at the church. When Timofei doesn't forget. And when Itzli decides she wants to go. There are always snacks and a bag of blood for them to split.

Joni - She restored her van herself. Ask her about it! She's proud as hell, okay?! It ran decently before, but with the help of her uncle and Sebastian (despite being an unfriendly shit the whole time) she got it done!

Jupiter - When things went tits up with Team Galactic, she went looking for Cyrus for a while. But it seemed he wasn't entirely interested in being found. Eventually she gave up, and he spent her time learning how to cook. She's not a professionally trained chef by any means, but she can outcook most of my other muses.

Jyspolwynni and Remni - Some fish elves are fishier than others. Remni's gills are more developed than Wynni's, but Wynni has a more otherworldly look that Remni does. Fish elves are weird, man.

Loree - She tutors for chemistry and math, but cannot get the grasp of English and Literature her ap class requires. She's trying so hard and is stressed so bad over this.

Maggie and Zecharias - Based on accuracy alone, Maggie is a better shot with a rifle, and Zecharias is better with a bow. Though he doesn't use it often and prefers his shotgun or revolver.

Mayumi - She had a crush on Yu while they were in school, but she was never his type. Which was a fucking shame.

Mica, Veta, and Onnicka - They all might act like big ol' bitches, but Glücksfall and Snapdragon love playing together. There's enough overlap in the fan bases that really draw the best crowds and the bands all get along decently well.

Mike - He tried to teach Walker how to fight when she was 11, He ended up having to find someone else to do it because he forgot she was left-handed and a child and accidentally broke her nose. He cried over this. She didn't. What he did successfully teach her was to be down to fight anyone at any time. He's so proud.

Mountain - He befriends all animals. Even the ones set to be slaughtered, which there are several throughout the church grounds. The chickens like to follow him, much to Errett's dismay. He doesn't do this on purpose.

Mr. Torgue - He can fuck it up with a set of knitting needles. His Grandma Flexington taught him, obviously. So far, his favorite projects are a TORGUE afghan he made for his grandma and a dice bag he uses when he plays Bunkers and Badasses.

Murphy and Sioned - If there was a competition for worst person in the Commonwealth, it wouldn't be between these two. They really aren't all that bad if you're willing to overlook the murdering amd weird cult-y shit. Murphy sends caps back to their brothers, and Sioned gives settlers food after they talk to them about the Glory of Atom and his Division.

Noah - He speaks Belarusian while he's out in the Commonwealth to avoid people talking to him. It's kind of a manipulation thing because people will overlook him as a threat if they think he can't understand them, but he almost always uses this to his advantage to avoid problems.

Ocvist - He does not care for the golden dragon, Villentretenmerth. He finds his to be brash and impulsive and too proud. Changing into a human form? Outrageous.

Prue - I've talked about this a bit before, but she is colorblind. She has tritanopia. It usually doesn't cause any issues for her, apart from the occasional weird outfit, but she has painted a wing of her ship the wrong color in the past. It's annoying, but rarely dangerous.

Rochelle - She has a big fat crush on Oz. She hates it. They're so nervous all the time and she has shit to do. Not be pining over the embodiment of fear. Ugh.

Ryuko - Despite rarely being home, their house in Kumogakure is lined with trinkets from her travels, well-loved paperback books, and rose-scented candles. They're a romantic.

Salomé - She always starts her day with a cold brew. This is a habit she picked up while getting her bachelor's degree. Her whole day feels off if this is skipped.

Shane - His hangover remedy is eggs, vintage SNES games, and two advil. He lies to himself and says it works every time.

Tempest - She has been reprimanded more than once for luring new fire ghouls to their deaths. She's not sorry and she will do it again. If they'd stop bringing in those weird, overly aggressive, territorial fire ghouls, she wouldn't have to kill them and pick their bones clean. But they don't listen.

Verastian - While conjugation magic is his forte, his ability with alchemy is nothing to shake a stick at. He offers a fine array of healing potions, fortification elixirs, and if you're willing to wait until his shop closes for the day, he'll sell you the best poisons from the back door.

#muses;; look at all those chickens #infernalpursuit #((oh my god. this took forever lmao))#((perceive it))

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rainbowjay20 · 9 months ago

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I was planning on painting my nails and toenails today. I had been debating colors for a few days. Because of this, I had the bottles sitting on my dresser all nice and lined up and waiting.

I also have been working on healing up a cut on my knee. Well, not a cut. I have an allergy to adhesive tape. I use the paper tape but sometimes it doesn't make a difference. I react anyway. Sometimes I swell up like up a Macy's Day parade Float.

The reason I was using the tape that gave me the cut, was my legs. I'd been having shaving issues and have been plucking because shaving just wasn't working. Plucking wasn't a good reason for the problems that I never thought of. Meanwhile, to heal the self-inflicted damage I put antibiotic creams on my legs and wrapped them with underwrap, a soft bandage. I had tape at the top to keep the bandages from rolling down. When I removed the bandages, the skin came with it. Several layers of it, in fact, I think I saw, well not bone, but it was deep.

Well today when I sat down to eat my lunch there were about two paper towels left on the roll. I figured I may as well take it with me while doing my nails, maybe it would come in handy.

I was changing my bandages and then I was going to do my nails. I put the bandage stuff down on my dresser and it fell into the nail polish and knocked it over.

The most interesting bit? Is how the bottle broke. First, OPI is my brand. I have used others, but OPI is preferred. I have had some of those other brands break but never an OPI bottle before.

TBF, it did fall on the floor from about 4 feet. But it didn't shatter or break in a normal way. It cracked the top off. It's weird. What's weirder? I had the exact amount of paper towels I needed to clean it up.

*Note: Color on Bottle is Greece Blue Me Away Internet says Grrece collection from OPI was in 2004. I guess the bottle is just old, 20 Years old. Damn, that is ancient! I'd crack if I were that old too!

The rest of the colors in the pictures

Suzi Skies in the Pyrenees in Suede

Sand-erella(2003)

Turn on the Northern Lights

You Had Me at Halo

#nailpolish #nails #fierce #style #vintage #opi #manicure #coincidences

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smokefalls · 6 months ago

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My skin is impregnated with [the sea’s] salty smell. Tiny grains of sand are permanently trapped beneath my toenails. I tried to remove them, but then I gave up. What’s the point? Anyway, I like the idea that I’m carrying a little bit of the sea with me wherever I go.

Priya Hein, Riambel

#Priya Hein #Riambel #quote #fiction #historical fiction #2024 reads

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the-widow-sisters · 2 years ago

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I’m Lost Without You

Summary: Shuri burned the mourning garments to try to let go. The funny part is that despite how liberating the gesture was meant to be, she finds herself filled with nothing but regret and pain as thoughts of T'Challa endlessly plague her.

However, that evening on the beaches of Haiti, someone pays her a small visit.

Word Count: 2893

A/N: Whoo!!! I busted this one out after watching Wakanda Forever, and I honestly have no clue what I'm doing 🤣 I was emotionally compelled, so I rolled with it, lol. I have never written for these characters before (I wrote for Shuri like once but it was one or two lines in a bigger fic that was not centered on her). But I've never read nor written stuff for these characters, so hopefully it's not totally bad 🤣😂💖

Honestly, Shuri has lost so much. More than even Yelena in some ways (and that was a shocker for me) 🥺😭 And her and T'Challa's relationship was so touching and so sad for me. I hope I was able to do it justice 💞

I hope y'all enjoy! 💗💗💗

Warnings: Spoilers for Wakanda Forever.

Shuri felt her lips trembling as she looked at the ocean, trying her best not to look down at what was left of her mourning garments there in the smoldering fire that had gone out since earlier that day.

She had spent some time with little T’Challa, but she had not been able to fully shake the sense of grief that had been brought back tenfold from earlier that day. Therefore, she had ended up back on the beach that night after the boy and Nakia had gone to bed, barely containing her tears.

Strangely enough, Shuri found that she may have burnt the clothes of mourning, but she had not found the peace or release that her mother had spoken of. And she was having the hardest time even finding a sense of remotely okay.

“Why did you have to go? I needed you still. I need you now,” Shuri whispered softly, her knees digging into the sand as she closed her eyes tightly where she was kneeling. Her entire body was shaking with the raw pain wracking her frame.

“You were the good one. You were always good and right when I was not,” Shuri confessed to the night air around her, sobbing harshly as she felt the sand beneath her palms. The waves were rolling softly around her, and she felt as if her heart were being ripped out of her chest.

It was the first time that she had truly faced her grief for T’Challa and she despised the fact that it took their mother’s passing to do that, because now she had to suffer through the pain of two of the largest, most vital pieces of her heart being an empty hole.

She chose peace with Namor, but she had not even made peace with herself. She was alone, and she could not accept it. And in the end, the person that she had needed the most was gone. She loved her mother, but at the end of the day, it was her brother’s passing that she could not accept.

He was never coming back and she had been trying to avoid that fact— fighting it tooth, fang, and toenail— for too long. It was true, she could say it aloud. She felt that she was being stabbed every time she did, but saying it and shortly thereafter distracting herself was different than allowing herself to feel. To legitimately and deeply feel his loss.

In her lab, Shuri could lull herself into the false sense that she was simply in her domain, and he would come in at any moment with his big, far too easygoing smile and those ridiculous sandals that she hated. The ones that he thought were so regal and kingly and that she thought were the dumbest things she had seen in a while.

She took in a deep, shuddering breath, and she looked to the sky, addressing him even more directly or at least as directly as she could.

“You left me. You didn’t tell me. You kept it to yourself for so long, and when you asked me to save you, it was too late. Why did you have to do it that way? I could have helped if I had time,” she explained, nothing but desperation in her words as she felt her throat closing up.

“Didn’t you know you were my world? Didn’t you know that you meant everything to me?” Shuri pleaded aloud, knowing there would be no answer.

That was part of what hurt so much. There would be no answer to her words. She honestly did not know why she was talking aloud right now when she was wasting her breath. She had seen her ancestors and all she saw was her cousin, the last person she had wanted to speak to.

She had hoped to see him. He had forsaken her. She knew that her cousin was the best person that she could have seen given the direction that she had been frighteningly close to turning, but she had still hoped to see her brother.

He had been taken from her too soon and now she felt like the rug was pulled out from under her. She was completely alone now outside of little T’Challa, who she did not know at all outside of introductions.

Worst of all, she did not have the man who had made her feel safe. The man that had been her hero.

Her big brother.

“I’m lost without you, big brother. I am alone,” Shuri brokenly confessed to the warm night, a sob wracking through her as she bowed her head and crumpled in on herself.

She sobbed for what felt like an eternity, nothing but the sound of the waves accompanying her, but to her shock, she suddenly felt a familiar, strong yet soft hand on her shoulder.

“Why do you cry, little sister?” a voice replied, and Shuri swallowed as she raised her head quickly, turning to look behind her to where the source of the hand was.

There was her brother kneeling behind her, his warm, dark eyes watching her calmly and lovingly. He was wearing gorgeous robes fit for the king that he was, and she felt her entire being in utter shock.

“T’Challa? My… my brother,” Shuri barely managed to whisper before she threw herself upon him, her arms around his neck as she brought him into a suffocating embrace.

His arms lifted to hold her against him, and she sobbed into his shoulder as he brought his hand up to the back of her head, holding her securely and safely there. She took in a breath, the scent of home filling her as she shut her eyes tightly, grasping for better purchase as he held her. Her fingers were digging into his robes, but if it hurt him, he did not show any true evidence.

He was filled out and healthy like he was before, and he was strong. He was not the weakened husk of her brother that he had been at the time of his passing. He was there.

She reached her hands up, feeling his neck and head as she sobbed deeply and heartbrokenly. She was taking in the feel of him, remembering her hero as he kept her held safely where the grief and pain could not touch her.

“You are here,” Shuri managed to speak, tearstains on her face as the moisture wetted her cheeks and her brother’s clothes.

“I am,” he replied, and his voice sounded oddly heavy in the emotion just beneath the surface. Shuri furrowed her brow in slight confusion, her breaths shaking as she struggled to calm them.

“But I will not be here for long,” he confessed, and she pulled back to look at him. He had a gentle smile on his face, and he was looking at her with just as much adoration as he had in life, but she quickly came to the full realization that he was truly not there with her and that it was merely a dream.

After all, the atmosphere surrounding her was completely different. The waves falling upon the beach had subsided with the ocean turned into a lake, and gorgeous pink, blue, and purple lights were shining in the sky above. It was not real. He was a spirit.

“You’re not here,” she pointed out, withdrawing from him a little more. He let his arms fall away slowly from her, looking at her somewhat sadly.

“Not in body. But in spirit,” he expressed, and Shuri just looked at him sadly, feeling her heart ache as she looked away, moving back so that she was sitting on the sand next to him. He moved so that he was sitting down with her, and there was quiet between them.

“Why are you sad?” he asked, and Shuri let a somewhat bitter huff pass between her lips.

“Our mother is gone. You are gone. I have no one left that truly knows me. Is that not a reason to be sad?” Shuri asked, and he shook his head carefully.

“Death is not the end—"

“Everyone keeps saying that,” she interrupted quickly at the end of his statement, desperation and bitterness stifling her. He quieted, eyeing her as he considered her words.

“You are not completely alone.”

“Yes, you have a son that I never knew about,” Shuri pointed out, just looking at him for a long moment as she stared at him. She honestly was quite hurt about the fact that he had hidden it from her when their mother had known about it.

“I only told Mother because she had a right to know that there would be an heir,” T’Challa explained.

“And what about me? Did I not have a right to know that my big brother had a child? One that I could have spent time with and gotten to know? One that I have lost so much time with already?” Shuri pointed out, and he was quiet, looking down at the sand before redirecting his attentions to her.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, nothing but remorse in his gaze, and Shuri met his eyes for a long moment before sighing deeply, looking away.

They remained quiet for a little while, the both of them just sitting together in one another’s company. Finally, Shuri spoke up, her voice rough with raw emotion.

“I am the Black Panther now. And I am completely lost without you,” Shuri confessed, her voice soft, and he was silent as he considered what she said.

“You have been making the right decisions. You are ready,” he assured her, and Shuri swallowed as she shook her head.

“I do not feel ready. I am not ready to take your mantle. I am not ready to be the Black Panther. I have never been. The Black Panther was you. Father bore the name, but it was you,” Shuri expressed, pain stabbing sharply within her. He eyed her with sympathy but also with a certain exhaustion and weight.

“Little sister… You are ready. You are prepared to handle this burden. I knew you would be before my passing,” he told her, and she clenched her teeth as she quickly stood up and walked a small distance away, looking out at the lake. She did not want to hear him discuss his own death.

He let out a sigh, and she felt her heart aching with pain as tears threatened to come back to her eyes.

“You have to do this without me,” T’Challa explained softly from where he was sitting on the sand behind her. Shuri instantly felt the emotions bubbling up in her chest and she clenched her teeth, turning around quickly.

“Without you?! How am I supposed to make it without you?! You were everything to me. You knew how to do all of this. You are gone! Father is gone, Mother is gone, and you are gone. And I am alone!” Shuri cried as she raised her voice, the sound of it pained and cracking as she grew increasingly distraught with the truth bearing harder and harder upon her.

T’Challa looked at her carefully before slowly getting up. Her chest was heaving with pained breaths, and she was trying her best to ignore the painful lump welling up in her throat. He approached her carefully, pausing just in front of her as he looked at her.

“Can you see the wind?” he questioned suddenly and the randomness of the question threw her off completely. She just gaped at him blankly.

“What?” she asked, utterly shocked. T’Challa smiled a little, his eyes glowing with a bit of mirth before he asked her again.

“Can you?” She paused, not sure what the correct answer was supposed to be since it felt like a trick question.

“Well, no…”

“But you feel it, yes?”

“I suppose,” she replied slowly, confusion thoroughly plaguing her, but she decided she would go along with it momentarily. T’Challa seemed to sense her lack of understanding, and he huffed softly before his dark, warm eyes met hers once again.

“Close your eyes,” he told her, and she stared at him for a moment, not sure what he was getting at. She looked away for a moment before closing her eyes with a deep sigh.

After a brief moment, she felt his hand on her shoulder, and she furrowed her brow.

“What do you feel?” he asked, and she cursed how her voice was wanting to leave her.

“You,” she managed to force out.

“You cannot see me?” he stated patiently in a manner that was more of a question, and she shook her head, not sure what he was trying to communicate.

“Just because you cannot see me, does not mean that I am not there. I will always be with you to guide you,” T’Challa assured her softly, and Shuri opened her eyes to look at him.

He was looking down at her with such confidence and love as he brought his other hand to touch her other shoulder, squeezing gently. Shuri stared back at him, feeling her heart squeeze painfully.

She slowly nodded, unable to do anything but numbly reply to him. She did not have much hope that he would be there, but something in her believed him, nevertheless. He never let her down in life, so why would he let her down now?

He smiled knowingly at her. Shuri let out a deep breath, bringing her hands up to grasp at his arms.

After a long moment of the both of them just existing in the same space, silence between them, she finally found her voice enough to speak up again.

“Why did you not tell me in time to save you?” Shuri asked, and he eyed her, a certain regret and softness in his eyes.

“I wanted to protect you from the pain,” T’Challa expressed, and she just eyed him wordlessly.

“I wanted to protect you from the pain,” Shuri echoed, the both of them having two different meanings but seeking the same effect. He nodded, understanding glowing in his gaze as nothing but kindness filled his features.

“It was not really bad until the last of it, and that was when I knew I needed to tell you,” he confessed to her, and she felt the tears threatening to come to her eyes yet again.

“If you would have only told me before… I could have saved you,” Shuri told him.

“That is unfortunately something we will both never know for sure,” he resignedly confessed, and she reluctantly nodded, hurting deep within despite knowing that it was the truth. Perhaps the fact that it was the truth was the part that hurt the most about it.

She squeezed his arms and he tightened his grip on her shoulders, leaning forward as their foreheads touched softly. She closed her eyes, reveling in the love that she felt from him despite the pain.

“You did the best you could despite my choices. Just,” he took in a deep, shaking breath, and she could not help but feel tears running down her face as she worked her jaw.

“Know that I will always be here. I will always believe in you. And I will always love you, little sister.”

Shuri swallowed hard, pain in her heart but also love as she tightened her grip even more, begging for just a few more moments of this respite from her reality where he would not be here holding her.

She knew this was their goodbye, but she wanted longer. Just five more minutes. Five more seconds.

Just more time.

But as it was, she would make the most of what shred of time she had left.

“I will always love you, big brother,” she whispered in reply, and he pushed his head into her just a little harder, her body shuddering with the pain and the tears running down her face. His hands softly came up to hold her neck gently, the both of them remaining there silently as his hands slowly faded away.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Shuri stirred awake, her eyes shooting open as she jerked a bit. She realized that the sunrise was falling upon her, and she raised up quickly, looking around her. She let out a breath of disappointment as she realized tears were running down her face. She swallowed hard, the waves rolling in the water as she felt the warmth of the sun descending upon her.

She swallowed hard, looking down as she shut her eyes tightly and drew in on herself.

However, to her absolute and utter shock, the wind suddenly blew oddly strongly against her back, almost knocking her over. Her eyes shot open and they widened a little, chills running through her as she felt something suspiciously warm against her shoulder.

She looked behind her, knowing what she would not see but nevertheless finding it necessary to confirm it to herself.

As she expected, there was not a person there, but she knew. She could feel it. Shuri took in a deep breath, looking out at the ocean before her as she mustered the barest of smiles.

“I feel your guiding hand, big brother. I… I won’t let you down,” Shuri whispered.

She could not see him, but he was there.

He always would be.

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emptymanuscript · 2 years ago

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Monstrous May Day 4 - The Cave

Michael punched Isaac in the shoulder. “Go on, go in.”

Isaac punched Michael back. “You go in, you coward.”

They both stared at the cave, dark and moaning. The wind blew across the lip of the cave. That’s what made the moaning sound. It was just like a giant soda bottle. Michael had blown a note on a bottle plenty of times. “I’m not a coward. You’re a pussy. You go in.”

“I’m not a pussy.” Isaac punched Michael’s shoulder again. “You’re a chicken. It’s lunchtime on a Tuesday. Nothing scary ever happened at lunchtime on a Tuesday.” Isaac flapped his arms and clucked. “Bok. Bok. Bigok! Chickin. Bok. Bok-bok-bok. Chicken.”

Michael took three steps up the sandy scree that lead to the dark of the cave. Then he turned around, his back to the darkness in the cave. “Pussy! Meow-mow. Pussy. You’re afraid, pussy.”

Isaac snorted. “You don’t even know what a pussy is, chicken.”

“Do too. It’s what you are. I’m closer to the cave. I’ve got my back turned. You’re more scared than me.”

Isaac took four large steps toward the cave. He crossed his arms. “Now who’s closer?”

Michael backed up until he was a step closer than Issac. “You’re still more scared. You heard about Lucy Nelson and you won’t ever go in.

“Who’s Lucy Nelson?”

“Lucy went in the cave and never came back out. The sheriff went in and he never found her except for her teeth.”

“Her teeth?”

“Uh huh.” Michael took another step back. “Each one pulled out in perfect condition like a dentist had done it.”

Isaac rolled his eyes. “You made that up.”

Michael took another step toward the cave. “Then why am I closer to the cave?”

“Why don’t you go in if you think you’re so brave.”

“Will you admit you’re a pussy if I go in the cave?”

“Sure. Whatever. If you walk inside the cave backwards, I’ll say I’m a pussy.”

Michael took another step backwards but stopped there, looking over his shoulder at the low moan that ruffled his hair. He expected the breeze to feel cold and dry, like there was nothing but sand and wind in the cave but the flicker of breeze was hot and moist like someone breathing on him. Like Isaac huffing out to clean his glasses. And there was a funny smell. Like spoiled eggs.

“Well?” Isaac asked.

“I didn’t,” Michael said.

“I see that.”

“No. I didn’t make it up. About Lucy Nelson.”

Isaac was silent a moment before he asked, “Did you hear about Todd Rafferty?”

“The guy whose shoes they found?”

“And nails. All his fingernails and toenails and his clothes. And that’s it.”

“I’m not scared. His little brother Scott went in to look for him and nothing happened to Scott at all.”

Isaac took a step away from the cave. “Maybe we should come back after school. We'd need time to look around. And if we’re not back in class after lunch we’ll get in trouble.”

“You are a pussy!” Michael skipped the final few steps into the cave. The cave was warm, damp. Pale slime dripped down the walls. Michael poked the slime and it was rock hard. Like old tree sap. It looked like a drip but wasn’t anymore.

“Ok,” Isaac called. “I’m a pussy. But we’re going to be late. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Michael looked into the dark interior of the cave. Even inside, his face right in the shadows, he could only see a foot or two into the cave.

“Michael.”

Isaac’s call wafted through the darkness of the cave, skipping down the walls like a rock over water. It rebounded, Michael’s name whisper distorted beckoning from deep within. Which meant, Michael thought, that the cave had to be fairly uniform with an end not too far away. Michael shuffled forward into the darkness.

Isaac called again, sounding more scared. And the echo whispered to Michael again, sounding louder, more sure, less like Isaac. It had a metallic twang, like someone had tried to scratch the right tone shift along an electrical pole guidewire. Michael had seen that. Someone running a metal rod down a metal wire to get an interesting sound for a movie.

Michael shuffled deeper, both his hands outstretched to feel for any wall or stalagtite that might have dripped to face level. He could hear Isaac coming into the cave after him. The crunching of his tennis shoes getting louder and then clearer as he passed the entrance and the distorting wind.

The sound felt like it came from the other way this time. That metallic tonal scratching, not quite a voice, crooned for him and skipped along the walls in a ripple, passing him, rebounding from the empty space of the entrance and picking up that tinge of Isaac’s fear. “Michael come back.”

Michael called over his shoulder, “Don’t worry. I’m almost to the end.” But his voice came out different. There was no metallic whine, no ripple. His voice sounded flat. Reflectionless. Like he would expect his voice to fail bouncing off the cushion of his bed. He spread his arms to reach for the walls. His fingers slid through lukewarm slime over something that felt like warm squishy lumps. The wall dented, retreated like a soaked sponge. But the wall also glowed an orangey-red, filaments like long thin streamers spit hung with little globules of brightness, motes of light winking upward to be lost in the darkness. And deeper into the cave, like the little lights on the floors of airplanes that were supposed to lead you to an exit.

The metallic tones, one rising high, one spilling down, thrummed out to him, more little red lights winking to life with the sound, pulsing, so they seemed to run from where he stood on to the end of the cave he still couldn’t see.

Isaac shouted from far away, “Where are you?!”

The metallic echo lit up, skipping to him along the winking glow, bright and fading, “Mi-chael.”

Michael took a step in the direction of the lights, his fingers dragging through the jelly-ish slime across the strange quivering softness of the walls. “Who are you?”

“Mi-chael.”

Where he dragged his fingers the wall turned an angrier red, the lights pulsing in warning that he was coming as more of the glow filled the cavern, lighting it up in soft orangey-red streaked with bloody streamers where he touched and stepped.

“Michael.”

“That’s me but who are YOU?”

A soft echo from far away might have been Isaac. But the metallic voice called louder, “I’m a friend, Michael. Come to me.” The lights pulsed in sequence like a guiding ring of light rushing into the darkness.

Michael wasn’t sure why he ran. He could fall in a hole. Smash into a rock. There could be anything in the dark. But it wasn’t really dark anymore. The cave sent him another guiding ring of slimey light, paced just right for him to skirt along behind it.

“That’s good, Michael. Come to me.”

Michael looked behind him at an odd screech, like a far off scream. But he couldn’t see the entrance any more. Just the swelling lights and the bloody path he had traced, stretching back behind him until the glow faded into black.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No, Michael. I want you. Hurry.”

Wait, had the scream been Isaac?

Michael stumbled to a halt, turning to look back.

“Don’t stop. Come to me. I want you.”

The orangey-red glow faded as he watched, the darkness rushing toward him. Dimming into just the angry crimson path he had ripped as he passed.

“Don’t stop,” the metallic voice growled, like an angry double strike of metal on metal. The voice rebounding from behind and before him, demanding and chasing.

Michael ran from the darkness, chasing another soft ring of beckoning light, this one dodging ahead, while blackness ate the light behind, chasing him, wide and hungry.

“I’m coming!” Michael yelled, trying to make it stop.

“Faster,” the metallic voice commanded, the ring speeding up, the light evading him.

Michael panted, running too fast to yell clearly again, his lungs and legs hurting. The light kept speeding up, demanding more from him, leaving him behind.

He gasped. Pain lancing up his side. “Wait!” His lungs stuttered instead of producing the word ‘for.’ “Me!” and he stumbled.

Michael crashed into the softness of the floor, his face feeling like it splashed through the surface tension of a first layer of congealed spit onto warm ooblek. Rubbery at first but softening as he laid still, gasping for breath.

He tried to push himself up but the soft clinginess of the floor surrounded his hands, knees, and feet - sucked at his face and clothes - held him down.

“Help me.”

The light pulsed back to him, no longer a ring or long streamer, it was like an icon face pixelated onto the curve of the wall, looking at him. “Done so soon?” it accused. “I thought you could do better, Michael.”

“Help,” Michael repeated.

“Who do you want, Michael? Isaac? Or me?”

“Please,” Michael begged.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? Isaac to come and pull you out? But I’ll tell you something, Mike, Isaac is already here. He is inside and happy with me. He is going to stay with me. He doesn’t want you either. Why would anyone want you?”

The darkness pressed closer, the face congealing like the graphics were upgrading even as the image shrunk. She was leaning right over him, her blood red hair pulsing over her orange face, her pointed gray teeth reflecting the light as it bounced around the squeezing cave. Even if Michael got free of the sucking floor, he wouldn’t be able to stand in the cave any more, he would have to crawl on hands and knees.

“Sorry,” Michael tried. “I can do better.”

The woman squeezed down so the hot wash of her rotten egg breath made him gag. “You’re sorry. How are you going to make this up to me Michael? What are you going to give me to forgive you? Do you have flowers? Do you have diamonds? Do you have anything I want?”

Michael swallowed hard, his throat and stomach feeling full of noxious lumps from his fear and her breath. “Fingernails,” he said. He would live without his fingernails.

She laughed, mockingly. “Todd already offered to give me his fingernails. And his toe nails, too. You’re underbidding, Mike. Don’t you want me to be happy? Don’t you think I deserve it? I already have fingernails and toenails. And they haven’t made me happy.”

Michael sputtered, trying to spit out the soft non-newtonian sludge that was trying to seep into his mouth. He was sinking. Drowning in muck. She was just toying with him, like a cat with a mouse. She wasn’t going to let him out. Not even if he offered her, “Teeth, too!”

“Oh, Mike. You know Lucy already gave me her teeth. Poor embarassed girl. Needy little thing. Offered me her teeth for practically nothing. There was a girl who wanted to make me happy. She was happy to give it to me.”

Michael spat a globule of glowing blood. “Get it out. Get it out of my mouth!”

“Oh!” Her voice shimmied up the scale in delight. “Michael, how wonderful. No one has ever offered me that before. You must really love me. We’re going to be so happy together.”

“Lemme-go!”

“Shhh. Let’s just get rid of that bad part, the part you knew you could live without, then we’ll be happy together, like we should be, forever and ever.”

Something hard and smooth touched Michael’s cheek. It brushed past as he squeezed his mouth and eyes shut against the quickening pull of the floor. But then there were fingers at his mouth, prying at it. His eyes snapped open, under the gelatinous floor of the cave, where she moved off the wall into three dimensions, her hair wafting in the buoyancy of the slime as she pulled him down by the shirt with one hand, into her domain, along with small clean skeletons all around him, all grinning emptily at him in the bioluminesence. One right next to him, so close the skull was nuzzling the side of his face.

She forced her other hand past his lips and grabbed his tongue.

#monstrousmaychallenge #MonstrousMay #Monstrous May #prompt challenge #challenge #creative writing #my own work #horror #is this vore?#I have no idea honestly

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karrenseely · 1 year ago

Text

I remember

I was emotionally and verbally abused by my parents. That little girl is very much a part of me, of my memories. And she is hurting so very much, worse, she's reliving the abuse over and over and over. I remember being reassured when I was 2 or 3 that my sisters and my bodies were similar. I remember playing dress up in my mother's clothes and having a blast. I remember pretending to be pregnant and getting laughed at by friends and made fun of. I remember getting my toenails painted by an older friend and loving it and not understanding why she needed permission from my parents to do it, when she had just painted my sister's nails (I had asked for the same but she was only willing to do my toenails). I remember trying to figure out how to use a pad after getting into my mom's menses supplies and having her discover me and yell at me, she was angry but in retrospect I can see that she was also very frightened, she knew.

I remember being picked on and bullied relentlessly from 3rd or fourth grade on, because I could never completely hide the fact that I was a girl. Everyone knew I was freak. I had few freinds. I would generally spend recess alone, playing in the sand, with rocks that I pretended were ships...

I remember thinking I was the only boy in the world that was a girl. I was so alone.

I remember the day that I discovered trans people existed, and being so relieved and terrified all at once. I wasn't the only person in the world that was stuck like this.

Given I came out to them in the early 90's when I'd never heard of a kid like me, all the trans people I knew of transitioned well into their adult lives, my gender dysphoria had to be beyond severe. I needed their help. I remember them telling me it is just a phase, that my feelings weren't real. Godsdamnit, how is 15 years of feeling like my body was wrong a phase. They knew this, they had to know this, at some point I must have declared myself at least once before school age. Given all those early childhood memories that are so hard to find in the first place and most of them involve me being myself. They had to know. So how the frack could it possibly have been a phase? Because they were my parents, I believed them. For about 1-2 weeks I felt better. Until I realized they were wrong and I needed their help to feel better. I didn't know what to do, I'd gone to them and they'd dismissed me, dismissed my suffering, my anguish. I felt so lost. And I didn't feel like I could say anything to them, because I had no idea how I knew they were wrong. I was a young teenager, I didn't have the words, the concepts, or vocabulary to explain who I was. What's worse, I was already very ashamed of what I was before I had even come out to them. I understood I was something bad. I don't remember them saying anything specifically negative about trans people before I came out, but since drag was such a common comedic tool of the time I can see me watching these and my parents reactions contributing to it, then there was their opinion on lesbian and gay people. Not that I had any clue about my sexuality, my gender dysphoria was so bad that it eclipsed even trying to figure out my sexuality. But I think I also learned this from my peers at school where the F word was thrown around like it was nothing. Where starting around 3rd grade it was made clear to me that me being a girl was bad, sick, perverted, by my peers, my mother yelling at me about getting into her things didn't help. Nor did how the media depicted people like me outside of the object of a joke role. Eventually I told them again, I was a girl. I honestly don't know if this was the second time or not that I came out to them. My memories of my childhood are broken and scattered. Most of them lost. But I did. They then proceeded to once again tell me I was a boy, that I wasn't real, that its normal for boys to dress up in female clothing occasionally, that even my dad had done it sometimes... They refused to understand how much I was hurting, how much I needed their help, puberty had started and my body was changing in horrible icky ways.

I started self harming. Almost every night I would try to make the testosterone stop with induced torsion, or I would put tourniquets on my legs, out of some misguided fantasy that I could get a lower torso transplant to just finally be me. None of it worked.

I remember talking to my grandmother on the phone and her commenting on how my voice was starting to change and how wonderful that was, while I immediately began to experience horror and terror, because it was happening and I so desperately didn't want it to. I remember vividly being told in no uncertain terms that I was to NEVER tell my sister about my perversion and really bad things would happen if they ever found out she knew. The worst part was that after these talks, they would never mention it again, and so I felt ignored. They never checked in with me to see how I was doing. At some point they took me to a psychologist. I remember I was so elated because they were finally getting me help. I knew the first step was seeing a psychologist at the time. But he was horrible. He blasted me with judgemental questions. "Why do you think you're a girl? Do you like boys or girls? If you like girls this would make you gay if you were a girl. Do you want to be gay? and many others, one right after the other with no time to process or even come up with a response. I was in tears by the end of that session. Worse it would take me a long time to trust a psychologist again. I refused to see him again, he hurt me so much.

My parents switched me to a different psychologist in the same office. She was nicer, but I was still too scared to say anything else to anyone. Every time I'd said I needed help up to that point I was met w/ disbelief, derision, dismissal, or outright hostility. I felt so very very very alone. I was just a little a girl who needed help from the adults in her life but they weren't helping, they were making me feel worse and worse about myself. I never talked in any detail with the second counselor about my gender dysphoria, in fact I can only think of two or three times it came up in all those weekly sessions. My parents continued to shame me through all of this. I remember them telling my counselor they didn't mind if I cross dressed so long as I only did it in my room. Except that what they meant was so long as they never see it, or anything associated with it, whether it's in my room or not. Nevermind that the only time I was crossdressing was when everyone was forcing me to be a boy, so actually it was me crossdressing that my parents wanted to see. When I wasn't crossdressing, I was wearing female oriented clothing just trying to find relief from the pain of being forced to be a boy. There was no one I felt safe to talk to. It was just me and I had learned to hate myself thoroughly. I remember every adult I asked for help said no, said they couldn't help me, ignored me, or outright hurt me. How the hell did I manage to survive all of this? I remember my mom finding my tucking underwear in the dryer and going off on me, yelling at me, screaming about what if my sister had found it. I remember my sister finding her bra and clothes under my bed, and leaving an angry note calling me a pervert. And how bad that felt, my own sister (whom I desperately wanted a better relationship with) thought I was horrible too. And also being terrified because if my parents learned that she knew then I was in for a whole heap of trouble. Though as far as I know they never discovered this while I was living at home. I remember weeks after I got that note from her, finding out she (my sister) had borrowed my silk shirt without asking me and left it on top of the laundry pile where the cats ruined it. I was furious, she had called me a pervert for borrowing her clothes, but then she goes and borrows mine like there's nothing wrong with her doing it, but for some reason it was horribly wrong for me to do it. And she literally couldn't understand why I was so upset. And complete frustration because I couldn't say why I was so upset due to my parents prohibition.

I remember the last time I saw my sister, her telling me she missed her brother, and feeling so hurt by that. I hadn't gone away, I'd tried to keep in touch with her. I was still me, but instead of the euphoria I should have been experiencing at getting to be me, instead, I was going through so much grief.

I remember trying to come out that one last time with my parents over winter break in college, but my grandpa was getting really sick, and I didn't want to hit them with my problems again too. A month later, I'd heard he was getting better. So I sent a letter to my family coming out to them one last time, and putting my foot down, stating I was me. They told me I shouldn't tell my grandfather, it would kill him and that he had cancer. My sister got to fly out and be with him. I wasn't given that option, I could only talk to him on the phone. They never told me when he died. They did tell me I was no longer part of the family, any family. I lost nearly everyone I ever knew in one day.

I remember joining my middle school orchestra and finding a refuge there. I felt safe there. Until a transfer student came in and started picking on me relentlessly. It was horrible, my safe space was gone. Eventually he stopped participating in Orchestra, no idea why but I was so grateful.

I remember my mom finding my stash of clothing catalogs that I would peruse through imagining that I would get to wear these pretty clothes some day, or just get to be myself some day. She trashed them all, one of my few things that I had to comfort myself with. And she called me wrong, deviant, horrible for having them, and yelled at me for continuing to have fantasies about being myself.

I remember our middle school had a spirit day where everyone was supposed to dress as wacky as possible, and my home room teacher put fingernail polish on my nails, just dabs, but they were there and I was ecstatic no one batted an eye in my homeroom class at it. For a brief time that day I could pretend to be me and it was normal, but then a girl in orchestra noticed them and yelled loudly that I was wearing nail polish. I spent the rest of that hour scraping the polish off of my nails feeling terrified and miserable. I remember getting a new bed and my mom interrogating me to make sure the movers wouldn't find any of my perverted materials when they took my old bed out of my room. She was terrified someone else would learn of my perversion.

I remember the day I was talking to my sister over the phone and said something bad about our parents. She told me she was cutting off all contact with me. The last person I had know, the sister I'd always hoped to have a closer relationship with, had abandoned me. I was alone. It was too much, I'd lost too much. I attempted to commit suicide later.

I remember being in shop class, sitting at a table with two other girls and giggling with them like mad, having fun, feeling close with them, and looking up and seeing my teacher give me a strange look and instantly being terrified that he had guessed my secret. And immediately began distancing myself from those girls. Despite how I yearned for their friendship and those brief moments of joy.

I remember in an act of desperation getting some books on being transgender from a support center in Georgia, and gave them to my mom to try and help her understand what I was going through. But having her yell at me about giving them to her instead, having her say she didn't understand, and then after reading them telling me I couldn't possibly be trans because I didn't fit ALL the stereotypes the books highlighted and twisted meaning out of the books that fit her bigotry.

I remember, in desperation, calling PFLAG in our city, asking them for help. They asked me what I wanted them to do. I had no idea, I just needed help with my parents. I was a kid, I had no clue what that help could look like. But the guy on the phone said if I didn't know, he didn't think they could help me. He couldn't work miracles apparently. The one place that was supposed to help LGBT kids, wouldn't help me. I was so fucking alone. No one would help me.

Why wasn't CPS called? Oh wait, because it was and is still ok to abuse LGBT+ kids.

I remember asking my parents, in highschool, to join me for a counselling session because I needed to come out to them... again. My mother bullied me about why they needed to go with me, non-stop, until I finally gave in and came out to her without anybody to help support and mediate for me. I remember her yelling at me afterward about how wrong I was, how I was going against God. That I was going to hell. I remember she cancelled all my therapy appointments after she dragged that confession out of me, and didn't tell me. I was devastated when I finally figured it out after asking her what happened to our appointment. She told me that counseling wasn't helping and I didn't need it anymore. That counselor was the first one who had tried to help me, even if only a little. Once again I was alone and isolated. I remember a bunch of girls in orchestra having lunch (I think it was a field trip of some kind) and inviting me to join them. I was too terrified, 1) that they were doing it just to hurt me later, and 2) if it was legit then that other people would figure out my secret. And so I spent lunch eating alone on the grass despite yearning to say yes and join them. These girls invited me a few more times throughout the year, but eventually stopped because I kept refusing. I remember asking to watch "Philadelphia" because it sounded like a good movie and I loved Tom Hanks, But my mom interrogating me about if I was trying to tell her I was gay or telling her I was trans, again.

I remember getting a bag of plaster powder dumped on me as I was walking through the halls trying to get to another class because I was the freak that couldn't completely hide the girl inside. There was constant bullying from boys and girls. The only place it didn't seem to happen was in Orchestra.

I remember praying with everything I had every single night that I would wake up a girl. And being so devastated every morning when it didn't happen. I remember the horror of learning that my parents had sent me to a psychologist to cure me of being a girl and realizing they wanted to erase me. I remember having dreams where I was a girl, and everyone accepted me, and I finally got to be myself, only to wake up and realize I was still living in a nightmare world and none of those wonderful things had happened. These were the worst dreams, because I was happy in them and then I would wake up and the misery returned.

I remember our pastor telling us how being gay was a grave sin, and gay people are wrong, going to hell, I don't think he even knew of trans people. I found out later he advised my mom to disown me.

I remember my mother yelling at me that she'd rather I was dead than be trans. This echoes in my head over and over and over. I remember staring at her in disbelief, she couldn't have meant that right? Right?!

I remember understanding that my parents loved an imaginary boy, but hated me and wanted me dead. I remember I was garbage.

[Edited for additional memories] 12/23/23

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