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

[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. 

[kortsitron]

Marvel masterlist

Loki Laufeyson  ༉‧₊˚.

One/Two Shots ::

Paint on your Skin

IMMORTALITY

Scars

Am I Less of Man Than You?

Revenge

You shouldn’t be here

It’s All About You Tonight

I will take care of you

Quarantine depression

Insulting

Rockstar wannabe

Destiny

Comfort

Insecurity

Headcanons ::

Being Loki’s trans boyfriend

Dating Jötun Loki

Peter Parker   ༉‧₊˚.

One/Two Shots ::

Eight Hours

Too High For Me

Prom King

I’m your boyfriend, Peter

Such A Cute Face

Headcanons ::

Being Peter’s Trans Boyfriend

Peter Parker Being Your Boyfriend

Bucky Barnes  ༉‧₊˚.

One/Two Shots ::

Secret Dancer

It Is Important

You Moved On

Place to go

Let It Out

Coming out

Headcanons ::

Nothing here for now.

Steve Rogers  ༉‧₊˚.

One/Two Shots ::

You’re The Boy I Want

There Is Nothing Wrong With You.

Hardest mission

Wrong Thing

The truth you need to know

Right In Time, Deep Breaths

Cold-hearted

Drag Queen

Headcanons ::

Steve Rogers and his Goth partner

Thor Odinson  ༉‧₊˚.

One/Two Shots ::

Take A Shot

I Will Protect You, Love

Almost gone

Thor’s first Christmas 

Headcanons ::

Thor with gamer boyfriend + him being a twitch streamer

Helmut Zemo  ༉‧₊˚.

One/Two Shots ::

Dancing in the rain

Headcanons ::

Nothing here for now.

Multiheadcanons  ༉‧₊˚.

Your Boyfriend Helps You With Dysphoria

Erased from this world

Your Boyfriend Meets Your Pet [ Part 1 ]

Your Boyfriend Meets Your Pet [ Part 2 ]

Introducing You To Earth

Spending New Year’s Eve with your boyfriend

Being Thor’s and Loki’s siblings + Hela being your older sister

Your boyfriend and his phobia

How your boyfriend is dealing with your phobia

Period

And they were roommates

[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?

[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.

[strawberrylovely]

i have a friend who is not very affectionate with friends but like she’s really cool. i on the other hand am Overly affectionate. otherwise we are very similar. we have known each other for four years which is insane when i think about it. anyway i always tell my friends that i love them when we depart and i have Always said like “bye girl love you” or whatever to her and she has always just been like “bye :)” and that is fine and does not trigger my rejection sensitive dysphoria at all 🙃

anyway fast forward to tonight and she and a another friend came over and when it was time to leave we were all hugging and saying bye and i said “bye girl love you” and she said “love you” back to me 🥺 for the first time 🥺

anyway i know it’s not even a big deal but idk having friends who Always say “bye love you” is already a blessing but it’s like Normal to me. so when a friend who never says it finally says it, it makes my little heart be like ➕➕🧍🏻‍♀️🧍🏻‍♀️ like a sim like wow bud you really do love me huh 🥹

[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

[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.

[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.

[dysfunkt1on]

Today was a blurry mess, don't know what trigger wise crawled up my brains ass today but the thing was doing the electric eel all day and it took hours to simmer down. I partially blame myself looking too deep into things because my triggers are accumulative and can be over days. I was able to enjoy a little music later which descended into a night of me largely blasting myself with harsh noise. There is kind of a tug of war with me between metal and harsh noise. On one hand metal can be extremely satisfying in it's textures but the whole indirect atmosphere or one thing popping out and electrifying you more than other things make it feel less relaxing than some classic extreme wall of sound harsh noise. Metal makes my brain tired much easier but when it's good it's real good. With harsh noise you get everything but the benefit of it all blending together in a way that's much either to get lost in. I was listening to Choking on Grave Soil from Black Sand Desert tonight and it was one of those releases that made me look back and remember why I started collecting it in the first place. There's something almost enlightening about being wrapped up in a wall of sound like that, clears you head almost instantly.Almost puts me in a dream like state where I can access any associations from anywhere. There's a total lack of context that defies the experience yet it's the most extreme thing in the world to be listening to. Then afterwards there's no closure so it sticks with you. Almost the perfect thing to enjoy honestly unless you want something more catchy and uplifting. Which I kinda was tonight but otherwise I felt like tired shit so just blasting my ears for what little I could handle it was. I did get my new jacket in tonight and it's really nice and probably the warmest I've ever had. In fact this thing could resiste temperatures around 0 degrees most likely which unless we hit a deep freeze this year I don't think we'll reach. I went to take a picture of it but immediately felt horrible again when I caught a glimpse of my ugly face and hair. It's Winter so it's whatever but I hope in my summer clothes this year I'll at least look alright enough to not want vomit every time I need to catch the slightest glimpse of myself. I don't know what is worse tonight. How profoundly tired I am or my dysphoria. I need to escape to bed, I can't let this torture go on anymore tonight. I had some other things to ramble about but my brain is just fried right now and by this time at night when I'm doing the nightly blogging nothing comes out like I would have typed it before.

[solaceinquiet]

hello!

this is my first post. I've been writing to myself sometimes but I really want my story to exist somewhere digitally. This will not be a very positive page, and honestly I recommend you don't read this for your mental sake if I somehow pop up somewhere. This will be venting. This is my first time using Tumblr too!

A bit about me: I'm 23 years old, male but have increasing gender dysphoria, love my cat more than anything and anyone, and mostly lay in bed or play games.

I've been struggling for a year now with alcoholism and the way out feels impossible. I've been completely alone for a little over 2 years now with no family, and very limited online friends. I go weeks without talking to a single person outside of my job. This loneliness is absolutely destroying me and the worst part is I don't know what I want. I've always lived to find love one day, but I have bpd; and this makes it excruciating to be in a relationship. It's such a horrible feeling knowing the one thing I want may not be realistic for me. I had to discard my "family" that I grew up around because I was physically and mentally abused, stolen from, verbally assaulted every single day, and a punching bag. I didn't have any gender dysphoria that I was aware of as a kid, but I was still called a "tr**ny" constantly by my older brother and mother solely because of my shape and hair. I have a strong feeling I wouldve transitioned if not for this.

Today I missed work, like usual, due to a bad hangover. I miss about one day a week because of this and my finances are so fucked. I'm trying to convince myself to take a walk outside tonight and get back to losing weight. I moved across the country at 230 pounds, lost weight to 160 (with the help of adderall), had to quit adderall due to the vasoconstriction, and now I'm back at 230 AND an alcoholic. It's hard to put into words how badly the regression hurts, and I haven't been able to take a single step to losing weight or quitting alcohol. Truly, I dont know what to do with myself. I have no goals, no ambitions, no aspirations; the only thing that is keeping me alive is taking care of my precious cat. I work a shitty job and as I can't get myself to even go outside I can't get something else. I hate being perceived so much. So so much. My biggest fear that is keeping me from taking walks is being perceived. I hate how I look so much and I wish when I did look okay I didn't take it for granted. I feel like an abomination with my weight and psoriasis. My stupid toilet was installed in front of the mirror so I always see myself and I hate it so much. Who put that there???

Anyways, I think this is all for now. I want to try and write regularly because I've read it helps to journal and once I'm gone I want there to be something of me left.

[fairykukla]

This is something I have experience with. Please learn from my mistakes and my successes:

I have a higher sex drive than most partners I've had in my life. I'm in my 50s now, so this has been going on for a long time.

As a child I was diagnosed with an "unspecified childhood neurosis" but it was most likely ADHD. I had severe anxiety as well. That rejection sensitivity dysphoria is a real monster; and my classmates figured out that they could make me cry over the slightest thing.

Several years of counseling (and switching to a better school that could meet my needs) later, I had reprogrammed myself. First, coping strategies for how to deal with that burst of intense rejection, then managing my outlook so that when people reject me, I don't have that intense reaction.

As a high schooler, and college student, I had a reputation for being emotionally bulletproof, and incredibly fearless. It's because I had shifted from a panicked, anxious, rage when I thought someone rejected me to a shrug and a "sounds like a you problem" and going about my business.

But that therapy was during my childhood.

Once I became sexually active, it turned out that I was super vulnerable on the subject of sex. It probably didn't help that I had a whopping case of Eldest Daughter Syndrome and had been a confidant to my mother's issues with my father's rejection and coldness, either.

And it *always happened.* I'd get to a certain point in my relationships and my partner would be too tired, or not in the mood, and it was like a flaming arrow through my heart every single time.

I broke up with someone over this issue, because I was certain he didn't care about me anymore.

I got married, and my partner has depressive episodes that last for months. He becomes asexual during his depressions, and isn't interested in sex.

And I took that personally. It was poisoning our relationship.

We had many conversations about it, and more than one actual fight.

Here are the things that helped, and worked:

1. Reframing his responses to help me gain context. For example;

"Not tonight, but maybe this weekend?"

"I'm not up for that, but we can cuddle."

These are responses that reassure me that he still loves me and wants intimacy l, but is not up for sex, specifically.

2. Reframing how I initiate sex; sometimes a spur of the moment is good, sometimes a few days notice will help him get in the mood. If we set a date night, I'd ask if that's a sexy date or if it was just quiet time together.

We are still married many years later. I don't take it personally if we don't have sex, but I'm free to ask for cuddle time, backrubs, or other intimate touch time.

It is absolutely worth it doing the emotional work to resolve RSD. I'm living proof. Seek a therapist, and then commit to fixing it. You can do it, and you will feel so free and happy and balanced when you do.

i dont know if this is the right place to go but im so lost why do i have crying meltdowns when my boyfriend turns down sex? it makes me feel disgusting and like im pressuring him to sleep with me, but i would never and thats not my intention. I just get filled with an overwhelming feeling of rejection and disappointment that it hurts physically

I know this may sound hurtful. That's not my intention. I mean this genuinely, in the kindest way possible but it may be that one of the main reasons you have crying meltdowns when your boyfriend turns down sex is that you are not in a space where you should currently be having sex.

It sounds like you have a very strong reaction to what you view as a rejection. I don't know if that's a general thing or just a sex thing but clearly, it's an issue you need to work on. It's not an unheard of issue-What you're describing is word-for-word something that plenty of people who have RSD [Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria] deal with regularly.

But if it's causing you to have meltdowns when your boyfriend turns down sex, it might be a good idea to stop putting yourself in that situation until you've got a better handle on all of it.

That should definitely start with sitting down with your boyfriend and thoroughly discussing with him, "Hey, I have this issue but it's not me trying to pressure you," and listening to his feelings about it and seeing where to go from there.

But from there, you have a lot of options. Therapy, generally exposing yourself to rejection to build yourself up, learning more about how to manage your reactions, etc, that's up to you.

I can't tell you exactly why you have those meltdowns but I can tell you that some people feel things very intensely. And sometimes we can't control our exact reaction to those feelings.

That's not something that makes you evil. Often, there's nothing wrong with feeling things strongly, even if you express them in ways other people view as "inappropriate" or "strange."

But sometimes, it's something you need help with! Like when it's so intense you're feeling physical pain because of something repeatedly! Or when it might interfere with your boyfriend's ability to consent properly. That's definitely an issue you need help with. But it doesn't make you evil.

Not sure how helpful this is, Anon. But let me know if you have any other questions. <3

[karrenseely]

Anniversary

It is the Anniversary. I didn't realize why I was feeling edgy today, until now. I was avoiding going to sleep. Didn't realize why. Finally put my phone down and tried to sleep. But the pain and hurt were right there waiting for me. That little girl in me hurts so very much. And it occurred to me her narrative changed sometime in the past few years. Ever since they threw me away, I couldn't make sense of what happened. I mean I remember being and feeling loved by my parents before the first time I came out. These were my good parents, the parents that loved me. The parents I loved and trusted with my life. Then I came out and things started going to shit. I was told I wasn't real, I was making it up, that God didn't make mistakes, that I was shameful and no one should ever know or see me. I was hidden away as that shameful thing my parents wanted no one to know about. These were the bad parents. The parents who hated me, who didn't want me. And I could never reconcile the two. Those last 5 or 6 years, I never knew from one encounter to the next which parents I would be interacting with. It was scary, hard, and all I wanted was for them to love me, accept me, and help me get away from the pain of the gender dysphoria as much as I could... Why was being me so horrible? Why was being their daughter instead of their son so horrible they started torturing me? I mean they didn't do that to my sister as far as I could tell. But I was bad.

But recently in the last few years, some parts of me finally made sense of the two diametrically opposed parents I witnessed and simultaneous felt loved by, and hated. I realized that they never loved me, they loved their imaginary son. But me, I was a monster, I was something so bad that they wanted me dead, they just didn't know I existed until I made the mistake of thinking that the love they had showered on me, meant that they loved me and came out to them. I don't know if understanding this helped or not. It really really effing hurts to know your parents never loved you, but some imaginary person they thought they had instead. It hurts so much. I was not wanted in one of the worst possible ways. I was not supposed to exist. I was unlovable. And to add to the confusion, it was me they hated, not my gender, otherwise my sister would have been on the receiving end of their abuse too. Even though my gender was certainly part of it.

So the confusion about the good parents and the bad parents went away and left me with never having parents. With the realization that the love I thought I had, was never ever real. And it hurts.

Tonight is the anniversary of them simultaneously telling me they were disowning me, and that my grandfather was dying. Just to add some guilt to the frying pan I was already in. And it reminds me that I never really had a family, I thought I did. It's understandable that I made the mistake of thinking so. But I didn't. But even now large parts of me still don't really understand why. What is so horrible about being a daughter instead of a son that I was tortured and thrown away like that? And despite this change in understanding, the conclusion remains the same. I am a monster. I am something that crawled out of the fetid miasma of slime and existed when I shouldn't have. I am something to be reviled and feared. Not only was I unlovable, but I didn't deserve to be loved.

This is how I ended up believing that at best, deep down, everyone I formed an attachment to after that, just tolerated me at best. But really, they didn't want me. And if I did anything wrong they would get rid of me too. And I believed this down in my subconscious area, I suspect I still do, despite the evidence to the contrary, because I am human and I made mistakes that upset my friends.

So I don't know if solving that confusing dichotomy has helped or changed my feelings in any significant way other than to add to the misery that the little girl in me feels.

And unfortunately, my therapist is now on leave, with an estimated return date of three months. So the little girl can't shed any more of her pain, and it's still there, and it hurts like hell. And I don't want to be here any more and have to deal with it. Not so much so that I'd do anything about it. Just passively wishing I didn't exist anymore. Didn't have to continue to try to cope with the pain and knowledge, of continuing to cope with the dysphoria that will never completely go away, of coping with a society that hates me as much as my parents did.

Anniversaries suck. Abuse sucks. How the hell do people manage to justify hurting their children so much?