#why do I have so many hormone issues now that I think about it???

[sintanic]

you call it mentally and chronically ill, I call it getting most out of the 130€/month I pay for health insurance taxes 😎

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 10

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader manage to discuss the direction of their physical relationship between makeouts. reader isn't feeling comfortable at her apartment, so they plan their first trip together.

series masterlist

this fic is 18+ warnings/tags: d/s dynamics but not smutty, softdom!spencer/sub reader, mild pda?, hint at switch!spencer, they talk about sex/how r feels about her first time, making out, r has long hair, almost dry humping if you're standing several miles away, unresolved sexual tension, teasing/flirting. don't like? don't read a/n: yayyyyy hi guys!! no idea when part 11 will be out. I missed them. I love them so bad. they are my favorite ever. they are so special to me 4ever. hope u missed them and ur just as happy to see them happy as I am :")

“Do you like eyelet?” Spencer asks, reaching up to grab a set of sheets you couldn’t. He insists that you let him get everything from the top shelf because it’s been handled less. 

You shrug, distracted by the angle of his jaw and the line of his throat as he retrieves the plastic package. 

It’s Sunday. Three nights in a row spent with him—the longest sleepover streak thus far—and you don’t want to go back to sleeping alone tonight. But you know it’s time. Both of you have things to attend to tomorrow, and you’re not exactly in the habit of getting things done when you’re together. All weekend you’ve lounged in his lap on the couch or tangled yourself in his arms in bed—fully clothed, of course. Spencer had suggested the no-sex rule on Friday, and you’re glad for it. You feel no pressure to be doing more when he’s kissing you or holding you. 

Of course, the concept of having sex again crosses your mind—when you’re washing your face and catch a glimpse of the bruises on your neck in the mirror, or when the tips of Spencer’s fingers trace idly over a span of exposed skin on your lower back as you watch a movie on the couch and you’re struck with desire, or you move just right and feel a tiny lingering twinge of soreness. There was a time when if you had Spencer Reid to yourself for three nights, a Navy SEAL wouldn’t have been able to pull you off of him. Now, when you think about the fact that there will be a second time, you get that butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling—but you’re not sure if it’s good or apprehensive. 

Either way, it’d be too much right now. 

You do miss feeling that kind of closeness with him. That intimacy. It can’t be replicated, no matter how many naps you take together. Probably something to do with brain chemicals and hormones. He could explain it all, if you were brave enough to ask. 

So you know it’d be too much… but it’s not that you don’t want it. There is also, of course, the issue of the way he looks. It’s not helping your cognition. It’s not encouraging you to make good choices. 

You’re not supposed to be thinking about sex. You’re supposed to tell him if you like eyelet. 

“Yeah, I guess.”

Spencer gives you an exasperated look and sighs. He’s wearing his glasses today. His hair is freshly washed and fluffy. The navy blue sweater he’s wearing is about the only step between a button down and pajamas for him, and he looks good in casual clothing. You chew your lip. 

He doesn’t notice your ogling. “You’ve said that about everything.”

“I’m really not that passionate about the fabric of my sheets,” you defend, shoulders rising and dropping. 

“Surely you like some of them less and some of them more. Usually you jump at the chance to express an opinion.”

Okay. Uncalled for. 

He’s obviously kidding. You overreact anyway. 

“You suck,” you mumble, brushing past him in search of something suitable for your bed. 

Spencer processes this for a moment and then trails after you down the aisle. 

“I suck?”

“Here, look. Bamboo. That’s good, right?”

Your boyfriend glances at the package you’ve selected, probably holding back a whole host of facts about bamboo farming in China. 

“It’s fine. Why do I suck?”

“Because you implied I’m opinionated.”

“I didn’t imply it. It was an explicit statement.”You groan petulantly and put the sheets back on the shelf with force. Spencer picks them up and follows you deeper into the store. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“You didn’t,” you huff, turning around to face him once you’re safely sequestered in a new aisle. The store’s not busy—an elderly couple roams for fake fruit and towels, humming vacantly to the Muzak, and a single mom wrangles her kids in a cart. Back here, it’s just the two of you. “Not really.”

“Then what did?” He asks gently, stepping closer. Spencer’s not overly-affectionate in public, but the tone of his voice, the way he’s looking at you like he can see your thoughts, feels intimate. 

You’re helpless when he gets like this, and he probably knows it. It’s an abuse of power and when you can think straight again you’ll have to scold him for it. 

“It doesn’t even matter. You’re just gonna drop me off after this anyway.”

He tilts his head like a curious puppy, eyes alight with a good puzzle as he quickly strings together the facts in his head. 

“Is that it?”

You frown and hesitate, eyes catching on a loose thread at the hem of his sweater. 

“… No.”

“Yeah, it is. You’re upset because I’m taking you home.”

You scramble to deny. “That’s not it.”

“I think it is,” he murmurs, a smile playing at the corners of his perfect mouth. 

You study the waxen floor tiles intently. 

“Well… I mean, would that be weird? You’re gonna miss me too, right?”

You sound unsure—insecure, even. When you look back up at him, his eyes are melted chocolate, even under the fluorescents. He glances down at your mouth briefly and then over your shoulder. 

Pleasekissmepleasekissmepleasekissme.

He doesn’t, but you can tell he really wants to, which is almost as good. 

“Of course, I’m going to miss you. But we’ll see each other soon. Probably tomorrow.”

“Unless you get called out on a case. But it’s not even really that. It’s just—how am I supposed to… I don’t know! We just spent three nights together. How am I supposed to go back to sleeping alone for a whole week?”

Maybe you’re too attached to him now, because acknowledging the thought which has been lurking all morning opens the floodgates that were holding back a sea of dread, and you feel it in every inch of your body. Five nights alone stretch out before you like an infinite, impassable forest. Friday is an eternity away, and there’s no guarantee he’ll even be here Friday night, if the team gets a case. 

Spencer somehow regards you with both curiosity and innate wisdom, like you’re a new specimen in a familiar field, for a long enough moment that your cheeks begin to warm. 

“Sorry, that was embarrassing. I’m being weird, it’s fine—”

Just as you go to walk away, he pulls you carefully back in by the wrist, even closer than before. 

“No. You’re sweet,” he murmurs, hand warm even through the knit of your sleeve. Gingerly you look back up at him. 

“But you’re not gonna miss me as much as I miss you.”

“Do not undermine my capacity for yearning. I missed you when you were brushing your teeth this morning.”

“Ooh. So clingy,” you tease, though you’re obviously delighted by the information, and he borderline pouts. 

“Don’t say that. Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” you laugh as he pulls you to his chest, keeping you there with a hand to your back. 

“Okay. Now say you love me.”

For a moment you’re distracted by the proximity, the lowering of his voice as he brings you into his space and your faces are only inches apart. The smell of his body wash coming from both of you. 

“I love you,” you breathe, and it’s not as teasing as you’d meant for it to be as his eyes dart to your lips. 

Even though you’re bossy, is what you don’t say. 

This seems to please him, because finally, he’s tilting his head down and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. It’s still enough to make you lightheaded. 

“Apology accepted. I love you too,” he murmurs. And then he’s pulling back, trying to walk around you. “Do you wanna stop for coffee on the way back to yours?”

“Wait,” you order, suddenly listless and disoriented in the middle of the aisle. “You’re not gonna…”

Spencer frowns back at you.

“I’m not gonna what?”

“You’re not gonna… say it?”

“… I love you? I did say that.”

“No, there’s—usually when I do stuff you ask me to do, you say—”

Only when the first ray of understanding illuminates his face do you realize you actually shouldn’t have said anything at all. 

“Nevermind. Yeah, let’s just go.”

Spencer catches your arm again as you attempt to walk past him, laughing quietly as he leans down to speak in your ear. 

“I am not calling you good girl in the small decorative statues aisle.”

“What if we go back to the bedding aisle?” You ask, through the warmth of your own cheeks. 

It’s sort of a joke. 

“Remember what I said about appropriate context?”

“All those sheets, and duvet covers, and stuff. It’s basically the same.”

When he doesn’t respond, you gather the courage to tear your eyes from a little robot statue and look at him. Eyes ever-so-slightly narrowed, warmed only by a hint of humor. A barely detectable curve of the mouth. 

Oops. With all your blind-button pushing, you might’ve accidentally tapped the one responsible for all the marks on your neck—the one that makes him tick in a way which usually ends with you underneath him. 

And then, for the first time, you actually watch as he pushes it down—activates some sort of self-cooling system. Probably he understands that whether you meant to be provocative or not, this interaction isn’t headed in a salacious direction. Even if you weren’t in public, the rule is holding fast. 

His hand slides from your arm to intertwine with your fingers. 

“What are you doing next week?”

You blink at the sudden change in subject and tone. 

“Uh… I don’t know. Working, probably.”

“From home?”

“Yeah. Why?”

He chews his lip thoughtfully. 

“I… still have a few days of annual leave that I need to use. I don’t know if this is… this might be too much, and you can say no. But Rossi has a place in Shenandoah. It’s a cabin—it’s, it’s really nice, I’ve seen pictures. He used to use it for hunting, I guess now he rents it out in the summer and fall but it’s empty during the off-season and he’s always offering it to the team. It’s only like, an hour away. An hour and nine minutes actually, if you take the 66 Express outside the Beltway from Arlington. I looked it up, um… semi-recently. I’m sure he’d let us use it, if you wanted to come burn four days of leave with me. No pressure. Of any kind. I could also, just, y’know, stay home, and we could still spend time together that way. We could finish Deep Space Nine. Or watch something else. Or watch nothing. Whatever you’d like to do.”

Your heart rate has been increasing steadily since he started his impromptu speech—you’re glad he seems nervous inviting you. You’re a little nervous accepting. A trip together is definitely a new step. But getting the hell out of dodge with him for a few days sounds wonderful. 

“I’d love to go,” you say earnestly. 

Spencer’s face goes blank for a second, and then his eyebrows raise, like he wasn’t expecting you to say yes. 

“Oh. Oh! Great! Okay, I’ll—I’ll talk to Rossi about it tomorrow.”

He remains highly chipper as he hands his card over to the cashier for your new overpriced bamboo sheets. 

The promise of getting Spencer to yourself for four consecutive days and nights is the only way you’re able to fall asleep to a cold bed that night. 

It’s harder, at home now—you’re self-conscious of every and any noise. Music, cooking, talking on the phone. 

It doesn’t make sense, because you know you can’t hear your neighbors, so they shouldn’t be able to hear you, and Jerry’s a creep, who might’ve made the whole thing up just to get under your skin—but it’s all you can think about, when you’re there. 

Monday evening, Spencer comes to visit, as promised. You undo all the locks and open the door just enough for him to slip through. 

He kisses you hello as you close the door and sets his things down at the table while you relock. 

“No Jerry today?”

“Nope. I haven’t seen him since Friday.”

“Good,” Spencer says only once you turn, a distinct chill to his tone and a mostly unfamiliar frigidity to his eyes. It’s not directed at you, but it’s unnerving nonetheless, so you draw closer and wrap your arms around his waist—hoping to melt him back into your Spencer. 

He reciprocates, speaks softer now that he has you in his arms, and immediately you feel better. 

“Rossi said yes to us staying at the cabin and Emily said I can take the time off. Did you still wanna go?”

You’re pre-occupied with your face buried in his shirt, so you just nod, basking in the scent of his shower products once more. They’ve gone from simply comforting to intoxicating. 

“Is everything okay?” He asks quietly, brushing your hair over your shoulder. His fingers barely glance off your neck and you almost shiver. Want begins to pool deep and warm in your stomach as you lift your head and he looks down at you, so fondly. 

Want which you can’t afford to feel if you’re not willing to act on it. 

“I’m fine,” you breathe. Fuck. He’s too close. He’s too hot. You pull away and move to the kitchen. “Um, dinner. What do you want? We could make something. Or order something. I don’t have much, honestly.”

“I’ll be happy with anything. You sure you’re alright?”

“I don’t want to have sex!”

The words simply explode out of you, like a bat out of hell as you whip around. Just barely you manage not to clap a hand over your mouth in mortification. 

You stand, back to the fridge, watching Spencer nervously for his reaction. 

His brow knits. His lips part and close again several times. 

You’re wondering what the fastest and most convenient method of not being alive anymore would be when he finally answers. 

“… Okay. I wasn’t trying to initiate anything, did I—did I make you uncomfortable?”

“No! No, I’m sorry. I just… I wanted you to know that while I’m still, like, figuring things out—like, with my neighbor and everything—it’s just a lot, so… so I know this past weekend we agreed to not do anything and I think it would be best to… keep not doing anything. Just for now. I shouldn’t have said it like that—I didn’t actually… mean to say it. I was gonna, um, find a way to bring it up more delicately.”

You clear your throat and look down to study the patterned tile, cheeks burning. 

By way of several nervous glances up at him and back down, you watch Spencer silently come to lean against the counter across from you, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Okay. Thank you for telling me. We’re not ever going to do anything you don’t want to do. But, out of curiosity… is this just because of your neighbor? Or because you maybe don’t feel ready yet?”

He’s asking gently, because he wants to know, and you know there’s no wrong answer. It’s still nerve-racking.  

“Um… like, a combination of the two, I guess. Mostly… the neighbor. I think. But I’m telling you this because…” and here comes the worst part. “I need you… to… hold me accountable.”

“For what?” He asks plainly, but you know what he sounds like when perfectly suppressing a smile. The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your face as you close your eyes and forge ahead in the name of open and honest communication—something the two of you are trying to work on.

“If I… come on to you… you have to turn me down.”

This is not getting any less embarrassing. 

“Should I anticipate you coming onto me?”

“Probably,” you sigh, looking at him through your lashes and bringing your hands to your cheeks, hoping maybe they’ll cool you down and poor circulation will work in your favor for once. “I know myself. You know me. I like… asking you for things. But for the rest of the week, if I do… you know, want something from you—you have to tell me no.”

Spencer nods slowly. “What if you genuinely change your mind?”

“I won’t. I might think I have, I might even tell you I have, but don’t believe me, okay? I don’t think straight when I’m turned on, and if we do anything, I’ll like it until fucking Jerry is pounding my door down the next day, and I just can’t deal with that.”

Spencer’s face goes completely void of expression to the point that if it weren’t for context clues you’d have no idea he’s probably imagining pistol-whipping the guy. 

“Has he knocked on your door?” 

Testosterone. 

“No. Back to my point. I’m trusting you to keep me in check so I don’t do anything I’ll… I’ll end up regretting. Not that I regret the other night!” You scramble just as Spencer’s brow begins to furrow. “I don’t. I just regret that my gross neighbor had to get involved. And I don’t want that to happen again. So… is that… is that okay? Will you do that for me?”

“Of course I will,” Spencer says gently, without hesitation as he pushes off the counter. “Can I ask a follow-up question?”

You nod and regard the space between you, unsure if you want to eliminate it or keep using it like a buffer. By not coming to you, he’s giving you the choice. 

“You said this was mostly because of your neighbor. But you didn’t sound sure. It’s fine if you aren’t feeling ready yet. I just want to make sure I know what’s going on with you.”

“I don’t really know,” you admit, after a brief pause. “I feel like… as long as I know he’s on the other side of the wall I wouldn’t even be able to wrap my head around how I actually feel. It’s also confusing because, like I was saying, I… just because I feel like I want something in the moment, doesn’t necessarily mean I’m actually ready for it, you know? I don’t even know if… I don’t even know what being ready again really means or would look like.”

“You did the other night.”

“Yeah, but that was different. Because now I’m gonna think I know what I’m getting myself into, but that’s not necessarily true.”

Another pause in which you chew your lip and look away. 

“I don’t want you to overthink it, honey. I think being ready just means you’re comfortable, and you’re with someone who’s going to keep you safe, and nobody’s pressuring you, and you’re not, you know—pressuring yourself. Wanting it is actually really important, too. But what I’m hearing right now is that even if you might want it, you’re not in a place that feels safe. And that makes sense to me. So we’re just not gonna do anything until that changes, okay?”

Eyes still cast downward, your lips twist into a sardonic little smile. 

“I feel like I’m talking to my therapist.”

He laughs with a single breath. 

“I really hope your therapist doesn’t speak to you like I do. The ethics there would be highly questionable.”

The joke refreshes your courage and you look back up at him, smile still edged with humor but mostly unspoken gratitude. 

The half-smile on Spencer’s face, however, is fading steadily as he studies you in flickering passes. Like there’s something still on his mind. You were hoping for a subtle invitation back into his arms, but the space between you remains—infused now with a tension as it becomes increasingly obvious. 

“Also… this trip we’re going on. I feel like I should say this—I don’t know if it was even on your mind, but… I don’t want you to feel pressured to have sex just because of the timing. Me inviting you on a last-minute trip to an isolated cabin—it’s not a master plan to get you to sleep with me again, I promise. I really just wanted us to be alone. Not—not that kind of alone—I mean, we’ll be alone, but it doesn’t have to be like that. I was just thinking about how nice it was for us to get those three nights together, you know, and the whole weekend too, and with my job, that’s not always going to happen, so it just seemed like a good opportunity—”

“Spencer,” you laugh, letting the tension snap like a rubber band as you go to him, slinging your arms over his shoulders, delighted to be the one doing the interrupting and not the flustered rambling, for a change. “I know you don’t have an ulterior motive. As for what kind of alone we’re going to be… we’ll figure that out, okay? Don’t worry about me. I don’t feel pressured by you. I never have. If anything, I’m the one who pressures you for sex.”

You’ve got him smiling once more, as his hands find your waist and his gaze flips from your mouth to your eyes and back again. It goes very subtly mischievous in a way you don’t quite trust, but he’s dipping his head to kiss you, and something tells you it’s going to be a good one, so when your nose bumps against his, and you can feel his breath on your lips, you’re not at all prepared for him to speak. 

“Begging is not the same as pressuring, sweet thing,” he murmurs, and then he’s kissing you so thoroughly you don’t even have time to be properly affronted. The offended gasp gets stuck in your throat, and melts into a tiny huff as it turns out the kiss is a very good one. You can’t think hard enough to be offended. Not even when he chuckles against you. 

“That’s not fair,” you mumble when he allows you a second to breathe. He hums, satisfying himself with kisses to your cheek and playing along. 

“What’s not fair?” 

“You… I was supposed to have the upper hand in that situation! You were the nervous one for once!”

Another hum, buzzing against your lips this time. 

“You have to learn how to take the upper hand, angel. I’ve had a lot of practice. It’s a big part of my job.”

Admittedly it’s hard to think when he talks like this, but you try. 

“So… you manipulate me? That’s not very romantic.”

He laughs quietly again. 

“No. I do not manipulate you.”

“You’re just a control freak,” you tease. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, immediately, still soft-spoken as he pulls back to carefully search your eyes. “Does that bother you?”

You search hands and knees for a crumb of outrage, for a hint of any of that strong feminist theory you’ve instilled into your brain over so many years. 

There’s nothing to be found. 

“No,” you admit, dejectedly, hanging your head as much as he’ll allow. “Should it?”

“Only if you don’t like it. When I take the upper hand like that, I’m really just… posing a yes or no question. So far, you lean towards saying yes. You let me win. But you don’t have to.”

“What happens if I… if I don’t let you win?”

He angles his head, coaxing you to look in his eyes once more. A hand comes up to swipe a dot of mascara from under your brow. He’s looking at you so serenely, like none of this is at all complicated. 

“Whatever you want. I wouldn’t be the one making the rules anymore.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

You laugh nervously. 

“That’s a lot of pressure. What if… I want you to keep making the rules? For forever?”

He kisses you again, insistently enough you have to tilt your head back. When he answers, it’s low, a promise, and pressed right against your waiting mouth. 

“Then I will.”

You loose a tremulous breath from your parted lips and you know he can feel it. He can feel how you’re clinging to his shirt, pressing yourself closer, how your skin has warmed and your breaths have hastened, he can probably taste how much you want him, how you’re already thinking about giving it all up for him—

And maybe that’s why he laughs dryly into your mouth before pulling away. 

Because he’s a good boyfriend. 

Spencer knits his brow and clears his throat as his hand slides down your arm, eyes narrowed like he’s wondering how things escalated so quickly. You certainly are. 

Suddenly he’s back to the nerd you met in a coffee shop all those months ago, and you like him like this, too. “So… dinner?” 

“Mhm. Yeah. We should… we should definitely eat. What do you wanna eat?”

You don’t miss the quick once over he gives you. Or the way his throat bobs once he tears his eyes away. 

“Um… how does Indian sound?”

You swear you don’t know how it happened. 

Everything was going fine—there was food on the coffee table, a show on the TV. Spencer made tea. It was wholesome. 

And then, somewhere between setting the plastic takeout bag down and actually opening it, you ended up like this. Kneeling next to him on the couch, one hand braced on his thigh, the other tangled in his hair as you kiss slow. Like this could actually be leading somewhere. 

“We should stop,” he reminds you, even as his hand traverses up your leg. You lean further into him—he has to tip his head back to meet your lips. 

“We’re kissing. It’s nothing.”

“You were—” kiss. “Just telling me—” kiss. “That you don’t want this right now.”

Deep kiss. The grip he has on your hip does not agree with his words. 

“This is just kissing. Kissing isn’t sex.”

Even as you’re saying it, you’re throwing your leg over his lap, landing in a straddle. 

“No,” he groans as if pained, throwing his head onto the back of the couch and depriving you of his mouth. “Baby. You have to get off. We can’t do this.”

“My bathroom—we could—it doesn’t share a wall with his apartment, we could go in there and turn on the shower and we could be really quiet—”

Suddenly there’s a hand over your mouth. It’s not yours. 

“Please stop before I say yes.”

You pull his hand away, fingers wrapped around his wrist. 

“You should. You should say yes. It’s a good idea, I know he wouldn’t be able to hear us over the shower—”

“It’s not about that. It’s about the fact that you asked me to turn you down not even an hour ago, no matter what you say, and I said I would.” He takes a shuddering deep breath. “And… I’m going to. I’m saying no.”

“No,” you whine, head falling to his shoulder, because you know he’ll keep his promise. He cups the back of your head—a kind, sympathetic gesture, which does nothing to alleviate the heat of your blood or the ache between your legs. You pout into his neck. “This is terrible. I might not survive.”

“I think you will.”

“Maybe if I enter a coma.”

He laughs and strokes your thigh. 

“There are worse things than sexual frustration.”

“Not right now. This is the worst thing I can imagine.”

“I’m so sorry. You poor thing.”

You pull back to face him, hands on his shoulders. 

“Oh my god. Don’t act like it’s not bothering you.”

“I’m not bothered.”

“I know that’s not true. You know how I can tell?”

The slightest adjustment of your hips draws attention to exactly what you mean. Spencer goes completely deadpan. 

“Stop,” he orders in monotone, and you laugh even you allow yourself to be tossed back onto the couch because you’ve successfully flustered him again. He puts a throw pillow over his lap and leans forward, hiding his blush beneath perfect hands with a tortured groan. “You’re terrible.”

The couch attempts to suck you in as you wriggle back from a lying position, propping yourself up on your elbows and grinning at him. 

“I did it,” you gloat. 

He angles his head toward you, revealing half a pretty face, still dusted red but now with all the markings of inquisition. 

“You did what?”

“I took the upper hand.”

Those dark eyes narrow and before you can think to retract your legs he’s wrapping his hands around your ankles, pulling them over his pillow and leaving you flat on your back once more. Again you giggle. 

“You took nothing,” he asserts, but you’re not bothered—still smiling as you accept your new position and toss your arms above your head casually. 

“Somebody’s a sore loser.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Eat your curry.”

“Sorry, I’m full. From, you know, the taste of victory.”

He exhales a dry chuckle, leaning forward to finally retrieve the containers of food. 

“I can’t believe I ever let you call me a nerd.”

The rest of the evening remains PG. Conversation flows and trickles comfortably over dinner on the couch, and afterwards, he suggests a documentary. From the outside, it might not look like much—but to you, with your head on his chest as the TV casts its flickering, ghostly light over the room, with the beating of his heart against your ear and his breath against the top of your head, it’s everything. Six months ago you didn’t know what it was to exist so comfortably around another person like this. Now, though he feels familiar and safe, you don’t take it for granted. The novelty of something so simple is not lost on you, and you feel like the luckiest girl in the world as your eyes begin to flutter. You’re lucky to have someone you feel completely safe with. 

Spencer murmurs your name like a question.  It buzzes against your ear. You hum in response. 

His thumb fans lines over your shoulder blade. “Can I ask you about something?”

“Mhm.”

“The other night… we didn’t really get a chance to—to debrief, afterwards. Which is fine, you were tired, it was late. But then the next morning I had to go, and everything with your neighbor happened, and we talked about that a little bit, but… but earlier, it sounded like maybe you… I don’t know. Maybe you weren’t feeling good about how it happened?”

“Spencer, I told you I don’t regret it,” you remind him, pushing up from his chest to look him in the eye. His hand slides down your back. 

“I know… I just wanted to give you another chance to talk about it. In case anything was on your mind.” He frets over your hair, an invisible speck on your skin. Like he’s nervous. “And I want to make sure you’re feeling okay about how it went. I know what happened the next day was an unfortunate addendum, and I’m sorry about that. As soon as you give me permission, I will have him arrested. But I don’t want that to overshadow your experience.”

“It’s… not,” you breathe, fiddling with a button on Spencer’s shirt. 

“So how did you feel about it? Barring anything external?”

“Good.”

Spencer strokes your jaw with a knuckle, gently admonishing. 

“Don’t just say that. Think about it.”

“I have,” you assure him immediately, cheeks warming as you realize just how swiftly you’d replied. 

What a lovely button. Mother-of-pearl. The shirt is a pale lilac. It looks good on him. One of your favorites, actually. 

Spencer lets you pick at it. He would probably let you pull the button off, tear every stitch on the shirt with a seam-ripper if it helped to soothe your nerves. 

“I’m not trying to embarrass you, or make you uncomfortable. We don’t have to go into explicit detail. I know it still feels weird to talk about. But it’s something we do have to talk about.”

“I know. And I would bring it up if something didn’t feel right. But it… was…” you chew your lip as you think of a way to phrase it that doesn’t sound too mushy-gushy. “Overwhelmingly… a very positive experience.”

“You sound like Yelp review,” Spencer says through a smile. You attempt to smother the continual heat of your embarrassment against his shirt. He’s seen you at your most vulnerable, more intimately than anyone ever has before. And you’re still shy about acknowledging that fact. 

“Shut up. Say something nice back.”

With a typically gentle hand, he pushes hair away from your ear. 

“I…” he begins meaningfully, taking a moment to sweep your hair over your back. “Feel incredibly grateful that you trusted me to take care of you. I know that’s big for you, and I know it can be a really scary thing. Mostly I’m happy you’re happy. And that I didn’t mess up irredeemably.”

“What would you have messed up?” You laugh, retreating from your shelter against his chest to knit your brow. 

He makes a face in the half-dark like he shouldn’t have said it. 

“Uh… that… veers into explicit detail… and possibly too much honesty.”

You laugh again and adjust to frame his sheepish smile between your hands. 

“I see. You have to keep your mystique in tact.”

“I really don’t think it’s that much of a mystery.”

“Well, I’ll spare your ego.”

“Wow, thanks. For the first time in your life.”

You go in for a chaste, smiley kiss, which stays sweet and kind even as it melts into something stickier. 

It comes to a turning point and Spencer inhales deeply, gently angling his head away and shifting to check his watch. You collapse on his chest, catching your breath. 

“I should go.”

“No. I feel like you’re going away to war.”

“I’m going to Court House. Where I live.”

“What if I never see you again?”

“It’s twenty minutes away. So you could always just drive.”

You frown. 

“I hope you get trench foot.”

“You know seventy seven thousand soldiers died from trench foot in World War Two?”

“Obviously I did not know that.”

“Well, next time you should just say you want me to die. Up.”

He pats the back of your thigh and you push off of him, only after considering trying to hold him hostage for a split second. 

You hover by the couch like a ghost, watching with increasing anxiety as he gathers together the empty containers from your meal and throws them in the kitchen garbage before collecting his things. 

There is one thing—one potentially difficult thing you haven’t mentioned to him that seems to be a direct consequence of finally sleeping together. 

You’re clingy. 

Clingier than you’ve ever been. It didn’t seem possible to want to be around him more than you already had, but now when he’s gone you feel his absence like a vacuous hole by your side. Without his warmth, you’re always a little colder. A little less comfortable. 

It’s embarrassing to admit that you’re starting to get separation anxiety, so you won’t put it into so many words—but you think, as he turns, slinging his bag over his shoulder with a knowing look, that he understands. 

At the same time, you begin to close the space, meeting gently in the middle, toe to toe. You keep your hands behind your back, afraid that otherwise you’ll try and glom onto him like a barnacle on a ship’s hull. 

“There are some things I’d like to get done this week so I don’t have to worry about them during our trip. So I might not see you for a day or two.”

Dutifully you nod, though you’re slightly crushed. 

“That’s okay. We’re grownups.”

“I don’t know,” he tuts. “I’m worried I’m gonna start writing my name with your last on all my notebooks.”

That stupid,��stupid charm. 

“Mm… I’m kinda out of your league,” you grin. 

Spencer’s smile wanes slowly, but his eyes remain soft and aglow as they explore your face as reverently as his hands would. When he speaks, it’s in an honest, borderline whisper. “I’m acutely aware.”

Slowly his head dips, and your eyes flutter shut. A sweet, lingering kiss lands on your cheek. Then he’s pulling back. 

“That’s it?” You can’t help but ask, peering up at him and barely concealing a frown. 

He smiles that lovely smile, but by this point you’re attuned enough to his facial expressions to recognize the subtle heat playing just beneath the surface of those golden-oak eyes. 

“What? Did I give you the impression that I put out?”

“It’s just a kiss.”

That teasing edge becomes ever so slightly sharper as he regards you, head tilting. 

“Mhm. And the last time you said that—was it before or after you mounted me?”

You shoo him away pretty quickly after that—partly for discipline, and partly because the sooner he’s gone, the sooner you’ll go to sleep, and the sooner it will be tomorrow. 

And this trip can’t come soon enough, because you’re pretty sure you know exactly what kind of alone you’d like to be with Spencer Reid.

[xxchromies]

Admittedly the way people talk about motherhood makes me a bit sad. Both in the world at large and on here. It's true that as women we have essentially been treated as incubators and the natural capability of our bodies was/is exploited and used to keep us in line. But I really do think that motherhood, carrying and raising children, is beautiful and something to be appreciated. We literally have the power to create life and men don't. True, not all women can give birth but anyone who can give birth is a woman. And while I capitulate that we used to be treated like incubators in the past, some people use this term to even describe pregnancies that are wanted. And I think it's a bit misogynistic to compare something as cold and machine-like as an incubator to something women are naturally able to do. It feels objectifying.

I feel like a lot of radical feminists talk about pregnancy as if it were a travesty. As if you've become corrupted by an evil force. I know that pregnancy can have a serious impact on a woman's body but sometimes I feel like the way people talk about pregnancy on here is misogynistic towards women who want to be pregnant. I don't think it's really that progressive to talk about something that women's bodies are naturally able to do as if it were some sort of curse. Many of us see it that way because men used to use our reproductive capabilities as a way to control us, and still do to an extent. We can't stoop to their level. It's not inherently a bad thing.

I've also noticed that a lot of societal messaging seems to imply that pregnancy is an inferior state. Both misogynists and radical feminists talk about it as if it means your life is over. That you're nothing more than a mother now. That you've been defeated by the patriarchy. And while I understand that the feminist perspective is different (it's critiquing the misogynist perspective), I've never really seen radical feminists try to empower mothers or talk about how we can change the way society views motherhood. A lot of them seem to think no women should be mothers at all. Motherhood is just going to be a part of our reality. We're living things and it's in our nature to reproduce. It is ultimately a choice but human nature is powerful. Antinatalism is not going to happen, sorry. And I feel like pregnancy is mocked. Women are mocked for things like morning sickness and cravings. Pregnant women often aren't taken seriously because of their "hormones". There's a reason why so many people find m-preg so humorous.

In many ways it does suck to be a mother, but that's because of societal issues. I do believe it's misogynistic to denigrate the concept or pregnancy as a whole. I'll never believe that something women's bodies are naturally able to do cannot coexist with female liberation.

[genderqueerdykes]

trans men and women learn a lot from each other when we get close and it's a wonderful thing. it's okay to be dysphoric about manhood. it's okay to be dysphoric about womanhood. it's okay to not like he/him pronouns, to not like she/her pronouns. it's okay to not like how strangers gender you. it's okay to talk about these things with each other, to share mutual disgust, to see how it affects one another and how it shapes our identities and experiences.

it's okay to talk about the things that make you uncomfortable together. it's not invalidating each other's experiences to have conversations like saying "i'm so tired of being seen as a man no matter what, and being around people who treat me like a man" to a trans man and having the trans man respond by saying "i feel the same way about people who treat me like a woman" and agree to not project one's trauma on to the other

it's okay to be vulnerable. it's okay to admit when we don't understand certain parts of each others experiences, too. we do NOT have to act like experts and like we've "read the book" on what another person's gender is. even if we think we know a lot about that gender, we don't know everything, because we don't know everyone. literally. it's okay to go "i don't understand, but I'll call you whatever you identify as." and be receptive without knowing exactly what they mean.

we don't understand many things in life. that's fine. it's okay to just listen and not talk for once. you don't have to try to speak as though you've lived as a trans man when you're a trans women, and you don't have to speak for trans women if you're a trans man. we are allowed to advocate for our own experiences and simultaneously listen to other queer experiences and respect their boundaries, spaces, and needs.

there is a lot to learn about the challenges that trans women face, the unique struggles that come with some being raised as boys and the troubles that come with that, being seen as a feminine boy, being subjected to homophobia- getting called faggots and other slurs. some were raised as girls, some are intersex, and some are afab or other birth sexes, and the mixing of masculinity and femininity and cause a lot of issues when it comes to how society treats that person

there are lots of conversations that have to be listened to when it comes to the transmasculine experience and how nobody but transmasc people can articulate what it's like to live as a transmasculine person. no one can speculate on it, because it is such a unique experience. it is a complicated matter of several different types of prejudice that no one else can quite understand where it comes from and how it feels unless they've been there

it is so deeply rooted in misogyny, where people treat us like "stupid, confused women," like we're "destroying children" that we're 'destroying our bodies', that our hormones make us "unstable, irritable and emotional," and that we are unreliable narrators. we get called hysterical. we get told we're "ruining a pretty girl" or wasting our "pretty" features. we get lectured about how we need to be attractive and how testosterone will ruin that by our own parents. we get told we can't dress masc because it will make us "ugly" or "butch" or "dykes".

people hate it when we bind our breasts, cut our hair, hide our curves, change our gait, and stop wearing makeup. they lose a "girl" to ogle and become enraged, upset or uncomfortable. while the transmasc person is trying to navigate life in a way where they don't feel objectified, it becomes a matter of even worse objectification because now antimasculism is introduced into the mix and the experience becomes transandrophobia.

people are so hateful and bitter toward manhood and masculinity. people ask us "why would you EVER want to be a man? NOBODY wants to be a man." they tell us "men are ugly, violent, and mean." people tell us that men are sexual predators, that they're inherently abusive. people tell us that testosterone makes people ugly. they tell us that men aren't or can't be queer. they tell us we can't be a feminine man. they tell us we can't be men at all, that transmasculinity isn't even a thing, that transmanhood isn't a thing. we even get told that the only way to be trans is to be transfeminine, and what we are experiencing is a delusion, hysteria, or a result of us being hormonal from being on our periods and/or HRT.

when we listen to each others' experiences we realize how people who are othered by society are treated. we learn that not only we experiencing this, but so is everyone around us. we do not have to try to make one side's experience more important than another's. we can hold each other up by having conversations and being vulnerable about what's going on, how we're being treated, how we want to be treated, and how the community is failing us and how we can do better.

we deserve to have conversations. there's a lot to learn, a lot to laugh about, a lot to relate to, and a lot to be curious about. these conversations are good to have. it's good to admit when you know nothing about transmasculinity or transfemininity or any other identity. it's okay to ask respectful questions. it's okay to tell people when you appreciate their identities, and them explaining it to you. it's okay to just listen. it really is. we have to learn to listen it's not something that can be avoided perpetually for life. listening to someone else's conversation does not erase yours, it does not take it away from the equation. they exist together.

[trustmypoison]

SVT with a partner that struggles with an ED

Requested? Yes!

Request: ‘hi, if you're comfortable, could you write svt with a partner who has eating disorders? im so sorry if you're not comfortable with that, i did read your guidelines post but maybe I've missed it! have a lovely day :) 💜’

TW/CW: This will discuss a sensitive topic. It is meant to be comforting and relatable, but if you’re not in a headspace for it right now, I recommend not reading. 

A/N: I recognize that idols often have issues like this of their own, but for the sake of this post, I won’t be addressing it in this reaction. The pressure to look a certain way is one of the many things I fundamentally disagree with about the idol industry. I’d really rather them carry a little more weight and be happier and healthier. I think most of us would. 

Focuses on the physical recovery - Seungcheol, Hoshi, Mingyu, Chan

The physical impact of the disorder is what makes him put his foot down about it. If you like to maintain a certain body type, he can’t say too much about it and really does want you to be happy with your body. But he can say plenty about the anemia, the low blood pressure, the GI issues, the hormonal issues, the dental problems, etc. You never feel good, and he’s tired of it. He won’t be mean, but he’ll be stubborn and insistent that you seek treatment of some sort, with the first goal to just start feeling better physically. 

Focuses on the behavioral recovery - Joshua, Wonwoo, DK, Seungkwan, Vernon

Encourages you to eat and also encourages you to keep said food down. Those are non-negotiables to him. But he also encourages you not to overdo it on the food and to pace yourself when it comes to exercising. He stresses moderation for those last two things. He’ll figure out what you feel comfortable eating until you’re ready to try a normal diet because a little food is better than nothing. And he’s so calm when that doesn’t go well sometimes, reminding you that it will be okay, but he wants you to be just as brave about it as he is patient. But if it does go well, he’ll give you endless amounts of praise for facing the issue head-on. 

Focuses on the psychological recovery - Jeonghan, Jun, Woozi, Minghao

Feels that it’s best to tackle this sort of thing at the root of the issue. He wants to know when this habit started and why you feel compelled to keep doing it. If it’s poor body image, he’ll listen patiently, but you have to listen to him explain how he sees you, which may be hard to do because his take is so different. If it has something to do with how you were raised regarding food, he’s dissecting that with you, so maybe one day it will click that it’s not the way to live life now. And if it’s about control or perfectionism, he’s encouraging you to start letting go of some of it and trust that it will be okay if you change your behavior or your weight. Exceedingly patient about it without ever making you feel that you’re being irrational when you struggle with this. 

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + thirty two

authors note: we're nearing the end, folks. buckle up!

cw/tw: fluff, angst, and smut

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

cast+ masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 12k

“Baby, look.”

Roman redirects his focus from the text reply he was formulating to Dwayne to glance over at his wife who’s angling her phone screen toward him. 

Naturally, he’s confused by what he’s looking at, seeing a lot of colors, several words in different fonts/sizes, and what looks like fruit.

“What is this?”

Solana smiles and leans against his arm, explaining, “this is what our girls look like right now.” Realizing how that sounds considering she’s showing him a picture of actual fruit, Solana explains, “well, this is how big they are right now. The size of two Limes.”

And, it’s only when she says that, Roman takes the time to really look at the screen. To see that it in fact reads, “At 12 weeks, your babies are about as big as two lines” accompanied by a graphic of two limes as well as other things, one of them prompting him to point and ask. “And that?”

Solana’s smile deepens. “That’s what they probably look like.” Rubbing her belly, she clarifies, “it might not be an exact match, but pretty close.” She looks over at Roman, ready to explain more when she sees it. Sees the amazement. The surprise. The emotion.

“Shit,” he finally breathes, eyes still on the phone. “They….they’re growing fast.”

Solana nods, kissing his shoulder. “According to my app, their pituitary gland is producing hormones, and their bone marrow is making white blood cells, which will help them fight off germs.” Solana’s explanation is accompanied by her showing him her phone with the information displayed. 

Roman scoffs, finally looking at her and asking, “how did you get this? Is it something the doctor gave you or—”

She shakes her head. “No. It’s just a pregnancy app. I’ve tried out a couple, but I really like this one.”

“How do I get it on my phone?” He asks, Solana partially taken back by his interest, though it makes sense when she thinks about it. Her husband is a man who likes to be in the know and have information readily available to him, and an app that allows him to track the growth of their unborn children seems like a great resource for just that.

“You can download it from the app store. It’s called What to Expect.”

Roman moves to grab his phone, tapping around, a scowl growing on his face. “Where’s that damn little box?” Solana leans into him, pressing her face into his arm to hide her amusement. “Why does it keep moving and shit?”

The struggle to withhold her laughter is real. “Baby, it’s not moving. They had another iOS update, so the layout changed again.” 

“Another one?” She can’t help it. A giggle escapes, as Roman’s scowl deepens. “How many fucking updates are they going to do? I already can’t find shit half the damn time. Now they’re just making it even more difficult. Fucking hate this damn phone.” 

Solana moves her hand to the back of his head, massaging the base of his neck, trying to calm him down while also having to push back the desire to fall out in laughter. Roman is easily the most intelligent person she’s ever come across, but his inability to work or understand technology will never not be hilarious.

She 1000% believes that if he wasn’t who he is, he would most definitely do well, and best, with a flip phone.

“Here, babe. Let me do it for you.” Roman has zero issues handing over his phone to his wife who in a matter of minutes has not only downloaded the app, but has set up the account as if it was her profile so he can follow along, just as she’s doing. “There you go. All done.”

“Thank you,” he mutters, and she leans up to kiss his temple. Solana allows him time to play around and explore the app, while she shifts to something different but equally important. 

And, it’s when she stumbles across one that she likes, she draws his attention, once again showing him her screen. 

Instantly, he’s confused, and he’s not afraid to express as such.

“What is that?”

Solana looks at him, initially thinking he’s joking, which is a strange, impossible thing because her husband doesn’t joke. But, judging by the genuinely confused look on his face, he also really doesn’t know just what he’s looking at.

“It’s a crib, Roman,” she answers, providing additional information when that one word also doesn’t seem to trigger anything for him. “It’s actually a 4 in 1 with a changing table and can also be converted to a crib and a toddler bed as they get older, so we wouldn’t have to buy new—”

“I don’t want them using old shit,” Roman’s interruption, despite the almost rude wording, is more informative than anything. “We’ll buy them new things as they need em’.”

Solana frowns a bit. “But, if we can find something so we don’t have to spend unnecessary money—”

“If it’s for them, it’s not unnecessary, Sol.” She rolls her eyes, as he asks with almost uncertainty. “So a crib….it’s like….a baby bed?”

She nods, her small smile returning. “Yes.” She motions to the screen that shows the pink and one number she finds herself really liking. “The rails on it keep them from falling out or even climbing out when their gross motor skills start to kick in more.” 

“When does that start?”

“It depends,” Solana answers. “Every baby is different. They typically learn how to roll over at around 4 months, and their mobility just continues to grow and improve from there.”

Roman nods, clearly taking in all of this new information. “So does that mean they’ll need to sleep in the room with us?” His question is so innocent, borderline naive, that it makes Solana giggle. “Until they learn….how to control their movements and shit.”

She shakes her head, gentle grin on her face matching her patient tone. “No, baby. They don’t need to sleep in the room with us. We’ll just get baby monitors to put up in their nursery.” Sensing he’s still hesitant, she adds, “they have ones with audio and video.”

This seems to settle him a bit when he, in true Roman fashion, picks up on a single word. “They’ll have separate rooms.”

Solana rolls her eyes. “Maybe when they’re older, but as babies, they can share the same nursery, Ro.”

It’d honestly make things easier, too, as Solana plans to breastfeed, and just the logistics of it, changing them, rocking them, and other things, will be significantly easier if they’re feet apart instead of rooms apart.

However, Roman doesn’t seem to be having it. 

“I want them to have their own space.”

She sits up a bit, looking at him, borderline shocked. “As babies?” She shakes her head, rubbing her temples. “Roman, they won’t even know what a room is, let alone anything about a space.”

“You don’t know that for certain.”

“Roman—” Solana has to stop herself. Lord knows she loves this man with everything in her, but he’s being impossible right now. Just like she also knows there can be no reasoning with him when he gets like this. “Okay, we—we can revisit this later.” Eager to get onto another similar baby subject, she asks, “how–how is this going to work?”

He looks at her. “What do you mean?”

Realizing her question was far too vague, she doesn’t waste any time clarifying. “I mean with the shopping portion. There’s a lot of things we’re going to need, and I can definitely get a lot of it online, but I’d like to be able to shop in person…and for you to go with me.”

The elaboration is helpful, Roman nodding, clearly understanding the true, unspoken concern in all of that.

In that how do they keep this pregnancy as under wraps as possible while still being able to enjoy it with little things like baby shopping.

“You just have to let me know at least a couple hours in advance if you want to go somewhere and where exactly you want to go, so I can have the stores cleared out.” Solana partially expected as such, given how he’s done the same every time they go grocery shopping together. Same with the empty doctor's office they're currently sitting in, waiting for the start of her three month check up appointment, Bautista and their security team patrolling the premises.

And, she’s not even showing yet.

But, it’s what he says next that she hasn’t really thought about. “And when you start showing, you won’t be able to go out much.”

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

Roman sighs, clearly trying to word it as best he can. A thoughtfulness always reserved for her. “Realistically speaking, there’s a chance, even if small, this pregnancy will reach the ears of people who don’t need to know. So, that means I have to eliminate their access to you—”

“But, I have security—”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.” A gentle but firm interruption. “My family had security that night, too, and look what still happened.” Solana’s shoulders slump, her heart aching seeing the flash of pain cross his handsome face. “The only way to ensure the safety of you and the babies is to cut off any access to you.”

She's following along, understanding where he’s coming from, but it’s not exactly what she was wanting and expecting to hear. “I….I won’t be able to leave the house?”

Roman pauses. “You will, just….on an as needed basis.”

Solana grows quiet, sitting on Roman’s words. They make sense, given who he is, what them welcoming children into this world will mean for them. Mean for him. Though she can’t deny a part of her is saddened at the fact that she won’t be able to treat this pregnancy like any other expectant mother would.

That she can’t be out shopping, bump displayed freely, without having to worry about who sees it. Dragging Roman from store to store as she tries to find matching outfits for their girls. Having him help her pick out furniture, while they consult with the sales associates for what is best. The normal things.

And Roman sees this, sees the sort of grief she’s experiencing at realizing some of that, maybe none of that, will be possible.

That at some point, she’ll be practically homebound.

“I know….” He trails off, Solana hating the regret that crosses his handsome face. “I know it’s not what you imagined or probably want, and I’m sorry it’s because of me, but—”

She shakes her head, completely shifting gears, unwilling to have him feel anything remotely close to bad. “I wouldn’t want this if I couldn't do it with you.” An easy thing to share, even if it seems to startle her husband. Solana sees the surprise, feels the way he’s almost moved by such a thing. “Ro….” Solana reaches across, taking his hand and settling it on her stomach, her hand atop of his. “There’s no one else I’d want to do this with, but you. If I couldn’t have you as the father of my children, I wouldn’t want children. It’s…..it’s you or nothing, Roman.” She smiles, eyes watering. “And if that means some of the traditional things I don’t get to do or have, then that’s just what it is.”

Because at the end of the day, the most important thing is doing whatever it takes to welcome two healthy babies into this world. Some things might be missed, yes, but she’s certain it’ll all be worth it the moment Lina and Leya arrive.

Leaning up, she kisses his bearded jaw, murmuring, “I love you.”

He repeats it back at the same moment the nurse comes out and calls her name. Solana takes Roman’s hand as they walk to the back, going through the same order of things as her last few appointments. Questions. Urine sample. Bloodwork. It’s all routine at this point, the most exciting part being when Dr. Sharmell walks in. She asks her usual questions, and Solana provides her honest answers. 

Sometimes Roman chimes in with a question usually regarding what to expect at this point in her pregnancy, so he knows what to expect. It’s all so attentive and moving, how much he cares and how invested he is.

“Time for your favorite part,” Dr. Sharmell jokes as she moves the transducer over Solana’s stomach, searching only briefly. “Here’s Baby A.” The rhythmic beating is soothing and relieving, a big smile on Solana’s face as she looks over at the screen, immensely settled by the sound of her baby’s heartbeat. “Heartbeat just as strong as last time.”

Roman rubs his thumb over Solana’s knuckles as the doctor travels the transducer around a little bit longer this time around. “Baby B once again giving me a hard time.” She shakes her head, Solana holding in her smile at the thought that crosses her mind. A silly one, in some ways. 

Lina. 

Lina comes to mind. Glimpses of her spitfire and wild child spirit from her and Roman’s shared dreams, and how making her identification during a routine ultrasound difficult seems just so aligned with her personality.

“There you are,” Dr. Sharmell makes an ‘aha’ sound, the baby’s steady heartbeat once again filling the room. “And there’s Baby B.”

Solana’s eyes water as she stares at the screen, seeing her children, her babies. “They’re getting so big.”

“They are,” the doctor smiles, observing. “I see you’re still not showing yet, but I’d gather it’s only a matter of a few weeks until you’ll see a bump.”

Solana giggles, squeezing Roman’s hand, completely uncaring of what the emergence of a bump might mean for safety measures. Having a baby bump makes this pregnancy just that much more real. 

Physical proof of the lives growing inside of her. 

“Everything looks good?” Her husband asks, ever the concerned and wanting to stay on top of everything.

Dr. Sharmell nods. “Everything looks great. Babies are growing as expected at the three month mark. Stats look great,” she answers, going to wipe the gel off Solana’s stomach. “In fact, you don’t have to be on pelvic rest anymore.” The announcement takes both husband and wife by surprise, as the OB-GYN continues to explain, “your ultrasound has come back clear during your last three visits with no bleeding since the initial incident. I could have cleared you last week, but I just wanted to make absolute certain.”

Roman and Solana share a look, the former asking, almost skeptically, “are you sure?”

“Positive,” she reassures. She directs her statement to Solana. “You can resume all normal activity. Exercise, regular movement, sexual activity, the usual.” Dr. Sharmell moves to grab her tablet, tapping around and gasping. “Oh my goodness. I almost forgot. So sorry. Your NIPT test results came back, and it was also clear from any signs of chromosomal disorders for the babies.” A small smile grows on her face as she looks between the parents. “And there were no Y chromosomes detected in either fetus, which means—”

“Girls,” Solana finishes, eyes watering all over again. “We’re having twin girls.”

—---------

The sounds of the clips being unloaded is muffled by the earmuffs on her ears, the recoil force something Solana is able to withstand much better than the first time she fired, and it’s an improvement noticed by Afia.

“Nice,” Afia compliments, taking note of the continued improvement in Solana’s aim. She waits for the younger woman to remove her earmuffs before applauding, “you’re a quick learner.”

Solana smiles, appreciative. “Thank you.” She looks back over at the target, seeing holes all around the dummy’s abdomen and shoulder, the areas Afia has taught her to always aim for. “You’re a great teacher.”

Afia grins, dipping her head and winking. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

In the few weeks they’ve trained and hung out together at the shooting range, Solana has learned a lot about the woman who is technically her sister-in-law. Starting with the fact that Afia is actually a retired master assassin, a member of an elite group of female assassins in her home country of Nigeria.

Learned how from a young child, like Roman, Afia was taught one thing and one thing only. 

Kill or be killed. 

That she was molded and shaped into the nonpareil killer that she is. That she was.

Because the Nigerian woman also shared how she walked away from it all, turned her back on her sisters, was disowned by her “family” the day she decided to choose love instead of violence.

How instead of choosing to kill Matteo, her intended target and assignment, she ended up falling in love with the man. A love that has withstood a tremendous amount of trials and tribulations but has remained strong and resulted in three beautiful children. 

Solana admires her in so many ways and truly appreciates all the help and insight she’s provided.

It’s helped her in ways she’s not quite sure how to explain. 

Afia looks Solana over, acknowledging, “you’re small and have a kind aura about you, Solana, but make no mistake, there’s definitely one hell of a fighter in there, too.”

Words that Solana takes to heart, that maybe just months ago, she wouldn’t agree with. She wouldn’t agree that anything about or in her comes remotely close to a fighter. But, the truth of the matter is that Solana has always been a fighter. A survivor. Overcome more adversity than anyone could ever realize.

Been burned by the fire but survived nonetheless.

She is fire. 

It’s been a long journey, largely aided to and due to her husband, due to Roman doing something as simple as making her learn how to train, how to fight, something she’s learned to love and will miss throughout this pregnancy, but something she still holds with her. 

That fight.

“Kinda hard to not at least try to catch up when surrounded by so many strong people,” Solana says with a small smile as the two women to start removing their bulletproof vests, clearly ready for a lunch break. 

Afia chuckles softly, soft eyes focused ahead, as Bautista quietly escorts them to the cafeteria. “You’ve always been strong, Solana. It just maybe took you a little longer to realize it. That’s the case with a lot of women who’ve been told what they can and can’t do, who they are, and what they are and are not.” She casts the shorter woman a meaningful gaze, “but the truth is that there is no stronger being on this planet than a woman. Do you know why?” Solana shakes her head as the two women reach the door that Bautista holds open for them. Afia chuckles and steps forward, answering clearly and with zero hesitation. “Because just as easily as we can create life—” Something dark and intentful flashes in her pretty eyes, the lingering remnants of the killer that will always lie within. “We can take it, too.”

At one point in Solana’s life, not even a year ago, such a statement would unnerve her. Maybe even scare her a bit, but there’s something about the transformative journey she’s been on all these months that has her in such a different place.

The fact that she has not only one, but two lives, growing inside of her. Two daughters. All of that has her in such a different place with a different mindset than she had just some months ago when talking with her husband about her fear of how badly she hurt Wesley. Her fear of if she unintentionally would end up killing him.

Of killing in general.

Then, Solana told Roman she didn't think she could live with herself if she ever did such a thing.

Now, she no longer feels the way.

She would prefer to never be in that situation, to never have to make that call, but the truth of the matter is that if she had to, if she had to kill to protect, she would.

For herself.

For Roman.

For her daughters.

Because not only has she made a vow that no man would ever hurt her again, she’s made the same for her girls.

For her family. 

She’ll do whatever it takes to protect them, to protect their lives.

Even if it means taking someone else’s. 

Afia and Solana continue to engage in discussion about topics regarding life and training when that damn nausea returns, prompting Solana to place down the last bit of her sandwich as she covers her mouth. 

Afia is forever perceptive and notices as such, asking, “are you alright?”

Solana nods, mustering up a small smile and trying to play it off. “Yes. The food is just.....probably not agreeing with me.”

It feels like a good answer, a good excuse. And, it is, if not for Afia being who she is. 

The other woman chuckles quietly, asking in a low voice that’s not necessarily required given Roman had the entire shooting range cleared just for the two women to train. Something he’s done since their first lesson and will continue to do.

Afia’s gaze is assessing. “How far along are you?”

Solana, to the best of her abilities, tries to hide the complete shock that shoots through her body at Afia’s cavalier question. But, it’s difficult, to say the least. “Wh–what?”

“Solana…..” Afia leans across the table, placing her hand on top of Solana’s. “I know we haven’t known each other for long, but we’re technically family, if our stubborn husbands would set aside their pride and talk things out, that is.” Another bombshell as Solana is unsure if Afia is referring to Matteo and Roman as cousins or the half-brothers that they really are. “And, I know this is a rare thing in this world, something that’s almost non-existent, but I promise that you can trust me. You have my word. On my childrens' life.”

Such a strong, powerful statement that Solana doesn't take lightly. That she believes. Because if there’s one thing she’s learned about the woman sitting across from her, it’s that Afia does not play about her family. Especially her children. 

She’d never include them in something like that if she didn’t mean it.

It’s why Solana finds herself asking in a quiet voice, “how—how did you know?”

“I’m a mother myself, Solana. I’ve been there before with the morning sickness, the light headedness, the headaches.” Solana continues to sit stunned as Afia lists off some of the symptoms the wife of the Tribal Chief thought she’d hidden well enough when they hit her during her trainings. “The pregnancy glow.” 

At that, Solana’s eyes light up. “I–I have that?”

Afia nods with a warm smile. “You do.”

There’s something about that, about that acknowledgement from another woman, another mother, that means the world to Solana. 

“I’m—I’m three months,” she finally answers, confirming what Afia clearly already knows. “It’s–it’s twins.”

It’s always been discussed that the pregnancy should be kept private and will continue to be kept as such, but Solana knows that if she talks with Roman, explains how Afia knowing transpired, that he won’t be upset. 

The same way she wasn’t upset when he told her how he told Ava and Dwayne about the pregnancy.

Family.

Ava. Dwayne. Afia. 

They’re family, and Solana can only count the days until she can share her big news with the rest of her family.

“Twins?” Afia gasps, face filled with awe. “What a blessing.” Curiosity brimming, she inquires, “do you know the genders yet or…..”

“Girls,” Solana answers, hand over her belly, overcome with pride. “They’re both girls.”

“Solana….” Afia’s laughter is light and so joyful. “Congratulations. You are going to be an amazing mother.”

A compliment Solana could never tire of hearing. Reassurance she needs in some ways. “Thank you.” Clearing her throat, she wipes at her eyes, sharing, “it’s….it’s nice to finally be able to have someone to talk to about this, about….being pregnant.”

Afia laughs. More heartily this time. “Well, I am an open book for any questions you may have.” She smirks, leaning back and crossing her arms. “I do have some experience with this, you know.”

And Solana is instantly filled with such happiness, such relief in some ways, because having only her doctor and Roman talk to about her pregnancy is fine, but not enough in some ways. Because her doctor can only help from a medical standpoint, and Roman’s knowledge is obviously limited. 

So, Afia, another woman, another mother, being available to offer insight is invaluable.

In more than one way.

“Afia….” Solana is the one to sit forward, gaze focused on the woman opposite her. “You know Matteo and Roman are brothers….don’t you?” 

She has to. Her wording basically confirmed as such. 

“I do,” she answers. Nothing more.

It’s not needed though.

“Then….then I need your help with something else, too.” Because this family has already been so broken, so shattered, so unhealed. It’s time to change that. Solana is determined to make a better, cohesive, healed future for her girls and this next generation of children.

“I’m listening.”

Solana takes a deep breath, pushing aside any amount of self-doubt. “I want to help Roman and Matteo actually be brothers.” She explains, offering with just as much determination, “our children will be cousins, and I want them to have a relationship. I want them to be close, but I don’t know if that can happen if Matteo and Roman don’t form some kind of relationship.”

Form a brotherhood. 

Afia nods, clearly taking in all of the information, Solana a bit unsure if she should have waited. If maybe she came on too strong, that doubt trying to creep its way back in. And then, Afia smiles, simply asking, 

“Where should we start?”

—------------

Roman wasn’t expecting to see his wife again until later in the evening. They both had busy days, her with her training with Afia and work, as well as him with work. So, he’s more than surprised when she shows up at his office looking every bit as fine as she is in a sexy, little red piece. It’s far too easy for him to bark for everyone to get the fuck out of his office so that he’s left alone with said wife. 

But, as the room is quickly cleared, he can’t help but wonder what brings her to see him. She’s always a sight for sore eyes, but he can’t shake the feeling there’s something behind this surprise visit. 

Her smile is bashful, something similar to shyness, a bit of a thing she’ll probably always have around her husband. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His eyes move over her, a mixture of studying and admiring. Her body has always been divine, but the slight changes he’s noticed because of her pregnancy have only elevated her to a delectable category. “You alright?”

She nods. “Yeah, I just….I wanted to see you.”

Roman’s eyes flitter to something curious. “Baby, we just saw each other this morning.”

She shrugs with one shoulder and chews down on her bottom lip. “I know, but….” Solana looks around, focusing mostly on the door, almost expecting someone to walk in. To interrupt. Even though she has a feeling anyone with a brain knows not to interrupt the Tribal Chief when she’s around.

When his wife is present.

“Solana?”

Him calling her name pulls her from wandering thoughts. Solana redirects her focus back to him, trying her best to think on how to word it. In the car, on the way here, it seemed a lot more straightforward, but now standing here in front of him, it’s anything but.

“I…..” Solana breaks away from him, sliding her purse off her shoulder and placing it in one of the chairs on the opposite side of his desk. She feels his gaze never leave her as she hops up on his desk, ankles crossed. An intentional gesture. “Do—do you have a meeting soon?”

Curiosity gleams in his warm brown eyes as he walks over to her, a simple two steps with his long legs. “Define soon.” When she doesn’t answer, he skips right to the chase. “Solana, why are you really here?”

It’s not asked rudely, just something conceived from dire intrigue. 

Solana leans forward, palming the edge of his desk for support. “You know I was…..I was cleared this morning,” she reminds. An unnecessary thing given Roman was right there next to her at her appointment this morning and heard that same things that she did. “I’m…..I’m not on pelvic rest anymore…..” Her voice slides into something quiet and unsure, similar to the way she’s looking at her husband. A husband whose face is filled with knowing and realization.

“Solana….” A pained, almost rough iteration of her name as he moves closer and lifts her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. “Why are you here?”

There’s something about how it’s asked, the heaviness and almost need in said question, the way Solana knows that Roman knows exactly why she’s here.

And she tells him just as much.

Just, in her own way.

Solana closes her knees together to force her husband a few steps back, and when he does so, she proceeds to lay back on his desk just enough to give her the room she needs. Sliding her dress up higher, dangerously high, it’s when she slowly spreads her legs once more and Roman’s eyes flint downward that she sees it.

Sees the way his jaw clenches, his eyes gloss over with an undeniable and unmistakable amount of lust.

“Fuck, Sol…..”

Her mouth slips into something similar to a smile. “Exactly.” She leans up just enough to reach for him, to pull her between her open legs that reveal her exposed cunt and the fact that she’s not wearing any underwear. Solana glides her hands up his chest, cupping his face, as she murmurs, “I want you…..”

Roman’s eyes shut, his voice strained. “Here?” He moves his hands to her hips, tugging her forward. “I would have come home….”

“We can do it again when you get home.” It comes out before she even really realizes what she’s saying, a shocking thing that takes them both back. Solana’s cheeks heat up as she clarifies, “if—if you want.”

“You know I always want that with you,” he assures, kissing the corner of her mouth. He looks at her, lust briefly replaced with all the seriousness. “Are you sure?”

It’s a question that doesn’t even require any sort of contemplation. “Yes.”

The ‘s’ has barely left her mouth when Roman smashes his lips over hers with a hunger that’s equally yoked. Solans moves her arms around her neck, pulling him closer, savoring the feel of his full lips on hers, the intimate, intricate dance of yearning and longing. Roman slides his tongue into her mouth, evoking a yawn as she tightens her thighs around his waist.

Roman groans and drops his mouth to her neck, Solana’s lips parting, her hands to the back of his neck as he sucks on her sensitive mouth and moves his hand over her breast, palming them. She moans and arches her back, oh so sensitive to his touch, a combination of it being far too long since they could be together in this way as well as the changes her body has started to undergo due to her pregnancy.

Solana moves her hands up to slide his suit jacket off, something Roman assists her with as he tosses it off in the distance, uncaring of how it falls onto the floor. He moves to kiss her again, Solana smiling into said kiss only to gasp when Roman nudges his hand in between her legs. 

“You get so wet for me, baby…..” His tongue darts out and over his bottom lip, watching how the pleasure from just a simple touch has her head lolled back. “Lay back a bit for me, sweetheart.”

Solana doesn’t have to be told twice. Excitement fills her as she follows his request. Roman moves his hands to her hips, tugging her a bit forward on his desk as she rests on her elbows. Looking down at him, Solana watches his eyes gloss over with that returned lust, that hunger that always seems to fill him whenever they’re intimate.

“You have such a pretty pussy….” It’s the way he licks his lips and moves to his knees that has Solana’s nails scraping against the wood of his desk. 

And, he hasn’t even touched her yet.

“Keep your legs open for me.” A soft, sultry command that doesn’t need issuance, Solana already adjusting her body and scooting down the desk. But, Roman quickly switches gears, deciding on something different. 

“Fuck it.” Is the last thing Solana hears before her husband has his face buried into that sacred, dripping apex of her thighs. 

“Roman,” she shouts, immediately biting down on her bottom lip to try to keep herself quiet, a difficult task as Roman sucks on her clit with all the urgency and need in the world. “Oh my…..” Her head falls back, her fingers moving to the top of his head. Solana moans as Roman adjusts her legs, one over each shoulder, heels falling off, her calves squeezing against his back.

His thick warm tongue working that magic over her most sensitive bud has her struggling to remain quiet, to not alert anyone outside of the safe space of his office just what carnal activities are transpiring. 

He pulls away, and Solana just about loses it, “I wanna hear you, sweet girl. Stop being so quiet.”

Solana would love to look down at him, meet the dazed, lustful gaze that must fill his eyes, but head thrown back, chest heaving up and down from the sensations of it all make it hard to do so. The same way it’s damn near an arduous task to muster up a verbal reply. “It’s….your office….they’ll—shit—they’ll hear.”

Roman growls lowly and tugs her closer, Solana shooting up off the desk when he thrusts his tongue back inside her. “Ro!”

“Good,” he sounds, face immersed back into her pussy that has his beard soaked, her essence dripping and making a mess all over a $50,000 desk. “Let them.” He’s never been so unbothered. “Let them hear you’re mine.”

Solana whimpers and writhes as he continues to eat her out within an inch of her life, bringing her to kingdom come and back as she comes all over his face and into his mouth, the Tribal Chief lapping up every ounce of it like it’s his last supper. And Solana has truly gone too long without being intimate with her husband, because it’s almost naive on her part for her to think one is enough. 

No. Roman has a minimum of two to three. Two to three times he has to make her come with his mouth, some assistance from his fingers but mostly that talented tongue of his. On several occasions, he’s made it clear, in several graphic ways, just how much he enjoys this. Enjoys going down on her, so much so that Solana has learned trying to push him away as she comes down from her orgasm only makes him pull her closer, as he starts his journey to bringing her to heaven all over again.

It’s too much and yet exactly what she’s been wanting. Been needing. 

And it’s with that same need, she grabs him by the back of his head and presses their lips together, tasting herself on those same, talented, full lips when he’s finally and fully satiated. 

Solana’s hands can’t move fast enough to reach for the belt, but she’s no match for the speed in which Roman has his pants undone and her perched on the edge of the desk, ready and waiting. 

And the minute his thick mushroom head pushes into her, Solana grips his shoulders, the wince on her face more than enough to cause him to stop.

“You alright?” His voice drips with concern, Solana able to feel him pull back just enough, prompting her to shake her head. 

“I’m fine,” she assures, holding him, pulling him closer. “It’s just….it’s been a while.” Too long. “Please—please don’t stop.” Because that’s absolutely not what she needs. She needs him, and she needs him now. 

Roman still looks a bit reluctant, Solana silencing his doubts by pressing her lips against his and maneuvering her hand in between their bodies to reposition him. “Please….” 

Roman obliges, Solana’s hand dropping and moving to grip his shirt as he carefully inches himself into her. She bites down on his shoulder, uncaring of the lipstick stain now on his shirt. “Oh my God…..”

It’s a bit of a burning sensation, somewhat painful, something similar to their first time, but it’s expected. Solana expected there to be some difficulty taking all of him again after such a long period of time. Doesn’t make her want him any less though. Want this any less.

He kisses her temple, asking. “You okay?”

A soft smile and sincere answer. “I’m okay.” Because it’ll never not move her with how attentive and caring he always is, even outside of their sex life, but it somehow seems more prominent in this aspect of their relationship.

Solana can absolutely tell and feel when he’s completely inside of her, an overwhelming sensation that’s been missed even more than she realized. She squeezes his shoulders, whining almost, “move….”

Again, always wanting to assess her comfort, Roman looks down at her, studying her face. Needing that reassurance, and the minute he receives it, Solana is already gasping, feeling him pull out just enough to slide back into her, the tip of his long, thick dick pressing that spot inside of her.

“Yes,” she moans, the pleasure easily and quickly overpowering any amount of discomfort. “Ro….”

His thrusts intensify by the seconds that pass, the slick feeling of her pussy, hugging and tugging his dick with all the need. “Like that, baby?”

“Yes.” She cries, overwhelmed in the best sort of way. “Just—just like that, oh—”

Solana moans when Roman moves his hand under her ass, lifting her up just enough to switch and change up the angle. God, he feels so good.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” Roman’s voice is heavy and deep with need, his mouth traveling the perimeter of his  face. “Missed being inside this pussy.”

Solana feels numb, feels so many, too many things to say anything. Can only continue to lock her ankles above Roman’s ass as he fucks into her, his hips thrusting against and into her, driving her delirious in some ways. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, Sol.” Roman tips her forward once more, eager and needing to dig into her, to continue to feel her come undone around him. “Good ass pussy gripping my shit like this.”

“You’re so deep.” It’s impossible how much he fills her, the fullness that consumes her, the pleasure that he brings her. “Mmm feels amazing, papi.”

“Fuck, Sol,” Roman curses, squeezing her ass, pumping into her harder, deeper. “If you weren’t already pregnant….”

Solana smiles as he buries his face into her neck, his mouth ghosting over the collarbone of her fully healed tattoo. The tattoo for him. A reminder of her love and devotion to him.

It’s that devotion that fills her and drives her to make him look at her, her hands cupping his face, “mine.”

His eyes shut, his forehead pressed against hers, vowing, “yours.” She clenches around him, both nearly coming in that same moment. “Always yours.”

Solana gasps, intakes sharply as he claims her mouth in a kiss that’s broken by her moan, loud and heavy. “I love you,” she whimpers, nails digging into his clothed shoulders. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you, too, baby,” he murmurs, never once stopping his delicious thrusts, his determination to bring her over the edge, to take her to that wonderful place only he knows the way to is unwavering. And with each thrust, with each reminder of his love and devotion for her, Solana’s caring for who, if anyone, overhears dwindles.

She doesn’t care.

This is her husband.

The father of her children.

The Tribal Chief, and she, his wife. 

His a faletua.

The Wife of The Tribal Chief.

She can do whatever she damn well pleases. 

And she does, as she comes, still uncaring of anyone hearing her moans, of how vocal she is at how good her husband makes her feel. The way she savors in the way he once again buries himself into her neck, groping her big breast as he too reaches his climax, emptying his seed all into her. Solana clutches her legs around him, wanting all of it. Everything he has, she wants.

In all the ways. 

She holds onto him, enjoying the feel of his big, strong body leaning, resting into hers. She kisses his temple, again reaffirming her love for him.

And after a few minutes of silence, he speaks, voice low with lingering need. “You need to come visit me every day.”

She giggles, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. “I just might.” He’s still buried inside of her, growing soft, but she swears she feels his dick jerk at her reply. “My….drive has been…..high.” 

Because, it has. Because while Solana has completely understood the need for pelvic rest and would do so for the rest of her pregnancy to keep her babies safe and healthy if necessary, the lifting of said restriction is something she’s also very much looked forward to the past few weeks. Especially as her sex drive has spiked ten levels. Another pregnancy symptom.

One she’s elated to no longer have to suppress. 

The implication with her pronunciation of the word drive makes Roman look up, his gaze filled with desire and baseline level of excitement. “I can take care of that.”

She smiles, eyes darting from his eyes to his lips, whispering, “yeah?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, closing the gap between them, leaning over her body, laying her back on the desk. Solana giggles against his mouth, already feeling—in more ways than one—where this is headed.

Would be headed.

“....I keep trying to tell you, Roman don’t care if I go—OH MY GOD!”

Solanna’s scream of horror is just about what and what with Jimmy’s as he quickly scrambles to shut the door. Solana tries to hide her face into her husband’s chest, her husband who barks at his cousin to “get the fuck out!”

Embarrassment fills her as the two of them move to separate, Roman looking every bit as irritated—or enraged—as he feels. Solana’s hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with continued horror, the sound of Jimmy outside the door a soundtrack to this quite unexpected scene.

“Alicia! Get the bleach! And the Lysol! And the CDC! I need one of them yellow suits they had in Monster’s Inc!  

—----------

Roman was in a decent mood after starting the day off with Solana’s OB-GYN appointment and was in an even better mood when his wife surprised him with a visit. A visit that resulted in them being intimate intimate again after far too long. But, that better mood was immediately squashed the moment his dumbass cousin interrupted them, the same cousin who sits at the same conference table as himself, Dwayne, Matteo, and the Wise Man, still going on and on about what happened a good two hours ago.

“Don’t make no damn sense,” Jimmy scowls, randomly spraying Lysol around him, setting the personal sized can on the table. “Ya’ll couldn’t go somewhere else?”

Roman’s expression is every bit as bored as his tone. “It’s my office, Jimmy.” He lifts his eyes, voice even as he reminds. “I’ll fuck my wife all over that space if I want to.”

It’s then that Matteo gives a look of understanding. “Is that what you’re so upset about?” He asks Jimmy, scoffing and sharing. “I’ve done the same with my wife plenty of times in my office. It’s normal.”

“And, I don’t have a wife, but Lord knows I’ve done some things in my office as well.” Dwayne smirks, leaning back into his chair. 

Jimmy makes a face, mocking the two men. “This ain’t about ya’ll!” He dismisses them, pointing to himself. “This is about me. I am a victim!”

Matteo looks toward his brother and asks in Italian. “Is he always like this?”

Roman rolls his shoulders, answering in the same language. “Unfortunately.”

“I mean, that’s why they make bedrooms. Ya’ll could have done that shit at ya’ll damn house,” Jimmy continues to object, shaking his head, nose turned up. “It was like walking in on my little sister or something.”

Roman rolls his eyes, suddenly curious. “You really think we’ve only had sex in our bedroom at our house?”

At one point, the answer was yes. When they first started being intimate, Solana still growing into her comfortability with sex, yes. It was limited to the bedroom, as that was her comfort level. But now? Especially in the days and weeks following her return from treatment? Roman has easily made his wife come on every available space in that damn house. 

A realization that has Jimmy just about ready to throw up. “You mean I been contaminated?” His eyes are wide and filled with horror as he lifts the can of Lysol, spraying much more than necessary, evoking a fit of heavy, violent coughs from the asthmatic Wise Man. “I’m suing!”

Dwayne and Matteo share a chuckle at the ever dramatic Jimmy, while Roman decides it’s time to switch gears. 

It’s time to get to business.

He sits forward, asking in an unmistakably irritated voice. “Where are your brothers and dad, Jimmy?”

It’s a shift in tone and energy that makes all the men sit up straight, even Jimmy, who answers, “I don’t know, man. They knew to be here.”

“But, they’re not,” Roman finishes. He glances at the expensive watch on his wrist, frustration growing exponentially seeing they’re almost 15 minutes late. 

Unacceptable. 

“Wise Man.”

Paul stands up almost immediately. “Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“Call—” Roman’s directive is interrupted by the arrival of the missing parties themselves. In walks in Rikishi, followed by his sons, Solo and Jey. 

All wear unreadable expressions with the exception of Jey who looks annoyed, and that only pisses Roman off more.

To show up late to a meeting called by the Tribal Chief is one thing. To show up late and deepen that disrespect by looking irritated is a whole other level of contempt.

Roman rolls his shoulders and tries to settle himself by focusing on the objective of said meeting.

Even if that same objective is most likely going to exacerbate an already tense situation.

Once everyone is settled, Wise Man naturally steps into the role of mediator. 

“Gentlemen, thank you for your attendance today,” he starts out, Roman partially listening, mostly focused on how Jey is focused on the wall of windows across the room rather than the discussion that’s about to change everything. Like, he doesn't care.

It’s infuriating. 

“Your Tribal Chief has called this meeting today for a very important reason given the….less than unfortunate events that have transpired over the past few weeks and months.” Unfortunate is one way to put it. “Now, please understand, your Tribal Chief has thought long and hard on how to proceed and respond to these events in a way that is fair and just, but still—”

“You’re all out.”

Roman’s interruption is short, blunt, and concise. A simple sentence with a hefty weight behind it.

Rikishi is the first to respond. He sits forward, removing his glasses. “Excuse me?”

Solo and Jey exchange confused expressions. 

“You’re all hereby removed from my cabinet and relieved of any current, higher up Bloodline duties,” Roman continues his explanation, also sitting forward, studying the non-verbals of each man. “Solo, you’re also removed from Solana’s security detail. You and Jey will be joining the trainers and training new recruits. Rikishi, your primary task will be whatever the Elders assign you with. Just know it won’t be coming from me.”

“Is this a joke?” It’s the first thing to come out of Jey’s mouth as he looks over at Jimmy who’s also just as confused. An expected thing given this was a decision made between Roman, Dwayne, and even Matteo, given how closely connected he’s come to Bloodline business. Especially as he was privy to Jey’s latest and last outburst. “You gotta be fucking with me?”

Roman’s voice is even and challenging. “Do I look like I’m joking?” A rhetorical question to a stupid ass question.

“Roman, this is madness,” Rikishi objects, his voice also even as he looks between his two fellow ousted sons. “How can you—”

“You all have disrespected me, disrespected my reign, my leadership in one way or another.” He’s tempted to add in ‘my wife’, but ultimately goes against it, already knowing they’ll try to say this is personal. Even if, in some ways, it is. “I don’t stand for that shit from anyone.” Not even family. “I’ve killed for less.”

And, they all know this. 

“Fucking training?” Jey sneers, slamming his fist on the table. “You demoting me to a goddamn trainer?”

Roman growls, reminding, “you’re lucky demoting you is all I’m doing.” The Tribal Chief doesn’t hesitate to remind his hot headed cousin of the straw that broke the camel’s back. “That shit you pulled at the party was fucking unacceptable, Jey. Acting a fucking fool on neutral territory in the presence of Escobar and his men? You should have fucking known better.”

Jey responds by jumping up out of his seat, chair falling back onto the floor. “This some bullshit, Roman, and you know it!”

Jimmy also stands up, moving over to try to calm down his brother as Dwayne breaks his silence. “Your temper makes you a liability, Jey. We can’t have that.”

“You either learn to control it, or it’ll control you,” Matteo advises, studying the way Solo remains surprisingly calm in the face of upsetting news. It’s….interesting, to say the least.

Jey growls, “man, you stay the fuck out of this! You ain’t even fucking family!”

“That’s enough, Jey,” Jimmy tries to advise, even though Jey is clearly past the point of conversing. “Roman, this ain’t…..this ain’t a forever thing, right?”

Roman feels all eyes on him as he answers without hesitation. “We’ll see.”

It’s only then Solo gives some indication of his true feelings. Rage. Slowly, he stands, and as he does so, Matteo sits forward, as if ready and waiting. But, Rikishi places a hand on his son’s shoulder. The two share a look before the Elder responds, “is this really what you want to do, Uce?”

No. Truth be told, it’s not really what Roman wants to do, because while he’s always butted heads with Jey at various points over the years, like he’d told Solana that one time, he knows—or knew—the twins always had/have his back. And vice versa. Knew they’d die for him the same way he’d die for them. 

But, things have changed. Feelings have changed. Whatever lied dormant all these years has resurfaced, and Roman has no idea if, and when, it’ll settle.

And what he ultimately wants to avoid is the other alternative. The one that he and Jey utilized years prior. 

Tribal Combat.

Something Roman was victorious in at that time, but not something he wants to have for a second round. Because the stakes are higher this round, much higher. Because while Roman was simply allowed to defeat his cousin and call it resolved the first time. The second time, he won’t be as lucky. 

This time, with everything that’s happened, Jey’s public display of disrespect, Roman can’t just defeat Jey in combat. 

He’d have to kill him.

It would be to the death.

And while Roman isn’t sure he could ever admit this aloud to anyone, not even Solana, it doesn’t negate the fact that deep down, he’s not sure if he could do it.

He doesn't know if he could kill Jey, and not because of lack of ability but lack of want.

He doesn’t want to kill Jey.

So, that’s why this route is the route he must take, and it’s why he answers calmly, “yes.”

And, it’s with that, his decision is made. Final and without appeal options. Roman motions for the Wise Man to see the now three disgraced men out of his office, his flushed face advisor moving to point and usher the four men out.

Jimmy leaves with his brothers and father.

It’s only when he’s alone with his cousin and half brother, Roman sees Dwayne nod, advising, “you made the right decision, brotha’.”

“You made the only decision,” Matteo agrees. 

Roman looks away, silent and questioning. 

Because while the satisfaction of knowing one problem has been handled should settle the Tribal Chief, the nagging feeling that another entirely different one has just been created is something he can’t push away. 

—-----------

It’s a battle of senses. Roman’s sense of smell fights with his auditory system as he steps foot into the home. He smells the delicious aroma of whatever his beautiful wife has prepared for them this evening, and he also hears the music that’s playing through the speaker system throughout the home.

A small smile falls on his face as he walks gingerly toward the room where the music seems the loudest and the scent of dinner—and more—lures him. 

Roman proceeds gingerly when he’s in the vicinity of seeing her, but her not seeing him. The smile is conjoined with a warm feeling that only she evokes as he realizes not only is she singing along—he loves to hear her sing—but she’s playfully dancing around the kitchen as well. 

Roman maintains his safe distance to secure his ability to observe. To see the big smile on her beautiful face as she moves around the kitchen, one of those god-awful shirts Jimmy has made for him every Christmas on her frame that Solana stumbled across and has commandeered for herself ever since. And with her is Dulce, tail wagging, jumping up on her hind legs every so often as she “dances” with her mom.

But, it’s the way she occasionally brings her hand to her stomach, lovingly, protectively, that moves Roman the most. The way her eyes briefly close, clearly taking in this moment of pure bliss and long-deserved happiness. 

A similar feeling for him as well.

This. This is what he needs. Her. Her light. Her love. The balm she is for him on even his hardest days, and today is definitely up there on the list of difficult times.

You got a fast car

Is it fast enough so we could fly away?

Still gotta make a decision

Leave tonight, or live and die this way

A brief thought crosses Roman’s mind, an idea that prompts him to step away and head for his office. Hitting the light, he moves over to the bookcase set where his Canon sits. Years of experience allows him to switch the lenses and adjust the settings in a matter of minutes, allowing him to return without alerting his wife of his presence.

He starts with photos, snapping and capturing this moment in still shots. But then, the desire to bottle all of it—audio and video included, fills him, prompting him to switch to the record option. Roman watches her through the viewfinder, admiration abundant. 

So, I remember when we were driving, driving in your car

Speed so fast, I felt like I was drunk

City lights laid out before us

And your arm felt nice wrapped around my shoulder

And I, I had a feeling that I belonged

I, I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone

Solana spins around and laughs at the sight of Dulce also spinning around, but it’s also in that moment she becomes aware of the fact that she’s not alone.

Solana shouts in a mixture of surprise and fear, slapping her hand over her mouth. “Roman!” It’s the initial shock of seeing he’s present followed by the awareness that he’s also recording. “No. Ro, I look terrible!” She tries to hide her face, prompting him to remind her of what he’ll gladly spend the rest of his life doing.

“You look beautiful.” His compliment grants him her dropping her hands just enough to give away the fact that she’s hiding a smile. “You always do.”

Solana doesn’t say anything, just nervously darts her eyes up and down, asking, “how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” Roman stops the video and lowers the camera to walk over to her. Solana leans up and wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him, as he murmurs, "missed you today.”

Because, he has. Any moment not spent with her and instead spent dealing with bullshit just intensifies that ache and borderline empty feeling he has whenever she’s not around.

Her smile is wry and playful. “You just saw me this afternoon.”

Roman absolutely picks up on the fact that she’s teasing him from his response to seeing her this afternoon, prompting him to remind her, “I did more than just see you, baby.”

“Roman!” She squeals when his hand drops to her bountiful ass, giving a squeeze. “Stop it.”

He’ll do no such thing, but he will allow her to bring him over to the stove. One hand holding his, Solana uses the other to stir around whatever is in the pot. She then grabs another smaller spoon, scooping up some and lifting it to his mouth. “Try this.”

He does so, easily. It only takes a second for the taste to set in. “It’s delicious,” he compliments. “But, everything you make is good as fuck, Sol. You know this.”

Her cheeks redden, as she explains, “it’s a new recipe I was trying. Got it from Afia. It’s Nigerian. Something called Gizdodo,” she says the name with uncertainty, sheepishly admitting, “I was worried you wouldn’t like it.”

“Solana, I love everything you make.” He loves everything about her, including and especially her excellent culinary skills. “Except that damn soup.”

Solana rolls her eyes, taking the spoon to toss it in the sink. “Roman, don’t start with that.”

“It’s not that it’s not good,” he defends. “It’s good as hell. There’s just nothing to it, and I’m hungry an hour later.”

Solana rolls her eyes and moves over to him, hands on his chest. “Ro, you’re hungry an hour later even when I don’t fix you soup.”

“Yeah, but I’m hungrier when it’s soup.”

Shaking her head, she goes to take the camera from him, pointing out of the kitchen. “Go change, so we can eat. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Roman answers by kissing her temple and lightly slapping her ass, prompting her to giggle as she playfully pushes him away. Dulce barks from the floor, clearly wanting his attention as well. Chuckling, he kneels down and pets her. “Hey girl,” he gives her a brief belly rub before sending her to resume her stalking of Solana by the stove. 

15 minutes later, he’s out of his work clothes, dressed in sweats and a short sleeved shirt, finding his wife still by the stove. He realizes she has the same song as before playing clearly on repeat.

Roman moves behind her, arms around her waist as she leans back into him, explaining softly, “my mother loved this song.” A quiet admission as he kisses her temple in a comforting gesture. “She—she used to play the original all the time while she cooked, and I used to dance with her, and in those moments, everything was fine. It was just….just me and her, and we were happy…..I was happy.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, just allows her to speak and share freely. He knows she's been working with Gail on processing her confusing feelings towards her mom and would never do anything to make her feel invalidated. Hate. Grief. Love.

It's all valid.

Her eyes shut, and she sighs heavily. “We’re not going to be like them, Ro.” Solana turns her head to look up at him. “We’re not going to be like our parents.”

It’s one of the easiest things he could agree to, and some of it, he can’t deny, is due to the conversations he’s had with Lita about the very same thing. “No. We’re not.”

She smiles, but it’s small, weighed down with memories of the past. He can relate entirely. “They’re gonna have a childhood.” She turns around again, so her head remains tilted back into his strong chest. Roman’s hand snakes down to her belly, protective placement. “A happy one…”

He’s in agreement. 1000%, but there’s something about her sentiment, a combination of all the conversations they’ve had the past few weeks that has him sharing something he’s gone from briefly contemplating to seriously considering. 

“Sol….” She looks back up at him, expression expectant. Roman lifts his hand to her cheek, index and thumb gently tipping her chin. “Let’s move.”

Naturally, she’s confused, her smile almost reluctant. “W…what?”

“Not out of state,” he clarifies. Though, if possible, he wouldn’t be entirely opposed to that either. Away from all these damn people. “A new house.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “A new house?”

The shock in her voice makes him chuckle. He nods. “Yes, baby. A new house.” The hand on her stomach moves around in a small circle. “Let’s build something. You tell me what you want in it, and I’ll have it made.” Solana continues to look astounded, Roman adding in a small voice. “A nice backyard for them….”

Solana turns around, forcing his hands down and to her hips. “You’re….you’re serious?”

“Yeah,” he answers. Roman lifts his hand to the small of her back, further explaining as he looks around. “This place is mine, and it’s been mine for years. It’s yours too, but it’s got more me than you, and I want it to be us.” He moves to cup her face, asking gently, “does that make sense?”

Because this house has been solely Roman's for so long, holds so many memories and experiences that no longer represent the future he wants. This was his bachelor home.

And, that's not what he wants anymore.

He wants a family home.

He wants to give his wife the home she wants and his daughters the kind of home that they deserve.

“It does.” Solana slides her hands up his chest, locking them behind his neck, her lips curving into a wide smile. “We can really build our own house?”

He chuckles. “We can do anything you want, Solana.”

She giggles, scoffing in disbelief. “Then….” She bounces a little against him, a clear sign of excitement. “Then let’s build a house.” Roman smiles as she moves to hug him, gasping and asking, “wait, I can design my own kitchen?”

“I’m certainly not going to do it,” he answers, chuckling when she slaps his arm. He watches how delight fills her eyes. 

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” she muses, sharing with continued elation. “I can have a kosher kitchen!”

“I have no idea what that means, but sure.”

Solana rolls her eyes and hugs him again, murmuring into his chest, “thank you.” And before he can remind her once again that she never has to thank him for anything he does for her, she peers up at him with those mischievous eyes. “Gotta start preparing for our six kids, huh?”

She’s quick to move away, giggling and opening cabinets to pull out plates. “Don’t start with that shit again, Solana.” Her laughter continues, a stark contrast to the serious expression on his face. He’s almost certain that one sentence alone has spiked his blood pressure. But, it pales in comparison to what his numbers must be when he catches onto something. “Did you just say six?”

—---------

His breathing is heavy, her fingers gliding up and across the sheen of sweat across his back. Roman continues to pulse inside of her, coming down from yet another shattering orgasm, every drop of his cum depleted inside of her addictive pussy. 

Solana kisses his temple, evoking a contented sigh. Carefully, Roman lowers one of her legs from off his shoulder and removes himself from her, plopping down on the bed beside her. Seconds later, she’s moving on top of him, laying against him.

“Ya know…..” Solana pants, clearly trying to catch her breath. “For someone who claims he doesn’t want a lot of kids, you sure do love doing the thing with me that can give us all those kids.”

He scoffs, explaining, “you’re already pregnant. I don’t need to be careful.”

Curious, Solana inquires, “and when I’m not pregnant anymore?”

Roman shrugs, continuing to glide his fingers up and down her arm. “Then, we’ll be careful.”

A scowl falls on her face, Solana unwilling to hide her displeasure or her stance. “I’m not getting on birth control. I don’t want to.” And she knows he won’t make her either. Will respect that decision and her. “So we start using protection–

Roman is immediately shutting that shit down. “I’m not using condoms.” 

Solana smiles knowingly, burying her face into his chest. 

No condoms. 

No birth control.

She’s certain she’ll end up pregnant again in a matter of months after the twins are born.

Roman will just have to deal with the “consequences” of them being so sexually active without any barriers to protect them from pregnancy. 

He’ll be fine. 

She snuggles even closer to him, dwelling in the comfort that always comes with being pressed against his body. He always makes her feel so safe when they’re cuddled together, but there’s something about this time that deters that. A feeling that nudges at her, prevents her from doing so, from getting comfortable, because it feels so obvious.

It’s why she sits up and looks down at her husband, asking, “what’s wrong?”

Solana is expecting him to deflect. She knows he’s been trying hard, working hard in therapy, to be more open with her, but it’s still a struggle. So, it partially surprises her when he answers, “I need to talk to you about something.” 

And right away, she knows she’s not going to like whatever he’s about to share. “O—okay.”

Roman’s hesitation is visible and palpable. “I know….I know you want this pregnancy to be as normal as possible, and I want that too. I want to be able to give you that—”

“And you can,” she cuts in, anxiety rising with the way her chest is starting to feel a little tight. She thought they already discussed this. “You have.”

His eyes briefly dart to the side of the room. “Years ago, when there was….a protocol when the wife of the Tribal Chief was pregnant. She....she would spend the pregnancy….away.”

Yeah…..Solana knew she wasn’t going to like this conversation. 

At all.

She sits up completely. “Roman, what are you saying?” His silence is damning. “Are—are you sending me away?”

“No.” A relieving answer preceded by a stressful follow-up. “Not…not unless I have t—Solana.” He stops mid-explanation as she kicks the sheets off and moves to get out of the bed. “Sol—”

“No,” she cuts him off, voice icy and slicing. Solana looks over at him, face filled with confusion and distress. “I can’t—I can’t believe you would even suggest that.”

Roman also sits up, running his hand over his face. He knew this wouldn’t be something she would enjoy hearing, but it’s something she needs to hear regardless. “Baby—”

He tries to reach for her, only for Solana to jerk away from him as she rises out of the bed. He ultimately decides to let her leave, closing his eyes when she slams the door to the bathroom. 

“Fuck….”

Again, it’s not that he expected Solana to be thrilled about this, especially as they’d discussed just this morning just how excited she was about all of this. About experiencing this pregnancy with him, and he can’t deny that those confused feelings he was experiencing about said pregnancy at the beginning have started to gradually shift to something likened with excitement.

That there was a sense of joy that filled him hearing confirmation that Solana is in fact pregnant with twin girls. Just like their dreams.

Dreams that have slowly been becoming a reality, but there’s also a darkness to his reality. One that places Solana in a tremendous amount of danger once news of her pregnancy starts to reach the wrong ears. 

And while there is some hint of decreasing that danger by “leaking” the fact that she’s carrying girls and not a boy, so not an heir, that’s something Roman could never be okay with. Nor does it take away the danger of her pregnancy being “public,” because her pregnancy, no matter how they could try to spin it, just puts an even bigger target on her head.

And, it’s that target that he finds him struggling with. It’s been there since the day she became his wife, but the fact that it’s even bigger, or will be, is unsettling to him. It’s why he’s found himself thinking of ways to minimize that risk, and the biggest, possibly best way, would be to have Solana spend the rest of the pregnancy in hiding of sorts. 

He’d maybe even consider letting her go to Mexico. Let her be around with family. But clearly, she’s not okay with any of that. 

At all. 

And, it’s not as if he’s thrilled about it either, because while he’s still working through feelings about being a dad, there’s a small part of him that feels a sense of grief at possibly not being able to experience that with her. Her first pregnancy. Their first pregnancy.

But, that grief is largely outweighed by his desire to protect her. Protect them.

He’ll do anything to keep his family safe.

Anything.

The sound of the shower running alerts Roman to the fact that Solana won’t be coming back to bed anytime soon, which is why he finds himself kicking the covers back, finding and sliding on his boxers and stepping over to the bathroom. 

He’s not surprised to find the knob unlocked, already knowing she just wanted space in the moment, not to not be around him at all.

It’s why he quietly closes the door behind him and walks over to the shower, seeing the backside silhouette of her nude frame standing under the running water. Roman removes his boxers and is careful, meticulous in the way he opens the shower door to join her without actually disturbing her.

Naturally, he moves to stand beside her, his arms around her, gently turning her around to face him.

“Shit.” Roman knew he upset her, expected as such. He just didn’t know how much he upset her, because the water droplets swimming down her face, trickling from her bangs can’t hide the fact that she’s clearly crying. 

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he’s immediately apologizing, kissing her forehead, eyes shutting. “Please don’t cry.” Because she’s the only person on this earth that he actually cares about upsetting. It’s the last thing he ever wants to do.

The sound of her sniffling is a punch to his gut, but not as painful as what fills him hearing her soft, quiet, desperate response. “Please don’t send me away.” He looks down, meeting her teary, scared eyes. She shakes her head. “I can’t—I can’t do this without you.”

Sentiments she’s expressed before, especially after her nightmare a few weeks back, but something she obviously feels the need to reiterate. 

“I’ll—I’ll do whatever you want me to do, but—but not that.” She swallows, her voice shifting into something more determined, fierce almost. “I am with you. Always. No matter what.” She moves her hands up to his face, whispering, “to the end, Ro.” Head tilted, lips pressed together, she asks in a quiet voice. “Okay?”

Roman nods. He won’t risk further upsetting her. She can’t afford it. Not…not in her condition. 

He leans down to kiss her before reaching for the wash cloth laid across the shelf and motioning for her to turn around so he can wash her. An act of love and affection that she reciprocates for him before they both find their way back to bed, Solana sleeping peacefully atop him.

But, it’s short lived sleep for Roman who eventually escapes the sanctuary of their bed and trades it for the seat outside on their balcony.

Something....something is off.

He can't put his hand on on it, but he feels it. The situation with Jey, Rikishi, and Solo could be it, probably is a large part of it, why Roman can't shake this uneasy feeling.

It could be Cosa Nostra related, because things have been quiet on that end. Perhaps too quiet. But, Dwayne and Matteo continue to reiterate that the few men they trust back in Italy continue to keep them in the loop, and nothing has raised alarm.

Matteo has even been ever transparent regarding the reports he sends back to the Administration regarding Roman's activity. All truthful. Nothing damning.

But, all of that is what makes it so difficult for the Tribal Chief, because a tangible issue is a solvable issue. An invisible one is nothing but a possibility that may be nothing.

Or may be something.

And Roman knows he would have to have something to justify sending Solana away. She would need a clear answer, an explanation as to why he's doing the very thing she begged him not to do. And telling her it's because he has a hunch that something is off simply won't cut it.

Roman sits there for a good half hour, thinking, overthinking, and something beyond that even. He goes over it all, from the moment he first met his wife to the moment just a few hours ago where he agreed to her request. He evaluates it all, not from Roman, the man in love with his wife, but from The Tribal Chief, the protector.

The warrior and fighter who recognizes the one and ultimate goal in this situation. 

Protection.

Because he lost his family once before.

He won’t lose them again. 

Eventually, Roman walks back into the room. He moves over to the side of the bed where Solana is on her side, sleeping peacefully, completely oblivious to the decision her husband has come to. 

He crouches down beside her, watching her, studying her face before his attention drifts downward. To her stomach.

Wordlessly, he reaches a hand to place it atop the thin sheet, settling it atop her belly, those damn feelings intensifying all over again.

“I don’t know a lot about any of this.” Something he’s gradually coming to grips with with every day that passes where he learns something new about the two tiny human beings growing inside of his wife. Roma’s eyes fill with something that can only be likened to dedication. “But….one thing I do know how to do is how to keep you safe.” His voice is low, whispered, drenched with vulnerability that would never leave the sanctuary of this space. “And, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you and her safe.” His eyes fill with a sense of dread, regret, and immense determination. “Even if she ends up hating me for it.”

[pixiesafica]

I have seen this attempt to boicot radfem hastags in order to not allow us to talk and debate, what I think it denotes we are right.

It's important talk about that because It's a violation of our fundamental rights: freedom of speech and association. It's a flagrant attempt of censorship.

Many TRAs will excuse themselves saying It's not censorship because what we say is hate speech, but we are not the ones who post about killing and raping people we don't like and we don't agree with. Many TRAs do it and even put into practice, so who are the ones with a hate speech and criminal fantasies and acts?

All rights we have now have been debated in the past, all of them. People who fought for them didn't have any problem about talking and debating about them, you know why? Because they knew they were right. The status quo didn't want debate so they censored people with different ways. So why "trans rights" shouldn't be debated?

Avoiding debate and censoring people who don't agree with you means a lot: you know you aren't right and you will eventually loss in a debate. Facts are against you, the material reality of sex are against you, medical studies about how transition affects trans people are against you. Most of the population are against you, some of them because they are conservatives that hate you, other like me because we have common sense and see the reality.

It's hilarious that the same generation of people who want to normalize going to therapy is the same that demonizes It when the purpose is to help people who hates their body because of their sex. Instead, you prefer to poison others and/or yourself with cross sex hormones and surgeries that won't help you, only destroy your health. What type of healthcare is destroy your body in order to realize an experiment? What type of right is males violating women and girls boundaries?

It's easy to see why you want to avoid any debate or talk about the issue, and your acts of censorship and threats are obviously totalitarian methods of repression.

[hiiragi7]

Exercise: Exposing intersexism in yourself

Perisex (non-intersex) people please take time to work through this. I'd also appreciate if you reblogged, even if you don't have time to do the exercise.

When you think of an 'intersex body', what comes to mind?

-Do you think of a stereotypical "hermaphrodite"? (Ex. a penis + vagina, a penis + pair of breasts, a very feminine person with a beard)

Do you, or have you ever, used one of the following arguments;

-Intersex people are living proof that trans people exist/that gender/sex is not binary

-Intersex existing disproves everything TERFs/transphobes believe in

-Cis kids with hormone issues are allowed to take HRT or participate in sports, which is hypocritical against trans people

-Nobody is forcing kids into sex reassignment surgery or hormones, that isn't a thing that happens

-Any kind of argument which uses intersex people as a statistic, whether that is framing intersex people existing as either "common" or "rare"

Do you, or have you ever, said any of the following statements;

-Technically I'm biologically intersex now because I took HRT/had surgery, which makes me biologically nonbinary aka intersex

-I tell people that I am intersex/have a hormone condition to avoid discrimination

-I wish I was born as/could become intersex, it would help my dysphoria a lot

-Intersex people are so lucky because they're already biologically nonbinary, they don't even need to transition

-This animal was born with a mix of sex characteristics/without a sex/developed characteristics of the opposite sex over time, which means they're nonbinary/trans

When it comes to sex, do you;

-Believe that sex is binary

-Believe that all intersex people are infertile

-Believe that all intersex people produce both sperm and egg

-Fantasize about intersex bodies, or consume or create porn that displays either intersex bodies or exaggerated stereotypes of hermaphroditic bodies

-Ask invasive questions about what genitals or reproductive organs an intersex person has

-Treat AFAB/AMAB the same as "[non-medically-transitioned] perisex female/perisex male", such as saying "AFAB anatomy" when you really mean vulva, vagina, uterus, ovaries, breasts, and so on

-Believe that HRT/surgery makes you intersex

-Believe that intersex only covers certain types of variation in sex and not others (Ex. Counting ovotestes, CAIS, and CAH as intersex but not counting PCOS or Klinefelter's)

When it comes to creating (artwork, writing, videos, etc), do you;

-Wish to include an intersex character, but do little or no research on how to write/draw them

-Fail to consider how your work will affect real-life intersex people consuming your work

-Ask random intersex people to help you create an intersex character

-Wish to include an intersex character because you personally think intersex people are interesting, or because you are seeking to include as many marginalized identities as you can

-Create intersex characters because you personally find them sexy

-Refer to characters as "hermaphrodites"

-If you create pride artwork or sell pride artwork, if you include a large variety of other LGBT+ identities but do not include intersex, why is this?

When it comes to advocacy work, do you;

-Fail to bring up intersex issues in conversations which should directly involve them, such as the Kansas bathroom bill

-Attempt to push intersex people out of queer spaces by saying that they are not queer

-Fail to recognize or acknowledge how many anti-queer and anti-trans arguments are inherently also anti-intersex arguments

-Say that intersex people are just "collateral damage" or "just caught in the crossfire/targeted by mistake" when it comes to discussing discrimination

-Never think to bring intersex flags or pins or similar to pride even as an ally, contributing to pride being vastly void of intersex pride

-Never attempt to organize protests specifically for intersex rights, or never bring intersex issues up in LGBTQIA+ support groups or resource centers or online

-Never educate others on intersex issues or lift up intersex voices

-Believe that intersex people have more rights than other marginalized groups, or that they are not discriminated against for being intersex

-Believe that all intersex people who are discriminated against are only discriminated against because people believe that they are transgender

Now, not all of these will point towards you being intersexist; however, if you find yourself hitting several points listed here, you do likely have some internalized biases and intersexism to unpack.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for telling my mom I don't like it when she slaps my ass? potential tw

so I (22 trans m) currently live with my mom (65), and I've always had issues with how she interacts with my body. today she woke me up to try on a pair of pants I bought yesterday before she washed them, and I asked her if she could stop staring at me while I took my pajama pants off to try on the jeans. she pushed back and laughed it off saying it didn't matter, so I had to change in front of her cause she refused to leave the room. this has happened many times before where she insists on watching me change, even when I'm completely naked, despite me asking her not to.

I put the pants on and she immediately comes over to inspect how they fit for herself, tugging on the waistband and looking them over, then promptly slaps my ass. I immediately recoil and tell her I didn't like it and I want her to stop, and she scoffs and rolls her eyes at the suggestion. I tell her it's weird because we've had this conversation before since her slapping my ass is a frequent occurrence, and like usual, she insists there's nothing weird about it because she's my mother and she isn't doing it to be sexual. when she does this, she usually says, "I birthed that ass, so I'm allowed to slap that ass if I want to." I tried to tell her that I'n an adult and I should be allowed to tell her when I don't like something she does to me, and I was visibly pissed off and kicked her out of my room to go back to bed.

I could hear her in the other room walking around saying loudly, "ohh, so I'M aaaaalways the problem. I'm the problem, of course," in like a mocking tone because she clearly thinks I'm in the wrong. I know she's an asshole for a lot of other reasons (she's pretty transphobic and doesn't respect my name, pronouns, or that I'm on hormones, and she frequently takes out her anger issues on me by yelling at me if I even look at her wrong when she's mad), but this one has been bothering me a lot since I moved back home after college (I'm also unemployed and wouldn't be able to move out for a while despite already wanting to get away from her)

for further context, she's always had a specific way of interacting with my body that I think is weird but she refuses to see it. she insisted on personally bathing me into middle school, then continued to say that I needed her help to shower correctly even up to now, so she frequently walks into my bathroom or bedroom when I'm entirely naked and will look my body over and I'm not a fan of it. she also still tries to force her way into changing rooms if we go shopping together so that she can have the final say in how I look in clothes, and she never even wants to turn around or wait outside while I strip.

I've tried to get her to stop before but she keeps doing it, insisting that she's my mother so she's allowed to, even though I'm an adult who hasn't lived with her for the past four years and is very autonomous, so it's not like she still does everything for me. she also pushes back and says that if I think it's weird then it must mean I've been assaulted before and that's why I don't like it when she touches me. I'm also autistic and don't like frequent hugs or any kind of touching and she doesn't like it when I tell her to stop doing that too, but her slapping my ass and insisting on seeing me naked is the stuff that really bothers me, the rest I tolerate just so I don't have to argue with her all the time.

I've asked friends before if they think it's weird she does this, but she's so insistent that she should be able to touch me whenever and however she wants just because she's my mom and that she can look at me naked because she birthed me and has seen me naked before, so why is it different now that I'm a full on adult. I honestly don't know who's in the wrong for this specific thing and if I'm over exaggerating like my mom says I am, but I'm so sick of her touching me when I tell her not to that I needed to poll answers, so:

am I the asshole for telling my mom to stop slapping my ass and insisting on looking at me while I'm naked despite being an adult and asking her not to?

[dailycass-cain]

Ending this day with a 🧵on Cass, sexuality, and the many love interests she's had in her twenty-six years.

I'll start by saying the Puckett/Scott run avoided this topic. Not so much Dylan Horrocks' run on the comic who confronted the issue head-on at the start of his run in Batgirl #39 with Tai'Darshan aka the Black Wind.

Now within the comic Babs, shrugs this off as an 18-year-old girl with what she's dealt with trying to find herself amongst her hormones, and Batman being Batman (at this time this was him going down the Bat-dickery phase in the book with it escalating with the fight Cass has with him in #50).

Enter the infamous bit of the issue, Babs making Cass wear VERY revealing bikini so she can have some rest and relaxation to "ease" her mind.

Enter love interest #2 being reintroduced to Cass's life within the issue, "Carl", aka Superboy aka Conner Kent.

The two had met prior in Superboy #85. There was a "spark" an interest at the end with Cass, and she did end up bonding with Kon.

And in doing so we learn the negativity of Cass being able to read body language. She knows Kon is thinking impure thoughts on her, and it makes Cass feel sick.

Yeah... I get the reasoning here. But Cass is just trying to find herself in this world. Struggle with her own thoughts and wants.

And in doing so we learn the negativity of Cass being able to read body language. She knows Kon is thinking impure thoughts on her, and it makes Cass feel sick.

Yeah... I get the reasoning here. But Cass is just trying to find herself in this world. Struggle with her own thoughts and wants.

And these two various ends of boys (good boy with Kon and bad body with Tai'Darshan end up colliding with the next issue along with at the start of it Babs realizing Bruce set this all up for Cass to confront these emotions with Tai'Darshan.

Just he never expected Kon to be the WILD CARD in this.

Anyway, we learn stuff about Tai'Darshan, and Cass stops him and makes sure he lives. The issue ends with Cass getting her "first kiss."

Though to be fair, the comic is implying she's kissing Kon to get at Tai'Darshan. Not to mention going with what she's seen around her. The next issue follows up with Kon, with Cass seeking him out when learning Tai'Darshan escaped, and she's still not really sure of herself.

Thankfully, Cass decides to confront these emotions head on going to see Kon in Smallville. What we get is Kon trying to win her over with well being Kon and Cass just trying to figure herself out. Which she eventually does when an alien runs amok on their date and realizes why:

She attains her own thoughts and desires realizing it's better off that she and Kon remain friends. And the next issue, Bruce puts a stop to Kon ever seeing Cass again (cause bat dickery).

I think one of the long-lasting reasons why Kon has remained a love-interest still to this day with Cass is well it's Kon.

Save for having hormonal thoughts, and (not realizing it), he was ever the gentleman in these issues. The "good" boy compared to the "bad" boy in Tai'Darshan.

Save for having hormonal thoughts, and (not realizing it), he was ever the gentleman in these issues. The "good" boy compared to the "bad" boy in Tai'Darshan, who gets the next few issues ironed out more.

My final thoughts on Kon is that there's always potential for the two to keep being friends, but the only stuff we've ever gotten since is Teen Titans several years later with Kon meeting "Cass" (Rose in disguise), and a de-drugged Cass mourning Kon.

My final thoughts on Kon is that there's always potential for the two to keep being friends, but the only stuff we've ever gotten since is Teen Titans several years later with Kon meeting "Cass" (Rose in disguise), and a de-drugged Cass mourning Kon.

The true legacy ironically has been artist Rian Gonzales paying homage to this all-too brief relationship in her Batgirls covers twice.

As for Tai'Darshan, Cass would learn more about him, his country, and his origins, and confront her feelings/thoughts on him in the next few issues.

Unfortunately, just like the Kon subplot, Tai'Darshan ends short with him sacrificing himself after taking in a poisoned wind (thanks Doctor Death ya bastard🙃). Cass pays one final respect to him and mourns the loss.

In a way, I'm a bit surprised this relationship never caught as much on, but I take it more that well he's up against Superboy. There's the "why". Still, Tai'Darshan is memorable for well being the first male love interest, how he exited, and ironically--

--- his legacy possibly being the one who many years latter Cass would use his nickname for her new codename "Black Bat".

Horrocks would continue this theme of Cass trying to discover herself all the way into #50. Where we get probably the two love interests I don't think many want me to talk about but I feel I must: Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake.

Though, Horrocks isn't the one who originally began this Cass crushing on Bruce. Writer Scott Beatty over in Gotham Knights #35 was the first to broach this subject matter.

Just that at this point in his run, Bruce was treating Cass like a weapon (much like David Cain), and upon realizing this forced her to stop being Batgirl (while also indirectly taking out the male love interests in her life). So we get this screwed-up scene from #50 via Babs pov:

I didn't think much of this more of Cass's screwed up raising (which the issue starts out as). She wants Bruce's approval, but also his affection. Something she never got from David Cain. In the end of the issue she gets both.

Just that, listening to a podcast a few years back by Stella Ngwaci, made me rethink the scene differently and the "icky" implications it could also represent.

But I digress, these parts with Bruce begin and end here thankfully.

Tim on the other hand… 🫤

This is a thing that went on for a good chunk of years (just that Horrocks' run Tim briefly expresses interest in her with #45).

It's post-War Games era this is where it all springs from as creators (including co-creator of Cass Damion Scott) viewed the two as a couple just not accepting it (hey it was 2005 to 2008 that this lasted).

Perhaps the only great "positive" given how many HATED Cass's being evil (or later drugged) that the oversexualization with Tim forced other writers to be like, "Um no... this is bad. They're more like brothers. We have to STOP THIS."

So ironically you can thank writer Adam Beechen for stopping this and bringing back fully the brother/sister relationship the two had prior to all this.

But this isn't the end of Horrocks and male love interests as I'll begin the path down the "nameless" ones. Male love interests Cass "had" but if I ask any fan I bet they'll only ever remember one.

First up, is the "Artist" from #51-52, a pawn in a scheme by Poison Ivy. Being that it is "2000s" Ivy, unearthing primal desires comes into play, and so the artist has the hots for Cass. Though her desire for justice is too strong for him.

That's all one can remember of him as it was obvious the only "desire" or interest Cass had was due to Ivy, not her own. So he's the first of many.

Another comes from Batman: City of Light. Where Cass's subplot is where we get nameless love interest #2, Javier (who's name I only remember due to rereading this AGAIN 🙃):

Then there is another exception to the nameless ones, Coldcast, from Justice League Elite #1-12. During her time undercover as Kasumi she gets to know her teammate quite well, and we get this exchange.

It's also this feeling and knowing of his kindness that Cass is the one who helps in eventually proving his innocence to the team (after being framed for murder).

I think the grand problem with Coldcast is it's only confined to this book.

We barely get an acknowledgment of the team in Batgirl later on (via Andersen Gabrych), and nothing on Coldcast. Much like Kon he's just regulated to a short run and that's it (ironically both relationships introduced by Joe Kelly).

So let's get the only "nameless" love interest out of the way that most remember from Gabrych's run, ironically named, Zero.

I still don't understand the character or Cass's interest in him.

For the beginning half of the run, Zero stalks Cass and she cutely entertains him even "rewarding" him with a kiss on the head after a mission. I think the reason for the attraction is Cass views him as an outcast.

Like herself and there in lies the attraction.

However, that's it. She returns his affection, and-- we really don't know much of him or why he's attracted to Cass. Enter WHY he's more remembered than most of the male love interests: he died in the final issue.

So I've talked about Cass's interest in Kon. Now THE OTHER big one. The one DC officially hasn't confirmed but well-- the evidence is just too much and that's Cassandra's feelings on one STEPHANIE BROWN.

I feel Gabrych's run is the best way to bring talk of Steph into this because it's obvious Cass was feeling loss but also unresolved feelings for Steph during this period.

You have that when Cass teams up with Tim not mentioning or going quiet when bringing her up. Or...

Plus the way "Ghost" Steph shows up when Cass is near death and we get these sorts of things. Cass casually touching Steph's face or HOW Steph holds Cass when at death's door the final time in #72.

But it isn't until "Future State" Batgirls story where we have the most frustrating bit between the two. As it was basically said by the creators (and editor of the story) that Cass/Steph WHERE in a relationship and it fizzled out. You get that in the various beats of the tale.

But it isn't until "Future State" Batgirls story where we have the most frustrating bit between the two. As it was basically said by the creators (and editor of the story) that Cass/Steph WHERE in a relationship and it fizzled out. You get that in the various beats of the tale.

I feel like that meme of "SO CLOSE TO PERFECTION" (though I digress remove the Nightwing being a dick subplot in part 2 of the story please) with this tale could've been something and it just falls flat.

We do get cute moments though...

I feel we were on the verge of it near the end of the Batgirls run. I mean literally, in Batgirls #14 we have Stephanie writing to Cass a love confession (along with Cass wearing a piece of Steph's Batgirl costume as a scarf).

And even after that tale, Cass was well VERY affectionate toward Steph at various points throughout the series going forward.

Just that again, it just feels like DC has cold feet in that regard. In ways it reminds me of Buffy/Faith from BTVS.

Though it was NEVER stated outright, the fans knew Buffy/Faith were in a relationship. Just like Cass/Steph. And I guess that'll be the way until DC gives the clearance one day...

So we're back to the nameless male love interests. Not the final (I mean there is one more, but the final there's a POINT to it. In a nice roundabout way), and that's Sal from Batgirl Vol. 2 (aka Redemption Road).

At the very least like Coldcast, Cass shows interest and you could understand the WHY (cause there's depth). Just unlike Coldcast, we don't get much time with Sal save a brief history lesson.

He has a reading disorder and was taking ESL classes with Cass.

That's just a problem writers have with a character like Cass. It just doesn't fit the character to have just a random male love interest. You gotta give them more details and give a reason WHY Cass would be interested.

Which leads to our final one which is more a lampshaded moment from the DC Festival of Heroes: Asian Superhero Celerbration #1 in the tale "Sounds" with Dr. Shin.

The point of him (even though via the art we see Cass has an interest) it's more the battle of her disability that's the crux.

And which is why the "payoff" to Cass getting her only line of dialogue is special because it just works. Likewise the snarky look. Cause the interest is not about Shin, we get anything we need to know.

The focus is ALL on Cass.

But the problem isn't just all males, we do have one female character who Cass has an interest in, and it's never really touched on EVER again.

To whom I'm speaking is Christine Montclair from Detective Comics #950-956.

And this is the pivot Cass gets in characterwise when reintroduced to the DCU in 2016. I feel Christine probably deserves to be talked about first given well she fits the nameless male love interests in the past.

Though, I think unlike the prior it's more due to writer James Tynion IV having A LOT on his plate to wrap up his Tec run, and Christine got tossed to the wayside.

Just that there's A LOT of Christine to unpack and you could see WHY Cass has an interest in her. She's a ballet dancer (and Cass LOVES ballet), and it's more a crush in that she's probably the best ballet dancer in Gotham. Cass REALLY wants to learn from her.

Not only that but later on in the story she aids Cass by addressing her wounds after a disastrous encounter with Lady Shiva, and gives her the peptalk needed to take on her mom (though ironically as readers we find out it's from a book by Carolyn Wu-San, Cass's aunt/Shiva's sister).

I have to say there is still potential here to this return to this character (paging Tate Brombal). Though I doubt we'll ever see this character again. I get that given the Phantom of the Opera homage was deep in the tale with Cass being Eric/thePhantom to Christine's um Christine.

Which leads me to circle back to the original female Cass was quite interested in when reintroduced to the DCU-- Harper Row.

Harper is the main character of the series Cass returns in, Batman & Robin Eternal (which also serves at the time as the character's exit from the Bat Books for the most part). Cass's interest in Harper is well to protect, but also have her assist in investigating the conspiracy of Mother & Orphan.

Besides that, we get the cliche reveal that in this new universe Cass murdered Harper's mom Miranda, and THAT was what turned Cass into being a hero. It does add a few layers.

Though I do get WHY some aren't fond of it also takes away Cass's own precedence.

And yeah, the story goes with those cliche when she comes to realize just how extraordinary Cass is. And well, the scene still 💛💙 (along with establishing Cass's passion for ballet).

But much like Steph, DC just doesn't really have Cass commit to Harper (save in the story here). After a few issues in Tec Tynion just drops the character altogether. Which I think is a loss cause Harper did add some interesting layers.

That's it for all the mainline DCU (though one COULD make a case for current BoP member Cela (like I was REALLY tempted to put her in here, but I'm gonna let that story still play out).

So instead, I'll end this thread with the final love interest Cass has shown EXTREME interest in, Eric from Shadow of the Batgirl.

Now it's interesting to me how writer Sarah Kuhn frames Eric like many of the nameless male love interests in the past. Except HERE we pathos on why he's interested in Cass, why he's at the library, and most importantly why Cass is interested in him.

In other words, Eric feels like an character who also contributes to the story at large within Shadow of the Batgirl. You take out any Zero, Sal, and Javier you'd not even notice a change AT ALL.

Eric is key to Cass's path of discovery within the graphic novel.

Likewise, Cass is Eric's path of discovery to himself as well. She lays it quite clear to Babs WHY he's there midway in the novel. He's into poetry and love stories though is being afraid to open up to others.

Hmm.. that sounds familiar just in her own interests also is terrified in opening up to others.

THIS STORY IS JUST SOOOO GOOD.

Likewise the payoff to this all is just as rewarding. Eric being the final voice Cass needs to hear on who she really is before confronting her father.

Cue that George Lucas gif of "poetry".

Cue another reason why Shadow of the Batgirl is just THE Cass comic for new readers. It takes everything in the past and just gets EVERYTHING right.

But that's Cass her love interests and history of sexuality in general in main DCU with that brief tour to one universe outside it.

I hope you enjoyed it.

[charmedreincarnation]

Everything EFT tapping

EFT Taping, or Emotional Freedom Technique taping, is a popular psychotherapy technique used to reprogram the subconscious mind. This technique involves gently tapping with the fingertips on various meridian points on the body while focusing on a specific issue or problem.

Intro video here.

Anyways By engaging in this type of tapping, the practitioner is using energy work to help clear the energy blockages that are causing the negative thoughts and emotions in the subconscious mind. This helps to release the stuck energy and to create new pathways in the brain to create positive feelings and thoughts.

When doing EFT tapping, it is important to make sure you are in a relaxed state before beginning. If you are feeling anxious, angry or overwhelmed it will be difficult to tap correctly. It is also important to keep in mind what you want to focus on while tapping. This might be an emotion, a trauma or a memory, or even a physical sensation.

To do EFT tapping correctly, you should start by locating your meridian points. These points can be found on your body, including your temples, eyes, chin, shoulders, and chest. Then, take your fingertips and lightly tap on each meridian point while focusing on your desired outcome or intention.

Be sure to use calming language when doing EFT tapping and repeat positive affirmations in your head while tapping. During this process you can visualize yourself letting go of any negative emotions associated with your intention. Visualize a feeling of calming, contentment, and relaxation in their place.

As you continue to tap and repeat the affirmations and visualizations, observe any changes that you feel within your body or mind. With each tap, move closer and closer to a state of balance and reconnection within yourself.

EFT taping is a powerful tool for reprogramming the subconscious mind, as it helps to clear out the negative energy stuck within the body and allowing it to be replaced with positive feelings and intentions. As you continue to practice EFT taping regularly, you will begin to experience more clarity, balance and emotional freedom within your life

So how can this help you with manifesting?

By using EFT tapping you can access areas of emotional and energetic blocks in your body and mind and release them. This can help you create space for new energy, energy that is aligned with your deepest desires.

So how does it work? To start, identify the core issue or belief you’d like to release like a fear of success or a lack of self-confidence. For example with manifesting, do you think you can’t manifest, or you don’t deserve to.. make your phrase relinquishing yourself if that mentality.

Create a reminder phrase to tap along with like “ I release my doubt of the void ”(Or whatever you think is holding you back or you want.) Now you’re ready to start tapping. We’ll talk more about how to do that in a minute, but first let’s understand why this works.

It’s thought that tapping encourages your body to release natural “feel-good” hormones like serotonin and endorphins which can help to create a new emotional baseline. It’s believed that this helps create an environment where you can more easily shift your vibration and attract more of what you want into your life.

Now let’s go over the actual tapping process. Take your dominant hand and use your index and middle fingers to tap five to seven times on each of the nine key meridian points on your body - starting at the top of your head, down the side of your body and ending at the top of your torso. Repeat your reminder phrase out loud and feel into the emotions and sensations in your body.

When you’re finished, take a few moments to breathe deeply and give yourself permission to release any emotions or limiting beliefs that may have come up. This completes one round of EFT tapping. If you feel called, repeat the process for as many rounds as necessary until your emotion subsides or releases completely.

It doesn’t even have to be used for manifesting only. You can use it to help your anxiety, help receive money, feel mental clarity, and whatever else you may desire, at the time of the tapping !!!

Good luck <333

[sharklovingaquarist]

My experiences with animal sciences and how practices within them signal issues with women's health. Another long one, sorry ya'll

So someone reblogged my post about the OBGYN field saying that animals in America are treated better than women. What a coincidence that I ran into this issue today! So I was in veterinary science for four years in high school. I had a vet assistant certification and was in the FFA (Future Farmers of America). And when I tell you this inference is not too far off, I mean it. I wouldn't say they're treated better, but the general attitude towards the female body is very much more visible, they dont try to hide it with animals. You can also see connections in many practices. When I got into it, there was also a slight uncomfortable tinge when our class came to reproduction and reproductive techniques that always targeted the female body. Well, first when we looked at endocrine systems, the male was always described as existing for himself. Testosterone was for muscles and strength. But with female, her endocrine was always surrounded with sex and offspring. Estrogen was for going into heat and "being impregnated". Progesterone was to "support a fetus" not help her survive a pregnancy. This really does connect back to the female body being seen as the reproductive tool of the male body. The sole focus in fertility. We still don't even know much about the female endocrine seperate from the focus on offspring. And that goes onto practices. Vaginal speculums, inducing estrus, artificial "insemination", much more. I dont wanna say too much, but my school bred animals. Once they talked about how they induced one of the animals into an estrus by implanting a hormonal device in the cervix. Something about it rubbed me the wrong way, because they never do that to male bodies to increase sperm quality. At most they collected sperm from a male animal, but usually willingly.

So what happened today? I shop on chewy for my pets, and I saw estradiol for animals. I was confused at first and wondered why someone would need that, but I remembered how animals are induced. So I clicked hoping it wasn't the case. Nope that's the case. However when you read further you see there's actually some benefits to estradiol for some individuals. So let's analyze this.

The first thing you see in description is: "Estradiol is used to induce estrus, a state of sexual receptivity during which the female will accept the male and is capable of conceiving."

So let's address how using estrogen for this purpose is just really weird. Excess estrogen can cause a lot of health issues, most notably (to me at least) CANCER. Animals go into estrus on their own. Also let's talk about "will accept the male". So sexual selection doesn't exist anymore? That's the thing with this crowd. They see female hormones as something robotic. They think estrus makes females bend over to any male they find. And again, why is there almost never something for males to decrease chances of sperm deformity?

Ok let's go down to uses: "Estradiol can be used to enhance estrus behavior and receptivity in ovariectomized mares and aid mares with estrogen-responsive urinary incontinence."

So they're saying you use this product to increase estrus symptoms in mares who have had their ovaries removed. Why? Fuck if I know. Could be behavioral, I doubt surrogacy due to a lack of ovaries (most responsible for hormone synthesis). So Imma go to the next part. When you get to the bottom you see that it helps urinary issues. So now we are FINALLY at the part where it actually benefits a female body and not just making a female into a breeding machine. So it does have a benefit, it can help female animals with incontinence! It's just that they are valued as production rather than a living being

Finally we get to precautions: "Estradiol is contraindicated during pregnancy as it can cause fetal malformations of the genitourinary system and induce bone marrow depression in the fetus. Estradiol cypionate should not be used to treat estrogen-responsive incontinence in small animals."

So I was actually kinda surprised they explained why (AND TESTED) why a hormone/medication shouldn't be used during pregnancy! Usually, with animals, they actually admit they never tested it with pregnant animals, of which I suspect to be the same with humans. They'd rather just say "yeah uh don't take it" instead of actually paying attention to female bodies, because again you are just a vessel. Also the fact that they never test how medications effect male reproduction, thats something that carries onto humans aswell. They would never limit a man even if he causes issues to another human. Anyways, my reasoning as to why they actually knew this time comes down to them paying close attention to female hormones... but only when it comes into play with a fetus. Trust, they know ALLLLLLL about the female body- WHEN ITS ABOUT A FETUS THOUGH! And again we see the death and malformation of a fetus as a negative for the fetus and not the female. They don't mention how this situation could ALSO effect the female animal. I would assume natural abortion would take place, which is dangerous. The thing is they'll study the effects on a fetus not a living breathing female. And throughout my experience with animals, I've learned that a reproductive adult will always be more valued by nature than a fetus. The health of your parent animal dictates success the most. However you always hear about how to stay pregnant or support fetal growth, the best thing to focus on is FEMALE HEALTH. We aren't vessels. However humans seem to have that twisted. I'll get into that on another post with prenatal vitamins.

So take what you want from this and run, if you've even gotten this far. I know it was long. Im still in science, just non-mammalian. I am by no means a professional but I feel the need to put my feelings out there. To all the feminists in medical or any other biological sciences, I wish you luck. Shit is so tiring.

[bagopucks]

T. Zegras - It’s An Off Day

✄————————————

Trevor Zegras x Reader

Requested✨

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Itsy bitsy fighting, jokes and implication of sex

I rewatched the Sandbaggers video today with Zig and Coley, and I swear it kills me every time. Biz is a national treasure. Nothing beats his missed swing in the vid with Sid and Nate tho. Quinn Hughes request is getting posted tomorrow too!

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Everybody talks about the female menstrual cycle. Everybody knows it’s not always the most delectable, and how the hormones affect your mood and body in many ways.

Nobody discusses the male hormonal cycle though. The twenty four hour rise and fall of testosterone, that can dictate how a man handles their day. For most guys, it’s not really an issue. It’s nothing compared to a woman’s monthly schedule, but that isn’t to say things don’t go off track every once in a while.

The Ducks have hit a losing streak. I’ve seen it before, it’s not the first one, but this one seems to bother Trevor the most. I can’t tell why, I just know it has. He stresses a lot when he’s in these bad times, and that stress has always messed with his head, but now it seems he’s all over the place. He’s skipped out on workouts scheduled, slept in more, and his appetite is barely existent. When he does eat, it’s a shit ton, but it’s usually only once a day. His body going from a strict routine to an absolute mess has taken a toll, but it’s also made those hormonal cycles incredibly out of tune. It makes him irritable in the mornings if I text him too early, and careless in the evenings if something gets too difficult to do.

And the worst part is that he’s not the only one in the midst of a ‘cycle.’ We’re both moody, and we’re both out of tune. It’s hard for him to say something I don’t get mad at, and even harder for me to not yell at him when he’s being difficult. I knew the rubber band was going to snap, I just didn’t think it would be so soon.

It’s the middle of the day when Trevor shows up at my place. I’d asked him to come over for a bit, hopeful that we could try and work in a night of relaxation, but the lack of communication of our own issues was making it extremely hard.

“Hey, babe.” He sounded so exhausted when he stepped through the front door. I don’t know why it made me so angry.

“You didn’t have to show up if you didn’t want to.” I called from the dining room table, assuming he’d come and find me. My face was down in a computer screen anyway, working on a college essay.

“Who told you I didn’t want to come?” His tone is defensive. I couldn’t blame him. We’re both going through our own things. But in the moment? In the moment it pisses me off that he doesn’t hear how he sounds.

“Trevor you sound like I’ve been hounding you all day to be here. I only asked you once.” I snapped right back, finally hearing the sound of shoes being kicked off and the front door being harshly shut.

“You asked me once and I came. Why would I not want to be here? I’ll tell you what makes me want to leave,” Trevor stomped right into the dining room. He stopped in the doorway. “That attitude right there.” He pointed at me, and god if he didn’t sound like a chastising mother in that moment.

“God- Trevor!” The exhaustion laced in my own tone outweighed the anger. I dropped my head into my hands before lifting it to look at him. I stopped. He looked about as shitty as I did.

His hair was a mess, and he had bags under his eyes. I noticed a red spot on his cheek I knew would turn into a pimple soon, but I had a few on my forehead anyway. It seemed Trevor noticed my own state as well. We were both wearing sweats and t-shirts. I had on one of his Ducks shirts, and he wore a plain black one. We both looked like we needed to be baptized in sleep and energy drinks.

My expression softened. Silence overtook the room. I sighed. “Off day?” My question caught Trevor off guard, but the tension seemed to melt away from his body in an instant. We weren’t fighting, we just weren’t communicating.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his gaze falling to the floor. I shut my laptop and slowly got up, crossing the room to meet him in the doorway.

“Me too.” I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and Trevor snaked his own around my hips.

“We’re both having shitty days.” Trevor managed a somber smile. “Imagine that.”

“How about a bath? Then maybe some face masks?” I reached up to smooth my finger over the red bump on his cheek, causing him to pull his head back and mumble an ‘ow.’ Sure, the skin could be sore when a pimple was first forming, but not /that/ bad.

“Don’t be a baby.” The irritation was evident in my tone. Trevor smiled again.

“I love it when you’re moody.” A minute ago, I could have sworn he did not love it. “Here.. let me carry you.” I didn’t bother to argue, instead I jumped when he asked me to, and allowed him to carry me bridal-like down the hall to my bedroom and into the bathroom.

“Trevor your hand is digging into my side,” I complained softly before he put me down.

“Chill out.. I just didn’t want to drop you.” He turned away to grab towels before he could see the daggers I was glaring in his direction.

I gently pushed him out of the way to grab my own towel, shaking my head at his behavior.

“Alrighty then..” Trevor muttered, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the floor.

“You know where the hamper is.”

“Goddamn. I’ll pick it up after.” He was tense again, I could tell.

“No, Trevor. Pick it up now. You always say after and then you forget.” I turned to look at him, tossing the towel I had down on the counter.

“Well I won’t forget this time!” He raised his voice slightly, defensive once again.

“Yes you will! Just like Jamie gets on you about leaving your car keys everywhere!” I matched his tone, resting one of my hands on the counter to lean on it.

“That’s different!”

“Alright, then what about the towels? And bowls right beside the kitchen sink? What about all the times you pull my books off my shelves and never put them back? Is all that different too?” I snapped, awaiting a good excuse that I had yet to hear.

Usually I wasn’t this hard on Trevor. I didn’t know what all went on in his mind, but he did try his best not to leave things around. He’d improved since we first met, but sometimes things simply distracted him, and he always apologized and felt sorry when I pointed it out to him.

Trevor wasn’t having it this time though. This was a fight now.

“You’re so bitchy!” He leaned over to grab his shirt, storming out of the bathroom after and pulling it back on.

“Yeah? I’m not the one throwing a tantrum right now, Zegras!” He paused to turn and look at me, uncertain of the implications behind his last name. His brow was furrowed, silently asking where I got the audacity.

“You don’t even listen. Forget this.” I followed him all the way back down the hall and to the front door. I watched as he put his shoes on, an overwhelming sadness eating away at my heart.

Trevor turned to look at me, hopeful to get one last dig in. He stopped when he noticed the tears in my eyes.

“Just fucking leave, Trevor.”

I didn’t want him around any more. It was clear we couldn’t coexist when we both had our own issues going on. He looked defeated, and even guilty, but he left nonetheless.

I retreated back to my bedroom after, crying silently all while telling myself it was my fault, and angrily blaming him. I drove him away, but he put the nails in his own coffin. Who knew when he’d text or call, or ask to see me again. He may never. I didn’t expect him to return at any point that day. And I certainly didn’t expect it to be within a few hours.

By the time the sun began to set, the tears had slowed, and I was able to make myself dinner. I sat on the couch, my laptop on the coffee table with a plate full of dumplings in my lap. Scream was playing on the tv, somehow ironically managing to calm me. I heard a soft knock on the door, but I was hopeful whoever was there would leave. My hopes however, were unfulfilled. I heard the lock jingle before the door opened. I looked up to see Trevor standing there, two grocery bags in hand and an innocent look on his face as he froze.

We stared at each other for a moment, uncertain of the other’s feelings, before he finished walking inside and shut the door.

“You just keep doing your thing. I won’t bother you.” Trevor spoke. It was all I needed to go back to my laptop and my work. Trevor ventured off into my dining room, and I heard him settle at the table before silence filled my apartment again.

Five minutes passed before I heard a clicking noise. I paid no mind. I spotted Trevor in the corner of my eye, entering the room at a slow pace. A sneaky pace. It pissed me off just knowing he was up to something.

He sat in the arm chair across the room by the window, dropping a stack of paper on the floor and two pens, as well as the grocery bag. I was still unaware of what was in it. He pulled his phone out, and eventually I stopped paying any attention to him. I just got through the end of a paragraph on my essay, moving my plate to the coffee table when I heard a pop. Then I felt something hit me in the chest and land in my lap.

My brow pulled together in confusion as I looked down to see a little blue dart with an orange tip. Oh my god I’m gonna kill him

“Trevor.” I looked up at him, brow furrowed. He gestured toward the dart. I looked back down, rolling it in my hand to see a white piece of paper taped to it. I looked back up for a moment, questioning his antics, then I made quick work of peeling the tape and paper off the dart.

I flipped the paper over, noticing Trevor’s handwriting immediately.

I’m really sorry about today

My heart fluttered, I heard the rustle of the grocery bag, and when I looked up, Trevor presented me with a second gun, and a few darts of my own. We met in the middle of the floor to make the exchange before retreating to our opposite ‘trenches’. He even provided me with a few pieces of paper and the tape to make my own message.

I jotted one down quickly, taped it to my own dart, and loaded my gun before firing. Reluctant smiles painted both our lips as Trevor grabbed the dart. He paused for a moment, turning to glare up at me when he noticed the copious amount of tape I used. He wasn’t going to be forgiven without a little hassle.

Once he got the note off, and all the tape off his fingers, I watched his expression contort from frustration to relief.

That’s okay. I shouldn’t have been so mean either

Trevor got a piece of paper to write another note, and I tossed the tape over to him. He seemed to be wrapped up in a long message, and I smirked when an idea came to mind. I loaded a blank dart into my gun and aimed, firing and trying to hide my snickers when the foam bullet popped him right in the forehead.

Trevor immediately looked up at me, laughing out a soft, “hey!” Seeing him smile again made me sigh. We’d be okay.

“Took too long,” I responded sheepishly, setting my gun down on the couch. “I want you to talk to me, Trev. Come over here.” He set his own gun down, quickly coming to my side and sitting on the couch next to me.

“What were you busy writing over there?”

“I uhm..” he paused, leaning back against the couch. “That I love you.. and I don’t want you to be mad at me for the way I treated you. I know it was shitty, but there’s a lot going on right now and.. I guess I just forgot to leave the anger at work.” He sounded so disappointed in himself. I reached out to grab his hand.

“It’s okay, Trevor. Really. I didn’t mean to get so short with you today either. Just seems like we’re both having our own issues right now. But we should be each other’s lifelines, yeah? We can’t go taking everything out on one another.” Trevor nodded in agreement, looking up to meet my eyes. “I love you too.. I know things have been hard. Just please talk to me when you’re frustrated, okay?”

“I will.” I reached up to brush a few of his Sandy locks out of his face. “But you have to talk to me too,” he added, wanting me to know he was always there as well.

“You never really gave me a chance today.” I responded, watching the guilt return to his features as he swallowed thickly. “It’s okay,” I assured. “I don’t think I gave you much of a chance either.” I squeezed Trevor’s hand.

“Okay.. so.. so tell me what’s wrong.”

“School. I’m behind on this essay. My period just started.. and my boyfriend’s moody.” I made sure to tease, hoping to lighten the mood as a shy smile overtook my face. Trevor scoffed, but I could tell it wasn’t a mean one.

“Your turn.”

“Alright… well.. the Ducks suck,” always one to tell it like it is. “I feel like I can’t feel a single emotion for more than two seconds.. and my girlfriend’s on her period,” he paused, leaning forward with a cheeky smile. “And I’ve done nothing to help her all day.” I knew he was only trying to flatter me, but it worked. He pressed his lips to mine for a moment before pulling back.

I rested my hands on Trevor’s shoulders and leaned back onto the couch, our smiles widening as he climbed on top of me.

“We’re just a couple of moody adults then, aren’t we?” I teased, humming as Trevor reconnected our lips.

“Can we be horny adults too?” He asked as he pulled back, causing me to swat his shoulder with a laugh.

“That was cycle day one, bud. I’m afraid you missed it.”

“Aw, damn.. really?” Trevor sounded as bummed as I would have expected him to be. It made me laugh. “Can you reschedule? Talk to your body and let it know I’ll be back to try again tomorrow.”

I laughed once again, squeezing Trevor’s shoulders and shaking my head.

“That’s not how it works, hun.” I let him down easy, giggling at his playful frustration.

“Alright, well when’s the next one?”

“If it stays on schedule, you’ll be on the road for the next one.” I tried to hold in my laughter, knowing he wouldn’t be too thrilled about it.

“Seriously?” His voice raised, and I snickered. “I mean- a guy can’t even catch a break! You think you’ll be in the mood sometime in between?”

“Trevor,” I laughed at the way he spoke about it, so formal. “I’ll know when I know.”

“Nope. I have to know three to four business days in advance. Does anything speed up the process of getting you excited?” He was asking as if we haven’t done it a million times before.

“Shut up, Trevor.” I moved a hand from his shoulder to gently push his head. He laughed, that breathy awkward laugh that always made me smile. Trevor leaned in for another kiss, this one a bit more passionate than the first. He nipped at my bottom lip before I gently pressed a hand to his cheek, pushing his head back.

“I can do one minute in advance…”

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[voidsquidd]

Not what I usually post but I wanna say something

I recently saw a 12 yr old on shedtwt and ik becuz of what this account used to be that I have shedtwt and shedtblr followers on here

(I have never really used shedtwt but post pop up every few months)

If ur that young then pls do not go on places like that

//TW// sh ed / g0re / gr0oming / s1uicide

Ik that u probably wanna find ppl who have similar struggles to u, ik u probably have issues irl that make u wanna do that stuff and u just wanna find a place where ppl are like u, but shedtwt is not that place

Even if ppl on there say they're pro recovery, the fact they're posting stuff promoting it or showing it in a positive way at all is not gonna help anyone recover, they're still glorifying it to other ppl and promoting pro Ana / sh

Shedtwt/shedtblr will do sm damage to ur brain at a young age

While ur that young what u see will have a massive affect on ur brain and what u view as normal. Older ppl on there are way more aware of what they're doing to themselves and, even if u say ur mature for ur age, u will not know what damage ur actually doing to urself by being on there

Seeing ppl promote stuff like sh: how to go deeper, needing to feel valid, wanting to get worse, showing off their gory sh

Seeing ppl promote eds: saying how many cals they eat, showing of thinspo, fat shaming / meanpso, saying it's better to be thin

That stuff is gonna be more likely to stick with u when u start to consume it from a young age like that, eventually it'll be all u really know, you'll have normalized it sm in ur head with out even realising what you've done. Ppl will have constantly been posting about it and u will have constantly been seeing those posts and slowly making ur brain see all that disordered, dangerous behaviour as normal. Sm so that when u try to recover it'll end up being sm harder, becuz ur whole life, all ur believes, all ur habits, ur hobbies, will be base for sh and ed

Ik someone who was active on there from a young age and they struggle to eat normally sometimes, a normal meal feels like a binge to them and they don't actually know what the real definition of that word means, they count normal eating as eating too much, they count normal and healthy bodies as too fat becuz they saw so many dangerously underweight ppl that they can no longer tell what's healthy. They developed such bad body dysmorphia from all the content that they cannot tell the difference between over 10lbs on their body.

They can't understand why sh is bad sometimes, thinking it's not that big of a deal, they romantizise sh and their cuts, saying they like them and that they want more scars, even asking me to help them. They didn't realise it was a massive issue when they went pretty deep, and then refused to go seek medical help when they should've becuz they were used to giving themself cuts that could kill them, becuz ppl on shedtwt go so deep it could kill them but they barely ever seem to mention that, a young person wouldn't realise that would kill them, the person I'm talking about definitely didn't

They also saw lost of gore. Now I'm gonna get into a bit of physical brain psychology rn. So the brain releases dopamine as a positive reward hormone obviously. Watching gore, even tho it's online, will have the same or similar effect of seeing actual bloody, dead bodies and ppl stabbing themself or killing themself irl. They saw lots of that becuz shedtwt had sh vids which led to gore twt. Seeing ppl stab themselves, cut their arm off, jump off buildings etc, would be like seeing it irl. And seeing it irl would be classed as a traumatic event, it causes trauma. Specifically it damages the part of the brain that releases hormones like dopamine, by consuming that content u are physically damaging ur brain sm it can stop letting u feel happy.

This person may have a bad home life, and that may have caused these issues to start, but they wouldn't have known what sh was without shedtwt, or seen tips on how to go deeper on shedtwt

They wouldn't have seen starving tips or those diets, or workout routines without shedtwt

They wouldn't have felt like what they were doing was normal if they hadn't seen sm of it on shedtwt

They wouldn't have found gore without shedtwt

And they wouldn't have met their groomer and called him their bf if they hadn't been on shedtwt

Even now they're not on there, they lost all their hobbies to Ana/mia, they would spend their time doing nothing but watching and reading stuff about sh and eds and that's all their life was. Just cvtting themself, learning tips on how to starve and trying to ignore their cravings. They used to paint, but they stopped. they used to sew, but they stopped. they used to be really strong and have good health, they don't anymore, becuz they worked their body to exhaustion sm trying to get thin. Their brain consumed sm content, it's all they think about most of the time now and they struggle to distract their thoughts. I remember they told me what they were thinking about and I had to tell them they seemed triggered becuz they were so triggered so often it just became their normal mind. They thought about nothing but what to eat on what day, how many cals were in something, about how to cut deeper, where they should cut, how some of their scars would look prettier if they were in different shapes, suicide methods and what would be the best even tho they didn't have any plans. Images of thinspo and gore and sh would flash in their head constantly.

It became so normal to them it was their whole personality and actual normal things were alien concepts to them. I told them what typically normal things were and they were genuinely surprised at how what they did and thought about wasn't normal.

Ik most young ppl on there are wanting ppl to relate to but it will do more damage than good, sometimes it's better to feel like what ur doing is weird or not normal becuz that gives u more motivation to stop, to try and be normal. Seeing it sm will make u think it's normal and fine and make u feel like there's no issue

That person is still recovering and a lot of the stuff they vent about is the gore they saw, or the thinspo they saw, the things they say that get called out for being negative are always things they learnt to normalize from shedtwt

So pls, I say this to anyone but especially younger ppl like that 12 yr old, shedtwt / tblr is not gonna help u with ur mental health, it isn't a place that genuinely encourages recovery even if ppl say they are pro recovery. It's a place that glorifies sh and eds, and there's so many ppl who also just wanna take advantage of u. Someone who wants to help u starve or sh doesn't have ur best interest in mind, someone who wants u to recover and get better and healed is someone who cares about u

My dms are always open ♡

[genderqueerdykes]

is it bad to be scared to start hrt?

i feel a little ashamed that i am. i try my hardest to be positive about all the things that make men & mascs masculine. i try to appreciate the parts that arent valued by society, like male pattern baldness, being fat, hairiness (love that part especially lol), etc.

but im 15, and i go back and fourth over whether or not i want to start testosterone. i had terrible cystic acne before i started acne medication, i have male pattern baldness on my dads side etc. im not a binary trans guy, so i kinda doubt ill be on it forever anyway if i DO wind up doing it, but its really scary to be told all the stuff that WILL make me a man when im… just a boy. that feels infantalizing but i suppose its true. im scared to be a man admittedly, im angry i never got to have a “true” boyhood because in currently at that age, and im scared of being thrust into it after not getting to be one. theres so much stuff about becoming “ugly” after starting testosterone. i know thats not true, logically, but ive faced so much bullying for not being pretty enough as an afab that i guess i still have that vanity embedded within me.

i feel ashamed for it, do you have any advice?

no, absolutely not- i think it's super reasonable to be scared to start HRT. it's a huge change, it affects your body and mentality in many different ways. it's a lot to take on at once especially considering there are permanent effects if taken for long enough at a high enough dose

i get why you'd be worried at that age. i didn't start HRT until i was in my early 20s. i think its okay to give yourself some time, especially considering you have some concerns about it potentially affecting your health. it would be ideal to find a way to get your blood tested for a few things- liver enzymes, red blood cell count, estrogen and testosterone levels, and so on. if you can't do that, it's understandable. i know it's not easy for someone your age to get a ride to a place like that discretely

is it possible to contact your dermatologist about your acne and see if they would be able to weigh in on that? baldness is a tricky thing. some people do bald but really late in life. some people don't. a lot of transmascs have their hairline recede by a few inches and then it usually stops. the nice thing about hair loss is there are medications that work very well that can help mitigate that. gender affirming care specialists or other doctors who prescribe testosterone are usually aware of the effects on scalp hair, and usually they'll help you test for high blood pressure, any issues like that

honestly i get where you're coming from here. i've seen this way too many times. people get pissed off about someone being a type of trans they don't like so they just bully the person until they consider detransitioning or never start transition at all, and then continue to mock and harass them anyway. i see this all the damn time and it bugs me like why would you do that to someone. who cares

people think it's ok to bully trans men & mascs right now because of all of the transandrophobia and antimasculism in general. testosterone doesn't make anyone "ugly", people are projecting their hatred of men and mascs on to a hormone that almost everyone produces naturally. it's just hateful senseless bullying. people think the younger the trans man/boy/masc is, the more valid they are to bully them.

it's okay to identify as a boy for as long as you need. you actually never have any obligation to adopt the label man if it doesn't fit you. many people identify as boys instead of men. some people are guys and not men. it's okay some people find they have to take their time to transition from boy to man. you're only 15 you are still a child, you don't have to worry about being a man for quite a while

it's definitely okay to feel conflicted and confused here. if you're able to, take time to yourself where you shut all that noise from other people out. if you're able to just ask yourself a few questions like why do i identify as a boy, what about it makes me happy, what kinds of things do i want to do in transition. just try to get a feel for what's going on so it makes it hard for people to get in your head

remember that when people attack you like this they're projecting something they deeply hate about themselves on to you. my therapist told me that last week and i thought i would just relay that. it's alright to be affected by it, but they really are just being assholes. it's good to be a trans man/boy/masc. transmasculinity is good. testosterone is good. testosterone saved my life. i'm glad to get up in the morning every day because i at least look and sound like myself. i love my body. i love the way i look. i'm stronger. i stand taller. my face is the right shape. my voice sounds right.

life is good

i hope you found any of this helpful. good luck, it's okay to feel guilt or shame for a bit. i did NOT want to come out as FtM for a VERY long time it was hard. i get it. take care of yourself, let me know if you have any more questions

[yeahimatransman]

I am an ignorant person. I have had lots of gay friends both male and female. Drag, closet gays, very flamboyant gays, Poly friends and just alternative lifestyle people in my life. I have never met a trans person or at least not one that I know of. I ask anonymously because I feel like where you are in your headspace could also help me. I have always wanted to reach out to someone to better understand why they would want to transition. I am female but am very tomboyish even now that I am in my 30s. I have low estrogen and hormones are all over the place all the time. I hate a lot of stuff about being female but I equally could not even imagine having something dangling between my legs. I was raised to believe that I was born as a gift and a miracle and that I was given the body I was given to love and cherish. It is hard for me to imagine what it would be like to not love the body you were born with even if it didn't feel right. Like how does having a certain set of genitalia make you feel like you are in the right body. AGAIN IGNORANT. I think that a discussion between us might be beneficial to both of us. Or you can ignore me and think of me as transphobic. My friends think it is none of my business but I am really curious to hear from an actual person their train of thoughts in a safe space so that I can better understand and maybe talking with someone who doesn't understand this type of life will ignite something you hadn't thought of before. IDK I might be off my rocker but I am taking a lot of new chances lately.

So I am not sure how well me trying to answer this is going to go. I am still going back and forth between being accepting of being trans and being in denial. I think I have accepted that it's denial. But also I haven't necessarily struggled with my body other than being overweight, but that's another issue that has nothing to do with gender. I haven't had so many issues with my female body. So I am not sure I am the write person to answer this. But I am going to try. I think it helps that I am honestly anonymous too since no one on here truly knows who I am being the screen.

I grew up in a Mormon household, not that I would ever say that we were a super devot family. Yes we went weekly and whatever, but I am the only one in my family that still goes. I was taught that I was meant to be female from birth through eternity. I never really questioned it and often avoided any opportunity to question it. It just felt awkward and shameful. But I've had those moments where I did those things when I was younger and all I could think was that I was doing something wrong, but I liked it. It felt comfortable and it felt good. But then I shoved it back into the back of my mind and tried to be the perfect Mormon girl. I also have always tried to do whatever makes other people happy (also an issue not totally related to this, but still relevant in a way). I tried not to think about it, which clearly hasn't worked. It just keeps coming up over and over. If I think about what would make me comfortable as person and what would make me happy, I see myself as a man. It's really just making myself into the person that I feel comfortable being. Now I am still struggling with how to be comfortable as this person in front of others. It is weird to think about having "something dangling between my legs" as something that would make me comfortable, but it's not truly about that. I like having a bulge, but its because it makes me feel like me.

Anyway, I am not sure if I answered your question or if any of this makes sense, but I tried.