#tonight it’s. dysphoria????? for the first time in years????

[mapsareforbraindeads]

i have learned that the big feelings spike when i’m sick

[pathologicalreid]

home run | s.r.

in which Spencer and jareau!reader finally get the opportunity to take the next step in their relationship

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x jareau!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: sex bro idk. the sweatshirt. smut with a lot of plot, glasses!spencer, dostoyevsky, paulo coelho, ur crazy if you think i proofread this, flirrrrrrting, protected p in v sex, fingering, heavy petting, post coital dysphoria (why can't i let them simply have a nice time) word count: 4.01k a/n: next on my quest to give fanfic readers realistic sex to read, i give you this! as always, tell me how u feel, my inbox is always open.

“Will you unzip me?” You asked softly, pulling your hair out of the way and turning your back to Spencer, who paused his own disrobing to undo the zipper of your dress.

It’d been a long day, the light hours spent in the BAU, and the evening spent at Rossi’s, who wanted to get at least one more cookout in before the weather turned. You’d finally reached the end of your day, and for the first time, you were spending it with Spencer.

Facing away from him still, you let the fabric drop to the floor, taking your sweatshirt from your go bag and tugging it over your head. Spencer hummed from behind you, “I can’t believe you still wear that.”

A small smile formed on your face as you turned around. “It’s comfortable,” you justified, the old FBI Academy sweatshirt had previously lived in Spencer’s apartment, but you’d claimed it for yourself nearly two years ago. It had the perfect amount of wear, making it one of your favorites—among other reasons.

You tried not to let your eyes linger while Spencer changed, instead focusing on details in his room that you’d never seen before and making note of what books he kept on his nightstand. “It’s old,” Spencer responds plainly, putting on an old MIT t-shirt and reaching out for you, grabbing your waist and pulling you close.

Before being with Spencer, you wouldn’t have considered yourself the kind of person to take things slowly, but with him, that was the only option you were willing to consider. You were so scared of things being ruined with him that you only made moves when you knew you were absolutely ready. Maybe that was why it took you nearly two years before the two of you started dating, but he was willing to walk the tightrope with you.

You walked around the bed, sitting up on the mattress and watching him go into the bathroom, “So, what do you want to do tonight?” He asked from the bathroom, coming back out with his glasses on and leaning against the doorframe.

Humming, you look over at him, “Didn’t think that far ahead?” A teasing lilt carried through your question, cocking your head as he made his way over to you. He’d asked you on Monday if you’d like to spend Friday night at his place, and he had seemed surprised when you accepted his offer.

“I have a few ideas, but I wanted to see if there was something specific you had in mind. Since you’ve already interrupted your usual schedule to stay here, I wanted to give you a choice,” he rambled. He always rambled when he was nervous.

You raised your eyebrows curiously, “Spence?”

With him standing in front of you, you studied his eyes. His contacts had a blue tint to them, so seeing him in his glasses was really your only opportunity to see his eyes as they truly appeared. “Yeah, baby?”

Your heart fluttered at the nickname, “We don’t have to do anything special. What would you be doing if I weren’t here?”

“Reading,” he told you unabashedly.

Honestly, you should’ve guessed that. “Okay, then we can read. Do you have a book I can borrow?”

Spencer nodded, “You’re welcome to anything, but are you sure? We could find a movie to watch instead.”

“We don’t have to do anything special just because it’s our first night together, and besides, reading side by side sounds nice,” you told him, waving off his concerns about entertainment and walking into the living room, scanning over his extensive collection. Plucking one off the shelves, you return to Spencer, watching him pull the covers down on the bed, preparing both yours and his side.

You set your book on the nightstand and climbed up on the mattress, his box spring causing it to be almost precariously high. “The Alchemist?” He questioned, reading the title of the book that you had selected.

Tracing the title with your fingertip, you shrugged, “I’ve never read it. Should I pick a different book?”

He shook his head in response, “No, and I don’t want to influence your opinion with mine.”

“Well, what are you reading?” You peered over to look at the book in his hands, reading the cover, “How many times have you read that book?” Since you started dating four months ago, he’d read Crime and Punishment at least three times.

Flipping the book back open, Spencer went back to the pages, “I’ve never read this version before, the editor decided to publish his thoughts along with the translated text.”

You raised your eyebrows curiously, “And what are your thoughts on that?”

“I think his translation of the original Russian is perfectly adequate, but his comments read like a high schooler who was forced to read the book for a class,” he explained, his hand absentmindedly resting on your bare thigh once you settled into the bed.

Humming, you opened your book, reading the foreword and trying to ignore Spencer’s hand placement. There was no reason to lose your mind over a little thigh touching.

Once you made it to the beginning of the actual story, you became vaguely aware of Spencer’s thumb rubbing small circles on the inside of your thigh, leading to you closing the book and setting it back on the bookshelf. Taking a deep breath, you rolled onto your side, leaving Spencer to move his hand from your skin, and you rested your head on his shoulder.

You looked up at him, watching his lips move as he read the words on the page, you felt very lucky to have this part of Spencer. The Spencer who let his glasses slide to the very bottom of his nose and had an affinity for reruns of cartoons from the eighties. “Are you alright?” He whispered once he finished his chapter, reaching an arm up to ruffle your hair affectionately.

“Mhm,” you murmured, “Don’t feel like reading.”

Gently, Spencer craned his head to drop a featherlight kiss to the tip of your nose, eliciting a small smile from you. “Let me know if you need anything,” he said softly.

As odd as it seemed, you liked watching him read, at the very least, it was impressive to watch. You kept your eyes on him, watching how intently he focused on the book despite having read it several times before.

He looked back down at you, catching you staring, “Can I kiss you?”

The question took you by surprise, but you nodded in response, looking at him as he ducked his head down and pecked your lips. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, putting his free hand in front of his mouth as he went back to reading.

In his defense, his resolve lasted for one more chapter, turning the page before snapping the book shut and resting it on his nightstand. Spencer turned his head to yours again, “Hey.”

“Hi,” you responded, unsure about where he was headed with this. Opening your mouth to ask him a question only to be met with his lips on yours, he took his time now, resting a hand on the side of your neck, the pad of his thumb at the hinge of your jaw as he held you close.

Tentatively, he swiped his tongue along your bottom lip, and that single motion drew a small moan from the back of your throat, causing you to pull away from Spencer.

Your eyes were wide in surprise, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

Spencer shook his head, pulling at your waist, “C’mere,” he said, encouraging you to straddle him, your knees on either side of his hips, “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, leaning forward and resting your hands on his chest, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “This is okay,” you whispered against his lips.

It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t made out before, it was usually just on the couch, or in Spencer’s reading chair, or one time when you were the only two on the jet. This—making out in his bed—it felt different somehow.

Coming back up for air, you looked up at Spencer, a giggle escaping your throat as you tried to meet his eyes. “Oops,” you said, his glasses had fogged up while you were kissing, so you leaned back while he took them off, resting them on his nightstand.

Spencer rested his hands on your hips, his thumbs gently massaging over your hip bones as you studied his expression, “Honey,” he said, suddenly serious, “I want you to know that I didn’t invite you to spend the night with this in mine.”

He was drawing the same conclusions as you, but still, you looked at him doubtfully, “Do you mean to tell me that the prospect of sex didn’t even cross your mind when it came to inviting me to spend the night?”

A soft pink bloomed across his cheeks, you found yourself wanting to kiss them, “Okay, maybe it occurred to me that we might find ourselves in this position.”

You straightened up slightly, “So, I trust you have a condom.”

Nodding, Spencer reached a hand up and smoothed your hair back with the kind of tenderness that made you want to cry. “I do, but we don’t have to have sex tonight, okay?”

“But I want to,” you responded, maybe a tad too quickly. Your face warms, “I mean… I’d like to. If you want to.” With an air of finality, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his, one of your hands found a home in his hair while the other rested on his collarbone.

As if on cue, the phone started to ring. An incessant blare designed to wake you up in case you were being called in in the middle of the night. Spencer chuckled as you dramatically dragged yourself off of his lap and dug through your bag for your phone.

If it were Penelope or Hotch, you’d answer without a second thought, but the caller ID showed your sister on the other line. You declined the call, texting her an excuse before leaving your phone on the nightstand.

Spencer dragged his fingertips down your arm, “Who was it?”

“JJ,” you told him leaning back over his torso and pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, “I’ll call her back later,” you continued, kissing the other corner of his mouth.

He hummed in response, settling his hands on your waist, “Tomorrow?” He proposed, gently guiding your back to the bed.

Nodding, you looked up at him, “Tomorrow,” you confirmed, sighing contently as your legs fell open, giving him the room he needed to rest his body between them. You’d never felt so at ease in bed with someone, no one had ever touched you so carefully before.

“Good,” he whispered against your lips, gently parting them with his own as you looped your arms over his shoulders, “Hold on,” he said, pulling back and climbing off of the bed.

Your eyes followed him intently as he stopped in front of his go bag, unzipping the side pouch and pulling out a familiar-looking box. “You’ve been keeping condoms in your go bag?” Your question is succeeded by a fit of giggles, any nervousness disappearing at the realization that Spencer’s been carrying contraception with him all day.

Rolling his eyes, Spencer lobbed the box at you, but you were still laughing too hard to be bothered by the lightweight box hitting your arm. “Excuse me for wanting to be prepared,” he teased back, climbing up on the bed and finding a spot right next to you.

“No, you’re right,” you said, continuing to giggle despite your best attempts to stop. “Okay, I’m sorry, let me put on my serious face,” you pressed your lips together in a thin line, holding them together with your teeth as you tried to stop any giggles from escaping. “You would make a great boy scout,” you told him, failing to keep a straight face.

Sighing, Spencer kissed your smiling lips, giving you a soft peck between every word he said.

“You’re.”

Kiss.

“So.”

Kiss.

“Cute.”

By the final kiss, you’re ready to ascend into the heavens. Knowing you can die happy because you’ve known what it’s like to love him. You’re not even worried about the fact that he chose to call you cute as opposed to hot or sexy. Spencer’s never let you consider the idea of being someone other than who you are.

“I love you,” you whispered, looking at him as he positioned himself between your legs again, taking your lower lip between your teeth because this time you could feel his length. Even through three layers of fabric, his hardness pressed against your core in a way that made your head spin.

Spencer hummed, “I love you too.” His tone was careful as his hands slipped up your sweatshirt, a totem to show where the two of you started and where you are now. His fingers wandered over your skin, an exploration of your body as the hem of the sweatshirt started riding up your waist, “your heart is racing.”

You sat up, trying to encourage him to take your sweater off, “You have that effect on me.” You took a deep breath as he followed your cue and pulled your sweatshirt over your head, once he tossed it to the hamper, you pushed at his t-shirt, whipping it off his body without a care in the world.

He was just looking at you, just studying you in the way someone would look at a piece of art. Feeling encouraged, you reached back to unclasp your bra, letting the fabric fall off of your chest before dropping it just off the side of the bed. “Pretty,” he breathed, leaning forward to kiss you again, his lips making their way along your jawline, along the column of your throat, and just below your collarbones. “Pretty, pretty girl,” he murmured, rendered uncharacteristically at a loss for words at the sight of you topless.

You gasped as his lips attached themselves to your chest, sucking at the soft skin and leaving little love bites behind. He moved his hand to gain better balance, leaving one at the side of your head, “Ow, Spence,” you yelped.

Spencer’s head snapped up, “Are you okay?” He asked, more fear in his voice than was strictly necessary for the issue.

“Your hand is on my hair,” you said, moving your hair behind your head when he instantly moved his hand.

He dropped a kiss to your forehead, oddly domestic for the state of undress you were in, “I’m sorry, honey.”

You shook your head, “It’s okay, c’mere,” you whispered, placing your hand on the back of his head and guiding his lips to yours. Slowly, you extend your free arm between your bodies, slipping your hand between the elastic of his briefs and his stomach, wrapping your hand around his shaft.

He moaned into your mouth at the contact, his lips faltering against yours as you ran your thumb over the tip, gathered his precum on your finger, and withdrew your hand, bringing your hand up to your separated mouths and sucking the liquid off of your thumb. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he groaned, reattaching his lips to your neck, bringing his lips further down your chest until he took your nipple in his mouth, nipping at it gently with his teeth while his fingers wandered up to play with your other breast, massaging the flesh.

“Oh,” you breathed, looking up at the ceiling fan and trying to stop your hips from bucking up as his mouth separated from your breast with a wet pop, his hand skimming down your torso and stopping just above the hem of your underwear, looking to you for permission before he exposed your core.

Slowly, he hooked his fingers in the sides of your panties and dragged them down your legs, leaving them on the mattress for you to find easily as he pushed your knees apart. His hand made its way to your pussy, fingers dragging lazily up and down your slit, “Is this okay?”

Nodding, “Yeah,” you answered, bracing yourself for the intrusion of his fingers, but you were surprised when it didn’t come yet. Instead, his index finger pressed gently against your clit, softly rubbing at the bundle of nerves, trying to prepare you. A soft whine escaped your lips at the sight, “Will you kiss me?” You asked, your eyes wide and pleading with him.

Obliging your wishes, he left his hand in its place while he pressed his lips against yours, you slid your tongue into his mouth, running the tip of it along his bottom lip. You moaned into his mouth as he played with your clit, need growing in your core as his fingers moved.

“Ah,” you gasped against his mouth when he slipped a finger into your hole, separating your lips while you tipped your head back against the pillows. “Oh, wow,” you breathed at the feeling of him knuckle-deep in you, his finger remaining still while you adjusted to the intrusion.

Spencer hummed, bringing his head back down and resting it on your tummy while he curled his fingers in your cunt. You brought your hands down to rest on his head, tugging at his hair while he started to thrust his finger in and out of you, wet squelching sounds emanating from your core as he did.

A moan was ripped from your throat when he added another finger to the mix, stretching your pussy even further while you felt your walls contract around his hand. “Spence,” you breathed, moaning again at the sensations that were coursing through your body, “Spence, baby.”

He tore his eyes away, looking up at you while his hand slowed slightly—just in case, “What do you need, honey?”

Honey. The sweet pet name plucked at your heartstrings as you propped yourself up on your elbows, “I’m— Can we...?” You started, not sure how to proposition him. Can we have sex? Seemed like too little too late. Will you make love to me? Made you want to throw up in your mouth a little bit. “Will you fuck me?” Was what you settled on, albeit a bit crude, but it was your best option at the time.

He withdrew his fingers from your cunt, eliciting a whimper from you at the emptiness, he reached over for the box of condoms that he had previously thrown at you, handing the box to you so he could shed his boxer briefs.

Staring at the way his cock stood at attention, you considered wrapping your mouth around him, just for a moment, but Spencer didn’t seem interested in anything other than doing what you’d asked of him. Instead, you reached out your hand and wrapped your fingers around the base. He was already plenty hard, but you felt the need to reciprocate pleasure, which is why you were surprised when he moved your hand before you could even start.

“It’s okay,” he reassured you, and you nodded a response, telling yourself you’d remember to return the favor in the future. Maybe in the morning.

Handing him a lavender packet, you watched as he carefully tore the package open, pinching the tip and rolling the condom over himself. “Is this good?” You asked, lying on your back as you watched him settle back between your legs, your breath hitched as his cock lined up with your entrance.

Spencer nodded, “You’re perfect. I’ll go slow, okay?” He rubbed at your thigh comfortingly, waiting for you to give him another okay before he started pushing into you. Between your wetness and the added lubrication of the condom, he slid in with little resistance, but he took it slowly, just like he had promised.

He watched you the whole time with the knowledge that you hadn’t had sex in years, the last thing he’d want to do was cause you any pain.

Once he was fully sheathed in you, you buried your face in his neck, pressing little kisses to his soft skin as you focused on anything other than the pressure in your core.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, he didn’t even have to ask you for the reassurance. “I’m— fuck,” you cried out, unable to help the way your walls tightened around his cock. “You can move,” you told him, your voice muffled against his neck.

He inhaled sharply as he pulled his hips from yours before slowly pressing them back together, “I love you.”

You nodded, “I love you too,” you murmured, muffling your moans in his neck as a courtesy to his neighbors, unable to control them as his tentative thrusts turned into a steady rhythm. Carefully thrusting into you while he moved one of his hands up, intertwining your fingers with his at the side of your head—minding his hand placement.

Hooking your ankles together behind his back, you squeezed his hand at the same time as your cunt clenched around his length. He continued fucking into you, pushing your legs open even further until he hit a spot inside of you that made you see stars.

“Spence,” you cried out, trying to warn him about your impending orgasm before it washed over you. Your walls uncontrollably clenched around him as you fully muffled yourself against him, soft squeaks escaping your mouth as he kept going, the pulsating of your pussy driving him even closer to his own orgasm.

His hips stuttered in their movements as you pulled your face from his neck, breathing the cool air as Spencer spilled his cum into the condom. His head drooped, pressing soft kisses to your collarbone as the both of you caught your breath. “I’m gonna pull out,” he warned you, carefully slipping his softened cock from your hole.

A slight panic came over you as you felt tears well up in your eyes faster than you could process them, hiccupping for air as they fell down into your hairline.

That got Spencer’s attention, lifting himself and looking at you, “Hey,” his voice was so soft, “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Bordering on babbling, you shook your head, “No, I’m fine,” you cried, more tears falling from your face. “I don’t even know why ‘m crying,” you told him, resting a hand on your chest.

“Shh, hey,” Spencer cooed, “You’re okay, I’ve got you.” Gingerly, he laid down on his back and pulled you into him, letting you rest your head on his chest as he smoothed your hair back comfortingly. “There are just a lot of emotions going through you right now, and that’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe with me.”

You nodded slowly, “I’m sorry,” you whimpered, having ruined a perfect first time by bursting into tears immediately after.

Spencer pressed a tentative kiss to your hairline, “It’s okay, there’s no need to be sorry. It’s completely normal,” he murmured, one hand in your hair and the other rubbing circles on your back. “You’re alright. Hey, it’s called post-coital dysphoria, and it happens to about forty-six percent of people,” he told you.

Despite yourself, you gave a breathy laugh, “I feel like you’re making that up so I’ll feel better.” You sniffled, wiping at your eyes with your fingers.

“It’s a real thing, I promise,” he reassured you, continuing to comfort you until tears stopped falling. “Hey, what do you say we get cleaned up and we can watch something in bed.”

You hummed in response, “You don’t like screens in your room, you say it messes with your REM sleep.”

“It does mess with your REM sleep, but I’d be willing to make an exception for you tonight,” he said, smiling softly when you lifted your head from his chest. “Come on, honey. I’ve got you.”

[let-spretend]

hey guys !! this is the start to a platonic batfamily & reader fanfic series !! for some background, this is a crossover with re7/8 and batman. i tweaked a lot of how the mold works and the whole timeline with re7/8. if you have any questions, send through the ask ! i'll be happy to answer.

2/18/2024 - edited !!!

cw body dysmorphia/dysphoria, self-harm (self-destructive behavior), vomiting, over-thinking

mold for thought pt. 1

hit me on the head !

Alfred’s carbonara had crispy bacon bits mixed in, with a fresh egg cracked on top. Damian sat ways away from you, across, five chairs down. It’s not like that was where he had to sit. He always just chose to. His pasta was different, a Lemon Basil vegan pasta.

Coming down to eat, it was always just the two of you. Damian ate with class, properly spinning the fork in the pasta. Honestly, you hated watching him eat. Something about it always screamed like he was trying to seem better than you. He was always judging your way of eating, or anything for that matter. Digging your fork into the egg yolk, you watch it spill over the pasta. Your mouth felt dry. Food has made you antsy because of what happened three years ago. Your fingers touch your mouth. You’re fine.

Copying Damian’s movements, you flick the fork and swirl it to collect the pasta. Nothing was wrong with it at all. If anything, it looked perfect. The sauce, creamy. Pepper decorating the pasta and the yolk running down it. You remember the rotting food and foul smell of the Baker’s dinner table. Fighting to not let them shove the rotten food down. Ethan screaming in pain from the prying Jack did to him.

Damian was staring at you intently, waiting for you to eat. You push past the memories and chow down on the pasta. It was good. Really good. “Glad to see you’re enjoying the carbonara, Mastress Y/N.” Alfred hands you a white handkerchief. The white was now stained with a yellowish sauce. 

“Thanks, Alfred.” You say, slightly embarrassed. He collects your plate and you struggle to hold in your food. It was tasty, but it felt like it was fighting its way up. You hastily get up, running to the nearest bathroom. Damian was staring at your sudden outburst, but who cares. With no time to lift the seat up, you just splurged into the toilet. The burning sensation in your stomach disappears, instantly. The barf didn’t even have food in it. It was all black, mixed with some blood. The mold. Oddly, there’s always no smell or difference in color. You sigh in relief and waste no time flushing it all down. 

When you were first getting used to the Wayne manor, you used to cut to see if your blood was also mold. You convinced yourself it was just to check. Partially, it was true. With Superman’s help, you’ve slowly just accepted that you have mold. It’s always tempting to go back, but you know it only spirals for the worst. Throwing up was also self-destructive and you knew. You don’t know why you keep doing it. You touch what scars you could see, some self inflicted, from that place in Dulvey, others from crime-fighting. It never gets easier.

You needed to go out today. The mold was practically screaming at you to release some of it out of your body. Washing your hands and scooping some of the water into your mouth, you feel somewhat refreshed. Going back to the dining area, Damian was nowhere to be found, except his dishes were left on the table. You collect them and help Alfred with the dishes. “I gotta go out tonight. I’ll shovel the snow before I sleep, deal?” He chuckles and places the two clean dishes on a drying rack.

“Be careful, Mastress Y/N.” Alfred lightly smiles. You smile back and wave before leaving. Gotham in December was beautiful. You could almost forget the horrors of the city when it was silent and the moon was out. The lights hit the snow and everything seemed brighter. 

Your backpack was hidden within some trees, containing your costume and weapons. It wasn’t anything special. Just baggy clothes, some gloves and a mask that covered your entire head. All black but has white where your eyes would be on the mask. Changing into your costume, you feel safer somehow. Your identity being unknown, just felt, nice. Your abilities come from the mold. Besides the mold, it gave you superhuman strength, the ability to reattach limbs, and heightened senses. The mold comes in handy to grapple around the city. You don’t use it to apprehend people or touch anything living. It’s not that you’ve actually seen people get infected with your mold, but you’ve seen non-sentient living items crumble from it. You aren’t going to risk anything. You’re reluctant to let anyone touch you if not necessary.

Fighting petty crime was your thing. Not fighting global threats, not busting huge gang activity, but small robberies, stopping physical or sexual assaults and more. It made you sad that these crimes were considered petty and too small for major heroes to handle. The people named you, the Peril. Which was funny since, what exact peril were you bringing to Gotham? It didn’t really bother you since the name was cool, but you don’t go around calling yourself the Peril.

Being a vigilante, there were its perks and disadvantages. For you, a disadvantage is the Bats. You would encounter them every other time you would leave to be fighting for civilians. 

While swinging around, you find a man being mugged. You swoop down and kick the robber’s face in. She falls to the floor and drops the man’s wallet. You grab her by the shirt and threaten her with anything you can think of. The robber looks you in the eye and scurries off, holding her cheek. You try not to engage in combat. It’s not like you were bad at it, but you were a dirty fighter. Unlike the Bats, you don’t know any martial arts. Just street fighting and your ability to use guns. You don’t want to kill anybody. So no guns. Plus, being in Batman’s “turf”, you had to respect his no gun policy. But you were working on making guns with safe bullets. 

You could feel a presence watching over your encounter. Maybe Batman? Silently, you give the man his wallet. He thanks you profusely and runs off. You tend to not talk when it's not necessary.

You turned around and cock your head, gesturing he talk. Batman seemed surprised that you knew he was there. Robin stands next to him, disinterested in you. His arms crossed and his head looked the other way. You pay no attention. 

“The Peril.” Batman says. You let out a stifled laugh, you always do. He never gave you the time of day out of costume. Without him even asking, you knew he was trying to recruit you. 

“No.” You answer, curtly. Grappling away, you leave Batman and Robin in the alley alone. He asks you at least once a week. Which you feel is both a perk and downside. You wish for his approval and want to be of use to Batman. At the same time, you want to lash out toward the man, for being so ignorant.

You feel your phone buzz, deep in a pant pocket. Superman. You like his company. Compassionate and a symbol to the people, yet, an outsider. Being infected with the mold, you feel out of place and in the wrong body. Superman is an alien, trying to find his place within Earth. He’s taught you to be okay with the fact that you are different now. But you feel like he’s hiding something from you. He was sitting on a rooftop of an abandoned building. “Superman.” Your feet land on the ledge he was sitting on. 

“P.” You both meet up when you can. He has been the one guiding you through the vigilante scene. Other than him, you have only worked with the Red Hood. He was a mystery to you. From what you’ve seen, he’s somehow related to the Bats. You don’t really care for his identity. He can be nice to you, but he often does his work in ways you disagree with. He’s erratic and does what he wants. One thing you both have in common, is your distaste for Batman.

You knew Clark’s name because he told you. You never really knew why. He doesn’t know your name. Or at least, he hasn’t called you by it. He could easily look through your mask and see your true identity. You’re grateful he’s respecting your privacy. You decide not to call him by his name when on duty.

Superman takes off at a slower speed than normal and you swing after him. “Batman tried to team up with me again.” You say, defeated. Laughing a bit and sighing at the same time after you confess. It feels so stupid to be sad about it every time. You stop on top of a building. “I declined. Again.” He also stops. Superman lightly lands and leans close. He decides not to say anything. 

Clark gives you a piggyback gesture and you get on. He heads for Metropolis, fast enough to be there in mere minutes but slow enough to keep your skin on. At least once a week, you and Superman band together and work on whatever it was at that moment. Today it was Lex Luthor shenanigans. Although smaller threats were your preferred thing, fighting big threats wasn’t bad. 

After the fight, you go out and eat ice cream; Being with Superman helps you forget things. He puts a hand on your shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want me to explain things, kiddo?”

“Definitely not. I’m honored that he’s interested in my skills. But, he doesn’t know it’s me. I know when he finds out he’ll lose interest and stop me from doing this. Or, maybe he won’t. I don’t know. I’m not going to risk it.” You latch onto Clark’s back again and he starts flying toward Gotham. You peer down to the bottom and admire the small people and buildings. You slightly tug at Superman’s shoulder to get his attention. “I’m going to be gone for a week. I don’t know when, but I’ll text you then.”

He keeps facing forward but acknowledges your message with a slight nod. “I’ll miss you a lot. I like our talks.” He breathes deeply out of the nose. “I’ll try to do what I can with Bruce. Without being obvious.” You’re very grateful he’s doing all this for you. He lands at the same spot you met up at.

“Thank you. Oh, and here. For Jon.” You hand Superman a cat keychain from your backpack. “He told me about his cat. My stitching isn’t very good but maybe it’ll cheer him up a bit.” Superman pocketed it safely, god knows where. You check the time and sigh. “I gotta go. Told Alfred I’ll shovel up the snow at the manor.” You swing away while waving goodbye. Still, that looming feeling hasn’t left you and it’s definitely not Batman this time.

-

Stashing your backpack in the same place as before, you tread quietly into Wayne's property. It was two in the morning. Rubbing your eyes, you take the shovel. You sigh at the amount of land Bruce owned. Deciding to just shovel the snow on the pavement, you treat it as training. Scooping as much snow as possible and carrying it around, tossing it or regular shoveling. You wish you could train where and how your siblings did. 

Staring at the gigantic pile of snow, you put your hands on your hips and lean backwards. Back problems at 17? You laugh at the thought. Entering through the front door, Alfred greeted you with some hot chocolate. His infamous hot cocoa, filled with mini marshmallows. “I could never pass up your hot chocolate.” Alfred makes eating much more enjoyable and feel safer. The hot chocolate was right in the middle of a tray. The liquid burns your tongue but it warms up your insides. 

“How was patrol, Mastress Y/N?” Alfred asks.

“Oh, nothing special.” You quickly turn it down. You don’t really let Alfred entertain any thought about your work. He knows of your secret “vigilante-ing” and decides to keep your promise of keeping it a secret from Bruce. You don’t really understand why, but you guess Alfred understands your situation and tries to get Bruce to be a parent to you. He tries to remind Bruce every now and then. Wants Bruce to notice himself, but his work consumes him. Bruce also thinks you’re okay because you can't physically and mentally be hurt anymore like his other children, who fight crime. While that could be true if you didn’t, that doesn’t mean you should be put aside. 

“Thanks for waiting for me, Alfred.” You add. He nods.

 “You must go to sleep. It is a school night after all.” You set the mug back onto the tray and apologize for the extra dishes to wash. Quietly slipping into your shared room with Damian, you celebrate when he’s not in the room. He was a light sleeper and he always questions why you’re out so late. You made him believe you’re some party animal. Which, you admit, would be cooler than being a vigilante.

You’ve always wondered why you and Damian shared a room. The manor was spacious and had ample room for both of you to have your own. You sometimes think they somehow knew you were being self-destructive and made him monitor you. Or, maybe to punish him by being with you. You try not to question everything Bruce decides, but it’s hard not to.

You sink into the silky bed sheets and just stay that way. Not bothering to get into them. Your room was a place of comfort, but being in the manor always tired you. It reminded you of the absence of Bruce and your siblings. Being away from Ethan, you feel you miss out on so much. Bruce and your siblings have a bond over being Bats, Ethan has Rose now, and Alfred doesn’t just take care of you. You’re happy that he gives you any attention.

Alfred the Cat climbs up onto your bed and snuggles into you. One reason you’re happy you’re rooming with Damian and not somebody else. You’re reluctant to pet him because of the mold. But you convince yourself you can do it. You pet him softly and sigh. He meows quietly from the petting and begins to purr.

-

A quiet click comes from behind you, quiet footsteps ensue after an hour of your sulking. “Are you still up?” Despite knowing he knows you’re awake, you decide to fake it. Your hand is still on top of Alfred the cat’s head. “I know that you are awake.” You sigh and decide to face upwards. 

You couldn’t make out exactly where he was standing but look in the general direction of where his voice was. “Okay, maybe I am. Why?” He also sits on his bed, slightly creaking.

“Was just wondering why you were throwing up your brains out after Alfred’s dinner. Rude, much?” Shit. He heard that? That’s why he was gone when you were back. You think back to when he was Robin a couple hours ago, giving attitude. Rude, much?

“Just nervous ‘bout the trip.” Which was true. “I’m going to visit Mr. Winters for a week, to see the baby. I want her to like me.” He lets out a sound that seems like he half believes you, but he doesn’t care enough to pry. “Anyways, I’m going to pick you up sometime next week. For publicity, as Mr. Wayne says.”

He sighs. “I know.” You wait for more, but all he does is settle in bed. What a cute little brother. No thanks or comment. Guess that’s just how they all act. 

Also trying to settle in bed, you feel bad again. Not trying to alarm Damian, all you do is put a hand on your closed eyes and try to soothe yourself. Ethan will understand this feeling, right? Your body doesn’t feel like your own anymore and you hate that you can’t even control your mold well. You still have to listen to it, have to release it. What if you suddenly couldn’t control it and it infects Damian right now? Turn out like the Bakers? Shutting your eyes tight, you flop your body so that you are lying on your stomach. Breathing deeply into your pillows, it slows. You turn your head sideways for fresh air. The cat was sleeping peacefully next to you.

Right. Tomorrow’s school. You had to be okay. You flip onto your back and close your eyes, letting your brain take over. Mold, mold and more mold. Accepting that your dream was going to be about mold, you sigh, letting sleep take over you. Damian watches, recognizing that you had some sort of stress-induced breakdown before bed. He jots something down and puts it away in this nightstand.

-

You wake due to a feeling of being watched, your eyes open to Damian looming over you. “What’s wrong, Damian? Are you okay, need something?” More worried than anything, you quickly get up. He never was this attentive towards you. Though, Damian was the one you talked to the most. 

“Nothing. Just confirming things, L/N” You were too tired to comprehend what he was trying to say. Rubbing your face, you force yourself to the bathroom, which was also shared with Damian. He follows you in, watching you brush your teeth. You roll your eyes.

“I’m doing my regular morning routine like always, Damian. You’ve got to get ready too.” Pointing to his body with your toothbrush, which was still in pajamas. He clicks his tongue in annoyance but follows your orders. 

-

Stepping out of the car, you thank Alfred for the daily rides to school. Tim was off before you could catch up or talk. You sigh.

Gotham City High school. Something happens here at least once a week. You don’t really talk to anyone like Tim does. Your mind was busy a lot and people couldn’t understand or want to wait. When you first were settling into the Wayne household, you remember Damian being upset with you because you were zoning out. It's happened more than you can count with regular people. It also seemed like people knew something was different about you.

During math, your body starts to feel weak. You could sense Tim staring like how Damian was yesterday, like he was assessing you. You stare down at the worksheet, trying to focus. Touching your face, you try to calm down. That burning feeling creeps up in your stomach again. Having no choice, you decide to go to the bathroom. One rule you had was to never throw up the mold at school. Anyone could come in at any moment and hear you. You slip toward the back doors of the school and open them slightly, just enough to see the grassy plains of the field. From your hands, you release your mold onto the grass. It turns black and crumbles into the air. It horrifies you everytime. If you could've, you would have preferred throwing it up for this reason. 

You were running back to class, realizing you were taking longer than what a normal bathroom break would be. “L/N.” Before you could open your mouth, you were redirected by the teacher. You slide the bathroom pass back with irritation and grab your things. It was not the first time you had to attend detention for your tardiness. Sometimes you were glad Bruce didn’t notice your slip-ups, he would be up your ass. 

You took as long as you could to the classroom. Touching the cold lockers as you went by, looking at posters and ignoring people passing.

“Again, L/N?” The supervisor hands you a reflection form for you to fill out. You were running out of excuses to write on them. Sighing, you decide to just sleep and not fill it out.

“L/N?” You raise your head up slowly, waiting for you to be scolded. “L/N!” You whip your head toward the voice of the supervisor. She looked frightened. What had her yelling? Feeling a hand grab your neck, you immediately push the person off of you with your elbows. They fall to the floor with a grunt.

“Fuck!” You yell out. The Scarecrow. He looked worse in person. “Sorry.” You stop in your tracks. Why were you apologizing to this man? He grabs your leg and brings you down with him. The supervisor runs out while the Scarecrow is distracted with you. Screaming from the halls leaks into the room. “What did you do?” He laughs and ties your arms behind your back.

He leads you to a getaway car which has one student already inside. Students and teachers were all yelling and screaming at the air. Scarecrow must’ve released fear toxin into the school. Did Tim also inhale the fumes? Was he okay? Did Scarecrow know you were of relation to Bruce Wayne? He shoves you aggressively in and gets in himself. The girl next to you was crying her eyes out, snot drooping down into her mouth. “Do I frighten you?” He asks. He laughs quietly from your silence and the girl’s loud sobbing. “I’m conducting an experiment, if you will. You two are my constants.” You eyebrow furrow. Constants? Is he going to create a new strain of the fear toxin? You decide to stay quiet but try to comfort the blonde girl next to you as much as you could. 

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

aita/wibta for NOT breaking up with my bf ?

i'm not sure if the title is phrased weirdly, bare with me. my bf and i are both 18, he is cis M & i am FTM (relevant).

My bf and i are both currently in first year uni, both living at home due to high cost of living in our country (also everywhere else lol). We met about halfway through highschool, and were friends for a while before getting together. we are coming up on two years together in a couple months, and have not really had any major bumps in our relationship. we see eachother i would say 1-2x per week, with both of us living at home and being broke it gets a little challenging sometimes but we call most nights and generally we make it work. Also worth noting that I am my bf's first everything, down to his first kiss, while he is not really this for me. this is the longest relationship i have been in (probably because i'm 18 lol), but not at all the first. however, the only "serious" relationship i have had outside of of him, aside from just casual stuff, was very abusive & toxic, so i do sort of see us on equal footing as neither of us has ever been in a normal, functional relationship before.

Now, the issue: while we are both currently living at home, i see this as a very temporary arrangement and something i am counting down the days until i can get out of. while living with my family is not abusive or anything, it is just very straining as i am not very close with them, and also cannot transition while living at home. as previously mentioned i am ftm, and while my mom is tolerant it would just put even more stress on the relationship if i were to start changing physically while living at home or even asking her to use different pronouns for me and is just something i prefer to leave until i'm not 100% reliant on her. that being said my dysphoria causes me very intense depression and without getting too detailed, i don't know how much longer i can take living here and putting off any sort of meaningful transition outside of close/online friends calling me he.

my bf, however, plans to live at home at least until he graduates, which is six years away. i understand that this is a very normal thing, especially culturally (he is middle eastern + muslim, i am white + agnostic), but the issue is that his mother is, among many other things, extremely homophobic. she already hates me for reasons i'm not really sure of (my bf refuses to go into detail, i think to protect me, but i have seen extremely graphic and nasty texts about me by name on his phone and have been told by him that he doesn't even mention me around the house or else she gets extremely upset, though she is always extremely nice to me the few times we have interacted), but anyways, me transitioning while he is still living at home would be essentially putting him in legitimate danger.

my bf does not like to think about this, which i understand. it's hard enough dealing with what i get from my family, and that is absolutely nothing compared to the fact that everyone he knows from his culture/religion beleives he should be dead just because he is gay (i know, as does he, that there are queer muslims. but they do not exist openly in his personal community). but the problem is that anytime i adress to him that the idea of waiting until we are in our mid-twenties for me to even think about transitioning is a really big issue for me he basically refuses to talk about it and just says that "it will work out". on top of the transitioning thing i just generally don't want to be twenty-five (the age he has told me is when he plans to move out) and still having to cancel dates last minute because my boyfriend's mom was in a bad mood and decided he's not allowed to go out tonight. i know this is how life is for many people and they learn to deal with it! and i respect them very much! but it is genuinely my nightmare. i understand why he cannot/does not want to cut himself off from his family, especially since his dad lives overseas and is extremely wealthy so therefore paying his entire tuition out of pocket. i'm just saying it's not a lifestyle that meshes well with my future plans.

this is where the asshole part comes in: my bf genuinely thinks that we are going to spend the rest of our lives together. this started with small comments, things like alluding to the idea of our potential future kids (i love kids and raising my own is genuinely my end goal in life, something he knows just because i am very open about it), or talking about our future apartment/house, but now is basically just a constant conversation in our relationship. i try not to feed into it, but i also feel badly responding to his sweet comment when i point out a house i like on the street about how we'll buy it one day with something about how i don't ever see that happening. i generally just respond neutrally, but i will admit i get caught up in the fantasy sometimes and contribute to it as well.

he is such a lovely guy with a beautiful heart and i do really adore him, and it's not a situation where i don't want to spend the rest of my life with him. to be honest, that's the dream. i love him with everything i have and i would literally do anything for him. the problem is just that when he talks about this future together all i can picture is all the million ways our relationship is doomed to implode.

but we are happy right now, because me moving out of my family home is not something that is going to be possible for another 1-2 years, so none of those issues are something that are going to come up right now. i just forsee them being pretty much impossible obstacles between us and spending the rest of our lives together down the line. but i have this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that even though i want more than anything to be with him forever, the fact that i don't remotely beleive it's something that will actually work out still constitutes as leading him on.

so, am i the asshole for staying with him, because we are happy right now and these issues are not going to be relevant for another 1-2 years, and a solution might somehow present itself in that time? or is the right thing to do to just leave now, and rip off the bandaid?

What are these acronyms?

[wiphur]

They Wouldn't Understand

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Ron Weasley x trans masc! Slytherin! Pureblood! Reader // slight! Molly Weasley x platonic! Reader

Pronouns: he/him

Warnings:  internalized and externalized homophobia/transphobia, dysphoria, ABUSE, lowkey torture, use of dead name (dead name will be used as Tamsyn to try and prevent any mention of your own dead name!), large (but also kinda rushed) buildup, nsfw joke at the end (last two lines), secret relationship (and it being exposed)

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: Posted from my old account. Sorry for the spam, I just wanted to go ahead and post all of these fics from my old account

Nothing was okay anymore. He felt fine, maybe even safe, at school. But now? It was summer. School was over. That meant he had to go back to his house. To those “parents” of his that always strived to make his life a living hell.

No one even knew how bad it was. As his friends waved to him, and as his boyfriend (albeit in secret, but they were still dating) sent him a small smile while he walked over to his colossal family, the gravity of everything fell onto his shoulders. Nobody knew how bad it was. Hell, most people didn’t even know he was who he was. Only a few people knew he was trans or into men. Both of which were frowned upon. 

He wasn’t normal by any means, but these two struck him deeply. Why couldn’t he follow in his parent’s footsteps? Why was his entire life against the people he was supposed to love? Why wasn’t he a she?

Those thoughts rattled in his mind as he left the train station, moving to grab hold of the house elf’s hand. His parents didn’t even bother to show up. Typical, honestly. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually been picked up from the station by his parents. Only by the house elf. 

Briefly, he realized that he was definitely not going to be perceived well at home. His boyfriend had loaned him so masculine clothes to help with dysphoria, and he couldn’t just change out of them on the train, so he was forced to disapparate to his house in the masculine clothes with a binder on and a semi-realistic looking packer that was just a pair of socks in his pants. This was not going to turn out very well, he already knew it.

The loud crack! had been mostly ignored. No one came to see him or greet him at the door. Almost with a goal in mind (to change out of the masculine clothes into something hopefully more feminine but not dysphoric-so), he hurried to the stairs. He was almost there, stepping onto the first step when his mother walked into the entryway.

“And where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Even after being used to the words, he flinched. A year at school where people called him a boy had changed his mindset ever so slightly. “We have a dinner party tonight.” He didn’t turn around, afraid of her reaction to his appearance. “Tamsyn.” She said, her voice becoming more stern as she drew closer. “What in Merlin’s name are you wearing?”

He panicked briefly, praying there wasn’t an indication of whose clothes he had on in the fabric, or design, or even the tag. “Nothing, Mother, just going to change from my school clothes.” 

She tsked slightly, “Tamsyn, you know it's rude to not look at someone while having a conversation. Turn around.” He hesitated. “I will not repeat myself.” He followed the instructions timidly. He heard her gasp. “What is this?!” She seemed to be enraged. She called for her husband as tears gathered in his eyes and fear gathered in his chest. 

As soon as his father came out, he knew he was done for. His father’s eyes scanned his body, narrowing his eyes at the almost non-existent chest and the very existent bulge in his pants. “Tamsyn? What is this?”

A sudden wave of courage passed over him as he spoke, “I- uh, I’m trans! I’m a boy, not a girl. My name isn’t Tamsyn-”

Laughter cut him off. “You? A boy? You are the farthest thing from a boy!” His mother laughed, “When you were pulled out of me, the doctor yelled that you were a girl. Trust me, we would have been better off with a boy, but we had you. Go upstairs and change. One of your fancy dresses. Our daughter will not be embarrassing us tonight.”

The courage was still present. While he knew it was a horrible idea, he spoke again anyway. “No! I’m not going to be your stupid puppet! I’m not a girl. I am a boy. There’s nothing you can do to change that fact!” 

A sudden wave of anger coursed through his parent’s face. “You had better watch what you’re saying, girl. Or you’ll be in a lot of pain.”

He stood his ground, only barely trembling in fear. “You can’t change this. I am a boy-”

The shout of a curse almost made him freeze in total fear, however the spell moved faster, forcing him to the ground as he screamed in pain. Complete agony and pain washed over him, wave after wave. He was crying and screaming, his voice hoarse. He had never expected his parents to go this far at all! What was he thinking? His parents were right! How could he think he’s anything more than a pathetic little girl?

After a few moments, the pain waves stopped. He shivered from the pain, trembling in fear. “So, dear, had enough? Gonna go change into the most beautiful and girly dress you own? The bright pink one should be good.” His father almost taunted.

“Oh, no, no. She can’t wear that one! You’re going to wear that new one I bought you.” There was a twinkle of hatred in her eyes. “The real revealing one. That way, you can see all of your feminine traits. Maybe we’ll get you a husband tonight. The Malfoys and Zabinis are coming tonight.” 

The urge to throw up was overwhelming. With little disagreement, he nodded to his mother and turned to walk up the stairs. When he reached his room, a house elf was already there. She gave him a sad look. “Mitsi is sorry, Master.” She murmured. She helped him change, as pain flared every time he moved. She gestured for his packer and his binder. “Mitsi was instructed to take these and burn them.” She said sullenly. Choking on emotion, he handed her the objects that helped him through so much. The only things that truly made him feel like a boy. Right in front of his face, she snapped and the things burst into flames. 

Without much disagreement, he climbed into the elegantly made, yet extremely provocative, dress. Mitsi beside him nudged him into a chair. “Mitsi was instructed to give you makeup.” He looked at his reflection as he was transformed into someone who was not him. As he was transformed into someone he was “supposed” to be.

Once Mitsi was done, she left the room. As soon as she left, tears welled in his eyes. He refused to let a single one fall, in fear of it ruining his makeup, or in fear of his mother seeing his ruined makeup.

His name was called and he took a deep, straggly breath. He urged himself to walk down the steps and into the main hall, where his parents were greeting the families who had come for dinner. 

“Ah, finally. Mr and Mrs Malfoy, Mr and Mrs Zabini, this is our lovely daughter, Tamsyn.” While the adults took a look at him in interest, their children looked at him with utter disbelief. 

“Pardon me, Mrs L/N,” Blaise Zabini spoke up, eyeing his classmate oddly, “I was under the impression you had a son? I wasn’t aware you had a daughter.”

With a forced laugh, his mother responded, shooting him a deadly glare. “I suppose you must be mixing us up with another family. I apologize, but I’ve only given birth to a girl.” The adults shared a laugh, as if it was some kind of joke. Draco and Blaize gave each other a confused look, speaking through their eyes. Y/N avoided their gazes as best as he could. 

Dinner was a mess, and by the end of it, his parents had a pleasant surprise for him.

“Well, I suppose the news should be announced.” His mother started, dinging a spoon on her glass. She smiled at the families. “The adults have been talking about the best move for all of us, and we have decided that Tamsyn is to be married to Blaize once of age!” The drop of cutlery startled his mother. His hand was empty as he stared at his plate. He was in a happy relationship. This was not supposed to happen. This was wrong! All of this was wrong!

“No.” The word came out before he could even stop it. “No, I refuse to marry him.” He gave a slightly apologetic look to Blaize and he returned the gesture with a nod, telling him he understood.

“This is not up to you, darling.” His mother said, trying to keep her anger at bay. “This is the best solution for our family.”

“This is the best solution for you! This has nothing to do with me!” Tears fell from his eyes, now. All of those pent emotions he had been feeling were coming out tenfold. “You keep trying to ruin my life! Well, congrats. You’ve succeeded. You don’t have any right to tell me who I am or who I have to marry! I’ll shout it from the rooftop if I can!” He stood up, climbing onto his chair. “ I am Y/N! I am a boy and I can choose who I want to marry! You have no control over me anymore.”

The anger in his parent’s eyes was monumental, not even describable. The guests left fairly quickly after that, claiming they were ashamed of how the night went. That left his parents in even more immeasurable amounts of anger.

As soon as the Malfoys and Zabinis left the property, the sound of the loud crack! echoing through the house, they turned towards him. “Have you any idea what you’ve just done?” His father’s voice was near silent. A terrifying edge to his tone.

“You’ve cost us everything.” His mother continued, stepping towards him and slapping him across the face with enough force to throw him to the floor. “You’ve ruined our name!”

The silence after the final shout was broken by screams as the cruciatus curse was thrown in the situation again. Again and again. He felt like he was on the brink of death. The pain was agonizing and he wanted to give up. He truly did. But he couldn’t let himself die. Not from these people. After they stopped (something about not being able to kill him because that would tarnish their reputation even more), they practically waltzed away from his agonizing pain. He was numb, but also felt so much pain. His body was confused. He couldn’t tell anything. 

He was surprised to feel a hand fit into his. He glanced up to see Mitsi. She gave him a small nod, “Mitsi takes you to the friend from the letter house.” She had to have meant Ron. There was no one else sending letters his way.

Within moments, he was outside the door of the Burrow. Mitsi was gone as soon as she had appeared. With the last remaining strength he had, he knocked as loud as he could. He hoped someone would hear, despite it being late. Sure enough, as his eyes fluttered shut, he heard steps making their way to the door.

When he woke up, he was expecting a lot of pain. Well, a lot more pain. He was sore and it hurt to move, but he wasn’t in excruciating pain like he had been when he showed up at the Burrow. The Burrow… His eyes widened and he forced himself into a sitting position. His head spun and his head fell back again. He groaned, earning the attention of someone from the other room.

“Oh, dear me! She's awake!” A woman mumbled to herself. “Dear, do you know where you are?” He nodded, but hissed at the feeling. “That's good, dear. Do you know who I am?”

“Mrs Weasley, I presume.” He muttered. She nodded.

“Alright, one more question then I’ll get you some stew. What happened?”

It took a moment to even realize what happened. What had happened? He was struck many times. Too many times to count. “The curse.” He murmured.

Molly gasped, “Oh my, do you mean the pain curse?” He nodded numbly. “Oh, who would do such a thing?”

“My parents.”

She looked furious for a moment, “Oh, Godric! That’s horrendous!” She paused for a moment. “Sorry, dear, let's get you out of these clothes. They’re filthy!” He glanced down, noticing the sweat stains and blood and tear stains on the corset and the dress itself. “I’m sure my daughter has-”

“No!” The word came out of him with more fear than he had expected. “Please, no. I- I’m not a girl.” He seemed to almost be convincing himself.

Molly paused for a moment before nodding, “Ahh. Let’s see then. You look about Ron’s stature. Let's get some of his clothes, alright?” He nodded, extremely grateful for the reaction she gave. It was only a plus to be in the comfort of his boyfriend’s clothes. Speaking of, where was he?

“Mrs- Mrs Weasely?” He asked when she returned with a pair of loose fitting pajamas. “Where is everyone?”

“Oh, so you know the whole family, eh? They’ll be home soon, dear. They just went to play some Quidditch with an old family friend. Been gone for the last two days. Should be back sometime today.” Just as she said that, the pair heard a loud whooping noise from outside. “Or, perhaps, they’re here now.” She closed a curtain that was surrounding the couch he laid on, which he had just noticed was there. “I’ll make sure they don’t disturb you at all.”

“Wait- Can- Can I see Ron?”

She blinked in confusion, “I suppose. Are you friends with him from school? Gosh, I thought you had graduated! What year are you in?”

“Same year as Ron, ma’am.”

“Oh, goodness me!” She seemed to have to leave to collect her thoughts, so she just left. He closed his eyes, imagining the things Ron would say when he saw him. Perhaps he’d be pissed that he was there? Ron was always so secretive about their relationship. Or perhaps he’d be joyous? Confused? Maybe, and he hoped this was true, maybe concerned? 

It didn’t take long to figure out. The curtain shuffled aside and someone stepped in. He didn’t open his eyes to find out for sure, but he had a pretty good clue when he heard a quiet gasp.

“Angel?” Ron muttered quietly. “What- What happened to you?”

His eyes finally opened as Ron leaned beside him. “My parents finally found out I’m trans.” Fury lit up in his eyes. “They also didn’t like how I refused to marry Zabini.”

“Why? Why didn’t you just marry him? Then you wouldn’t be here like this!” Ron mumbled.

“Because I love you, my love. You are supposed to be my happily ever after.”

“It can’t be a happily ever after without you being alive and yourself.” Ron looks at his boyfriend’s eyes, seeing a deeper feeling in them. “You don’t believe them, right?” 

“What?”

He leaned closer to press a kiss to his forehead, “Your parents. You don’t believe them when they say you’re a girl, right? You are the manliest man I know. You are pure man.”

Y/N laughed quietly, “Yeah, okay.”

“No, I mean it. Like a huge macho-man. Big muscles and you can eat a whole ton because that's just something boys can do, is eat a lot of food-”

He laughed louder this time, alerting the rest of the family. “Stop! You know that’s not how it works!”

“Sure, but it made you laugh.” His laughter continued as he pulled Ron up into a kiss. When they pulled away, Ron leaned his forehead on his boyfriend’s. “I don’t understand what you’re going through. But I know it's hard. I just want you to know that you are my boyfriend. Hear that? You're my boyfriend. I love you.” It was the first L-word to be spoken in the relationship.

“Ron, I- I love you too.”  His eyes drooped, ready to put him into a lulling sleep.

“Sleep well, Angel. Okay? I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He smiled slightly, closing his eyes and getting comfortable, hissing softly over some bruises. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Once he was sure his boyfriend was asleep, Ron left the curtained room. His eyes quickly fell upon the rest of his family as they stared at him. He blinked in surprise, not expecting them all to be there (he was only expecting Fred and George- maybe even Harry or Ginny).

“Uh, yeah, I’m gay.” Ron said awkwardly. 

“Kinda gathered that, mate.” Fred quipped.

“Yeah, just a bit late.” George responded with a subtle laugh. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

He shrugged, “Me and Y/N were keeping it under wraps, so we decided to keep the fact that we’re both gay a secret too. If his family found out, well you see what happened. “

His family nodded. They were all silent until Harry clapped his hands together. “Okay, how long have you been together? Have you had a first anything? Kiss? I love you?”

George and Fred supplemented an example simultaneously, “time?” 

“You’re sick.”

[2000sangel]

Hi! I was curious if you were open to writing a little bit of angst/fluff with Angel Dust who is with a transmasc reader who is having a really hard time with his gender dysphoria bc of how many people have told him things like "you'll never be a real man" among other bad transphobic things, and the reader is just in a really bad headspace since Angel is gay and he thinks he doesn't really like him since he's not a "real man" and it ends with Angel comforting him and reassuring him? (totally not projecting at alllllllll. Please don't feel pressured to write anything on this if it makes you uncomfortable though!)

Hello! Of course I came up with something for you, as I am transmasc myself so I could really throw all of my thoughts in there and make this somewhat realistic, ahah!

WARNING for : transphobia and heavy dysphoria - Angel is here to the rescue though :)

*･῾ ᵎ⌇ ⁺◦ 💘 ✧.* *･῾ ᵎ⌇ ⁺◦ 💘 ✧.* *･῾ ᵎ⌇ ⁺◦ 💘 ✧.*

Heart to Heart

A date.

Your lovely boyfriend, Angel, had invited you on a little intimate date in his room for Valentine’s day; just you, him, cosy clothes, a sappy movie playing on TV and a few snacks to chew on during the evening. Usually you wouldn’t be against this at all, it actually sounds like a wonderful night, throw in there a couple kisses and one might even call it perfect – but as of right now, everything you’re trying on looks wrong.

The first shirt you try on looks wrong, your favourite sweater looks wrong, the overly comfortable sweater Angel himself gifted you for your first year anniversary looks and feels wrong. Actually, the right words for it would be that none of these make you look flat on the chest enough.

No matter how much you tuck the top part of your outfit into your pants, or how much you try to adjust your chest into your already uncomfortable binder – just like those assholes had said under the pictures you posted on your social media earlier in the day, you will never look like nor be a real man.

It’s okay though, because there’s at least one person who would never doubt your identity in this Hell of a place, and that person is your boyfriend, Angel.

...right?

With a deep breath, you open your wardrobe for what feels like the hundredth time this evening, and carefully scan your options. You have your mind set on changing your whole outfit, not just the top part, now.

The pair of pants Charlie gifted you a while ago, hoping they’d be the right size since she only asked you about it once: while you manage to wear them on most days, they’re too much on the skinny side today, they show your hips’ shape and you don’t like it. Are they even masculine enough?

That one sweatshirt you just got, the one that’s your favourite color: it’s just too tight, it’s going to show your binder bump. As if there’s a way to fully hide that.

You could wear comfortable shorts – no, they’d reveal too much, show the shapes that a real man shouldn’t have. And that your boyfriend especially would not want to see tonight.

While rummaging through your wardrobe even more you try to keep your mind away from any thought of Angel not accepting you for who you are; it wouldn’t make sense, you’ve been dating for a while now, and surely he wouldn’t be so dumb to keep the relationship going if he didn’t like his partner.

He has also expressed how much he loves you many times in the past, showed signs of affection he denies others, accepted your affection countless times.

And yet, something in your brain just isn’t right today. All because of a few rude comments. How stupid can you be?

You give one last glimpse at the mirror on your right, eyeing the body you’ve grown accustomed to hate. But tonight it seems like your hatred is even more persistent than usual.

You love Angel so much, there’s no denying that. You wish you could just dress up and get out of your room. It’s probably too late anyways at this point, you’ve spent an eternity looking for the perfect outfit that doesn’t exist without even looking at the time, and now it’s too late to even try to show up in front of his room.

Three distinct knocks at your door distract you from your negative thoughts;

“Sugar? Are you still in there?”

It’s Angel’s voice, it holds a preoccupied tone. With a quick look at the clock you realize it’s been past half an hour since the original time for your date.

You reply, meek and defeated; “Yes, sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay, can I open the door?”

You can’t help but notice how gentle and careful he sounds when he talks to you, in comparison to how he talks to others; it gives you the courage to answer his question, though you still hide your body with your arms as much as you can before doing so.

“Yes, come in.”

Anthony carefully steps inside, his brows furrowed in concern though he manages a soft smiles as soon as he spots you sitting on your bed.

“Hey Toots, I was worried you know? You’re still choosing your outfit? Ha-“

Before he can finish his sentence you blurt out yours without thinking about it twice, your eyes barely holding in tears;

“Anthony, I know this is stupid because you literally just invited me on a date but- do you actually like me? I was just thinking...”

There’s a pause as you’re struggling to find the right words. Your boyfriend knows to wait until you’ve found them, so he gives you a few seconds to formulate your sentence.

“...This.” you gesture at yourself, your body; “Are you okay with this? I’m not a real man, can’t even get top surgery yet. I’m sorry, it’s just...hard to believe that you would see me as one sometimes, especially today.”

You struggle to look into his eyes, fearing his response, but once you find the guts to do so you’re met with nothing but love in them. Anthony pulls you closer with one of his arms, and you immediately find comfort into the warmth his body emanates, letting your tears finally roll down your cheeks.

“Baby, I’ve got to say,” he chuckles, “That is a bit silly, of course I’m okay with you being trans. We’ve been dating for what, a year? And almost three months, I’m so good at remembering – I wouldn’t be with you for this much if I wasn’t okay with it. The only thing I would be is a huge dick actually.”

With the arm that’s lovingly draped across your back he lightly shakes you around at the end of his sentence, which makes you smile.

“So...” you trail off, shyness suddenly taking over.

“Yes, I love you and I think you’re very handsome. Kiss?”

You’re a little surprised by the question in such a moment, but you’d never deny your lover a kiss especially after he comforted you on a subject you feel very vulnerable on. Once you nod though, you’re surprised to find out that Anthony’s little kisses end up landing on your tear stained cheeks, as if this was his way of drying them up.

“I love you too!” you return between giggles and kisses.

He pulls you into a hug, enveloping you with all his four arms, and you bury your face into his chest – he’s wearing what you consider to be his softest sweater, a pink chenille one he always wears when he wants to be both comfortable and cute.

“You still wanna watch something together? You can take some time to pick something comfortable, darlin’.” He reassures you after a while, and you accept his proposal.

You decide to let him stay as you look through your wardrobe with a clearer mind now, even though sometimes you still let an occasional ‘this would make me look less masculine’ slip out. But Anthony always has the right remark to make you feel sliiightly better;

“See, I didn’t pick this because it’s too... tight. Too bad since it’s one of my favourites.”

“Don’t let that stop ya handsome, you’ve got me drooling and looking at you with heart eyes whenever you wear it.”

You can’t help but laugh at that one, though.

“Hey! I’m serious!!”

“Shush Tony! Don’t make me laugh when the rest of the hotel is sleeping!”

You do settle on something warm after a while, and with your boyfriend offering you encouraging words and looks it takes you half the time. He reassures you once again that he loves you before you two leave your room to go relax in his – it’s much more equipped for this kind of thing, being filled with plushies and fuzzy blankets -.

You spend a lovely little Valentine’s Day together, with your limbs intertwined and exchanging little kisses once in a while. Anthony has the cute habit of giving you one on the forehead every single time the characters on screen share one, you find this and many other things about him very endearing... just as he does with you and your habits.

[shadows-writing-lounge]

Ganondorf General Horny Headcanons Peen Edition

Content: dick having reader, you/your pronouns, Reader described as smaller than Ganondorf. Sparse bodily mentions. Kinks from the first post apply. Warnings show up as needed.

Ganondorf size, kinks and Gender Neutral Reader

Pussy Having Reader Version

Terms used: dick, cock, chest, bosom,

~~~

Ganondorf appreciates his partner's form regardless of their assets. He doesn't go out of his way to make it known though the floodgates open of you where to ask about it.

The curves and lines of your body. Any definition of muscle or smooth area of fat. He squeezes your hips, thighs, stomach and chest, saying everything he loves about them and what he'd do to them if you let him.

After he's done with everything else he'll have you on his lap as he touches the cock between your legs. Pulling your legs apart to have more space for his big calloused hands. His hands tease the sensitive skin of your inner thighs before cupping your arousal. Praising you for being so excited and receptive for him.

Not up to penetration? Feel free to rub your cock against his cock. Even if he's soft, feel it grow hard under your ministrations. Thighjobs and assjobs welcome.

CW: Mentions of the chest. If you have chest dysphoria or dysmorphia please skip to the next red word. There also mentions of marking and hickies on the skin.

If you show insecurity about your chest. Small or large it does matter. He tells you to press your bosom against his erection. This erection is just for you. He cums where you want he has plenty to spare.

He'll take his time with your chest. If you're able to come from nipple stimulation be prepared for it to be exploited.

If you're able to visibly bruise he'd mark the flesh of your chest with bruises, hickies and bites. If you ask him to stop he'll relent.

Hylian

CW: Exhibitionism and possibly objectification? Go to the bolded word to skip.

Teases you about the nature of your relationship. Forsaking your race to be with him. A traitor, heretic even. Maybe he should dress you up pretty and parade you around. Looking only, please. Don't touch.

Nonetheless. He enjoys the mirth from it. Specially the size difference so easy to hold and to move. An almost mocking bite to the tip of your pointed ear before deciding you're properly prepared to take him.

Other Hylians might not be allowed to touch but if you're up to it the Gerudo ladies would be up to discovering the differences of Hylians and Gerudo anatomy. He doesn't trust most of the men under his rule but that doesn't mean he can't conquer up some phantoms just for your use.

Gerudo

Note: Heavily implied to be AMAB. Reader is strong.

A single Gerudo male is born circa one hundred years. This son is by law the king.

With this in mind it's obvious why Ganondorf choose to have you by his side. Two Gerudo kings ruling together. That's just history writing itself. Ganondorf also doesn't mind that his partner can easily lift him.

Maybe take turns deciding who's topping tonight but wrestling. First pinned is the bottom. Maybe first 2/3.

-

I didn't have as many thoughts about this as I thought.

[allthelittlecreepycrawlies]

Tonight in "Things I Will Probably Never Write!" it's a yokai AU based on the new official merch art (that finally gave us Nies).

----------

Huaisang grows up very much not wanting to be an ox yokai. Everybody knows he's never gonna be as strong and intimidating as his father and brother, so they have no qualms making fun of the "slow, stupid cow" to his face.

His brother's not much help because Mingjue is solidly in the "ignore it or beat the mockery out of them" camp, and gets mad about Huaisang disrespecting their family if he ever voices his hopes that he's mortal like his mother (supposedly was).

When his horns and tail start growing in, fully cementing him as an ox, Huaisang is inconsolable (and in a lot of pain, tbh). Mingjue is caught between mad that he's taking it so hard and worried because his health has never been great and the transformation might genuinely be fucking him up. He spends most of the transformation period in the worried stage, but when it ends and Huaisang's still alive, he slides over into the mad stage because Huaisang is still distraught and attempts to hide his new demonic appendages.

So they're already constantly at each other's throats over their heritage when Meng Yao enters the picture.

---

Meng Shi was a mirror who ascended into a yokai, and Meng Yao winds up taking after her rather than his father.

He's very precocious, too, developing his first soul mirror, a tiny compact, at a very young age, and Meng Shi is both impressed (her clever boy!) and relieved (a compact is very easy to hide and protect).

As he gets older, he refines his mirror into more elaborate shapes, but he hits a bottleneck when he's fourteen, because he's already reached the point where he'll have to start binding other souls if he's going to improve.

Meng Shi worries, because while she had tethered some of her long-term clients to her own mirror, the general atmosphere of the brothel meant she couldn't have many or tether them too tightly, and most of them were mortal besides.

If her son is going to survive the weakness that is slowly killing her, he needs to get out in the world and start finding other yokai to snare.

So, knowing that it will be the last time she'll see him because her power will run out and her "human" form will fade before the time limit's up, she directs him to spend five years finding yokai souls to tether.

He suspects what she's up to and doesn't want to leave her, but he is a dutiful boy, so he goes.

Naturally, his first instinct is to look into his father's clan, though, on his mother's orders, he's careful to hide what kind of yokai he is.

It goes badly. Very badly.

He winds up being picked up (literally) from the stairs by the visiting Nies after Huaisang saw him fall (and almost shatter!). As they help him to a local healer, he secretly checks his mirror, both to make sure it's still holding up and to see if it will let him glean any more useful information about his rescuers.

He is very surprised when Huaisang's reflection doesn't show an ox, like his brother.

It shows a bird.

---

After he's been handed over to a healer, he winds up eavesdropping on what sounds like a very old argument between the brothers, because just before the stairs incident, Mingjue had caught Huaisang trying to hide his horns and tail again.

And Meng Yao, being very well-read and very good at putting pieces together, realizes he's stumbled on an exceptionally rare opportunity.

Yokai whose types became misaligned across incarnations, like… say… a bird soul being born to an ox body, are a particularly potent power source for mirror yokai, both because the clash between soul and body constantly leaks power, and because their dysphoria and misery make them easy to snare.

More than that, Meng Yao could even take the risk to seal Huaisang away within the mirror itself, rather than having to rely on the tenuous tethers his mother used, because if even half of what Mingjue snaps at his younger brother is true, Huaisang going missing won't be an actual problem.

It would be a win for everyone, really. Inside the mirror's little pocket dimension, Huaisang can live as the species he should have been, Mingjue will no longer have to deal with such an inadequate heir, and Meng Yao will have a permanent companion and an almost endless power supply to further his growth.

He just has to arrange the right moment to make his move.

[edwardallenpoe]

I Saw Me

[pt: I Saw Me]

Today had been a pretty long day. A day full of questioning myself and confusion and insecurity. At the gym I just felt more insecure than any pride I usually feel. After doing my hair (which I had been doing since yesterday night- I'm glad I only have to do it every couple months) I felt uncomfortable. I had just ended my painful and dysphoria-filled shark week. I just wanted to take a shower and sleep.

But. After I got out of the shower today, I looked in the mirror. Butch4Butch by Rio Romeo was playing and I saw Me. For the first time possibly in my life, I saw not someone vaguely shaped me, or a sad replacement for me, but I Saw Me. I saw my adolescent locs, and my moles. I saw my adams apple and my strong shoulders and collarbones. I saw my flexing biceps and chest, now beginning to be bigger than my breasts are, after months of continuous effort. I saw my apron stomach, pooling over my hips and cellulite-covered thighs. I saw my strong knees and a tattoo covered ankle. I saw all the hair I refused to shave from top to bottom, hair I take so much pride in growing.

I saw Me tonight. And I cried. I cried and I cried and I touched the places I saw, shocked to realize it's real. This is real. The figure in the mirror is the one everyone else sees. The one I am inside.

"I did it," I told myself. "I made it."

All those years worth of shame and worry and sadness and discomfort and pain, it all brought me to this. This beautiful body of mine. The one I crafted with my own hands.

And yes, I still want to start HRT. Low dose. There are things I still wish I had. And I know tomorrow I may not feel the same. I may still avoid reflections out of shame. But right now? I see Me.

I thanked the Gods above, below and in-between, and I wiped my tears and I brushed my teeth, and I went back to talking to my friend about our silly favorite characters. But I made it. I'm making it. My journey isn't over. But I'm making it.

Yeah. I just wanted to share some queer joy:3

[niki-phoria]

pairing: tattoo artist!dabi x trans male!reader genre: comfort word count: 570

tw: mentions of a self harm relapse, dysphoria

a/n: had a bad week so enjoy big brother figure dabi

the cold air stings your face as you bury your hands deeper into your pockets. the night air has never been forgiving as you rush through desolate streets.

the lights of dabi's studio are still on but the sign has been turned off. you can see him moving around behind the tainted windows.

"hey kid," dabi calls as you push the door open. you grab the keys from where they sit on the receptionist counter, locking the door behind you.

further into the shop, dabi is cleaning the chair from a previous client. you sigh, leaning back against the brick wall that separates the chair from the rest of the shop. dabi doesn't even glance at you, continuing to wipe down his setup. "you alright?"

you sigh. "i… i don't know." dabi sets the cleaning solution aside and walks over to you. he lifts your chin so you're looking up at him, contemplating for a second before pulling out some ink and vaseline.

"something happen?" you shake your head.

"no, just a bad day, i guess. i've been dysphoric lately." dabi hums, gesturing for you to sit in the chair. you do, rolling up your sleeve for him. dabi tattooing you is a common occurrence, especially to starve off a relapse, but he's always let you pick out a design first. "which one are you doing?"

"koi fish." he murmurs as he shaves your arm. you watch in silence as he presses the stencil against your skin, waiting for you to check it over before he begins tattooing.

"why a koi fish?"

dabi stays silent for a minute before he replies. "koi fish symbolize prosperity, luck, and perseverance. you seen like you could use some."

he finishes the tattoo quickly, wiping off the excess ink and blood. "you feeling better?"

"i still feel… bad. i guess. about myself."

"why don't you try one on me? keep your mind off of things."

"you want me to tattoo you?" dabi has never particularly cared about the ink covering his skin, but you didn't think it would extend to letting a completely inexperienced teenage boy put a permanent fish on him.

dabi simply shrugs. "why not?"

"okay."

you clean the chair down again before dabi sits down in it. "press the stencil down and then peel it up," he instructs. you nod, angling the design so it flows with his body. "the machine is already set and everything. don't worry too much, okay?"

"alright," you say, angling your hands so the needle hovers over his forearm.

tattooing is more difficult than you had expected. you've grown accustomed to the noise after years of watching dabi, but feeling the machine vibrating in your hand is a foreign experience. you move much slower than dabi, careful not to go too deep or too light. your neck hurts from how close you've been hunched over by the time you pull away the final time. dabi turns his arm, examining your work as you prepare the saniderm.

"not bad, kid," he reaches over to pat your head.

you bite back a smile as you help him clean up again. "thanks."

"why don't you stay here tonight? i've got a spare mattress over there."

"are you sure?" dabi simply hums. "thank you. really."

"anything for you. i'm glad you came to me."

"i am too." you murmur, following him up the stairs into the loft where he sleeps.

[karmic-vibes]

Oh, Baby, Baby

premise: t4t steddie where Stevie gets her six kids.

1 - One Drink’s What Led to Change

art credit: shinydirtycoin on twitter

cw: teen pregnancy, gender dysphoria, rapid progressing labor, accidental misgendering/use of deadname

Year: 1984

“Is Eds really making out with the Stevie Harrington? This can’t fucking be real,” Gareth gawked.

“Yeah, they’ve been dating for nearly a month. Where the hell have you been?” Jeff teased.

“Yeah, they’ve been dating for nearly a month. Where the hell have you been?” Jeff teased.

“Clearly not here. How’d he even bag her? She’s Hawkins royalty.”

“I dunno, maybe because they’re the only trans people for miles and find comfort in each other?”

“Christ, no need to go all sappy, Jeff.”

“I think it’s cute,” Grant shrugged.

“Can you assholes stop staring at us,” Eddie hollered.

“I gotta head to class,” Stevie sighed. “See you tonight?

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Can’t wait.” Eddie placed a chaste kiss on her lips as she walked away.

“God, the things she does to me.” He clutched his chest and dramatically flung himself against the lockers. “Boys, I might be in love.”

“Slow your roll, Ed, it’s only been a month.”

“Hey, when you know, you know.”

Later that night, Eddie picked Stevie up at her house and the two drove off to the quarry. Eddie packed dinner for the two of them, but it was quickly forgotten when Stevie dragged her boyfriend into the back of the van. They had been making out since they got there, both desperate for more.

“God, Stevie,” Eddie breathed between kisses. “Fuck me, please.”

“Mm, you sure?” she panted.

“Never been more sure of anything. I need you… please…”

“Anything for you, pretty boy.”

While neither of them imaged their first time together being in the back of a dingy van, they wouldn’t have it any other way. They both left that night satisfied and smiling, eager for the next time they got to do it. Hell, they were eager just to see each other again. The time they spent together was addicting—better than any drug out there.

The couple spent every waking moment they could together. On each other whenever possible.

One evening, when Stevie’s parents weren’t home—because when were they ever—the couple was making out on the couch, ignoring the movie they had popped in. Suddenly, Eddie felt sick to his stomach. He had to pull away from his girlfriend to catch his breath and hopefully ease his stomach. When he still felt queasy, he gently pushed Stevie off his lap and sprinted to the bathroom. He heaved up his dinner, struggling to get a breath in.

“Eddie, baby? You okay?” Stevie called.

“Mhmm, just peachy.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just don’t feel good. Stomach hurts.”

“Was it from dinner?”

“Dunno.”

“Okay, well, let’s go run to the drug store and get you some pepto. Sound good?”

“Yeah, just… just give me a sec.”

“Take all the time you need.”

When Eddie was finally able to summon all his strength, the two headed to the closest convenience store to find something to help ease the poor boy’s stomach. As they wandered the aisles, Stevie grabbed whatever she thought would help. Eddie managed to get separated from his girlfriend, somehow ending up in the feminine hygiene section. He figured he’d get some more period products while he was there.

As he reached for his usual brand of tampons, it hit him—why hadn’t he had his period yet? He should’ve gotten it three weeks ago. When the realization set in, he fumbled to grab the cheapest set of pregnancy tests he could find. He tucked the box into the waist band of his pants so he wouldn’t have to explain himself to Stevie.

I’ll test in the morning, he thought.

Sure enough, both of the them were positive.

He couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid. Him and Stevie only had unprotected sex once—but then again, that’s all it takes. Eddie dreaded telling his girlfriend. What if she dumped him? What if she gave him an ultimatum he couldn’t dare choose between?

God, he didn’t know if the stupid fetus or his own ramped brain was making him more nauseous.

Eddie decided to pull the trigger and tell Stevie during their next date night. When the couple was in the middle of eating dinner in Stevie’s massive dining room, Eddie was busy psyching himself up.

“Hey, Stevie?” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“I have to tell you something…”

“Is everything okay?”

“No, not really.”

“Are you okay?”

“I mean, I could be better.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m pregnant…”

“What…”

“Yeah… I don’t know what I’m gonna do yet. Kinda wanted your opinion.”

“I… shit…”

“Yep.”

“I guess my biggest question is… would you be okay going through with it? Y’know, mentally. The last thing I’d want is for you to get dysphoric.”

“Wait, you… you wanna keep it?”

“I mean, yeah, why not? I’ve always wanted to be a mom. Never thought this young, but, yeah… if you want to, then I want to.”

“Your parents are gonna kill us.”

“My dad might, yeah. My mom will probably help us out a bit.”

“If not, then there’s always Wayne.”

“We’re gonna be parents…”

“Shit, yeah, we are…”

Slowly but surely, the couple broke the news to their friends and family. Wayne was in shock, but supportive nonetheless. Steve’s mom, Pattie, was disappointed, but assured she’d get a nursery together for the little one. Then, Mr. Harrington—John—demanded that if the couple were to go through with this, then they would need to get married. He refused to have a kid that was going to be a teen parent with a bastard child.

“Dad, we’re only seventeen. We’re not gonna get married,” Stevie sighed.

“Steven– I, ugh, Stephanie, either you two get married or I give your girl– fuck, boyfriend a ride to the Planned Parenthood clinic.”

“Dad, Eddie would have to ask his uncle and he’d have to sign the consent forms. There’s a lot that would go into it. Plus, Eddie gets a say in this too.”

“I mean… if it’s our only option, then, yeah… I’d be okay with it. I’m sure I can rope Wayne into signing the papers.”

“Good. Stevie?” John raised a brow.

“Yeah, fuck it… let’s do it.”

Within the week, Stevie and Eddie were officially married—John even struck another deal that if Eddie became a Harrington, he would support them until after high school and were able to get on their feet. While Wayne wasn’t thrilled with everything happening so quickly, he was just happy that his nephew was being taken care of.

The rumor mill in Hawkins was spinning like crazy—between the two teens getting married and Eddie’s stomach getting larger and larger, they couldn’t catch a break. And before they knew it, the nine months had flown by—Eddie had gone into labor while in the middle of chemistry.

“Shit, fuck,” he cried. “Someone get Stevie!”

“Took ya fucking long enough to pop,” Jeff teased.

“Not now! Someone get my fucking wife!”

“On it!” Gareth yelled.

“Jesus Christ, c’mere, Eddie. Let’s get you down to the nurse,” Mrs. Click said.

“What the fuck is the nurse gonna do,” he sobbed.

“She can monitor you while Gareth gets Stevie.”

“I’m here, I’m here!” Stevie panted as she ran into the classroom. “Okay, baby, let’s get you to the hospital.”

“Good luck, Eddie!” the class cheered.

“Okay, one last– fuck,” he cringed. “One last tally. What does everyone think it is? Raise your hand for a boy.” A few shot their hands up. “Okay, girl?” A majority raised their hands. “Alright, I’ll be back in like a month so everyone can meet it. Okay, time to have a human shoot out of me.”

“Nice way to be modest, Ed,” Stevie said.

“Shut it and get me to the fucking hospital.”

By the time Stevie got Eddie to the hospital, he was nearly fully dilated. He was hunched over, screaming in pain as Stevie pulled onto the curb by the ER entrance.

“Ah, fuck, I read this was supposed to take hours!”

Sweat poured from his forehead as Stevie helped him into a wheelchair. Eddie was brought up to labor and delivery, hauled into a bed just in the knick of time. The nurses stripped him of his clothes, promptly unbinding his chest.

“Why-Why do you have to take that off?” he sniffed. “I-I wanna keep it on.”

“Eddie, dear, you can’t have anything constricting you. It could be dangerous.”

“Okay, Missus– sorry, Mr. Harrington, you’re nearly there. Get ready to push soon.”

“Why is it moving so fast? I thought this was gonna take like a whole day…”

“Labor varies from person to person. You just lucked out with it being quick,” the doctor explain.

“Lucked out!? The stupid thing is trying to shoot out of me!” Eddie screamed.

“Eds, breathe.”

“Shut up, Harrington! God, she’s coming out, I feel her!” Eddie shrieked. “Stevie, baby, do it for me, please.”

“I can’t, Eddie.”

“Please! I don’t wanna do this! God, I can’t do this!”

“Eddie, on your next contraction, you’re gonna push,” the doctor said.

“I can’t!” he whimpered.

“Yes, you can,” Stevie assured. “Give us our baby, Eddie.”

“Ahh, god help me!”

“Push, Ed.”

Within ten minutes, Eddie had managed to get an entire human out of him. His head hit the bed as the entire room spun. His body shook uncontrollably as he tried to adjust to the pain, blinking hard, trying to get a sense of what was going on.

“It’s a girl!” someone cheered.

“Oh, Eddie, she’s beautiful,” Stevie cried.

“Here you go, Eddie. Congrats, daddy,” a nurse beamed, placing the screaming newborn on his chest.

“Oh, my god. Hi… oh, god, hi, baby girl.”

“You did it,” Stevie beamed.

“I made this,” he panted. “I made this, Stevie. Holy shit…”

“Mom, dad, do we have a name?”

“Shit, do we?” Eddie breathed.

“Yes, we do,” Stevie giggled. “Maggie Mae Harrington.”

“Oh, yeah… sorry, my brain is mush.”

“Don’t be sorry, Eddie. You just gave birth, for Christ’s sake.”

“God, we have a kid… we’re parents, Stevie…”

“We’re parents, Eddie…”

When Eddie and Maggie were moved into a postpartum room, Stevie took it upon herself to call her parents and Wayne. Everyone poured into the room, one by one, eager to meet the new baby. Even John, who didn’t outwardly show it, was excited to meet his granddaughter.

“Here she is,” Eddie smiled.

“Wow… she’s beautiful…” John said.

“Yeah, she sure is. She has Stevie’s looks—thank god.”

“Shut up, she has your eyes,” Stevie smirked.

“She has your nose.”

“Poor thing.”

“May I hold her?” Wayne asked.

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

The adults gradually passed her around as the two teens rested against each other contently in the hospital bed. Maggie eventually drifted off to sleep in Pattie’s arms, to which the new grandmother took with stride, getting to hold the baby the longest.

“So, how’re you feeling, Ed?” Wayne asked.

[plasticwaves]

i feel so busy yet not busy at all. i spend days writing (short stories; proposals; applications; a delayed dissertation in the library); spend three days a week at work; spend evenings out and yet - i rarely feel i have anything to show from it...

i spent last weekend at sundance london, i watched five films, including kinds of kindness, kneecap, etc. i saw the tv glow was the standout but for very personal reasons, and i'm not sure how it translates to people without an experience of dysphoria. i have thought about the film every day since i first watched it (six days ago); i think because i hadn't seen thoughts, feelings, private fears i've had illuminated on a screen like that before; it felt exposing, and claustrophobic, but also reassuring, but also i feel unsure how to move forward in light of it all. i feel like i need my friends to watch the film (though it is not out on UK release until mid-July, I think) so i can have an almost therapeutic conversation... i told H that i want my body to not be this body, that if i could - i would - but that i think it's too late for me to make any real changes (hence my subtle non-binary hrt micro-dosages that may or may not have an effect beyond the psychological) (though H swears i look different since). the idea of it being too late is the entire third act of the film so hence, the feeling of being seen, and the devastation / beauty of that.

my birthday is in two weeks exactly. and for the first time since high school i will be in the place i live for it (i have always managed to be outside of london even if just for a day trip somewhere) and H is planning a birthday picnic / get-together for me, which is one of the most loving gestures i've received but also i feel vulnerable, because i have so few friends? or at least i have so few close friends. so many just... people i know? i used to blame this on not having a home town / moving around countries growing up. but i've been in london for almost... 14 years now (fuck) and there may only be like 3 other friends besides us at the picnic (vs one of these 3 friends who is having a birthday the week before and has 60 guests?!). i feel embarrassed and i know i lost years as an unpaid carer and my world got smaller and i've only been rebuilding it in the last 18 months but still. in mexico, i found it so easy to make friends, to make such intimate, instant connections, it felt so validating, but it feels so hard to translate that here. and it's not like i don't go out. yesterday, i played football with the queer team i'm part of, the day before i went to a pub quiz with a friend, i go to the community garden once a week, and tonight i have a poetry workshop, and in the near future a dance class, and on and on and on. busy yet not busy. social yet not social, and on and on and on.

all of this ^ reminds me of an exposing realisation i had in my therapy last year, which is that my past two relationships (H and J) have been with people i knew initially from tumblr. and that these relationships have been the strongest of my life. that dating apps never worked. nor did meeting people in real life ever offer anything besides brief romances or mild friendships. and that i thought perhaps it was because tumblr afforded me a space to be anonymous and so, for better or worse, i was my most genuine and authentic self on tumblr, that i could share my interests, my hopes, my innermost innermost, without shame / fearing judgment, that it didn't matter because i knew no-one on here (without my brain cutting me off like it would in real life, or without the voice in my head telling me to stay quiet, or shape myself to suit the person i was hanging out with), it was in effect a darkened confession booth, and when people saw that, saw me, and liked me still, it felt okay to be myself, to be vulnerable [as embarrassing as tumblr being my most effective yet accidental dating pool is] [i am still working on being that 'shameless' about my self with others and it is so much better than it was, even a year ago, but still, something sooner or later always gets caught when i try to speak] [a w-i-p]

other things in my life

i performed poetry at the barbican centre a couple weeks back (and performed for the first time in front of my parents - after first performing maybe seven years ago?) (and my dad, stereotypically repressed, kept saying how proud he was of me, and i can't remember if he has ever said that before]

my police station bail date was moved a month back, and my bail conditions might even be dropped ! [blocking your nearest immigration van soon]

the day after my birthday, H and I go away for almost three weeks and i can't wait. but at the same time, i am conscious of wanting to be as present as possible this summer.

[prodigal-explorer]

anaroceit week - day four - it's alright

@anaroceitweek

prompt: rom-com/everyone is trans

relationship: platonic (could be interpreted as romantic/pining) anaroceit

word count: 1.7k

(cw -> transphobic parents, self-hatred, gender dysphoria)

---

“I thought we told you to stop using that name with your teachers.” 

Janus froze as he watched his parents scroll through his computer, unable to move as he did nothing but stare. He should have known not to leave his screen open while getting a glass of water. By now, he should have learned that his parents didn’t consider Janus deserving of any sort of privacy. 

“I did stop,” Janus lied through his teeth. “Mr. Diaz just forgot, that’s all. He’s really forgetful sometimes.” 

“What made you even come up with such a dumb name anyway?” Janus’ father asked, poison in his voice. “Janus. The name we gave you is much more beautiful.” 

“Maybe I don’t want beautiful,” Janus muttered. “Maybe I just want something that’s me.” 

“Your melodramatics are getting old,” Janus’ mother said. “You’re seventeen years old. You need to start acting like an adult. I don’t care what your silly little friends are doing, ruining their bodies and their reputations with all this stupid, disgusting, “trans” stuff. But you aren’t getting pulled down with them. They’re never coming over here again.” 

Janus flinched, but upon hearing his mother's words, an idea popped into his head, and he looked over at his window. No, he tried to tell himself. Too risky.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Can I please finish my homework? It’s due at midnight tonight.” 

“If this happens again, your laptop is being taken,” Janus’ father warned. “You can do your schoolwork the old fashioned way. That’s how your mother and I did it, and we turned out just fine.” 

With that, they left, and Janus was finally able to breathe again. He went and deleted the email from Mr. Diaz after reading its contents, and then deleted everything else in which he was called by his true name. As Janus watched his deadname flash across the screen more times than he could count, he started to feel a deep, unstoppable self-hatred collect in his stomach. 

This wasn’t fair. 

He tried so hard to be who his parents wanted while also being who he truly was. But the two things were impossible to balance, and Janus was starting to wonder if he would have to just pick one. There was no way to make everybody, including himself, happy, and maybe it was time to just stop trying. It was getting too hard to hold everything together; to keep every secret and hide every bit of contraband. 

Before Janus could stop himself, he found himself tearing his pillowcase off his pillow, shoving a toothbrush, his meds, and his most masculine set of pajamas in. Today, after all, was definitely a masculine day, much to his parents’ disappointment. Sure, Janus didn’t mind presenting as feminine sometimes, but honestly, he felt much more at home when he was able to shift and transition how he presented depending on what made him feel the most euphoric on any given day. And the least dysphoric. That part was important too. 

The last thing Janus grabbed was hidden at the bottom of his closet, underneath his bin where he kept his socks: his pronoun pins. The ones he grabbed to wear said “He/Him”, but he took the other two just in case he felt the need to change it out at some point. 

It wasn’t like Janus to go to anybody’s house without texting first, but this was an emergency. After a very risky adventure of climbing out the window and jumping into the nearest bush, Janus was off to the Mendozas. He was just desperate to clear his head and get one night away from his control freak parents. He needed to be somewhere where he could just be himself, without being scared to death of being discovered. 

And the Mendoza house was the best place Janus could think of to do just that. 

Carla had told Janus that he was free to come over whenever he wanted. God, he hoped that she wasn’t just being polite. Carefully, and starting to regret such an impulsive decision, Janus knocked on the door with a timid reluctance. 

It wasn’t Carla or Remus who opened the door. Of course it had to be Roman’s bright, shiny eyes that looked into his and his goofy smile that appeared when he realized that it was Janus he was looking at. 

“Janus!” Roman cried out, “Oh my gosh, are you here for a sleepover?? No way, I was just thinking about inviting you and Virgil over! I would invite Logan too, but tonight’s star-gazing night, and I wouldn’t wanna distract them from that.” 

“True,” Janus hummed nervously, shifting weight between his right and left, causing him to sway awkwardly. “So…does that mean it’s okay for me to come over for the night?” 

“Of course!” Roman said, “Come in, come in! You can put on a movie in the living room if you want.” 

A smile grew on Janus’ face. He loved movies, especially when he was watching them with Roman and Virgil.

“I might just have to take you up on that,” Janus teased softly, ruffling Roman’s hair before going to sit down on the familiar couch. 

Carla was sitting on the recliner, typing on her laptop. She smiled kindly at Janus, and the action made Janus feel a hundred times calmer, somehow. Carla always seemed to have that effect on people, and it was mystifying how she did it. But at the same time, it made perfect sense. Janus figured that anybody who stepped up to the plate of being Roman and Remus’ foster mother had to have some tricks up their sleeve when it came to comforting. Though Roman came across as fearless, Janus was one of the only people who Roman allowed to see in his most vulnerable, fear-stricken moments of honesty, and he was certain that Carla had seen even more than Janus had. 

Curling up into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest, Janus picked up the remote and surfed through all the different streaming surfaces. Rom-coms were a guilty pleasure of Janus, and a very un-guilty pleasure of Roman’s, so Janus figured that it was a safe genre choice. When he finally settled on Candy Jar, Roman came over to sit next to him, but he gave Janus a decent amount of space, clearly unsure of how close Janus was comfortable with him being. 

“Virgil said he can stay the night too!” Roman disclosed with a grin, rocking back and forth on the couch while swinging his legs. “It’ll be the best sleepover ever.” 

“Yeah,” Janus said, starting to relax just a little more. “The best.” 

He pressed start on the movie, but didn’t let it play, wanting to wait until Virgil came around. His stomach was still tumbling, thinking about the inevitable flurry of phone calls and text messages he would get from his parents when they found out that he was gone. Luckily, Janus wasn’t ever dumb enough to tell them Roman’s address. If they tried looking for him, they wouldn’t even know where to start. But even so, the thought of seeing their faces, hearing his deadname get spat at him like venom, made Janus want to curl up into the blanket Roman had passed to him and hide inside forever. 

An arm looped around Janus’ shoulders, squeezing him ever so gently, and reminding him that he wasn’t there. Roman didn’t have to ask. He was the first to admit that he wasn’t the smartest, but in a way, he was. He got people in a way that Janus could never understand. It wasn’t exactly like he could read their minds, but he always seemed to have a trick up his sleeve to make everyone in the room happy. Maybe it was just a part of who he was, or maybe it was something he carefully practiced. Either way, Janus closed his eyes, trying to bask in Roman’s warm existence. 

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. Janus jumped, and Roman leapt to his feet to get it. Virgil bumbled his way into the living room, his body hunched over and his eyes vacant and tired. Janus sat upright immediately, leaning forward on the couch to try and get a better look. 

“Virgil, are you okay?” he asked. “You look horrible!” 

“It’s- fine…” Virgil mumbled, sitting down beside Janus, still holding his stomach. His ears were tinged red. “It’s nothing. Reall- ow. Oww, fuck-...” 

“Did you get stabbed??” 

“No!” Virgil cried out, finally tearing his hands away from his stomach. Perfectly devoid of injury. “I’m just on.” 

Janus’ eyes widened in understanding, and then softened in pity. He knew how hard this time was for Virgil, and really, for all three of them, it was challenging. Janus could say he was lucky because he sometimes felt feminine during these days, while Roman and Virgil had no source of euphoria anywhere, knowing that their bodies were betraying them, and doing something that didn’t match who they truly were. It was hard to even think about, much less endure and talk about. 

“I’ll get you a heating pad and some chocolate,” Roman said. “Do you want the racecar one?” 

Virgil groaned before nodding. “Yes please,” he mumbled through gritted teeth. 

The racecar heating pad at this point was a Mendoza family tradition. Roman used it for his cramps, and Virgil and Janus eventually started using it for theirs too. Silly as it was, it made the whole ordeal feel just a little less dysphoric and a lot more lighthearted. Janus pressed play on the movie as soon as Roman came back with the warm heating pad and a big bowl of fun-sized chocolates. 

“Ugh, I hate rom-coms,” Virgil joked, wrinkling his nose in mock disgust. “They all have the exact same plot.” 

“No, this one’s different, I swear!” Janus reassured. “It’s funny. You’ll like it.” 

“Both of you be quiet, I wanna hear the movie!” Roman cried out with a laugh, resting his head on Janus’ shoulder. 

Maybe things sucked right now, and Janus didn’t even want to think about what it would be like at home tomorrow after sneaking out. But at least in this moment, it was alright. Roman’s arm went around Janus once again, and the heat from Virgil’s heating pad warmed Janus’ leg, and Janus had forgotten how good Milky Ways were since his parents never allowed candy in the house. 

And Virgil’s cramps were killing him, and it was obvious that Roman was worried sick. 

Things weren’t perfect. But they were alright. And that was good enough for Janus.

[oh-snapperss]

Ship Fic Masterpost

Hi!! Below are all the fics I've written that contain shipping, along with links to any fanart made for them. (if i'm missing art i am so sorry, i'm trying to keep it updated so feel free to tell me if your art is missing KSDJHFSKHJFD)

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And it's not tonight where I'm set alight (it's not tonight you hold me tight) - Life Series

this is a cowritten fic between myself and @hitheeprithee!)

Pairing: Ren/Etho

Words: 51,048

Status: Complete!

Summary: Five times Ren wants to love his loyal knight, Etho, and be less than a king, and the one time he gets to.

or, Ren is the king, Etho his second in command. It's part of Etho's duty to remove the king's armor after battle--but sometimes, it's the other way around.

Fanart:

So Close to that Happy Ending by @/zeroideaman

Heavy in Your Arms by @/coppercrafter

Knight Etho Design by @/stitchthesewords

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now you'll live through the ages - Hermitcraft

Pairing: Etho/Ren

Words: 1,178

Summary: The sky thundered despite the clear as day sky, and Ren had shared a look with the ground before opening his mouth, undoubtedly to beg Etho to take his rash statement back.

He had not taken it back, it was a miracle, a gift! Finally, at last, the gods were worth something to Etho.

Ren had fallen in battle less than a year later. He’d held Etho’s hand that night, and cried. That was the first time Etho felt the prickle of regret spark in his chest.

or, a series of three letters spanning hundreds of years as an exploration of what mortality means, written by immortal etho to his long-lost mortal lover.

(Note: This fic is a project from college I did as my creative final in mythology, hence the amount of Norse culture and different vibes)

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all the stars/to build a home - Hermitcraft/Life Series

Pairing: Etho/Cleo

Words: 5,245

Status: Complete!

Summary: “Being in it all… it was out of control, we all were. It was like… if we looked in a mirror, it wouldn’t be ourselves looking back at us. All those actions, things, the way we looked, nothing felt right.”

“I get that,” Cleo said simply. Etho hummed – it made sense, with the dysphoria she’d talked about before. He’d never really considered the zombie apocalypse in that light, but-

“But that’s where–I don’t think–” Etho started, then stopped again. That’s not where-

“Hmm?” Cleo prompted him anyway.

“That’s the part that felt easy to deal with. Or familiar.”

(or, ethoslab realizes she's trans, and the meaning of home)

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Can You See Me (or Should I Keep Waiting?) - Hermitcraft/Life Series

Pairing: Etho/Bdubs

Words: 11,091

Status: Complete!

Summary: Stranded in space, Etho records logs daily to pass the time, and transmits them out to space without a recipient in mind. Unbeknownst to him, the logs are intercepted by the ship Bdubs is on.

or,

a study in grief and what the universe can be to an individual.

please read the tags on this fic before reading!

Fanart:

Bdubs receives the first log by @/echoing-blues

Memories of happier times by @/echoing-blues

Impracticality by @/echoing-blues

715 by @/nuggiesshipbroombroom

Suffocate Animatic by @/bdoub-leo

And it was your heart on the line by @/setacin

alone at the edge of the universe by @/setacin

a cross-stitch by @/stitchthesewords

I will tell the player a story (but not the truth) by @/bdoub-leo

I'll be Back by @/varteeny1234

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ripped at every edge, but you're a masterpiece - Life Series, Hermitcraft

Pairing: Etho/Bdubs

Words: 21, 109

Status: Complete!

Summary: “Etho....?”

He doesn't even know who said it.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

(Somewhere in another game, Tango tells Bdubs: He's a survivor, man, that's what he does.)

Etho swings.

--

Etho kills Skizzleman for time, and is struck by lightning. Upon returning to Hermitcraft, the damage follows.

or, an exploration of shame, grief, anxiety, and the idea of selflessness, along with healing.

Fanart:

I forgave you, a long time ago by @/offixmax

He's a survivor, man by @/makesnodamnsense-compelsmethough

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Watercolour Blues - Last Life/Hermitcraft

Pairing: Etho/Bdubs

Words: 5743

Status: Complete!

Summary: “Oh, you’re such a fragile flower,” Etho mocks, but Bdubs doesn’t miss the way his eyes scrunch up or the underlying fondness in his tone.

“Shut up!” He’s quick to defend himself anyway. Years of avoiding any serious talk between the two have resulted in constant banter and rare genuinity, so Bdubs is typically quick to defend himself on any insinuations of vulnerability.

And yet… there’s still the occasional drop of persona and walls. Late nights, early mornings, and when they truly needed each other–those were the moments Bdubs treasured. So why was it so hard to let himself be that way with Etho any other time?

Fanart:

The Vase by @/setacin

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in the hues of sunset - Empires SMP/Hermitcraft

Pairing: Jimmy/Tango

Words: 2307

Status: Complete!

Summary: The rancher reunion, and snippets of their dynamic told through flower giving.

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I love you, I made you tea and Promise I held, Just out of Reach - Hermitcraft/Life Series

Pairing: Etho/Bdubs

Words: 1,093 and 3788

Status: Complete

Summary: Stargazing, a quiet night on Hermitcraft

Summary for the second hot tea fic: Something's changed between them. But it's just one day. 24 hours. Surely, Bdubs can handle that?

Note: a huge shoutout to @/tunastime for cowriting the second fic in this series with me and for bringing my hot tea fic into the same universe as theirs<3

Fanart:

Art by @/Shepscapades

Cross-stitch by @/stitchthesewords

the tea is bitter by @/team-clockers (second fic art)

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Sweater Weather - Hermitcraft

Pairing: Etho/Bdubs

Words: 1238

Status: Complete

Summary: ice skating fluff!!

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fruity/delight fic request! - Hermitcraft

Pairing: Etho/Bdubs

Words: 634

Status: Complete

Summary: Etho lets Bdubs take his mask off

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higher than my rain clouds (high up) - Hermitcraft/Life Series

Pairing: Etho/Bdubs

Words: 3013

Status: Complete

Summary: an exploration of learning to forgive yourself and learning to let others love you

Fanart:

it's the end of the world by @/briseise

nightmare by @/pebbltree

there's monsters in my dreams by bdoub-leo

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let the years be kind - Hermitcraft

Pairing: Ren/Etho/Bdubs

Words: 2636

Status: Complete

Summary: They’ve got twelve hours left on the server, and Ren can feel the server settling into itself, becoming its final version of itself–turning into a picture rather than home. The stairs sigh when Ren ascends them to the kitchen, the wood full of the happy memories he’d built here just over a year ago with Etho and Bdubs.

or; the monolith boys say goodnight to season nine.

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canvas - Hermitcraft

Pairing: Ren/Etho/Bdubs

Words: 1988

Status: Complete

Summary: A college au in which Bdubs is a painter, Etho is a compsci major, and Ren is studying business and theatre! Ren and Etho pose for Bdubs' paintings, but there's something more growing between them.

This is a oneshot set towards the beginning of the au.

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Laika - Hermitcraft

Pairing: Ren/Etho/Bdubs

Words: 7082

Status: Ongoing

Summary: The streets of the lower levels of Heremita are never dark. But they sure are damp, and glum, and everything the head council of Heremita loves to pretend isn’t real. The planet is layers upon layers of city, and they say the lower levels have never seen the sun. The council, of course, refutes this claim with the argument that the lower levels are uninhabited save for the rodents and wild dogs, and that the sun can penetrate even the deepest points of Heremita. “Sine sole vivere est omnino numquam vivere!” They laugh, then move on with the next order of business. They’ve got far more pressing matters than the nothing that lives down there these days. They’re wrong, of course. There’s plenty living down there on the streets.

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tangled webs/intertwined lies - Hermitcraft

note: this is a cowrite by @/mochiwrites and myself with a twist! we were not able to see what the other was writing until the end of the fic. we did not communicate during writing. it was very silly.

Pairing: Grian/Scar, Etho/Bdubs, god knows what they all four had going on in this one we sure don't

Words: 5316

Status: Complete

Summary: The moment Scar and Bdubs have stood from the table and gone out the door, Grian turns to Etho, a primal fear in his eyes.

“Dude!” He hisses, leaning towards Etho. He props his elbows on the table–to any other person in the restaurant, one might have thought they were having a pleasant, intimate conversation as most couples were wont to do on late night dates to the romantic restaurant.

But no. Instead of conversing softly about a bottle of wine, they were conversing about-

“What do you want me to do here, Grian?” For his part, Etho seems far too casual for the part he’s playing.

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

look at the moon ask - Hermitcraft

Pairing: Etho/Bdubs

Words: 800 ish

this is just a little drabble for an ask game! set during season eight and in my son of stars au i share with pebbl.

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my champion, my god - Parkour Civilization

Pairing: Evbo/EMF (Evbo's Master Friend)

Words: 1,590

Summary:

“You trust me?” Evbo asks, his eyes full of light and laughter and everything M’s come to love in several months. He’s floating just a few inches above the void, his new netherite boots glowing faintly with the runes etched into them. Around his head, a faint, dark purple halo glows around his head, power radiating from it. It suits him in a way that M doesn’t think could ever have suited the previous parkour god, which makes him wonder if that’s some sort of heresy. Probably is. But hey, if it’s heresy to feel a certain–

--- a champion and his god, trust, and learning to create together.

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you’re still here? oh god. welcome to the worst part of my blog. the tall girl au. i’m so sorry. (note: shipping and cursed)

tall girl au 

tall girl au art by pebbl

[vickytokio]

Tonight's mood apparently is: looking through the same articles I've read a million times already on "how to get top surgery through your health insurance", "how much does it cost to pay for top surgery out of pocket?", "what's the process like to get top surgery through the public system?" and crying...

I used to think I didn't have dysphoria, can you believe, that? God...

I keep thinking "Hey, I've been with my psychiatrist for almost a year! One more to go and he can give me the paper I need for surgery, half way done!" but it's not true! It's been 8 out of 24 fucking months! It's a third of the way done... And that's just to get the damn paper!

The paper allows me to START the fucking process, who knows how long that will take. Could be a month, could be another year...

I double binded the other day. I had never done that before (please avoid it, kids, it's no good for you). I barely even wear my binder actually, it's always a damn fight between autism and dysphoria, but my urge to be flat won that day and no binder by itself has ever made me flat, I never had that tears-in-my-eyes moment from my first ever binder, so I said fuck it I put two on at the same time, just to see what happened. And it worked. I couldn't fucking breathe, but it worked! I actually looked almost flat for the first time since I was 10 years old...

I did again this weekend. Now that I know it's a possibility, it's very hard to resist.

I must admit, there was always a part of me that thought I was so much smarter, or more mature than some other trans people. Or that at least my self preservation instinctics were probably much stronger because I would never do those stupid things to my body, knowing they were stupid...

Well, guess I bit my thong. I can't even blame it on being a teenager, I'm well into my 30s, I'm just tired.

I somewhat get the point of the "two years of therapy before surgery", they want to make sure you understand yourself and your transition. The thing is, I wentto them when I was already sure... If I knew, I might have done my entire process of doubt and back and fort from the past 4 years there and this would be done by now, as it is, they're just dragging on something I've alredy done and I'm left looking at pictures of post-op people, and editing photos of myself, and planning my future chest tattoos, and fucking crying for something that seems so, so far away....

[mosraev]

Lyrics through the decade 10/11

I've decided to collect all the songs I've made through the last decade and share my favourite snippets with you guys. The pictures for the backgrounds will (as much as possible) be pictures I've taken the same year as the lyrics were written. The full lyrics may or may not be made official someday.

Part 10; 2022

Last year was probably my most productive year in that almost all the songs I made I finished and have performed for others. It was also a year full of introspection and changes. The themes is still therapeutic yet outside of gender dysphoria I also explore themes like loneliness, existential dread and loss.

More info under the line

Stay creative, my fellow foxes 🦊💚

Song 1 (pic1); Himlen Falder Ned

Starting out strong with my second ever current affairs/politics/war song this time about Ukraine. It hadn't been a day after learning about the first attack on Ukraine that I felt moved enough to make a song about it.

Featured lyric:

Original: Den due som du skød i nat, det var den hvide due af fred.

Hvad var det ved dens sang der fyldte dit hjerte med had?

Translated to English: The dove you shot tonight is the white dove of peace.

What was it with its song that filled your heart with hatred?

Song2 (pic2); Adulthood

Changes gears completely this is a song I wrote in May about feeling quite bad at being an adult - so of course it is played on a ukulele as a cherry on top. Jokes aside this silly little song was actually quite therapeutic as well letting me know it is okay to be a mess of a human.

Featured lyric:

How can I call myself an adult?

I'm barely holding on.

Song3 (pic3); Golden

This song was the first I wrote on my new guitar that has a golden colour so I knew it would be a song called Golden. What I didn't know at the time was how full of existential dread the lyrics would be. It is pretty much a song about feeling left behind by your peers after being told your whole life you are the golden/gifted child. It is one of the few songs featured here I actually haven't payed for others yet.

Featured lyric:

In the light that's our world burning we look golden now.

Song4 (pic 4); I Am Here

In June I wrote this song about my experience with gender. I'd challenged myself to only use four or less words for the chorus. I really like the nerve this song ended up having so it is probably the one song about my gender experience I feel best fit (so far).

Featured lyric:

((Extended)) I'm a liar, impostor, the list goes on.

I failed to be a daughter, and I'll fail to be a son.

Song5 (pic5); Ensomhedens Ven

My summer camp song this year - it was created through another challenge where I was challenged to personify a concept so I chose loneliness and gave them an arch from seeking a friend, finding one and changing into another being (loneliness becomes immersion). Silly on the surface yet I hope a bit deep when you look into it.

Featured lyric:

Original: Ensomhed hedder nu fordybelsestid - tid til at finde sig selv.

Translated to English: Loneliness is now called immersion - time to find yourself.

Song6 (pic6); What's In A Name?

After summer camp I was visiting my mother's house staying in a room filled with old stuff of mine with my deadname on it so I wrote this song as a song to come to terms with my experience and my parents' experience of my name change. Another song I haven't played for people yet.

Featured lyric: You put your memories into a six-letter frame

that no longer describes me, so remind me:

What's in a name?

Song7 (pic7); Don't Call Me She

This song was born after an unfortunate experience at summer camp when my choir leader gave me strong dysphoria pretty much calling me a woman to my face. I ran to the bathroom crying and wrote the first verse. The rest of the song was finished a month later, and it is a song about how words can hurt as a trans person. You can listen to the song here.

Featured lyric: These words hurt like tiny knives programmed to act on voice cue.

Song8 (pic8); Little Red Bird

This song is about the loss of losing my grandmother. She died around the time the season 3 premiere of the Owl House was airing so my mind blended her loss and (spoilers) Flapjack's together. I later learned that cardinals are said to be souls of deceased loved ones visiting you so it fit. Also my grandmother wanted me to promise not to get a tattoo yet my first tattoo became a tribute to her; a Flapjack on my arm.

Featured lyric: I have to break a promise, I never fully made.

Because I see you in the little red bird, and I don't want to forget you.