#**or the colours a little off....i spent too long trying to figure out how to move around the layer masks on the timeline : | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loganlermanstanaccount · 8 months

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 7)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 6, Part 8

summary: You spend some time with Miguel.

warnings: smut. f receiving oral, fingering, grinding, switchy behaviour from both sides, angst. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: this chapter beat my ass icl

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 6.3k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

all-consuming grief,

It’s going to be a warm night. It's ushered in by the kind of dawn that bleeds red and gold, tawny and autumnal in the waning light. Like the washy colours of a Renoir, and he doesn’t even notice that he’s doing the thing he swore black-and-blue he wouldn’t. Reminiscing and romanticising; for the first time in a while, Miguel is able to see the sun set, legs splayed on the brick of his front steps.

Sitting by worn metal railing, he’s still in his work clothes. He chucked his rucksack on the step above, leaning long legs onto the ones below. They don’t ache as much as they used to, well-trained by a couple months of running and spending more time in the gym. There’s a shake in the fridge, labelled ‘Tuesday, PM’ that he’ll gulp down before bed, and one labelled ‘Wednesday, AM’ that he’ll take before setting off in the morning. In the morning, with cloudy skies and street cars to keep him company. There’s too much pollution, light or otherwise, for him to see some stars. He hasn’t seen stars in a while, now.

Long days seem to have turned into just days somewhere along the way. He can’t quite pinpoint when, and doesn’t really care to, but he thinks his brother would call it “progress”. There’s a grimace on his face as he thinks about it; a word that tastes like mud and feels like swirling cement in his mouth. It’s all bullshit, really. Gabi’s paltry attempt at therapising him, one which he would usually nip in the bud - taking metaphorical shears to slash at weeds and dense conversation. Catch-up calls about how he feels, how he’s doing – when he’s fine, he always is – as if Gabi is waiting for a shoe to drop.

He’s waiting for Miguel to have an epiphany, a breakdown the size of a collapsing star. It’s not coming, he keeps telling his brother, and the sooner the younger O’Hara realises – without the wide eyes and the pity – the better for the both of them. After all, Gabriel is his baby brother, and he’s spent his whole life worrying on his behalf: playing hide-and-seek in little closets and putting back together broken toys. Trying to drown out the sound of shouting and broken plates. They’re too old for all that, the worrying and gulping back tears, walking its well-travelled paths – and it doesn’t feel right that Gabi should do the same for him.

He sighs, deep and heavy and rolling down that quiet street. After what feels like forever, he’s tempted to lie down, to rest his head on the stone, close his eyes and think of something else. Of someone else - lots of someones, at this point in the day. He’s not the weepy type, but he is tired; shaking off the wear and tear, and fighting off sleep.

Then he sees it; a figure walking towards him, all sandals and khaki shorts and smiles. Mr Estevez, donned in his year-round attire of a polo shirt, a little tight around the middle, and cargos cut off below the knee – finally appropriate, considering the weather. He’s strolling closer like he’s got all the time in the world. If Miguel wasn’t so exhausted; the bone-deep kind, the kind that seeps into skin and lines a casket; he would’ve been annoyed. Instead, he hisses, furrows quickly deepening.

“Buenas, Miguelito!” Mr Estevez beams, scratching at scraggly facial hair.

Miguel frowns, but greets him nonetheless: that politeness drilled into him during childhood rearing its head.

“Buenas tardes, tío.” He grits his teeth as he gets up from his seat, creaky joints and all.

His landlord, the building’s handyman, owner of half a dozen shops all over the city, and Miguel’s uncle-that’s-not-really-his-uncle; Mr Estevez wears many hats, staying bright and informal regardless. He’s known the older man since he was 6, so he can’t be too disappointed; his tío has been late for weddings, funerals, and his little boy’s birth – it’s not much of a surprise that he’d be late now, too. Miguel stretches out a rough palm, and the man stops just shy of his hand, completely ignoring it. Before he knows it, Miguelito is engulfed in a great big bear hug, with wet kisses pressed to the apples of his cheeks. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, as usual, so they hang limply; arms flailing to his sides like a t-rex.

They separate, and he coughs at the great big hand that slaps his back. Grumbling, he walks up to the door, bag over his back, and stands expectantly. Mr Estevez doesn’t follow, instead dusting himself down to sit on the steps.

“I just need to get into the building.” Miguel starts. “Forgot my keys, and I've been here for hours. M’tired, and I–”

“Let’s sit, Miguel.” He scoots over, making space. “Look at the stars.”

It’s clear the older man isn’t moving. Begrudgingly, he obliges. “We’re in the middle of the city. You only see “stars” in the river – beer bottles and tinned crap reflecting the lights.”

“Language.” He gets a sharp nudge to his ribs.

“Discúlpame, tío.”

They stew for a moment, bathing in the silence that follows. The man besides him is the first to speak.

“I spoke to your mother.”

He’s scoffing and moving to get up, before feeling a firm hand on his shoulder.

“She’s worried, Miguel. Says you haven’t called in a while.”

“She hasn’t called me either."

“She’s stubborn.” The man besides him chuckles, bringing gentle eyes to meet his own. "Pig-headed. Remind you of someone?"

Miguel rolls his eyes, he just can't help it.

"She’s also the one that moved back home, so either way–”

"You know it's all been hard on her."

" –on her? It's been hard for her, surrounded by family, after she abandoned me? A-After…" His voice gets dangerously hoarse, threatening to crack under the weight of those words.

He can't stand the pitiful look sent his way: brows drawn, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Sorry. It's… It's nothing. I'm fine. Just fine."

"I didn't ask if you were fine, Miguel."

–even though you're definitely not okay. That part is left unsaid, spat onto the pavement like bitter backwash.

Mr Estévez sighs, ruffling a hand through Miguel's hair. It makes him hiss and dart away from the hand, pouting like he's a little kid again. He doesn't like it; the way he feels like all this life he's lived has been for naught. Trials and tribulations, and yet he doesn't feel that ache of growth; still stuck in the shoes of an awkward teenager.

"You think too much, Miguelito. Always have." He smiles, the kind that deepens the wrinkles around his mouth. It twists Miguel into knots, mouth dry as he tries to untangle himself from that feeling. "I'm worried about you, kid."

He sniffs, eyes trained towards the pavement. There it is again, worry; complicating and unravelling what was meant to be just another day.

"It's today, isn't it?"

All Miguel does is nod, shakily. It's been 2 years since his heart was ripped out of his chest. It heaves now, an erratic rise and fall he’s doing his best to control. Breathe, deeply and calmly; try not to think about his little girl in that hospital bed, and those blank eyes staring back.

“M’fine.” It comes out more desperate than he intends it, and he curses under his breath. If Mr Estevez hears the crude language, he doesn’t react.

Miguel is tense, hunched over the bag on his lap and curled into himself like prey – spitting and prickly and clearly uncomfortable. He’s never been the weepy kind, but the older man can’t help but think it’s a shame; so much love, and nowhere to keep it but inside. Miguel's bottled it up; the memories of precious Gabriella, all that warmth she brought out in her father; and he's turned them to poison pills to keep himself sick.

Miguel would never admit it, of course. He’s too stubborn. Pig-headed.

His tío sighs, moving to get up. He groans, in that dramatic sort of way he knows Miguel can’t stand, but still, there's a rush to help him up. Producing the door keys with a flourish, he pulls from the depths of cargo pockets, and unlocks the main door. Ushering in the younger man, who has grown so tall he needs to duck as he climbs the narrow stairs, there’s a finger prodded into the back of that cotton button-up.

“Miguel?” He starts, revving up a conversation he’s been meaning to have for a while now.

“Hmm?”

They both wait by the entrance of the apartment. The keys jingle in Mr Estevez’s hand.

“If I open the door, will I find out that you’ve driven away another one of my tenants?”

Conveniently, there seems to be a rather interesting spot in the hardwood that Miguel pokes with a dress shoe.

“...depends on your definition of 'driven out', tío.”

“That’s the third one this year! Not even 2 months– I knew there was something up. Not a single one of those little smiley faces to my messages, and–"

“I’ll make up for his side of the rent, you know I will.”

“I don’t like it. You should be saving up, to go get a house and settle down somewhere."

“I like living here, and I’ve said multiple times I’d pay the extra to live alone–”

“And then what? You rot in your room for the rest of your life?”

“I don’t– rot feels a little–”

“Nonsense. You’re lonely, Miguelito. If you don’t like it, you move out.”

They both know he won’t. It’s not really an option; the apartment is affordable and he likes living so close to his old neighbourhood, his old haunts. It’s like he’s tethered to that place with a bungee cord wrapped under his ribs, always snapping back.

“No promises, tío.”

“Doesn’t matter, Miguelito.” He sighs, scratching at stubble. “It’s been hard to find other tenants, with half the neighbourhood drying up. But as soon as I do–”

He points an accusatory finger at Miguel, and the sentence is finished for him.

“...best behaviour, I know.”

“Best behaviour.” Mr Estevez repeats, and starts to fumble with the keys. He throws a little comment over his shoulder. “I liked your lady friend, ages ago… the scary one, with the blue hair. She was–”

“Xina’s not scary, when you get to know her.”

“She was funny. Very pretty. Always paid rent on time, gave me food when I came to fix the heating…”

“It's out again, by the way.” Miguel chews his lip, with a strange expression. “And yeah, she was.”

The door swings open. Mr Estevez doesn’t let him off the hook, though, engulfing him in a warm hug. This time, in the doorway of his apartment, eyes screwed shut; he doesn’t try to wriggle out of it, melting into his tío’s arms. It feels different now that he’s not a kid: angry and hurting with a different sort of ache, but he leans into it, all the same.

~~~

There's a pressure released from the apartment, lately. Miguel feels… well, first of all, he feels ; thinks with his heart and not his head, sometimes. It's lighter, coming home with that weight on his shoulders and with someone there to distract him from it. Living life, he thinks, for the first time in a while. Vivid and vibrant and awake ; relishing the autumnal weather. It's always been his favourite season, despite how childish he thinks having a favourite season is; something you had asked him on a whim one morning.

Normally, he wouldn't entertain it, and with all the shit Pete spews, sometimes, he's had plenty of practice ignoring it. A well-timed dirty look, and then he'd get his head down and work; occupy himself with something less frivolous. But when you say it, with half a piece of toast sticking out of your mouth, it doesn't feel like a chore to answer. It doesn't feel like a stupid question, and he finds his face growing warm at the thought of you caring about these little things – wanting to know him , however that comes.

And so, his answer is Autumn. It's a little stilted; but catching him off guard after a run will do that to him. It's purely practical , he says, eyes tracing the slopes of your body in that shirt and shorts that stops at your thighs; high enough that he feels like a perv for looking. Autumn has temperate, even weather. Perfect for sweaters and hoodies. Warm enough that you don't need a jacket. Just right. You snort, nudging him. Bullshit, Mig. You flutter your eyelashes mockingly, your tone light. You just think it's the prettiest.

And he hums, catching you off guard. You're both drawn towards that little window over the sink, the one that overlooks a fire escape and the street. He's had that view for three years, now. Sleeves always rolled to his elbows as he does his washing up, but never quite looking. The street just below is framed in its windowpane, quite the pretty picture. Crisp leaves scattered on the sidewalk, carpeted in red and honeyed amber. And he can feel it from the other side of the glass; smell it, touch it, taste it. Autumn: hot chocolate and giggles, the crunch of leaves underfoot, and cupping tiny palms to warm them up. Sunsets seen for the first time, watched through bus windows on the way back from school – he misses those the most.

"You don't think it's beautiful?" You say, leaning your head towards the half-open window.

You don't notice, but he looks over to you, swallowing roughly. He says it with a small voice.

"I…I do."

You're darting to the bathroom not too long after, breaking the spell. Frustrated, he resists the urge to curl up into a ball and scream into his palms. He's got what he wanted; a good fuck, a pretty face, a warm smile. Friends, at the most, who happen to get the other off after a long day. A welcome distraction, at the least. He's got what his body has been telling him he needs for the past few months. It makes him feel weird, so oddly settled; but, all things considered…

Miguel is doing okay.

“...and I wouldn’t normally ask, but I swear , I left him…o-on read and he won’t stop texting me.”

Really, actually; he’s doing fine.

“It feels weird– mmffuck– but I can’t ignore him any longer.”

Maybe even… good. Better than okay.

“I still have a bunch of my stuff over there. At least half of it is clothes and books, a-and I’ve put it off for as long as I can…”

He hums in response, pulling quiet curses from you, above. Pressing the flat of his tongue onto your clit, your hips jump up and he purrs ; rearing up to dive even deeper into your pussy. Too quick for him, you catch on, hand in his hair to pull him up.

Sitting up on your haunches, he rests his head on your bare thigh – licking the taste of you off of his lips.

You tilt your head, looking at him with those eyes he can’t help but marvel at. A beat passes.

“...so?” You start, expectantly. “Will you help me or not?”

His response comes in the form of teeth nipping at pillowy skin. You yelp, and swat him away whilst he chuckles.

“I’m serious , Mig. It’s too much to pick up by myself. And you’re the only person I know with a car…”

“ Ouch, hermosa. ” He frowns as you peter off. “Is that the only reason you’re fucking me? For my car?”

“If I say it’s because of your sparkling personality, will you help me?”

For a moment, it seems like he’s got his brows pressed together like he’s seriously considering it, but it ends up being just smoke and mirrors. He’s pretending , biding his time to hook a hand under your legs and force you to lie down onto the bed. Your head hits the covers with a gentle thump as he hikes up the lip of that big tee even further; squeezing your thighs around his head like earmuffs.

It’s when he makes eye-contact, tongue circling your hole, that you realised you’re fucked. Up until now, he’s been toying with you – playing with his food, so to speak – lazily swirling his tongue around your clit and pressing buttons to see exactly where to push. And you'd welcomed it, a hand in his hair as you talked about your day – which he'd asked for, of course.

Now, he's insatiable, eating you out like a man starved; all tongue and wet kisses to your swollen bud. You're slightly raised up on his shoulders, clamping around his tongue as he fucks into you fervently. Big palms spread you wider, and he hums into it, content.

"So pretty ," He sets you down, pupils blown as he studies the way your back arches and the way your legs shudder in the sheets. He slides upwards, sitting next to you, tracing a hand across the gentle curve of stomach that peeks out from your big t-shirt.

Still coming down from your high, you're only just able to register it: he looks mesmerised, a dopey smile plastered on his face.

"What?" You scoff when a moment passes, and his hand inches closer towards your lower lips.

"M'just looking." He shrugs, with a little smile on his face. "I'm not allowed to look?"

You scoff, but you're still shaky so it comes out a little more pathetic than you intend. Nevertheless, you start to sit up but he stops you with a gentle hand at your chest.

"Call him." He says, pressing two fingers to your clit and then down to your gushing slit.

Maybe it's the way he hunches over you, eyes flicking towards your lips, or the way he slips those fingers in; but your eyes go wide, and you're choking on your next words.

"Call… Call who?" Playing dumb, dancing on a razor's edge, and Miguel only quirks up an eyebrow at the stupid question.

"You know who." He says it low, smooth and dulcet as he curls his fingers at that sweet spot, experimenting. "I'll help you, fine. But I want you to call your ex, too. Let him know when to expect us. Is that okay, sweetheart ?"

That last word comes with a twang, the lilting tone of what sounds like mockery. He twists the knife, nudging the flat of his palm onto your clit – still tender and throbbing from your last orgasm.

Before you change your mind, you pick up the phone laid face down on the bedside table, pressing shaky fingers to its screen. You don't dare to look up, knowing Miguel is watching; dark eyes studying your every move.

Flicking his wrist this way and that, he swallows roughly as your fingers stutter on the screen. Not completely satisfied, he still has the time to look smug, settling into a comfortable pace. Finally, your phone rings with a tell-tale dial tone. It rings once. It rings twice, and–

"Hello? " The voice is muffled as it says your name. Put it on speaker, Miguel mouths and you oblige.

"Hey, J-Jamie." The phone is shaky in your hands, so you lay it out next to you on the bed.

"It's late, baby." You don't have time to be annoyed at his tone – or the unwarranted pet name – because Miguel speeds up, pumping in and out of you with a little more force.

"I… I know. S-Sorry." You clamp down the moans that threaten to erupt, rocking your hips in time with the thrusts.

Head lolling back into the sheets, you spend a good ten seconds in oblivious bliss, until Jamie breaks the silence.

"You've been ignoring me for ages, baby… and then you call out of the blue. What is it?" He's tired, it sounds like. Irritated for sure.

"Just w-wanted to–" Miguel presses his thumb to your clit and you jump. Once back down to earth he has to prompt you to answer. "-my stuff! Fuck , I just want to pick up my stuff."

"...now?"

Tomorrow. Miguel mouths.

"Tomorrow. " You repeat, wrapping a hand around his forearm to slow him down. It's too much, too fast; and he has the audacity to add another finger, scissoring out to stretch your cunt.

"O-kay. " He clicks his tongue, with some things rustling in the background. "Okay. You're acting weird, but..."

You're conflicted. His tone makes you melt, reaching for your phone to answer when Miguel snakes a hand under your shirt, palming your tits. To your surprise, he presses shaky kisses to the skin, rolling around your nipple with the flat of his tongue. You keen, clamping a hand around your mouth to stop the noises that spill out.

"...we still need to talk about what happened. About how we left things."

Anger flares up at your chest; hot at the sheer gall. He wants to talk? Now, when you had been met with a brick wall of silence; begging and begging for even a simple explanation?

What made it sting even more was that even after the breakup, everything happened on Jamie's terms. He broke up with you, providing little warning. He completely ghosted you, refusing to answer countless calls and messages. And now, he wants to talk; to make himself feel better and wank off his own ego, no doubt. It's not bitterness that makes you press Miguel closer, to revel in the pleasure that he gives you, you convince yourself. It's for you ; finally, unabashedly, just for you.

You don't bother to answer, hanging up the call with a click. Tugging at his hair, you pull him off with a wet pop; slick-soaked fingers slipping out of your cunt.

He cradles your chin, angling you upwards.

"You okay? Too much?" It barely registers; you're too focused on the tangle of curls framing his face, and the rosy pout of messy lips.

You shake your head, writhing against the sheets.

"More." You move his hand over to rest between your legs. "Please, Miguel."

His eyes flutter, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Eyes on me, baby.”

He says it with sobering clarity, bolstered by just how precisely he slots against your bare pussy. You can feel it, the full length of his cock; pressed up against you as he slips it out of his sweats. Head spinning, it slaps onto your stomach. Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets. Oh fuck. He's big.

"Just like that." He coos, spitting into his palm and pumping his cock. “Wanna see how pretty you look when I make you cum.”

~~~

When tomorrow comes, you’re still sore from the litany of bruises and hickeys littered. It’s a Saturday, and you’re up bright and early. Well, Miguel is up bright and early, clattering around in the kitchen as you wake up.

He seems energised, mug of coffee in hand whilst you rub the sleep from your eyes. You waltz into the kitchen through the open doorway, morning breath and all.

"Morning," You say, soft and giggly at the way he jumps ten feet in the air, too wrapped up in himself to notice at first.

"Morning." He breathes, melting when he sees you in the shirt he had picked out for you last night. He shakes himself out of it. "Hungry? I can make something."

"No, no. M'good." You sidle up to the counter, head clocked at the fancy machine on the heavy slab. There's a question on the tip of your tongue, one you roll between your teeth. "Could I have some coffee? I mean… could you show me how?"

Where you expect laughter, mockery, or surprise that you've lived here for months and can't figure out the coffee machine; he nods, patient and calm. You ask him more questions; curious with every flick of a switch, and the way he lights up when talking about it. To your surprise, you want to know more – anyway that comes.

He's talking about expensive beans, and his favourite roasts – and a place across town that sells the exact kind he likes, but it's too fucking gentrified for him to go there more than two or three times a year. That makes you giggle: his little pout, the press of brow; and he looks up in surprise before joining you in light laughter.

You finish, pouring cream into his special mug with a flourish, and he steals a sip before you can. You elbow him away, angling for that stolen taste. When you do, it is deep and rich; sweet in a way that reminds you of Miguel, grounded and balanced and silky. In short, it's the perfect cup of coffee. More than content, you hum.

"Is it good?" He asks because he's already making mental notes, planning to greet you with a hot flask of the stuff in the mornings – if it means he gets that smile, of course.

"Very." Fervently you nod, lips curved to the ceramic as you blow; and Miguel is trying really hard not to stare. Maybe it's the fact that he's seen you in a way not everyone gets to; pretty and vulnerable and writhing on the tip of his cock; but it has him fending off vivid daydreams. Your lips wrapped around his length, his hand pressing you further down, feeling that warmth as you choke on his–

He blinks and you're gone, padding off to your room with that mug of coffee. You return not too long after, phone in hand and tapping away at the screen. Miguel ignores the way it makes him feel, having your attention and then losing it just as quickly. Like a kicked puppy, he resists the urge to beg for more – of your time, of your attention – turning away to clean up instead.

"I spoke to Jamie," You start, leaning with your back to the counter as he rolls up the sleeves of a comfy sweater. "He said he'll be around later in the evening, after his shift. Around 10. Is that okay?"

He shrugs, not caring either way. You're a friend, and he's helping you because that's what friends do. He can still taste you on his lips, but it doesn't mean anything. Not in a way you'd want, anyways.

"Sure." He doesn't turn around, stealing glances at the open window whilst he clatters around. "I've got a session later on anyways."

He catches a flash of something on your face, and you're pushing it away; prickly and uncomfortable. In his defence, he's stopped bringing people over for faux chemistry tutoring and there's less banging coming from across the wall. Less , but not completely gone, because you've learnt he has a penchant for dropping shit and cursing like someone's Dad.

But you can't help but think about Sarah , and Jia …. and how close he would get to Sita on the dining table. Fuck .

You're sighing now, tracing the curve of his jaw as he settles in front of the window: jaw set, arms crossed, and distant. He does that sometimes, goes off somewhere else – all teeth and claws. Tense, brows drawn up in a way that makes you want to smooth them out.

You put your phone down and mug away, sliding across linoleum to gently nudge his shoulder with your own.

"Are we…" He starts, and you track his line of sight to a quiet street below. He hums, without looking away. "Are we good?"

It makes you turn. You blink, as if out of all the nonsense you bicker about daily, that was the most ridiculous. Good? Good? Of course we are, of course we always will be. How could we be anything else? You shut it down before it spills out of your mouth, overzealous and desperate.

He clarifies with a nervous cough. "Last night. Was it… good?"

His frown deepens, and you wonder if it's just you that hears it in his tone. His real question, the one that makes you splinter and creak like a felled oak tree: Was I good? Am I good enough?

"Yeah. " You say it like the most obvious thing in the world – and to you, it is. For all his flaws; assholery and its trimmings aside; Miguel has never been a bad lay. You don't even think he has it in him; he couldn't half-ass it if he tried.

"It was–" Fucking amazing . The kind of thing you'll fuck yourself to for the foreseeable future. Cathartic and breath-taking and hot . All of the above.

Miguel finishes your sentence with something a little less… horny. "It was a lot, wasn't it? I wasn't really thinking, how uncomfortable it could be for you, and–"

Gently, you laugh and cut him off. "I've been having mediocre sex for basically the whole of my adult life, Mig. This is… exciting and new. I like it, I really do."

Exciting and new. It brings him crashing back down to earth. You're enjoying the way he makes you feel, the thrill . Not… him. Not really, anyways. That pang of disappointment feels different, for some reason. He's never liked the song and dance of flirting, but he cherishes its rewards: of being wanted, and someone wanting him . So that fiery flame of need; deep and heady; is unfamiliar under his skin.

"We can slow down, if you'd like." You bring a hand to his arm, warm and gentle. "I don't mind. We can go back to just messing around on the couch…."

You've got a cheeky smile when you say it; a vague memory of a different time, when you had gotten a little too comfortable on the sofa, leading to hands stuffed in trousers and pressed up against one another. Quick and desperate, you had wanted to see him fall apart; like he did your first night together, and the next, and the next.

He gets closer, sandwiching you between the counter and his body. With a gentle hand, he strokes your hip, bunching up the fabric to get a peek of thigh.

“What do you like?” He’s deadly serious, red-brown eyes searching your face for something he can’t quite place. And just like that, the air is thick with tension. All you can manage is a limp shrug.

“I don’t know, really.” It comes out as a croak , as you’re much too occupied with the shrinking gap between you both. “I haven’t done the things you’ve done.”

You’re making assumptions, of course. Filling in the gaps of what you’ve learnt in the past few months; of alleged threesomes and a laundry list of women at his feet. He’s an asshole; pretty and gruff and sarcastic; but God , he knows how to touch you just right.

“I could show you.” He slots a knee between your thighs and your head spins. “Make you feel good. ”

Before you can think, you’re nodding; chewing at your lip to bite back moans when he rucks up your shirt. He nudges your legs apart, both hands on your waist as he slots himself between them. You can feel it; quickly hardening, loose underneath sweats. Miguel slides wide palms to your ass, kneading its globes. With one hand, he picks up your leg by the thigh, and snakes the other to your pussy. Bare, because you’re trying to kill him, of course, and he groans at the feeling of his hand at your cunt; already wet and pliant for him.

After a few wet taps to your hole, obscene, he slips himself out and you heave; pussy fluttering at just the thought of him inside you. Gathering up your slick on his palm, Miguel pumps his weeping cock, pressing its tip to your hole.

"Still sore, Miguel." You hiss, looking down at where you both meet with the prettiest pout he thinks he's ever seen.

It has you clawing at his back for purchase as he finally sinks in, stretching you out in that wonderful way he did last night. Except this time, he's slow and careful; steeling himself with shaky breaths.

"Oh, fuck. " He settles in about halfway, stopping to hike up your leg just a bit higher. "Want me to make you feel better?"

He says it breathless and crooning, forehead comes to rest on yours. With that other hand flat on the counter, you're lifted up to only toes on the floor, and he angles himself to buck up; filling you deep, and cock sliding past that sweet spot inside. He sets a pace, grinding into you, rather than fucking. If last night was dirty ; taboo, quick and primal; then this morning feels different. Intimate and reverent, he rolls his hips perfectly ; sending flashes of that first night down your spine.

With the moans that spill out of your mouth, it takes all of Miguel's willpower not to swallow them in a kiss. Impossibly close, he traces up your thigh with a large palm; eventually pressing into the small of your back. Arching into him, your lips barely brush together, and you're both panting into open mouths; drunk on pleasure.

"Miguel." There's a warning somewhere in your tone; underneath the layers of lust, you remind him of your previous agreement.

"I… I know. " He swallows, nose pressed to yours, eyes screwed shut. He thinks if he opens them, he might spill into you right then and there.

He's trying, he really is, tracing your cheek with his nose and mouthing at your neck – light kisses against the skin. He smells like coffee, bittersweet and heady, and you groan, rocking into him in a way that rubs up against your clit – before finding an ounce of restraint and putting a hand to his neck.

You apply a little pressure, intending to push him away, but he likes it: eyes fluttering open, and mouth curved into a little O. It's a pretty sight that has you drooling, tits pressed against him as he practically purrs . And so, you pull him closer; nails dancing underneath his shirt, whispering filth into the shell of his ear. You're close, grinding into him like the push and pull of waves, merely waiting for the crescendo of orgasm to take you out to sea.

"I'm close, Miguel." All he can do is hum, pulling you closer. "Fuck, I feel so good. You make me feel so good."

"Yeah? " He asks, needy in a way you haven't quite seen before.

"M'gonna cum," You nod. "...because of you, baby. You did good. So good. Shit, ohh –g-god–"

You clamp down on him, gushing around him with shaky legs. And Miguel is good; patient as he watches you fuck yourself through the aftermath. When it finally slows, he slips out with an obscene squelch clamping a hand to the base of his cock and leaning heavily on the counter.

"It's okay," As if on cue, you kneel in front of him as best you can, tugging down your shirt to expose collarbone and the swell of tits.

Miguel growls, grunting as he splatters thick cum across your chest, pumping his poor cock through it.

He wouldn't have lasted a second longer, not with that smile across your face; smug as you swipe fingers across your chest and lick up the mess he's made.

He's sighing, tucking himself back into gray sweats and pulling you up with a hand in yours; grumbling as you absentmindedly follow him to the sofa.

You're leaning back onto the arm of the tattered material, and he settles to sit so your legs lay in his lap. He's frowning, again, and it makes you giggle, still licking up what's left on your fingers.

He rolls his eyes, tapping a spot on your chin. A fat glob of his cum, dripping from your jaw to your neck. You miss it on the first swipe, and he gets impatient on the second, grabbing your hands and clambering over you. He drags the flat of his tongue to your skin, licking it up for you – and your eyes go wide. That… that felt good.

You giggle at the sensation, so attuned to your roommate that you can hear it: his eyes clattering into the back of his skull, as he rolls his eyes a second time.

"Is that okay?" He says it into the skin, pausing over a particularly tender spot. "Not too far?"

"Feels nice, Mig." You sigh, content. Sun streams in on a lazy morning, and you're sore in the kind of way that feels good; fucked out and blissful.

You lean into it, and then he sucks , teeth clashing onto the skin as he gives you a hickey and the juncture of your jaw. You wriggle, and he pins you down with one big hand holding down your arm, nipping and kissing and soothing it with a flash of tongue. This time he smiles, wrapping around your middle, tugging down your shirt to decorate your chest with hickeys. You play with his hair, wrapping soft curls between your fingers.

You spend a little too long like that; curved into him, spines moulded to the shape of each other. It feels nicer than either of you would care to admit; the pretense of sex wrapped around you both like a thin veil. Before he leaves, Miguel indulges himself just this once; head on your chest and sinking into those arms wrapped around him. You smell like coffee and sweat and Autumn, somehow. He presses kisses wherever he can reach, for a bit longer.

Miguel is okay. He's doing just fine.

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #rigor mortis 😼#miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 x reader

905 notes · View notes

coffeebanana · 2 months

Note

For the asks: what about 28? 👀

Kiss on a dare

In honour of Loveybug Week (today is Loveynoir day!) decided to try my hand at a little loveybug AU for this one...

It seemed ironic, that a pink, sparkly blast from an Akuma's gun might spell out the end for a girl who herself was sparkly pink personified. But the fear that sliced through Chat's heart didn't find that fact particularly funny or clever. "Loveybug, watch out!" He'd thrown himself into the air before the words had left his lips, and now barreled into her side--a moment too late. As they tumbled across the asphalt, a giant pink glow engulfed them both. A tickle ran up Chat's spine as they rolled to a stop, Loveybug pinned beneath him, her eyes widened in an uncharacteristic display of fear. After nearly an hour spent fighting this villain, they both knew well enough what being caught by Truth-Or-Dare meant. There was no escape. The Akuma cackled. "Well, well, well. What will it be for our heroes? Truth or--" "Dare!" Chat shouted, knowing there was no other choice. Truth might mean sacrificing their identities, and he couldn't ever do that. Not so long as he was still holding out for Ladybug to come back. The shimmering air deepened to fushia as the orb around him and Loveybug tightened; his decision applied to them both. "Dare? Oh, that's too easy." A gleeful chuckle sounded. "I dare you to kiss." Chat Noir's blood ran cold. And then, as Loveybug's lips morphed into a smirk, his whole body went hot. He didn't know how to feel. "Don't worry," Loveybug said, pushing herself up onto her elbows beneath him. Chat instinctively pulled back in response. "This is easy." "L-Lovey, I--" Her smile wavered--for the tiniest moment--into an adorable pink pout. "Don't you trust me?" "I--" She cut him off by pushing hard against his chest, knocking him sideways and rolling on top of him in one fell swoop. It seemed insane that she'd fumbled ten Lucky Charms in a row, only for her coordination to be perfect for the art of seduction. Her legs tightened around his hips. Chat Noir swallowed. And yet...he did trust her. He could only feel safe as her hand rose up slowly, brushing through his hair before landing on one of his cat ears, taking it between her thumb and forefinger and giving a gentle rub. He had to suppress a purr. "It's not too late, Minou. We could still change to Truth..." "But...our identities..." She tilted her head. "We'd figure a way out. I know we would. I just..." Her fingers trailed down the side of his face, tenderly cupping his cheek. "I don't want to do anything you're not comfortable with." And that was just the thing. It scared Chat Noir how much he wanted this. (Even if he sometimes still felt a pang at the sight of pink hearts where there should be black spots. Or if he sometimes felt an overwhelming sadness when he mistook Loveybug's pony tail for one of his lady's pigtails.) "I'm comfortable," he assured her. The gravel digging into his back didn't count. Her smile widened. "Well then..." Chat Noir raised his head as she lowered hers, lips seeking lips, his heart running wild in his chest. But at the last moment, Loveybug swerved, placing a quick kiss on his nose before pulling back. He blinked up in confusion, and she laughed. "Not like this, mon chaton," she said as the colour around them fizzelled out. His nose still tingled where she'd left her mark. "When we kiss, I want you to mean it." She bounced to her feet, in a flash of pink and sparkles--a magic that was purely her own, so much softer than the Akuma's pull. But Chat Noir felt just as entranced as before.

Thanks for the ask!! 🩷💜🩷

Check out @kisspromptsforthelovesquare's prompt list!

#coffeebanana writes #miraculous ladybug #lovebug au #loveynoir #long post #ficlet

65 notes · View notes

thedeadthree · 1 year

Text

— OCS AND TRAGIC HORROR TROPES

TAGGED BY the darlings @kingsroad, @jackiesarch, @florbelles, @dihardys, @jackiesarch, @denerims, @shellibisshe, @chuckhansen, @jendoe, @leviiackrman, @aceghosts, @marivenah, @multiverse-of-themind and @yennas to take this loveliest uquiz for the dears! ty ty <3

TAGGING: @feystepped, @griffin-wood, @risingsh0t, @queennymeria, @rocketsummer, @pearlcscent, @malefiicarum, @celticwoman, @aartyom, @manghhos, @stormveils, @belorage, @adelaidedrubman, @confidentandgood, @arklay, @roofgeese, @shadowglens, @unholymilf, @leondaltons and you!

THE WEREWOLF

there's something inside a werewolf that's sharp, thorns and barbs coiling up in tight knots of vine even on their best days. halfway through a conversation, you'll forget your happiness and the pain comes back in a flash. you never meant to, but the sharpness has done harm on your behalf. it's defensive. it's leftover artillery from a battle you spent so long fighting that it still doesn't feel like it's truly over, does it? you want so badly to be soft. to take the hand that you are offered instead of baring your teeth. and it might be hard to believe, but you are soft. you're the softest one out there. it'll just take a while to untangle those vines enough to know that very little is often life-or-death, and not everything touches to hurt.

THE GHOST

it's an odd thing, to feel so far from grounded and yet trapped, tethered, unable to escape. there's more you have to do! so why can't you move? i'm sure you have an answer to that, at the very least in the back of your mind. people love to say that ghosts hold grudges or haunt for revenge but they always get it wrong; you're stuck because something or someone chained you down and left you there. you try and reach out to all those bright people who pass through your life, but it rarely feels like it does much more than knock a cup off the table, blow some papers into the air. i need you to trust me- they see it. they're listening. they'll keep looking for you and, eventually, they'll be able to see you too.

THAT WHICH CANNOT BE KNOWN

oh god. how did it come to this? to some extent, you've gone so far past your own idea of "human" that it must be kind of fun, right? maybe. i'm not sure. as an artefact of cosmic horror, you're wild and wacky and colourful and people are probably drawn to that, but you will never let them know you. the mystery intrigues for a while, but it'll wear everyone down. it'll wear you down, too. who are you? do you remember? are you so far gone that you can't go back? and maybe that's the most tragic thing of all- becoming so distorted in your identity, and for so long, that no matter how hard you want to return you can't ever seem to figure it out. but you've learned a vast amount up in the stars, and people will work hard to get to know you. it doesn't matter who you used to be. sometimes, you should just start from scratch: give yourself a name, a birthday. let someone celebrate these things with you.

THE VAMPIRE

it is the loneliest day of a vampire's life, the first time they look into a mirror and see their reflection missing. drinking blood sucks too, don't get me wrong, but as a vampire you had to learn to hide from the sunlight, from your family, all your friends, because you were unavoidably different now and you didn't know how to explain that to them in a way they would understand. you could get stranger's blood in bursts, but what is life when you can't know someone for longer than the night lasts? you left everything behind because it was easier than trying to tell them. i just hope you know you're not the only vampire out there, and that there exist people who will understand your situation without a word. they'll sit with you in the dark for as long as you'll need them to.

THE WITCH

people need to find blame wherever they can; it makes the bad things in their life feel just a touch more bearable. the witches are so often blamed for the curses others are under that no one even questions it anymore. you point to a supposed witch and everyone else prepares the stake, no matter their innocence. to be born and believed a witch is one of the worst curses of them all- you can have friends and family, but there's always a dread that someday, someone will point to you, and everyone you once trusted will throw you into the pyre. if you're here, reading this, you've probably been burned before. and i don't blame you for wanting to hide away, to really become the witch they all say you are, to curse them. but to be a witch is to brush your fingertips over the bark of a tree and watch it grow a touch stronger. keep that in mind.

THE MUMMY

here's the thing about mummies- why the hell is anyone opening up their tombs? you were resting. you were peaceful. but someone intruded, barged in and broke down your walls and stole all the parts of yourself that you cherished, and then blamed you for being angry. blamed you for chasing them down no matter how fast they ran and how many obstacles they put in your path. and you know what? they deserve your rage. they destroyed something sacred. they didn't give a shit, and they wouldn't ever have lamented their actions had it not been for you- the real hero- getting up and showing them that they don't have the right to destroy and pillage as they please. that is your home. that is your body. nothing they do can take that from you. if not for you, they probably would've kept breaking into tombs and disturbing restful lives without a second thought. you won't be repayed for your good, but i hope you know you are a saviour in your own right.

THE GHOST

#only if you want to! 🥀🍄#oc: calla targaryen #oc: iovanna dayne #oc: valaenya targaryen #oc: maekar targaryen #oc: una nathaira uller #oc: illyria ilmestys #oc: elaenaera targaryen #leg.ocs #leg.tagged #WELL HOW RUDE OF YOU UQUIZ TO CALL OUT IOVANNA LIKE THATT kjsankhjnxk gutted her in front of everyone etc etc!#'something chained you down and left you there' PROFOUND MEANING FOR VANNA #this was so lovely to do! rn. my scoliosis is being wiiiicked rn so alas i cant yell much of the lore of the clowns in the tags but AHH..!#this was the cutest! i died by how accurate they were omg? these were so good for the beloveds! ty ty so much dears <3 #but i would like to introduce baby beloved calla <3 my sun and moon dear girl! daughter of iovanna and totally NOT d*aemon shjanhjskn #the same as her older brother baelor who is also not at ALL the blood of d*aemon ajsnjskk #shes bonded to the dragon naahviintas the gilded queen <3 s*unfyre has competition in whos the worlds prettiest dragon janjkxjks hehe <3 #theres layers to this bloodline of vanna there is nuance etc etc and i cant wait to yell about it GAHH #unas answer thought WHEEEZE i was cackling when she got it...... even uquiz knows babe! it knows a witch when it sees it dear!#her vehemently denying that she is aware of any sorcery but the scene i have in mind for her bonding to the cannibal was a bl*ood ritual?#it was seen in the vision she had the ritual was asked of her by the cannibal she suspected (dragon dreams! fun!) and so she abided right?#aeggy the king and his witchy gf love that for u both! <3 #okay maybe i did lore essay here a bit sajnkjnxk ✨😵‍💫#AHH TY TY AGAIN im emotional ty ty so much omg..? and please if youve done this already and i tagged you please feel free to pass <3 #the fact that calla got werewolf knowing she ends up with a stark janskjnkdxj ICONIC <3 (her endgame is cr*egan babey!)

29 notes · View notes

goldentlme · 2 years

Text

WELCOME TO PART 2 : THE ULTIMATE SLEEP AWAKE TALENTSWAP ! BEFORE YOURE EYES NOW !!!!! i have . SO much to say about this its mostly me ranting about colours . be WARE !

EDIT I FORGOT TO TAG VENUS @chihirolovebot HEYY LOL

typical yelling below ! and Lots of it ! open at your own risk

brought to you by : my mikuification project ! ive spent so much fucking time on that Please . please . ill upload sdr2 when i finish thh and im almost done with it PLEASE !!

OKAY . this took a while . not nearly as long as i expected it to THANK GOD but still a bit . hands downt he most DIFFICULT part of this project was the colour choice .

first of all : these are ordered by the danganronpa v3 wiki character page , which is in alphabetical order by first name except for akamatsu who is at the top .

SECOND OF ALL : the red . physicists colour palette consists of the primay colours of white and olive green , with the secondary colour being black and the accent being gold . fine , right ? WELL its fine for a simple design like the regular physicist , where a 3rd dominant colour isnt needed . Howver most of the rest of thse designs GREATLY needed that 3rd , and i had a bitch of a time trying to figure out what exactly to make it . it took 10 minutes and a colour palette randomizer to give me the most Obvious solution of RED . Their eyes are literally red . How did i not think of that .

anyways youll also see a little but ofyellow in there too - my friend actually suggested that . the yellow on the artist look was already there when i showed this to it and its feedback was that the yellow seeme a little jarring compared to the rest and to add a little more and i said Wowie okay ! the yellow isnt as prevalent as i wanted but its fine as is i think ! other than that i tried to keep the dominant colours to green , black and red while preserving the general Colour blocking fromthe og . aka white shirt , green bottoms , black shoes . it didnt always work that way but it did most of the time !

OH and i also changed the colours here and there depending on what looked best in the moment . mainly astronauts purple graphic shirt and anthropologists brown shorts . originally astronauts socks were purple but that friend from earlier said it clashed so i switched it over [: the main colour on any one design depends entirely on what i thought looked best when i was colouring .

OK NO MORE COLOUR TALK . my favs are absolutely magician , detective , maid and anthropologist . Theyre so skrunkly .

idk if its obvious but i was kinda running out of steam while designing the last 2 , aka the aikido master and cosplayer . the way i did this was doing the lineart first all in one go and Then colouring them all soi dont get too hung up on one specific part , and designing those last 2 was So hard . some of these talents Were nightmares trying to design for , because the whole point behind this was 1: to make sleep awake fanart and 2: to practice outfit design while keeping the characters personality , tastes and colour palette . some talents dont really fit the reader , like maid , assassin or leader ( supreme leader is so weird of a talent name btw ) and i had to alter their persoality a bit to make it work . where others were just , kind of . not very tangible ? or have no specific visual references to go off of like entomologist , anthropologist or adventurer . so i got a little creative i guess .

THE DETAIL NOTES MY BELOVED !

- if it isnt obvious I have a very clear idea of what readers fashion sense would be . aka Minimal layering , SHORTS !!!! , gloves when possible , tall socks <3 and comfort above all else .

- most designs have a clearly visible pocket or pouch where their notepad is . usually the notepad is visible ! AND everyone DOES have the ring . the only 3 places i put them were necklace , finger and as an earring

- THE PLAID !!! designing the leader was already hard enough bc itsone of those non tangible talents . So i said What if ouma and reader had matching freak outfits and used oumas beta designs as reference ! the plaid is supposed to be readers checker print , and its onlyused in this and the adventurer . also i just really love berets

- MAGICIAN HAS A CARD EARRING AND IM OBSESSED WITH IT . its also onthe gay ear SMILE !

- maid .... was hard . i actually had 2 different versions of that fit and had to have my friends choose for me </3 heres the alt version sketch

FOR NOW ? i think thats all . my brain is running on empty rn bc im writing this the day before posting like idk half an hour after typing up the sprites post . i might come back and add more later if i feel like it but for now im done .

as always , thank you for reading ! ( u can really see where i got my physicist music taste headcanon from )

#my art #danganronpa #sleep awake #sleep awake fanart #hen shin

43 notes · View notes

fangirlstorycreator · 11 months

Text

KK3 Terry X Reader

Context: You are sunbathing outside, and Terry cant help himself when you ask him to apply suncream to your back...😏💚

You had been looking forward to the warm weather for such a long time, and now that it was hear, you were ready for it. You bought yourself a new bikini, it was royal blue in colour and it really shows off your figure, you weren't always happy with the way you looked, but this bikini! It was working it's magic. You were at home with your boyfriend Terry, and he was working in his office at the time so he didn't see you go out to the garden with your towel and suncream. Terry's garden was enormous and very beautiful, and as a plus there was no way for any neighbor's to look into it either. There were 2 sunbeds by his outdoor pool, and after you put your towel over one, you sat down and started applying suncream to your legs.

Terry meanwhile was sat in his office, rubbing his temples and getting annoyed with all the people who worked for him, not doing their job properly. He had spent most of the time in the office calling those people and trying to tell them what they need to do to improve, and it was draining him. He sat back in his chair, running his hand over his slick hair and ponytail, letting out a long sigh. It wasn't until he sat back up in his chair that he realised what he was able to see from his office window. His eyes went wide at the sight of you, applying suncream to your legs, massaging your skin and moving your hands all over youself.

He was hypnotized by you, especially when he realised what you were wearing, and how your hands rubbed the suncream over your chest and cleavage. He bit his lip, he wasnt sure if you were putting on a show for him, but weather you were or not, he was loving every second. As you were outside, you were almost finished with the suncream but unfortunately you couldn't reach your back, and Terry noticed that. He made his way outside and walked straight over to you, moving his thumb over his bottom lip. "Hey babygirl" "Hey Terry, I dont supose you could help me with something please?" "Of course beautiful, what ever you need, I'm always hear to help" You smile up at him and shake the cream in your hand.

"Could you rub some cream on my back please? I cant reach" He smirks at you in a devilish way, loving that he gets to do this for you. "Anything for you babygirl" You give him a quick peck on his cheek just before you turn around and lie down on your front, showing your back to Terry. You couldn't see it, but Terry was in awe of you, and as he squirted suncream on your back, he was getting extremely turned on. It made him feel it even more when his hands finaly touched you, and moved over and around your back and skin. The feel of you against his hands was exactly what he needed today. You were loving the feeling of him massage the cream all over your back and shoulders, his hands were so large and strong, no matter what he was doing, you loved him touching you.

His hands glide down and gently smooth over your ass and bikini bottoms, it was too tempting for him not too. You giggle and say "I know your all done back there now babe, so are you just checking out the new bikini?" "I'm admiring the view baby, I just cant get over how f#cking sexy you are" Before you could answer him, he leaned down and gently bit your ass through the clothing. "Terry!" "There is no way in hell I'm apologising for that baby, it's the affect of the bikini" "You cheeky sod (giggle) oh, my sunglasses are over at the edge of the pool, could you grab them for me please?" "Sure, no problem" He walks over and and bends down, right at the edge of the pool, and this was your chance. This was payback for him playfully biting you, you walked up right behind him...and pushed him straight into the pool!

You were in fits of laughter as he resurfaced, completely drenched and looking just a little frustrated, but not angry. "Ooooh your gunna pay for that baby!" "I'd like to see you make me pay...." He needed nothing more from you, he swam to the edge and climbed out of the pool, chasing you around the garden until he grabbed you from behind and threw you over his shoulder. He was so wet and cold, but you secretly loved it, and before you knew it, he jumped into the pool holding you, and getting you soaking wet too. You both reached the surface of the water laughing and splashing one another, before he pulled you into his arms as you float together, locking his lips onto yours in a fun and playful way.

"Hmmm, someone's happier than he was earlier" "That's all down to you baby, your body is driving me crazy..." "Then what are you gunna do about it?" He kisses you a gain in a fiary passion, swimming you over to the side of the pool, he's able to stand in this part as your hips are around his waist, and that's exactly where he wants you. He pulls his trousers down underneath the water, and his hand finds your bikini bottoms, sliding them to the side. "I think you need a good, hard, wet f#ck!" He says right before sliding right into you and pressing you against the pool side. You thought your bare skin would hurt being slammed against the tiles, but Terry's hand is cradling your hips behind you, so his hand is protecting you.

He thrusts into you, deep and sensual, hearing the sounds of his moans were delicious, and he thought the same of you as you whimper against the force of his cock. The only sound that's heard is the moans of one another and the slight splashing of the water as Terry moves with you on his hips. You were so thankful that noone could see into his garden, because if they could, they would have seen the moment you and Terry both climaxed together in the pool. It appears Terry's orgasm was that strong, that he actually left a bite mark on your shoulder at the moment of climax. Out of breath and looking at eachother, you say "Wow Terry, how long was that building up?" "From the moment I saw this bikini on you, seeing you in this sexy little outfit....drove me insane" "I'm glad I bought it then, and maybe I'll get a diffrent colour..." "Or maybe I don't care about the colour? If you were to do this again, I'd take the new one off myself....with my teeth..."

#thomas ian griffith #sensei targaryen #terry silver #kk3 #terry silver x reader

5 notes · View notes

thewordworrier · 2 years

Text

Revenge Looks Good On You

Word Count: 2,600 and change. Holy balls this is SHORT for me. Warnings: A cuss or two. Notes: ~ Female!OC ~ Band!Fic ~ Probably not actual awards they won/were nominated for but I’m not feeling serious enough to actually look those up. Oh, and this is the dress she’s wearing. I spent too long trying to figure out how to describe it. Happy birthday Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge! 18 today! Have a little possibly cheesy Band!Fic Universe ficlet.

- - - - - - - - - - Before some awards show, during which Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge is not only recognised but nominated. A lot. The band is too, but they’re all more excited for the album nominations. “Oh my god,” Frank grumbled, starting to pace out of boredom. “We’re going to be late!” “Shut up,” Gerard muttered. “She knows what she’s doing. She’s the one who makes all the arrangements and whatever.” “Yeah, which is why she should be -” “Oh hey,” Ray interrupted. “There she is.” Gerard and Frank looked to the doorway to see their little blonde Tour Manager standing there. She smiled when she realised she had all their eyes on her. “Well, look at you,” Frank said. “You look like the album threw up on you.” “Frank!” Mikey scolded, before turning back to the girl. “He means you look like the album in the flesh,” he glanced up at her hair. “Almost.” “I’m not dying my hair for you,” she said, moving to check her make-up in the mirror. “I have to draw the line somewhere.” “You’re prettier blonde,” Frank said, causing the others to look at him. “What? She is! I don’t think darker hair would suit her.” “Thank you, Frankie,” she rearranged her loosely-curled hair and adjusted some of the hair grips to keep it off of her face before using the mirror to look over the men behind her. “You guys all scrub up pretty decently too, by the way.” They appeared to puff up with pride a little and she giggled before speaking again. “And I’m not mad, it’s kinda the look I was going for. I don’t like to leave any doubt who I work for and belong to.” Gerard was watching her as she unwrapped something from around her wrist to put it around her neck. “Is that a rosary?” “From the razor to the,” she said with a nod, adjusting the black beads. “Where did you get that?” “It’s mine,” she went back to fiddling with her hair. “Grew up a little Catholic. Dropped it as soon as I could. If you look closer I have roses and stars in my ears.” “Red rose on your coffin door,” Mikey nodded before frowning. “Stars?” “Helena,” Shelly moved to head back into the other room. “When every star fall brought you to tears again,” Gerard clarified, watching her with… A really gentle look on his face. “They’re diamonds too,” she called. “Diamonds, comas and cake an’ all that. Actually, that sounds like a good biography name…” She reappeared in the doorway, putting her phone in a small purse and caught sight of the expression on Frank’s face. “What?” “Bet your nails are Pitchfork Red then,” Frank said with a grin. The blonde just smiled. “Almost. They’re more wine or burgundy rather than bright devil red, but the colour number is in the six hundreds, so that’ll do.” “I say that counts!” Shelly bowed slightly to Ray. “Thank you Mr Toro, sir!” The others laughed quietly. “I don’t suit bright red anyway,” she shrugged as they finished getting ready. “Makes me look deathly pale and while that might suit you guys, it doesn’t suit me. Besides, the burgundy matches my dress and shoes better.” “It’s a nice dress,” Frank said as she ushered them all into the elevator. “I do really mean that.” “It’s a little fancier than my daywear but it doesn’t make me stand out too much. Which is the dream, really. It’s not my job to stand out.” Shelly checked them all over as the elevator was moving. “Also, well done for all being ready on time.” “We were just waiting for you. Frank was starting to get worried that we were gonna be late.” Frank gave Gerard a Look for snitching on him. She hummed at the vocalist. “Truth be told, I gave you all the wrong time anyway. I told you all to be ready earlier than needed, just in case.” “See?” Gerard turned to Frank. “I told you that she knows what she’s doing.” Shelly could tell that Frank was going to start arguing back - she sighed and bundled them all into the car outside, making sure they weren’t sitting next to each other. “For goodness sake,” she muttered, settling in the car beside Gerard. “Behave boys.” Frank grumbled playfully under his breath, receiving a raised eyebrow from her in response and he giggled quietly until a thought hit him. “Hey, is that reporter gonna be there?” “Rep- which one?” Ray asked. “There’s probably gonna be a few.” “The one Mikey obviously has a crush on,” Frank said with a wicked little grin. “The one that made him go through someone’s planner and get whacked upside the head because of it.” “Shuttup,” the younger Way muttered, sinking into his seat a little more. Shelly giggled softly, pulling her phone out of the purse on her lap. “I don’t know the answer to that, I never thought to ask. But if she is there, we’ll know when we get there.” “So, stay professional Mikes,” Frank grinned at the bassist, only to laugh when he got a glare in response. “Frank,” Shelly said without looking up from her phone. “Be nice.” “Yes ma’am.” She cleared her throat warningly. “Miss,” Frank corrected. “Yes Miss.” She giggled and went back to her phone for the rest of the car trip. When they arrived, they piled out and she accepted help from Ray so she didn’t end up on her face. She thanked him and led the way to where they were supposed to be. Shelly sat quietly with the boys as the show progressed. Normally she’d be taking notes or something, but she knew that she’d be able to get a full breakdown of the awards, nominees and winners from someone later - she’d already set herself a reminder to email them about that. Instead, she was listening, both to whoever was presenting the current category, and to the soft, general chit chat around her. From both other tables and from the boys. She tilted her head towards the podium as the host changed for the next award. Ah. She turned her attention to Gerard beside her to see him nibbling on his thumb. Gently, she took his hand away from his mouth and held onto it, keeping her eyes focused on the current speaker, but she could see him look up and at her. “And the winner of best single is…” The speaker, someone Shelly didn’t recognise, paused for dramatic effect. “Helena by My Chemical Romance!” Shelly squealed softly in glee, squeezed Gerard’s hand and shooed them up from the table to go and accept the award. She watched them fondly, the brothers looking a little too surprised and, especially on Gerard’s part, emotional, to really talk properly, so Ray and Frank took over their little speech. Gerard managed to gather himself together enough to blow a kiss to the cameras and pat his heart before they were led offstage so they could head back to their table. She stood up to greet them when she saw them get closer and was immediately pulled into a tight hug by Gerard; he squeezed her and she hugged him back almost as tightly, though a little part of her was aware of the fact that there were journalists and photographers, and maybe even people filming. Although she wasn’t entirely sure why she was feeling so aware of that. When he let her go, they took their seats and he sought out her hand to squeeze it. Needless to say, the band and the album, how did the journalists put it? They cleared up - including one for best live show, which really pleased her. She was so proud of them. “What now?” Mikey asked afterwards. “Press stuff I think,” Shelly adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder and took a couple of the awards so they wouldn’t get dropped. Gerard checked the awards they were still holding before taking one from Frank and swapping it with one Shelly was holding. She looked at him inquisitively before checking the one he’d just given her. Ahh. The award for best single. She should’ve guessed, really, that he would want this one to stay safe. “Ready for the wolves?” She asked the band as a whole, tilting her head towards the designated press area. She giggled when they all nodded and stood up straighter. Shelly wasn’t surprised when the journalists there swarmed around her boys like vultures to a carcass. What did surprise her, however, was the speed at which they did so. Normally, she liked to stick close to them when journalists were around (though she’d always be off to the side when photographers were working) but this time she’d been edged out and away from them. Truthfully, she felt a tiny bit panicked by it - she was short, small and female, and a lot of these journalists were larger, stockier men. She had the feeling that their reporter friend wasn’t there; Shelly might’ve seen her by now. She could be wrong though; she couldn’t really see much right now. Even her politest “Excuse me, please?!” wasn’t helping her. “Hey, can you let her through?” She heard Ray’s voice. “She’s with us,” Mikey added. Always the polite ones, Shelly thought as she managed to get in front of one guy. “Oi!” Frank’s voice was next to reach her ears. “Fucking hell, let her through!” “Seriously! No interviews unless you let our Tour Manager through!” Gerard taking charge seemed to work as the two tall men stood in front of her parted, a little like the Red Sea, and she was able to hurry her way over to her band. Frank took her arm as soon as she was close enough and sandwiched her in between himself and Gerard, who looked down and nodded once. “Better,” he said, turning back to the press. “What were you asking?” After that, the press circuit bit, she ushered them all back into a car. She made sure that everyone had put their seatbelts on before she gently rearranged the awards she was still holding in her lap. “Okay darlings,” she said softly. “First we’re gonna take these back to the hotel so I can put them somewhere and arrange to get them shipped later. Then, it’s up to you if you wanna go and eat or go out or,” she waved a hand gently as the other held the awards closer to her. “Or whatever.” “What will you be doing?” Frank asked, noticing Gerard watching her holding the awards. “Mm, I’ll probably eat something and then get some sleep, I don’t really know.” “Not planning on going out?” Mikey frowned. “Not gonna celebrate with us?” She shook her head at the bassist. “No. I’m not one for partying, and besides, the celebration isn’t mine.” “The live shows award is,” Gerard said. “If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t get to our shows on time.” “Or have our instruments in one piece or tuned properly.” “Or look the part when we go on stage or go to interviews.” The immediate rebuttal of her response made the normally pale girl blush very pink, very quickly and she tried to hide behind her hair only to have Frank and Gerard - the two either side of her, move it off of her face. She couldn’t even hide her face in her hands because that would’ve meant letting the awards go and possibly letting them get damaged - and she wouldn’t do that. “Boys,” she whined quietly. “That’s not fair, let me be embarrassed in peace.” “Nope, never.” Frank’s smile turned into a big grin when she pouted a bit, but he did give her a break until they got back to the hotel. The awards were carefully put on a solid surface in her room and there was a brief, playful argument about her joining them to celebrate. She won, but that’s because she was stubborn. For the most part at least. There was still a little shyness there too, especially today because they all scrubbed up so well. Gerard was looking particularly swoon worthy, but she’d never admit that out loud. Or well, she might if she was bullied into it a little, but she would never, ever admit that she thought that about him even when he wasn’t ‘scrubbed up’ like this. She just really enjoyed looking at his face. “Shelly.” She looked up at Frank, as she tried to usher them to go out. “Yes?” As soon as he grinned she knew that he was up to something, and apparently the others did too as they turned to him. “Revenge looks so good on you.” The others seemed to relax, especially when she went pink and giggled. “But,” he pointedly looked her up and down. “That dress would probably look better on the floor.” “Frank!” Multiple voices scolded. Frank laughed and was marched down the corridor by Ray and Mikey. Gerard hung back for a moment, shaking his head before leaning against the doorframe. “Sorry about him,” he said softly as he looked her over again. She really did look good in the album’s aesthetic. “Mm,” Shelly nibbled her bottom lip, trying not to look up at him too much. “It’s okay. I should’ve expected something like that really.” “Damn dog,” Gerard muttered almost affectionately as he glanced down the hallway. “You okay though?” She nodded. “Go on, go and celebrate your well deserved wins.” “Are you sure I can’t convince you to come with us?” Gerard asked again, hesitating before tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “I…” She exhaled slowly as his fingers grazed her ear and then the side of her face. God, it was so hard to say no to him. “I’m good, really. The celebration really isn’t mine, and I have a little work to do anyway.” “Well, you know we disagree with that, but if you’re sure I can’t persuade you?” Shelly focused on her hands as she smoothed her dress down. She’d probably give in if she looked at his face. “I’m sure. Although, promise me something?” “Sure.” She made herself look up at him. “You guys will call me if you need anything? No matter what the time is? I mean,” she glanced slightly to the right and scratched her neck. “That is my job after all, but also, I want you all to be safe.” “I promise,” he hadn’t hesitated. “As long as you promise you’ll come and join us if you change your mind?” “I promise, but I doubt that will happen,” she shook her head again. “Try not to drink too much, okay?” “I’ll try and have something different, something softer, every other drink, don’t worry.” The shorter girl looked up to study his face for a minute, before nodding. “Okay. I believe you. Be careful.” “Will do,” Gerard hesitated for a second before giving her a quick hug, almost lifting her out of her shoes. “Put me down and go and find the others.” “Yes, Miss,” he grinned and avoided the playful swatting she aimed at him. “Shoo!” She smiled and her tone softened. “But call me if you need me, no matter what the time is.” “I- We will.” Shelly nodded to him and shut the door. He waited until he heard it locked before he leant against the wall and let out a sigh. Yeah, the aesthetic did look really good on her. Like, really good. She put so much effort in, she focused on little details and… That was something he could appreciate. Maybe he should tell her that. That he appreciated her and all the little details. But he would not tell her that he agreed with Frank; that he also thought her dress would look better on his hotel room floor.

#fan fic #my writing #She Writes #Gerard Way x OC #sort of #She Speaks

19 notes · View notes

factorialsfandoms · 2 years

Text

Autistically Flavoured Link Headcanons

(Disclaimer: these are all based on my personal experience of autism. I also have other brain weird, so while I’m /pretty/ sure its all autism, some might not be. Not representative, etc etc etc. Also I just wanted to write all these down before reading other people’s, because its interesting to compare, but I need the reference point for my own.)

(Some Links have more points than others. This isn’t always dependent on how much I like or have thought about them, its just which ones I had more ideas and firm vibes are)

(Also general that even if I don’t stick to these headcanons, I always write all characters as autistic as I’m literally incapable of not being so myself, and have to run the dialogue. Its just easier if I accept they have my neurotype and have fun.)

Cut because very long

Legend - is in constant sensory hell from everything. made it a little better by ditching pants, gnawing on necklaces, fiddling with his rings, and similar. the constant sensory hell makes him snippy, as the world is constantly too much. - As a kid he was constantly told off for being rude/pretentious, but never managed to work out why. So, he has decided to just pretend to be rude so it hurts less when people think he’s mean. It’s easier, no? to be hated for something you're pretending to be, than for something you can't control. And anyway, he can't read intent, so has decided to believe the worst in everyone and everything. A very few people can convince him they’re not awful, but it takes a lot of work. Everyone takes the worst interpretation of him, so why not return the favour?

Hyrule - what's autism and what's a feature of his Hyrule is very hard to tell sometimes. He's aware that he can't read emotion, tone, or body language, but just assumes it’s because he's spent so little time around people. - He has made a conscious choice to believe the best of everyone, and has been taught very quickly that if he isn't sweet and kind then he will be murdered. It reads as naïve to most people, but its as much a survival mechanism as Legend's constant snark. He doesn’t know what people are doing, so he has made a conscious choice to be kind, and to assume other people are too. Until they prove otherwise. Proving otherwise usually involves actually hurting them - His special interests have long involved magic. His sensory issues are rarely obvious, but certain colours are physically painful - there's a reason he sticks to his brown and greens. - All of his stims are forcibly suppressed to the point he doesn’t know any of them. Even the gentle flapping of his hands at his sides is a danger when you’re being hunted.

Four - I don’t have a whole grasp on Four, but blacksmithing? Blacksmithing is his special interest. He’s very blunt a lot of the time, but he’s generally just taken for distracted rather than rude. Everyone where he lives knows he’d rather be in his forge, and its useful enough they let him. - He usually seems to have most of it under control, but when things get too much it looks like a very sudden shift. - The colours things gets tricky with all this. Yes they would all be autistic. They’re kinda all also different ways of dealing with it. As a whole Four can shift between them as situation necessitates, but split each colour only has one way of handling the social weirdness.

Time - didn't have his whole childhood being told off for being rude, and so for a long time was completely unaware that he can come off that way - or worse, insensitive. Forest children notice these things much less, but it means in adulthood he doesn’t always realise he’s coming off as mean. He is trying to learn to do better, but being the eldest of the group few of them call him out on it. - As a kid relied a lot on his masks to work out the rules of different engagements, taking on different personas and so forth. He hasn't quite realised he put one of them on and never took it off again (figurative). Neither has he realised what it is costing him.

Wild - near constant state of not enough sensory, except for occasional moments of too much. he doesn't have a line of just enough. sensory seeking until he implodes. licks things, touches things, looks at shiny things - all of that. This has only gotten worse since his death and rebirth; the nerve damage with his burns has left huge expanses of his body in constant sensory deprivation, which he can only try to counter via elsewhere. - His social skills are a work in progress, but what's autism and what's trauma and what's amnesia is anyone's guess. - Cooking is great but fire noise distressing. So, he does the little hum. He likes the hum. It is a stim, but a stim that only works in specific situations. Sky - fakes it until he makes it, but it drains all his stamina and spoons, and neurotypicals still read something off about him anyway. He used to have a special interest in flying, its still sensory very pleasing to him, but his adventures have burnt all of his special interests away. Unlike Time he's uncomfortably aware of his masking, and that its hurting him, but has no idea how to turn it off. He is suffering badly from autistic burnout. Combined, of course, with actual burnout. Still, he's doing his very best to be kind. - Pressure is very good for him. Many blankets, also hugs. If he ever learns about Wild needing to be squished sometimes he'd love a cuddle buddy. For now its clinging to blankets and pillows and covering himself in everything. - Conversely, if he eats food with actual flavour, he might die. He wouldn't die, but the slightest bit of taste is too much for his brain to handle. Wild doesn't get it, but makes him very plain food anyway. Twilight - spends time with animals over people, as they actually make sense. Has always known he's weird and not quite... normal, but assumes its a result of his messy ancestry. Everyone else also knows he's a bit strange, but he's good with the horses and the kids, so what does it matter? Swaps between wolf and Hylian form to try control his sensory brain - if light is too much or smell too little, go wolf. Vice versa, go Hylian. It doesn't always work, but its one of a handful of pros. Wind - special interest in boats. Has far fewer problems than the other heroes, in part because young, in a small community, and his grandma wasn't going to stand for any nonsense. Now the chain protects him from nonsense as he explores himself. - Has, with Wild, recently discovered he's not actually easily overwhelmed by taste - he's actually underwhelmed by it, but bland food is easier for his brain to manage than slightly flavoured but not flavoured enough to deal with the sensory underwhelming he has. Grandma's soup had been the only flavoured thing he could stomach before. She knew the trick of actually flavouring things. Warriors - Can get through any social situation just fine, having absolutely delighted in the complexities of the rules and the drama of it all. Unfortunately, while he looks incredibly socially competent, he's still running largely from a script. So much attention is on how he himself is presenting and his own words and how people read him that he's completely unable to process what they're doing. Someone else really needs to take notes on the conversation for him, because he will remember precisely none of it later.

#linked universe #headcanon #both percieve and do not percieve me #its complicated #I repeat again that most of these are personal experience in different situations #etc etc etc

9 notes · View notes

digimonloving · 2 years

Note

Idk if you are taking requests rn if you arent its no prob but i have totake this one off me chest.

Myotismon having a female tamer that loves cute stuff im talking plushies and pink and flowers and puppies and sanrio stuff and all that kawaii aesthetic but having a very grungy gothy punky egirl fashion sense im talking "whats your fav colour?" And the tamer all dressed up in black straight face goes "pink". I just need that in my life.

Myotismon with a Fem Tamer that has a punky grunge gothy aesthetic, but loves cute stuff

It does slightly throw Myotismon for a loop when he looks at her visual aesthetics and it's all dark and grungy, but when looking at the things she owns that aren't her clothes being so bright and cute. He thought he had a read on her from their first meeting, but to see what she actually likes makes him rethink it heavily.

Now, he's not going to poke about it. After all, it's only natural to enjoy a fashion choice,but have other interests and love for the cute little things depending on some things. He just didn't get the feel that she enjoyed it from her initial demeanor or style. How straight face she gets when saying how much she actually loves plushies and the colour pink. It makes him chuckle at the contrast.

He does adore her style, both of them. It makes it strangely easy for Myotismon to figure out what sort of gifts to give her, and tune into her sort of style of things. He's a rather big fan of her fashion choice, which is quite the given for this dark gentleman of a Digimon, but goes along with her enjoyment of the softer, cuter things she enjoys as well.

Truly, at their first meeting of one another, Myotismon figured her to be into all sorts of dark themes and the like simply due to her outfit choice. Which, to be fair, was probably not the best thing to think of immediately from his Tamer, but her style screamed it. Until he saw everything her room had to offer. Being blasted by the sudden style change completely threw him off. He had to get a different read on her after that, which didn't take him too terribly long. But it still did make him confused in the end.

Now that Myotismon has spent plenty of time with her, he gets it in his own way. She dresses well in black, the gothy aesthetic always one to be enjoyed most certainly. But just because she has such a dress code for her outings, doesn't mean she can't enjoy the cute things as well.

Myotismon does make an off-hand joke about maybe she should try to be a pastel goth if she enjoys the cute stuff so much, but he also has grown far too attached to her dark dressing he quickly makes sure that she knows he was joking. Though... She might pull it off... But he still prefers the dark look, it makes a good contrast for her room and other hobbies.

#Digimon #Digimon and Tamer #Myotismon

8 notes · View notes

k00295676 · 6 days

Text

Painting:

We started off by mixing a colour, taking some adding white then repeating so there’s a mid, light and dark tone. Then we put a layer of paint on the paper mapping out the shapes. Starting with the background we painted everything in finishing with Jeff. I enjoyed doing the background and working with the shadow, but I spent too long on the background leaving me little time on the figure itself, I’m disappointed with how it ended up looking but it helped me with trying to work quicker.

0 notes

scrumpledorph-writes · 1 month

Text

Koben’s Return Home (It Is A Home Now)

These last few days have felt like no more than a few hours. I didn’t even think to ask Brayli if it was alright to stay at her apartment for this long, and she hasn’t brought the subject up either. Still, I’ve had enough time to heal, and I’d hate to make her late for work tomorrow – it’s about time I packed up my things and headed home. We can always visit, or holo-chat, or leave each other messages. Maybe I can even host her at my place, if she’d like to see the dunes.

‘I’ve had a wonderful time, but with all of my things here, your apartment is starting to feel rather small. I should take them back home, and considering how hard some of these would be to replace, I should probably stay with them too.’ That sounds like you’re never planning to leave. ‘Oh, but – I don’t need to watch them all the time. I’ll come to visit, of course; you know that my work schedule is flexible.’ That gentle smile, same as always.

‘Don’t worry sugar, I getcha. Y’ain’t gotta justify needing some alone time. I know I can be a lot sometimes.’ ‘You’re exactly as much as I want.’ For all she’s done for me, the least I owe her is to tell her exactly how much she means to me, every opportunity I get.

‘Thanks, sugar. Though, next time you show up at my door – try to do it conscious, okay?’ She always knows how to make my worries feel like they’re nothing at all. ‘I’ll try my best. Considering that and the bounty hunter incident, I must look pretty bad at my job.’ ‘Nah. I know how someone who’s bad at your job looks sugar.’ ‘Which is?’ ‘Through a cybereye, if they’re lucky.’ If one of my squadmates made that joke I’d have just rolled my eyes, but I can’t help laughing at it from her.

‘Oh, yeah, one last thing sugar; I made you something.’ ‘When did you manage that? We’ve barely spent an hour apart since I arrived.’ ‘I made it last week. I – well, I kinda figured I wouldn’t see you again, so I wanted something to remind myself of you.’ She really is too good for me. I can almost feel tears welling up just hearing her say that. ‘I see. I never would have thought to do something like that, but I’d love to see it.’ ‘Yeah, I put it away to not ruin the surprise, lemme go grab it real quick.’

This isn’t like her usual sculptures. Her art certainly isn’t anything I’d see in an Imperial gallery, but it communicates its subject adequately. This just looks like a sheet of off colour glass shards glued together on a stand. ‘I appreciate it, the fact that you made it, and that you want me to have it means more to me than I can describe – but I don’t really know what it is.’ ‘Here sugar, hold it up facing the wall.’ Oh. It’s beautiful.

‘Even under that big suit of yours, I could tell you really seemed to be enjoying the sunset on our first date. It obviously doesn’t look quite as majestic, but-’ I can’t possibly do anything but kiss her after she made me something so beautiful. She made it out of love; broke off a little piece of herself for me to keep forever, and that makes it her best work. I’ll have to find a way to do the same for her some day. Maybe I should take up carving, I keep my knife plenty sharp.

‘I love it. I love you. Thank you so much for making it. I’ll put up a shelf under the window so I can see the light shine through it every night.’ ‘No problem sugar. Anyway, last sun’s going down – you should probably get going.’ If we said everything we wanted to I don’t think I’d ever get to leave. There’ll be time to later. We have all the time in the galaxy now. ‘Agreed, call me when you’re off work tomorrow.’

Barely have enough room for all these things in my speeder. For not having a license, Jaxon drives pretty well. Can’t see any damage that couldn’t be explained by regular desert sands scraping across it. I’m sure Brayli has opinions on how to keep one in good working order, and it would certainly be a benefit to know – I should ask her some time.

Still not used to driving across these dunes without my helmet on. On the one hand, it’s nice to see what they look like without that pinkish tinge of the visor – on the other, all this dry wind in my eyes is horrible. Definitely not a fan of open topped vehicles. I should buy some goggles, but for now I’ll just wear the helmet the rest of the way.

Feels different to wear it now, thinking on it. Isn’t as comfortable as it used to be, but I’ve felt more comfortable with it off lately – guess I’m finally growing out of it. Wistful sentimentality aside, it still offers very good protection; and my line of work requires that. Maybe that repaint I’ve been thinking of will help.

Back at the house. It looks just like I left it: empty. Easy to get everything put back into place, especially with how little space it all takes up. At least I have one thing to help fill it, and it almost reaches the window if I put it on the trunk. Good enough for now. I’ve never really paid much mind to how my living quarters looked before. I guess that’s what makes somewhere home.

For as nice as it was to cuddle her to sleep, Brayli’s bed didn’t do me any favours. Good to spend the night in mine. If I could get her waking up in it with me, that would be ideal – wouldn’t want to put her through the commute to work though. I tentatively own as much of the area around this house as I bother to claim, so we could just build a speeder garage out here, but then she’d probably have no customers. I should talk to her about this some time.

Have enough credits for the foreseeable future, so I can spend the day on more menial tasks. Already got my armour patched up at her place, but I’ve been too busy to check my messages lately. Brayli sent me a lot last week. One every day. We’re together again, no reason to listen to them; it’d just be hurting myself over nothing, and I’m sick of doing that.

Oh! Those reinforced doors and windows finally arrived, perfect. No more shutters blowing open late at night, and I can’t imagine anyone getting through these without waking me up. If customizing your house makes it home, then I guess I’m still most at home in a fortress. Waiting for pickup, but I should call ahead just so I can make sure they’re waiting for me on arrival.

‘Herbo’s Home Hardware, whaddaya need?’ ‘I’m calling about an order for a steel reinforced door, lock, and shutter set. I received a message that they were ready for pickup a few days ago, but I was too busy at the time. My apologies.’ ‘Hey no problem lady, half the time we only find out a customer won’t be picking up when we see their name in the obits.’ He’s laughing, but given how violent things seem to be around here I’m not sure that was a joke. On the other hand, I am a bounty killer, so my perspective might be skewed.

‘I’m realizing I don’t have a speeder truck to pick them up with. Is there any way I could rent one?’ ‘We deliver for a fee.’ They’re civilians, but I really don’t want to leave any more of a paper trail than I already have. Better to never need these upgrades in the first place if I can manage it. ‘No, that’s unnecessary. I can pick them up myself, unload them, then return the truck.’

‘What, were you planning to install them yourself too? You know you already paid for the work, right? No refunds, by the way.’ That would be difficult, I never took structural engineering. How do I phrase this request without being too obvious?

‘Can I ask that your men ride in the back of the truck with the merchandise while I drive, then I’ll return them the same way?’ This is getting convoluted. ‘Okay lady, I think I’m starting to pick up what you’re putting down. You’re one of those discrete types, right?’ ‘Correct.’ I should have figured they’d have accommodations for underworld customers around here.

‘Right, gotcha – say no more. Yeah it’s an extra fee, but you can have the work done by droids. They drive out, do the job, come back, we wipe their memory banks. No muss, no fuss.’ Can hardly ask for more discretion than that, short of destroying the droids; and I don’t think that would be good for my professional reputation.

‘That sounds perfect, how much is that extra fee?’ ‘A thousand credits.’ Of course, borderline extortion. The original charge was only three hundred. I suppose it’s a fair price to pay for peace of mind. ‘I accept. When would you like the payment?’

‘Just leave the credits in the truck and plug in an address, they’ll drive there and do the work. You don’t even need to be home.’ I don’t like the sound of unsupervised droids, not looking to get two timed again.

‘I’d prefer to drive them here and supervise their work.’ ‘Suit yourself lady, doesn’t matter to me. I just work the front counter.’ Their chain of command has a very weak link. ‘In that case, I should be there within half an hour. Goodbye.’

While I’m thinking of customizing this place, I am starting to miss the crowded, lived in feel of Brayli’s apartment. I’d reign it in a fair amount, bumping into things in the dark wasn’t any fun, but just being able to stare from wall to ceiling to floor in almost every direction from the center of the room feels...hollow, now that I know what other options there are. I should buy some furniture while I’m out.

III

This place is, well, it’s what’s available I suppose. Used to bigger depots and warehouses for this sort of thing, but I guess I’m not done tempering my expectations for a planet this far out. ‘Hey there, you picking up the doors?’ ‘I am. Before I do, I’d like to see if you have a few other items I need.’ ‘Course, no rush, take your time.’

I just realized: everything I ordered is stainless steel, that’ll be corroded beyond recognition within a year. Need to paint them, but not sure what colour I should use. Freshly painted doors would also probably look out of place next to the aging stone, which means that would need painting too. I should call Brayli, ask her what she’d like.

Never actually called her while she was in the shop before. I don’t think she’ll mind, but I do hope she’s free to talk. ‘Hey sugar, what’s up?’ ‘I’m sorry to bother you while you’re at work, are you available for an involved conversation right now?’ I know that mechanical work can be very intensive.

‘Sure, you caught me during some diagnostic tests. What’d you want to talk about?’ Usually mechanics would shoo me away during diagnostic work – said they needed to focus. Maybe she’s just that good. ‘I need to buy paint for my new doors to keep them from corroding, and I think that would make them look out of place without also painting the rest of the exterior. I wanted your opinion on what colours you think I should buy.’

‘Aww, sugar – I’m flattered. I’m not much of a painter though.’ ‘Really? I figured with your work in speeders you’d have some opinions.’ The other thing mechanics always used to do was complain about the aesthetics of Imperial vehicles. I always thought they looked fine.

‘I’ve got some time, we can brainstorm. What’re you hoping for, what colors do you like?’ That’s a good question. The exterior does serve a practical purpose – it’d be good for it to blend in with the surrounding sands to make it harder to spot from a distance or during an overhead scan. The inside I could really do anything with.

‘I just figured out the exterior, I’m going to go with a sandy colour. Talking to you about it did help though, so thank you for that. The inside I don’t have very strong opinions on. What would you like?’ Maybe we could paint it up like an ocean, remind her of home.

‘Aww, well, it’s your place sugar, I wouldn’t want to be making decisions for you.’ She doesn’t seem to realize how much she factors into these decisions. ‘I want it to be your place too some day, or at least to have you come over and enjoy it with me sometimes.’

‘Wow, really? I mean, that’s really sweet sugar, don’t get me wrong – but I kinda figured you liked having your own little space to go back to.’ Experiencing her home made me realize just how little there was to mine. I want nothing more than to welcome her into it.

‘Spending the last two days with you made me realize just how empty my life was, and my home is a part of that. I want you to help me fill it in – that ornament was a start, but if there’s anything I can do to make you feel more welcome in it; please tell me.’

I hope that didn’t come across too strong. I mean, I know how much we talked and cuddled and all that stuff, but- she’s smiling even wider than usual. She understands. ‘Well, if that’s the case sugar – and I know this is maybe a bit cliche – but maybe some ocean blues? Dark floor, medium walls, light ceiling?’

That sounds beautiful. ‘I’d love to. I was only expecting to have to do one colour though, this is sounding like a two person job.’ It’d make a lovely excuse for a date, and to show her my place for the first time.

‘I guess it does, sugar. Pick up the paint, we can do it on my next day off.’ Maybe I should hold off on the other decorations until after we’ve painted. I don’t exactly have anywhere to put them other than directly onto the sand or in my speeder. I can still do some looking around, see if anything speaks to me.

‘Oh, while we’re talking; I was hoping to see you tonight. I’ve already gotten settled in back home, and without work, my schedule is very open.’ I hope she doesn’t mind how much I want to see her. She’s laughing, so it doesn’t seem like it.

‘Sure thing, drop by tonight. We can think of something to do. Gotta go now, tests are wrapping up; which means I’ve gotta get back to actual work. Bye sugar.’ Maybe we can finally get around to that holovid, I think I’ve gotten used to her enough that I can focus on something other than her when we’re in the same room. Now, back to shopping.

Got the paint – interior and exterior – loaded in with the droids, alongside a doormat. I’d been getting tired of tracking sand in, and “Live Laugh Love” is a concise summation of everything I’ve been forbidden from doing for so long. Having a reminder every time I come home should really help.

There were plenty of other trinkets; a little Hoth snowglobe, a physical calendar with small, furred native fauna from a variety of planets, and a charming framed picture of a Twi’lek family. Not sure why that specific family was chosen, but they look nice enough. Maybe once the painting is done I’ll see about buying them.

The droids seem more rudimentary than I was originally expecting, I don’t think they’d be capable of spying on me even if I weren’t watching them. Still, best not to take any chances. Glad they let me rent painting equipment, I don’t exactly have a lot of storage space to accrue miscellaneous tools. Maybe I should see about having a shed built some day.

Here we are. Flick the droids on, and according to the instructions; just give them a command and watch them work. ‘I need this door and these shutters installed on that house.’ Do they even have the dexterity to accomplish something like that? They each only seem to have one manipulator, and they’re so small that I’d half expect their three legs to break if they tried to lift the door – but I guess that’s why there’s so many of them. Guess I’ll just have to see.

Wow, they must have some serious custom programming to work so well in concert like that. Maybe that surcharge isn’t even a simple matter of extortion, but covering the potential replacement cost of these things if they get damaged. I suppose I can start bringing the paint in while they work.

These cans can just go in the corner. They certainly don’t help the place feel more lived in – now it looks even more like a storage facility, but that’ll all be over once Brayli and I get it painted. Maybe I should buy some snacks for when she comes over, surprise her with a nice lunch out on the sand.

I should have bought one of those picnic blankets. I’ll bet sitting on hot sand for an extended period would really dry out her skin. Even I probably wouldn’t find it too comfortable unless I was armoured, and that would likely dampen the romance. I can just use my blanket, shake it out thoroughly before bringing it back in. Not fancy, but it’ll do.

I should also probably give the inside a thorough cleaning too. I know it’s already cleaner than she keeps her place, but the old shutters let sand blow in from time to time. That’ll be a thing of the past once these droids are done. I should go check up on their work.

Solid work, consistent pace, navigating the sand well. A lot more effective than I was expecting, I really underestimated them. Door’s already installed, I can start painting that. Start with the brush, see how much I can cover – use the little cans of spray paint for everything else. Simple, menial work.

It’s nice to do something productive with my hands that isn’t violent. I’ve tried to pick up hobbies before, but they just always make me feel restless. Like I’m wasting my time when I could be accomplishing something. Spending time with Brayli doesn’t make me feel that way though. Every second feels well spent with her.

I spent longer than I should have in the store, the heat’s picking up. I’ve never had to worry about it before, the armour is UV sealed, but I might actually get burned. Adapting to the elements is certainly more difficult without the full technological backing of The Empire, but it’s kind of nice. Within a week of setting up shop, anywhere they designated became another stock template base, same as any other.

Seeing the dunes ebb and flow like this is pretty. I didn’t notice them before, but they’re different heights than they were when I moved in. Some of the old sand blows away, some new sand blows in to replace it. Constantly changing, even in just three short weeks. Wish it wouldn’t pile up against the house, but there’s hardly any use trying to sweep sand – even the best Troopers never managed to win that battle.

Getting the hang of this now. Might need to wash my clothes after this though, managed to splatter some paint at the beginning. Seems like the droids are taking a bit longer with the windows, but that gives me time to catch up. This shouldn’t take too long.

Wow. It came out great. The paint is just the right shade to blend in with the sand. Dried quickly too, maybe the desert heat helped with that. The droids are done too, so I suppose all that’s left is to give it all a test. Door first, obviously – it’s the most direct path of approach.

Lock glides well, don’t need to fiddle with it like the old one. Key turns easily, and it can take my full weight trivially. Can’t imagine anything short of a rancor bursting through this. Well, of course someone with the right tools could manage it, but I think even a typical breaching charge would only barely get the job done. Shutters next.

Paint made them stick slightly, but after the first few movements they glide like a dream. Shut firmly, don’t open to jostling. Can’t exactly test how well they’ll handle the wind, but they look like they’re designed not to catch it nearly as much as the old ones. Overall, completely satisfied.

Even if the inside is still undecorated, this makes it feel like home. Not just a normal home, my home. Built to weather a thousand storms and hold up to a thousand blaster shots. Just like me. Not only that, but with sensible decisions taking the surroundings into consideration.

I always found ways that the copy and paste base design could be improved, but the officers always said it wasn’t worth the effort. Now that’s my decision to make, and I made it exactly right. I live here, I call the shots. Maybe I should put in a back patio to watch the sunset. I can think about that later – right now I can just take it all in.

What’s this tugging at my pant leg? Oh, right, I do need to get these droids back. Okay, when I get back from that; then I can take it all in. ‘Put the old shutters and door in the back of the truck.’ Hopefully they’ll take all this off my hands, not like I have any use for it.

Can’t believe how complicated it was to get the old parts taken off my hands, that took hours. At least now I know where the recycling center is, and to call ahead. On the bright side, all that took so long that Brayli should be off work. Should I tell her about the renovations, or save it as one big surprise when she finally comes out to visit? I think I’ll let it all hit her at once.

Three quick knocks at her door. No response. She must be in the refresher, that’s fine. I can wait for her. Never really took the time to look at the surrounding complex, I suppose this gives me the chance. It’s decent. Not great, but not in noticeable disrepair. Some spots could do with new paint.

‘Brayli, it’s me – Koben. Could you get the door?’ Still no response. That isn’t like her. Maybe she was so tired after work she took a nap? I should ask her for a key some time. The door is unlocked. That’s definitely not like her, but with how eager I was to see her – maybe she left it open for me figuring I wouldn’t arrive too long after her.

No. Something happened here. The apartment is smashed up, and that’s her blaster lying in the middle of the room. Scorch marks on the walls – light, set to stun. A robbery? In broad daylight? This neighbourhood isn’t that bad. ‘Brayli! Are you in here? It’s me – Koben! You’re safe now.’ The droid’s been swept off the counter, and that datapad looks too new to be from around here. It looks Imperial.

‘Greetings Tarani.’ That voice. ‘I had my men take the liberty of leaving this datapad somewhere prominent enough that even you could find it.’ It can’t be him. ‘Begrudgingly, I must congratulate you for escaping from Huxley Padova.’ How did he find me? ‘I was certain he would kill you, but it appears that you are tougher than even I accounted for.’ Did he spend this long looking?

‘Thus, I have been forced to go after someone with far less fight in them: your girlfriend. How absurd, to see you go native like this. Even as I defeat you, you find a way to undermine my dignity.’ It’s been thirteen fucking years. ‘You will find my ship at the coordinates left on this datapad. That is not an order, or a recommendation, it is a fact – because I know you.’ He held a grudge this long?

‘You will come to rescue your, I’m not even going to dignify whatever you two have with the term – her – and then my compliment of Stormtroopers will kill you.’ He was barred from ever holding rank again, how does he have Stormtroopers? ‘Signing off: Bounty Acquisition Agent Anton Blackmire.’

#my oc #oc #star wars #writing #koben tarani #sapphic #transgender

0 notes

msbarrows · 3 months

Text

Spent a big chunk of time yesterday getting Newcrest populated with buildings. Mostly they're the houses I built a few years back based on a book of mid-century modern blueprints (the full set can be found on the TS4 gallery under the hashtag "nationalplanservice"). I also used a couple of Sears kit houses, and a few non-residential lots from the default library. I then modified one of the default houses into a cafe, and divided one of the National Plan houses into a couple of rental units. Basically I was looking to make Newcrest seem like an older suburb, with mostly mid-century buildings, and a few older ones.

And have a dashboard cut for way-too-many-image reasons :)

I then tested the cafe I'd made by sending Teresa and Paolo there for their first date. It went so well that at the end of it, they were deeply in love and he spontaneously suggested they move in together. She, of course, said yes.

He turned out to have the bodybuilder aspiration and the athletic career, so initially I let him stay in that.

With the few thousand dollars he brought into the household, plus both their wages, I was able to more fully furnish the house. I've decided they like colour. A lot. Though I'm trying to mostly keep it to blue-teal-green and white or cream, with some yellow. Naturally a lot of other colours sneak in, but only in small amounts.

It wasn't long before Paolo was popping the question - suitably enough, during a date in a dance club.

I've slowly been expanding the house as well, as money allowed (note that I did rotate it, as I considered in the previous post). Also note the publicly accessible cowplant; I'm not going to feed a sim to it on purpose, but they're welcome to Darwin themselves when it's in a "FEED ME, SEYMOUR!!!" mood.

Paolo hit a point in the athletic career where I didn't really feel like continuing it any further (I've done both the bodybuilder and professional athlete tracks before, and don't particularly care to repeat either right now). I decided to switch him over the the civic planning career instead; still a lot of work to get through, but it uses the charisma he was already working on as an athlete, so that'll be marginally easier. Also he'll earn a very nice daily wage by the top of the career track.

Teresa and Paolo do the majority of their socialization by talking with or partying with the rest of the Partihaus club members, though they each also have a friend or three outside of the group. I figured out how to set club costumes, so they look pretty co-ordinated when they first show up on lots now.

Here they all arrived in cold-weather outfits, as it was winter, though Paolo and Teresa then switched to formal wear. And eloped. Married each other in front of the DJ and everyone. Since this was the venue where they met, it seemed an appropriate place for their vows.

And then the next morning... Teresa was nauseous, so she did a pregnancy test. Looks like the 1% chance of risky woohoo I have set managed to succeed on their wedding night; she's officially pregnant.

Gah. I can only hope they manage to make enough money over the next little while to build a nursery. There's only so much time before the baby is born, and then mere days afterwards before it's ready to become a toddler, and needs its own room instead of just a bassinet tucked in a bit of open space in their bedroom. At least they just finished having time off over the weekend, so they'll be bringing home wages pretty steadily for the next few days. And both their careers have the "work from home" option, so looking after the baby should be pretty easily handled.

#The Sims #TS4 #Teresa Abbotsford #Paolo Abbotsford

0 notes

spacedkitty · 7 months

Text

Mushroom Rambles on Being Trans...

I got real high on some mushrooms and went on an emotional roller-coaster that I just kind of ramble-vomited into a drive document a few months ago...

Figured I'd throw it up here because I genuinely like how it turned out. Though I will say there's a bit of... frustration... with the roles pressed on men.

Anyway, it's all below the cut if you care to read it. I'll warn you it's long though, but I find it compelling in re-reading it.

It's incredible how you can feel so isolated from people, yet in moments like this not help feeling a deep connection with everything

It feels almost impossible for things not to sound profound to me right now.

Even the purposeful lack of structure can entice that feeling, so lacking in any real form, as a mocking caricature of purpose itself. It becomes a parody of itself by dint of the very simple purpose for which it was created.

Anti-humour, or the structure of how it's put together.

Gods, following this thought train right now feels like trying to explain an AI's thought-tree, it's constantly evolving as I go and I honestly have no idea where it's going to get off, it could be here or there or anywhere and I fucking love this.

How did I not know of all this shit? Why did I keep myself from experiencing it for so long?

I feel so free about drugs now, but I didn't before. This is a new thing.

It feels like I have to justify it to myself constantly. It's so weird to hear those PSAs and comments my mother would say about people. About how folks in recovery would talk about it.

This truly feels exactly like what they said in a way.

It always led to tragedy in those videos. Never a happy ending.

What a load of crock!!

Fuck!

I have to remind that part of my brain that the world that we'd have to return to would be one of frustration, fear, constant pain… all the things I'm dealing with now… and yet… without the hope, without the joy, without the ability to even feel real happiness.

Sometimes it feels like I never felt happiness. Never felt true joy.

I know it isn't true, I certainly did, but every memory from before I transitioned is taunted by pain. It's covered in a grey fog that just smothers the feeling in those memories.

I don't even know how to explain it. How do you communicate to the people around you that you finally see things in all the glorious colours of the rainbow. That when the sunshines it suddenly isn't just… an annoyance. That when the rain comes I can finally bask in it, not hope for it because it's an excuse to stay indoors away from people.

I spent years avoiding people. Spent my whole life doing it. I couldn't handle being around people, just so much going on. My anxiety just ran rampant. The more people the more they expect you to behave a certain way.

I could relax with my close friends. Let my guard down a little, but even then. I think in hindsight I kinda dated Dylan. He probably wouldn't look at it like that now, but like, we talked almost constantly, we knew each other so intensely well so quickly. We spent most days together all throughout the final years of highschool.

He smoked too much, though when I started smoking it stopped bothering me so much. I was really sad when his dad kept being such an asshole.

Gods, I've lost track of so many memories. It makes me really sad honestly.

I can't tell whether the mushrooms are making me play out the emotional hits or they're just lining up super well. Probably the former honestly.

Feels hard to imagine.

Feels hard to imagine things?! Hahaha, what the fuck brain

Gods it's good to feel the way I do right now.

Such a fucking relief. And it only took me lots of drugs to get it!

Though like… there goes the anxious voice "but what if I'm partway through fucking my whole life up huh?"

Well, to that I say, if this is what fucking my whole life up feels like, it's wholeheartedly worth it!

And fuck you for implying it might not be. You sanctimonious little prick. "What if you're part of a bad story" so fucking what if I am? I'm not unhappy now! I was so fucking unhappy before! I couldn't comprehend happiness like this. Everything was tinged with pain. With an emotional hurt that I couldn't name or see.

Like having an iron nail embedded into your skin. All the time it's there there's a dull ache and each time you bump into things it makes itself known.

Actually it's more like a splinter you can't see or pinpoint. You're mostly used to the constant pain of it, but every time you move juuuust so, it gets incredibly painful. You still can't see it, you don't know what it looks like or just exactly where it is, so you poke at it a few times and eventually give up figuring it'll work itself out eventually, and maybe you'll be able to pick it out then. Until then there's no point keeping your mind on it, but it's still there, aching and twinging away. You may keep a wary eye out to prevent it bumping into anything.

Soon it slips into your unconscious, becoming less pressing but still aggravating. A constant silent damper on you until the next time you inadvertently bump it, when it jumps to the forefront of your mind.

Over time you're haunted by it. This constant pain that you can't get rid of. Suddenly everything is bumping it, it's sharp stabbing jolts constantly feeling like they're tearing you apart. It's driving you mad, and so you dig again, even though digging has only made that feeling worse… you know if you keep digging that damnable thing will come out one way or another.

And it does!

And with it, your world shatters…

…The life you've built crumbles in your hands.

…The wife you had weeps in your arms, hoping one day she'll see you change your mind, but being glad in her own way that she's no longer tied to you.

…The child you have, still so young. She sees only your happy moments. You can't let her see the tears you wipe away as your world burns around you. You won't have long with her before you're parted. In your heart you're pretty sure it's what her mom and everyone wanted. Well, if you can't just "forget the whole thing" anyway. "Just smile and be a family" right? Doesn't matter how much you have grown to despise one another, you're supposed to cling together anyway? That's how you're supposed to do it.

"Can't you just be… you know… a drag queen?"

No.

Gods above no!

Gods fucking below NO!!

I'm not a fucking man.

I never fucking was a man!!

I was never EVER a man…

Whether people like you accept me as a woman… I don't care anymore. Beyond legislating my body, I don't give a fuck what you think of me.

I'm so fucking tired of being judged and weighed and measured. I'm so tired of feeling like a fucking show pony. If I wanna look like a fucking clown, I FUCKING CAN!

You held power over me for so long, I refuse to give it back. I don't need you to care, I don't need you to even know, but I still wanna fucking tell it.

It might have detonated my life, but fuck if it hasn't made me so so so much fucking happier with my life!

It's given me the space to be myself.

If things hadn't been so restricted in my life, I might have simply expressed myself far sooner. If I'd known what it could all have been, I'd have jumped at the chance I'm sure, but at the end of the day, I didn't have that knowledge.

It's never clear what thing will shake it all free, what makes the pieces land together. For me it was the birth of my daughter. The pregnancy leading to it as well.

It had been coming for a while though. I spent a lot of time in trans related subs "being a big ally".

I'd seen trans women in porn early on. When I was a teenager, I'd found it then. Heck, my mother had a collection of magazines that comprised a huge "encyclopedia of sex" or something like that. In there was where I saw a trans woman for the first time.

I spent a long time looking at that section.

If I'm completely honest, masturbated to it too. I was a teenager, dunno what to say.

Years later I looked it up. Found a number of videos, photos, etc. Grew rather fascinated with trans women. Started being so intensely interested in them as people. I came up with a million justifications in my mind like "I love it being obvious that you know when your partner is feeling pleasure", "I have a dick so I know what'll feel good for her as well", all so I could tell the men around me something if they ever caught wind.

It's something I'm more than a little ashamed of, those gross mental justifications, but they are what society pressures you into thinking.

It pushes men to see women as sex objects. Pushes them to treat women as such even if they don't. It pushes a complete lack of empathy. It's about justifying your place. You've declared yourself and you're supposed to be willing to back it, so you are deserving of the space. Those less able to declare themselves are relegated to the fringes.

Men are pushed to think of themselves first. Pushed to think of everything as a competition. Every man around them is always pushing them to compete. Competing is how you measure yourself right? How can you have empathy if all you know is competition. Winner takes all. So you've got to be a winner right?

Gods what a shit way to live.

Even if you try to stop, try to step away it's just… endless taunting, shaming, bullying. Men use femininity as a curse. The only ones who don't are those trying to actively step out of the rat race or those who use it as a gimmick.

I had a beard, one I'm honestly still proud of. One I'd maybe wear again if people wouldn't call me a man for it. It was big and bushy. Red like fire in the deep coals of a just barely burning log. I loved that beard.

It saved me from so much harassment. So much taunting. That and my sheer size. 6'2" and chunky. I never really needed to fight as everyone looked at me and decided it wasn't worth it. At least amongst the lot I encountered.

I was pretty stoic too, which gave me extra points. Most men looked at those 3 things and decided I was man enough as long as I didn't do anything too fruity. As long as I drank a vaguely beer shaped thing and didn't make them question themselves too much, I was ok in their book.

But gods… how is that any way to live?!

I guess I can sorta "exist" as a diluted, stale imitation of a man. Like watered down mayonnaise left in a cup overnight.

Or I could be me! Shed the bullshit unspoken rules, the invisible shackles of manhood.

…To a different set of invisible shackles! Or so society would have it.

And like, they are pretty, all fluffy and pink…and I am into bondage…

…But no.

No.

Fuck that. I wanted to be my fucking self here. Not some imitation of the bullshit system.

I didn't just want to switch sides, I wanted to escape the system. I'm not gunna replace one set of bullshit rules for another just because they're pink.

People spent my entire life quietly telling me I was unacceptable. That who I truly am is unwanted. That who I truly am is the laughing stock. You think I'm suddenly going to switch in a way that makes those people happy?! Fuck that noise.

Why the fuck should I care what they think when there are people out there who care about me for me. For who I am as a person. Where I don't face constant criticism, constant forced competition, constant belittling talk.

It's telling that one of the few people from my old life I keep making an effort to speak to is a friend of mine who I helped figure out was trans. She's a real gem.

It's still funny to me that so many of my friends were gay. Gay dudes, but still. I had weird feelings towards being friends with women, thanks to an incident when I was around 11… or was it later?

I was friends with some girls from down the road. We were having a sleepover at their house. We'd played with dolls. The memory gets a little fuzzy, I think we had a pillow fight and their parents got weirded out. Although now that I think of it maybe they'd decided to flash me? I don't think their parents saw that part, though it'd explain it better. I just remember being kinda uncomfortable.

The parents decided they didn't really want me around so much anymore. They got quite frosty with me from what I remember.

At the time I didn't understand why. It felt like an innocent sleepover. My mother explained to me how they saw it and from that point onward I was petrified girls would see me as pushy or creepy if I tried to be their friend.

Left lifelong scars for me in truth. The assumption that I wanted to do things I didn't. That I wanted to pressure girls into things. That’s just how "boys" are right? It ate me up inside knowing that people expected that of me.

Truth is I just wanted to be friends. I wasn't looking for more.

That cut me off from the people I wanted to socialize with. I pined after them, in both friendship and love. Had crushes on the kindest girls, the ones with personalities that filled the room and looked at me with genuine smiles. In truth I wanted to be their friend more than anything. Or more accurately, I wanted to BE them and be their friend.

When television and my peers were filled with stories of the dirty things men wanted to do to women, my daydreams and masturbatory fantasies were filled with visions of gentle caresses, dappled sunlight, lengthy foreplay, long passionate kisses, and my head between their thighs.

It's apparently a wild thing to admit your favorite thing to do to a woman is pleasuring her, when you're a 15 year old boy. Not that I'd had any experience at it.

Oh, most boys say they did. Purely confident in their ability to please women, while making it really apparent they never had.

Gods, I remember being friends with a guy purely cause he called that shit on people all the time. I also know he got around a fair bit, cause he was the only one our age that seemed to give a shit what their partner wanted. And he looked pretty good honestly.

Watching men's egos wilt when being called out is one of my favorite things. Though they almost never let it get to them unless it comes from someone they see as above them or as a peer in the social ranking. Otherwise it gets the defensive reaction of someone having the foundation of their carefully constructed personality picked at.

It comes down to how effective you are at declaring yourself.

If you shout loud enough, then you're right. You're in constant competition and the ones you care about impressing are the ones with more social power. If you shout loud enough then the ones below you have to agree. That's how it's supposed to work.

You're supposed to have power over people, that's what a man is right?

Gods I’m glad I don’t have to be any more…

#tw drugs #trans #mtf trans #trans experience #rant post #ramble #I don't even know what to put here

1 note · View note