#thanks for calling me she/her like I asked but unfortunately you have now misgendered me.

[neverendingford]

.

[blackbird-brewster]

Before I get into this story, a couple of things to know for context:

I'm nonbinary, this is a well known fact to everyone I know.

My partner, Doom Them, is also nonbinary. But, they're not widely out to the world-at-large.

We live in a fairly small city (about 380,000)

Okay, so yesterday was my mother-in-law's (we'll call her Jane) retirement event at the school she's been a teacher at for over three decades. It was mostly current and past staff who had worked with her, but the family was also invited, which was why I was there.

At the beginning, I noticed a teacher across the room who had a rainbow badge on. I ask Doom Them, who is also a teacher, if they knew her. They didn't.

I suggest they go introduce themself, because there's already so few queer teachers, and it's worth getting to know another one. But, Doom Them had just arrived to this event after working all day and they weren't in the mood to socialize and/or network (fair).

After the speeches, this mystery teacher played guitar and led the waiata. I decided that was going to be my 'in' when people started mingling. I was going to go compliment her contribution to the event and introduce myself. Easy.

I approach her by the snack table and open with a strong, "Thank you for leading the waiata, I know it meant so much to Jane. You really helped make this a beautiful send off." This woman stares at me blankly, probably wondering why I'm speaking about Jane like I know her feelings or what-not. Me, being the suave person I am, reply with, "Oh, sorry. I'm Jane's..." I FREEZE mid-sentence as a suddenly realise there's no easy way to say "her child-in-law" and I didn't want to say "her daughter's partner", because I didn't want to misgender Doom Them. And I already know Doom Them doesn't know her, so I can't say, "I'm (real name's) partner."

And in true autistic panic, I momentarily forgot I could just say "Jane is my mother-in-law".

So I froze.

It took like two seconds for me to finish and what fell out of my mouth was, "I'm Jane's...son."

Here's the fucking thing.

Jane has worked at this school for three decades. EVERYONE knows her and most of them even watched Doom Them grow up. This woman was about my age, so the latter didn't apply. Even if she didn't know Doom Them by name, she still would have known Jane enough to know she only has ONE child.

And even if, for some reason, she didn't know that before the event, there were three speeches given and ALL of them talked about Doom Them in some regard.

So here I am, this random queer, pressed linen button up, khaki shorts, and the most ostentatiously wild Wonder Woman sneakers -- and I'm claiming to be Jane's non-existent son.

Mystery teacher shoves a whole mini-pie in her mouth at this point, and honestly, so fucking valid. She says, "Okay. Well, I actually have to go help someone move furniture."

Turns on her heels and darts away, much to my appreciation.

Now, let me get to the best part.

This morning, I relay this story to Jane. She, of course, asks what teacher this was.

I describe said teacher.

Jane says "Oh, that's Fake Name." (She uses the teacher's first and last name here) We both laugh at my unfortunate social interaction. I go to the kitchen to make coffee.

It's at least a full minute later when it hits.

"WAIT!! DID YOU SAY FAKE NAME?!"

Jane confirms.

Turns out, the teacher I accosted is my old tattoo artist!!! I had a couple of tattoos done by her when I first moved here in 2016. She quit tattooing to become a teacher...

I didn't fail at meeting another gay -- I ALREADY KNEW HER.

[thorns-are-simps]

hi thank you for responding to my post <3. I don't typically leave requests so sorry if this is a bit awkward lol. can you write some comfort for a really dysphoric reader. like doesn't want to leave their room levels of dysphoric. preferably with he/him pronouns. again thank you!!

YES! Okay good you found the blog- can’t leave their room levels I got you that was the prompt I needed!

Mystic Messenger Characters Comforting a Gender Dysphoric Reader Part 1

For clarification: he/him pronouns for reader! The reader is a trans man.

Yoosung

That’s okay he can set up his games in your room.

He knows what gender dysphoria is, he went through a gender questioning phase at one point, so he’ll try to take your mind off of it.

He sets up a game with a customizable MC and tells you to make the avatar with him.

He tries to distract you as best he can, using games and food to keep your attention on anything else.

He repeatedly tells you he loves you throughout the day, forgetting about any college work he needed to do in favor of cuddling up with you in your bed and having fun.

He’ll hold you in his lap if you want, giving you his hoodie.

He’ll always offer up anything in his closet and drawers for you to wear if your want to.

He’ll talk to you about different trans characters he knows of in games and their backstories to show you some representation.

He tries to comfort you through showing you aren’t alone.

Your phone pinged, the sound of your phone’s text tone going off. You didn’t want to go out today, you wanted to stay in your room where no one would misgender you. But alas, your boyfriend was spam texting about a new game he’d just gotten. You hesitated in allowing Yoosung to come over, knowing he would probably not msg ended you but still not wanting him to see you. Something you’d always adore about him though was that he loved to be around you and could be persistent when he chose to be.

“MC I brought the game! You’re gonna love it! We can make the coolest hero ever and they’re gonna be great. Not as great as you but nobody is. We can even make them look like you if you want! You’re so handsome you know that? You in armor as a shinning knight… you’re already gorgeous, I didn’t know the image could get better. I’m getting flustered and red aren’t I?” He was. “Sorry, you’re just so handsome. Oh did I tell you about the trans LOLOL character they just released? He’s so cool you’re gonna love him! I brought some snacks too, you can snuggle up in my lap while we play if you want!”

Zen

You have what?

Gender dysphoria?

Your gonna have to explain it to him. If you’re don’t want to or can’t just ask him to look it up and he will.

As soon as he understands what it is at least a little he’ll directly ask you what he can do to help.

If you’re to the point you can’t leave your bed then he’ll simply get into bed with you.

He’ll hold you close, his arm around your hips and whisper to you all the things he loves about his boyfriend.

He’ll tell you about his handsome boyfriend who is gorgeous and drives him crazy just by existing.

He’ll tell you about his boyfriend who is so strong and so brave and he is so proud of you. You make his day so much brighter.

Zen comforts you in words.

He tell you you’re handsome and looks you in the eyes to tell you…

Zen was worried. He had just come home from work, having to leave soon after you both woke up and barely having time to really spend the morning with you. When he got him he usually shouted out that he was back, hoping his amazing boyfriend would hear him and call back. However that didn’t happen today. Today all he received was silence. He looked around the apartment, not finding his love until he finally checked the bedroom, seeing you curled up under the blanket and not in a good mood.

“What’s wrong babe?” He came over to try and console you for whatever you were going through but when you told him, he almost felt helpless. He’d never had to experience this before and didn’t know how to handle it. All he knew to do was to comfort you how he normally would. He slipped into bed with you and pulled you close to his chest, his arm around your hip and hand on your back. As he rest his head close to your’s he spoke in the softest tone he could, trying to be gentle. “You know how I’m so handsome right?” As much as you loved to stroke his ego, now wasn’t the time. “Believe it or not, I have a boyfriend who is even more handsome than me. I swear he could get me to do whatever he asked with one look into his eyes. I’m not sure if he knows exactly what he does to me. Every time I see him I have to hold myself back from pulling him in for a kiss. His lips aren’t always the softest but that just one more thing that makes him so… him. He’s real and he’s stronger than he gives himself credit for. He thinks sometimes that I won’t like his body after he fully transitions but… the truth is he could of come to me in any form. And his heart is what would of pulled me in. The way my prince loves me for me is why I’m here. He gets this thing called gender dysphoria which must really suck, but my prince is strong. I know he’ll make it through. And if he needs someone to lean on, he knows his faithful knight is always here to hold him up. I love you baby, and I know that my love can’t solve everything, but you know what it can do? Tell you that you’re the most handsome being on this planet. “

Jumin

You’ll have to explain it to him. If you don’t want to them he looks it up himself, feeling that whatever is making you so upset to the point of not leaving your room is very much too important to task to someone else to research.

He, unfortunately, can’t cancel his work day and makes you aware of this with a kiss to the head and a promise to be back as soon as he can be.

While he is at work and between meetings he texts you as he does research on gender dysphoria, asking you if you’d like to talk to a therapist about it, if you want to go shopping for a binder on his next day off, and if you’d want him to help you pay for any hormones and surgeries in the future.

He’ll offer to take you suit shopping as well, saying his tailor can do amazing things to give you whatever shape you want.

He also offers you his wardrobe. His clothes may or may not fit you as some of them are fit to his specific body but if there is something in there you want to try on he has no problems letting you.

He asks Jaehee to go get you a trans flag and deliver it to the apartment while he does work.

He tries his best to comfort you through gifts.

He’ll also try physical affection through kisses. Lots… and lots… of kisses.

Jumin Han was tired. Work was exhausting and he wanted nothing more than to sit in bed with you and listen to your voice. On his way into the door of your shared apartment he hears Elizabeth the 3rd jumping off something in the distance and starting to make her way towards him, as she always does when he gets home. He puts all his stuff down and feed Elizabeth, petting her head, before making his way to your bedroom. When he sees you it’s like his entire body relaxes. He undresses and puts on his pajamas, asking you how your day eases

“Did you like the flag? I looked up which one was the correct version and made sure assistant Kang got the correct size for the walls. Feel free to hang it up wherever you like. I know a tailor that will give you whatever shape you want love, I can book you an appointment with him if you’d like. He’s worked with a plethora of people so he’ll understand what you mean if you say your want to look like the man you are. I can also book you an appointment with a reputable doctor to discuss boron ones or surgery if you wish. Don’t worry about paying for anything, let me spoil you. Now come here snd let me show you how much I love the amazing man in my bed.”

Part 2

Part two will include 707, Jaehee, V, and Saeran!

[dangerous-mess]

Holiday Troubles

Characters: Aizawa, trans male reader

Contains: Unsupportive family, transphobia, homophobia, misgendering, mentions of a deadname (D/N), mentions of religion and praying, mentions of dysphoria, angst, hurt/comfort, angst with fluff ending. This was written mainly as a comfort fic during the winter holidays but wanted to post this here (originally posted on AO3). Please read with caution as this content may be triggering for some

Word Count: 2K+ 

The holidays were always rough for you, being not only gay but transgender as well. There were the off-putting tension and feelings every time you walked in the room, and the side glances and judgemental glares that were shot your way if you were even caught wearing something feminine and not masculine. Mostly from your parents and family, feeling the obligation that you had to follow gender norms in the hope to not only pass but to be taken seriously in your own identity.

The holidays got a little easier once you married your now husband. He made visiting your family a bit easier and made the holidays in general, more enjoyable for you. This year, unfortunately, he had meetings and a nightly patrol that he couldn’t get out of, so you were left to go to the Christmas family gathering by yourself.

The day came, and needless to say, you were a nervous mess. You dressed up in a suit, something masculine of course to appease your family and keep those comments at bay. Though, you knew you weren’t in the clear as there was still a high chance of being deadnamed and misgendered by family who were unsupportive or others who just didn’t try. Your husband, Shouta, let you know before he left early that morning that if you needed anything at all to give him or Hizashi a call and they would come and get you in a heartbeat. He said Hizashi, just in case he couldn’t be reached, which was fine with you, Hizashi had become a close friend to you.

You arrived at your parent's house a little later than they asked, just cause you were nervous and needed more time to prepare for this evening. You knocked on the front door, adjusting your suit as you waited for someone to open the door, only to be greeted by one of your younger siblings. They gave you a big hug, before dragging you inside where you were greeted by family. Your grandmother was the first to deadname you. She called out as you talked to your uncle, a devious smile on her face as the name rolled off her tongue. You cringed hearing it and so badly wanted to correct her, but if your mother caught wind that you did, who knows what drama may pursue. You endured the conversation with her, as she made sure to drop in your deadname every chance she could get.

“Honestly D/N, you really should stop playing dress up and realize that you are a girl. Your husband would be so much happier to have a wife who knows her place and not some confused girl.”

You took a deep breath and bid your goodbyes to your grandmother as you went to find someone else to talk to. Eventually, dinner was called, and you all gathered around and your grandfather said a prayer. You looked down at your feet the entire time, not really wanting to participate in the prayer. Soon it wrapped up and a line formed into the kitchen to get food. After everyone got food, everyone gathered around and talked, telling stories of things that happened within the past year in their lives, as well as asking questions to others to get the latest scoop. You just decided to eat silently, trying to not participate in the gossip fest happening before you.

“So Y/N, how are you and your husband doing?” Your dad asked before he took a sip of a beer. You held up your pointer finger, signaling that you needed a moment as your finished chewing food before you smiled and spoke.

“Oh, we are doing well! He sends his deepest apologies that he couldn’t make it, hero duties called.” You smiled, taking a quick glance around the room. Some whispers were exchanged, knowing it was about you and Shouta. It was clear that besides your family not supporting your identity, they also did not support your marriage to a hero. Especially a hero who was supportive of you and your identity.

“Honestly, how she manages to keep such a hero man, is insane. Like who would wanna marry some confused lesbian?” One of your aunts spoke out. You gripped your glass tightly, biting your tongue, not wanting to start any issues.

Other family members chimed in to add on to your aunt's comment and soon it became too much. You quickly excused yourself and went to the bathroom farthest away from your family. You pulled out your phone and texted your husband. You told him that you needed him or Hizashi or someone to come to pick you up, as you originally walked, as it was nice earlier prior to the sun setting. You quickly got a reply, saying your husband was on his way, and that he was getting someone to cover the rest of his patrol. You felt a bit bad to interrupt and have him leave his patrol, but god you just needed him right now more than anything.

You hid amongst the rooms as you waited for Shouta to send you a message or signal that he was here. Your mom called out your name, walking down the hall looking for you. The smile on her face dropped as she saw you and grabbed your arm.

“Come on Y/N, we are about to exchange gifts. Stop trying to hide and be nice and spend time with your family. It took a lot of work and effort to get everyone here, like your grandparents who haven’t seen you in ages.” Your mom aggressively whispered at you, as she pulled you towards the living room. You stayed silently, hoping that your husband would be here soon.

Your mom let you go and pointed to a chair near the tree. You sat down and were handed some gifts. You slowly opened them, trying not to draw attention to yourself. The first gift was in a gift bag, and opening it exposed a colorful piece of clothing. You pulled it out and it was a sundress. Although you didn’t mind breaking gender norms, dresses were never your thing, they held too many bad memories and made you dysphoric. You frowned, not having the energy to fake a smile. You felt your mind start to spiral before a voice pulled you out.

“Oh, D/N do you not like it. I made sure to even get the right size and everything. I thought you could put that on and surprise your husband when you go home. Imagine how he would react to see his wife, finally coming to terms with herself.” Your grandmother called out, staring at you the entire time. You went to open your mouth when another voice spoke up.

“Actually, I think my husband looks handsome and perfect just the way he is in the suit he is wearing, but thank you. Maybe we can save the dress and give it to one of my students, I know one of them would get much better use of it.” Shouta’s voice boomed out, making a hush fall across the room. You never heard the front door open, but then again Shouta was very good at staying silent. You looked at your husband, feeling all your emotions and feelings starting to rise to the surface. You caught a dirty look your mother gave you as you stood up and made your way over to Shouta.

He held out his hand as you got closer and held it tightly, quickly bidding goodbye for you both as he quickly led you outside to the car that was waiting outside and still running. “I had Hizashi drive me over, hope that’s okay.” You just nodded at him, not letting go of his hand until you got into the car. As soon as you and Shouta were in the car, Hizashi sped off.

“Heya listener, how did it go?” Hizashi asked out, peeking into the mirror looking back at you.

“I lasted longer than last year, so that’s a new record at least.” You joked, trying not to cry. At least not now, you had to make it until you were home and in bed, with your husband holding you close.

Hizashi talked most of the ride home, while Shouta kept glancing back at you. You tried to listen to what was being said, but you couldn’t focus, so you just looked out the window, slightly dozing off. You woke up to the feeling of being carried, your eyes adjusted as you saw Shouta was carrying you into the house and to the bedroom. On any other occasion, if he was carrying you like this you were bound to tease or crack a joke or something, but in this moment you just stayed in his arms, gripping onto him tightly. Once you both got to the bedroom, he helped you undress and slip on something comfy. After he finished helping you, he quickly changed and climbed into bed, pulling you close to him and holding you tightly.

For a while, you just laid there in his arms, fighting back the urge to scream and cry. Though, after he comforted you and let you know it was okay to be upset and that you could let it all out. In which you did, you sobbed in his chest for what felt like hours. You screamed and sobbed and let out all the feelings you bottled up for the few hours you were at the family gathering. Eventually, you ran out of tears to cry and were only left with your own thoughts. You were overthinking, mostly dwelling on the words your family spoke out to you this evening, and couldn’t help but question if it was true.

“Sho...I’ve got to ask you something, kind of important.” You gently pushed away and sat up in the bed, looking at him. He stared at you, and nodded, letting you know it was okay to continue on. You took a deep breath and went for it, “Am I enough for you? I brought a lot of baggage and trouble into our relationship and I know it can’t be easy for you dating me, specifically with the backlash and comments that get made by my family and others about me transitioning and just. If you were with anyone else, I feel like you won’t get all this drama and I’m sorry I’ve brought so much of it onto you Shouta.”

You watched as his facial expression changed and you quickly looked away, finding interest in anything that wasn’t his face, afraid of what his reaction not only meant but the words that were about to follow. “Y/N, please look at me.” You slowly looked up and he placed a hand on your cheek. “I love you Y/N. I love you for you, you are my husband and I won’t want anyone else besides me. You are more than enough for me. And we both have a lot of baggage but that doesn’t change my feelings for you, we can work through it all together. I meant what I said in my vows and at our wedding and I still stand by it. Forever and always.”

You fiddled with your fingers before speaking up, “I love you Shouta so much, I’m just afraid one day I won’t be enough, cause as silly as it is, I don’t feel masculine or manly enough, that you’ll find more of a ‘real’ man one day and just leave me behind.” Tears filled your eyes and you looked down, just wanting to hide under the blankets.

“Y/N Aizawa, you are absolutely masculine and manly enough. I will never find anyone else or more a man than you. You are all I want, and all I need. I love you so much, don’t ever doubt my love for you, cause it is never-ending sweetheart.” Shouta spoke out, lifting your head up and placing a small kiss on your forehead before pulling you into his arms, holding you close. You just stayed there close, as Shouta whispered sweet nothings into your ear as you drifted off to sleep.

Shouta always made the holidays more bearable, but he also made life in general easier. He made waking up a little easier and helped with your hectic thoughts to calm you down. He truly was the love of your life and the best you could ever ask for. You couldn’t have gotten any luckier to have a husband as sweet and perfect as you. He may not be the number one hero to the rest of the world, but in your eyes and his heart, he was, he was your number one hero.

[witchie-writings]

Could you maybe write about a Female Noble 6 and an Agender (AFAB) reader where the reader gets misgendered and they’re really down about it?

you have no idea how excited i am that i finally get to write a noble six x reader like??? idk it just amazes me slkghahkl

F!Noble Six when her S/O gets misgendered:

Oh boy, usually Six doesn't speak up about anything, but this is one of the occurances where she'll take the initiative. She'll take a step forward and tell whoever misgendered you that you don't go by those pronouns/terms, and if they don't comply? She'll start to get ticked.

I see that the other is egging Six on, continuing to misgender her S/O in front of her and throwing all sorts of slurs around. That's when Six had enough, and pinned the bastard against a wall, speaking low and quiet that if they spoke another insult towards you, she'll personally have a word with them at their own home.

Now that's a scary thing to hear, but being Six's S/O, you've never seen this side of her, which makes the threat even more terrifying. You've always seen her being stoic and collected, only speaking when necessary. But witnessing the events fold out before you? It made you realize that Six was more than a silent soldier.

Afterwards, Six would leave the asshole behind, and immediately come to console you.

The rat had scattered off thank Heavens, and Six would take you to sit on a batch of boxes, just far enough away for the conversation to be private, but close enough to where Six can be called if anything were to happen.

Her voice is gentle and smooth as silk as she spoke to you, a far contrast to how she spoke with the other. She asked if you were okay, and don't think about lying to her. Six is very observant.

After telling how the other affected you and that you weren't feeling your best, she'd pull you into a hug. It wasn't rushed, but instead a slow, comfort hug. Her touch was gentle, and her arms brought a sense of security and protection that you couldn't find anywhere else.

She didn't speak during this, but you knew she didn't need words to convey how much she cared. She loved you deeply, and no matter the gender, looks, or otherwise, Six will make sure others treat you with respect.

Now I do have a headcanon that Six never takes off her armor, so you'll likely have to cuddle with her armor on... which is a experience on it's own.

You have to have a shit load of pillows and blankets to make up for how hard and rigid her armor is; Six does apologize for this, she really does, it's just she isn't comfortable without her armor. You forgive her of course, but that doesn't make the situation any easier.

You do manage to finally get comfortable after about seven tries though, and it was well worth it.

Since Six refuses to take off her helmet, she would gently and tenderly nudge and nuzzle your foreheads together- well, the forehead of her helmet I mean. It's the thought that counts, right?

Unfortunately though, Carter does come to get Six after a few hours.

Sadly for him, you were passed out across pillows that were stacked on top of Six. She noticed Carter in the doorway, and they had a stand off.

Carter left after that, asking no questions.

[kerie-prince]

scent of theirs

Draco Malfoy x Non-Binary!reader (fluff)

requested: (anon) Hello! Could I request Draco x Non-binary Y/n they were childhood friends but Draco stopped talking to them because they were sorted into Hufflepuff and then in their 6th year Slughorn makes the Amortentia and they smell each other and Draco is scared because he doesn’t think y/n would want him?

summary: Your lifelong best friend didn't take your sorting too well in your first year of Hogwarts. It saddened you, but you learned to move on. Only thing is, you actually haven't. And neither did he.

a/n: i hope this turned out well! i did lot's of research on what it means to identify as non-binary so if it's wrong, let me know so i can re-write it!

(gif not mine; creds to owner)

You’ve been through many things growing up; at age 5, your father passed away due to a blood curse. At age 9, you broke your right arm from a fight with a boy twice your size and surprisingly won. And at age 11, a few months before your first day at Hogwarts, you realized that you didn't identify with the societal norm of just one gender. During all these events, there's been one person by your side: Draco Malfoy.

Draco’s been your best friend since birth. Your families are some of the oldest pureblood wizards and companionship had joined the families for generations. At one point, you actually believed that the Malfoy’s were your own blood relatives, but unfortunately they’re not. Didn’t matter, you still called his parents ‘Auntie and Uncle’.

Your best friend was running down to your house, Dobby straight on his tail yelling, “Young Master, wait for me!” The young boy ran up to the door and knocked with high energy, not stopping until someone opened the door. “Hello Master Draco-” your housemaid was cut short as he ran past her and ran straight to your room. Looking inside, you weren't there. His next best guess was in the greenhouse. He ran in and saw you watering the mandrakes. “Y/N! I got my letter!” Draco waved the parchment around excitedly. “Where’s yours?”

You had a disappointed look on your face. He mirrored the same look until you started laughing. You pulled out your letter from the pocket of your jeans with a smile. ‘Don’t joke like that again,” Draco scolded. Later that week, his parents took you two to Diagon Alley shopping for supplies. The entire time, Draco talked about how excited he was for the both of you to start your educations and most importantly, be sorted into Slytherin together.

When the hat placed on your head announced ‘Hufflepuff’, he felt strange. But in his mind, the one who was strange was you. From then on, he stopped talking to you while you were at school. During breaks, he’d put on his best act in front of your families but behind closed doors, he reminded you of how he thought of your house; weak and pathetic.

Now, in sixth year, you two had completely cut ties. Your families still enjoyed each other's companies, though. You walked the hallways with your best friends Justin, Ernie and Hannah. “How do you suppose this new professor is?” Ernie asked. From what you saw at the first feast of the year, Slughorn looked somewhat quirky. Of course, no one could beat Trelawney. “Hopefully, he’s nice,” you said.

An arm bumped against yours in the hallways. Even though they bumped into you, you were the one to say ‘sorry’. A familiar voice, now deeper, scoffed at you. “Watch where you’re going, idiot.” Draco looked at you with hateful eyes. He kept walking with his crew of followers.

It hurt you that the person you grew up with became a stranger through the years. And what hurt the most was that even though he stopped being your friend, your love for him never ceased. He never bullied you nor misgendered you. It was a small indication that he still cared for you.

As you and your friends took your seats, you waited for Professor Slughorn to start his lesson. Everyone stared as Harry and Ron came into class late and you stifled a laugh when they were seen fighting for a book. “Now, class, can anyone tell me these concoctions I have on this table?” Half of the class had their hands raised. “Ah, Miss/Mr. Y/L/N-”

“It’s just Y/L/N,” you and Draco stated at the same time. You looked into his light blue eyes. He didn’t meet yours. Slughorn looked at the papers in his hand that had the list of students and surely enough was a mark next to your name to just call you by your last name per your request. “Yes, terribly sorry. Can you tell me what this potion is called?”

The pink mist in the air was recognizable. “That would be Amortentia.”

“Very good. Would you explain to the classroom what it does?” Slughorn asked.

You stepped closer to the table, “This is one of the most powerful potions to date. Specifically, it’s a love potion. It takes the scent of the person you desire. When given to a person, they fall in love with the first person they see.”

“That is correct, thank you Y/L/N.” You went back to your friends as he dismissed you, “Today, we will be making Amortentia and you will record what, or in better words who you smell. Once I’ve seen that you’ve properly brewed the potion, you will start a paper on the dangers of using this potion incorrectly which will be turned in at the end of this week in my office. You may begin now.”

At your table, your friends decided to turn it into a group effort; one will gather all the ingredients and one will read the instructions out loud as you all worked with your own cauldrons. You volunteered to gather the ingredients. In the back of the class, you reached for a glass jar. A pale hand also reached for the same jar and brushed his hands with yours.

Draco looked at you with the signature scowl, “Get your own, Y/L/N.” He grabbed the one you had your eyes on and turned away.

“Thank you,” you whispered. Draco stopped in his tracks at your words. “For what?” he asked as he looked over his shoulder. “For… that. Earlier in class,” you reminded him.

He looked forward, straightened his back and replied, “It’s nothing.” When he left, you felt something within you. Sadness, yes. But a little flutter in your chest. You were able to find another jar and headed back to your table with your housemates. It was quite surprising how easy it was to make Amortentia. “You’d think that for something that’s so powerful, it would be difficult to make,” Hannah pondered once she finished her potion.

“Alright, what do you guys smell?” Justin asked.

“I smell,” Hannah started, “gardening pots, flowers, and shampoo.” Justin, Ernie and you all looked at each other and smirked as you looked at Neville across the room. “Wonder who that could be,” Ernie teased. “Shut it. Who’s next?” Justin nor Ernie wanted to go. Ernie insisted that he didn’t smell anything from his. “Maybe I made it wrong,” he used as an excuse. “No, because we all made it the same way so it should be right,” Hannah pressed on.

“Fine, I’ll go,” you declared. You nervously took in the scent from your cauldron, not knowing who you would smell. Or maybe you did but didn't want to admit it to yourself. “I smell men's cologne, apples, and fresh toothpaste.” You knew instantly who it was. Without knowing, Draco had heard you from his table. His eyes bore into yours and you couldn't tell what he was thinking.

From behind you, Slughorn surprised you as he looked into your cauldron. “These are brewed beautifully, good work. You may be excused or if you’d like, you can start your papers in class.” With that, you grabbed your things and walked out the class ignoring the questions from your friends.

You made a straight line into Myrtle’s bathroom knowing no one comes in here. Her cries were drowned out as you stood over the sink. You potentially confessed out loud about your feelings for Draco for everyone. All you could do was hope that no one picked up on it. But the look on his face was confirmation enough that he knew.

The bathroom door was heard opening and you panicked. You could've sworn no one comes here. Here you thought you could just bask in embarrassment alone.

A silhouette came closer to you in the poorly lit bathroom until it became clear who it was. “Draco, what are you doing here?”

“Can we talk?” He asked gently. “Why? So you can make fun of me? Just get it over with and go back to your friends so you can laugh at me all you'd like.”

“Will you just shut up and listen to me?” Draco didn't try to hide his annoyance. “In class, who did you smell in the potion?”

“What, now you want me to say it? Was me saying out loud for the whole class to hear not enough for you?” You kept jabbing at him as you tried to hold your tears. “I’m not really in the mood for this, Draco. I’d like to be left alone.” He sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead. You didn't understand why he was annoyed. You half expected him to have laughed at you even though he’s never actually done that in the past few years.

Draco cleared his throat and walked closer to you. “Do you want to know what I smelled?” His gaze was soft and voice low. You stood frozen before him before you scoffed with your arms crossed, “You gonna describe Parkinson to me?”

“I smelled roses, cinnamon, and chocolate,” Draco’s gaze never faltered from you. Without noticing, he stood inches from you. The words clicked in your head when you heard he named three of your favorite things.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” You uttered. He took one of your hands in his and rubbed it gently. “Before I heard you, that’s what I smelled. You were who I smelled in that Amortentia. Not Pansy, not anyone else. And when I did, I never thought that you would feel the same. I thought that after the way I’ve treated you, you had forgotten all about me. I’m sorry for acting the way I did when you got sorted into Hufflepuff.” His confession shocked you to say the least.

A tear fell down on your cheek. What do I say to this? you thought to yourself. Before thinking, your mouth spoke for you, “I forgive you.” Deep down, you meant it. Your reply made Draco smile before he pulled you in for a hug. “And one more thing,” he said. He pulled away just enough to look at you without letting go, “Would you be my… my partner?”

Your heart skipped a beat from his proposal. Everything was happening quickly and your mind was going on overdrive as your stomach had been filled with butterflies. Just an hour ago, you two were strangers who didn't look eye-to-eye anymore. But now, Draco was asking you to be his partner. Inside, you knew the answer. It was clear.

“Yes,” you accepted. Not even seconds later, he kissed you with passion. His lips were just as soft as you imagined. And he thought the same of yours. Years of being estranged to each other all ended that day as your newfound partner walked outside into the hallways with you beside him.

His partner. It has a nice ring to it.

—

requests are open!

[yvesdot]

Hi, yves.. It's me, yves.. I'd really like to write something in a coffee shop with Atlas (you know what I am talking about), so could you do me a favor and write it? And then tag it for the bingo, if you don't mind, and don't forget to update the bingo sheet! Thanks. (-yvesdot)

Well, yves., I sure can! You know, I just had this idea, and I knew absolutely nobody deserved to feel as though they had spawned it with an innocent request, and then here you come with this ask... sometimes it's like we're the same person.

Warnings for misgendering, deadnaming, and one count (two counts?) of female-presenting... well, you know, but it's really brief and the overall piece is not remotely sexual. It's just that Atlas is Atlas.

(THE ONE AND ONLY UNIVERSE OF KAY RAINIER)

ATLAS - COFFEE SHOP

Atlas feels like trying something fucked up and unfortunate, so he walks into the nearest coffee shop and looks for their seasonal menu.

There's something with cranberries. Something with cinnamon, and something with peppermint bark. Should he try to aim for a drink he might actually enjoy, or should he go for something he's certain he'll hate in hopes of really testing his limits? He doesn't even know whether he likes cranberries. For that matter, he's forgotten how this place measures their cups. He examines the cups at the register from a distance, hoping to ascertain something. As usual, the effort is hopeless and demoralizing. Atlas supposes it wouldn't be the same if he knew any of the words to use when ordering. He sets himself to memorizing the first drink name he sees, which has TMs and Rs all over it, including in places Atlas wouldn't expect corporations to interfere, like 'whipped cream' (TM) and 'cran' (R). He's wondering whether you can really do that or if they're just pretending when one of the straight white girls at the table by the door shushes the other one. Then, obviously, he gives both of the girls his full attention.

The shushing one is blonde, and wearing a white coat with real fur around the top. She has absolutely enormous brown eyes, almost comical; and thin, symmetrical red lips. She wears, incredibly, knit fingerless gloves; Atlas has only seen those in pictures of white women. Her friend is dark-haired and wearing that poser style of eyeshadow; the kind where it's dark and overly large but clearly working very hard to be purple or blue or something else peacock-associated and definitely not black, to remain fashionable and so extremely status quo. Atlas doesn't hold it against her, partially because he feels sympathy—she clearly wishes that her hair was curlier than it is, and it never will be. Atlas gets in line, conveniently right in front of them.

"He took me bowling two years ago," the blonde one is saying now. "I can't."

"You are so welcome to tell me about your better options," the dark-haired one says, and the blonde one scoffs and sits back in her chair. "Lottie."

Atlas takes another glance and decides that Lottie does not look like a Lottie. She looks like an Abigail or a Jane, maybe, something simple and modern and elegant. Atlas feels sympathy for her, too. And for himself, because the person in front of him in line is trying to make exact change.

"Okay. So...." Lottie draws out the so... in a perfect California drawl. Atlas grins. "What's your suggestion?"

"Call him up, say something nice. Say you've been thinking about him. His... Give me something to work with."

"Soulful eyes."

"Well, don't say that. I don't know. Is that what they say?"

"I have no idea what they say," Lottie says. "What we have in common is that both of our parents spend a lot of money on clothes. That's not true. We’re both pretty."

Atlas is living for this.

"It was so stupid. I mean, I was totally head over heels, ready to get engaged, you know, crazy stuff every day, clearly the best option I've ever had, and then he was giving me the break-up talk. And he so obviously cared about me, and he was trying to be nice to me. He's so nice." Lottie sighs in the way girls do in old black and white movies and leans her head on her hand, looking out the window. "Oh," she says wistfully, "Kay."

Atlas is not living for this.

He almost turns all the way around to be sure that that was actually what he heard. Specifically, he was under the impression that it was only him and Kay's mom who got to call Kay 'Kay'. Not that it matters. But this is a random blonde girl, and also, Atlas is remembering that Kay had that fiancée whom she insisted was out of the picture. And clearly she is out of the picture. Because Atlas has never met her. And Atlas would know. If she mattered. At all.

"Let's go back to the beginning," the dark-haired one is saying. "Bowling. You're on the date. Sell me the guy. Sell me the two-year pining."

"I'm not pining. He was very nice." Lottie giggles. "And every time he missed a pin, he looked embarrassed."

Atlas cannot imagine Kay looking embarrassed. Can't imagine her missing anything, either. It's somehow crushing—he can imagine himself insisting, no, really, it's somehow better that he's never seen her embarrassed, hasn't known her long enough to see her fail at anything; actually, it means... what? That he likes her more? That she likes him more? Either way it seems like a pretty weak argument. He's about to sink into total depression when he finally hears the cashier telling him to order something or get out of the line.

"Um," Atlas says, trying to keep the conversation in his ears while delivering output from his mouth. "The seasonal drink."

"There are seven."

"There are—really? I only saw three on the sign. Seven? You don't think that's excessive?"

"I don't think anything. I get paid $7.50 an hour." The cashier looks like they want to be holding a cup, so Atlas hands them one. This worsens things.

"Whichever," Atlas says, "and whatever size. Put whatever you feel like in it, too. Piss in it, for all I care."

He doesn't have cash on him, so he can't even leave a worthwhile tip for the cashier getting paid $7.50 an hour and standing behind a counter too low to encourage peeing in cups. Whatever. Atlas will come back next week and make it rain. None of this is as important, though, as Lottie's opinions on Kay. Atlas loiters by the counter.

"...married to a Victorian for the rest of your life?" the dark-haired one is asking now, which is a very good question.

"Oh, I don't know. I don't want to marry some guy from the golf club, that's for sure." Lottie grips the table. "Look at me, Olivia! I'm a spinster!"

"By his standards? I bet. Who says he's not already married?"

"According to every other girl who's tried, he's a closet case." Lottie buries her face in her hands. "I'm telling you—he likes girls. I know it! I just feel it."

A tragedy! Atlas thinks. The first straight girl to have functioning gaydar, and she's cursed with no other brains at all.

"Call him," Olivia suggests, and when Lottie gives her a look, she adds, "or I'll call him. Give me your phone."

"I'm not giving you my phone. Olivia!" Lottie cries, as Olivia snatches her bag. "Liv! Give it—"

"Hm, hm, Sam From Class, Olivia Best Friend—oh, that's me—why am I scrolling like this. Look! Kay Rainier." She hits the big button in the middle of the flip phone's keyboard and holds it to her ear, humming quietly. The panda keychain on Lottie's phone swings in the air as Olivia takes a sip of her drink. Lottie herself hangs over the table in shock. Atlas picks up his drink and moves to sit across from them at an empty table, eavesdropping so closely he accidentally uses his magic and can hear the phone ringing on the other end. One sip of his drink and he nearly chokes to death, which is convenient, because the next thing Olivia says is, "Is Kay short for Constantine?" and Atlas would have had to disguise his laugh anyway.

"He has a house phone," Lottie stage-whispers, and Atlas presses his hands over his mouth to keep from making any sound.

"May I speak to Kay?" Olivia asks now. "Oh. I'm Charlotte’s friend. I'm like the operator. Is he there?" She nods thoughtfully, listening, then snaps the phone shut.

"...well???" asks Lottie.

"'Caelus,'" Olivia says, doing a terrible impression of Constantine's mopey voice, "'is out.'"

"Kay is what?" Atlas asks, whipping around, and both of the girls jump. Sometimes he forgets he is muscular. Or goth. Or the rest of it. "Out where?"

"How would I know?" Olivia asks. "Who are you?"

Atlas groans, burying his head in his hands.

"How fucking hard is it!" he asks the room. "How fucking hard is it to stay inside. Constantine says, watch Kay. I say, sure! Kay says, watch me walk out the fucking door and nearly get stabbed at the library. Where is Kay," he asks, and now his eyes go black and the coffee shop disappears. It's a good thing he doesn't think too much about how people perceive him.

Kay is not in the surrounding one mile she is not in the surrounding two miles she is not in—she is at home. Atlas blinks. Kay is at home. In fact—he focuses just a little bit—she is heading up the stairs. Back up the stairs, probably, after being downstairs. Constantine is in his office, and his pathing goes straight there from the phone.

"Kay is at home," Atlas says, in surprise. He looks at Olivia. "Constantine just lied to you. Why?"

"How do you know that?" Olivia asks, giving him her hardest straight-girl look, as Lottie collapses on the coffee shop table.

"Magic," Atlas says.

"You know Kay?" Olivia asks, crossing her arms.

Biblically, Atlas wants to tell her.

"Yes," he says, instead.

"Is he very pretty?" Olivia asks, and Lottie absolutely moans.

"Like you would not believe," Atlas says, and he takes another sip of his drink, and coughs. "Don't tell Kay I told you this," he says to Lottie—she brightens immediately—"but give up."

Lottie deflates like an air dancer.

"Sorry," Atlas says, but he isn't. He figures he does not even slightly look it, and that is fine with him. He would love to detail to this girl what each of Kay's nipples feel like in his mouth. He may not know what Kay looks like bowling, but hey, in bed with her he's yet to strike out...

"Not a totally lost cause," Olivia reassures Lottie. "Constantine is, what, his dad? How old can he be?"

Atlas spits some of his drink back into his cup.

"He's in his forties," Lottie mumbles.

"Me-ow," Olivia says, in a complete deadpan. Oh, how Atlas loves straight girls. He wipes at his face with a napkin. It's a shame they don't really love him back. Him and his bowling lesbian sex puns.

"I'm not going out with his dad," Lottie says, now maybe crying a little bit. Atlas composes himself and turns back around.

"I'll tell you this," he says. "You're blonde. You're wearing fur. You've been sitting in this coffee shop for, like, an hour, talking about dates from two years ago like you've never had a problem in your life. I was briefly jealous of you, and then it passed and will never return. Go out and find a guy."

"A guy?" Lottie echoes.

"A guy," Atlas confirms. "Literally any guy. It'll solve your problems, and also mine. Have this," he says, and he hands her the drink. "It's terrible."

And Lottie sits there, holding the drink with Atlas's spit in it in her little gloved hands, as he knocks the door open and walks out, ringing the coffeehouse bell in his wake. He's heading home now, to Kay in her room, and looking forward to seeing her naked. In the next half hour, probably. He spends the rest of the walk thinking of niche questions to ask Kay about bowling, and then imagining just when to say it, what position he should have her in, so he can shock her just enough that she'll lose control. So that he might see her embarrassed.

ko-fi | Patreon | all writing | book

[butterflyinthewell]

To trans folks who are trying to set trolls straight about Chris-Chan’s gender: Your hearts are in the right place, but the trolls do not care. They will keep misgendering Chris to piss you off and screenshot your reaction.

Yes, I’m talking about THE Chris-Chan. CWC, creator of Sonichu.

(TW: this post will mention rape and incest.)

I know, I know… “But if we let people misgender Chris, what’s stopping them from doing it to other trans people?”

Nothing.

There’s nothing you can do, unfortunately. The thing with trolls is they aren’t here to learn, they’re here to frustrate, annoy and anger you. They throw out all kinds of little hooks by saying offensive things, or things that trick you, and it’s all a game to them when somebody bites the bait.

It wouldn’t surprise me if trolls are saying horrible things about autism, too. That’s more my lane and partly why I don’t dig too deep in the tags about this situation. Again, I stress not engaging with that to correct trolls. They don’t care, they want to offend you.

As frustrating as it is, take note of the people who use Chris’ current pronouns and recognize that there are people who make an effort to get them right. I’m sure the trans people reading what you say will see that and know you care to gender them correctly.

It’s possible Chris transitioned believing she can get with lesbians. It’s entirely possible she’s exactly the stereotype that TERFs rant about and her shitty behavior might be used in the future to argue their views. TERFs will be TERFs. Some of Chris’ trolls may be trans themselves.

As it stands, Chris presents as a woman, so I’ll use she/her pronouns unless she decides to present as non-binary or a man again. You’re welcome to do the same when talking about her. Don’t waste your time trying to correct trolls, just use Chris’ current pronouns and leave it at that.

It sucks, but that’s how trolls troll.

Moving on…

I wonder if Chris would’ve been a weird, harmless nobody if Mimms never took her photo in The Game Place.

This all started because her photo was taken without her knowledge or consent and posted on a forum, which ended up spreading to the wider web and…yeah.

Would she have been an internet sensation? Would she have transitioned? Would she be a known name on the web?

Maybe everything would’ve gone down the same, but without an audience to bear witness.

Regardless, Chris is a trainwreck of a person. I don’t say that lightly. She didn’t deserve the trolling and abuse she got, yet she isn’t innocent in this either.

I felt sorry for her at first because I’m autistic too and was bullied severely in high school, some of it included physical assault and attempted murder. I reacted to the constant name calling and mockery irl a lot like Chris reacted to her online trolls. I’m thankful that my most volatile years happened before I had internet access. I’m two years older than Chris. I had my own drama with trolls that lasted a few years, but I grew up a bit more.

But I digress…

Chris didn’t get the internet safety talk that I got before getting let loose online, and people took advantage of her gullibility, her autism, whatever mental illnesses she might have and her obsession with getting laid. She ignored warnings to the contrary and in some instances her mom enabled her while her dad tried (and failed) to reign her in.

At the same time, Chris has a history of being racist, ableist, homophobic and misogynistic. She ignores people’s boundaries even when they were clearly stated. She’s entitled and thinks everything bad is a conspiracy against her. She acts like the world operates on cartoon rules and can’t handle it when situations don’t turn out in her favor like she believes they should. It’s a strange view of “Anything I do is good because I did it, and anybody who tells me it’s bad or treats me badly is evil or a troll.”

How she comes across to others and how she thinks she comes across are incongruent with each other, and she refuses to take any correction. An example is the claw hand she used to do while railing at trolls. It’s clear she’s imitating stuff she saw in cartoons, but doesn’t grasp that it looks silly in real life. It leaves me wondering if she ever watched her videos back to see how she really looks before uploading them.

Chris did a lot of disgusting things of her own volition, like not leaving people alone, uploading that sexual drawing featuring Megan, using pepper spray without provocation and trying to hit someone with her car.

Trolls tricked her into humiliating herself and shared the results, like hacking into her email, sharing chats where she gave out embarrassing details about herself, prank calling her house and posting the infamous blowup doll video.

If you know “Christory”, you know what I’m talking about.

If you don’t know, it’s something that’s gone on longer than some people have been alive.

No side is innocent here. I don’t blame Chris for attracting trolls, they chose to go and harass her because she jumped when they poked her.

I’ve followed Chris’ story off and on since 2008, back when she was making her Sonichu comics and being awkward. I never participated in trolling her. I’ve only ever seen the aftermath of troll operations, but the things she endured were cruel. (The Miyamoto saga and the BlueSpike saga come to mind.) I looked her up to see if she was alive and okay. I sent her my AFBV message a couple years ago, but never got a response.

I wonder if this could’ve been avoided if Chris never got trolled and was supervised better while online. That’s where her parents failed her. I felt bad for her; she didn’t know how to conduct herself and kept falling for trolling schemes because she was so desperate to get a girlfriend. It’s like she ignored that little gut warning that says “hey, this feels like a trick” and it was like watching someone fall down the same hillside over and over.

But after what she did to her mom, I lost any sympathy I had for her. Yes, trolls have traumatized her and messed with her head for over a decade and that’s gross, but what she did to her mom was unconscionable. It’s indefensible. It’s morally abhorrent.

She had sex with (or possibly raped via coercion) her elderly mom, who may have dementia.

Chris’ autism was taken advantage of for years, and now she might’ve taken advantage of her mom’s dementia to harm her for the past month.

Think about that. There is no defending that. She finally did something she can’t just wave away or pay her way out of.

Trolls didn’t put Chris up to that, she did it all by herself.

Now she’s under arrest.

Time and again Chris has had run-ins with the law and got away with slaps on the wrist, but I don’t think she’s going to walk away from this so easily.

I hope this situation finally gets Chris the help she desperately needs. I don’t know if her dimensional merge stuff is a delusion from undiagnosed and untreated mental illness or if it’s a paracosm she’s chosen to live in and act out because she can’t handle how cruel the real world is. Please note that I don’t say mental illness lightly either, because I’m aware of the stigma.

At this point I think she needs a caregiver who will supervise her online activities and help her manage her finances. (She will likely resist this…)

Chris’ autism and whatever else she has going on appears to make it very difficult for her to see things from any perspective besides her own. I’m autistic too, so I understand this— sometimes I get this way and have to walk myself back to see other perspectives, or I ask people to give me their side of it to help me understand how they see it even if I don’t agree with their view.

Chris needed more guidance and reality checks growing up, but didn’t get them, and now she needs both more than ever as she faces the results of her behavior. If she is delusional, she needs help to navigate it and I hope she can do that away from trolls. She needs to face consequences for (possibly) raping someone.

I wonder what the legal system will do with her, and I hate that her life has come to this. It was so avoidable. 😞

Sorry, Chris…I hope you’ll get help now, and I hope Barb is okay.

[celosiaa]

hi me again 🥺 sorry for making you tear up even if it was in a good way (hopefully?) 💕 i don’t mind the wait at all, i completely understand and it’s 100% worth it (honestly i get so excited whenever you post a new fic)!! soooo... i was doing some research for a project on epilepsy and i got thinking about epileptic martin?? like particular in s1 maybe he didn’t tell the other archives crew as he didn’t know them that well/hadn’t worked closely with them before (ok sorry tbc as i am rambling)

hello friend!!! I am so sorry that this took me a literally unreasonable amount of time to write! I really enjoyed the research I did for this, and I love this hc forever. And I hope this is what you were looking for <3

CW seizures, nausea, misgendering

Focus.

Just focus.

For god’s sake.

It’s been nearly an hour of Martin sitting at his desk, trying desperately to rein in any sliver of concentration he can muster to look at the laptop screen before him. He feels awful doing it, but every time Jon has passed by his desk that day, he’s found himself pretending to click around or to type—though he’s got the brightness set so far down there’s no way he’d be able to see it anyway. After a few attempts at turning it back up, he’s had to immediately look away, as the pounding behind his eyes resumes again. So for now, he’s stuck with reading statements—something he is loathe to do even on a good day.

And this certainly wasn’t.

He knows better than this, knows that he’s very nearly approaching disaster—what with the not sleeping out of hypervigilance, not eating out of anxiety, and not having his seizure meds for the past two days, as he’d managed to run out of his flat without them. And there’s no doubt in his mind that he cannot send anyone back to his flat. Not with Prentiss still on the loose.

Selfish selfish selfish

No, stop it.

You haven’t even done anything.

Wishing more than anything that his mind did not constantly run him ragged with thoughts like this, Martin looks up from his papers, intending to find a rubber band to snap against his wrist as a distraction, but instead—

Instead he finds himself frozen, colors fading in and out across his vision, heartbeat steadily climbing as his fingers go numb.

No no no no

Not now not now please not now

Realistically, he knows it’s only been a few seconds, but the seconds feel like years against the rapid thrum thrum thrum in his ears, made even worse when he sees Tim approaching from the periphery.

Damn it damn it

Please please please

“Hey Marto!”

Like clockwork, the focal aware seizure ends, and at last—at last he is able to move enough to look up at where Tim stands, leaning against his desk, smile fading rapidly as he watches Martin blinking in the suddenly-too-bright light.

“You alright?” he asks, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at his face, doubtless taking note of how quickly he is breathing now to match his settling heart rate.

“Y-yeah, sorry, um. Was just thinking,” is all he can reply, fighting to put an easy smile back on his face.

It seems to have been the wrong move, as Tim only shifts to sit atop his desk, expression quickly becoming overrun with concern.

“Okay, well…you look like you’re having a panic attack, mate,” he says lowly, reaching across him to grab his water bottle and set it nearer to him. “What do you need?”

Even with his misguided interpretation, Martin can’t help the flood of affection he feels toward him in this moment—because that’s just Tim, isn’t it? Never assumes, just asks what will help and then does it.

If only I weren’t such a mess, and would let him.

“Oh, n-no it’s not—it’s not that, Tim, I’m—I’m alright. Must’ve…drifted off, or something. Had a nightmare.”

There is no way Tim buys that, no way in hell—but thankfully, he lets it go.

“O…kay then. Well. If that’s the case, I was just thinking of grabbing some lunch, do you want anything? Don’t reckon you’ve eaten properly in a bit, yeah?”

God, Tim.

I don’t deserve this.

Yes, you do. You deserve a friend and you need to eat.

You need to eat.

“Uhh—th-thanks, erm.  Where—where are you going?” he asks, wishing to god his voice didn’t sound so shaky.

He takes a few intentionally deep breaths after that—thinking that perhaps it is a panic attack, after all.  Without realizing that several seconds have gone by since his question, he feels Tim’s bracing hand on his shoulder, knowing that he’s not going to ask again—but offering him a clear sign that he’s there all the same.

“Just the corner shop,” he murmurs, starting to rub his thumb over the shoulder seam of Martin’s t-shirt. “Nothing fancy. But I can get you a sandwich, if you like. Well, no—I am getting you a sandwich regardless, but I thought I might be considerate for once and ask if there was anything in particular that you want.”

“Yeah—erm, yeah, just. Anything that’s warm would be nice,” he says at last, sinking a bit as Tim removes his hand from his shoulder. “Thanks, Tim. That’s—that’s really kind.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously,” he says, clapping his hand back against Martin’s shoulder with force before standing. “Be back in a bit. Drink that water.”

“I will,” Martin nods, earning himself some finger guns of approval before Tim starts walking towards the lift. “Thanks, mate.”

And he’s so close now, so close to shouting after him, to asking him to pick up his meds from the chemist, if he calls them in—

Just ask just ask just ask

—and then Tim is around the corner, and out of sight.

Damn it all.

He tells himself it’s probably for the best anyway—that he’s not really even sure he can get them. But it doesn’t stop him burying his face in his hands, tugging at his hair in frustration and shame. Really though, he ought to call first before mentioning anything—perhaps they have a delivery service, or they’ll refuse him, or something.

And what then?

The idea of finding himself suddenly on the floor of the archives, alone and in the dark with the worms having crawled all over him while he seized—

Have to call.

Reaching bitterly for his phone, he takes a deep breath as it rings, preparing his best “customer service” voice.

“Boots, how can we help you today?”

“Hi! Erm, I was wondering if—if I could get a refill for my prescription? For—for carbamazepine,” he says, cheery voice belying the dread with which he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Sure thing! Just need your name and date of birth and I’ll look you up.”

“Right. Erm—well, it’s Martin, but I think you’ve still got me under, erm. Mary Blackwood,” he says, forcing himself not to grit his teeth at the foul taste his deadname leaves in his mouth. “Date of birth October 15th, 1987.”

“Alright, let’s see here—“

Please please please

“—it looks like you’ve already got your refill, Miss Blackwood. Our system says you picked up your medication on the 19th.”

“It’s—it’s Mister, actually. Erm,” he stammers, stomach churning over the entire thing. “L-listen, I—I’ve had to leave my home quite suddenly, and—and I am unable to return there for the time being. So I don’t—I don’t have access to my meds. And I, erm. Really need them.”

Pathetic pathetic pathetic

“I’m really sorry, Mister Blackwood. You’re going to have your doctor call in another prescription for you before we can get you that refill. Unfortunately, it’s out of our hands.”

Of course.

“Oh, right. That’s erm—that’s okay. Thank you so much,” he says as brightly as possible, unwilling to blame anyone for something out of their control.

“You’re quite welcome. Take care.”

With a long, shaky sigh, Martin throws his phone back onto his desk, returning his head to its rightful place, buried in his hands. There’s no way he can call his doctor today—or tomorrow even, with it already being a Friday afternoon. No chance of him getting his refill, then. And no chance of sending Tim back to his apartment either.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

It was just a focal, nothing too bad.

Nothing unmanageable.

I can make it.

Steeling himself with somewhat tremulous determination, he takes another long breath—blinking back against the steady pounding in his head, and getting back to work.

—

“Aw come on, Sasha! Take a break with me!”

“Not on your life. I’m still furious with you, you know,” she replies, tossing her hair like a lion’s mane over her back. “Can’t believe you’d go all the way to the good café for Martin, and not offer me anything. Not even crumbs, Stoker!”

“Listen—” Tim grins back, hands raised in self-defense. “He looked like he could use some soup! I don’t know what else to say.”

“And you didn’t get me any? What about me doesn’t scream ‘I could use some soup, thank you?’”

“It’s different!! It’s—Martin? You alright?”

As he was walking past their bickering, eyes firmly fixed on the floor on the lookout for worms, Martin had suddenly stopped short—looking anxiously up and over their heads, framed by the doorway of Jon’s office.

“Martin?” Tim repeats, already halfway to standing in worry, following Martin’s gaze behind him and finding nothing.

Faster than he can turn back around, Martin’s muscles all tense at once—and he tips backwards onto the floor with a heavy thud.

“Shit! Martin!”

Tim darts forward at once, in some feeble attempt to catch him, but of course, far too late to do so. In his shock, he can do little but stand over him for a few seconds, taken aback upon seeing his eyes still open where he lies still on the floor.

“What happened?” Jon demands, stepping quickly out of his office towards them, where Sasha now crouches near his head.

“I-I don’t know, he just—”

And then Martin begins to convulse.

“Oh my god, he’s—he’s having a seizure,” Sasha gasps as she claps a hand over her mouth, from where it had been pressed against his forehead.

“Fuck. Fuck, what do—what do we do? Do we call 999?” Tim shouts, unwilling to sit by and watch as this all goes on around him, already grabbing Sasha’s phone from her nearby desk.

“I—I think so, let me—”

“Wait.”

Two sets of eyes land upon Jon as he interjects, crouching near Martin’s flailing left arm, waiting for him to set it back down before quickly grabbing at a bracelet circling his wrist.

“I-it’s a medical bracelet. Says epilepsy,” he says lowly, quickly sitting back on his heels as Martin’s arm begins to jerk again.

“Fuck. I—I had no idea,” Tim breathes, running an anxious hand through his hair. “How could we not know?”

“We should—” Sasha breaks off quickly to swallow a lump in her throat, before continuing. “We should be timing it, did anyone see the time?”

“I-I don’t—it’s probably been less than a minute, right?”

“I think so. I’m—here, I’m googling it to make sure—”

While she does so, Martin’s head begins to slam into the ground—and Jon immediately pulls off his cardigan, folding it quickly and placing it beneath him to cushion the blow.

“It’s alright, big guy,” Tim says, settling down to kneel next to Jon, who now has a hand gently pressed to his shoulder—not holding him down, just resting there in a comfort Martin probably cannot receive.

Tim rests his own hand against Martin’s thigh all the same.

“Okay, I think we’re good so far,” Sasha says at last, setting her phone down with a timer running on the screen. “Just time it, and—and keep watch. If it goes past five minutes, we call 999.”

“That’s—that’s it?” Tim says in dismay, snapping his eyes back to his friend, still convulsing on the floor. “There’s nothing else we can do?”

“No. We just have to watch out for him,” she replies, voice low as she adjusts Jon’s cardigan beneath his head. “Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

Not the answer that Tim was looking for.

And so they wait—silent save for the rhythmic smacking of his limbs against the carpeted floor, and the occasional whispered platitude, though all know he cannot hear them. The seconds tick by in agony while they sit helpless, all eyeing the timer on Sasha’s phone creeping up steadily past three minutes.

“I don’t like this,” Tim says, knowing how useless it is to say so—Sasha raising her eyes to meet his for the first time in a while.

“Me neither.”

“Nearly three and a half minutes,” Jon mutters, worrying at his bottom lip while still resting a gentle hand on Martin’s shoulder.

“We’ve got you, Martin,” Tim mutters. “We’ve got you.”

Ten more seconds.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Forty.

And at last—at last he goes still, right past the four-minute mark.

“Alhamdulillah,” Jon sighs as he lets his chin briefly rest against his chest, a sentiment echoed by everyone around him.

“Okay, turn him on his side, here—Tim—”

“Got it,” Tim says as he moves to crouch next to her, helping roll him towards Jon, head pillowed on the arm Jon stretched out across the floor as a cushion.

As soon as they get him in the recovery position, they watch as saliva runs out of his mouth, surely fit to choke him had they not turned him—and he begins to snore forcefully, catching Tim very much by surprise.

“Wh-what—” he asks in bewilderment, struggling to hold back a bit of shocked laughter.

“The website said that’s normal,” Sasha assures at once, reaching behind her to grab a box of tissues from her desk behind her. “He’s going to be sleepy for a bit.”

“Okay. That’s—okay,” he says, watching as Jon takes the tissues from Sasha and wipes at Martin’s face so very gently, before tossing them aside and taking his hand.

Taking his hand.

…interesting.

Stowing THAT away for later.

As Jon starts to move his thumb across the back of Martin’s palm, the snoring stops—and his eyes begin to flutter rapidly, attempting to force their way fully open.

“Hey Martin, can you hear me?” Sasha says rather loudly, bending over him and tapping his shoulder lightly.

All she receives in response is a moan, deep and low, as he squeezes and unsqueezes his eyelids, coughing a bit against the pooling saliva. Jon reaches for the tissues again at once, cleaning his face as best as possible.

“You’re okay mate,” Tim says, patting his hip before leaving his hand there for support. “You’ve had a seizure.”

It takes a few moments, but at last, Martin opens his eyes, looking vaguely around without meeting Jon’s eyes.

“Wh’ happ’n?” he slurs—all three of them exchanging a meaningful glance, a bit alarmed.

“You had a seizure, Martin,” Sasha repeats, stroking at his hair while Tim starts rubbing his hand up and down his arm, hoping it will somehow help to ground him.

Remaining still for a few moments, still blinking, Martin tries to take it all in— looking down towards where Jon still rubs at his hand, though still seemingly unaware of his presence.

“What happened?” he asks again, voice less slurred, but still weak.

“A seizure, Martin,” Jon says, trying desperately to catch his eyes. “You’re alright.”

At once, Martin wrenches his hand away from Jon’s grasp in favor of clapping it over his mouth, muffling a small and desperate gasp behind it.

“Shit. You gonna be sick?” Tim asks, already looking around him for something to grab as Jon once again prepares his tissues.

He does not respond right away, instead pausing for a few deep breaths—at last shaking his head no. In both relief and the absence of something to do with his hands, Jon fusses at the cardigan again—positioning it just so.

“Wh—oh, seizure,” Martin breathes, and Tim cannot help but feel relieved at his gaining a bit of orientation back.

“Yeah.”

Eyebrows knitting together, Martin moves the hand clapped over his mouth to rest on his eyes, sniffling a bit before speaking.

“M’so sorry,” he gasps—and it’s enough to break Tim’s heart.

All of their hearts apparently, as they immediately place their hands on him in a gesture of comfort.

“Hey, no, none of that,” Sasha soothes, brushing back his fringe again.

“M’sorry.”

“Martin, it’s alright,” reassures Jon, with such rare gentleness that even Martin lowers his hand to look—wincing quickly as he does so, and placing it back over his eyes at once.

“Do the lights hurt?” Sasha asks worriedly, placing her hand to cover his own, hoping to block more of it out.

“Yeah—ah,” he grits out with a pained little gasp, and Jon gets to his feet.

“I’ll get them,” he says, and walks quickly to the switch, sending them into a darkness illuminated only by the light from the hall.

With a quiet sigh of relief, Martin lowers his hand again, eyes still closed, and rubs absently at his nose. Stumbling a bit as his eyes adjust to the dark, Jon makes his way back to kneeling beside him, taking up his free hand again.

“Your head okay?” asks Tim, prompting Sasha to card through his hair to look for any swelling. “I’m sorry I didn’t—I couldn’t catch you.”

“…what?” comes the vague response, delayed by a few seconds as Martin tries in vain to sort through what was said.

“Still confused,” Sasha mouths at him silently—and he nods, instead going back to rubbing up and down Martin’s arm, as Sasha moves to massage his neck.

“M’sorry.”

“Hush, darling. It’s alright,” she says, and Tim knows without a doubt she will sit there all day, repeating these same things to him as long as he needs.

And loves her for it.

“…wh—Jon?”

Eyes more focused than ever, Martin looks down to where Jon still rubs a thumb over his palm, stunned very his very presence in this space.

“Yes, I’m here,” he murmurs, offering a small squeeze of affirmation, inadvertently painting a soft grin briefly across Martin’s face—before it drops quickly again in horror, as the reality of the situation sinks in again.

“Oh god. I—oh god.”

“It’s okay, Martin.”

“No no no.”

“It’s alright,” Jon comforts, more soothing than Tim had ever imagined would be possible for him. “Just be still. You’re alright.”

Five minutes turn into ten, turn into fifteen as Martin’s confusion slowly fades away—his recovery naturally filled with a deluge of apologies, patient soothing from his friends, and tending to the waves of nausea that come over him every few minutes. Ever so gradually, he becomes better able to hold a conversation; better able to hold their gaze, asking what happened before he went down, explaining that his…well, everything is sore, but that it’s nothing unmanageable.

There is very little that Martin would call “unmanageable,” of course, but it’s the most they will get out of him.

“I think I can sit up now,” he says after a bit, bracing his arms underneath himself to prepare, and Tim reaches out to support him at once.

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

A bit slow, a bit clumsy, they get him up—not without some worried questioning when he hunches forward, face buried in his hands as the headache worsens with the change of posture. But luckily, it dulls as quickly as it comes, and Martin soon finds himself able to look up, even to offer a bit of a sheepish smile.

“Want some water?” Tim asks as soon as he looks steady.

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m on it,” he says, refusing to accept any of Martin’s guilt-laden excuses, and dashes off to the kitchen at once, leaving Jon and Sasha still vaguely holding onto him in the fear that he might fall again.

“I’m alright, guys, really,” he assures, though he makes no effort to shrug their hands off—so there they stay.

“Do you know what caused this, Martin?” Sasha asks, folding his collar from where it sticks up at the nape of his neck.

With a heavy sigh and an exhausted pinch to the bridge of his nose, Martin replies, face reddening with shame.

“Yeah. You’re—you’re going to laugh.”

“Why would we laugh?” Jon asks so earnestly, so softly that it wins him a long and surprised look from Martin.

“I…dunno really, just. It’s just that it’s—it’s all my own fault. Stupid.”

“What do you mean?”

“I—I don’t—” he cuts off for a moment to hiss painfully as he rubs at his temple again, and Sasha’s hold tightens ever so slightly as a precaution. “I don’t have my…seizure meds with me. I left them at my flat when—when I ran. From Prentiss.”

Of course.

Of course he did.

“I would have gotten them for you Martin!” Tim shouts as he returns with the water. “Any of us would, mate. You should have said.”

“I didn’t want to send you back to my flat. She might…she might still…be there.”

He fades a bit as he speaks—rubbing once more at his temples, and Sasha resumes her ministrations of massaging his neck.

“Alright, just—it’s alright, Martin,” Jon soothes, a bit alarmed at the way he’s hunched back over—seemingly nauseous again, as he moves the bin a bit closer to himself just in case. “What can we do now?”

After a few long, deep breaths, his churning stomach finally settles long enough for him to answer, albeit a bit more vague-sounding than moments before.

“I tried…I tried to call the chemist, but…they won’t refill it unless I…unless I talk to my doctor. And it’s not like I can just go.”

“You have to get some from A&E then,” Tim insists, sitting back down next to him and pressing a hand atop his shoulder.

“No, I can’t.”

“We’ll go with you,” mutters Jon, before clearing his throat, returning to his best confident-boss tone. “We’ll keep watch for the worms. Go prepared.”

“You don’t—“

“We will,” Sasha says emphatically, leaving no room for argument—and even Martin knows when the battle is lost. “We’re happy to do it, Martin. Seriously.”

“Thank you,” he very nearly whispers, face flushing beet red as the undue attention of the afternoon catches up with him. “That’s really…too kind.”

“Well, you’ve got to get it somehow, mate,” Tim says with a chuckle, earning himself a warning glare from both Sasha and Jon. “What? I’m sure Martin wants this to happen again even less than we do. Which is saying a lot.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, surprising them all by chuckling briefly in return. “Reckon you’re right about that. I didn’t—this is pretty much my worst nightmare, so…just so you all know how sorry I am.”

“Yes, you’ve said,” Sasha laughs. “And it keeps continuing to not be your fault.”

“Right. Sure.”

He does not sound at all sure—but she lets it go all the same.

“We should go today, Martin,” Jon says as he stands, already grabbing a canister of CO2 in preparation. “Don’t want you to miss another dose.”

“And take that thing on the Tube?” Martin laughs, fully smiling for the first time since the whole affair began. “Think we might get some looks.”

“It’s the Tube, mate. Stranger things have happened,” Tim chuckles, rolling his eyes good-naturedly before jumping in to assist him in standing.

“Suppose you’re probably right about that.”

“Let’s go then,” says Jon, face steeled as if armed to the teeth and ready to tangle with anything coming his way. “Work that needs doing.”

[omgkalyppso]

for fae and the rest of the poly - 💕💖💍

(ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ Thank you for the ask! May your favorite kind of weather surround you soon!

💕 Describe an ideal date form them!

Claude is quick on his feet and can adapt, but he doesn't like doing anything he hasn't planned five exits to and at least two alternatives for. Hilda doesn't enjoy exerting herself, but she's still extroverted enough to want to be admired Doing Something (if only by her partners) and can easily be goaded if she's comfortable. Lorenz likes the arts, or to bear witness to any skill performed well. Fae likes trying new skills and group activities. An ideal date is one that's planned and includes some measure of exterior activity performed together: like watching theater or seeing an art exhibit or learning to surf or trying wall-climbing.

💖 What are some little subtle ways they show that they love each other?

Modern:

Claude changes his (and consequently everyone's) diet to suit Hilda's dietary restrictions. Fae makes ice; they've never thought about making ice, but they've seen the others drinking beverages with ice, so they start making ice to have ready. Realizing that her "turn" for most major cleaning duties never really seems to come up, Hilda tentatively starts light cleaning and organizing, fearful of the mockery of her childhood home, until she's able to ask for help with bigger tasks. Lorenz picks up texting patterns and music preferences based on influences of his partners.

Post canon / any setting:

Lorenz leave notes everywhere, little poems and soft words — but what is really important is when he is willing to write in the company of his partners, unafraid of people hovering over his shoulder because he trusts them not to. Claude being able / willing to "needlessly" share a bed for the purpose of sleep with his partners. Hilda sees three of the most touch-starved people / ex (?) fighters she's ever met in her life and decides she'll learn something about massages. Abuses Divine Pulse less and less, or abuses Divine Pulse the least, when with their partners, feeling very rarely that they've flubbed something unforgivable and that whatever they've said or done or experienced is fine as it is (in settings other than post canon just translate this to: feels less anxious after interactions that include their partners than otherwise. lol. I've like never written Fae outside of the company of their partners except some of Expanded Epilogue but even then they were only interacting with like Seteth and Alois who are also Family so.).

💍 Which one of them would propose? How would it happen? (or write if you feel like it!)

I love different versions of this. Unfortunately for everyone I am sharing a lot of my thoughts.

In my post-canon I don't have them all marry. I could change it, but I think they're fine as they are, dedicated and happy and more subtle. I count Claude's Goddess Tower proposal, and am excited to Eventually write Lorenz proposing to Hilda in my Hilorenz fic. It will happen.

In Fae-as-a-student au, I've been undecided about whether Fae or Hilda or BOTH leave with Claude to Almyra for a time post-canon, leaving Lorenz behind in Gloucester, BUT I absolutely imagine the four of them together, discussing the departure, and giving Lorenz the proposal, initially a soft, blurted, "Marry me." So that the others ask him if the proposal is reserved for Claude (whom he's looking at because at least Claude is absolutely leaving), and he can clarify that he doesn't just mean Claude and that they don't have to make a public ceremony or announcement until their / his return, but that he would like to make a promise, with those who would have him, before they leave, to keep them from forgetting him when they're far and away.

In A Comedy of Errors modern au, it's less a proposal than a conversation for Lorenz and Hilda to marry. Wait. I have a (bad) text conversation that I thought I might write a fic around once:

Hilda: we should get married

Claude: this is hands down, the worst proposal

Hilda: i'm not proposing!

Hilda: i just want to talk about it

Fae: is that about your insurance?

Hilda: no! .... not entirely

Hilda: what if Claude died in Almyra

Claude: thanks

Hilda: at least one of us would be able to find out about it from the authorities directly

Lorenz: now i want someone to divorce me. please take half my assets

Claude: i'll divorce you baby

Fae: grounds for divorce, right there in one pet name

Hilda: i'm not feeling heard here

Fae: i'm sorry hilda

Lorenz: sorry hilda

Claude: i would marry any of you, or all of you. is there a way you'd be picturing this?

Hilda: well, i figure it would be easier on Lorenz if he married me

Lorenz: marginally true

Claude: /:

Lorenz: you know i love you Claude but ......... my father's still alive and if we're relying on "at least he'll be dead soon" then i don't need to be written out of a will

Lorenz: and i might literally explode if i had to sit through him misgendering Fae for his last few years

Fae: <3

Lorenz: :kiss emoji:

Claude: was this your very roundabout way about asking if it was okay to marry Lorenz?

Hilda: no. i'm willing to hear other suggestions

Fae: i just don't want to sleep alone anymore

Lorenz: </3

Claude: awww

Hilda: ):

Lorenz: are you home now? i could visit for ... 45 minutes maybe?

Claude: just enough time (;

Fae: i am home

Lorenz: Give me ... half an hour

Lorenz: but first. we can do legal weddings whenever we want. i think we should get married.

Claude returns from Almyra a week or so before the wedding, by which time Fae has moved in with Lorenz and Hilda. Claude is earlier than he was expected, as his surprise to them, and they cherish the time. Four days or so after the wedding the four of them go on a date to an observatory where Fae proposes to Claude under the stars. (:

In my soulmate au, there is a proposal incoming by the end of the fic. Claude is going to ask Fae if they'd be comfortable with him proposing to Lorenz, or else offer to put it off, saying he's more confident with how Hilda will react because of their history. I'm still undecided if Claude should prepare something that amounts to a favorite meal for Lorenz in their apartment with the four of them or take them out to a park or beach or mountain or something, where he and Lorenz could have a moment alone. I'm also undecided how many hits Claude should drop in advance (his ... canon self is Not Subtle) but I hadn't planned on dropping them prior to the new year chapter which has finally happened. I think it would be another year or three before Fae and Hilda considered marrying and haven't given it too much thought aside from that. Fae would propose.

Hm, I can have more.

In Just Go With It modern au, Claude remembers the date of their first 'date,' and calls it an anniversary and only he is prepared for the first one, which he expects and is very smug about. It's not a milestone number, but for their fourth anniversary Hilda spends time (like a full year) talking herself into and out of and back again — the act of making rings for her partners, and whether or not they'll be a proposal or just a gift.

In my mermaid au they never have a formal proposal or ceremony.

In my fantasy au, Fae was 70 years a vampire when they met Claude, and they were together for 40 years before Claude proposed, and then they had their children and played at being family and "mundane" for some hundreds of years. They do something like this again when they marry Hilda and Lorenz a year or two after meeting them, again at Claude's proposal.

In my coffeeshop au, Hilda realizes she's pregnant with (Halvard) Lorenz's child and she "proposes" to Claude to start the legal tangle of custody so that they can each have some attachment to their son.

[alpaca-writes]

Mystics, Chapter 8

When Arch becomes hired on at Mystics by Lyrem, everything seems to be going well- their life nearly becomes perfection. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as perfect as they think...

Directory: [chapter one] [chapter two] [chapter three] [chapter four] [chapter five] [chapter six] [chapter seven] 

Tag list: @myst-in-the-mirror

CW: car accident, misgendering, emotional whump, psychological whump, PTSD, manipulation, actually a bit fluffy before the real pain starts

CHAPTER EIGHT: A FULL MOON RISES

     Arch spent the last afternoon they would have in their hospital bed writing a letter. It wasn’t much, and as they were writing they were feeling rather childish. The letter was sweet, for what it was worth, and they had to believe that it was worth all the effort they were putting into it.

    They made sure to make note of the dinosaurs and how Arch enjoyed looking at them rather than thinking about the accident-

    Well, they said ‘accident’ but it wasn’t an accident. The truth was that Arch would have rather been killed on the highway than in a creepy man’s cabin out in the middle of nowhere. They didn’t include the details. It probably would make everyone uncomfortable to reveal how close their family might have come to being in mortal peril because they had chosen to help.

    Arch placed the folded paper in and licked the envelope before pressing it down to be sealed firmly. They heard through the grapevine that the woman who had saved them was working as a pediatrician in a connected unit, but she hadn’t been able to meet them properly. The front desk had the information from the family that called in the accident. They would see to it that the letter reached the right people.

    “Time to get a move on, gi- sweety.”

    Arch raised a brow to their mother who was standing adjacent to the wheelchair. A skinny male nurse stood nearby as well, to help Arch into it.

    Arch challenged the idea needlessly. The nurse insisted. Without the energy to fight any further, they climbed from the bed and into the chair. The rest of their healing would be done at home. As they checked out, Arch made sure to request the letter be sent away.

    “I made up the futon in the living room for you until you’re ready to climb the stairs again.” Their mother said. She furtively checked her phone, before tossing it into her large black purse.

    “The futon’s just going to make my back worse. I’ll be able to get downstairs fine.”

    “Only trying to help,” Charlotte huffed.

    She thanked the nurse as he released them through the exit. She supported Arch by the arm as they stood on their own two feet on the way to their old silver minivan; easily identified by the distinguishing rust marks around the rims. Charlotte led them to the passenger side, intent on opening the door for them when Arch stopped her.

    “I can open a door, mom.”

    “I’m helping,” she countered with a turn of her head.

    Arch swallowed. This was mom. This was the van. This was daylight in a busy parking lot. They were not alone, they were not in an alley, and they were not with…

    Arch forced their way to the door, opened it and lifted themselves inside.

         “So independent,” Charlotte chided as she started the van. She checked the rear-view mirror and continued to speak as she was driving. “I bet you’ll be running off the moment you graduate, won’t you? Leaving me and Maleficent to our own devices.”

        Arch took a moment before responding. “I was thinking about Strathford Community College, actually.  One of the nurses brought me some pamphlets yesterday. They offer business and finance courses”-

        “Not with your grades they don’t,” Charlotte finalized condescendingly. “You should upgrade, but you know that you don’t have the attention span for that. It’ll just be a waste of money and time for you.”

        Arch didn’t feel like saying much after that comment. What they would have followed up with was an explanation that they were quite inspired to start their own business. But what was the point in any of that, if their mother would be shooting down every idea Arch had like a trophy hunter on safari?

        -------------

        A couple days of needed recovery passed Arch by. To their dismay, the futon was much more welcoming than the stairs to the basement suite. Waiting on a call to the police station, Arch remained securely by their phone. The call never came, nor did any calls from friends or relatives to see how they had been coping. Everyone was too busy, they thought. It was better that others didn’t speculate much anyway and be disturbed by the gory truth.

    In addition, due to the unfortunate experience they had endured and that no one wanted to mention, all of Arch’s final projects had been waived by their teachers. All in all, Arch was on the road to graduating with a C overall, which was more than was expected of them. All they needed to do was study for their finals and that would be the end of it.

    Arch was focusing on their math’s portion when Charlotte entered the front door with an array of plastic bags, and dropped them down in the middle of the room, right beside the futon.

    “You wanted a romper?”

    Arch closed their textbook, studying their mom suspiciously.

    “Yes…” they breathed out hesitantly.

    “I wasn’t sure what colour you’d want so I picked out a few designs in all sorts. Some have sparkles, and it’s your graduation dance, so of course I had to”-

    Arch knelt down beside the bags, wincing as they twinged their arm on feeling the fabric. Some satin, some chiffon, danced through their fingers.

    “Mom…” Arch was left speechless. She had listened to them. For the first time ever. They were heard. “You didn’t have to”-

    “Yes, I did. For goodness sakes’ it’s your prom. Put one on already. I’ll be returning everything you don’t choose so keep the tags intact!” Charlotte ran into the kitchen, intent on placing an order for Chinese food.

    Arch pulled out the first one that met their fingers. A bright purple chiffon number, beaded around the neck in silver and flowy with a cold shoulder. The pant legs were wide enough that when walking, it was almost as though they were wearing a dress. Arch popped into the kitchen, and twirled, causing their mother to sputter.

    “Oh god, not that one!” Charlotte corrected herself over the phone, “Oh, no, no, not you… Number 66 please. And one 14. For two. Thank you.”

    She finished the order and hung up the phone as her child double over in laughter.

    “Why did you pick this thing out!?” Arch interrogated.

    “I thought it would be great for a giggle. There’s a cream and mocha coloured one in there somewhere, I thought it might suit you best.” Charlotte advised with a toothy grin.

    Arch tried on a dozen rompers gauging many different reactions from their mom and themselves. Both of them did their best to ignore the many cuts and bruises that were still healing. In the end, Arch agreed, the cream and mocha coloured romper suited them best. It was simple in its elegance and matched their eyes fittingly.

    “You look fantastic.” Charlotte said as she leaned over the kitchen table, unloading dinner from brown paper bags. “That one’s also floor length, so you don’t have to worry about finding the right shoes for it.”

        “You know me too well!” Arch hollered as they posed in front of the bathroom mirror. There was a buzz from their phone, which sat on the edge of the vanity.

                    Store meeting. 8pm tonight.

        It was Lyrem. Arch grimaced. It was 7:30 now.

        “Seriously?” Arch muttered as they changed out of their romper and into some street clothes. They returned to the kitchen.

        “Lyrem wants me at the store for a meeting… tonight.”

        Charlotte stared at them disappointedly.

    “Oh. Does it have to be tonight? He’s required to give you notice if he wants you to attend a meeting. You can tell him to reschedule. I swear, that man is getting on my nerves with what hours he’s asked of you.”

        Arch brushed off the comment. “I should still go…” There was a strange feeling in the pit of their stomach telling them that it wouldn’t be a great idea to refuse.

        Charlotte raised a brow. “Alright, I’ll drive you in a bit. I was hoping we could stay in and have a movie night like we used to. I picked out Music and Lyrics. Hugh Grant’s adorable in that one, and young Drew Barrymore; oh, Arch, you’ll love her.”

        Arch smiled lightly as they tugged on their sneakers. “I’ll walk, mom. And I’ll text you when I arrive, and again when it’s done. I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

        Charlotte stared at them with a worried façade, wondering if she should fight their child on this. Any mother would, but she also didn’t want to pick a fight. Not tonight.

    “Here,” she rifled through her black bag. “Mace. It’s a single use canister,” She handed over the small tube to Arch as they stood by the door. “Take it and use it if you have to.”

    Arch accepted it, nodding. After planting a kiss on their mom’s cheek, they started on their journey to Mystics.

                    Omw.

[leavemycandyalone]

I would like to thank my mother for not even hesitating to say yes when i asked her if she would kick me out of i was gay or trans yesterday.

Like it sucks to know that i am going to keep hiding for like another decade, but at the same time it firmly kicked out the idea of me coming out generally. (I mean i already told some of my friends and my dad because unfortunately i had brain worms and for some reason i was filled with this need to just tell people, but it wasn't completely horrible actually so it was okay)

I've been online so much with so many supportive people that i did need a dose of reality. And it hurts, but i'm grateful.

I do wanna go to pride and dress the way i want and look the way that makes me feel comfortable, but for now i'm just gonna focus on making it to a point where i can actually do that.

And even i do get to that point, i don't think i'm gonna come out come out. Like c'mon people, context clues.

A big reason i wanted to come out was because i am so fucking tired of being called by the wrong name and being referred to as a girl, and yes that stings. It makes my blood boil and i want to be very violent sometimes.

And in my head i have always known that you are queer whether or not you're in the closet, but it finally sunk in today. I am queer even if i'm closet, even if i tell people i'm not, even when people misgender me and use the wrong name. People may not acknowledge it, but I am queer. I am queer and you can't take that away from me.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

Royal Growing Pains - Chapter Fourteen

Warnings: Homophobia, transphobia, misgendering, sympathetic Deceit

Royal Growing Pains Tag

The next morning, Roman woke up with a long stretch and a sigh, checking the time. Nine thirty in the morning. He had slept in just long enough to reasonably skip breakfast with his mother and the Queen. Nice. He sat up in bed and rubbed his head with a soft groan. Didn’t mean he was looking forward to spending the whole morning without any contact with the one man who made this whole experience bearable, but if he were quiet in his room he could let people think he was just asleep for at least another hour.

He sifted through his books and art supplies, finding nothing of interest to him in any of them. He sighed. This was going to be exceptionally difficult if he were bored. He couldn’t stay in his room with nothing to do except maybe play with an app or two on his phone. He needed to move around, or at least have something that would fully capture his interest. And any apps remaining on his phone wouldn’t do that for him. He fiddled with his phone for a minute before texting Remus his predicament, asking for suggestions on things to do.

Remus, true to form, sent him a ridiculous suggestion in response. why not bug some of the guards around the castle? find the best places to make out with fh

oh, screw you too, re! Roman texted back. i might talk to some of the guards, tho. they could show me where to hide from mother

that’s the spirit! Remus said. go find out where to hide from mother AND make out with fh

Roman sent Remus a knife emoji and headed to shower, after realizing he had failed to do so yesterday. Dysphoria was a bitch, but at least Roman felt slightly cleaner afterwards.

He walked out of the bathroom, phone in his skirt pocket and hair pulled into a low braid, promptly running through the halls until he reached the main foyer, finding Virgil talking to some of the other guards. “Hey, Virgil!” Roman said, walking down the stairs. “I’m trying to hide from my mother, do you mind if I shadow you today?”

Virgil glanced over at Roman and rolled his eyes. “I don’t mind as long as you stay quiet, and if I tell you to get lost for your own safety you do so.”

“Cool,” Roman said. “Anywhere you were going in particular?”

“Not as of yet,” Virgil said. “Have you had breakfast?”

“No, I just woke up and showered,” Roman said.

“Well, then we should probably go to the kitchen and get you something to eat,” Virgil said. One of the guards he had been talking to snickered and Virgil turned to him with a glare. “Shut it. I’m making sure the prince is fed, nothing more.”

Roman sent Virgil a questioning glance as Virgil led him to the kitchen. Virgil sighed. “The guards are all convinced I’m in love with Patton,” he said with an eye-roll. “To which I respond that if they’re so sure, they should get me and him in a room alone. No one has the guts to do it.”

Roman laughed. “Oh, that’s cute!” he exclaimed. “Do you actually like him?”

“I’m not saying,” Virgil said. “Not to the man who can’t even see that his fiancé has a massive crush on him. You couldn’t be subtle even if you tried, and I am not letting you put any ideas in Patton’s head.”

“Damien doesn’t have a crush on me,” Roman scoffed. Virgil snorted. “He doesn’t! How could he? He’s...listen, he’s gorgeous, okay? He’s gorgeous, and funny, and genuine. And I’m just...me.”

“Roman, there is nothing ‘just’ about you,” Virgil said with a scoff. “So you can cut that out right now. And trust me, not just any guy will leave Damien speechless simply because he holds his head high. Damien likes you. He doesn’t have the guts to admit it, and he won’t say anything unless confronted, but he likes you.”

Roman laughed. Virgil lightly smacked Roman upside the head. “Hey!” Roman protested.

“I’m serious, Your Highness. Damien likes you,” Virgil said. “And you like him. Honestly, the two of you should just make out already. Not where I can see, because gross, but I’ll show you some spots where you can make out with him if you just say the word.”

“I do not need that information, Virgil, but thank you,” Roman said with a little laugh. “In all seriousness, though, I sincerely doubt that Damien could ever like me. Sure, I like him. I’ll admit it. But I doubt it’s anything more than a crush. And even if Damien seriously liked me...it wouldn’t be fair to try and date when I wasn’t sure if I even liked him as much as he supposedly likes me.”

They walked into the kitchen and Patton turned with a smile. “Who likes who?” he asked with a grin.

“The two idiots we have the pleasure of calling our future kings,” Virgil said, jerking a thumb at Roman.

Roman stuck his tongue out at Virgil while Patton just giggled. “Oh, I thought you were talking about news, my mistake!” he exclaimed. “Roman, I heard about last night through the grapevine, and I’m really sorry. Is there any food I can make to console you?”

“Not really anything to console me,” Roman said with a shrug. “But I could use a breakfast in general.”

“Say no more!” Patton exclaimed, holding up a finger and heading to the refrigerator. “Virgil, be a dear and make sure that his mother isn’t coming, will you? We can’t hide him away forever, but he needs to finish breakfast before he’s confronted, at least.”

Virgil’s cheeks tinged a dusty pink but he said, “Sure,” in a normal voice and walked out of the room.

“Oh, he’s crushing,” Roman muttered.

“Honey, we been knew,” Patton said with a wide grin. “But he’s not ready for anything yet, so I won’t push him.”

Roman laughed and walked over to where Patton was bringing out eggs, ham, cheese, and bread. “You okay with a sandwich for breakfast, Your Highness?” Patton asked.

“Sounds delicious,” Roman said with a smile.

Patton took what he needed to the stovetop and started to cook everything together, while he stuck the bread in the toaster. “So, Roman, are you genuinely going to consider whether or not you’re trans this morning? Is it true that you hadn’t considered it for long?”

“I don’t know about the first question, but I had considered for months whether or not I should come out, and months before that as to whether or not I’m genuinely trans. I don’t see myself changing my mind anytime soon.” Roman shrugged. “I mostly said that to placate my mother. I say a lot of things to placate her, so what’s another lie? I just hope Damien knows how I actually feel, because he looked devastated when I told him to stop last night.”

“When do you get to talk to him again?” Patton asked.

“This afternoon,” Roman said. “But I imagine it’ll be restricted to mostly wedding talk. Why?”

“Well, I did deliver breakfast to Damien’s room this morning,” Patton said, worrying his lip. “But his parents didn’t confine him there. He just...refused to leave.”

Roman’s heart leapt into his throat. His mind raced. Was that because of Roman? Had he hurt Damien that much by saying he might not be trans? Did Damien feel lied to? Roman didn’t know, but he wouldn’t find out until this afternoon. Suddenly, he didn’t have as much of an appetite.

“Hey, Roman, it’s going to be okay,” Patton said, putting his hands on Roman’s shoulders and snapping him back into the moment. “None of this is your fault, and I know Damien knows that too. He doesn’t blame you. The most we have to worry about is if he blames himself.”

“What happens if he does that?” Roman asked, worried.

“He’ll isolate himself and won’t want anything to do with whoever he perceived he hurt. But I know Logan will be dragging Damien out of his room whether he wants to be out or not because he has papers to work on,” Patton said. “And usually once he has something to work on he feels much better.”

“Okay,” Roman said, heart settling only a fraction. At least Damien wouldn’t do anything drastic. He sincerely hoped that Damien wouldn’t try to avoid him, though. Damien was the one who made this all bearable. The Queen and King were nice, yes, but the Queen had to act like she was on his mother’s side, and that was painful enough last night. He didn’t want to deal with that any longer than he had to. “Do you think that Damien and I will be allowed any time alone after last night?”

“Do you want my honest opinion?” Patton asked, turning back to the food, “Or are you looking for reassurance?”

“Are they not the same thing?” Roman asked.

“Not necessarily,” Patton said. “They’re not polar opposites, but I might give you a different answer than the one you want.”

“I’d rather have your honest opinion,” Roman sighed. “Better to be realistic.”

“I think that if you want time alone with Damien, you’re going to have to pander to your mother a lot more. You’re going to have to pull the thickest wool you have over her eyes without her realizing it’s there. That’s going to take some impressive acting. Everyone in this castle except her is on your side, and almost everyone knows that you’re still transgender no matter what you do to convince your mother otherwise. Those who don’t know are those who might give the game away. But rest assured, Roman, we all want you to be yourself, whoever that might be,” Patton said.

Roman offered Patton a small smile. Virgil walked back into the room. “His mother was coming this way but I convinced her to look for him in his room first,” Virgil said. “You might still have to eat fast, unfortunately, Roman.”

“It’s okay,” Roman said, as the toaster dinged and Patton got everything on a plate. “I’m used to eating fast or on the go.”

Patton guided Roman to a clean counter, and all three of them sat down, Roman taking a big bite of his breakfast. He hoped Damien was okay. He hoped Damien had eaten this morning. Was the Queen serious when she had said that he wasn’t eating or sleeping well? Was that because of the wedding, or something more sinister? Roman wanted nothing more than to run to Damien’s room immediately after he finished breakfast and make sure he would be fine.

“Calm down, Roman, you look like you saw a ghost,” Virgil said.

“Hm?” Virgil asked, glancing up from his sandwich.

“Deep breaths,” Virgil said. “It sounds stupid, but they actually work. Damien will be fine. I promise you that. If for no other reason than because he has to spar with me later today as part of his exercise routines, and I will give him something to focus on that isn’t you or himself.”

“And that something would be a sword to the throat, wouldn’t it?” Patton asked with an amused smirk.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Patton,” Virgil scoffed. “Swordplay was last week, and we don’t do repeats. We’re grappling this week. Classic hand-to-hand combat.”

Roman snickered. “Oh, that would be a sight to see.”

“You’re welcome to watch, if you want,” Virgil said. “We do it early afternoon, usually fifteen minutes after Damien has lunch. If you want to see Damien in nothing more than what he has to wear for exercise, then by all means, make up an excuse to come outside.”

“As if I’d need an actual excuse, when I can just say I’m dragging him back inside for wedding planning,” Roman pointed out. “But yeah, I’d love to watch his butt get kicked.”

Virgil smirked. “You know, he kinda likes that.”

“What? Getting his butt kicked?” Roman asked dubiously.

“Well, he is a masochist...” Virgil said in a false-innocent tone. “I should know. I’m the one who found out about his bruises the first time he tried it with a partner.”

Roman nearly choked on his breakfast. “So that’s what he meant by ‘a new kink,’ oh god.” Roman laughed. “Well, that will be interesting.”

“You two gonna play around on your wedding night?” Patton asked with a wink.

Roman was turning red and he tried his best to finish breakfast without dying of laughter or embarrassment. “I don’t know,” Roman said.

“I mean, it’s bound to happen one way or another, your hands are as good as tied,” Patton said, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Okay, guys, please, I appreciate the information, but I do need to finish breakfast,” Roman said. “And before anything like that happens, we would need to have some very long, lengthy talks. I’m not about to hurt him in ways he doesn’t want just because we forgot to go over something.”

“Spoken like a good partner,” Virgil said, raising an imaginary glass and tilting his head towards Roman. “Major props.”

Roman shook his head in slight exasperation and finished his breakfast as fast as he could. As he was swallowing the last bite of his sandwich, his mother burst into the kitchen. “Veronica! There you are!”

“Ah, Your Majesty, I was just about to get you,” Virgil said, turning towards her and giving her a placating smile. “Turns out that your daughter was just getting breakfast after sleeping in.”

Roman stood with a sigh and offered his mother a weak wave. “Is there something you need, Mother?”

“I needed to talk to you,” his mother said. Roman’s heart leapt into his throat as she said, “It’s about last night.”

“Yeah?” Roman asked, forcing his hands to not tremble.

“I would appreciate us being able to speak somewhere private,” his mother said.

“All right,” Roman said. “Thank you for breakfast, Patton, it was truly delicious.”

“I’m glad, Your Highness,” Patton said with a small smile. He mouthed Good luck when Roman’s mother glanced at her phone and Roman just nodded.

“Come with me, Veronica,” his mother instructed.

Roman resisted the urge to roll his eyes and followed his mother out of the kitchen, and she took him to the day room where the Queen was apparently waiting. “Did you find her, Diana?” she asked.

“In the kitchen, Rose,” his mother said.

“Have a seat, dear,” the Queen said to Roman.

Roman did as he was told, resisting the urge to fidget. “What’s going on?” Roman asked.

“We need to talk about what happened last night, dear,” the Queen said. “You’re not in trouble, we just want to talk about it.”

“Okay...?” Roman said, heart still pounding.

“I have been thinking,” the Queen said. “And while I do see your mother’s argument, Damien had a point as well. He shouldn’t have tried to prove that point the way he did, but it’s undeniable that he whole-heartedly believes that you are transgender.”

“I mean, what can I say?” Roman asked. “I didn’t tell him that. My mother is the one who brought it up in the first place.”

“We know,” the Queen said. “But you deserve to have your side of the story heard as well. And I wish to hear your side.”

Roman’s heart hammered in his chest. How was he to explain his side and make his mother happy?

“Diana, I need you to promise that you won’t interject during this,” the Queen said, and Roman was stunned. “If we are to hear both sides, we can’t have anyone shouting.”

His mother looked about as stunned as Roman felt. “You want to feed into her delusion?” she asked.

“Of course not,” the Queen said. “But I also want to determine if this is a delusion at all.”

His mother showed a split second of panic before she put on an unreadable mask and said, “I suppose.”

“So...Roman,” the Queen said. “Tell us your side of the story.”

“Well, it all started out so long ago,” Roman said. “When Remus and I were children, really. I believed from the start that we were actually identical. The fact that he and I had different parts didn’t affect my opinion at all. I thought from the start that if he was a boy, then I was a boy. I never really appreciated dresses much, and I loved getting dirty and roughhousing with the guards. Even if people called me a girl, I would still think that at the very least, I was a tomboy, if not a boy outright. As I grew older, it became clear to me that was not the case. And for a while, I did believe that what I had thought as a child was just me being a child and not understanding different sexes. I assumed that I thought that because Remus was my only consistent playmate, and I wanted to fit in with him.

“But time went on, and puberty occurred, and I was dissatisfied with every single change that happened. I tried to embrace it, because everyone told me to. But bras were cumbersome, and periods hurt, and everything that happened to me just...wasn’t what I wanted, even though at that point I didn’t know what, exactly, I wanted. I questioned why my voice didn’t get deeper, like Remus’, and why I had to have breasts while he didn’t. And I spent years in denial, trying to fit in, you know? I tried to be the ‘good girl’ that everyone wanted me to be.

“I came across the word ‘transgender’ one day and...the thought just wouldn’t leave me. My experiences weren’t exactly the same as the stories I read, but...they lined up enough that it kept me awake at night thinking about it. And I wanted to experiment with a different name, maybe cut my hair short to the way I liked it as a child, just to see if this was something I truly wanted. So I went to Remus and asked him to try the different pronouns and name, and he complied. All I wanted was to see if this made more sense than what being a woman felt like.”

“And did it?” the Queen asked.

“At first, I didn’t feel too much of a difference, but after some time...maybe a week or two...if felt odd to respond to anything that wasn’t Roman and he or him. It felt more natural than the pronouns that everyone had been using for me the rest of my life. And I took that as my sign. I was...and I am transgender. I just...can’t see it any other way.”

The Queen nodded, and his mother stared at him, perturbed. “You never said any of this back home,” she said.

“You wouldn’t allow me to. You just yelled that I wasn’t transgender and confined me to my room,” Roman said with a shrug. “You haven’t let me explain myself since this whole argument began.”

The Queen hummed. “And you still believe that you are transgender?”

“I mean, I will admit that I may not have searched for as long a time as my mother may have wanted me to, but the surety I felt...you can’t make that up, Your Majesty. That feeling of right was so pure and so strong, I can’t believe that I would make that up as some part of delusion.”

“The whole point of a delusion is that you believe it to be real, Veronica,” his mother said.

“Mother...how can you still not see?” Roman asked. “Everything that I do to try and express myself...it may not be what you want for me but it makes me happy. When I was growing up all you ever wanted me to be was happy. But now that I know what makes me happy, you’re denying me it. I know it’s hard for you, but I want to be myself. Whoever I may be.”

His mother looked more lost than ever before.

Roman sighed. “I’m happier as Roman than I could ever be as Veronica, Mother. I’m sincere about that.”

“You’re my little girl, Veronica. You can never be anything else!” his mother said.

Roman didn’t bother hiding his flinch. “Mother, you’re still not listening to me.”

“And you aren’t listening to me!” his mother snapped.

“Mother. I’ve listened to you for over nineteen years of my life. And nothing you said about my identity ever sat right with me. I just want to see who I am outside your view of me.” Roman forced himself to stay calm. Snapping at his mother would completely cement her in her opinions.

“Diana, I’m inclined to believe...Roman,” the Queen said.

His mother looked like the Queen may as well have slapped her. “No! No, she’s my daughter, and she can never be anything else!”

“Mother—”

She glared at him and he closed his mouth with a click. “You’re my little victory, Veronica, isn’t that enough?! Isn’t it enough that I love you, and your father loves you? Why isn’t that enough for you?!”

Roman felt his patience snap. “You really want me to be your daughter?! You want me to shut up and sit down and never speak my mind, never trust you with anything ever again? Do you want to wake up ten years from now and wonder why we never speak anymore?! Because that’s what’s going to happen if you’re not careful!”

“You’re my daughter! Not my son!” his mother snapped.

Roman balled his hands into fists, standing. “You’re right about one thing: I’m not your son.”

Tag List: @lunareclipse-13 @sanders-sides-crofters @blushy-gigglee-mess @wannacrymetoo @kaytikitty @magicalspacepanunicorn @bootsinthesun @pricklyfish777 @flowersanddinosaurs @leiasolo77 @birdybabybird @enby-phoenix @luna–28 @justagaygoose @the-prince-and-the-emo @fandomsandanythingelse @randommuffinyt @snekky-boi @thesoftestlittlepuffballwegot @twilight-trix @abby5577 @escalatingtoofast @friendlyfacestabbing @remus-is-stinky @foggybanditdreampeanut @ghostskull300 @sprinklestheditty @canvas-the-florist @askthesnake @samuel-the-gay @determination-saved @juicy-cashew @demidork84 @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @nerd-in-space @aphriteblack @loganpatton @lilbeanblr @kittyboof8 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @sanders-trash-4ever @hamilspntrash @swords-and-kittens @phantomfander @narniasfinestavengingsociopath  @rjmeta @ambersky0319 @anni-cat-flower @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @nafsbluebery @redisawerewolf23 @voidvirgil @msu82 @angstyfanfiction

[henrytrans]

Hi!!!

My name is Henry! I’m a ftm trans guy! I’m gonna introduce myself and share my experience! Just so you're aware, my user name might change in the future! 💖

Well, as I said before my name is Henry! I’m a huge fan of horror, the supernatural, aliens, true crime, art, and ghost hunting! I love going places and adventuring. I really would love to learn a new instrument. I happen to be very shy, so I find it hard to talk to people but I'm doing my best to make friends. 

I made this account to provide people with a safe positive space. The trans community is always splitting itself apart. On this account I will repost and share information about transitioning for mtf, ftm, and nonbinary people. I will also post positive stuff for trans people. Remember. Trans men are men. Trans women are women. And nonbinary people are nonbinary.       

I’m gonna put a trigger warning for a few things that people would be uncomfortable with. 

Trigger warning for transphobia, depression, anxiety, and dysphoria.  

Growing up something always felt off. I found myself relating to male characters heavily, I thought I was gonna grow up to be them; but I was disappointed to figure out that wasn't the case. I always thought I was gonna grow up to be a man.

It really hit me that I wasn't when my first male cousin was born. I figured out what gender was when he started growing up. I was always so jealous of him. I wished that I was born like him.

In school I realized that I wouldn't grow up to have a deep voice or flat chest so I did my best to fit in. Admittedly, I was bad at fitting in. I was always the weird kid that was picked last.

Then puberty hit and everything went downhill. I didn't understand what was happening and it felt like something was missing. I didn't know what to do so I used horrible coping mechanisms.

All of the girls around me loved the changes they went through, so I convinced myself that it was just puberty. I overcompensated for the anxiety and discomfort I felt.

When I graduated the 5th grade, I and my peers went to the middle school. There we were greeted by the choir and band. Someone there caught my eye. An emo 8th grader who looked like a guy but was on the girls side. After this I asked my uncle who that was, (because they were in the same grade) he told me that "he was a confused lesbian who thought he was a boy".( I'm not going to misgender him) I was in awe. That was some you could do?

But what really put a name to what I was feeling was a Youtuber named miles! I followed him before his transition and when his voice started dropping I was confused. I remember thinking "what voice changer is that? I want that!" I then watched his coming out video and then I really put a name to what was going on.

I was trans.

I was terrified of what my mom was going to say. At the beginning of the summer after the 6th grade I came out to her. And she accepted me without question. My dad however was a different story. I told him in a pizza hut after we watched ready player one. Needless to say... he laughed in my face. He thought I was joking.

I detransitioned after that for about a month. But I wasn't happy so I transitioned again because I'm a bad bitch. In the 7th grade I got a binder and a hair cut. I was accepted by my teachers and my friends.

Well. All except one teacher. She wouldn't call me by my chosen name because of "rules". She said "I hate my name but I still have to go by it.". I'm very stubborn so I just put my last name which wasn't against the rules. It was weird because she would respect nicknames but I guess it was because I was trans.

Unfortunately the 8th grade was worse. If felt like nobody supported me and that's when I was diagnosed with depression. People would look at me and laugh like I was a spectacle. I detransitioned for the 2nd time in quarantine but that made me feel even worse so I transitioned again.

Now, I realize that people will dislike me no matter what. And if you hate me for being trans then you should gladly fuck off. I'm me and no body can change that. I'm happy being me, I'm happy not being someone I'm not. It's ok if people don't like me! They don't have to! There will always be people who love and care about me for me. And I thank those people and hold them close!

Just remember if you need to come out or get something of your chest I'm here. Don't feel shy about talking to me. No matter your gender identity I will listen. I care and love you. 💖

If you feel shy talking to me, there's the trevorproject, you can call your LGBT center, or pflag! 💖💖💖

[insanelycooljk]

👉 trans girl!jare au with Ev or Heidi? 👀

hand headcanon ask game!

YES thank you for giving me an excuse to talk about this even more 💓💓

Stealing this one directly from you lol, but Jare struggling to process her feelings was a significant factor in why her and Evan’s relationship started to break down and why she started pushing Evan away

it was just a messy combination of a) accepting that “oh wait I’m not a boy, I’ve never been a boy” b) “shit I like Evan” c) fear of how her family and peers are going to react and d) fear of what Evan would think if he found out Jared was trans.

So Jare purposely pushes Evan away by self-sabotaging that relationship, because for her that’s better than risking telling Evan and having to deal with the possibilty of rejection

I think she actually ends up coming out to Heidi before she tells Evan.

Heidi is kind of like a second mum for her in a way since Jare and Ev have grown up together. So whilst she's fairly sure Heidi would only react positively, she’s so fucking nervous about coming out to her because Heidi is a really important person in Jare’s life and she really cares about her opinion.

Of course, Heidi is so lovely about it and endlessly supportive. It definitely makes Jare cry to get such an overwhelmingly positive response because she just feels so loved. And oh my god, when you suggested that Heidi gives her the so big/so small line of “I already know you and I love you” I genuinely started tearing up, I absolutely love that.

Because it went so well, Jare gets the courage to ask Heidi how she thinks Evan would react. Heidi’s honest with her; Evan will probably be surprised because he’s so oblivious and stuck in his own head that she doubts he’s noticed any of the little things Heidi’s picked up on over the years, and that he’ll probably slip up for a little while with pronouns/name just because he’s known Jare so long, but ultimately he cares about Jare and will just want her to be happy

It takes her around a month after that before she finally tells Ev. That short period of time where Heidi knows but Evan doesn’t is quite funny because Evan can kind of tell something is up but he can’t work out what. Heidi keeps calling Jare ridiculous nicknames because she doesn’t want to use her deadname OR use whatever name Jare chose and out her to Ev. She’ll also give Jare lots of.. idk if this makes sense but like, feminine-coded compliments I guess? Like pretty/beautiful/gorgeous.

Even though Evan knew something was going on between his mum and Jare, he’s still surprised when she comes out to him (but also extremely supportive and happy)

Evan tends to beat himself up and apologise SO MUCH whenever he slips up with name/pronouns, and Jare has to explain that making a big deal of it makes her feel worse and it would be better if he could just quickly correct himself and move on.

But once that’s cleared up there’s no issues.

It’s only really once Jare is out that Ev starts realising he has feelings for her. It’s less to do with sudden physical attraction now that she’s presenting more feminine, but rather Jare just looks so happy and more confident and it just feels right, you know?

Obviously Evan tends to avoid making a scene/drawing attention to himself, but if anyone misgenders Jare? He will not hesitate to call them out. You know that joke about like, having a “mum friend” override for your anxiety? It’s like that but taken to the next level.

Unfortunately even when he’s trying his best Evan is just not intimidating at all, so it doesn’t always make a difference if people are just being assholes.

However, Connor can be very intimidating, so if he hears anyone misgendering Jare he will scare the shit out of them. He still doesn’t particularly like Jare, they’re not friends really, but Connor is super protective about making sure people respect her. (also I LOVE enby Connor, so perhaps the reason he’s so protective of Jare is because it’s personal, even if Connor doesn’t quite realise it yet)

I know I already said this to you, but when Jare and Ev finally get together they go to prom/homecoming/formal together. Her mum takes her shopping to pick out a dress, Heidi does her make-up for her, and the whole night she just has the biggest gender euphoria because she feels so beautiful. Also if there’s any like... slow dancing Evan takes the lead and Jare gets to do all the girl steps/positions so it’s just even MORE gender euphoria. Seriously she just has SUCH a good night :’)

[jaspers-levis]

The New Boy

Happy Pride month! I completely forgot to post this back when I finished, but better late than never, right? Please be kind in regards to my portrayal of the trans experience. I identify as my birth gender, so it was a different experience for me to write as a trans boy. I hope that I got somewhat close to what that experience may be!

Also, no matter who you are, you are deserving of love, respect, safety and happiness. This blog, although twilight themed, is always a safe space. If any of you need someone to talk to, my inbox is always open. Just because I may not know the full experience of what you are going through does not mean I cannot sympathize and offer comfort. We are all human beings on this planet together <3

Reader request by @eatmoarveggies

A new trans boy joins Forks High

“Can’t believe mom’s stupid job landed us in this stupid tiny town,” you muttered to yourself at the stoplight (the only one) on Main Street. Rain lashed at your windshield in an unrelenting stream, perfectly reflecting your mood. Not two weeks ago you’d been laughing it up at a cafe table in the sun on the California coast with your friends, planning a weekend getaway trip the last weekend before school started. Now you were driving as slowly as a snail through the pools of water covering the roadway in your crappy silver toyota, for once glad your mom hadn’t let you get a convertible. 

You glanced at the clock, realizing that if you continued at this pace you would be pushing the bell when you arrived at school for your first day, and inched the gas pedal down a notch. Stupid dumb rain. Sighing, you finally made the turn into the Fork’s High school parking lot and pulled into one of the last spots available. You reluctantly shut off the engine and checked your backpack for your school welcome packet. Unfortunately they’d written your birth name on each form, rather than the name you’d chosen for yourself two years ago when you realized you were a boy. Even after all this time, the deliberate refusal to call you by your correct name still rankled.

Annoyed, you ripped your school map out of the packet and slammed the folder shut before hopping out of your car and dashing for the main building. The offensive welcome packet served as a good shield against the downpour and you managed to get to the office with your carefully styled hair still in place. “Hi there, honey,” a generically pretty middle-aged receptionist greeted you. “How can I help you?”

“I’m supposed to register for classes? I’m Y/N, from California,” you told her, setting your stuff down on the counter. 

“Hmm…” she clicked industriously at her computer for a few moments. “I’m sorry hon, I recognize the last name but not the first.”

Sighing internally you muttered that it might be under your birth name, not your actual name and she instantly brightened. “Oh! Of course, here we are. Such an interesting name for a young girl. Is it a nickname?”

“No, I actually identify as a male,” you stiffened, resigned to an entire day of misgendering if the rest of the staff and students here at Forks High were as thick as this lady. “Thank you for your help.” You grabbed your schedule out of her hands and made a beeline for the door before she could say anything that was clearly already on the tip of her tongue.

On your way out, you opened the door right into a slim, dark haired girl who immediately dropped all her books and tripped over her own untied shoelace on her way to pick them up. “I’m so sorry!” you apologized, kneeling to help gather her books.

“Hey don’t worry about it!” she said cheerfully with a wry smile, shoving up the sleeves of her plaid shirt. “My mom always says I’m a walking disaster. Edward, my boyfriend, says if there is even the slightest change in elevation I’d fall.”

“I had a friend like that back home,” you return her good natured smile and help her stand. “My name’s Y/N.”

“Cool, I’m Bella,” she shook your hand, not missing a beat. She did eye you curiously but didn’t say another word on it, besides wishing you luck on her way to her first class. Hm. Maybe Forks wouldn’t be as bad as you’d thought…

And you were deeply wrong. Every single teacher called you by your birth name and when you corrected them whispers circulated amongst the class for the better part of the period. At least one person made a pointed remark about your physical appearance within hearing range each class, and one girl openly asked you what you had “down there” in between classes. Things only got worse when you asked if there was a private changing room you could use before gym. The instructor laughed before realizing you were serious and begrudgingly offered you a cluttered storage room next to his office. “I don’t like offering special treatment,” he groused as he unlocked the door. “Don’t mess anything up in here.”

You sighed and changed quickly, emerging to find a group of teenage boys, seniors and juniors mostly, waiting for you. Gritting your teeth at the sharp jump in your pulse, you tried to push through them. One of them caught you and shoved you, hard. “So what are you, really?” their leader asked, scowling. “You can’t seriously be calling yourself a boy, you look like a fucking girl. Or are you one of those gays too?”

“That’s none of your business,” you mutter, trying to get past them again. This time you were thrust against the wall so hard your head knocked against the cinderblocks painfully. 

“Like hell it isn’t!” the leader growled in your face, pinning you against the wall. “You just want to get in the boy’s locker room for a sneak peek, is that it? We’ll give you a sneak peek right here!”

You spat in his face in retaliation and he threw you to the floor in anger, where the rest of the boys surrounded you in an instant, ready to beat the shit out of you. Curling into a ball, you sent up a prayer to whatever god was listening that it would be over soon. 

After a moment, you uncurled yourself when not a single kick landed. You looked up to see the largest senior boy you’d ever seen standing before you looking scarier than hell as he stood off against your tormentors. A statuesque blonde girl stood next to him, shaking with fury and shooting daggers at the boys. “Don’t ever fucking come near him again,” she spat, taking a step forward. 

“What are you gonna do?” the leader sneered, crossing his arms.

“You don’t even want to know, bro,” the enormous boy said, laying a restraining hand on the girl. “Get the fuck out of here before she loses her temper.”

The boys turned and ran at the look on the girl’s face.

“Hey man, you okay?” the large boy turned and reached out a hand to help you up. His skin was shockingly cold for such a large dude… “My name’s Emmett, and this is Rosalie. We heard the commotion and came to see what was going on.”

“I’m Y/N,” you stammer as Rosalie turns her fearsome gaze at you. 

“If those boys, or anyone else even so much as LOOK at you funny, you come find me or one of our family. We’ll take care of it,” she said fiercely, her golden eyes frighteningly intense.

Emmet gave Rose a look and sighed. “Y/N… you’re new, right? You met our brother’s girlfriend Bella earlier this morning. Nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you too…” you said haltingly, uncertain.

“Ignore Rose; she won’t bite...well, you at least,” Emmett joked, patting you on the shoulder and leading the two of you back to the gymnasium. “But seriously, if anyone is nasty to you again, we’ll help you out. No one should be treated like that!”

“Why are you helping me?” you asked, apprehensive of these beautiful strangers and their generous offer of aid.

“Those guys are all assholes,” Rosalie growled, sending a terrifying glare in their direction across the gym floor that sent them scattering like cockroaches under a light. “I hate them.”

“Well, that, and we don’t like bullies,” Emmett shrugged. “What you have in your pants, who you are or what you look like are your business, not anyone else’s. Who the fuck cares anyways?”

“Way too many people at this school,” you mutter as the gym teacher approached, explaining the activity for the class. You didn’t get a chance to talk more with Rosalie and Emmett during class, but afterwards they invited you to sit at lunch with you and their family. Maybe things really wouldn’t be that bad if you had a couple of supportive friends like the Cullens...