#and partially on my own struggles with gender

[mothheart]

Tw for venting under the cut and in tags about abusive/codependent relationships and trauma bonding.

I already knew but I don't think I acknowledge enough that my relationship with my ex was codependent and I trauma bonded with him.

#theres so many things #in all 2 and a half years i only unflinchingly stood up for myself once. and that was brought on by him abusing my best friend #i let him walk all over me and degrade me constantly but. i guess the final straw was him bringing my best friend into it #and that scared him enough when he realized he was going to lose me that he promised to 'change' #he did not. he acted like it but it really did not take long for him to let up on that act. #and after that i truly just let it happen #took it all. sometimes made weak attempts at defending myself but it always ended with my tail between my legs and apologizing to him for #expressing my hurt #i had to downplay and bury my feelings and put All Of My Energy into placating him #he was unpredictable. through and through. i tried every day to avoid things that made him blow up in the past but it never was enough. #it was inevitable that i would end up doing something Wrong and he would tear me to shreds for it #i slowly but surely gave up on telling people about the abuse. put on my own act. we were that perfect happy couple. his friends loved us. #they loved me. they treated me better than he did and it was a small comfort. #it would have continued indefinitely i think. unless he was the one to end it. and he did. #i had expressed my discomfort with the thought of ever having kids; esp biological kids; very early on in the relationship #he would constantly go from promosing he felt the same and tell me kids werent a defining factor in the long run to deciding no kids was a #dealbreaker. i never really changed my mind. it just caused a lot more arguments. and im not saying its wrong to struggle making up your #mind on something so big but the way he went about it just. felt cruel #what made him end the relationship was partially him 'finally' deciding he wanted kids no matter what but also me not having a job was part #then me questioning my gender was another reason. which is fine. at the time he identified as straight. #but every one of those things changed again. he once again told me not long after breaking it off he actually was cool with not having kids #which like. sure. okay. and also he realized he was bi not long after and came out. he had been questioning when i was questioning my #gender but he didnt want to stay with me because he has homophobic family. which i get. but again. everything else #i dont know. is it wrong to feel hurt that he changed his mind about kids /again/ so soon after? and told me for some reason? and came out #so soon after #i dont really know what the endpoint to this is supposed to be #for some reason this has been stinging again lately #so here i am #i know what he did was wrong on so many levels but i still feel guilty for the things i feel #and hes just yk. living his best life. cool i guess

[tossawary]

I finished Volume 3 of SVSSS, which encompasses the main story, and currently have my bookmark sitting at the first chapter of the Airplane Extras in Volume 4. I took a bunch of quote pics but have yet to review them and add thoughts.

Every time I read SVSSS, I forget how... incredible... the inside of Shen Yuan's head is. He's fascinating.

Like, he's misogynistic (even while criticizing Airplane's own misogynistic writing), he's homophobic, AND he's transphobic. Not in a way where I think he thinks anyone deserves fewer rights than anyone else (I think he's generally a nice person, although, holy shit, I would not trust this man to craft policy of any kind) or would prevent anyone from living however they chose to live, a lot of his problematic bullshit stays inside his own head as he tries to understand the world around him using the stallion novel formulas he was given, but he's carrying around SO MUCH unexamined bias that supports his refusal to examine himself and his own desires.

Some of it reads (presumably intentionally) a LOT like the kind of conflicting, problematic bullshit a lot of queer people carry around inside their heads as they struggle to untangle themselves and their beliefs.

And while I do wish that Shen Yuan had been forced to confront and address his misogyny and transmisogyny even further than it does come up (in part because it is DEFINITELY affecting the way he thinks about gay men as well, including and especially Binghe), I do kind of... appreciate on some level that he thinks this way? From a character standpoint? Because I think it's probably realistic for a privileged young man spending a lot of time on the internet reading shit like PIDW to look at the world this way. And it's clear even through his own narration that his blindness in certain areas is causing him a lot of trouble. While I do have criticisms and personal wishes, I do appreciate the depiction of personal character development that is just... a cringeworthy mess of internalized bullshit the whole fucking time.

Also, it's SO funny to me that he reads as SO aro-ace-spectrum to me (probably gay, but generally detached from sexuality and possibly also partially from gender) AND he actually knows... the word asexual, I don't think he has a very broad understanding of asexuality... but he knows the word and yet doesn't personally identify that way. He mentally accuses both Luo Binghe (main story, before finding out Binghe is into him) and Liu Qingge (Succubus Extra) of being asexual for showing no interest in women, only to fail to reflect on how he ALSO demonstrably has no lasting personal interest in the women around them, which doesn't read as very genuine to me.

(EDIT: Again, I am not against a bisexual Shen Yuan interpretation either! I am willing to be persuaded by any author who wishes to tell a particular story. But Shen Yuan's attraction towards women often reads personally to me as very shallow and possibly insincere.)

"I willingly read PIDW, that proves I'm straight!" he sincerely thinks to himself, even though his favorite wife is the one without explicit sex scenes and he also admits to skipping over a lot of them.

"I'm able to tell when women are beautiful, that makes me straight!" thinks the guy who mentally censors nudity whenever demon women lose their clothes, and keeps telling us how "the average reader" of PIDW would react to these beautiful women instead of conveying his own attracted reactions. His actual reactions are generally centered on a woman's narrative significance. The only people he personally seems to find attractive are Luo Binghe and maybe Liu Qingge.

Though my interpretation was that he does probably experience sexual arousal and have a sex drive (see his username), which probably helps with his conviction of straightness, I'm not sure that there's any mention of Shen Yuan even masturbating at all in the entire main story of SVSSS? He never tried to hook up with anyone. Sex is apparently not a priority for him.

(EDIT: He does seem to enjoy sex with Binghe in the "Bing-mei vs. Bing-ge" Extra. He loves Binghe and likes the closeness and the physical pleasure. I appreciate the indication that they're working on moving on from the AWFUL intercourse pushed by Xin Mo's possession and possibly also the System's Scenario Pusher.)

And Shen Yuan seems to view women as being and behaving Fundamentally Differently from men and gay men as behaving Fundamentally Differently from straight men (as soon as he learns Binghe is into him, he thinks about how Binghe isn't behaving like the characters in his sister's gay, non-con, BDSM erotica novels), seeing everything through the lens of novel tropes, such that he seems to view sex and sexuality and gender as being deeply mixed with a person's personality. So he can't be a gay man, because he's too "Normal", in his mind at first, because he doesn't behave like his own mental image of "How Gay Men Behave" (or "How Women Behave / A PIDW Wife Behaves"), while also demonstrably not being anything like "the average reader" of PIDW and also apparently not caring too much about his own masculinity? Like, I do think he likes being the gentleman scholar of Qing Jing Peak, he does like appearing dignified and strong and cool, he doesn't like losing, he doesn't really like playing "damsel in distress" roles, and I do think he likes being gallant towards women, but he's not too concerned about seriously competing with figures like Luo Binghe or Liu Qingge? He's happy enough to back down and let someone else take the lead if necessary. He puts up with being put into the roles of female leads even if it embarrasses him and he rolls with the punches to his pride easily enough. He seems to have decided his Sexuality By Default, so it does make me have a lot of thoughts about whether or not he's potentially going with Gender By Default / Convenience as well.

Someone get this man some amateur and academic literature on gender and sexuality (and a lot of other stuff), stat, so he can ignore it, probably.

#tossawary svsss #shen yuan #shen qingqiu #tossawary rereads svsss #shen yuan versus asexuality fic

[weebsinstash]

As much as I want to have children by this man, let's take a moment to sip our platonic yandere Miguel juice

-i can't decide which sex he'd be more partial to in a 'child'/you since in the movie there was Gabriella but in the comics he eventually has a son who becomes the next Spiderman but--

-as a girl i just naturally think of a lot of those sorts of gender specific ideas 👉👈 he's this big scary hulking intimidating threat and his "daughter" is the one melting his cold exterior

-doesnt matter if you're a grown ass woman, Miguel sees you struggling to braid your hair and suddenly here he is, full dad mode, doing it for you,and depending on how close you two are, maybe he disguises it with "ugh, stop spending so much time messing around with that. If I do it for you will you get back to work? 🙄", but really it's just your new self proclaimed dad/tio wanting to help braid your hair and help you feel pretty and, oh, how he can fondly remember the last time he helped braid "his daughter's" hair...

-of course this evolves to him just loving to do things with your hair. Braid it, wear it natural, style it, use products on it, hes got you. you were just trying to put your hair in a lazy updo like a ponytail or bun and this man doesn't let you leave until he's got you completely combed out, hair braided with ribbons, and of course this entire time youre awkwardly sitting there in a chair in his absolute cave of a workstation with this gargantuan 6'9 man there, "so how was your day? Staying out of trouble?"

-really I mean. Is stealing other people's kids NOT technically in character for him. You're unfortunate enough to trauma bond with this man and you're never getting rid of him

-you hear Miles Morales call him tio (as in the tio meaning dude) and you jokingly teasingly start calling him tio, which Miguel secretly pretends is the version that means uncle. You're just constantly joking around or looking up at him with these big pouty eyes, "but tio 🥺 can't I PLEASE--" and its like. Lmao people know that if they need to ask Miguel for a favor, that it increases their chances to have you ask in their stead

- I mean, as a female adult abused as a child by my own father, raised by a single mom myself, like...

Reader flinches away when Peter B goes to give you a supportive pat on the back or comes in for a high five after a mission and you force yourself to laugh because you're feeling more than just a little awkward and in the spotlight. "Oh, sorry, that was dumb!" And they eventually get you to kind of anxiously word vomit "my dad used to just kind of, rough me up sometimes when I did something wrong! It-it could've been a lot worse honestly, but, it-it just makes me kinda jumpy around guys sometimes! It's not a big deal, or personal or anything. I'm sorry if I made you feel bad 🥺"

Peter B, Jessica, and Miguel all there as older parental figures and also literal parents, immediately exchange looks and agree like "oh hell naw, don't like that" and you get silently adopted by all three of em right then and there

-if it's a physically abusive father and you're still the victim of abuse, I imagine your dad had some suspicious figures suddenly show up in the middle of the night to terrify and threaten the shit out of him and suddenly you aren't getting as manhandled anymore

-can you imagine, like, you show up to Spider Society one day with a black eye "oh, this? It's, it's nothing. My dad is just, he's about to make police captain and he's really stressed about it is all" cue all your friends mentally high fiving around the table because your abusive piece of shit dad is going to die and you don't even know. When it happens they'll all be "oh no, sweetie, I'm SOOOO sorry :(" meanwhile they're thrilled bc now you don't have any parents and they can weasel in there as your new family, schedule your birthday parties, monopolizing more of your time, things like that

-goddd I just imagine it could become some kind of weird fucked up enmeshed scenario where the structure it's providing for your life is actually good for you meanwhile Miguel is like, retroactively kind of soothing some of his trauma both from his own childhood and what happened with the second universe he broke that it's just like. You're a grown ass adult and this man is tucking you in goodnight and saying "te amo, mija" at the doorway and you bet his ass is going to stand there and not let you sleep until you say it back. He knows you're just absolutely seething at him and he'll still refuse to leave without a grumbling "te amo, papá 🙄"

-He eventually just has you doing so much shit and depending on him so much that it starts to become second nature to you. one day you're in the Society doing one of the odd jobs you're allowed to help with and suddenly you're thinking, "Ugh I actually don't know what to do next, I wish Papá was here to-- WAIT SHIT NO I MEAN MIGUEL--"

-lmaooooo as a non Spanish speaker I keep thinking of how awwwwwful it would be if he actually forces you to learn Spanish. Not inherently because there's anything wrong with Spanish, but, I'm not always smart, and I can just SEE him quizzing your ass, forcing you to have entire conversations in Spanish, always clicking his tongue or chuckling at you when you make a mistake and he just thinks you're so cute struggling to learn 🥰 man hears you're trying to take extra lessons from Miles and he instantly drops everything he's doing to go track the little scamp down. Insert meme "I can forgive being an anomaly but I draw the line at teaching Reader bad Spanish"

-siiiiiiigh eventually the day comes when you're in big danger and you need his help, maybe you disobeyed him and was hanging out with some other Spiders in another dimension when there was a sudden villain attack, and he comes to your rescue as a villain does something dramatic like has a gun to your head or a knife to your neck and the second you see him you're just overwhelmed wirh a sense of relief, calling out for him, calling him dad/tio/papá whatever, and he's just like 😭❤️ pumping his fist internally, like YES you are so grounded when you get back home but also 🥰 you finally called him dad without him having to twist your arm 🥰 nevermind if the "villain" who kidnapped you was actually a Spider who owed him a favor, and this whole thing was to teach you a lesson about listening to your Papá, that's not important ❤️

-Miguel who forces you to learn Spanish vs Miguel who forces you to be Catholic. I can excuse kidnapping and forced adoption but I draw the line at making me practice religion 💀 no but seriously, he probably does have certain morals and values he instills/forces upon you if he thinks you need them, and he'll probably be one of those fathers, "are you leaving the house dressed like that? Go change" and orders you not to hang out with certain people he doesn't approve of or thinks have bad character (like hobie lmao)

-bruh you two will be on a super serious important mission and this man will be like "it's dark, hold my hand so we dont get separated"

Eventually it comes to a point where you're, not perfectly behaved but, just about. If someone finds Miguel, it means you're not very far away, or vice versa. Members of the Society quickly learn not to make any advances on you or make any "adult" comments unless they want to get suspiciously hurt during a personal training session by the big boss himself. You think you're safe just cause Miguel isn't around? Nah, cause then you have Peter B and Jess keeping an eye on you, and, not that YOU'RE aware of the extent, but, if Miguel ever gets worried, he can just ask Lyla what you've been getting up to, since your modified little daypass has her installed into it and she can track your every move ❤️ helicopter parent? Oh honey, you have NO idea...

#yandere miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #yandere x reader #yandere spiderverse #yandere stuff #sinprompts

[skylarsblue]

✦C.o.D Call Sign Inspo✦

(I've been having a bad writer's block, but, I do have some mini ideas that I can't flesh out. But, I know some people struggle with names/concepts for Y/N's/Characters. So! I'm giving them out for free in hopes it'll inspire something in someone so they don't go to waste!)

✧Somno; Gender Neutral. A y/n that's main trait is being a hyper insomniac. To the point they always seem tired, constantly consuming caffine, etc. But even if they're falling asleep where they're standing, they have incredibly fast reflexes. Could lead to some funny scenarios of finding them asleep in weird places, or, a cute concept (them only being able to sleep when they feel completely safe; ie: with one of the c.o.d characters)

✧Mama; Feminine. Pretty on the nose, but it could also be translated into a different language to match a country of origin. The concept is basically just...an aggressively maternal lieutenant/captain. Because I feel we don't have enough strong MILF's in this world, let alone in this fandom. This could also be used platonically because 141 specifically could use a mom type. Ghost & Gaz specifically.

✧Saint; Gender Neutral. Can be used for a character that's incredibly self sacrificing. Which would make for good fluff & good angst, plus, I think a lot of us can relate to feeling. Partially inspired by a random line I thought of - "If I die protecting you, that's far less frightening than you being gone when I could've protected you. Dying once for you is a peaceful passing, rather than dying every day you're not with me."

✧Salvadora/Salvador; Fem or Masc. Disclaimer; when I had this idea I imagined a woman. An alternative to the cartel story line in Las Almas. Y/N runs a civilian resistance against the cartel and has commandeered a village to keep citizens safe. It's basically a paradise in the crime ridden city. They've been providing sneaky support for Alejandro's men. (Honestly, this concept is pretty specific, and more detailed, and I might break it down more/write it on my own if possible)

✧Copycat/Mimic; Gender Neutral. A y/n that's incredibly skilled at mimicking voices. Whether in different accents or actual voices.

✧Mirage; Gender Neutral. Disclaimer; I imagined this also as a woman because I like powerful ladies. Similar to the one above but instead of just voices, they're just great at disguises in general & particularly sneaky. Like they "fade out of existence" if you look away at the wrong time.

✧Lynx; Gender Neutral. For a small, deceivingly cute looking character that's actually super deadly and quick. Do not trust the toe beans.

✧Nessie; Gender Neutral-Fem Lean. Pretty self explanatory. A character that's illusive and great in water. Bonus points for Scottish rep.

✧Sparks/Fuse; Gender Neutral. Just a fuckin' pyromaniac that can make their own bombs, super impressive and intricate ones. Thought of a scene where they're all in the heat of battle, low on ammo, and Y/N brings up randomly that they were a troublesome teen who almost had a criminal record. Price asks what the charge was and they just light something that doesn't look at all like a bomb, with a giant grin. "It was arson!!" And then they throw a fuckin' devastating bomb.

✧Iris; Gender Neutral. A character known for a very intense/intimidating stare. Inspired by those clips of people losing to Angelina Joline's femme fatal stare. Also, them being able to read a shocking amount about a person purely through eye contact.

✧Sage/Blister/Morphine/Plaster; Gender Neutral. All names for a potential medic!Y/N. (Plaster, for us Americans, is a word for bandaid in the UK. I know y'all prolly know that but just in case)

✧Bee; Gender Neutral. For a Y/N that's visibly smaller than those around them but packs a real hard punch. Also good if they're particularly good at physical combat. "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee."

✧Sugarcube/Honey/Cupcake; Gender Neutral-Masc Lean. I think the idea of a big buff, visibly masculine, intimidating dude being named something like 'sugarcube' is super funny.

✧Lasso/Big Mac/Stallion; Masculine. Isn't it obvious? Big cowboy man who's aggressively American even if he's actually been a UK citizen for years.

✧Bessie/Cowgirl/Chick; Feminine. Once again, aggressively southern Y/N. But, for fem!y/ns.

✧Tex/Stars/Anthem; Gender Neutral. See above, but this time, neutral. Cause I'm about equality in this bitch.

✧Cobra/Mamba; Gender Neutral. For a y/n that specializes in poisons to kill enemies, as well as a character with any association with snakes. Could be interesting for Ghost to hear.

✧Doll/Dolly; Feminine. A more "spy type" for the classic femme fatal who gets intel through allure. If you've seen my two fic concept posts, this is the call sign I'd give to the Y/N in Price's concept.

✧Tech; Gender Neutral. Pretty basic, a character that's particularly tech-y. Good with computers and hacking.

✧Bunny/Hare; Gender Neutral. For a y/n that's small, but super fast & alert. Bonus if they got Hinata jumping powers.

✧Clover/Shamrock; Gender Neutral. Irish rep. Use this for a Y/N that is somehow the luckiest unlucky person ever. Constantly ending up in situations that are stressful/intense but making it out with barely a scratch. Can add some dissonance if they actually hate this call sign because it's not luck that gets them out of these situations, and instead is there skill.

#call of duty mwii #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare #writing prompt #writing inspo #call of duty x y/n #call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty x male reader #call of duty x fem reader #call of duty x gn reader #gender neutral reader #cod x male reader #cod x female reader #cod x gn reader #male reader #female reader

[saey707]

OMG A LEAGUE WRITING BLOG.. Honestly you’ve partially inspired me to make one!!! I love your works so far :)

But! In the meantime, the S/H comfort you wrote for Kayn was so beautiful! So I wanted something similar with Aphelios with a touch that’s a little more personal to me! if possible i’d like to request heartsteel Aphelios with his s/o (who May or May not be chubby, depending on your preference) struggling with an eating disorder? thank you in advance!

✿ Prompt: Aphelios worships you ✿

♡ champion focus: aphelios ♡ tw: reader w/ low self esteem + ed ♡ Gender-neutral reader

Author's Note: Hi, anon! ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ This was a bit of a difficult subject for me to write, but I still wanted to get something small out nonetheless! I didn't touch too much into the ed, because it is a bit of a touchy subject to me. But I still hope you like what I have in store! ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

Aphelios knows how to read people like the back of his hand. It's one of his own personal superpowers... Or, more so a catalyst of being unable to speak.

Because of this, he is able to effortlessly observe those around him and know exactly how someone is feeling. He knows how to manipulate people to get what he wants. And worst of all, he knows when someone is lying to him or not. Including you.

That was one of the things you grew to hate about Aphelios. You hated that you could never lie to him.

It took a couple of weeks for Aphelios to realize something was wrong. It was just a matter of figuring out what it was...

You were always so confident and bright. You never cared about how anyone felt about you and never did anything to appease anyone. You did what you wanted when you wanted, which was something that Aphelios loved about you!

Aphelios couldn't help but wonder: Was it him? Did he do something wrong? He thought the two of you had a good relationship, you never had any problems before... It can't possibly be him... Maybe it's the fans? You both did recently come out as a couple! Maybe they were just jealous? Aphelios couldn't see a reason why anyone wouldn't like you right off the bat! But... Could that be the reason??

He had to investigate...

"Did you eat today?" Aphelios typed hastily before holding his phone up. You hummed in response. But he knew you were lying.

"Do you want the other half of my mooncake?" "I'm not hungry right now, Phel. but thank you!" He knew you were lying.

"We're all going to grab dinner, I'll bring you something back!" "You really don't have to! I'll find something here!" Still, he would always bring you something back.

While he was out, Aphelios took the opportunity to turn to his friends for help, which was extremely unlike him. Aphelios usually kept to himself, so it came as a surprise to everyone in the group when he asked for them to look around and see if they could find anything.

And when they did, Aphelios couldn't help but feel a wave of regret wash over him. He felt like it was his fault. He felt responsible for the way you felt. Aphelios pushed for you to have a more public relationship with him after all... In a way, he felt like was responsible for destroying your self-confidence.

But that feeling was quick to fade with Yone's reassurance. Instead, Aphelios felt angry. Not at you or himself... But at the entire world for expecting you to change.

You didn't need to change a single thing about yourself. You were nothing short of perfection to Aphelios. And he intended to remind you of it every day from there on out.

As soon as Aphelios got home, he burst through the doors, carrying 5 bags of food and a half-eaten box of chocolates he somehow swiped from the back of Ezreal's car.

"Phel..?" You were caught off guard by your boyfriend unexpectedly engulfing you in a big hug. His shoulders were shaking, giving you the surefire indicator that he was only beginning to cry.

You tried to pull away from him, but he only held on tighter.

Tears poked at the corners of your eyes. You knew.

Aphelios didn't need to speak to convey his love for you. His actions alone did that. That was one of the things you grew to love about Aphelios. You loved how he always knew the precise way to show you how much he loved you.

And you didn't realize how much you needed for him to see the issue at hand until now.

#saeybaewrites #request #headcanons #heartsteel #heartsteel aphelios #aphelios #heartsteel aphelios x reader #heartsteel x reader #aphelios lol #x reader #lol x reader #aphelios league of legends #aphelios lol x reader #aphelios league of legends x reader #league of legends x reader

[fauustic]

the fear of losing this

too many people in my inbox got a little too comfortable asking me for “a fight between reader” as well as “miguel angst please” so i am combining both as i struggle to get through this writer’s block ))

gender-nonconforming reader x miguel “spider-man 2099″ o’hara

angst. little comfort. your universe is falling apart, yet miguel doesn’t want to let you go.

warnings: pure angst. light cursing? i’m not too sure, just lots of tears.

word count: 2211

The night sky of Nueva York shined brightly with the bustle of commute, highly advanced cars whirring softly through the clouds. Your mask hung from your hands at your side, bunched up in the anger that fizzed and popped in your bloodstream– threatening to explode at any given moment as Miguel brushed off your conversation with a stoic chill.

“You don’t understand how important this is to me Miguel–” your voice raised as you paced the highest level of the building, padding against the overly complex structures that mimicked webs. You would have laughed at the irony of having a headquarters so invested in the theme of spiders that even the ground you walk on replicated the symmetry of webs if the both of you were in any other given situation– but that joking persona that came with the gig flew and crashed out the window the moment Miguel brushed off and rejected your plans to return back home. “I need to be there, helping my people. What is the point of me taking up a spot in this ‘fateful–’” You dragged out the words, venom dripping from your tongue as you partially made fun of the organization he spent so much time on. “Spider Society if my own boss doesn’t let me return back to the place I belong in?”

“No, no.” His tone was blunt as he stood as rigid as ever; surveying your every move in a way that you could never guess what he was thinking, with or without the mask. “You don’t understand.” Miguel repeated your own words back to you in a taunt as one of his clawed hands fidgeted with the device that decided whether or not you could walk around or stay in a little bubble for the next week just like all the other prisoners were down below. “You created a problem in your own universe, that’s the problem we’re having here. You cannot fix it.” He practically spat his words, anger emitting from every rhythmic clang whenever he tossed the technology into the air and caught it with calculation. “It doesn’t matter whether or not you’re from that Earth, you put that place you so valiantly ‘protect’ into a state of emergency. Is that not clear enough?”

“Oh, sure– but the hundreds of other spider-people that can’t go one word without making a joke of the situation can fix my mess? Am I just some inexperienced rookie to you, Miguel?” You countered, ripping your gaze from his own. His features were exposed to you as his mask was off as well, the sunken circles beneath his eyes growing prominent when a vibrant car passed by and shone a striking yellow light into the corridor the two of you stood within. His usual expression made of stone chipped away with the stress he was under as a deeper frown made its way onto his lips.

Miguel sighed dramatically before pinching the bridge of his nose, turning away from you to mumble a jumble of incoherency. “God,” He repeats your name like it's a curse, “That’s not what I’m saying at all. It’s just not safe.”

You scoffed, eyes growing wide at the audacity of this man you have to call your boss. “Of course it’s not safe Miguel, that’s our job.” You couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief, pulling at the roots of your hair in any attempt to calm yourself down. “I risked my life every single day in my universe before I even knew of your existence, yet now suddenly I can’t?”

“This is different. For some reason these– these anomalies are running rampant in your world and it’s taking everything to finally have the problem at hand contained.” Miguel held his breath as if he had something more to say, but left it unsaid the moment you stomped closer towards him in a new fit of anger.

You shoved your palm against his chest, baring your teeth as a groan erupted from the back of your throat in a concoction of frustration and despair. “Exactly! That’s exactly the problem, Miguel. My people out there are suffering and fighting for their lives, surrounded by these people that are like me but aren’t me.” Tears began to well up in the corners of your pained gaze, humiliation washing over your consciousness as you sniffled and stifled a sob. Fauxe confidence and quips were something you specialized in, annoying Miguel in a little dynamic the two of you found yourself in as months turned into an entire year of being called in for missions. Emotions were never a thing the both of you have ever discussed with one another because it wasn’t your position to pry and he was never the one to initiate such conversation.

“If you just let me go, I’m more than willing to show you how capable I am.” It came out as a whisper as you turned away from him and began padding down the structural webs. Miguel was on high alert, you could notice as every glance felt as if he was trying to convince himself that no other member of his society occupied this part of Headquarters. He followed you close behind, claws digging into the beams of construction to reach the same floor as you without a word. The brooding silence that usually met your company could be sensed from any person in their right mind, and as you spotted the hesitation in each thud of his footfalls– confusion clouded your anger. So in a flurry of adrenaline, you webbed his next step to the ground with a ball of the substance you artificially produced in the depths of your makeshift and cozy lab, hidden away at your home in the world you desperately needed to save. It would give you time to finally just talk to him.

“¿Eres estúpido o qué? Do that again and I’m putting you in the–”

It wasn’t to hold him down, you know you couldn’t match his strength. It was to make a statement. 

You interrupted him, a newfound determination holding onto the little hope you had. “You follow me for one more second, I’m going through that portal and never looking back.” Brutally honest and uncharacteristically serious, the attempt at ripping his limb free was cut cold at the promise looming in the air. His frown fell for just a moment’s notice, mouth agape in shocked horror before quickly recovering himself. Repeating yourself more clearly as his attention was occupied, your body shined away while shaky fingers struggled to input the coordinates of your universe. But eventually it clicked, the AI voice of Miguel’s beloved Lyla sounded throughout the tension in a glitchy mess– notifying Miguel of the portal to-be seconds before it truly distorted the fabrication of reality in front of you.

Miguel dropped to his knees, struggling to claw off the web that had his foot planted to the structure. His breath quickened concerningly, shoulders heaving as the plan of his crumbled in front of him in an instant; all because he was not observant enough. You played him like an instrument like you always had, a pained groan from the back of his throat sounded and echoed throughout the space of the vast headquarters. “No, no, no..” He repeated, mirroring the despair you had on your features moments ago at the idea of not being able to save your people. You could never once recollect a fraction of a second where he allowed himself to convey the pain plaguing his mind, and as he reached out to you in a frantic heap of limbs– the walls of protection he hazardously built around himself came crumbling down by each shape contorting and twisting into a gateway to your world. “I can’t, I can’t lose anybody else–”

You stood there, heart breaking as the man who has had villains three times your size on their knees, collapse into fragments of himself at the mere idea of you leaving the security of his universe. Bursts of color painted the dark hues blotching upon white, igniting his fresh-tear stained cheeks in splashes of reds and yellows and greens. The portal was completely open, awaiting your entrance to return back to your familiarity– yet your senses buzzed alarmingly at each step away from Miguel. It’s almost as if you could feel the hole in his chest, searing away his soul he finally allowed himself to offer like a god’s offering.

You fell to your knees to hold his face in your suited hands, the waves of sorrow and grief infesting your mind like a sickness almost had you doubling over in pain. You could hear the cries of hundreds around his, no– your own heavy breathing, a confused and fearful little girl’s pleas for help overlapping the muddled screams. You felt the weight of a child in your hands before it was ripped away like a paper airplane in the wind, and soon your trembling hands met the purchase of his nape. Your body moved automatically, holding his face in the comfort of your lap while you shielded his gaze from the portal. Despite his power, the capability to snap you in two, you held him like a fragile doll that would break within any mishap.

“All this time, you never told me.” You sobbed into his hair, dampening his combed back curls with your tears and he only held your waist like you were the anchor in this unforgiving ocean of anguish. You have become one, the memories of his own mixing into the blur of yours's.

“I didn’t know how to.” He murmured into the purchase of your thigh, wetness seeping into your suit. But you didn’t care as your hands wandered all over his figure: a soft massage to the shoulders before quickly scooping his neck into your arms before finally settling on petting his hair back. “I, I haven’t allowed you to go to your world because a part of my thoughts can imagine your arms fading into a technicolor mess, falling into the clutches of another failed universe.” He forced himself to take a deep breath, gulping up air as the portal behind the both of you fizzled and popped.

“I can’t lose you too. I’d be so–” He hesitated, breathing in deeply just to choke on a sob. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.” He poured out the burdens weighing on his conscience, confirming your long-forgotten wonder that he was just as emotional when he was faced with his grief head-on; the same intensity seen in his short-tempered anger.

You simply hushed him, cooing reassurance that he accepted with greed. “Nothing is going to happen to me.” The rational fear being expressed aloud made your shoulders shake and head buzz with anxiety, but you steeled yourself at the reminder of Miguel melting into your tearful embrace like putty. You needed to be strong for him when he wasn’t, just like how he pushed himself to the greatest extent his body can endure all the times before. 

“It’s just, I can’t lose where I come from.” You worked at ridding his foot from your webs as your serene tone accompanied his sniffles, his breathing settling out bit by bit as you continued to finally explain yourself. In regards to Miguel's quietness, you genuinely thought he was listening. “You can’t keep me away and shield me from my own mistakes, O’Hara. It’s just not possible, I need a home to thrive and protect. Without my people, I’m going to disappear as well.” A snap of your webs trapping his limbs finished your little speech, indicating that time was up and you had a job to do.

“I’m.. worried.” He mumbles aloud, like the sentence itself was foreign on his tongue. “These creatures from foreign worlds, they are drawn to your universe as if there’s a pulling force. I haven’t been able to figure it out. It’s so infuriating, it’s like I can’t do–”

You intercept his little tangent as you grab his chin and lift his gaze to meet yours’, an unsaid question hanging into the atmosphere like an old letter to a former self. Do you want this? Is this okay? I’m scared of messing this up.

The question is answered as Miguel’s grasp finds purchase in your flesh, claws digging into your thighs like if he let you go you’d fade along with everything else of his. In a messy, salty clash of teeth against fangs and tongue against lips, Miguel lapped up every inch of your mouth like he had to memorize every crevice of your entire being. It’s as if the two of you have synchronized, being able to suspect slight changes in each other’s mood as he grew more needy with the introduction of desire bubbling against the forefront of your mind.

“We can do this.” You murmured into his cheek, hands dancing over his suit in case this was the last time you’d ever be blessed with his presence again.

Miguel nodded, heaving for breath before he snatched one last kiss– sincere and genuine and full of unfiltered affection. “Yeah,” His nose met the crook of your neck, grazing each curve it stumbled upon.

“Together, mi alma.”

#i just think miguel needs to cry really hard #idc if its mischaracterizing #my writer's block is kicking my ass #i have a could drafts i'll finish this weekend that are super fluffy so expect that in a little #anyways sorry this is so short #next stuff is a lot longer in comparison #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara angst #miguel o'hara comfort #miguel o'hara hurt #miguel o'hara x reader #x gender neutral reader #x angst #x comfort #x hurt #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #across the spiderverse #across the spider-verse #across the spiderverse x reader #into the spider verse

[deckofcookiez]

The Alex Kister Situation

Alright; I've been more of a lurker on here for awhile, but for months now--almost a year--I've been a massive fan of the Mandela Catalogue, and this fandom has been a major form of escapism and safety for me. So, I feel the need to say something about the current situation.

To start, I'm putting a link to the document with all of the information about what happened, as it's important to read it and learn about this whole situation in depth:

With that out of the way, I just wanted to share my own personal opinion; personally, Mandela Catalogue has legitimately become my special interest. I have pretty much obsessed over it ever since I first found it, and everything I've written or drawn since then has been to do with it. It's been very important to me, especially due to the community here on tumblr, as this fandom is probably the most supportive and open places on the internet I've found. I feel a lot more connected because of it, and it made me feel comfortable and safe.

I was in a bad mental space today, and when I found out about this, I had a pretty bad breakdown--some might call it an overreaction, but you don't know just how dependent my mental health had become on this series and fandom. (I will be working on avoiding this habit in the future, as it isn't healthy to depend so heavily on one interest)

After reading through the document, and just seeing so many opinions and contributions from others, I am almost certain that these allegations are true. But I always, always listen to all perspectives before making judgement, so I will not be going full "I hate Alex, he's a despicable person!!" before Alex gives his own point of view.

That being said, I do believe Alex has serious issues that he needs to get handled. I am hesitant to call this pedophilia, as from what I've gathered, he didn't seem to have active malicious intent towards minors(correct me if I missed something that said otherwise)--rather, I get the impression that Alex simply doesn't understand boundaries, and genuinely saw his fans as mutuals. He seems to be a person who's manipulative--whether intentionally or not--and his personal relationships, platonic, romantic, or sexual, turn very toxic because of this. So, trying to have personal relationships with fans, people who look up to him and see him in a very different light, results in inevitable toxicity as well.

I get the sense that Alex simply is a young person, struggling with mental health and gender dysphoria, who was thrust into extreme popularity very suddenly, and doesn't have the maturity level to handle it properly. Overall, I do not support him, if he continues to act like this--if he makes genuine, real efforts to deal with his mental health and his unhealthy behaviours, I would respect him for that. I wouldn't look at him quite the same, but as long as someone makes genuine efforts to better themself after doing something wrong, I appreciate and respect that, and may eventually give forgiveness. But, if he doesn't make those efforts, if he continues his patterns and refuses to try and get better, then that is on him and at that point I have lost any and all respect for him. At that point, you are not a good or reasonable person, in my eyes.

Regardless of how things go with Alex himself, though, I want to say...

You do not have to support a creator to enjoy their work!!

I am a huge fan of Danny Phantom, and that show's creator is a genuine piece of shit. Like, a truly despicable human being. That fandom successfully has, just... completely ripped the show and characters from their creator. They have cut him out entirely, nothing he says holds any impact or meaning to them and it hasn't for years. He's seriously fallen off. And it's still a fun, active fandom! The people in there are super neat!!

And, hell, look at the whole mess with J. K. Rowling!! She is an absolutely disgusting person. But so many people grew up with Harry Potter, and still like her stories, without actively supporting her--lots of creators turn out to be really awful people, but that doesn't mean that what they made is automatically awful as well. They still have some kind of creative ability, that happened to produce something that garnered a significant amount of attention.

We don't need Alex to still enjoy the concept, characters, and overall story he's created. We can still make fanworks, still appreciate what it is that drew us to the series in the first place.

Honestly, out of everything that the fallout of this would bring, I was most terrified of the fandom itself dying, as that is what truly matters the most to me. This place, these people are so important to me, and I am so scared of this community falling apart. I've already seen plenty of people stating that they will no longer be associating with TMC, and are just completely distancing themselves from it. It feels like things are already dying and disappearing and it really, really fucking hurts.

I guess what I'm trying to say, is that... if that is your choice, if you truly do not want to associate with TMC anymore whatsoever, then I don't blame you for it. I understand if you can't look at the series the same way after this, and I respect that choice.

But you don't have to, if it still means anything to you. Fandoms are more than just their creators--they're the community that has been built around the work, and this community is possibly the best one I've ever been in. I don't want to see it die. So, just know, that you can still love this fandom, this story, these characters, without supporting Alex. You can still draw the characters, make OCs, write fanfiction, etc. He won't get money from that--only from directly watching his content or buying his merch.

Finally, I'd like to say to go support the victims. They didn't deserve this--no matter what Alex's intentions were. Please support them, and regardless of how this turns out, do not continue actively supporting Alex Kister. I am sure that, whatever his intentions were, he did still harm people and that is not okay.

Also, this is all just my own opinion, based on what I know; I was not in the discord, I don't have Twitter, I don't personally know anyone involved and I have not seen everything regarding the situation as a whole. I simply felt I should state my current opinion, as I'm seeing a lot of people freaking out and spiraling and just leaving the fandom entirely. I wanted to remind people that it's okay to still enjoy this fandom and be a part of it, without Alex. My opinion may change some with new information I find, but overall, I am of the opinion that Alex should not be supported, while the Mandela Catalogue itself can be separated from him and still be enjoyed and appreciated.

And, whatever happens... Adam Murray, Jonah Marshall and Thatcher Davis are officially honorary characters in my stash of little guys. If he's not fit to keep them then they will become my creative outlet instead (and others who love them, obviously). They're very special characters to me, I can't express just how many things I have written and drawn to do with them, and I refuse to give them up.

(another addition, regarding the apparent 'alter egos' Alex apparently had: Possibly consider DID? I know a lot of people with DID will often mistake it for other things, including simply being gender non-conforming, when in actuality they really have alters that just identify differently. Not diagnosing, I don't know enough about him to make any real claims--it was just a thought.)

#mandela catalogue #the mandela catalogue #tmc #tw grooming #tw pedophila mention #This is not meant to spark any sort of controversy. #I just wanted to get my opinion out there bc I feel like I'm gonna explode right now #Will still probably post my art of the characters as I'm proud of it and my art has improved significantly since discovering TMC

[darkmasterofcupcakes]

In hazbin hotel, being Gay has no bearings on going to Hell or Heaven (the "vile and blasphemous" line was because Charlie is Lucifer's daughter) , so I don't think Vaggie would feel too weird about being attracted to women, especially once more openly gay, Trans etc people arrive.

For the first century and some of her life? Sure.

But I think she would be accepting of it in the last 80-90 years of her time in heaven, especially since the Sisterhood of the Exorcists is promoting a very violent mindset and killing sinners in secrets, it leave little room for interactions outside of the group, cue experimentations.

Also, considering how Agatha annoyed Lute for not being "proper" regarding the "out of wedlock baby" and single mom status, I think it would fuel her desire to accept Vaggie's gayness.

I can even see Lute appreciate how it can make Vaggie feel more like a part of the group on the more pragmatic side, or at least use it as an argument for people who are bothering her on it and that she won't just ignore or scare into silence.

I never really thought about that, but you do have a point. I think a lot of people assume Lute is homophobic (and maybe she is) because of her line about Charlie and Vaggie's relationship, and well as one of the comments about Angel in her solo during "You Didn't Know" but you could argue that, like you pointed out, her issue with Charlie and Vaggie dating could be more based on Charlie's status as a demon/Lucifer's daughter than them both being women. And the thing with Angel could just be a commentary on him being so willing to have what is implied to be casual sex in general, regardless of the gender of his partners. Obviously those are still not good views to have, but they are possibly alternatives.

I do think that Vaggie would still struggle a bit for a while, though part of it would be her just kind of making the wrong assumptions regarding why her mother was essentially judged behind her back? At least when she was young. Because she heard occasional whispers (and the one time she asked about her grandmother and why she'd never met her, Lute did explain that Agatha didn't like the fact that Lute wasn't married to Vaggie's father) where people would say pretty insulting things about her mother when Lute herself wasn't there to hear, regarding the fact that she wasn't even in an official relationship with, much less married to, Vaggie's father. And young Vaggie initially made the wrong assumption that the issue was more about the fact that her mother wasn't in relationship with a man, period, rather than the truth, which is that the issue was that Lute was an unwed single mother by choice.

But Vaggie did likely figure it out more as she got older and especially after officially joining the Exorcists....at least in part due to the reasons you pointed out. With how secretive the Exorcists are supposed to be, while it's probably not impossible that some of them have partners outside of the group who just are told cover stories for what they do for work and/or what they're doing when they're gone during Extermination Day, a lot of them likely just have relationships among each other to avoid any of that. And in my AU at least, while Charlie was Vaggie's first serious girlfriend, I will say her first kind of trying out a relationship with anyone was likely with another Exorcists, probably one who joined around the same time she did. She likely did still feel weird about it for a while, and didn't fully realize she was a lesbian until a fair bit later.

Lute likely was more accepting of Vaggie's sexuality than some might expect, partially out of spite regarding how hurt she was at how her own parents, especially her mother, who she had been very close to before Vaggie was born, basically cut her out of their lives for her decision to raise Vaggie on her own. So while she obviously couldn't be as accepting as she wanted to tell herself she would be - she does still find the relationship between Vaggie and Charlie shameful, sadly - she is fully accepting of her daughter being gay. Also helps that I might actually headcanon Lute as not actually being straight, but rather gray-ace or demi - she's pretty much only interested in Adam in regards to sex or romance (though the romance part even she's in denial about).

#Hazbin Hotel #Lute #Vaggie #Hazbin Lute #Hazbin Vaggie #Adam #Hazbin Adam #Guitarspear #Vaggie is a Guitarspear Baby AU #Cradle will Fall #Hazbin Exorcists

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Brightest Star

Synopsis: In a world eager to give and receive love, you fail to meet expectations. Foul Legacy shows you that you’re perfect the way you are.

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Happy ending Warnings: Mentions of vomiting, nervousness, death, self-loathing, reader has a difficult time romantically loving other people, reader has difficulty accepting love from others, reader feels like they are “broken” because of this

Note: I realize that the contents of this fic might come off as very insensitive to people who are part of the aro/ace community- this is not my intention. This fic is partially based off my personal struggles with the concept of loving, dating, etc, and is not meant to invalidate anyone’s identity. Please proceed with caution if you think this fic might be upsetting to read for you.

~ * ~ You’re not an ideal lover. Oh, how you wish you could be, as the concept of being held in a special someone’s arms fills your chest with warmth; sweet little daydreams imagined in your head. You see couples on the streets- partners, friends, newlyweds- all celebrating the different types of love they have for each other, and in your eyes, it’s beautiful. A wonderful occasion, worthy of the highest praise, and you clap and cheer and wish you could find someone to love on your own. But wishes rarely come true, and your desire to adore and be adored entirely is overshadowed by the stone-cold truth of impossibility. For you have never loved, and don’t know if you ever will love. Surrounded by all walks of life in Liyue Harbor, you drifted through existence alone, putting on a polite smile of false security. To satisfy your thirst for understanding, you would observe the people of the city, taking note of each and every laugh, argument, and rejection that passed by your eyes, and more and more your curiosity grew. Love is multifaceted, and it both soothes and burns the souls of mortals and gods alike, a flickering candle and a roaring flame all at once. Ah, how you sometimes wish to have it in your hands. By the time you were grown, you had made relative peace with life, content to watch and celebrate others loving and being loved if you could not have it for yourself. It was an excellent type of joy- happiness, to you, has many forms- to see your dearest friends so elated, their cheeks warm with both embarrassment and delight. Perhaps in those years you had mastered a type of love, platonic love, and you cherished and protected it as your most precious treasure. But still, sometimes it hurts. No matter how many times you reassure yourself that you don’t mind, it always feels like something is wrong with you, thinking about romance and fantasy. Because no matter how much you yearn for it, you just don’t seem to be capable of loving a partner- even less so being loved back. It’s lonely in the Harbor, and you are the star of its melancholy, hiding your worthlessness behind your malfunctioning heart. It was sheer coincidence- or perhaps fate- that your paths intercepted, the thread of your life crossing and looping around his as you look up one day, out on your daily walk, and catch the cold azure eyes of a stranger. But those eyes simply curl upwards as the copper-haired man dressed in gray waves to you, the garb of the Fatui outshone by the beaming smile on his face. The Eleventh Harbinger, the Lord Tartaglia. Something sparks in your heart like fireworks and you stumble, disoriented. It fades to background noise as he rushes over to help you to your feet, but it’s still there, you can feel it just out of reach, and it makes your cheeks grow warm in confusion. Is this what dying feels like? There are butterflies only you can see, brushing their wings against your cheeks and making your stomach twist and turn. But Tartaglia laughs kindly, giving your grasped hand a firm shake, and suddenly you find yourselves acquainted. For Tartaglia- or Childe, as he goes by in Liyue- acquaintances are little more than friends who’ve barely met. Somehow he keeps finding you at corners, shops, even when you’re simply eating alone, sauntering over to sit down beside you and talk your ear off. All the while you’re silent, conflicting emotions of nervousness and delight and trepidation and perplexity whirling around until you’re a mess, a muddled disaster who only wants to scoot closer and lay your head on Childe’s shoulder, if only you were brave enough. Is this what love is? That’s impossible. You’re supposed to be broken, condemned to a life of loneliness. Or are you just breaking more? It only gets worse when Childe shows you Foul Legacy, his monstrous half originating from deep beneath the world, from a vast Abyssal ocean of stars. He’s a creature of destruction and decay- yet you’ve never met anyone sweeter, Foul Legacy sweeping you off your feet and holding you to his chest upon first sight, happy trilling noises slipping from his fanged maw as he hugs you and purrs. You didn’t even know Abyssal monsters could purr. Or maybe they can’t, and Foul Legacy is the exception. Either way, Childe bashfully admits that Legacy shows what he truly feels, rather than hiding them under a cover of charming grins, and soon all your outings end with an armored moth-beast snuggling against you while rumbling in delight. Foul Legacy likes you, Childe says- he likes you more than anything. Then, as always, the Harbinger trails off and averts his eyes, and the flame in your chest glows warmly when you see the blush dusting his cheeks before you grow nauseous with nerves for the umpteenth time this month. It’s a vicious cycle of nausea-happiness-fear-delight whenever you’re with Childe, human or Foul Legacy, the excitement of loving balanced by the terror of a new, raw emotion, an emotion you had convinced yourself that you’d never feel. Your friends, so experienced and knowing, catch on immediately, crowding around you and asking who the lucky person is, what’s their name, what do they look like, are they kind, are they flirty, who, what, when, where- You feel like vomiting, and stumble over your words. They can never know he’s a Harbinger, for his safety and theirs, and you retreat to a quiet space once they leave, head fuzzy and blank. You love him, don’t you? Were you deluding yourself into thinking you were broken? But that’s worse, isn’t it, if you do truly love him. Because you can never love him enough, not as much as he deserves. How does one “show love”? Nothing makes sense to you. Slowly you realize that it can only end in heartbreak, and you curl in on yourself and scream in agony. It’s raining the next time you’re supposed to spend the day with Childe, so Foul Legacy arrives instead, shaking water from his glittering wings and kneeling to your height so you can dry his ginger hair with a towel. It’s soft and thick, and you decide to forgo the towel in favor of brushing Legacy’s hair with your fingers, his blissful purrs coaxing a bubbling laugh from your throat. Then doubts trickle in, filling your mind like thick, murky water, and the laugh fades into silence, your gentle pats slowing to a stop. Foul Legacy whines and nudges your hand, your fingers trembling as your lungs constrict and your blood turns to ice; a sculpture that could shatter at any moment. “Childe- Legacy- I-” You don’t get any further before tears start running down your face. Large claws move to gently clasp your hands, and with a simple touch you break and begin to sob. You want to love him. You desperately want to reciprocate his affection, to give him the same easy, constant adoration he gives you. But something is just wrong with you. Everyone you know can love so easily, but you, you! You’re stuck, not knowing if what you feel is truly love or if you’re just fooling yourself because you want to have what everyone else has. You don’t want to be lonely, no matter how much you say it’s alright. But you don’t know if you can love either, because you’re broken and always have been. And if this dancing fire inside your heart is indeed love, you don’t know if you can love him enough, as Childe deserves so much more than you. You don’t know anything. Finally your endless, rambling sentences trail into nothingness, and you’re left with tear tracks on your cheeks, gazing shamefully at the floor. For once, Foul Legacy is silent, and you burn with self-loathing, hating that someone as broken as you has to stand in front of him, who’s perfect in every way to you. Something swipes underneath your eyes, making you blink and glance up at Legacy, gently brushing your tears away with his thumbs. He tenderly croons to you, the softest sound you’ve ever heard him make, and gingerly picks you up to place you on his lap. Exhausted from crying, you lean against his chest, the thumping rhythm of his strong, loving heart filling your mind as he curls his talons over your hands once again, leaning closer to press his forehead against the top of your head. Not broken. It feels like you’re speaking to both Foul Legacy and Childe, even if Legacy can’t talk in the way that you do. Not broken. Rumbles begin filtering from the Abyssal monster’s chest as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close enough to kiss. Not broken. Because you never were broken, not now, not ever. Love is fickle, temperamental- it comes and goes at its own pace, hopping from whichever person it wants to another and never staying in one spot. Some love everyone, the entire world is their friend, and no one is an enemy. Some don’t love at all, fulfilled without needing romantic relationships. Some love themselves, and inspire others to be kinder to their body and mind, as mortals only have one life. And some are like you, unable to see themselves loving or being loved, only to find that their harshest critic is from within. Not broken. You’re not broken, because both loving and not loving are perfectly reasonable ways of existing. Childe will not ask you to love him- he wants the emotions to be yours, not something you feel obligated to do in order to be “normal”- he’ll never stop loving you either way, even if you don’t feel the same. You’re crying again, overwhelmed by everything and nothing, but the fiery feeling in your chest swirls and bursts into something steady and beautiful, like firelight on a dark evening, and you give Foul Legacy a watery, grateful smile. Ah, you said it at last- those meaningful words. I love you.

#genshin x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #gi ajax #foul legacy #foul legacy childe #genshin tartagalia #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #foul legacy x reader #sfw #genshin sfw #genshin hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #tartagalia x reader #alright listen i don't have an excuse for this #i was inspired and had my own experiences and BOOM suddenly this fic exists #is it long winded and rambly? yes #does it not make a lick of sense? also yes #but it still hit close to home for me #i kinda have this ongoing realization that i really can't see myself loving anyone irl #and if i do i don't know how i'd deal with it because i'm already exhausted #how am i going to fit a romantic relationship in life #and it made me feel weird about myself. like something is Wrong with me because all my friends can do it but i can't #and the weird thing is!! i love fictional characters just fine!! but when it comes to irl i just cannot see myself doing it!! what the heck! #so yeah this is a combo of that and my anxiety whenever change happens because i need things to be calm in order to stay calm

[sexybabystevie]

hurt/comfort steve thought (if you’re still accepting them!): he really hates crying in front of ppl so throughout the beginning of your relationship you try to gently remind him it’s ok if he cries in front of you, it’s not a sign of weakness etc. and when something happens that makes him break down in front of you for the first time, he’s like rly shy & embarrassed at first :(

A/n: Oh my gosh this took SO long to answer, I am SO SO sorry about that. Anyways, I enjoyed this thought so much that I decided to pair it with a running idea that I had in my brain lately, so this ended up Steve-Thought-turned-whole-fic, so I hope you enjoy it, lovely!! Once again, thank you for sending this in and partially inspiring this!

His Knight in Shining Armor

Boyfriend!Steve Harrington x Reader

Tags and Warnings: Post Volume 2 Setting, Mentions of Eddie's Death and Max's Coma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Missing Scene, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Guilt, Comfort/Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt Steve Harrington, Steve Finally Gets to Cry, Despite the Title Reader's Gender is Ambiguous, Episode: s04e09 "The Piggyback"

Word Count: 5527

Summary: Even as Steve's long-term partner, you've never once seen him cry. In the aftermath of the final battle against Vecna, and in the very hospital room where a barely-living Max Mayfield lies, that changes.

Steve Harrington Masterlist

“Steve!” 

Your legs burn as you chase your boyfriend out into the hallway, black Converse tapping softly at the dingy grey tiles beneath you. Everything is a blur – white walls and white coats and white lights that are far too bright and probing at you; it’s all blending together – and the smell of chemical antiseptic gives you a nauseating headache. Still, all of your grievances are floating, fading, flying away at the sight of the man before you. 

Steve Harrington is too strong for his own good. A lover, probably one of the most caring people you’ve ever known, and yet he carries so much. The guilt of being Nancy Wheeler’s bullshit for much too long, the awareness of Hawkins’ looming and inevitable doom, the instinct and need to be there to protect you and Robin, to protect the kids – all of these are things that Steve Harrington has placed upon his own back, heaving emotional weights that even a sumo wrestler would struggle to uphold, and yet you had never once seen him cry. Or, rather, he had never once let you see him cry.

You had cried in front of him several times – stress from work and just shitty days in general tearing you down – so it was difficult to imagine just how he was holding himself together. With the thinnest of threads, is what you would assume.

You had always told him that it was okay to be vulnerable, that you would be there to catch him if he ever fell, to hold him during his starless nights, but he was persistent. He shrugged off your offers, not in an unappreciative way, but in a manner that seemed to mean that he wanted you to be under the impression that he was fine. That he didn’t need you to sweep up the broken pieces of him and put them into the dustpan, because he had only ever tried being so defenseless with one other person before, and what had that gotten him? Bullshit…

You never pushed him, hoping with everything in you that he would absorb your words into his heart and come to you when the walls crumbled, but you had a feeling that the first cracks were forming in his foundation when this entire mess with Vecna started.

When you had stepped into Max’s hospital room together, hands interlocked, you almost felt his breathing catch as if you shared the same lungs. His palm stilled against your own, cold and clammy, and he was slinking away from you, back out the door you had barely stepped through to begin with. He was running down the hallway, towards the emergency fire exit at the very end, and you knew that the river was overflowing the dam. 

“Steve, please–” you breathlessly call out to him, gaining a few confused glances from patients and visitors nearby, but he’s out the door before the words have fully fallen from your lips. Whether he’s ignoring you in the hopes that you turn away or he somehow just hasn’t heard you yet, you’re unsure.

Regardless, you’re still hot on his heels, your feet hitting the ground impossibly faster. The force of your speed causes them to go numb, nerves firing like you’re stepping on little knives, but you don’t care. You’re too focused on watching Steve’s hazy outline through the blurred windows to really notice. Everything in you hopes that his silhouette doesn’t get smaller – he’s not walking away into the parking lot, he’s not – and you must be really good at manifestations because your wishes somehow ring true. That, or maybe it’s the fact that you know Steve Harrington like the scenic backroads to your parents’ house.

You underestimate just how rapidly the door to the outside is approaching, too caught up in your own worry to think about your physical body. The breath is knocked out of your lungs as you collide with the exit, harsh metal bruising your hipbone as the force of your being sends the door flying open. Wincing and gasping for air, you wobble and step down onto the concrete landing below, eyes scanning for your boyfriend with the intensity of those futuristic pieces of spyware that Joyce Byers said local conspiracy theorist Murray Bauman owned. Maybe your eyes were as powerful as the spyware too, because you easily found Steve’s mop of ruffled-through hair even when it was barely visible over the stairs. 

Posture slumped, a man – no, younger; he’s a helpless boy now, a boy who has bravely bitten off far more than he’s able to chew – with shaking shoulders, hollow and yet so unbearably full. His palms shield his face from the world, the only way he can go about holding himself up in this moment, and he caves in on himself, a statue who’s been pushed a little too far over the edge and who is now facing the irreparable consequences. Statues only are made for heroes, how did he end up with one anyway? 

You tentatively approach him, walking a little over halfway down the staircase with each move forward feeling like a punch to the gut, and his despondence is like someone has taken your favorite sweater and tried to replace it, but the material isn’t as soft as before and the stitching on the inside isn’t in the same pattern. You stand three steps behind him – his shadow is on your shoelaces – and he says nothing. Three becomes two and two becomes one, and he says nothing. You sit down next to him, a gust of wind and your legs against the cool rock below making you shiver, and again, he says nothing. He doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge that you’re there or that your breathing is still heavy from chasing him, and a pit begins to form in the most sensitive area of your stomach. The tides are receding and the morning skies are red – Steve Harrington is becoming a tsunami.

You, then, say nothing. You’re afraid to reach out to him, afraid he will turn away from your touch like he’s been burned, afraid that you’ll try to mend his heart and it will scurry away from you forever, and you love him. You love him so much that you can’t risk it – the prospect of loving him so much that it drives him away is your very own circle of Hell – so you sit and you say nothing.

Minutes pass, and the air feels like it’s rocky – you’re inhaling pebbles when you breathe. There seems to be a mountain between you – better yet, he’s at the top of the mountain and you’re a traveler without the proper gear to reach him – and you feel as though your hand would have to go through lightyears of space and time to brush upon his shaking arm. The silence doesn’t seem like it will let up, and you’re growing to think that maybe he won’t open up to you at all. 

Steve’s position shifts – he buries himself further in his hands, somehow – and that almost gives you the impression that his body isn’t violently shaking. He talks then, moreso brokenly whispers, and if you weren’t right next to him then you might have mistaken it for the whimpering wind.

“I can’t go back in there.”

You stay quiet, unsure of what to do next. Your most basic instinct in that moment is to wrap yourself around him like a warm coat, keeping him from the cold of the air and the cruel of the world, but you don’t even settle for resting a palm against his arm. Any move is a push too far when it comes to Steve Harrington and allowing himself to feel for once.

Instead, you pray that he continues on. To your luck, again, he does.

“I know they need me. The kids need me, Robin needs me…” His voice trails off, and he retreats from his hiding place between his hands. He doesn’t turn to you, but it’s a sign of acknowledgement that’s moving in the right direction, nonetheless. “She needs me. Max–” His voice cracks and he tries to cover his tracks by clearing his throat and biting his bottom lip, but you can already see the sheen of unfallen tears on his waterline.

All thoughts of moving too quickly thrown out the window, you shuffle closer and angle yourself so that your knees are inches away from one of his. The warmth from his body fades into yours, intermingles and creates a voluntary bubble of safety around the two of you, and you don’t stop your hand from reaching out and snaking its way down his forearm. A ghost against his skin, leaving goosebumps along your wake, you carefully interlock your fingers with his, and while he’s trembling and resistant at first – stoic – he seems to surrender to himself as his grip hardens against your own, leaving his knuckles white and your hand feeling a little cramped, but you know better than to say anything. Not now.

The reciprocation of his hand to yours settles his internal battle – it’s okay if he keeps going, keeps feeling – and so he finally lets out a long, quivering breath that is reminiscent of the steam above a volcano.

“I’ve already failed her once, and now I’m doing it again.” 

The words are what you expected to hear from him, but that doesn’t mean that they make your airways feel any less constricted. Imagining the guilt that he must be carrying – the guilt of losing a friend, a sister, almost a daughter – somehow is more painful than when you collided with the heavy hospital door a few minutes ago. 

Everything is suddenly too real. Just days ago you felt like you were on top of the world with your plans to take down Vecna, overconfidence being the sunlight that kept all of you on your toes, and now you were here. Here, with several of your friends gone and one on the verge, skirting the veil between life and death, and you hadn’t really had time to process it all until now. With Steve’s fear and guilt and grief bleeding into you via osmosis of the hand, reality is finally settling in.

It was easier to pretend that none of this was real when you were packing up all of your things to move into Steve’s – all of you had seen the empty ground where Vecna’s gunshot-riddled body should have been, so Steve wasn’t going to have you living in your place alone, even if it meant there was a minuscule chance his parents came back to awkwardly find you there – and it was easier to pretend that nothing had changed when you went to volunteer at Hawkins High, mindlessly going back over the clothes your boyfriend had folded to make sure that they were presentable. The days after the rift was created between Hawkins and its Upside Down counterpart were hazy; it was as if everything before had been some fever dream that all of you had shared, and your schedule was so busy with volunteering and moving that you didn’t have time to fret or to try and tackle what had happened and how that had made you feel.

Everyone had spent those first few nights in sleepless petrification. Joyce hadn’t surprised the group by returning and recovering Hopper yet, and Jonathan and Argyle were still making their way back to Hawkins with El, Will, and Mike. The party was broken, in more ways than one, and so everyone who remained stayed together. 

None of you even bothered with packing up night bags or suitcases – truthfully, no one knew when you would all be returning home – and none of you complained when Steve led the rest of you back to his place on foot, ushering you inside the door with a pathetic attempt at a smile. Max had already been transported to the hospital then, and while Lucas had traveled with her initially, they sent him home after she went into emergency surgery. The home he went back to was Steve’s, and those who were inside – Robin, you, Steve, Erica, Dustin, and Nancy – greeted him with heavy embraces and unspoken solemnity. No one spoke at all that night; rather, everyone piled up on extra mattresses and couches in the living room and huddled together as the TV displayed movie after movie. Each time one went off, Steve got up to find another one to put in the VHS.

Once an old helicopter from Russia and a pizza van from California touched Indianian soil, the family reunion had begun. Some victories and losses were shared with one another, but certain topics remained unmentionable. Max. Eddie. Their names were like lava on your tongues, and saying them meant that it was real – Vecna was still out there and he was real, several innocent people had died and had been declared missing since the rift had opened and that was real, and just as Max was finally becoming more forgiving with herself, she was gone again, and that was real too. It was too much all at once, too much for a group of children who had somehow fought for the world and won, even on more than one occasion, and so, however wrong it may have been, you couldn’t dare utter a word. 

It was still too soon when Wayne Munson touched his nephew’s missing persons poster at Hawkins High, but Dustin was more brave than anyone else and stepped forward. The rest of you watched with grief-stricken hearts as he stood up for one of his best friends and role models, and while you couldn’t say everything that Dustin did because the words wouldn’t stop getting caught in your throat, everyone else did give Eddie’s poor uncle the reassurance that his nephew was, in fact, innocent, and was, unfortunately, a hero.

It was still too soon when the hospital rang Steve Harrington’s house to let Lucas Sinclair know that Max Mayfield was now allowed to have visitors, but you all piled into Steve’s BMW anyway and rushed to the hospital. Steve broke several traffic violations and there were so many people in his car that you were genuinely shocked you could all fit, but none of that mattered. It was almost as if your chance to see her would be gone if you were even a fraction of a second too late, and none of you were willing to take that chance. 

Despite how quickly you all bombarded into the hospital and into Max’s room, your feet never once hit the ground. You were walking on air, somewhere far above the earth that was dreamy and made your head spin, and all of that crashed and burned the second that Max’s mother opened the door. 

The severity of your situation was so dark, so desolate that it took Steve Harrington’s hand squeezing the life out of yours and the declarations of exclamatory guilt coming from his lips to get you to finally adjust to how things would have to be from now on. The crushing weight of it all brought bile to your throat, and you subconsciously returned Steve’s death grip on your fingers.

“She relied on me.” You can hear Steve talking, you can still feel him right next to you, but you’re still floating. You’re still trapped in some kind of daze, and his words only make your chest ache with loss. “She relied on me, and I let this… I didn’t do anything to stop it. I promised her I’d make sure she’d be okay. I promised her that she would make it out of this.”

The pain and guilt of Steve’s voice goes right to your gut, making you feel more nauseous than the chemical scent of the hospital ever had, and dizziness overtakes your body despite the fact that you’ve been sitting entirely still.

Even in his current state, your boyfriend takes notice of the way your palms grow more shaky and rigid. By habit, he turns to direct his gaze towards you – always more concerned about anyone other than himself – and you have one small moment of eye-contact, a glistening of pain and anxiety and understanding between the two of you, before a single tear escapes the confines of Steve’s pretty brown eyes and he panics.

His stare widens impossibly further and he’s too quick to turn away, to shut down anything that might follow afterward. His head shoots away, focus lingering on some wilting bushes that are to his left – any scene without you is suddenly of intense interest – and gradually his body shifts away as well, his knees no longer parallel to your own. A gap is left on the concrete stairs between you, and just the sight of it makes you feel colder than you did when the unrelenting wind previously froze you to the bone. The gap doesn’t just freeze your bones, it erodes them too.

Steve takes what you can only assume to be an attempted deep breath, but he seems to be too forceful and instead lets out a strained half-gasp, half-cough. Sniffles and the sound of poorly restrained tears ring throughout you like a church bell, and you snap out of your stupor as your protective nature kicks into overdrive. You want nothing more than to whisper your mantras of love and reassurance to him, a hand snaking up to groundingly, softly, curl the delicate hairs on the back of his neck around your fingertips, but you hesitate. Again.

“You can… uh, go back inside now,” Steve says, so quiet that a ladybug landing on a four leaf clover would have been an explosion in comparison. The only reason you hear him at all is because the breeze carries his voice over to you like one of the gruesomely thoughtful dead mice a beloved pet cat would leave on your doorstep at midnight. 

In another situation, you may have laughed out loud at his suggestion, but you know the significance of this moment. You know that things are delicate, as is Steve’s relationship with emotions, so you settle for subtlety, a choice that you’re hoping lets him know that you aren’t trying to be pushy, you aren’t trying to push him to the point of driving him away. Truthfully, the very last thing that you wanted to do was leave him, and you hoped with everything in your soul that he felt the same. 

“I could,” you say, voice soft and matching his from before, quiet enough to be spoken between the two of you only – not even the swaying oak tree nearby can hear the words exchanged among you like a sacred secret. “But I’d rather be here with you.” 

Your carefully chosen words imply more, other things you wanted to tell him on the tip of your tongue – I know you need me, I want to be here now and always, I want to be the one you go to forever, please let me. You’re all too aware that his previous offer for you to go back inside was more – that it was his way of letting you know that you can go back, back to the way things were before, when he hadn’t been vulnerable like this – and you hope that your answer speaks the same riddles he does, only in reverse. 

Steve says nothing, which might be alarming any other time, but he hasn’t made any other covert suggestions about how you should be reacting to this situation, so you take that as the small victory that it is. His shoulders quivering, he still keeps his back to you, clearly not quite ready for facing you head on, and you ever-so-gently bring one of your hands to his back, hoping and praying that it isn’t too much too soon. His walls fall one at a time, castle crumbling brick by brick, and you hope that he’s let his guard down enough to finally let you comfort him. You’ll dig him out of the rubble and debris every damn time; you’ll be his knight in shining armor if he’ll let you. 

The muscles in his back tense a little, making you hold your breath for what feels like ages, already expecting him to turn to you, a teary smile on his face as he tells you that he’s fine, he was just being silly, and aren’t you ready to go back inside now? like he’s said in the past. Like when you accidentally stumbled into the bathroom that first night, when he was wiping tears from his eyes in front of his aged, rusting sink. You couldn’t help thinking he was like that sink then, looking broken down and far too old for his true age, and the thought of seeing him like that again is enough to send a cold chill through your chest. Everyone knows what too much rust does to something – it corrodes and eats away at the source until nothing’s left – and it was with cruel irony that the very image of that happening to your ever-loving boyfriend made you feel like something was eating away at you. 

You’re so in your head with worry that you barely notice that Steve hasn’t shrugged your hand away. You shake yourself out of your spiraling thoughts, away from the shock that fights for you to freeze up in uncertainty, and decide to test the waters. Your fingers trace small shapes into the material of his yellow sweatshirt like you’ve imagined doing thousands of times before, their movements a bit stiff and awkward but neither of you seem to care. Steve seems to relax into your touch, feeling his body loosen right under your palm in such a way that makes your heart partially melt – both at being capable of being able to do that for him and also because it was you that was calming him down, not someone else.

Even if it was only miniscule, to be the one to provide him a sense of comfort was an honor. Still, though, you don’t plan on moving away until he’s either all cried out or he asks you to back off. While you’d prefer the former, just this moment in itself is proof that you’ve made progress, and you’ll accept any kind of growth at this point, even if it means you don’t get the chance to hold him in your arms like you know he deserves. One step forward may be twenty steps away from that – your perfect fairytale ending where you can finally share the burdens that Steve has been carrying solo for far too long – but you’ll take ninety more days like this as long as Steve’s finally letting himself feel something.

A choked up sob escapes his throat, a noise that simultaneously relieves you and takes a chunk of your heart from your chest and stomps on it. If you really focus on the sound of him crying, on the way his body uneasily shakes, you begin to feel your own eyes prickle with the potential of unshed grief. Your first instinct is to shove it away, to try and be a rock for the utterly drained man next to you, and maybe it’s the exhaustion eating away at you post interdimensional battle – or maybe it’s just the heat of the moment – but, regardless, you let down the barriers and allow teardrops to cascade down your cheeks. 

Steve doesn’t seem to notice you’re crying with him until he hears you loudly sniffle, and in his haste to check in on you, he forgets about his emotional hesitancy. His body shifts back towards you, a small sense of warmth crossing over your legs as his knee gently knocks into yours. His eyes scan carefully over your face, his eyelashes wet and clumped together and his eyelids slightly swollen and tinted pink. 

“You’re even pretty when you cry,” you blurt out, the words tumbling from your lips before you can even think about having said them, and it takes a second for you to truly understand that you’ve spoken out loud rather than harmlessly thinking it to yourself.

You’re not sure how you expect Steve to react, but what you don’t anticipate is the soft and intrusive blush that begins to creep onto his cheeks. Gaze diverted to the ground, he takes in a long, deep inhale of air before quietly replying with a bashful, “Sorry about that.”

He doesn’t have to explain that, you know he’s talking about his vulnerability with you, and you instantly shake your head at him, the shine of the sun showcasing the half-dried and abandoned trek his tears fell from. With the burning light directly behind him, casting his brown hair a few shades lighter and leaving behind a residual warm yellow glow, he looks like a fallen god.

“Don’t be.” Your hand slinks away from his back and down to where his hand rests upon the concrete, and when you take it into yours, you feel the indents of the rock and gravel below in his palm. “Remember what I said before?”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to scold me about it.” The sprinkle of playfulness in his tone takes you by surprise, and you’re relieved to spot the edge of his lips tilted up into the tiniest of smiles. Despite all the horrific events of the past few days, Steve Harrington can still have a smile on his face, and that makes you feel like maybe everything else is going to end up alright. 

As abruptly as it was there, however, it’s gone, and your boyfriend’s voice is back to the quiet hoarseness of before. 

“It’s just…” He trails off, features scrunched up as he appears to be struggling with words. Luckily for him, you know him better than the flavors of ice cream you had to painstakingly memorize when you were merely coworkers at Scoops Ahoy.

“Hard, I know,” you say, finishing his sentence for him. “But I’m happy you let me in. Even if it was only for a little while.” 

Steve shifts to form eye contact with you, his own gaze softened as he drinks in your words, the gentleness of your hand, and everything about you. For the first time in his life, he finds true trust in another person. Your little smile holds a kind of affection that’s almost dizzying, the kind of dedication one only sees in those horribly cheesy romance movies he’ll never admit he likes watching with you, and he feels like being next to you, showing even the tiniest sliver of his pain to you, is like a baby being swaddled into a security blanket. 

He stays silent, overwhelmed with his onslaught of adoration for you, and the two of you let the moment pass just like that. Hands entangled, gazes interlocked, and thoughts filled with nothing but one another, the comfortable silence filled with words unspoken but understood between you. 

You know better than to bring up his guilty confessions from before. Your conversation has shifted and you’re afraid to backtrack, afraid that doing so might result in him hiding away from you again, so you decide to let it go. Even though the only thing you want to do is relieve his pain, reassure him by telling him that he’s taken on too much – that the best course of action anyone can take for Max is being patient, having hope, and kicking Vecna’s ass – but you let it go for now. 

“Thank you.” Steve breaks though the quietude to beam at you, grin still small but never any dimmer, and practically offers his heart to you alongside it. He’s more than certain that you’ll be careful with it, especially after today. He thinks that maybe he can get used to this, to being vulnerable with you and to seeing your pretty smile afterward, and he’s almost looking forward to it. Almost, but not quite.

The way he looks at you, so full of love that it’s more obvious than the answer to some elementary math problem, is nearly enough to bring you to tears again. Never in your life had you imagined finding someone so soft, so genuine and caring for everyone around him, and your chest is beginning to ache as it longs to beat directly next to his. 

Consumed by this feeling, you reach out with your free hand and grasp the sleeve of your sweater into fisted fingers before using the plush material to wipe away what’s left of his breakdown. Your motions linger as you shake your sleeve back into its proper place and scoot closer to him, index and middle fingers rising and tracing along his cheekbone. You can’t help but get lost for a moment, sidetracked and taken into another world as you closely examine the smoothness of his skin, the tiny little freckles that are sparsely scattered onto the side of his face. You already knew they were there, of course, but you never get tired of finding them. Sometimes you wish you could thank whoever it was that painted them there.

Steve’s breath is warm against your chin, causing your stare to automatically flicker to his. You’re not surprised when you find that he’s been looking at you all this time, absorbing this memory with you while he can make it, but it still makes your lips upturn nonetheless.

“You ready to head back in there yet?” he asks, voice low and a tad bit teasing as his ego undoubtedly takes a boost from how unintentionally hypnotized he’s made you. “Those shitheads are probably losing their minds right about now. Think we’ve left and they’ve lost their ride home or something.”

His joking tone is laced with worry; you both know that just talking about going in there means your minute of peace is over. You’ll be back into the throes of whatever new hell Hawkins endures next, back to living in uncertainty surrounding the safety of not only yourselves, but also your friends. It was true that people had been dying this whole time, the years being tainted with the blood of those like Barb who never really had a chance, but this was your first real taste of a different kind of loss. A kind of loss that’s more than just being sympathetic or upset for a few days; the kind of loss that’s felt in the absence of people at birthday parties, in the way that sometimes conversation seems normal until there’s a lull that should’ve been where someone else was cracking a joke. It’s the kind of loss that you can’t ignore because it’s felt everywhere, and just the minor glimpse of it that you’ve caught in the past few days has you feeling terrified. 

You’d always naively thought that you and your friends were safe, untouchable, too relevant to the status of Hawkins and the world at large to be taken from this world. Eddie and Max had proven your beliefs wrong, and that meant that no one was really safe at all. Vecna could and would strike again, and it was only a matter of time before you’d be walking on eggshells and avoiding stepping on the vines of the Upside Down again. 

A flash of yellow and a hand being offered out to you snaps you back into reality. You weren’t even aware Steve had gotten onto his feet and was no longer sitting next to you, no longer tracing his fingers on the delicate skin of the back of your palm, but you don’t get caught up in that. 

Instead, you accept your boyfriend’s outstretched hold and let him help you to your feet. Your legs are wobbly, halfway numbed from lack of movement, but Steve’s right there by your side, iron grip on your hand like he’s seconds away from rushing forward to catch you, if necessary. You don’t need it this time – your body comes back to life quite quickly, leaving you with legs again in replacement of the jelly-like limbs you had prior – but something in the gleam of his eyes and the sureness of his hold tells you that he’ll be there to catch you next time and the time after that too. 

You give his hand a small squeeze, noticeable enough to act as the okay to start heading back inside, and when he squeezes back, you know that you’ve got one another. Both physically and emotionally. The next move from Vecna is inevitable, but you feel a little more certain about things like this, fingers intertwined and with souls that you chose to be twisted together. When misfortune strikes again, Steve will be there to hold you close, and you’ll be more than willing to do the same for him. You know there’s years of trauma and pain that he hasn’t shown you, hasn’t yet informed you of, and you look forward to the days when he decides to open up. As long as he keeps letting you wipe the residue of his tears away with your sweater sleeves, of course.

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[meorb]

HIII i found u through the graves tag>:) can i get some graves x gender neutral reader nsfw. go crazy you choose whatever whether it's dark or not!!

I literally love Phillip Graves ugh 🫶 it's kinda short, but I hope you like it!

Warnings: NSFW obviously, gender neutral character being (implied) forced into a housewife role, Phillip Graves is not a sex god, dont sex him, he ignores protests but no one seems to care 👍

You were never really a marriage person. You went to weddings you were invited to and you liked the posts you saw of friend's weddings, but you never pictured one yourself. But now sat that pretty little band on your left ring finger, a dull ache filling you as you looked at it. If you knew he was going to propose so quick, you would have ran.

The scent of food and lemon soap filled the house as you stood over the counter, humming as you wiped and dried the marble. It was your place, after all. Phil worked, managed an entire company, and you got to stay home and cook. Not that you really had a problem with that, you hadn't even gone to college, so this life would've been way more comfortable than what you could've lived without him. You were so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn't even notice Phil coming in the front door. You let out a yelp as his hands fell on your waist, and he instinctively covered your mouth, letting out a breath into your neck as he slowly pulled his hand off your mouth.

"Fuck, Phil..." He lets out a whine onto your skin in response, pressing a soft kiss to your neck and slipping his hand under your shirt to rub his fingers over your skin.

"Something as cute as you shouldn't be saying things like that," he murmured, letting out a low growl and lifting you up, laying you face down on the counter. He plays with your waistband, pulling it down partially until you looked back to stop him.

"Not now. Dinner will be done soon." He always wanted you at the worst times, and he wasn't seeming to care about your protest as he pulled your pants the rest of the way down your thighs, a cold finger pressing against your hole and pushing against it, making you let out a small whine.

"You know who's in control here, darlin'..." His lips were warm against your neck, contrasting to the cold finger slowly pressing farther into you, making you flush and press more against the counter. He pulled your shirt up with his free hand, pressing messy kisses to your spine.

"Pretty little thing..." he murmured against your skin, slipping another finger in you, and when you try and struggle again to get back to cooking, he curls his fingers, making you scrape your nails against the counter as he pressed against your g-spot, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You cried out, putting one hand over your mouth, which he abruptly pulled away.

"Fuck, Phil!" You groan, feeling him pull his fingers out of you and unzip his pants, the sound of his zipper being the only warning before his sticky tip rubbed against your hole, teasing you even though his wet kisses on your back clearly meant he was the desperate one.

"I love you. You know that, right? You know I'm never gonna let anyone touch you except for me. You're mine. My pretty little cook," his voice is low and scratchy, and he groans, no, moans, as he pushes into you, his hard cock scraping against your insides as he pulls back and lurches forward, your body hitting against the hard countertop. It hurt, but he didn't care. You were his to take. It's what you agreed to when you married him. Even if you had only been married for a couple weeks. He quickly starts to desperately rut against you, pants and grunts spilling lewdly from his mouth, the sound mixing with yours as you whimper from the pain of the counter and the filling feeling of his cock in you. The familiar building feeling in your stomach continues, even after the oven beeps to signal the food is done. His thrusts get sloppy and desperate, and he moans lowly as he feels you clench down on him.

"Fuck... c'mon baby, c'mon baby," his tone is high and quiet, his hips desperate as he kisses your spine, then bites down on the flesh, filling you as he cums and holds you on his cock for a second, then pulls out. He puts his cock away, completely oblivious or otherwise indifferent to the fact he had just stopped right before you finished. He pulls you off of the counter and sits you on your shaky legs, sniffing the air and grumbling at the new, burnt smell coming from the oven. He peeks into the oven, your pants still down around your thighs as he turns to you.

"You should probably remake that," he mumbles, looking at the burnt bread in the oven. Of course you should. It was your place. That's what you agreed to when you put that pretty little band on, huh? :)

#phillip graves #cod mw2 #phillip graves x reader #gn reader #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x gn!reader #phillip graves x gn!reader #meorb

[kaisers-house-of-desires]

I'll most likely be a regular here, so feel free to call me J!

If possible, may I request Giyuu x Transmasc!reader with a fluffy date of your choice, please?

Hello, J~ Welcome to Kaiser's House of Desires~!

I'd be more than happy to fulfill such a sweet request.

I do hope you enjoy~

Title: A Hashira's Protection

Characters: Giyuu Tomioka x transmasc!reader

Contains: fluff <3, gender euphoria, transphobia/misgendering(but for like, a minute, promise)

Fandom: Demon Slayer

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI (This may not be smut, but I still want the above to be followed)

Reblogs > likes

"Oh, Giyuu! That one!"

You pointed to a yukata display in a local shop, the clothing in question a deep, desaturated blue that looked comfy just by the look of it. Sure it was simple but you had been needing one for festivals for awhile now since your last one tore up in an inpromptu battle with a demon, and with your money being tight, you had to make due, and you had finally found something that looked pleasing.

"Are you wanting to go try it on?" Giyuu asked, his voice not holding the same excitement as yours.

"Mmm...I think so. I know my body wears things weirdly."

After stepping into the shop and asking to try on the yukata, the two of you were ushered back to the dressing rooms with men's on the left and women's on the right.

"I'll be right back," you told Giyuu, stepping over to the left side of the dressing room. Giyuu waited, standing guard over the entrance as he typically would for you in situations like these. As he waited, you called for him moments later, and he turned over to see you, struggling with the sash and the general fabric of the yukata as it slipped from the top, revealing your bindings over your chest. "Ah...heh. Sashes are always difficult."

Unaffected by your bindings, as he has seen them many times already, he assisted you with your yukata, but not without an interruption.

"Excuse me! You're in the wrong dressing room!"

Your heart dropped, hoping that this wouldn't have happened today, but Giyuu turned to the shopkeep, and you could feel his energy shift. "Apologies, but I believe we are in the right area."

"No! Not you, ---!" The shopkeep pointed to you, using the incorrect pronoun, and you immediately felt your stomach tighten. "You're clearly a--"

"Man? Yes. Yes he is." Giyuu didn't miss a beat, his voice still and controlled. "As I said before, we are in the correct area."

"But the bindings--"

"--are from an injury on the battlefield. This is a hashira, mind you, and with that comes such injuries on the battlefield, handling a demon that would have destroyed your village." Luckily this was partially true; there was a demon nearby recently, but you had not received any injuries. Giyuu was able to use it as a flawless cover story. "But in reality, you wouldn't have been able to see them unless you were close by, meaning you have to have been snooping somewhere nearby, didn't you?"

This caught the shopkeep off guard, and he tried to stammer out a response but to no avail. A hashira, an injured hashira at that, and he was out here making a fool of himself in his own store.

"I...you're right. My sincerest apologies. The yukata...should you buy it, I'll mark if half off. Please. It's the least I can do to make up for my foolish behavior."

Giyuu looked at you, waiting for an answer. Your mind had been so clouded for a moment, you were almost unsure of what had happened. Almost. Having caught the end of the conversation at least, you nodded, accepting the offer.

"He'll take it," he said, turning back to the shopkeep.

---

Walking out of the store, you held the bagged yukata close to your chest. Speaking of your chest, it was fluttery, and not the usual pained feeling you had after moments like these.

"Thank you, Giyuu," you said happily, a big grin on your face. "I appreciate that." It had been awhile since there was a situation like that, so for him to have your back, even after all this time together and in a moment like this, it really warmed you.

"Trust me, I wasn't about to let some ignorant shopkeep ruin our little clothes shopping date." He still seemed emotionless, but you could tell he truly cared, otherwise he wouldn't have done what he did.

"Oh speaking of dates! Want to go get some salmon?" You held up your coin bag, coins jingling in the cloth. "My treat!"

#kaisers house of desires #x reader #x male reader #x male y/n #x trans male reader #x transmasc reader #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #giyuu tomioka #giyuu x reader #kny giyuu #demon slayer giyuu #kimetsu giyuu #fluff #giyu tomioka #giyu x y/n #giyu x reader #giyu x you

[hope-and-forest-fires]

this is kinda hard to articulate, but i'm going to try!

speaking as an aro who is not loveless and feels very strongly about platonic love in my own life; i'm really grateful for loveless aros. i'm glad for your existence, partially just because aros of all types are cool, but also because you let me know there were options! that i had a choice! and knowing that gave me the ability to step back, and look at myself, and say, "yeah! i do experience love! and i get to decide what that means!" because nothing is required of me, and i can define my own experiences! so, i'm grateful that you're all out there putting things into words, because i think you're helping everyone, whether they relate to you or not.

also! speaking as a cis girl who's struggled with gender roles and expectations my whole life (my family is very conservative); i'm really grateful for trans people! and i'm probably just going to reiterate my previous points, but it was so, so helpful for me to be able to examine myself, and ask, "am i really a girl?" and you know what? the answer was yes! but, again, i get to decide what that means! because, again, nothing is required of me, and i probably wouldn't have realized that if i hadn't known there were other options! so, again, i'm grateful that you're also out there putting things into words! because i think you're helping everyone when you do!

it's good to be able to figure ourselves out! it's good to have choices and options and identities and communities! it's good to have the opportunity to learn and grow and relate to people! and it's good to not relate to people too, because that's something else that you're learning about yourself! it's good to not be confined by other people's expectations of you, it's good to find genuine joy in your identities, it's good to walk down paths that others have paved even if you don't fully understand their experiences!

so, thank you, to everyone who helped break down the barriers of society's expectations, and in doing so, helped me along the way to understanding myself. i hope you all have an amazing day, genuinely.

(also if i phrased anything super badly or tagged this wrong, please let me know! since i'm not loveless or trans, i don't want to speak over anyone. i do want people to know how they've positively impacted me, though, hence the post.)

#aromantic #loveless aro #trans #aro positivity #trans positivity #again please let me know if i'm tagging this wrong! #also i know this isn't the kind of thing i normally post. i just felt feelings today. you know how it is. #contemplation

[thekidsfromyestergay]

Sorry if this sounds parasocial it's 9am and I haven't slept yet but does it ever hit you that like. Gerard wore dresses on stage. He first talked about doing drag in art school in the 90s almost 20 years ago. They talked about supporting trans people and struggles with their own gender and their relationship with femininity frequently during hesitant alien. At one point in his life he partially self identified as trans* and has spoke about identifying with women multiple times. This tour we saw a small window into literal decades worth of self discovery and it makes me so emotional about my own future. What I'm saying here is gender nonconformity is beautiful and everyone's journey with their identity and presentation is something to be cherished and celebrated and eventually a day will come for all of us when we get to dance around our own stage in our own cheerleader dresses without fear :)

[ctheathy]

*whisper* I dare you to write a smut fic about Foxie~

̶I̶'̶m̶ ̶j̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶m̶a̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶a̶ ̶j̶o̶k̶e̶ ̶n̶o̶w̶

You know what I start to enjoy writing on Tumblr more now

Achievement Through Appetite

Miles Prower x Reader

Suggestive Oneshot

Character + Artwork by Kayla Green

Author's note: ( ͡o ͜ʖ ͡o) You knew exactly what you were doing requesting my husband in here.

Miles[Operation Crimson]/Reader [Romantic Tendencies]

[Gender-neutral Darling|Female Darling|Male Darling]

Potential ⚠️TWs⚠️ :

!Female Reader! • The reader works for Miles in this • Suggestive fic/Situation that would eventually lead to NSFW • Touch starved Miles •

Miles groaned out his frustrations as his claws dug into his paperwork, not getting it to work. Tearing apart all of the papers he had been working on in defeat, ripping them to shreds. Emotions he wouldn't dare to show outside of the comfort of his own home. He was supposed to be composed and cunning, not... this..! Miles had been feeling unimaginably overwhelmed for quite a while now, and he is really not so sure why. His days hadn't been any different than his usual schedule. Working on his plans inside of his workshop, isolating himself from Sonic and the bunch due to how busy he was. But he couldn't shrug off this nagging and hollow feeling he felt.

“Taking your anger out on the papers isn't going to solve the problem, you know?” a soothing voice from behind him murmured, catching his attention as one of his ears twitched in acknowledgement. Miles sighed, he never enjoyed taking the advice of others... but he couldn't even find an excuse to back up his argument this time. Already feeling the guilt building up in the back of his head for tearing up the very work he's been working on for hours.

Swallowing his frustrations and sour mood, he turned around in his chair, facing the female behind him as he readjusted his position to a more casual posture and facial features falling back to a poker face. Miles gave you a glance with a blank look on his face, but he noticeably struggled keeping in his discontent for the way he felt. Your eyes just gazed back at his with a gentle yet empathetic look, a small smile that attempted to not falter by seeing him in this depressive state

“Seems like I've cooked up a meal at just the right time” you softly chuckled as you placed your free hand on your hips, raising an eyebrow as you showed off the tray with distinct foods with your left. A cup of tea on the corner while you kept the tray stable like a pro, not spilling a singular crumb.

“No coffee for you~ I'm not trying to make you even more bitter than you already operate as” you spoke with a joking tone, sending him a singular wink as you made your way over to him. And despite Miles’ noticeably bad mood, his eyes couldn't help but soften a little as you took your opportunity to send that playful remark towards him, despite you obviously just being thoughtful and remembering his loathing towards coffee. A tiny smirk of amusement began appearing on his lips as he let out a small huff, much to your joy.

“You never fail to amuse me, Miss _____” he hummed, as your appearance clearly improved his low spirits. And he couldn't help but feel his heart flutter a little while you laughed in anticipation. Glancing down at the tray of food you carefully placed in front of him, he felt a sense of genuine gratitude towards you. Many of those who worked for him would peace out and not look back as soon as the time of their shift ended, but you usually stuck around for a little longer. Making sure he was well fed every night before eventually taking your leave. And attempting to partially prevent the fox from overworking himself like he usually does. He's been known to be quite a busy worker after all ...and besides, you just felt this importance to look after him, especially since he oftentimes failed to do so himself. A sincere bond had been formed as soon as you received the job at his mansion, one that you both seem to value.

A lot.

“What's up with all the rush and impatience? There's nothing wrong with taking a break every now and then, you workaholic” you murmured with concern and a small scold, but the maternal love could be felt from a mile away. As you spoke, you placed both of your hands on each of his shoulders, your finger pads slightly pressing into his body as you did just that. Something that made Miles feel a rush of warmth through his body, making some of his fur stand up in alert.

Miles would be lying if he said that his feelings for you haven't been ... developing over time. It felt so wrong at first to enjoy your subordinate in such a passionate and perhaps even romantic sense, but he just couldn't help himself. Your caring and motherly nature pulled at his heartstrings more than any date could. And though he kept himself under control and tried to dismiss any feelings he deemed as inappropriate, he felt himself in a trance right now. He did not want you to leave yet

So as soon as you turned around and were ready to leave for the door, allowing him to enjoy his meal by himself, he instead grabbed you by the wrist with a gentle grasp. Catching you slightly off guard as he held you back. “no...don't leave yet” he requested with an assertive and slightly commending tone, but there was noticeably a hint of hesitance in it. Miles clearly felt more vulnerable than usual and that wasn't to be taken lightly. You sweetly smiled at him as you allowed him to continue grasping onto your arm, which he was pretty much just clinging to right about now.

You tilted your head to the side innocently, humming out a ‘mhm?’ in question as you wondered what he might need. Though due to Miles’ uncertainty on his face and hesitation with his movements, you decided to try and ease him into talking. As you placed your soft hand on top of his for comfort, he couldn't help but blush ever so slightly at the contact, his gaze drifting down to how you placed your hand onto his... like a perfect fit. But it were your next words that prevented him from chickening out, his heart skipping a beat when you tried to reassure him.

“Hey ...It's okay, alright? Take your time, Miles. I truly don't mind staying longer for the night if you'd like somebody to keep you company”

And that was the moment that his control and will to keep to himself just broke. He was a goner. You got him. You won. His closed off walls just disappeared. Taking a deep exhale through his nose before Miles grabbed you by the collar, pulling you in for a deep kiss. Making you gasp out as he suddenly pressed his lips onto yours. He was not letting go of your frame. You just... he felt this need for you now. As if you were an oxygen tank, and he was on the verge of drowning.

Though surprised by the sudden gesture, you couldn't help but melt into it. His lips so soft and sensual, so careful... Leaving not only you, but him even more breathless as soon as he pulled back, looking at you with dazed, half lid eyes. Before closing them and leaning into you, feeling further at peace with himself more than he ever has. You felt his forehead touch against your own, and he actually enjoyed it. He didn't even care about all the "cheesy feelings" anymore. He wasn't even trying to deny it, he absolutely loved all of it... He wanted to feel your gentle touch again, he wanted your love more. He wanted to feel your love all day, all night. And you definitely didn't see this coming from him, you expected him to be cold and hateful, yet he's this romantic dude?

You could help but giggle softly, a smirk appearing on your face. “My goodness, Miles. I did not know you were such a hopeless romantic~” you teased while fluttering your lashes, laughing out as soon as he looked at you with a half-scowling glint in his eyes and a small pout on his lips, internally questioning why you had to ruin the moment like that. “A sweet, old traditional confession was not your way to go, it appears. No "I love you" or anything~? Sheesh, how mean of you..~”

Miles just scoffed before going right back in and passionately kissing you. It was pretty clear that he was attempting to prove his feelings for you without having to talk about emotions, as he kept kissing your lips with no regrets. It only became more apparent when he started to moan silently, showing his satisfaction as he kissed you. All he wanted now was to just mark you up and show you the feelings that have been bottling up, and he just couldn’t help himself this time. His hands started to rub your back, while his muscular arms gently pulled you closer to his body. Sometimes having to pull back for air as he was practically left panting. You turned your face a little and adjusted it so your lips would be resting on the crook of his neck, resulting in a shudder to emerge from him.

The fox seemed to be at the first stages of desperation at that point, he was completely unable to resist you. His heart felt like it was going to explode, the blood rushing through his veins like the sea waves crashing against the shore. The little pecks on his neck and the imitation of you rubbing his body now as well triggered a strong and sudden reaction from him, his entire body tensing up and suddenly pushing against you and your soft body as he groaned in pure desire.

Miles has never felt this amount of craving in one single night in his entire life, it was like his entire body was becoming one giant, sensitive nerve. He felt so much more vulnerable than he ever has, and it was causing an immense physical response at each and every little touch of your contact. His nerves on high alert by the unfamiliar sensations. It getting especially bad as soon as you started to add some tongue on his neck, teasingly nipping and sucking at his most sensitive spots.

Your tongue was doing wonders on Miles, swirling around on his body and teasing him, making him crave more. At that point, he just wanted more. More... more and more... Miles lost all sense of reality in his desires, he could only feel the sensation of your hot tongue, soothing him like a warm bath. He let out a low moan of pure delight as you pressed your body against him. Your movements were absolutely intoxicating. Your skin was warming up against his coat, almost feeling like fire and your scent was irresistible. He let you do whatever you wanted, letting you dig your nails into him as you held yourself in his embrace. Miles had completely lost control over his actions, his mind being too caught up with this overwhelming sensation.

“A-Ah...~” He whispered, his voice sounding like an animal's mating call “You're... destroying... me...” His voice sounded like a desperate plea, almost losing himself to the overwhelming desire taking over his body. Miles’ entire face twisted in pure lust, like a wolf feeling the warmth of a female in heat. His muscles became tight as he attempted to hold himself back, but all of a sudden he gave in to your seducing embrace. “Please...~ please...” He whispered with a deep voice, unable to form a proper sentence “More...”

As your caressing continued, Miles begins to whimper even more. He tries to reach his arms up towards your shoulders, wanting to hold you, but his arms just remain around you for now. His low and quiet grunts grow louder, as he can hardly contain himself at this point. He can't even think straight anymore as his brain has been completely hijacked by pleasure and desire. “M-My God. Your body is like a damn heatwave against my coat...”

The fox was losing himself in this moment, but it was only increasing the amount of desire he felt. Your body warmth was giving the effect of a heatlamp right now as your bodies began to slightly perspire. He felt like it was summer right now, as it seemed like time was going a lot slower since he just wanted this moment to last forever. He was losing all sense of reputation, self-control, and modesty, as he continues to let his primal instincts take over this exact moment. And he couldn't help but let out a ‘mnggh..~’ as soon as one of your hands travelled over from his tall frame, towards the back of his neck. Some of your fingers pressing into his skin in order to try and keep yourself balanced.

Miles was completely out of it; his senses were absolutely destroyed. Your fingers sensually digging into the back of his neck was making him... moan and groan, with you leaving his neck with beautiful red marks. He could feel himself beginning to drip in anticipation. He was... completely, utterly, hopelessly, hooked.

As your hand left the back of his neck and traced a path down his spine, his entire body began to tremble from the sudden touch. He let out a shuddering moan, his breath catching in his throat as he gulped for air, feeling his heart thump even faster than before. All of these touches, so affectionately... They were like a drug that had taken over his entire system. His arms wrapped around you and held you in place, so he could feel even more of you. His grip was tightening slightly, his fangs beginning to bite down on his lip.

The boy who was previously very cold and calculating, was now releasing small noises of pleasure, like that of a young puppy crying out to its mother while being fed. Miles seemed completely enthralled by your caresses, as your fingers traced along his skin and your body pressed firmly against him. His breathing was getting increasingly shallow and uneven, making the him completely lost in the sensation of your warmth and intimacy. Your scent made him lose control of himself, as he began to purr into you.

And it seems that the longer Miles gets showered with your affection, the more attached he felt himself becoming, and the harder it is for him to stop. He lets out a small grunt and leans his head closer to yours, wanting your lips to touch his again for just one more moment. He's never been such a mess up until this point, he just didn't care about anything except for what you were doing to him at this very moment. He just didn't want you to stop. His mind was completely flooded with love and lust, just the thought of you touching him more like this made him feel like he was floating through the air. His mind felt like it was filled with pure endorphins.

But as soon as you began standing on your toes, trying to get to his level of height, it resulted in his crotch unintentionally rubbing onto yours. The heat began to get into his head, Miles started to feel himself tense up and twitch uncontrollably as he starts to breathe in sharp, short breaths. He was now sweating heavily and his face was a bright shade of red by that point. He was holding in the loudest moans in his life, but struggles to keep it all in. His knees were beginning to shake so much after, until he finally lets out a long sigh and slumps over on you, submitting.

You were doing whatever you wanted and Miles was completely okay with that, he absolutely loved it. He was on the verge of madness, the amount of bottled up desire, need and happiness he was feeling was beyond comprehension. He was trembling so much that it was like every bone in his body was about to pop, his entire brain feeling like it was about to melt any second now. He was barely in control of his own body anymore, he let himself fall completely into your grasp.

Miles’ breathing was heavy and his lips were parted slightly, his words sounding like a breathless moan “Anything ...I'll do anything you want...” As his words came out, he leaned forward and pulled you to his chest, his body shaking so hard it looked like he was having a seizure. He whispered in your ear, his voice hoarse like an animal in heat, something not too surprising considering the current circumstances for him.

“I'll even... let you... be the top...” he murmured in a silent, seductive voice. Breathless as he let out yet another quiet whine filled with need, looking at you from the side with literal hearts in his eyes. Allowing himself to be swallowed in your temptation as soon as you whispered the final words in his ear.

“Expected nothing less from you, my dear boss~”

#tails miles prower #tails x reader #miles prower x reader #sonic the hedgehog x reader #sonic x reader #tails x reader smut #operation crimson #sonic the hedgehog #tails smut #kayla green #sonic smut

[11natrium]

I suppose that I might share some feeling regarding my own masculinity I've been having about myself to the world, perhaps some will find them relatable.

tl;dr - I'm AMAB, and while I struggled with accepting my masculinity, trans men made me feel at peace and safe with it, and I cannot thank them enough.

Now for the longer version:

For quite a while now (a few years, in fact), I have been struggling with my masculinity, as an AMAB person. I grew to feel super uncomfortable with the implications that came from being a "man", at least as it can be stereotypically understood. I know very well that masculinity has positive aspects, like strength or reliability, but being called a "man" made me also feel like someone automatically perceived as aggressive, or dangerous, or a sex pest, or a creep. As far as I'm aware, I am none of that - but I can't help that being "a man" makes me feel like someone who poses some sort of danger, or is a threat to those around them. It no doubt comes from experiencing toxic masculinity - more so from my peers and general society, as I'm thankfully privileged to have a normal family, where everyone is, well, normal and supportive and non-abusive. Still, that toxic masculinity, or hearing about certain men being just, fucking losers, made me want to detach myself from being called a "man".

This is partially why I embraced the identity of a demiboy. Someone mostly masculine, but still someone who does not want to call themselves a man. To be clear - there is more to my identity than just discomfort with stereotypical masculinity. I have interest in outfits and activities perceived as feminine, there are subtleties to how I like to picture myself in art, using a feminine name (Marcy) towards myself, using gender neutral pronouns (they/them) etc. - it goes deeper than just what I outlined above. That's a story for another day, though, what matters for this post is that I felt that unease with my own masculinity.

I guess this is where trans men come in. Briefly - over time, as I interacted with trans men and transmasc folks in general, I started to feel a weird sort of appreciation, maybe even jealousy for them, like I wished I was more like them myself. Eventually, I started to realise that their comfort and the gender euphoria they feel from being masculine made me feel more at peace and secure with my own masculinity. Seeing as one can feel genuine joy from being a man, from the masculinity they themselves worked to achieve, and from the positive aspects of that masculinity, while also rejecting the toxic parts of it... It just, makes me feel SO much better with myself as well.

Perhaps it sounds silly or obvious? But that realisation that I do NOT have to embrace all the baggage that comes with masculinity, and I can instead pick and choose parts of it, shaping my own version of being a man that makes me feel comfortable is something that made me feel massively better with myself. Being a silly guy gives me genuine gender euphoria - so I just embrace that "silly guy" part of masculinity, and give up on the toxic parts of it, like aggressive dominance, or hierarchical view of the world.

Going onwards, I don't think I'll be changing my pronouns from they/them, or drop the demiboy description of my identity. As I said - there is more to my identity that just discomfort for being called a man. But at least, I can be at peace with my own masculinity.

I genuinely have every single trans man and transmasculine person to thank for it. You made my life better, and I could never show properly just how deep my appreciation for you all goes.

While it doesn't really apply to me, I'm certain that trans women and transfeminine people have a similar influence for cis and gnc women. In fact, I have read a similar post from a female perspective before, and I have no doubts that this post influenced my realisation in how much more comfortable I am with my own masculinity thanks to transmasculine folks.

Trans people are a gift to this world. Their presence alone makes the world such a more beautiful place, period. I wish them all plenty of luck and joy going onwards! And once more - thank you all.

#transgender #transmasc #trans man #gnc men #demiboy #vent #positive vent #rambles #text #trans #gender euphoria #trans masc #transmasculine #trans rights #masculinity #AMAB